It was a large apartment complex with three buildings positioned so that it would look like a circle of houses with a large yard inside the circle. There in the yard were many flower beds with a fountain in the middle. On the opposite side of the apartment buildings (to complete the circle), was another large building, which was a police station (militia station). I am sure that it was a police station because there were many uniformed policemen at all times, and they had a fenced-in area with police dogs inside. Around the apartments, there was a tall wooden fence with three large gates (one between each of the buildings), and I remember that many times they would open those gates to let trucks drive up to our section and dump coal and wood down the chute under our kitchen window—it was the way down to the cellar. Each apartment dweller or family had their own cellar, and their section was a two-story one (something like America’s townhouses). Our apartment was on the end of the building, and therefore it was the largest one.
We also had a private balcony—the rest of the apartments were smaller, and two families had to share the balconies and patios. I guess this was because Papa had a good job at the factory and many foreigners visited us regularly. On the back of our section, there was a hall-walkway (past the stairs to the basement, which led to the back door and out into the small backyard). It was fenced in and looked like a small garden with some trees and flowers. The upstairs bedrooms and the downstairs living room faced the backyard, and the bathroom, kitchen, and foyer faced the front entrance. We children spent most of our time playing in the backyard, but occasionally we would play with the rest of the children in the main square of the apartments.
There was also a small room with a large window; Mama called it her art pavilion. It was a place where Mama did her painting and sketching—there was an easel with brushes and oil paints, and there was always a framed canvas in the process of becoming one of Mama’s paintings.
She also spent a lot of time at her piano or with her violin. There was also a bandstand, and during the Russian holidays, there was a band playing music. On the weekends (Saturday and Sunday), all the people from all the apartments were rounded up to work around the flower beds and do whatever else needed to be done to maintain the apartments. This was called “friendly labor,” mainly to have something to occupy the people on Saturdays and Sundays—especially since the churches were closed down and people were discouraged from worshiping gods of any religion (Jews or Christian).
Most of the visitors to this extraordinary factory were from Germany, France, Spain, Sweden, and Norway—but there were some from America, England, and the rest of the European countries. The Russians were proud of their new factory, which produced heavy equipment and farm machinery, and they kept it open to any visitors from the West. Because Papa spoke several languages, he was very hopeful that he could still work out plans to get his family out of Russia. We had many foreign visitors come to our apartment and visit with Mama and Papa. They went out in the evenings, and sometimes they would take us along when they attended concerts or plays, but most of the time, we stayed home with our new nanja.
Her name was Varvara (Barbara), and I didn’t like her very much since she was always wanting me to sit on her lap or rocking me to sleep. I just hated the way she smelled—she used too much powder and she perspired a lot, and I never liked for her to hold me close—but who could complain? We were lucky that we could hire help, since it was against the law to hire domestic help of any kind.
8: A Day in the Park
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Editors’ Note: In 1932, when Nonna was five years old, she wrote “A Day in the Park” with her mother. While she wrote most of her transcripts in the past tense, she translates this experience in the present tense. Since Nonna learned to read and write at a young age, and her father began her language studies early, it is possible that she wrote this event in her diary soon after the event. This snapshot of their life also showed the close relationship between mother and daughter.
* * *
Mama and I are walking and walking—but I skip at times. I am happy—so happy. It is 10:00 or 10:30 a.m., and it is springtime. The sun is bright and its warmth feels so good on my face and shoulders! Mama is humming a song quietly—something she does all the time. We are almost there. The park can be seen from the short distance. There are not many people on the streets this morning, but the nearly empty streetcars pass us by. Finally, I see the huge gates leading into the park. We walk through the gates on the wide sidewalk, and there are flowers (so bright with colors), and it smells wonderful!
My little feet are tired, and I ask Mama if we could sit for a while on one of the park benches, and Mama agrees because she is tired too. We sit on a bench, while on the ground there is a procession of ants moving very fast. I am so fascinated by the way they all march, carrying little bits of insects or whatever food they could find. Mama is explaining to me that the ants must be having a wedding.
“See these two larger ones at the front of the procession? They must be the bride and groom,” Mama says.
We sit there watching the ants, and it feels good to rest our feet. Then we start to walk again and are soon in the middle of the park. There are some children with their mothers, swinging on the swings. I want to swing, and Mama thinks it is a good idea so we swing for a while.
Soon Mama is ready to read her book, and I can do almost anything that I wish as long as I am in her eyesight. I pick some flowers—looking around for fear that I am doing something wrong. There stands my favorite bush that has leaves that I like to play with—you pull one off the bush and pull off the petals one by one saying, “He loves me—he loves me not.” There is a beautiful butterfly—so colorful. I want to touch it, but I don’t want to hurt it. Slowly I move closer and carefully put my fingers on its wings. I can feel the butterfly struggling to get away. It makes me feel sad. Quickly I release it, and I am glad to see that it can still fly. Mama is involved in her book, but I know that she is aware of where I am because I know not to walk away too far. The sun is getting warmer, and I am thirsty. Now Mama is ready for a fresh drink of water too. We walk down the path until we reach the water fountain—the water is so cold, and it tastes good.
There is a stage platform nearby, and Mama helps me up the steps. We dance on the stage with Mama singing to our dance. We dance round and round, and we laugh and laugh. Mama lets go of my hand, and she gets off the stage. She pretends to be the audience and starts clapping her hands and says, “Brava, brava! The ballerina Nonna has performed beautifully!”
We both laugh and do not notice that there are some children nearby watching us—watching us and laughing also. We stroll around the park for another hour or so. Mama lets me put some flowers between the pages of her thick book and says, “We shall preserve them by pressing them in this book, and when winter comes and we can’t come to the park, we will pretend that we are in the park at our house.” It is a fine idea, I think, and it is a lot of fun to keep the pretty flowers this way. Mama says, “Pretty soon it will be time for Anatoly to come home from school.”
And we head back home. It is such a wonderful day, and I am so happy!
9: The Depression in Russia
Stalin’s Power
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Editors’ Note: At this point in the thick of the Depression years, with Stalin in power, Nonna and her family began to experience some hardships. As a young child, she noticed how people around her suffered and how Russia’s government placed rigid restrictions on its people. Even with wealth, food became more scarce for Nonna and her family, and they depended more on Feodosija to send food from Konstantinowka. Nonna started school in Rostov-on-Don. Nonna was smart, spoke several languages, and loved to learn. But her teachers began to question her about Papa, his family, and his background.
* * *
The Depression was in full swing by now, and people were suffering economically in Russia as they were in the rest of the world. Papa was still working at the machinery factory, and we considered
ourselves to be lucky. However, food was becoming scarce, and the government had issued ration stamps to everyone. Food was being rationed, and even in our family, things like sugar and bread could not be taken for granted. I remember very well the truck with food would arrive, and people would stand in lines with their ration stamps, which they would trade for sugar, bread, flour, etc.
At the time, my grandmother was sending us packages of food from her home in the Ukraine where food was still plentiful—especially for Grandmother, since she had her own garden and was getting plenty of food from the farm people. So we didn’t have it as bad as our neighbors and the other people in that large city.
The officials were still rounding up people on Saturday and Sunday to perform “friendly labor” in order to help out our “new government,” which by now was beginning to take over all the businesses and factories—it was to become the “power” to all the poor. It was also a time when new rules were being issued against all religions and all believers. Most of the young people were being watched, and the children in school were being taught that there is no God. Most of the churches were closed, except for two or three of the big Orthodox churches, which remained open. But only a few of the older people attended the services. The schoolchildren were instructed to tell on their parents if they practiced religion at home. The people were watched closely, especially at Christmas and at Easter time. I remember Mama and Papa hiding our small Christmas tree in the pantry, and on Easter the colored eggs were not displayed but were kept hidden from the neighbors.
It was also a time when many people of intellect and affluence were being picked up and would never be seen again by their families. It was a time when we children were taught to be silent and not to tell—outside of our home—about our family background or anything that we knew about our families. We were instructed to never talk about anything that happened or was said in our own home. I remember so well that Mama and Papa would tell us that the “walls have ears” and that we should whisper and never talk loudly. I didn’t understand what they meant. I would imagine that our walls could hear us and that there was something very strange about our home and its walls. When I would want to talk, I would look at the walls and ask Mama if I should whisper or if I could speak out.
But as I grew older, I began to understand what they meant. By the time I started to school, you could not bribe me with anything to tell about what took place at my home. There was always that feeling inside that I was somewhat different from other children, especially since I had a Polish name. After I started school, the teachers would ask me if I had any relatives in Poland, and I would just shake my head indicating no. I hated those times, because I knew that I was not telling the truth. However, to protect my family—especially my father—there was no other answer that I could give.
The name Lisowsky sounded as much Russian as it did Polish, and since I knew that Papa’s family was in Poland, I had no choice but to deny the truth. Those were times when anyone who had families outside Russia was considered an immediate target for suspicion, and I remember that Papa told everyone that he was from Minsk, which was in Belorusya (“White Russia”). I believe that he kept telling people that until he died. Though we children were brought up to always tell the truth, we also understood why it was necessary to hide the fact that Papa was Polish.
* * *
HIDING THE TRUTH • In Stalin’s Russia, the truth about Papa’s family and place of birth might have meant a death sentence for him. Nonna was given special permission to lie in order to protect her family. Indeed, she learned early to keep dangerous family stories a secret.
* * *
This was a time when beggars were at our door constantly. They were begging for food—especially bread. I remember that the city was plagued with burglaries and robberies. Extra locks were put on all the doors and windows, and we children were instructed not to open the doors for anyone—even in our apartment where the police station was almost next door. Even with the police station so close, some of the apartments were robbed. But all through these times, Mama and Papa were happy, and they were able to provide a happy home for Anatoly and me.
Papa was doing well in his job in the machinery factory, and in 1931, he invented a machine that would slice sugar cones into sugar cubes. This created quite a bit of excitement, since people could sip their tea through this small square of sugar. Papa demonstrated his new invention at the factory’s banquet, which was attended by many foreigners. He was presented an award by the German representative. We were all so proud of Papa, and we talked about this invention for a long time afterward.
10: Winter Vacation with Babushka at the Dacha
CHRISTMAS
This is the kingdom of winter.
Everything is covered with snow.
The trees are whitened by hoar frost.
They seem spellbound in their new form.
’Tis a wistful but pleasant sight.
This extraordinary quiet both in the air and on the earth!
Silence everywhere!
Here I relive memories of my childhood: the thrill of leaving a warm house, all bundled up to play in the soft, new-fallen snow . . .
There are many happy events in the early years of my childhood that I like to remember. But the memories of my first trip to Grandmother’s during our winter vacation will always remain precious to me. It was like a beautiful dream, except it was not a dream—it really happened, and I was there, and it was so wonderful. None of us knew what was to come!
Every year at Christmastime these special memories come back to me. This year more than any other year in the past, I have been totally consumed by the pleasant memories of the events that took place so far away and so many years ago. Perhaps it is because it all happened just a few days after Christmas as we know it today—or just before Christmas, which was celebrated by the Orthodox people according to the old calendar, on January 7.
* * *
“THIS YEAR MORE THAN ANY OTHER” • Which year Nonna is referring to is not clear; she worked on translating and transcribing her diaries for a period longer than a year.
* * *
My grandmother Feodosija Nikolayevna Ljaschova was of the Orthodox religion and a very strong believer in all that was taught by the Orthodox church. She also made sure that all of us grandchildren were taught about God properly and insisted that we were all christened as babies—naturally it was important to our grandmother for us to be christened. The pope (priest) had to do the christening!
* * *
ORTHODOX CHURCH • With Russia’s churches closing all around her, Feodosija invited her family to this last Christmas at the Great House, and on Christmas Day, she took them in the sleigh—the “old fashioned way”—to the Russian Orthodox church to celebrate the birth of Christ. Not long after, Stalin closed Konstantinowka’s churches, as well. Possibly because Nonna’s family made sure she knew God and kept their faith vibrant and constant for her in their home, Nonna never became indoctrinated with the Communists’ campaign to teach Russia’s children that God didn’t exist.
* * *
The Orthodox churches were still open in Grandmother’s village, and even though times were changing rapidly, there were still plenty of people who were brave enough to go to church and worship God according to their beliefs. Bibles were still kept and read—and there were icons. Some of them were framed in gold or silver, some of them had a picture of the Madonna with the baby Jesus, and some were of Christ’s head covered with a wreath of thorns. Most of them were painted in oil by famous artists and were very expensive—but there were also cheaper ones, which were reproductions of the real thing. Nevertheless, people stood (not knelt) before them and prayed—my grandmother had an icon in the corner of every room. It seemed that no matter from which angle you looked at an icon, the eyes of Jesus would follow you—or at least we children thought so. Grandmother would light candles in front of each icon on Saturday evening as part of the Sabbath worship.
Celebrating Christmas by the old calendar worked out very well for us for a while, because the Communist government replaced the Christmas tree with the New Year’s tree, decorated by the “new believers” on New Year’s Eve. St. Nicholas was replaced by Ded Moroz (Grandfather Frost). Of course, Ded Moroz was dressed in all white—unlike the red colors of St. Nicholas’s coat. Like a good impostor of the old St. Nick, he would come with a sackful of goodies. The schools were kept open until New Year’s Eve, and after school there was a big party for the children. This party was held in a large school auditorium—where there would be a huge New Year’s tree erected and decorated with all kinds of beautiful ornaments. Some of these ornaments were made in the classrooms by the children themselves while being closely supervised by the teachers.
There would be music playing, and the children would hold hands and dance around the tree, which was lit with candles. The children would sing of yolka or yolotchka (the type of pine or blue spruce tree that was used). Later they would form a line “by twos” and, with great anticipation, wait for Ded Moroz to arrive. When he would appear, there would be clapping of hands and shouts of excitement. Ded Moroz would sit by the exit door with the sack full of goodies and hand out a small bag to each child. In the sack the children would find some chocolate candy, cookies, nuts, etc., and if they were lucky, they might even find a small book or a game of some sort. Then school was dismissed for a two-week winter vacation.
The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister Page 5
