My War
memories of my mother Tina Kliem (Kima) Rudsina (04.24.1926 - 20.03.2003)
http://nataliarudzina.blogspot.com/2010_05_01_archive Illustrated version under . html
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I see the war from my perspective Adler. I have my own war. If you look at the war from the side, one can see a triangle: In every corner of his own haste. In a sitting politician, the other soldiers to survive in the third, the confused people with the instinctive desire to shelter and to find a piece of bread. I am, "The People ". Until the war began to visit my mother Luba Andreevna time the civil defense instruction in property management. She participated in fire drills and exercises even had a gas mask. Your profession was a nurse. She was just at a civil defense instruction when the war began. But that was all a Kinderlallen compared to reality. I was "brought security" in the final stop of the tram Park of Tcheljuskinzew ", then in the village a stone's throw away Slepnja. There was a new school with new red tile roof, which glittered far and wide. My mother's sister, Aunt Vera was principal there. My first experience of war I have had in the basement of the school. That night we heard a lot of planes and bomb explosions. Someone said with expertise: If you can hear the flight of the bombs, it means passing shot. In the first silence at daybreak, we all came out of the cellar, the cat. She crept into the yard, looked at the sky and - appearing as a plane - crashed back first into the cellar. My father came with my little brother Gerik out of the city as a passenger in a car. Mother but declined to hitch a lift and would pick me first. Since there was no transport more. We went to Moscow on foot. The sister of my father, aunt and her daughter Olia Taisia went with us. Refugees were continuously on the Moscow highway. Bag and baggage they carried with them, with the children's hands and into the stroller. A woman in a dressing gown and slippers bore her baby and sang it loud - maybe they had gone mad. In the trenches lay about discarded items. They drank the water from dirty muddy puddles. Aunt Olia had lumps of sugar - this was our food. The Red Army soldiers were also related to the refugees, but usually by small groups the Wälder.Nach 10 km, in the village Korolev Stan, we were hit by bombers. That was my strongest impression: A cow ran with torn abdominal part, shouted and intestines dragging behind her on the night of her.Nach Bülte in mud we were told that the German army already before us is, and it would not make sense to go any further. We returned to Minsk and failed to recognize our city again. The houses burned down. Dead people lying around everywhere. In addition to the print shop I came upon a moment in the yard and saw a terrible picture. Since a truck stood with open rear side wall. Of which hung down dead soldiers, turned their heads down and faces me. Maybe the truck had been fired from a plane. The flies crawled over the dead faces. Near the bridge over the river Svisloch begged a woman to lap a German patrol that they were in a burning house left on the Swoboda Course. Her children were in there. But they did not go there. We burned the night in a house in the street Dolgobrodskaja. It gave a stone floor that but as warm as the heating surface of a furnace. I had only one white summer dress with flower pattern. But it was warm and gemütlich.Morgen we came to our house. Now the Nesawisimost the place (place of sovereignty), but until the war there was an entire residential area. On the part of Government House, it was at the Sovetskaya street, on the other side opposite the Medical School - was the Swjasnoj alley. There was my house. Since my childhood remains in the ruins
rob in the city (Maust) the inhabitants of the business. Farmers from the district took the goods with their horse cart. In addition to financial ruin took my mother a Carton with shirt buttons, black and white yarn and perfume with. She trembled with fear for a long time for their "crime". This "treasure" proved to be valuable as a therefore support during our hungry existence.
second
My first direct encounter with the Germans took place a week later. I was now 15 years old and totally shocked, swept the top was Bottom. Minsk was nothing more. I sat with my mother next to our house burning down and we cried. The first day we became homeless change from a basement in one thrown by a strange apartment in another. One day we spent the night on the greens next to the train station in the only habitable house that had been abandoned by its inhabitants. focused on this complex is a soldier and the Germans were playing happily on her harmonica. They respect us. But we were still afraid. There was no water. It was thirsty. And we, the women from the nearby ruins came to look for water in the district of Tcherwinski bazaar (market). It was hot. When we returned, we took a Abbreviation and went past the bus station today. Next to the station were hundreds of our prisoners of war. They were exhausted and were - because they died of thirst. A guard surrounded them. When they saw the water, they threw themselves to us, not paid attention to the calls of the guards. They drank greedily, while trying not to spill water. The German soldiers pushed back slowly, but they did not bother to drink. the early morning we were picked up by German soldiers. They brought us, (we still had empty bucket there) in the university district, according to the Bombing had remained intact. The Germans wanted to use the building itself. But cleaning the toilet - they were not squeaky clean - it took us - women from the village. For me it was terrible. But if the machine-gunners stood by, I had no choice. The toilets were cleaned. For the work we got a loaf of bread. But that was not all. Some women were taken to the station. The wagons were living German officers. Since we had to clean the windows. I was called by an elegant officer. He took me to his car. I should wash his shirts. As if you could wash shirts in cars! I went with a naïve and good. But then we were stopped by a burly, no longer young man in chef uniform. The officer walked away, looked back on my Savior and was boiling with rage. To advocate be for me to justify the cook gave me work. I turn potatoes, washed the dishes, and ate with greed unfamiliar food such as pea soup with chicken. The chef himself drank coffee from a large bucket, panting in the heat and fatherly looked at the thin girl. After several hours I returned home with cans and even a loaf of bread - to Add the first - to the delight of my desperate mother.
saturated and tired, I sat on the stairs ... "
There were two entrances to the House. Suddenly I heard a moan. Quietly I went into the hallway and saw a girl lying on the floor. She was a soldier of the Russian land troops. She was wounded in the leg and lost a lot of blood. I called my mother. In a closet, we found bandages and clothing. We gave her to eat, then she moved around and in the evening - leaning on a stick -. Gone away She would not stay with us because she was afraid because of them that we would get into the terminal. How far it is well-come. What could probably help her to remain unnoticed, was that it was after the bomb attacks as many wounded in Minsk.
third
My father's mother - Grandma Anna Ivanovna - was the younger daughter Lyuba and her granddaughter Nelia an accommodation in the bazaar street Well now Sverdlov street. There was also a little room for me and my mother. My health deteriorated because of malnutrition and I lay in bed. My mother went into town, made with massage wounded people and it got something to eat. Soon she found a job in the No. 2 Hospital, where our prisoners were wounded. You put them on the legs, then everyone was sent somewhere. Sometimes mom brought home from the hospital with healed patients. After a few days, went suddenly into the forest. I remember an engineer from Moscow, a jazz musician, a commander. And there was one from Osipovichy. I remember him more than all others because he has visited us after the liberation of Minsk. He cheerfully told us how rich and full now he could live with his family. Known to say "The Rich can not take a hungry man. " worked in the hospital a professor Markov. He provided me with the diagnosis of pulmonary tuberculosis and prescribed me wounded in the hospital rations for 1.5 liters of milk daily. About my health took care of my mother's relatives. Their temporary house was also in a strange apartment with three adjoining rooms on the third floor of the 14th International Well Street There you have my mother and me included, even though nine people were living in the apartment. To support my recovery, they sold first-hand clothes. Later they started to earn. main breadwinner was Uncle Volodya. He was a craftsman. He went to the fire authorities the locks, keys, padlocks and hooks. He cleaned, repaired and sold in an undamaged Bude, in a kiosk. Aunt Marusia - the widow of the artist Bortnikov - every day he brought in a special box-box cake from a bakery in a cafe. She made more in passing that our family fed. Nadja aunt was a teacher, she tried in school to work on the Swoboda Course. But after a week has left them. Your nerves have not sustained. Our former teachers beat the students. I have seen with my own eyes when I wanted to get there two days
In our family, a friend of my mother found accommodation with her young son Volodya Her name was Olga Matus and was a radio announcer. She was blond with a small blunt nose. No foreigner guessed she was a Jew. They even found a job as a laundress in a dining room.
And there was Aunt Vera, a history teacher. After a column is met by Jews who were brought to the shooting, she got sick, silent madness. Their Daughter Tanya helped at home. That's our whole family was.
However, despite the best efforts of our aunt Marusia bad nutrition. On the first day of the war drove Uncle Woiodja on a bucket of molasses in a starch factory. Once a day we got from there to a piece of bread with a teaspoon of molasses that tasted surprisingly good. If food remains were left, I always got the advantage.
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