‘So, Mikola,’ said Helena, ‘what do you think, eh? About what Yaroslav said last night.’
‘Well, if Yaroslav can get me some work on his building site, of course it would make sense for us to maybe stay here for a couple of months while there’s some money to be made. I don’t want to be away from Olha too long, though. I don’t like to think of her back there all on her own. But you see, Helena, we had to leave. Wulf would have hunted us down. Maybe in a few weeks things will change. Maybe Wulf’ll be posted somewhere else. But while we’re here, I would like Stefan to get some schooling.’
‘I don’t see any problem there,’ replied Helena, ‘There are plenty of spaces in all the classes, in fact, more so in the older children’s classes.’
‘So, is that because the Nazis have cleared out all the Jews? This is what we’ve heard.’
‘Well, that’s right, Mikola. Lord knows how many they’ve slaughtered. Some have been shipped out of town, and many, many others have been shot. First of all, I prayed for all of us. I thought they would turn Stanislaviv into a ghost town. Then, it became clear that it was the Jews they wanted to be rid of. We’ve been lucky. Now, with so many gone, there is more work for the men. All we can do is work hard and keep praying to the Lord that we’ll be spared.’
Despite everything, even with Wulf’s murderous intentions towards us, I wished right then we’d stayed at home. I missed Mother, and, if what Aunt Helena said was true, Stanislaviv was no different. The people there lived day to day, always waiting for the next wave of brutal Nazi actions.
After finishing our drinks, Father and I slung on our coats and tied up our boots. We left the house and headed for the town. Father wanted to have a look around. We walked for about a mile without seeing a single soul. It was eerie. Monday mornings were usually busy, certainly back home in Vinnitsya, but, there was not a soul about. However, as we arrived in the town square we began to see more people going about their business. The market place was full of traders, and there were many shops open. We were careful to skirt the edges of the market place and we kept our eyes and ears open. On the way into town, Father had drilled into me the need to stay invisible. The last thing we wanted was to fall foul of the Nazis again.
Father still had the Marks left in his pocket so we had a quick browse around the stalls, and Father bought some meat. There wasn’t so much available and we queued for almost an hour just to get a small cut. We made our way back to Aunt Helena’s, and Father slapped the parcel of meat down on the kitchen table. Helena wasn’t around, but she walked in a few minutes later, carrying a bucket of potatoes,
‘Mikola, what’s this?’ She unwrapped the bundle. ‘Oh, this looks lovely. Very fresh. Thank you, I can cook us up a nice stew for supper.’
That evening, the five of us had a lovely hot supper of stew and potatoes. It was really tasty, and for a minute or two things didn’t seem so bad. Yaroslav told Father that he’d made enquiries and work was available if he wanted it. Father smiled broadly, wider than I’d seen for some time. He so wanted to work, to put bread on the table. It was also agreed that Helena would walk with Oleg and I to school in the morning to enrol me.
So, this is how we lived at that time. I soon settled in at the school and made some new friends, and then I’d come back and savour the warmth of Aunt Helena’s home. After helping out with some of the chores on their smallholding, we’d have a hot drink and maybe a biscuit, and then Oleg and I would play together, or sometimes I’d read a book. A short time later, Father and Yaroslav would come back from work. They’d throw off their coats and take their boots off, and sit next to the stove in the kitchen. They’d warm their hands on the roaring flames and take big swigs of hot tea. It was chillier than usual for autumn time, the cold winds were biting and the sunshine was masked by a blanket of thick cloud. We wrapped ourselves up well before going out, but I was pleased to see Father a little happier. He was working hard and making some money. He tried to save as much of this as he could, to take home to Mother. Of course, he paid Helena for our upkeep.
We reached the month of October in the year of 1943. Even though I enjoyed playing with Oleg and with other children in the neighbourhood, I felt like I was in the wrong place. I belonged back home, in Vinnitsya, with Mother. One evening, I remember retiring with Father to our bedroom, perching myself on the edge of my bed, and saying to him, ‘Will we be able to go back home soon?’
Father sat down at my side, ‘Stefan, I’ve written to Mother. I’ve asked her to let us know as soon as it’s safe for us to go back. I’m expecting a reply from her any time now. It should be here any day.’
His words warmed me. I longed for that moment when I knew we could return, ‘Will we be able to go back before Christmas?’
‘I hope so, Stefan, I really hope so.’
To be home for Christmas was something that I wanted very badly. Mother always made sure there was enough for us all to celebrate, even though we’d had times of real hardship. There’d be candles on the table and we’d all say our prayers before partaking of our Christmas supper.
Another month went by, and we became more settled than ever where we were with Aunt Helena, Yaroslav and Cousin Oleg. The evenings were dark and we usually all sat together in the kitchen. After dinner, Yaroslav and Father often sat and played chess together, or had a game of cards. Aunt Helena would be busy at clearing and tidying, and Oleg and I brought toys through from his bedroom so we could share the warmth while we played.
The radio was nearly always humming away in the background, with the voices of men talking about what was happening in the world. The war continued. We heard propaganda broadcasts by the Nazis where they claimed they were about to conquer Russia, and then, now and again, a crackly, very faint, Russian voice would proclaim a Soviet fight back. We didn’t know what to believe, but we kept on listening, whenever we could.
Eventually, a letter arrived from Mother. I was overjoyed and I bounced up and down on my feet as I watched Father tear it open. I couldn’t keep still. I was hopeful, so hopeful. Father scanned the letter, then he beamed at me, ‘Stefan, it’s good news. Mother says that Wulf has gone. He’s been sent to the front. She thinks he may have got a promotion, because they had some sort of ceremony at the village hall. But that’s not our concern. Now we know we can go back. We’ll get a train first thing tomorrow.’
I threw myself around Father and he held me tight and ruffled my hair, ‘Here, take a look for yourself.’ He passed me the letter and I read it through three or four times. A great surge of utter joy overwhelmed me, and I felt light as a feather right then, as if I could just float right up into the stars. At last, we were going home! I was also relieved that Mother was well.
So that evening, Aunt Helena prepared us a hearty farewell meal, with slices of meat and cheese with lovely fresh bread. With lovely big tomatoes and jars of pickles. She baked a beautiful apple cake, and we sat and filled ourselves up with this delicious fare. We were in the middle of a war, but somehow, she put this feast together for us, from her own stores and from what Yaroslav could get hold of. Father and Yaroslav had a drop of horilka, Oleg and I had some apple juice. Helena sat with her hands round a cup of tea. We clinked our glasses together. After we’d eaten, the grown-ups sang a few folk songs, while Oleg and I watched and tried to join in whenever we could. I went to bed at about 11, and Father followed not long afterwards. I lay awake in bed for some time, just thinking about Mother. I would see her again the very next day and I could barely contain myself at the prospect. Eventually, I slid into sleep.
I woke up very early. It was still dark, so I lay there for a while imagining what it would be like to run up our approach and back into our family home. As soon as the first, very faint, flickers of light appeared at the window I leapt up from my bed and got dressed in that faint glow. Then I went to the kitchen where Aunt Helena was kneading dough on a workbench. I looked at the clock. It was six. Aunt Helena prepared me a mug of steamy hot milk and gave me bread and b
utter. I chewed into it and it was inside me in the space of a few seconds,
‘Slow down, Stefan,’ Aunt Helena smilingly scolded me. ‘You’ll get a belly ache if you’re not careful. I know you want to get home and see your mother, but don’t worry, you’ll get there. Take each minute as it comes. That way you’ll get things done. If you rush, you’ll only end up making more work for yourself.’
She was right, I was in danger of wrecking our chances of getting back home. I could see myself doing something silly like barging into a Nazi soldier at the train station and getting us both arrested. I took a few deep breaths and sipped my milk slowly. It wasn’t long before Father appeared. He had some breakfast and then we went back to our room to pack our cases. I folded all my clothes neatly, heeding what Aunt Helena said to me, I was trying not to rush. I needed to be calm. By seven we were ready to walk down to the train station. We said our goodbyes and thanked Aunt Helena, Yaroslav and Oleg for all they’d done. We walked down their approach waving as we walked out of sight. It was sad in a way, because they’d welcomed us into their home so willingly, and Oleg was a good kid, I enjoyed spending time with him.
The gloom of the morning lifted as we walked along. It was as if we were stepping into a brighter future. It was like walking on air but the walk seemed to go on forever and I had to steel myself inside, to try and not get so excited. We’d get there, I was sure of that. I just needed to accept that each minute would pass and we’d be getting closer as time ticked by.
We arrived at the cobbled concourse and approached the doors to the train station, but, something was different. On either side of the huge double doors were Nazi patrol cars, and a small company of armed guards. We slowed down. Father put an arm around my shoulders and we headed right towards the doors, trying to make ourselves look small and insignificant,
‘Halt!’ One of the armed guards stepped across our path, holding his rifle. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Please, Sir, we’re going home, to Vinnitsya. We’ve been visiting my sister, who’s been sick. Now we just want to get on a train and go home.’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Under current orders from High Command, the trains are strictly for military use only.’
‘Please, I beg of you, Sir, we need to get home. My wife is waiting for us.’
‘Enough! We have our orders. I must ask you to go now. Away from this area. Go!’
We hesitated, and the soldier lowered his rifle. We stood staring down the barrel for a second or two, and then we turned and walked away. We kept walking until we reached a shop doorway some distance away, ‘Stefan, I wasn’t expecting this. I don’t know what’s going on. This place is crawling with soldiers. I can’t see any way through.’ Frantically, we looked up and down the concourse to see if there was a wall to climb over, or a hole in a fence somewhere. There was nothing.
‘Come on, Stefan!’ Father set off at a brisk pace and headed towards a far corner of the station wall, and I followed him. We followed the boundary all the way round, slipping under a bridge, until we got to the other side of the station where there was a hill. We climbed to the top and stood there looking down onto the station. We could see both platforms. There were armed guards stationed at several positions on both platforms. We stood there, breathing hard, not wanting to believe what was in front of us. We both knew that, even if we managed to penetrate the boundary and get into the station, we’d be arrested immediately, or worse still shot. My heart was sinking into my boots as we made our way down the hill, and silently made our way back to Aunt Helena’s. Well, what could we say to each other? I was completely stuck for words. Father said nothing. His face was like a mask as we trudged those two miles in the wrong direction. My footsteps were heavy, like I’d got lumps of lead on the end of my legs, and the small case I was carrying felt as if it was full of bricks, it dragged me down. My head was swimming, why did it have to happen like this? I said a silent prayer in my head. I just wanted to get back home.
We arrived back at Aunt Helena’s to find that Yaroslav and Oleg had already left for work and for school. Helena listened as Father poured out our sorry tale and she made us hot mugs of tea. Father turned on the radio and we listened. As usual, the broadcasts were fuzzy, faint and crackly. I was filled with a sense of disbelief. For me, it was as if our trip down to the station had been a dream, and that I would wake up to find myself sat in a train compartment racing towards the east. I so wanted to hear the dull, metallic thud of the wheels and connecting straps as the train pulled into the station. I yearned to taste the sooty black smoke as it wafted around my ears on the platform. But most of all, I just wanted to be there, walking up that winding road that led to our house.
The radio spluttered and wheezed as usual. It was agony of a kind to sit and wait for it to tell us something, and then, after about an hour or so, we heard a deep voice boom out at us. It was clear, like it was right there in the room with us,
‘The glorious army of the Soviet Socialist Republic is advancing west. Many battles have been fought in this Great Patriotic War. The Nazi warmongers have invaded our republic and tried to steal it from us. But now we are fighting back, and we will crush the Nazi war machine! We are reclaiming our republic and, as each day passes, we take back more and more of what is rightfully ours. Join us in our battle. The Soviet Army needs you . . .’
The voice faded, and with it our hopes of getting home began to fade also. My belly churned and twisted, it was as if I’d been kicked in the guts. I could hardly breathe, or was I just holding my breath as if I thought I could maybe stop time somehow? It was all just like a bad dream.
Father bent his head down and held it in his hands. Our whole world was falling apart. None of us said it, but the three of us knew it. The front was moving west and the Soviets were pushing the Nazis back. That was why the Nazi soldiers were guarding the station so closely and so strongly.
Of course, Yaroslav and Oleg were surprised to see us when they came home, and Yaroslav brought us more bad news, ‘It's just the same on the roads. Our boss tried to get to a brickyard in the next village today but was stopped by a Nazi roadblock. They're not letting anyone in or out. Every single road to the east is blocked.’
As a family, they showed Father and me so much kindness and made us welcome in their home once again. Never for a second did I feel I wasn’t welcome there with them. Luckily, Father managed to continue working with Yaroslav, and I resumed my place at the school. In many ways we were settled. We had somewhere to live, some work for Father and an education for me.
But it wasn’t enough. It was like we were sleepwalking. For me, it was as if I were living in a dream. None of it seemed real, or perhaps I didn’t want it to be real. I couldn’t think about Mother. It ripped me apart to do so. I existed in a strange twilight world, as if I wasn’t fully awake. I'd walk home from school with Oleg each day with the icy wind snapping around my ears and creeping through the holes in my boots, but I couldn't really feel it.
Winter was bearing down on us in that year of 1943. My old boots were beyond further repair, and most of my clothes were threadbare, but the purchase of some new clothes wasn’t as simple as we’d have liked. Yaroslav gave us the name of a friend of his, who we met at the market. He then took us to a nearby house, where the clothing was available to buy, at inflated prices. Father haggled, but we still paid more than the clothes were worth, but it was either that or go barefoot. I got a brand new pair of boots and a big, warm coat for the winter, and also a hat and some gloves.
We bought a few groceries before heading home. As we walked back that afternoon, we came across a group of about ten small children, they must have been about seven or eight years old. As we approached, we witnessed them playing a curious game. Half of them lined up along the edge of a ditch, while the rest stood in a line a few metres away, raised sticks up to their shoulders and shouted, ‘Bang!’ The boys along the edge of the ditch then fell into it. One of the boys saw us approaching, dropped his
stick, and ran up to us. The others quickly followed him, they’d obviously seen our shopping bags.
‘Hello, Mister!’ The one at the front smiled up at Father, ‘have you got anything for us, Mister? Any food? We’re hungry.’
Father reached into one of the bags and pulled out a carton of biscuits. He handed it to the boy who uttered the swiftest of thanks before tearing it open. He, and the other boys, crammed the biscuits into their mouths and munched away, until they’d eaten the lot. It didn’t take long.
‘Tell me, boys,’ said Father, ‘What was that game you were playing?’
The leader of the boys looked up at Father with his eyes of deepest blue, and with the face of an angel. ‘Shooting Jews.’
Then, the boys ran off, they picked up their sticks and carried on with their game. We picked up our bags and resumed our walk home. Just then, a woman came hurtling out from one of the nearby houses towards the group of boys, ‘Hey, Andriy! What do you think you’re doing? I’ve told you before haven’t I? I don’t want you playing that game! It’s not right. Get inside!’ She grabbed the boy and hauled him off by his collar, giving him one or two slaps around the head as they went. The boy let out a few howls, and then they were gone, with their door slammed shut behind them. The other boys carried on playing, and we walked on.
‘You see what this war is doing to us, eh?’ said Father, ‘We’re not a bad people, Stefan, but these Nazis are monsters and they spread their poison to all who come near them. Lord, help us get through this.’ He looked up to the heavens as he spoke.
Father was right. We could have done with some divine intervention. Every night I prayed. For an end to the madness, and for everything to be back as it was. We’d stayed because we had to, and Father had earned some money but that didn’t matter anymore. The money wouldn’t last forever, even though Father tried to save as much as he could. Of course, he’d also just bought me new boots and a coat, for which I was grateful. I loved that coat. It had a large collar I could pull up to my ears and big, deep pockets to plunge my hands into when the frost began to bite at them. It was quite a severe winter that year and we spent most evenings huddled around the stove in the kitchen. Christmas came, and, although Aunt Helena put a good spread on, I couldn’t really enjoy it. We didn’t get any more letters from Mother through the whole of that winter, and I held onto a hope deep inside me that she was all right. The radio blared and spluttered, the signal struggled through the freezing winter air and sometimes we went for days with no reception at all. When we did, the news was not good. The Nazis were being pushed back by the Soviets. The Nazis would have struggled to cope with our winters, which were beyond belief sometimes. The snow would be so thick, sometimes as much as six feet of it, and then it froze creating an ice rink effect. Most of our terrain was flat with few landmarks, making it difficult to navigate across, and when the ice thawed it combined with the soil beneath to produce a thick sludge. On many occasions we saw Nazi trucks, and even tanks, abandoned at the side of the road where they’d got stuck, but, of course the Soviets were accustomed to these conditions. It seemed as if the advantage had swung their way again. We sat and kept warm, and waited to see what would happen.