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What does it mean to survive the war? How does such an extreme experience change a person? We asked Irina Kartasheva, Dmitry Rundkvist and Zinaida Mirkina to tell about this.
By the standards of today’s 20s and 30s, World War II was a long time ago. But for our interlocutors, whose youth fell on those years, the war became the measure of everything that happened after. They immediately agreed to meet with us. Everyone has their own story and their own account for that war. Zinaida Mirkina and Irina Kartasheva spoke temperamentally, emotionally, and in detail. Dmitry Rundqvist was restrained and, nervously, tried to choose his words accurately. And each of our heroes constantly clarified: “I’m not inventing anything, it happened”, “Now it’s hard to imagine”, “Those who have not experienced it, it’s impossible to understand me.”
From many details of their stories, from the ordinary details of what they experienced, it was felt: our interlocutors know something about life that we cannot know. Fear of death, humiliation, loss. Hunger, fatigue and a devastating feeling of helplessness… But also faith in a common cause, a sense of connection with many people, a common destiny. All the things that make life meaningful. Experience, alas, unfamiliar to many of our contemporaries.
Read more:
- “I was in Auschwitz”
But what is surprising: in their stories there was no despair – on the contrary, there was love for life. And it was also clear without words: they coped, withstood, withstood. We saved ourselves to live a long and bright life. So this is also a story about how strong we are, what huge personal resources each of us has, often without suspecting it. Perhaps this is one of the main lessons of the war, which our heroes recalled.
“Live without complaint, live with optimism”
Irina Kartasheva, 88 years old, actress
Born in Leningrad. People’s Artist of Russia. Since 1947 he has been playing at the Mossovet Theatre. She has voiced over 300 films.
“The morning of June 22 was bright, sunny and very happy. I’m 19 and I’m in love! At about eleven o’clock, Misha Pogorzhelsky, a classmate at the theater school and my future husband, came to me. And at noon we heard Molotov’s speech on the radio: war … I will always remember how we walk with friends along the embankment and the sun plays on the dome of St. Isaac’s Cathedral, and a huge black cloud grows behind it. At that moment, I felt the horror that was approaching all of us.
My mother and I were evacuated in Saransk. Mom was a very strong person, but I lacked courage. I went to work as a postman in a hospital, became a donor. But it was as if she had not lived – everything that I dreamed about and loved ended with the war. Misha went to the front. Life seemed to be over. And then one day I run to the post office, for letters. I’m wearing a filthy quilted jacket, army boots. And then there are the pilots. And they start joking with me, saying compliments, smiling. I suddenly felt so acutely: life is going on! My soul started, I began to thaw, I felt young, attractive, talented. I came to work at the Music and Drama Theatre, went to the front as part of a front-line brigade of artists. During the war, the main feeling was constant fear. And yet it was not the same horror as in 37, when I was deprived of my father (he was shot) and my mother (she was sent into exile) on the same day, expelled from home. (I only recently stopped being afraid of night calls.) During the war, we had a common enemy, a common pain, a common struggle. By and large, it was the war that taught me to be persistent, to endure any difficulties without complaint, to live with optimism.
“Together we became more merciful”
Dmitry Rundqvist, 80 years old, geologist
Born in Leningrad. Academician of the Russian Academy of Sciences, laureate of the State Prizes of the USSR and the Russian Federation. He was awarded the Orders of the Badge of Honor and Orders of Merit for the Fatherland, XNUMXth class.
“In early June 1941, we moved to live in a dacha near Leningrad. I was 10 years old, the summer promised to be calm and joyful. On the night of June 22, we woke up from a terrible roar. It was impossible to believe that we were being bombed! We did not understand what was happening, because there was a non-aggression pact between Germany and the USSR … I remember air raid alerts, a bomb shelter, a long journey in a freight car to evacuate to Sverdlovsk and seeing off, seeing off, seeing off recruits at all stations. In Sverdlovsk, we ourselves saw off my older brother: at the age of 17 he went to the front as a volunteer. When I saw Plato in the line of recruits, he seemed very small to me, and my heart sank … I knew that he might not return, but I felt that he was doing the right thing, that there was no other way, we had to defend the country. I respected my brother so much! Plato died in the first battle. This loss is irreplaceable, it accompanies me all my life. But then grief was perceived as part of a common misfortune. Supported a sense of unity with classmates, neighbors, with his father’s colleagues. We lived in common experiences, mutual support. The children grew up quickly. If I showed myself in life, it is largely due to the character that was formed then. I learned very early to be responsible for my words and deeds, I understood what duty is. But the common grief made us more merciful, we shared the last, helped complete strangers. And we loved our country very much. Now, when I see footage of the military chronicle or hear the songs of those years, I feel great pride in my people. If we had not survived then, fascism would have destroyed the brightest and most humane thing in the world.”
What do we remember about the war? Share what (not) remembered in your family in the section “My story.
“Be prepared for other challenges”
Zinaida Mirkina, 85 years old, poet, writer
Was born in Moscow. During the war, she entered the philological faculty of Moscow State University. He is the author of more than 30 books, the latest being Blessed Poverty (Summer Garden, 2010).
“I was fifteen, and the first reaction to the outbreak of war was romantic, like most of my friends: now we will show Hitler! A few weeks later, my mother and little sister and I left for evacuation to Novosibirsk. I got up at 4-5 in the morning and went for bread. They stood in lines for hours, I laid out the textbook on the back of the one who was in front, and so I did my homework. My mother and I gave everything we could to our sister and a seriously ill aunt who came to us, while we ourselves drank boiling water to drown out our hunger. In the summer, schoolchildren were sent to the labor front. We worked at the state farm for 12 hours, often in 40-degree heat. The norm is 10 acres per person. It seemed impossible! But we did it. I kept only on willpower, it never occurred to complain, because it was more difficult for those who were at the front. Even before the war, I had my first doubts about the Soviet system, I knew about the repressions, I heard that life is better in the West. But the war swept away all this. I thought: probably, Stalin allowed excesses, because it was necessary to confront the enemies. Here we win – and a free life will come. How wrong was I…
I met the victory in Moscow, already studying at the university. For those who have not experienced it, it is difficult to understand what an incredible happiness it was. It was as if we, like Atlanteans, were holding an unthinkable burden on ourselves – and suddenly this burden was gone, and we were able to straighten up. It seemed that all the terrible things were over. I could not even imagine that the hardships of the war years would cause a serious illness, that for five years I would be bedridden. The hardships of war turned out to be preparation for much greater trials for me.
What do we remember about the war? Share what (not) remembered in your family in the “My Story” section