“Ah, war, what are you, mean, done”
War… This word is black. She crosses out the plans: “Once the war – forget about everything and do not blame it.” He was going on a long journey, given the order: “Resign!”
Also have put aside. Graduates of schools went to the front, and not to student audiences. The brides “gave white to their little sisters.” Students and teachers have become one unit – a soldier. Separated families are still looking for each other. Children grew up without fathers. The men’s work fell on the female shoulders: “I chopped, drove, dug – did you all read it?” And in letters to the front, she assured me that she was doing just fine. ” And the machine of the war did its black work: in its fire the husbands were killed, leaving widows and orphans, the young men were killed, leaving the girls without future husbands, and the nation without children. That’s what she did, mean. And it’s not so long ago. Still
Luba lives with us, my grandmother Luba, who saw her father in June 1941, when she was only four years old. He does not remember his face, he knows from photographs. He remembers only a few episodes. As she ran into the long corridor of the communal apartment and ran to meet him when he returned home. How did the father once brought a rare fruit for those times – two oranges – and said: “This is for you and your mother.” I ate my own on the way. ” Holy lie!
My great-grandfather Sergey was a career officer. He was 28 years old, and Shura’s great-grandmother 24 years, when the war began. Grandmother Luba was their only child. So she was left without sisters and brothers. And without a father. Great-grandfather passed almost the entire war. Almost, because he died in April 1945. Did not live to win 23 days. My mother, his granddaughter, is older than he is today. She never knew how great to have a grandfather. She even
My grandmother once said to me: “You know, Ira, I often think: what would our family be like if there was not that terrible war?” I would have had brothers and sisters, so you would have more relatives. , if it is also friendly, it’s a great happiness… You see, how long the death of people is happening… Everything can be rebuilt, but not returned… “Grandmother, not finishing, stopped. And I realized that almost half a century has passed, and the wound does not heal.
On May 9, on Victory Day, my grandparents always have guests. They commemorate those who have not returned from that war, recall their military childhood, sing songs of those years. And cry during the television Minute of silence. Sitting at the table are elderly people, almost all of them are pre-war children. They were saved, raised by their mothers, and their fathers saved us all, the whole world.
Finishing, I’ll tell you such a story. Once grandmother Lyuba either heard, or read the “Song of the Pilot” V. Vysotsky. She said: “This is about my dad.” At first I tried to disabuse her, which is not, can not be. He died at the end of the war, when there was already no such “situation before the battle”:
There are eight of them – two of us – the situation before the battle.
Not ours, but we will play!
Sergei, hold on! We do not shine with you,
But trumps need to be equaled!
I assured that the coincidence of the name and military profession of great-grandfather is not a basis to… And then Grandma’s story about oranges remembered and thought: why do I do it? A holy lie has a right to exist. My beloved grandmother so loves Vysotsky’s songs about the war. Let this song be a song about her father, my great-grandfather. I think the poet would not have condemned us.
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