WOUNDS OF A FIGHT
Earth escapes from under my feet, I went with a swing somewhere in the sky, my heart stops with fear, and I shout: "Grandfather, I'm afraid, I take off!Oh, grandfather "But swing fly higher and grandfather sentences:" And - again, and - two .. Do not be afraid, granddaughter, fearful life is loved! ".
I calm down.With me beside my grandfather, and I is not scared.Swing made it.Yes, unless they!Toys - please, boots us grandchildren, hem - please.Grandchildren he has many, often wipe his boots, work to repair our shoes are always in short supply.And for cousins grandfather - the main expert on bikes and mopeds.
I love grandfather, call him affectionately: grandpa.To all the holidays do him gifts: a model of the tank, as the former tank, sailing boats, icons.
grandfather is now in '74.But to talk about age, he does not like and does not want to grow old.Life lived interesting.Although the war has undermined his health, his grandfather cheerfully and often repeats: "For us, Ivanovo, Russia Mother keeps.
Everything that happened that summer is remembered for some reason, very bright.Then I saw the sea for the first time.I, who grew up in the Urals, more accustomed forest and lake.And here ... I remember the feeling of joy from the daily meeting with the sea, I remember the waves which pour over spray from head to toe.Even the feet remember the coastal shingle.And it happened that summer, an event that can not be forgotten.
Our family is located on the beach.Grandfather took off his shirt, too, decided to sunbathe.I had never seen him naked because gasped: all back - scarred.
- Santa, it's - I remember the words uttered with difficulty, something prevented throat.
-? What are you, a granddaughter he -povernulsya to mne.-A, it is ... Traces of a fight, the granddaughter.
I am silent, my grandfather was silent, then barely started telling heard.It was necessary to dislodge the enemy from the city.Outskirts of the city is almost impossible: the artillery shoots, air planes bombed.
I remember how stupidly I asked, "Like in the movies, grandpa?" He smiled sadly: "Like in the movies ... I would not ever see this movie.And the fear?There was no time to be afraid ... »
On one of the streets of the city - a strong blow in the turret.Hole.What lay unconscious, grandpa remembers.As emerged from the tank - can not remember.Our soldiers dragged him to the basement.Two days caring locals than could have helped him.At the back, the doctors then counted, - thirty-three shrapnel wounds.That's where the scars ...
remember, gently touched the back of his grandfather, stroked.I wanted to cry.We sat together in silence.
Elena Trevogin, 6th grade school number 6 named after P. Bazhov, Sysert of Sverdlovsk region
My grandfather, Andronicus H. Babayan, more than a quarter century, he served in the Soviet Army.I went to lieutenant colonel retired, but he worked until his last days.
Santa featured real military bearing.We were with my brother liked.We have seen and felt the shape he is somehow in a special way, not like regular clothes, and with respect, love.Maybe it was because it seemed to us that there is nothing better than to become like his grandfather, a military man.I think I chose a military school for his example.Santa we loved, much associated with it, firmly etched in memory.
summer when it is vacation, my older brother took the job.In recent years, the school has identified its summer grandfather on Karabakh silk factory.Rabo
that proved difficult, the brother came home tired and irritable.It seemed that he would not survive, will go over to the plant.
the evening grandfather calmly listened to my brother.I do not get angry, do not lecture.He said to him quietly, even gently.And the next day the brother went to the shop again.
I do not think we had a special need of money, which earned brother.But my grandfather had his own line, and, as I now understand it, led it properly.No wonder that I remember that summer, and his conversations with my brother in the evenings.
I also remember that we always wanted it to his grandfather to share their joys and failures.He was a man sociable, attractive for people who fit all.Now I wonder how missed him at all because he worked very hard.When we went to his grandfather, once somehow moved up, feeling, perhaps, demands an atmosphere of discipline.
And that's what I still remember clearly.We were with my brother, still a boy, my grandfather spoke seriously about how responsible to the people and to himself to be a communist.
The older you get, the more likely to remember the grandfather and the day when the soldiers accompanying him on his last journey, saluted the sky.I still do not have enough of it.But how well that his grandfather was.With the memory of him live once confident.
Karen Gasparyan, Stepanakert, Nagorno-Karabakh Autonomous Oblast
HERE we come
I like to come here, in the ancient village of northern Vavchuga.In a warm cozy home I always welcome.Hence - my father.Here - my grandmother.The house nemudrenyh furniture, broad Russian stove, wall hung pictures.From early childhood, I remember this: handsome men with clear eyes, in Budyonovka.Petro Kukin.My grandfather.Throughout his short life, he lived in the village.Here met Elena the Beautiful - so Grandpa called his wife, my grandmother Helen Osipovna, there was raising four children.It went into his last fight.
grandfather was a carpenter.He loved his job.It worked beautifully.True Russian craftsman.And now, in the house as a living memory of it, there are a table and chairs, made by his hands.A local school children still sitting at his party.
In the farm of Peter Ivanovich respected for reliability in work.He knew how to ignite hearts and beautiful song.
cheerful, generous on kindness was his grandfather.Harmony reigned in his family.
And then - black news, once perecherknuvshy former life.War ... The countdown has begun with more of that terrible day.I strive sent to the front, and my grandfather.Categorical ban doctors: a bad heart.But forty-two he still has left to fight the Nazis.Sent soldiers triangles home, in which he asked his grandmother to take care of themselves, children.And in his last letter he said: "There are heavy fighting.The Germans are retreating.I deeply believe in our victory.Please, keep my tools.Wait for me and do not worry.Going into battle ... »
Bitter soldier's issued share my grandmother on his shoulders.The entire burden of the war, the male labor."Once we stood!" - Surprised it is now.But the main mandate husband complied, despite all the hardships: all children have laid up, grow up.
long been scattered children grandmother from the nest.Each carries a hot memory of his father, knows by heart his letters from the front row.As permanent sentry, standing at his post grandmother bridge connecting the generation of unprecedented strength - his work-worn, calloused hands, not deadened in the mountain, keep love mother's heart.
Irina Kukina, Arkhangelsk
not for glory
Our young city, and few there witnesses terrible events that heralded the currently nearly fifty years ago, so I know about the war only from books and films.But just a month of my trip in the labor camp and rest in the Krasnodar region, I realized
war quite differently.It was too big a load for my mind, it all just does not fit in my head.I personally saw traces of the war.I touched them.
often recall the terrible moments when you really felt that there is a real distinction between death and life, between war and peace.
By grape row, where I worked, was the tractor, loosen the ground deeply.What a pleasure it was to walk on the plowed black earth, it seems to be cold and at the same time very warm, fumble fat black lumps.But one bared furrow of a large piece of iron.Rusty piece carrying a destructive force.I was shocked ... I gathered around my friends.Everyone looked at projectile curious and fearless eyes.I thought, one indiscretion, one moment - and maybe ... And presented: the whole world - the sky, the grass, the sun, friends, familiar sounds - disappeared ... Scary!
And then there was a hike through the mountains to the sea.I was lucky enough to go on a true guerrilla trail.
... The road goes up, more and more difficult to walk, hard to breathe.As ashamed to admit it, stop no right, because this path once walked partisan group "For the Motherland!" And every partisan was not as easy as I have now, backpack, had a gun and wounded comrades on the handsand even exorbitant tired of constant transition and the war.
first halt at the obelisk, built in honor of the victory ten years ago on the site of the fighting 81 th Red Banner Brigade Marines and parking guerrilla group "For the Motherland!".High grass, the birds are singing.Who would have thought that there is a war thundered, the sky was covered with black clouds of explosions!And maybe, who knows, some fighter like this, as I lay in a minute of silence at this altitude, in the fragrant grass.Saw is not black, and the same sky.And I do not think about the war, and if it was not, and as I do, that life is beautiful and how to live well on our land.He, like me, love to live ...
At such times, there is a war not only as the past.As if he is in direct contact with it, and ask yourself the main question: "And could you, like those
boys and girls of the forties, to sacrifice the most expensive - life - for the life of others?" It is impossible to answer this question for all to hear: "Could!"Because it may sound presumptuous, even if completely sure of himself.The answer can be given only to himself, and only in those last seconds, when it is really needed.And then there was a time: every answer this question once and for all.Millions have spared lives, despised death, was considered a sacred duty to perform homeland above all else.Went to the death "is not for the glory, for the sake of life on earth."
can not help recalling the lines from a poem by Sergei Smirnov:
We live on a planet is beautiful, she is proud of our novyu.She needs no global explosion, and the symphony of life is needed.
Smolyakova Margarita, 10 th class of school № 174 Leninsk Kyzyl-Orda region
MEMORY knocking into my heart
They are the ones who gave their lives for our good fortune to live in the eternal memory of man.They live in their own backyard, which can, and do not have time to finish.Living in the memory of those who are waiting for them and not wait ...
Memory ... Strict and beautiful word.For me, the word is associated with memories of his grandfather.Thick bundle of soldiers triangles, tight tapered black ribbon, drip a tear to my mother - his daughter.The few surviving photographs of his grandfather - a sly, good-natured and yet stern face ...
I love the evening, when the whole family to read aloud his letters.I remember the heart of his last letter, where he talks about the weather, funny stories, befell him and his comrades in the front home ...
And then there was the funerals ...
memory of my grandfather, not only in these yellowed papersin my mother's stories - it is in the thousands of nameless soldiers' graves, it is in the Eternal fire at the Tomb of the Unknown soldier ...
This memory is knocking at my heart!I'll tell you about his grandfather to future children and children's children.They, like us, need to remember who owe their lives and happiness.We must live and fight so as to be worthy of eternal sacred memory.
Arise in the ranks of the defenders
Many years have passed since the victory for which my family has paid a high price.Five brothers were killed Baba Sonia, her two daughters are dead, killed by the first husband of the women Tanya and her two brothers, was wounded three times Uncle Peter, survived the hell of the concentration camp Volodya grandfather worked for the front, sparing no effort, both grandmothers.I do not want to make it all happen again.I do not want people to die again.
grown grandchildren of those who have passed through the trials of war.Three of my cousins had already served in the Soviet Army: Shreds served in Mongolia, Sasha performed their international duty in Afghanistan, Michael served in Moscow.
In a short time, and the ranks of the defenders of the Motherland, and I'll get up.I, too, will one day be a family.And I do not want my children died in a fire of flame, or a bullet or a bomb explosion.I, along with all the people, with all his family said: "We will protect the world!»
Vladimir Ivannikov, 9th Abramov high school class Talovsky Voronezh region