Sliding on the Snow Stone (5 page)

One day, someone from our group of boys suggested going into one of these deserted houses. I can’t recall who it was. I reckon it may have been Sasha before he ran off to join the Resistance, but I’m not sure.

There was Volodimir, Miron, Sasha and me. We cautiously walked up the cobbled approach. The wind was howling around our ears and I swallowed. It was a bright, sunny day, but goose bumps formed on my arms and shoulders as we approached that house. We walked up a set of steps to a side entrance door. There were cobwebs everywhere, and we dragged them out of our hair with our fingers. Miron tried the handle. The door creaked open. We walked in, feeling our way and bumping into each other, it was pitch black in there. The air smelt sickly sweet like treacle. We stumbled in and disturbed the thick layer of dust that lay inside. Coughing and spluttering, we walked around banging into furniture and tripping over until Volodimir said, ‘Let’s get out of here!’

We scrambled to get out. It was a relief to get out into the daylight. We walked back down the approach. It felt as if we’d just been walking around in a tomb. As if we’d just been inside the death of our nation.

Would we just watch as we were systematically destroyed one by one? Or would we fight back? I was glad that Sasha had run away to join the Resistance. He was a born warrior, a true Kozak. With more like him maybe we stood a chance.

This was how we lived, always looking over our shoulders and taking care what we said. The Soviets were everywhere, waiting and listening. It was as if we were hiding, or sleeping. One day we’d wake up and the nightmare would be over. That’s what we hoped. We just wanted to be free.

The Soviets kept us in our place, we were in their grip, and of course they fed lies, to us and the outside world. They were forever proclaiming how glorious and wonderful their Soviet Republic was. It was as if the outside world couldn’t see or hear, and we had no way of telling them anything. We were cut off. So when one day Father came home with an old radio he’d bought from one of his workmates, we were fascinated. He loaded in some batteries and flicked a switch. It crackled into life. He played with the controls and there was a good deal of high-pitched whining, and then there was a voice. It spoke in German. Now, Father was a keen scholar of languages, and we all learned German in school, so we all had some understanding. Volodimir and I were quick to recognise the odd word or phrase and call them out but Father raised a finger to his lips and told us both to shush. He had a much greater command of the language. He listened closely for a good few minutes, then he spoke to us, ‘It’s a news broadcast from Berlin. The German army has invaded Czechoslovakia. They’re moving east. God help us, let them come and free us from the Bolsheviks.’

The signal then faded, and Father carried on tuning until he got another strong signal. This time the voice spoke in Russian, ‘
All citizens of the Soviet Union have a duty to fight for our glorious Motherland, Russia. The German menace is getting closer. They are barbarians. They will come and slaughter us. They will murder our children. They will rape our women, and they will steal or destroy everything we have. We must drive them away. We must stand together shoulder to shoulder like good Bolsheviks. We will never give in to the vicious Hun. Remember, it is your duty
.’

Those words sent a chill through us. We knew that the Soviets would gladly send us all to our deaths to save themselves, and if we refused then we’d most likely be shot.

We wondered what would happen should the Germans invade. Surely it couldn’t be any worse than life under the Soviets? The three of us, Father, Volodimir and I all leant over the radio listening closely, but then we heard a noise behind us which made all three of us turn around. Mother was sitting on a chair with her face in her hands, sobbing. She looked up at us, tears streaming down her cheeks, ‘No! Please no. No more war. I can’t stand it. We can’t take any more death. Surely we’ve had enough? Please God, don’t let it happen.’ She clasped her hands together and looked up towards the ceiling.

The three of us stood there feeling some shame. She was right. She had every reason to cry. Her first husband had died during the First World War. He’d joined the Imperial Russian Army and died in combat, probably killed by a fellow Ukrainian fighting for the Austro-Hungarians. We never knew, but it was senseless. As always, we Ukrainians got caught up in the crossfire of a bloody conflict between our neighbours. Volodimir and I put our arms around her, and Father fiddled with the radio once again until he found some music. It was a cheery, folksy sort of tune, with a young girl singing in a shrill voice, accompanied by mandolins and accordions. It didn’t quite fit the moment, none of us were in the mood to sing along or dance, but we listened all the same. It certainly filled an awkward moment.

That radio became a part of our everyday lives. Father had to limit our listening to an hour every evening, because we were getting through too many batteries. So we listened to stories and songs as often as we could. It freed us from our daily slog even if only for a short time. It helped us to forget how hungry we were, and how we were crushed beneath the Soviet boot of Bolshevism. It put a smile on our faces. Later, when we’d gone to bed I often heard the radio’s high-pitched whine, and I knew Father was tuning in to news broadcasts.

All through the village a sense of anticipation started to grow. More and more people were getting hold of these radio sets. The Soviets seemed unaware of what was happening. For sure, if they knew what we were all listening to, then the radio sets would have been taken away from us and destroyed.

The air was alive with expectation, but not only that, there was a real sense of foreboding. None of us knew what was coming. Whatever it was, and whatever might happen, there was a shred of hope.

The summer of 1939 was one which I would never forget. We boys spent our time swimming at the lake and trying to catch fish. We ran races and played football in the beautiful sunshine. I was 11 years old and I was due to return to school within the coming week.

Volodimir and I returned home one evening right at the end of the summer to find Mother and Father in a state of some excitement. Mother was pacing up and down wringing her hands and occasionally stopping to say to herself, ‘Oh dear God help us! Please help us!’

Father, on the other hand, was standing upright, head high like a Kozak. He looked at us, his cheeks flushed. ‘It’s started boys. It really is happening. The Germans have invaded Poland. They’re on our doorstep.’ The radio was blaring away in the background. Volodimir and I looked at each other. We didn’t know what to say. None of knew what was around the corner, but we hoped and prayed it might lead to better times.

Chapter 3

Ukrainian proverb: The devil always takes back his gifts

If I could go back in time and change one thing, I know what that would be. For Mother to live her life in peace. She’d been through so much. Never once did I hear her complain, through the toughest of times, and with the mountain of hard work she faced every day in bringing up a family on a smallholding. She cooked, cleaned and worked our land. The cow got milked and fed before sunrise, and after that she never stopped all day. She seemed to survive on very little sleep. If I was up early at five or six, I’d find her in the kitchen baking or cooking with what little was available to her. She did the very best she could for us from virtually nothing. We were a close family and I think she feared for us. It was 1939 and the Nazis had just invaded Poland. I was 12 and Volodimir was 14. Although we were still boys it was common for those of our age to be conscripted into the Red Army and sent out into battle. The Nazis were becoming more of a threat and they were getting too close for comfort, certainly we thought the Soviets would be alarmed at the prospect of Nazi jackboots crossing their borders. All we could do was wait and see what the Soviets would do next.

I was very young when I first became aware of how Mother liked to sing. That was how I knew she was nearby. A melody would drift through the air, just ever so gently, it always made me lift my head up. Then she’d appear, usually carrying a load of washing or a basket of vegetables, but with a look of rapture on her face, as if she was lost in some world inside herself. Where everything was how it should be, with angels looking over us and with plenty of everything.

Many times Mother and Father sat down together after our evening meal and sang. Between them, they knew many traditional Ukrainian folk songs with real strong melodies. Some of them were humorous, others were sad. Volodimir and I loved the funny ones. Now and again the radio would play some of these old tunes, and we all sang along. It lifted our spirits and it made sure we never forgot who we were and where we’d come from. This was our land. We just wanted to be left alone to live our lives in peace, but our neighbours wouldn’t let us. Both the Poles and the Soviets had invaded us throughout our history. We were stuck in between them and we’d been ravaged from both sides many times down the ages. Was it all about to come down on us once again?

Father spent more and more time listening to the radio. Sometimes he’d sit next to it for hours tuning into different stations trying to find out what was going on. All we knew was that the Nazis had advanced into Poland and were driving towards us. All we could do was sit and listen. The radio gave us some information, but there was no way of knowing what was true and what was a lie. That was what the Soviet regime did to us, they turned us inside out with their propaganda.

So, we got our information from other sources. Whispers drifted across to us from all corners of the land, not from announcements on the radio. It filtered through by word of mouth. From village to village and town to town. It got muttered in so many Ukrainian ears. They were on the march. None of us said very much to each other about the rumours. We knew what the Soviets were capable of. Would they come for us in the middle of the night? At gunpoint. To force us to join them and march to the front. Once we got there they’d most likely send us out with one rifle between five to try and do battle with the Nazis.

We didn’t want to wear the Red Army uniform and be part of what that stood for. What we really wanted was a free Ukraine, but that seemed more out of reach than ever, so we held our breath and waited. It was like we were frozen. As if we’d seized up. Every day we went about our business as normal. To school or work, and the endless struggle to get fed and keep warm kept us occupied. It was as if we were waiting for something to happen. All the time, our eyes were on the horizon.

Then one night, it must have been close to midnight, a big commotion came our way. The handle on our bedroom door rattled, and the glass in the window trembled. There was a low rumble in the distance. Volodimir and I woke up wondering what was happening.

‘
Volodimir! What’s going on?’

‘
I don’t know! What in Heaven’s name can it be?’

The rumbling increased. It seemed to be underneath us, on top of us and all around us, all at once. Was the ground about to swallow us up? At that point Father burst into our room, ‘Boys, stay quiet and keep your heads down!’

We both buried our heads in our pillows and pulled our blankets right up. The vibrations got stronger and gradually the noise grew even more, it pounded in my ears as if our village were being bombarded by large rocks and boulders from a landslide. I sat up, and in the moonlight creeping through our curtains, saw that Volodimir had done the same. The noise got louder and louder. The three of us edged across to the window and looked through the curtains. There was a flickering line of white light hovering in the sky. It was growing and getting closer. The roar of engines filled the air. I don’t know about Father or Volodimir but I remember very well my heart beating so hard in my chest I thought I might explode. Then we saw them. Soviet trucks, one after the other, driving right past our house. They were all different sizes. Some were covered, others carried machinery or armoured vehicles. The procession seemed to go on forever. This was it. The Red Army was right in amongst us. They were heading west, towards the border we shared with Poland. I really hoped they wouldn’t hang around. Occasionally they seemed to slow down as if they might stop and my heart pounded again, but thankfully, they picked up in speed once again and after about 20 minutes the procession tailed off. The noise and the glow faded into the distance. We breathed again. This time we’d been spared, but for how long? There was no way of knowing whether the trucks would stop somewhere nearby and then visit all the local villages to conscript men and boys, or whether they would head straight to the border. The silence and the darkness were back with us.

‘
They’ve gone. I hope they don’t come back this way again. Don’t worry boys. Just get back to bed and I’ll see you in the morning.’ Father closed our bedroom door. But could we sleep? Not a chance.

‘
What do you think’ll happen Volodimir?’

‘
I don’t know. But we need to find out. I know. Let’s get up early. Then we can have a walk down the road. See if they’re still nearby or whether they’ve travelled further.’

‘
Okay.’

That was our plan. I was nervous. I’ll admit that, but we were accustomed to seeing Soviet soldiers around anyway and we’d learned how to keep out of their way. We knew the lanes and the meadows around our village and beyond, so we’d just make sure we weren’t seen. That was one of Volodimir’s great talents. He loved the countryside, and he seemed to also have an instinct when it came to travelling across the land. He’d navigate us through without being seen. I had no doubts about that.

Sleep was slow to come that night, which was not surprising with the Red Army so near. I hoped they’d keep going, right on into oblivion for all I cared. We lay in bed, talked a little, and then just waited, hardly daring to breathe. A minute would pass. Then another. And another. I felt like screaming. In my head I could still see the line of trucks going by, I was sure I could still hear them. I broke into a sweat. I half expected to hear a banging on the door and loud Russian voices demanding to come in. I tried to sleep. We needed to find out what was happening, but to do so we needed daylight and it was slow coming.

Eventually, slivers of sunlight appeared through the gaps in the curtains. I sank down into the bed and breathed a little easier, but I could hardly keep my eyes open. I closed them and started to doze.

‘
Stefan. Come on, wake up.’

I eased my eyelids back up. Volodimir was standing over me. ‘Come on Stefan. We said we’d make an early start.’ I rubbed my eyes and pulled the covers off. I staggered up out of bed and quickly pulled on my trousers, shirt and socks. Volodimir was already dressed. I followed him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. I looked at the clock. It was five thirty.

Mother was standing at the sink washing some vegetables. She turned around,

‘
Boys! You’re up early. Is there an occasion of some sort? You two usually stay in bed later on a Saturday.’ Volodimir and I looked at each other. Straight away we knew that Mother didn’t know what had happened. Somehow, she hadn’t heard the commotion from the Red Army trucks. Well, she survived on so little sleep, I guess she must have been in some deep, deep slumber not to have heard that almighty row.

‘
One of the boys at school says there are a lot of blackberry bushes in the woods between here and the next village. They’re in a secluded spot, so not many know about them, but I reckon I can find them. We thought we’d try and get there early before they get picked by all the other children,’ said Volodimir.

‘
Blackberries eh? Don’t forget to bring some back. I can bake us a nice pie. Well, you’d both better sit down and have some breakfast before you go.’

Volodimir and I shuffled our feet. We didn’t want to hang around too long in case Father got up. Just lately he’d got into the habit of staying up late on a Friday night and listening to the radio into the early hours. It usually meant he got up a little later on a Saturday. He could have appeared any time and would have been suspicious. Certainly, he would not have allowed us to go out that morning under the circumstances. Not with the Red Army in the area. Volodimir persuaded Mother to pack us up some bread and butter and some bottles of milk instead of having breakfast at the table. After all we didn’t want to miss out on those lovely, juicy blackberries did we? We pulled on our boots and threw on our jackets while Mother packed up our bag of provisions.

‘
Be careful boys. Get back for some dinner won’t you?’

‘
Of course, Mama.’

She gave us both a peck on the cheek, handed us our bag of supplies, and we hurried out of the door. We ran down the road away from the house until we were almost out of sight. The early morning gloom swallowed us up, we could just about see where we were going. There was a chill in the air.

‘
You shouldn’t lie to Mother.’ I scolded Volodimir.

‘
I wasn’t. There are blackberries out in the woods. We’ll find some, trust me.’

I wasn’t convinced, but soon forgot about it as we crunched through the autumn leaves to the edge of the village. Although the darkness still hung heavy over us, a golden shimmer lingered on the horizon. The sun was coming up. We weren’t all that far out of the village when we saw some deep tyre tracks in the mud. We looked at them closely in the half-light. They were from big trucks. It showed the Soviets meant business. We looked at each other. Neither of us said anything but perhaps our thoughts were the same. The Soviets had put together an army big enough to fight a full scale battle, but would they come looking for more soldiers once they’d lost some?

We clambered up a bank and walked across some fields using whatever cover we could to shield ourselves from the road. In some places the grass was long, in others there were shrubs and bushes for us to weave in and out of. We ducked in and out of the trees and tried to make ourselves invisible as best we could. On and on we walked. There were a few signs of life stirring around us. The birds sang to us, and the autumn sun finally came up and threw piercing orange rays through the trees. Otherwise, there was little sign of life. There was no sign of any Soviet trucks either.

A mile or two further on, we still hadn’t seen anything and we were about ready for some food. My stomach was making noises.

‘
Can we stop and have the bread and milk now?’ I asked Volodimir.

‘
Yes, let’s just get across to those trees over there and we can sit down.’

Fifty or so metres further on we reached those trees and walked through them with the sunlight flickering through from further beyond. It was slightly damp around us but we managed to find a small clearing with some good sized rocks to sit on. It was a sunny spot and quite dry. We threw ourselves down onto them and Volodimir started to unpack our breakfast. Just then I spotted something nearby. It was a movement in the trees next to us. I froze. Was it a small animal? Maybe a rabbit? Or a fox?

‘
Volodimir,’ I hissed, ‘what was that?’ He turned his head to listen closer.

There was a rustling sound and it was getting stronger. We stood up and watched as two figures emerged from the trees right in front of us.

‘
Don’t move! Stay right where you are and put your hands up!’ Volodimir dropped the bag and we slowly raised our hands above our heads.

It couldn’t have been any worse for us. The pair inching closer to us were Soviet soldiers, one of them holding up a rifle and pointing it at each of us in turn. We kept very still. They walked towards us not saying anything and I couldn’t believe what was in front of me. They were just boys! They weren’t much older than us. Their uniforms were too big for them and their helmets looked like giant mushrooms. Their belts hung limp around their waists. They looked more like clowns than soldiers. I stopped myself from smiling.

‘
What’s in the bag?’ yelped the smaller one, the one without the rifle. He spoke in Russian which we understood.