My grandpa, Vasiliy Panteleevich Nezhinskiy, was born in 1901. When hе turned 16, he was drafted into the army (tsarist at that time) as a private. He remembered it kindly. When the Grand Duke arrived to inspect their unit, he would always look into how the soldiers were fed. A ladle would be put in the center of the cooking pot with soldiers" porridge and God forbid that the ladle should touch the brim.
My grandpa did not get to the front line. The fratricidal war broke out. Today we can better understand what was going on in the army then. Grandpa did not betray anyone, did not defect to another side, he simply served. Of that time he talked little, but with emotion. It was interesting to see him watch the film "Quiet Don". He settled himself in front of the TV and immensely enjoyed the first episodes of peasant Cossack life. But only to a certain point, the start of revolutionary events. Now he would be totally transformed. Normally kind and soft in spite of severe appearance, he would become ferocious and dangerous, changed by the revolutionary movement of the conscious masses on the screen. He would jump screaming that it was all lies. Chairs would go flying, the TV-set would be just about thrown out the window, the family would be chased from the room. We were not spoiled with many entertainments at the time and to be deprived of TV was a very harsh punishment. But nobody argued. The TV was off till "Quiet Don" was over. Grandpa would then cool down. Some time later "Quiet Don" would be on again and grandpa with great pleasure would settle himself in front of the TV. And it would be all over again... I managed to see this film till the end only when my father got an apartment and we moved out of grandpa's house.
Grandpa served up to 1925, but his accounts of those times were very meager. He often remembered the army commander, but never mentioned his first or last name. That person was well respected in the army. On someone"s denunciation he was convicted and shot by All-Russian Extraordinary Commission.
During the Cossack's revolt in Don region my grandpa was taken prisoner, along with the whole army. He survived by a miracle. Captives were undressed to the underwear. Seasoned soldiers hid money in the underclothing. To do so did not dawn on greenhorns like my grandpa. Hungry and miserable, they were driven through villages. At one farmstead they stole two hunks of bread. By his eyes you could tell it had been the gravest crime of his life. I think some kind soul purposely put those hunks of bread in their way. There were executions. A high ranking officer chose him for a demonstrative punishment. He stepped up to grandpa, grabbed him by the neck with one hand and raised him over the ground with the words: "Red scum, you all should be hanged!" Grandpa was not a Red, even less scum. Scum was the one who said that. He was not hanged thanks to Cossacks. They were billeted at grandpa's parents and searched for him upon their request. They found him in time, thanks them for that.
After captivity grandpa found himself in the hospital where he lucked out unspeakably. He was attached to a custodial unit. Further he moved along with the army assigned to custodial service. Grandpa recalled Stalin's visit to Tsaritsyn. Tsar"s staff railroad cars, one armored train ahead, one behind. Well-armed guards in leather jackets. Nobody is allowed near. When the train arrived, unknown. When it departed, nobody saw. After the departure all grain storages empty and famine in town.
In spite of his dream job, grandpa contracted typhoid, epidemic typhus, relapsing fever and malaria. He was cured of malaria through vaccination against typhus. He fainted from the shot and stayed unconscious with high fever for 24 hours. A blessing in disguise: no more malaria attacks.
Few people know that the young Soviet state for several years had practically no army. The whole rank and file staff was dismissed. Grandpa did not wait till that happy moment. He got a letter from his father saying there was nobody to plow and sow. During years of war everything had been robbed, destroyed, ravaged. People had gotten used to not working and thinking only of today. Grandpa filed a request and retired from the ranks of the now Red Army earlier than scheduled.
Before the war he had married, but his wife died during the war. Grandpa had to start from scratch. The land had been divided but few were willing to work. Many took to heart the slogan "Rob the spoil!". Grandpa recalled that some "conscious" peasants had sold their plots and idled away spending the proceeds, but soon turned into paupers.
During the service grandpa apparently missed the land and peasant work. He was a hot, active and hardworking soul. He married Lukeria Zaharovna, my grandmother, with whom he lived happily the rest of his life. Grandma recalled that grandpa had always hurried to be afield ahead of everyone. On the way to the field, bundles in the hands, they used to catch up with his cart. He did not rush anyone, but never waited either. He remained the same till the end of his life- proud and hardworking. That was the happiest time in their lives. Grandpa passionately loved horses. Grandma told me he had won prizes in horse races. He never mentioned it to me. Everything I know of that period of their life I learned from grandma. Once only did she afford to tell about that life. The memory of the whole generation was taboo.
1937- my grandpa is reported. I read that denouncement. God, have mercy on that person! Such people still know not what they do. Grandpa was tried by a troika. He had a guardian- angel, who watched over him all his life: one of the troika stood up for him. Grandpa and his family as kulaks and enemies of the Home land were deported to Kazakhstan. The most valuable thing they managed to take along was a samovar. And it saved the whole family from ferocious winter cold. The first year in Kazakhstan the deported lived in unheated mudhuts they dug out themselves. Grandpa, leaving for the coal mine in the morning, would wrap everyone in cloth warmed around the samovar. When he returned, he would find them freezing. He worked as a timber-man and brought billets and chips to kindle the samovar. My mom was only one. To dry her diapers, grandma wrapped them around her body. She managed to save my mother and aunt. There was also a little boy. He did not survive. Grandpa grieved deeply. The Nezhinski family line was interrupted.
Grandpa was injured in a mine accident, his crew killed. A spine fracture. He recovered thanks to his youth and staying practically immobile. The fracture healed.
Grandpa was given lighter duties at the construction site. Pay was piece work based. To make more, builder of future Karaganda stayed at work over 8 hours. It was officially prohibited, but the management turned a blind eye to it. Grandpa often remembered the construction manager for the city. During the day he made rounds of his many sites. In summer he rode on the step board of a truck. In winter he skied, holding on to the board of a passing truck. Grandpa built Magnitka, New Town. Sundays he worked digging pits for man made lakes in the city park. The park was named after VLKSM (All-Union Lenin Young Communist League), the lakes were poetically named Big and Small Ritza. The pits could only be completed after machinery joined in.
When grandpa retired, he continued to work as a watchman. He worked till his last day. The pension was small, grandma was paid next to nothing. They lived on proceeds from the produce they grew in their garden and sold in the market place. With no official market relations then, they were called profiteers.
I often remember grandpa"s house, which he built himself. He had his carpenter's shop, where I often spent long hours. I would get a dressing down if I took his favorite tools without asking. But I was not afraid. I liked to watch sunrise in the morning. It is possible from among one-storied huts. Steppe was near. People planted potatoes there. When we came onto the field to help grandpa, one third of the plot would be spaded up or one third of the harvest dug out, depending on the season. Our family was big and I was sent to grandpa"s for the whole summer looking forward to freedom, friends and leisure.
I often wonder how my grandparents managed to survive. In 1937 grandma had come down with pneumonia. My mother-in-law did not believe one could recover from it under those conditions. She could not believe it because she had seen those times and lived through them herself. But I know the answer. Love saved them. Grandpa was afraid to lose his family again and be left without his beloved wife and children. Grandma was afraid to lose her beloved second husband. Her first husband had been killed in the civil war. They were guardian -angels for each other. I don"t remember grandma objecting to her husband or raising voice at anyone. We, grandchildren, loved grandpa, his word was law. But grandma"s tender word had much more power, magic power, even over grandpa.
When grandma died, the light in grandpa"s eyes went out. He did not complain of his fate, did not shed tears. He only asked me to spend the first night after funeral at his place. He dreaded his first lonely night. I found a good excuse to refuse. Grandparent did not insist.
Grandpa lived to 85. He worked till his last day. He dreamed of an easy sudden death, like his father"s, but his death was very painful. He had a stroke and his mind started failing. Sometimes he did not know what he was doing. Doctors" visits at prestigious (for those days) clinics turned into a sheer ordeal. One day I told my mother sharply: "Let us stop all this and let grandpa die with dignity". His body, hardened by work, was getting weak. He suffered from dehydration. His lips were dry, cheeks became hollow. We gave him boiled water from a spoon. He refused food. I had a young family and was torn between work, family, dacha and grandpa. No time to grieve. But in the morning my pillow was suspiciously wet. I am not ashamed to admit it today.
I knew the exact moment grandpa died. My parents did not call me, but I knew when it happened anyway. When we buried him, I did not cry. It was a totally different person, or rather a shell, a body. His soul had gone wandering.
When in my mind I put together a line of human role models, I put my grandpa first. Next is my father, with front line and Far East under his belt. Then myself at the tail-end. My dear sons, what place will you take?