Beeeeeeee 
- 23 -
The next day we went to the capital’s western railway station where we waited for the next scheduled train. The station was roofed and reminded us of the “Kievsky vokzal” in Moscow [ remark - the railway station in Moscow for routes south, i.e. in the direction of Kiev.] Strolling along the platform, Silonov and I noticed two Rumanian girls who also seemed to be waiting for a train. They were nice and to pass the time we started up a conversation in Rumanian-Russian slang. Silonov, as I already mentioned, was from Odessa and understood the Rumanian language which he learned during the occupation. The train was delayed. We chatted with the Rumanian girls, laughed and joked, and in short - killed time. They appeared to be students from Bucharest University (that is how they presented themselves) and were on their way home to the town of Caransebeş to see their families and collect their allowances of food and money. Apparently we had to go the same way and the girls were waiting for the same train as us, but they had no tickets. They could not buy them as they had no money. The train did not arrive until after dark. The Soviet Army personnel were assigned dedicated rail carriages on the train. The civilians rushed to board the train, much like it was during the civil war in Russia or during the period of the first five-year plan when trains left from Sverdlovsk to the town of Perm. [Remark - the author refers to the fact that the number of seats was small compared to the number of travellers, and people rushed to take a seat.] Soon it was apparent that our acquaintances were left without seats, neither inside the carriage nor even on the carriage roof. They rushed about the platform attempting to find a way to cling onto the departing train. We realised that we should offer them assistance. I invited them to our soldier’s carriage which was reasonably vacant - half empty. Our platoon leader was in his compartment and could not see that the carriage now had female passengers. Obviously it was breach of the regulations. It helped that the carriage was not illuminated inside and was divided into compartments. It was easy to hide the intruders. That is how Silonov and I spent the night, in the company of those pretty girls. How could we ever forget that?
In the morning, after passing through two or three long tunnels our train approached the station where the girls were to get off. On the left side of train was the Danube, on the right side - the Carpathian Mountains. We passed the famous “Devil’s Gates”, the place where the Danube is squeezed between mountains on both sides, streaming rapidly along a narrow riverbed. Nowadays, I heard, a hydro-electrical plant has been built and the ships have to pass through a chain of shipping locks. Oh, I forgot to mention the names of our incidental fellow travellers. They were Sylvia and Viorica. Sylvia, who I felt sympathy for during our travel, gave me on my request a photograph which I amend here.
[remark - the photograph is unfortunately missing. ]
Obviously the fact that we spent the night in the company of young girls was not completely unnoticed. The older soldiers, elders compare to us, understandingly cracked jokes. Only the platoon leader did not understand what was going on. And how could he understand anything, if he locked himself in the compartment, got blind drunk and slept whole night.
At the end of the day the train reached Timisoara station. We crossed the whole town by means of the local tramway. The local Rumanians looked curiously at us Russian soldiers and talked quietly among themselves. Naturally, our appearance was not very attractive. Old greatcoats, worn boots and puttees – that was not so bad. But the locals gazed in astonishment when one of us in the tramway carriage started to roll a cigarette out of a newspaper, so called “Kozya nozhka” [ remark - literally “Goats leg”, a paper roll with cheap tobacco with one end bent upwards ]. He took out a tobacco pouch, stuffed the roll with his low grade tobacco, slavered saliva over the end to wet it, and took it in his teeth. Then he took a broken filler and a flint out of the other pocket and attempted to squeeze a spark out, trying to light up a piece of tinder. As ill luck would have it, no spark would come out of the “Russian Katyusha”. Then one of the Rumanians politely offered to make use of his lighter. I watched this scene with interest. I knew their [ Remark - Rumanians ] customs and manners, knew that they were unaware of many thing, but the “Katyusha” (which I myself was impressed to see after 10 of April 1944) was watched with great curiosity. Much as one might watch an African from the “Boom-Boom” tribe getting fire by means of friction between two wooden sticks.
Timisoara is a big town. The centre is full of tall beautiful buildings, public gardens and squares with monuments to the kings. The town’s hill is crowned by the Citadel - the indispensable attribute of any old European town.
[ to be continued ]
Thank you so much Igor, for translating and sharing these very interesting stories. Outstanding material 
In case there are any questions or comments please be welcome to ask.
No questions so far, just enjoying the reading, thanks!
- 24 -
We were accommodated in a hotel next to the Western Railway Station. I believe that the name of the street leading from the station to the town’s centre was “Bratiani” (A minister of foreign affairs in the Kingdom of Rumania).
It was a first-class hotel with classy interior. Of course, we were packed very tightly into the rooms and corridors and had to sleep not on the beds but on the floor. I remember that in the bathrooms we found a second toilet bowl with a small fountain. None of us had any idea about its purpose. Later, learning what it was we had plenty of laughs on this subject.
While staying in Timisoara our main work was dispatching the rail carriages destined for the frontline as well as loading the trains with the equipment previously taken out of Odessa by the retreating Rumanian Army. Among that equipment there were several boxes full of Russian rifles. I choose a spanking new semiautomatic SVT for myself. It was because my previous sniper rifle occasionally failed to fire. Back in Chernavoda, while hunting wild pigs in the Danube reed bed, I noticed that my rifle occasionally misfired. At first I blamed wet cartridges. By the way, we did not see a single wild pig as they all appeared to be hunted out, but instead we got up to fifty ducks. I found it was inconvenient to hunt duck with a sniper rifle and replaced it with an ordinary one without a scope.
One time I was sent as a senior with three wagons to collect some hay and oats as fodder for our horses. I was to go to a place called Rekasch about 25km from Timisoara. It was frosty weather but still with no snow. I had been warned to watch out for possible attack from “iron guardians” (Rumanian fascists) as those areas were remote and forestry. My “sniperka” [ Remark – authors nick name for his sniper rifle ] was resting on my lap ready for action. I was sitting on the wagon and monitoring the surroundings. When we passed a cornfield I noticed a chicken sized bird with a bright vivid tail. A pheasant! I had never seen one before except in a zoo. I aimed and pulled the trigger… but there was no shot, only a click. I aimed again – misfire again… The pheasant escaped into the cornfield. What a pity! I replaced the cartridges. Not long after I saw another pheasant. Misfire again! Damn it! Then I tried all the available cartridges but with the same sorry result. Of course the rifle could be fixed by replacing the spring, but it was too late – trust in my “snaiperka” was gone. That is how I decided to get myself an SVT.
While in Timisoari our unit was getting rations through the local Rumanian military garrison. Their liaison person was Corporal Konstantinesku who accompanied me on my wagon to the supply depot. That is how we got acquainted. Once in a while we dropped by a young single woman, an acquaintance of his, for a glass of wine or a bite to eat. He would stay overnight whereas I had to hurry back for the evening roll call.
One of my assignment as a VLKSM member still was to relay to the soldiers the daily war news reports issued by the Sovinform Bureau. For that purpose I used the radio of one of the hotel’s employees – a young boy called Eugeniu Ionescu. He was planning to go to university the following year. Every morning I came to him, or rather to his parents, tuned in to Moscow and wrote down the war news. After a month we became friends. I told them about my life in Odessa, about what I witnessed under their, Rumanian, administration. They were curious to hear that from a Russian. In their turn, they told me how Rumanian soldiers perceived Russia through their eyes.
When the time came to say farewell, I was invited to their house for a banquet. The treat consisted of “Tsvica” [ Remark – fermented plum spirit from Rumania ] which was served in a thimble size glasses. The snack – salami slices on small match sized wooden sticks. Eugeniu gave me his photograph as a souvenir.
The handwriting inscription in Rumanian on the reverse of the photograph:
Tie, Jurie, ca atunci
cand te vei reantoarce
victorios in tara ta
i ti adna aminte
ca ci iu Romania
ai avut in pricten
Timisoara, 10.I.945
Jinescu Eugeniu, comuna
Rudna, Jud. Timis-TazantalEnglish translation:
For you, Yurii, so that
when you come victorious
to your country,
you would remember
that also in Rumania
you had a friend.
Timisoara, 10.I.945
Jinescu Eugeniu, commune
Rudna, District Timis-Tazantal
[ to be continued ]
- 25 -
Two new staff personnel had been relocated to our company. Both were senior sergeants – both were girls. In the evenings in our private hours we often held dances to accordion music. Of course dancing was mainly for the youngsters, the older soldiers at best just watched us and listened to the music. As soon as our girl-sergeants appeared on the floor they had no end of us. I danced more with the blonde one. We danced quite well together as we somehow understood each other. Dancing continued for the whole evening until lights-out. The girls were billeted in a private apartment whose owners were a German family, or Swabs [ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swabia ] as the locals called them.
Once I was called by the company’s commander, Senior-Lieutenant Sokolov, and ordered to prepare for a journey as his assistant. My food supply and travel warrants had already been issued.
I took my backpack and SVT rifle and returned to my leader. He looked at me and said that I should leave the SVT behind and take a German “Schmeisser” [remark: German submachine gun MP-40] as it was lighter and handier on the road. By the next evening we were already in Hungary, in the town of Szeged. Here we were to visit the commandant’s office and get our travel warrants stamped. When the town’s commandant noticed that I had a German gun he ordered me to hand it in as a prohibition had just been issued on the use of captured weapons. That is how I lost a brand new “Schmeisser” and got instead a piece of paper to present to our armament depot. And so without a weapon I accompanied Senior-Lieutenant Sokolov until we reached the Yugoslavian town of Sombor. We took a very long and very tedious ride on a train carrying American trucks, “Studebakers”, to the front. After the Yugoslavian town of Subotica the train came under fire from a German aircraft. But it didn’t cause any damage. We travelled on a wagon’s brake platform and were so frozen through so that our teeth were chattering. The commander now and then sipped from a rum bottle, which, with some foresight, he had purchased in Szeged at an exorbitant price. I also got a sip. We got into conversation – something that he did not normally do. by nature he was a rude person, especially with his subordinates. He was not particular in his choice of words. He knew about me, that I used to be a student, spent 2,5 years under occupation in Odessa and that my parents live in Siberia. After the incident with the German plane he started to tell me about himself, about the scrapes he got into during the last 4 years of war. He started in the Finish campaign. He was a native of the town of Kalinin, where his parents lived. He was not married. I knew that he was courting Katusha - a young Georgian girl-sergeant from the logistic section. I remember his description of the retreat across the sea-strait in 1942 near the town of Kerch. The only thing that saved his life was a log of wood he found on the beach. The Germans shelled and bombed the strait constantly. It was real hell. It was a miracle he survived. Many of his comrades had not managed to cross the strait – either killed or captured.
on revers: “To parents from their son. Town Galati, 1-XII-44.”
The town of Sombor (Yugoslavia) we reached the next morning. We stayed at a private house whose owner was a Russian expatriate from the Don area. I understood that they were “white emigrants” [ remark: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_Emigre ], because she was complaining of the Soviet authorities about her husband being arrested as soon as the Soviet army liberated Sombor. Her husband was a Cossack officer and during the monarchy in Yugoslavia he had lectured in a Russian Cadet Corps. She kept asking what fate awaited her husband. We diplomatically replied that if during the emigration he did not work against the Soviet authorities, against the USSR, then he should come back. I asked her if she had read the Sholokhov’s novel “And Quiet Flows the Don”. No, she had not. Judging from their home’s setting they lived well: everything was neat and furnished in an urban manner, 3 or 4 rooms in a detached house with garden. She treated us like we were related, like we had known each other forever, trying to adapt to our tastes. My officer fell to drinking more and more rum or “palinka” and one night decided to sneak into her bedroom. But she had had the foresight to lock the door from the inside. That saved her. In the morning we did not know which way to look from embarrassment.
The company’s commander finished his task and we set off on the return journey. The next stop was in the Yugoslavian town of Subotica. On foot we took a sightseeing tour of the town, the central area of which has stuck in my memory.
[ to be continued ]
- 26 -
The company’s commander finished his task and we set off on the return journey. The next stop was in the Yugoslavian town of Subotica. On foot we took a sightseeing tour of the town, the central area of which has stuck in my memory. Another remarkable spot was the “People’s House”, occupied by a local squad of the Yugoslav partisans. The attitude of the Yugoslavians towards us, Soviet soldiers, was very warm and attentive – it was very moving! I came to chat with one young partisan who had a red fabric star on his service cap. He was interested in having mine since it was made of metal and he suggested that we swap them. We did it to commemorate our meeting. How glad he was to get it! In fact the Yugoslav partisans put up the most intense fight against Hitlerite Germany. Their resistance to the fascist dictatorship and aggression was truly nationwide. It was truly a people’s war and their leader was Josef Tito. No other country in Western Europe attacked by Germany offered similar actual armed resistance as the Yugoslav People’s Army. Their slogan was: “Death to Fascism – People’s Freedom!” The Yugoslav resistance forced Germany to keep some 30 – 35 divisions there in 1941- 1945. But the losses of the Yugoslav nations – Serbs, Croatians, Montenegrans – were also high. They paid with 1,7 million lives for the liberty of their motherland. In September 1944, when the Yugoslav People’s Liberation Army joined with the forces of Red Army’s 3rd Ukrainian front, they constituted strong and very well organised armed force that through its own means had liberated a remarkable part of their country.
On our way back a young handsome Soviet lieutenant got on our train. He was seen off by a large group of tipsy Yugoslavs, men and women. If I remember it correctly it was at “Kikinda” station. The lieutenant was in the company of a beautiful Yugoslavian woman dressed in a national costume. They were embracing and kissing each other. The woman had tears on her eyes. There was a crowd of their friends on the platform. One of them played an accordion. The lieutenant was given a bunch of food and a bottle of plum brandy – “Slivovitz”. When the train set off he told us his story. He had spent a long time here in Kikinda in a hospital. He had met a lot of local people and had fallen in love with a local girl. And the story ended with a wedding… A real full-scale wedding which of which only Slavs are capable of…
And so we came back to Timisoara. At the same time the sergeant-major from the 3rd platoon returned back from the trip to his home town of Syzran. He shared with me and Sergeant-Major Komarov part of the profit from selling the toilet soap. It was a large sum of money and it was very timely indeed. The prices in Rumania were growing steeply. Prices for everything went up whereas the Rouble exchange rate went down.
After dinner I was awaiting eagerly for when the dancing would start in the common room. In due course our accordion player squeezed his instrument and the dancing began. There were our “laundresses” from the logistic company: Asja, Toma, and … [remark: the name is missing]. Katja and a new medical instructor Masha also made appearance. There also came some girl-sergeants from the headquarters that I did not know. But my usual partner was absent. I felt I was missing her. Finally, two friends, whom I expected, arrived. We were happy to see each other and engaged in chatter and laughter. Everyone was in good humour all the evening, right until the “lights-out” order.
In a couple of days I was assigned a new duty: to accompany Lieutenant Zhitivoz in his trip. This time we were heading to Hungary, to the town of Kecskemét. Kecskemét stuck in my memory because there were lots of “Jonatan” apples for sale. We ate them as much as we could and also even filled our backpacks with them. Early in the morning (we stayed in a hotel in front of the town hall) we noticed an unusually large movement of vehicles and people. Looking out of the window, we noticed that the horse-carts, trucks, and the staff crawler transports were all going to the rear, to the east. We were informed that German tank forces had broken through the front in the vicinity of Lake Balaton and were moving towards the Danube in the Adoni – Dunafoldvar area. That is why all the offices of the Front’s second echelon – headquarters, storage depots, hospitals – were hastily escaping from the German mobile armoured forces. The lieutenant and I, after he had completed his assigned task, also rushed towards the control post on the Kecskemét – Szeged road.
November 1944, town Timisoara, Rumania.
On return to our unit’s disposition in Timisoara I was informed that our company was to be urgently relocated to the Budapest area, where bitter fighting for the city was raging. I was sent in the advance group, which was tasked with finding suitable accommodation for the rest of our personnel. The situation on the Balaton was still very tense. The Germans were attempting to pierce the encirclement around Budapest, where considerable German and Hungarian forces remained to be trapped. The head of our group was Sergeant Major Komarov. Everyone was very attentive. The backpacks were loaded with the dry rations for 10 days, cartridges, grenades. The group consisted of 10 men. Two were armed with PPSh submachine guns and me with an SVT. The rest had the usual rifles or carbines. That same day we departed, aboard a military train going to the front. We passed Szeged during the night and reached Subotica in the morning, where we had to alight as the train was going in a different direction. In the middle of the day we took a small three-carriage train towards Budapest and reached the station at Kiskunhalas – a small settlement. There we had to stay overnight. We tried to find suitable accommodation in a house near the train station. The house owners, an old couple, reluctantly allowed us into their hall where there was no overnight heating. We also got from them some rugs, blankets and pillows. It was not enough for everyone, but we were grateful for what they gave us. We spread the rugs on the floor and prepared for dinner: American spam, bread, salo. We invite our hosts to share our meal but the man politely rejected our offer. After a while he brought us homemade white wine in a wooden cask. This really boosted our humour after a long day on the road.
In the morning, barely light, we thanked our hosts and left for the train station where we waited for a train. The stationmaster, a Hungarian, said that a train to Budapest was expected soon. There were also a lot of civilians on the platform waiting for a train. The boys in our group were young and lively and so they flirted with young Hungarian girls. The group dispersed over the platform. Finally the long-expected train arrived at the station – a steamer pulling few gondola type freight cars. Everyone rushed to board the train. Our boys helped their new acquaintances to get into the high-sided railcars.
That was the war’s slowest train ever…
After every few kilometres we spent hours standing at some small station. Some of the stations we stayed at were Soltvardkert, Kiskőrös, Fülöpszállás, Kunszentmiklós. Very late at night we reached Kiskunlacháza. It was cold. The only thing that brightened the trip was the company of the girls, who shared a railcar with us. It is curious how people speaking different languages are still able to communicate and understand each other. Twice during the trip we had a meal. We shared our stuff with them and they shared theirs, the best of which was Hungarian wine. In the twilight, many of the guys were sitting with their new acquaintances with their arms round each other in an embrace…
In the morning the train arrived at Takszon [spelling?] station in the Budapest suburbs. There was no way to progress further. Ahead were the frontline and the cannonade’s thunder.
[ to be continued ]
Thanks Egorka!
Quick question, is the helmet he is wearing on page 26 the “usual” Russian army helmet? It almost looks like a German helmet.
That is СШ-36 (Steel Helmet 1936). In 1940 they were replaced by СШ-40.
Look in the middle of the page (only Rusaian): http://www.helmets.ru/cat_rus.htm#32
- 27 -
The station’s military commandant pointed us to an abandoned private house with knocked out windows. There we decided to arrange our company’s camp. Next to us was an Anti-Tank artillery unit with their cannons deployed in the dugout positions and with barrels facing Budapest, waiting for the breakout of the trapped SS men in the city.
At the same time the Germans increased the outside pressure with the aim of breaking through to the forces surrounded in Budapest. The main blow came from the direction of the Lake Balaton. The situation was critical. All of the units in the area of their main attack were assembled for the reinforcement of the frontline. We were placed on alert and ordered to move out to Dunaharaszti, where our engineers had thrown a pontoon bridge across the Danube. A constant flow of trucks, carts and groups of soldiers were pouring across it. On the left bank they were met by the border guards who directed the forces to form centres of resistance. We also were ordered to take up a defensive position and dig shelters and communication trenches. Those who had escaped earlier German attacks told us that German tanks and motorised infantry had broken through the defence lines and were racing towards Budapest and to the remaining crossings over Danube. But the enemy miscalculated this time and was stopped by the artillery and “Katusha” salvoes; forced to turn back without achieving their goal of reaching the encircled forces in Budapest.
After using all our bullets on Messerschmitts and Junkers-87s, which were attacking us from above we returned back to our initial positions at Takszon station. It was a rainy, slushy day - wet snow and strong winds. I and another soldier were to return to Timisoara to report on progress to the battalion’s leader. (The other soldier complained constantly of headaches. He was previously seriously wounded in the crown of his head. The medics had managed to cover the wound with the soft tissue and the wound healed. But one could see through the “hole” how his brain pulsated.)
Without delay I assembled my backpack and we went to the station to get a train. We waited for about 3 hours. During this time I struck up an acquaintance with a young Hungarian girl – Bebi (that is how she called herself). We walked back and forth along the platform conversing in broken German. The platform was full of civilians waiting for a train.
[INDENT]“Kukla” (Bebi) – a student from Budapest, who was my mascot during my mission to Timisoara and who accompanied me until her home town station Soltvadkert in the Summer 1945.
[remark: “Kukla” in Russina means “a doll”]
Encription in Hungarian on the reverse of the photograph:
“Orulet, hogy ez a kep
Milyen rettenetesen
Rossz kulonben sebaj.
Kukla
945”
English translation: “It is crazy how terrible this photo is. Otherwise it doesn’t matter. Kukla”
Our acquaintance happened to be very useful to her. An overcrowded passenger train arrived. The passengers even sat on the car roofs. It seemed impossible to get on board through the carriage doors as the areas behind them were completely packed with passengers and baggage. Then I took a decision to get into a carriage through the window (it was missing its glass). My partner with “a hole in the skull” assisted me. Once I was inside the compartment it was easy to pull in first Bebi and then the soldier. The compartment, to my surprise, had enough space not only to stand but even for Bebi to sit down (other passengers got the point that our patronage obliges them to squeeze a place for her voluntarily). Towards evening when it was time for her to leave the train she persuaded us to stop at her hometown of Soltvadkert, where she promised to thank us with excellent food and wine at her parent’s house. During the journey it had been entirely our treat: American spam and hot water with sugar. The other passengers were aware of the obvious courting from my side. By the way, when it was lunch time many offered us their food, home made sausages or Hungarian bacon, and, of course, wine. It turned out all the compartment’s occupants were great people! At the start, when the carriage was overcrowded and the rest room was not accessible, it was amusing to how people relieve themselves. I was amazed how simply it was done: women asked men to turn around and after pulling up the skirt would stick their behinds out of the running train window and do what they had to do. And what else to do!?Towards evening there were fewer and fewer passengers remaining in the train. Most of them were refugees from the liberated quarters of Budapest who were going to their relatives and friends living in the countryside. “My Bebi” was a University student and was called up for work in a hospital during the Horty’s fascist regime. Now she was going home to her family. After fierce fighting their hospital was in the part liberated by the Soviet army. Those were horrific times: everything was crumbling and falling apart, exploding and burning. They survived in the bomb shelter she said.
Left: “Station Soltvadkert, Hungary, 1945.” Encription on the reverse: “Hungary, station Soltvadkert, 1945. (Between Budapest and Subbotica) Memorable for me because of “Bebi”, hare hunting and the family of couple where we stayed for a day. And what wine they have!!! ”
Right: Bebi wrote: “Dein Kukla”
I and my companion agreed that it is better to accept the invitation than continue to travel through the night in a chilly train. We needed time off after the fighting on the banks of the blue Danube. We got off and the train vanished. Honestly I had an uneasy feeling about how her parents would react to a late night visit.But everything turned out perfectly. After reuniting with their child, the father and the mother could not do enough for us. Bebi introduced us to her parents as real heroes, such Swedish [remark: ??? unreadable word] knights. In a word, but for us she would not be there! That was true. We got a separate room with beds, snow-white sheets and downy quilts… Such perfect bliss I did not even have from my own mother. The house and the household was prosperous. Ham, sausages, bread, and wine – the table was full.
“Bebi – a student from Budapest. 1945.”
Encription on reverse: “Sajnos ez egy remesen randa kep… De mivel annyira aka[rtad]. Kukla”
”Unfortunately this one is terribly bad picture… Just because so much you wanted it. Kukla”
The next day, after breakfast, Bebi categorically denied that we could leave without first looking around the household, vineyard and garden. The only cattle they had left was a single cow; “war is war”, she explained making helpless gesture. The vineyards occupied large area and were in excellent condition. We were ambling along when suddenly a hare jumped right out from under our feet. Instinctively I pull my SVT and got the hare on the third shot. The others did not even realise what was going on before it was over. I presented Bebi with my hunting trophy. In the following hours I saw several more hares but let them go with shooting – so that the locals would not get confused that a new war started! Worse to mention that there are a lot of wild hares in Hungary, Rumania and Yugoslavia. Many more than in my Siberia! What a paradox!We returned for lunch. The table was served with appetizers and wine. Then the second course – meat in tomato sauce generously seasoned with pepper. Then marinated peppers and apples and lots of other stuff. We were given a cordial treat. It was a joyful family feast for everyone at the table.
It was time to go. Enough is enough! Bebi and her parents asked if we could stay for a couple of days more, but duty is duty. The road was calling! Looking through her family photo album I asked her if she could give me some photographs as souvenir. “Take anything you like” - she said.
Seeing us off on the train she kissed my companion and then kissed me many times! I was glad of her attention as she was such a lovely girl. Farwell! “Come again, you are always welcome” - were her last words…
“Visantlanranto” – Goodbye! Bebi!
Encription in Hungarian on reverse: “Ha te szeretnel, es en szeretnelek, hogy szeretnelek! Твой Kukla.”
English translation: “If you loved me, and I loved you, Oh-h how I would love you! Yours, Kukla”
[/INDENT]
[ to be continued ]
Not only am I very interested, I’d greatly enjoying having the data (in English, because I don’t read Cyrillic too well) as a pdf.
As noted, the war years did not produce much information that was of use in the west, from a historical perspective, as Regards Russia/Soviet Union during WW2.
That alone makes for interest, that it is personal recollection from one who was there makes it doubly interesting.
Many Thanks, Egorka.
Regards, Uyraell.
- 28 -
Senior Sergeant Ms.Mohacheva.
The view over Timisoara’s suburbs were passing behind the train window. Back to the familiar train station and square next to it, the bridge over the Bega-Tamis channel and Bratianu street. The hotel that was our battalion’s barrack. I reported to the orderly officer and went to my bunk for some rest until evening. After the dinner, to the common room. The sound of accordion music was coming from there – the soldiers and officers, free of duty, were gathering.I was not dancing at that time but had already noticed the absence of my usual partner – Senior Sergeant Ms. Maria Mohacheva. I was sitting and skimming through a thick pile of several days worth of newspapers - Red Star, Pravda and Komsomolskaya Pravda. The Sovinformbureau communiqué continued to report fierce fighting in Budapest. The left back side of the city – Pest – was already liberated. But Buda [remark: the right bank side of the Hungarian capital] still resisted. The beautiful bridges over Danube were blown up. The capital of Yugoslavia, Belgrade, was liberated. Fighting was taking place in Poland and the Baltic countries. In short the situation was progressing successfully. The enemy was in retreat on all fronts.
I caught sight of two friends, two Senior Sergeants, Maria Mohacheva and Galina Revyakina entering the room. They were not alone, but accompanied by a young Senior Lieutenant named Chistyakov, who had arrived a couple of months earlier after a spell in hospital.
This photo taken on 26th February 1945 in Timisoara, Rumania.
Senior Sergeant Maria Mohacheva – a servicewomen of our battalion is enjoying her spare time.
On the reverse: “Think of me in the morning when you awake and quietly open your eyes
Think of me when the evening descends and silently the Moon rises.
Masha. 26/II-45. ”Rumour had it he had been spending more and more time with my acquaintances. Maria noticed me and gave me a sign inviting me for a dance. Chistyakov took Revyakina and we all swirled in a waltz.
In a pause the first thing I got to know from Chistyakov was that he was to relocate to Budapest as a leader of two platoons. This meant I was also to move closer to the front line. Before lights out we walked the girls to their billet. There was still about half an hour at our disposal and they invited us to see how they live. A “Swabian woman” opened the door (that is how the girls referred to their hostess) and upon seeing men in uniform she was somewhat confused not knowing how to react, but noticing the girls favourable attitude towards us she invited us in. Maria and Galia occupied a small room. Two beds, a table and chairs were all that was in the room. In the corner there was a large three-sectioned mirror and a big lampshade. Neat and cosy. We express our admiration of their place and hinted that here one could spend time well and even dance to the hostess’s gramophone music. At the end the girls told us that it was Galia’s birthday the next day and we were therefore invited.
On the way back Chistyakov and I agreed that we should buy a present and get a couple of bottles of “Tsvica” (local vodka) and cakes. We had everything arranged by the next evening: flowers, cakes, a headscarf (from me) and a brooch – beautiful, but “made of pure glass” (remark: the author make a humorous reference to expression “made of pure gold”).
Sergeant Maria Mohacheva.
On reverse: “To Yurii Klimov for the good memory from Maria Mohacheva. Timisoara. 9.II.1945”But there was no vodka to be found – none on sale – the prohibition by Soviet Command due to numerous cases of breaching military discipline, scuffles and even shooting incidents.
So we had to find a workaround: ask in the restaurant and bought overpriced liqueur. Two bottles of the liqueurs: “Shartreuse” and “Coffe”. We were already late and took the tramway line to the west part of Timisoara. We missed our dinner ration, but dinner was not something our minds were preoccupied with just then…Maria opened the door for us. They were both in civilian dress, both with fashionable haircuts, with make up and perfume. Both look wonderful. Revyakin and I greeted Galia on the occasion and, using the formal legal excuse, kiss them. We set up the table, the food and a bottle of cognac was served. The cutlery was from the hostess’s household. Everyone was invited to the table, the hostess, the “Swabian woman”, was also invited. The Lieutenant gave the toast and the party started…… We were eating, drinking, dancing to the gramophone music, then drinking and dancing again. The hostess retired to her room after the first cognac glass and did not interfere any more. We finished the cognac; finished the liqueur. Got pretty drunk. Going back to the barracks so late and specially in such condition is a sure guardhouse punishment. We all understand that, even the girls. And so we stayed with them overnight… What happened during the night is a secret!
Budapest
The train was speeding off. Senior Lieutenant Chistyakov, sitting on an empty artillery shell box, was giving instructions on how one could best kindle the firewood in the stove of the cargo car that we were travelling in. I had a hangover. Thoughts were rushing through my head after what my friend Silonov told me. Apparently, my absence from the platoon’s quarters was discovered during the evening roll call. Silonov replied to questions by the Sergeant Major that Klimov had left to go to the town regarding supply issues and had still has not returned. The Sergeant Major however did not report the absence of one soldier to his superiors and reported that everyone was present. He was counting on me to arrive after some delay. But I returned only in the morning, barely in time for the morning roll call, where our battalion commander announced the redeployment order. In short, my direct officers had their hands full without my breach of discipline.I was lying on a plank bed listening to the knocking sound of the wheels and felt somewhat weird about the last night. Suddenly I recalled Olga in Odessa and realised that I had not written to her in long time. Then I recalled that I had forgotten to reply to my mother’s letter. Whatever I was thinking, my thoughts kept returning to Maria. After that night she became so close to me and I almost felt I loved her. I read somewhere that love is a human’s natural need created by means of natural selection in nature. That love is a spur, the spur of life and a continuation of the assurance of existence for future generations. All human instincts (conscious and subconscious) – fear, cunning, guile, courage and many others – the product of natural selection of the species. And as one said: “Every woman’s personal life has all the elements of a chess game – strategy and tactics.”
[ to be continued ]
Thanks again Egorka! I’m keeping up!
Haven’t been on in a while so I’ve spent my morning catching up. This is great stuff Egorka! Always interesting reading first hand accounts of this time in our world’s history.
Egorka,
Have you thought of trying to find a publisher for your grandad’s memoirs?
I don’t know about Eastern Europe, but this could be the sort of personal history which grabs the attention of some of the book-buying public in English speaking countries.
Thank you every one. I hope you are enjoying the read.
And thank to SlimFan - the guy who corrects the English spelling and grammar for me.
Rising Sun, I have been thinking of it just yet. You see, my main problem right now is that I don’t have an electronic copy the text. Not even in Russian.
So right now I my priority is to turn it electronic. But publishing one way or an other in future could be an option.
Egorka : this is one phenomenally GOOD read, and I have very thoroughly enjoyed it thus far!
My Profound Thanks to you, and to SlimFan for his able assistance to you.
Seeing this memoire, coming as it does from a personal perspective, has been and is a great joy to an amateur historian such as myself.
Events and statistics can be recorded: it takes the “voices” of people to bring those things to life, which this memoire very vividly achieves.
My Profound Thanks, my Respects, and my admiration to you for this tremendous, and near unique effort.
Spasiba, bratets !
Warm and Respectful Regards, Uyraell.
- 29 -
The opened doors let the cold rush of air into our heated goods car. The small Hungarian train stations covered by evergreen ivy, many of which I already knew from my previous trips, blinked through the door. Here was the familiar station of Soltvardkert. I rushed to the platform and looked into the faces of passers-by. Who knows, maybe I will again be met by wonderful Bebi? But no, her face was not to be seen…
The train carried us away, closer to the front line. We had already passed Fülöpszállás and Kunszentmiklós. The fire was jumping in the small oven making the car warm and even cosy. The guys were quietly singing the song “Ой, ты Галю, Галю, Галю молодая…” [remark: an Ukrainian folk song about a girl and Cossacs. Also known as “The Kozaks Were Riding”] to the accompaniment of an accordion - sadly.
We detrained at Taksony station and marched away in column. A close and constant cannonade was heard from the direction of Budapest. Our “Yak-3”s and “Lavochkin”s were seen in the air now and then. Then ground attack “IL-2”s. Our air superiority was now apparent. We were quartered in the very same house which we had prepared a week earlier. In Taksony we spent not more than a week unloading military cargo and munitions and loading the cars with used shells and the empty munitions boxes.
One day, right after reveille the duty officer ordered: “Line up! “Form-20” control.” We knew very well what “Form-20” control was. That was lice control. The platoon lined up, taking off their uniform blouses and vests and turning them inside out. The sanitation instructor walked along the line and meticulously observed the stitches. If at least one of the unit had a louse or a nit – the whole unit would be sent to the sauna and the clothing would be treated against the bugs. In the field this meant the clothes would be hot temperature treated in a steel barrel. This time we got away without the sauna and clothing treatment.
After forming a four-row column we marched through Dunaharaszti and after crossing the Danube arm we entered the island, which was covered with patches of osier and other bushes. The road was polished by traffic: the trucks and carts were moving both ways, the air was cut by our fighter planes. After 2 hours of marching we approached the pontoon bridge on the other side of the island, where the Danube flows through its main, broad arm. Senior Lieutenant Sokolov ordered the formation to break step. We stretched in one long thin line and kept walking along the right side of the pontoon, which rocked under the moving trucks loaded with ammunition. The right bank was steeper and we could see a large settlement with brick houses and a church in the middle – the town of Érd. We had just finish crossing and gathered next to some ruins as our anti aircraft guns opened continuous fire. Several Messerschmitt-109s making a howling sound rushed by and attacked the pontoon with machine gun fire and small bombs. Our planes pushed them away and forced them into a dogfight. We assumed formation again and marched further, this time to the north. In front of us the capital of Hungary – Budapest. The city was not seen but could be sensed by the constant cannonade and the smoke clouds which completely covered the sky in that direction. Soon we reached a wide asphalt road full of busy trucks, carts and medic’s cars.
By evening we arrived at our new rally point – the railway station of Nagytétény with a small village of the same name adjacent to it. Next to the place where the asphalt road crossed the rails, a large wooden house was located with a drill ground fenced by barbed wire. It seemed it had previously been used by either the German or Hungarian military as a barracks. The civilian sector was just two steps away. Our HQ occupied one of those houses. Our noisy mob settled in the barracks. One part of it was open-plan and we made it into the dining room and common hall. The other half was split into small rooms. Depending on the size they were assigned to either a squad or a platoon. The next day – unloading of trucks with the shells and boxes into the drill ground, which served now for us as storage area. Some guys were sent to the railway station to unload the rail cars with the artillery ammunition. The work was conducted in two, and sometimes in three, shifts. Everyone was exhausted by the marching and constant hard labour.
[ to be continued ]
they sound like good reading