Why did children grow up so early in the war?
Children and war. What adult, hitting the war, would have found the strength to endure all the hardships of the war? And then there were children. It was with children that the war was especially cruel: the little children who had not yet seen life lost all the joys of their childhood, the war placed a heavy load of responsibility on them and they had to do household chores and do hard work without anyone’s help.
The author of the text E. Shim, remembering what his childhood was like, during which the Great Patriotic War was, writes: “Before the stone calluses I dug around in the garden, chopped firewood, carried water from the river.” And in summer, almost every day, went into the woods – for berries, mushrooms, and it was not fun, not for walking, but as if for work, because I knew: if you come back empty, there will be nothing. “
Indeed, during the war years, children were particularly hard. The confirmation of my words is the work of V.
No less tragic is the fate of little orphans from the work of A. Pristavkin “The golden night went by”. The orphanage is evacuated to the Caucasus, away from war and famine. Children expect such tests, which, probably, could not be carried even by an adult. All children live by the same dream – to eat. But this is not the worst thing that destiny has prepared for them. Chechen children attacked the orphanage and killed one of the twin brothers Sashka. All this is seen by his brother Kolka, and when he takes his brother’s body away from “this accursed Caucasus,”
(1) I often recall the time when we, schoolchildren, were taken from besieged Leningrad to the forest northern region. (2) I spent a year in the orphanage, and then my mother came and took me. (3) It was difficult for us then. (4) Mom came sick, went to the service through force. (5) But it was necessary to somehow hold on and live. (6) Before the stone calluses, I dug in the garden, chopped wood, carried water from the river. (7) And in summer, almost every day, he went into the forest-over berries and mushrooms. (8) And it was not fun, not for walking, but as if for work, because he knew: if you come back empty, there will be nothing. (9) Sometimes my mother did not go home for weeks at a time. (10) She served in the district executive committee, and from there all the employees were often sent to the collective farms to carry out sowing and harvesting campaigns. (11) I was left to be alone. (12) I myself stoked a stove, cooked food, cleaned up our hut. (13) But usually the mother returned in the evening. (14) After walking several villages, she was tired so that she could not immediately get up on the porch, sit down on the steps and rest, dangling her head in a dusty, burnt out handkerchief on her chest. (15) Once she came back especially late. (16) I took out the food from a cold oven, put it on the table. (17) There were empty sticks of nettles cooked. (18) Without taking off her handkerchief, her mother sank down on the bench and, hunched up, squeezed, began to greedily eat directly from the cast iron. (19) I could not look at her. (20) It was stuffy and hot in my throat. (21) I knew why my mother was so hungry. (22) In the villages, among the people who also lacked food during the difficult period, she did not dare to take even a piece of bread, although she was called the formidable name of an authorized executive committee. (23) In the passage I had potato cakes left for tomorrow. ‘(24) I rushed after them, to give them to their mother. (25) I took off the clay bowl from the shelf and looked. (26) There were not a few scones – five pieces. (27) But they smelled, smelled strongly of oil and burnt flour, and this smell made my head spin. (28) I was also hungry, too. (29) And I was a kid – eleven years old. (30) I probably would not have given the cakes if I could eat them then. (31) But I could not: my heart was torn, and in my throat there were tears in my throat. (32) Soon I went hunting. (33) A familiar old man allowed me to take his rifle and stuffed a few rounds. (34) A hunting hut was set up on a winter field near the birch forest. (35) The sun rose, and the beams struck the tops of the birches and broke into copper hot sprays. (36) Then these sprays began to descend, they showered the lower branches, trunks, bushes. (37) A light smoke ran through the grass, and immediately it was lit by white pointed fire – it was dew flashed. (38) A fabulous, changeable light transformed everything around. (39) The birch forest was burning and could not burn in a still flame. (40) The tiny rainbows rose and fell down in the grass. (41) Then the black grouse appeared. (42) None. (43) They were not black grouse. (44) Firebirds, such as they dreamed in their childhood, suddenly fell to the ground. (45) They seemed to bathe in this flame, and quick flashes broke out and faded on their twisted, blue feathers. (46) But I did not finish the fairy tale. (47) I remembered why I came here. (48) And immediately a dirty, heavy shadow rolled. (49) There were no miracles. (50) In front of me is a wet oats field and on it fleshy roosters, colliding with each other. (51) They must be killed. (52) The more, the better. (53) My fairy tale left me, and in fact only in fairy tales does the hunter drop his gun,
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