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Zubovo - Polyansky municipal area

Javanese urban settlement

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from the memoirs of V. Nedovesova:

From Saratov we were taken by train to Mordovia, to the Temnikovsky corrective labor camps (Temlag). We arrived at a large station - Potma (in Mordovia). Then they followed the camp narrow-gauge railway. I remember the station, on the wall of which there was an inscription I am YOU. We thought - who wins? For what? It turned out to be just the Mordovian name of the station. We passed the Perekovka station.

Finally we got to the Amor station. Here we were dropped off.

We were met solemnly - a convoy, dogs and one 3 cart with a horse for carrying luggage. We built them in pairs and walked along the path through the forest. Among us were two elderly women, and one of them suffered from Parkinson's disease. They couldn't keep up with us and kept falling behind the line. I went up to the head of the convoy and asked them to put these two women on the cart. He shouted: “Maybe they should put you in jail too? Tired?" Then he asked who I was. Having learned that the doctor asked why one woman could hardly move her legs, I said that this was such a disease. The guard ordered to put the women on the cart.

We walked for about two hours and finally came to a high log fence with a gate, a watchtower and sentries on the tower. Above the gate hung a welcome poster written in kumach. The whole column froze. Everyone thought: what is bullying? I asked the elder: is this greeting meant for us? He was embarrassed and replied that this was how employees were greeted in early November, celebrating the anniversary of October in an empty new barrack, which was now intended for us.

We were led into the courtyard, let into the barracks, an elderly woman appeared, introduced herself as the headman of the barracks. She warned that there would be a search. If there is money, it is necessary to give it away, since in the camp everyone will be given coupons. Money can't buy anything here. I put my money in a pillow in prison. She warned the person who was doing the search at my place that there were five pieces of paper for one hundred rubles in my pillow, he found them, gave them to me, warning that the cashier would come and take money from everyone against receipt.

As soon as the guards left, some military men came, called each by last name, explained that we were condemned by a special meeting of the NKVD as members of the families of traitors to the Motherland for a period ... The terms were different - few received 3 years, more - 5 years ( like me), and the bulk - 8 years old. Thus, only upon arrival at Temlag did we find out for what and how much we were sentenced.

The barrack intended for habitation had just been rebuilt, it still smelled of wood. Two-story bunks were piled up on both walls. Each for four people.

Across they were divided by headrests into two bunk beds. I got a place on the second floor next to the teacher Yakimanskaya. Legs rested on the window frame. In winter, there was snow at the foot of the bed in the morning. About three hundred women lived in the barracks. The barracks were populated gradually.

The last to arrive were about thirty Georgian women from the Tbilisi prison. All had their hair shaved off. They were kept in prison for more than a year, without parcels. Most of them were young, very hungry women. They immediately ate their ration of bread and went hungry all the next day. Some Astrakhan women gave them bread, as they had not yet experienced hunger. Georgian women came up to us every evening and we shared with them.

On the next day of our life in the camp, I went out into the yard and was amazed at the spectacle that opened up. The day was clear and frosty. There were many women in the courtyard - and how outlandish their clothes looked! Some walked around in astrakhan and seal coats and in prison boots on their feet. Others walked around in high-heeled evening shoes and camp padded jackets. Many were in decent coats and prison flannel earflaps. All this in the background clear day seemed so fantastic that it looked like some kind of strange filming or a mental hospital ward.

Temlag was surrounded on all sides by dense forest. Even the towers of other departments were not visible. When we arrived in Temlag, besides the barracks and the kitchen, nothing had been built here yet. The kitchen was served by our women. A bathhouse and a laundry were already built in our presence, this complex was in charge of Jadwiga Paul, the wife of the former head of Stalin's bodyguard. She talked a lot about Stalin and how Stalin shot his wife Nadezhda Alliluyeva.

We didn't have any books or newspapers, and suddenly one day they brought a whole pile of them. The headman announced that newspapers would now be delivered daily. Indeed, we received all the newspapers published in the USSR in Russian, Armenian, Jewish and other languages. The books were mostly political, outdated. The wives of some of the authors of these books sat with us. There were so many tears when they gave the wife the book of her repressed husband. Volunteers showed up, reading the central newspapers aloud every night. Most read aloud badly, once I tried - and from that evening I became a "full-time" reader, must have been affected by the habit of lecturing students. At the same time, they were allowed to sing in the barracks. They even offered to organize a choir. Nobody wanted to sign up. The commissioner himself (the higher authorities above us) came to persuade. He said that from the forms it is known that among us there are professional singers and dramatic actresses. What's the matter? They explained to him that recently, for singing, even in an undertone, they threatened him with a punishment cell. He explained that concerts are allowed from above. The first real concert remained for a long time in the memory of all women. One of the barracks was turned into an auditorium. Someone from the VOKhR borrowed an accordion, so they sang to the accompaniment. Speakers: coloratura soprano of the Milan school, prima of the Moscow operetta and dramatic actresses of the Moscow Art Theater and the Leningrad Bolshoi Drama Theater. Leningradka read the scene of Anna Karenina's arrival to her son Serezha. The hall was weeping. The artist of the Vakhtangov Theater read Mikhalkov's "All kinds of mothers are needed." Artist of the Maly Theater - an excerpt from Guilty Without Guilt. Since then, concerts have been held regularly.

Soon they were allowed to write letters to children who were in orphanages. But, firstly, most women did not know where their children were, and secondly, there was nothing and nothing to write on. They literally begged in the stall for a piece of at least brown paper, some managed to find leaves from notebooks left by the Vokhrovites “out of distraction” in the barracks. The letters were written very briefly, but in detail - the address of the alleged location of the children and, on top, large - the orphanage. Letters were folded into a triangle, sent without a stamp - where to buy it. And yet, as a rule, the letters reached.

My barrack friend Elena Samoilovna Zatonskaya received the first parcel from Kyiv from her daughter. In the parcel were crackers and bacon, very combed. So even from other barracks people came to sniff the fat, because it "smelled like sausage."

Elena Samoilovna was a wonderful person, educated, a doctor by profession. She suffered from spinal tuberculosis. Her husband was the people's commissar of education and a member of the Politburo of Ukraine. The student daughter was the bride of a military man. When the arrests began in Kyiv, this young man achieved an appointment in some remote area, hastily married the daughter of the Zatonskys, and, perhaps, saved himself and his wife in this way.

Elena Samoilovna spoke of her son as a serious literary critic, although he was not yet 16 years old. She assured that her Dima would definitely be a literary critic, because. and now he has extensive knowledge of Russian and Soviet literature and his judgments on individual works are always confirmed by major experts. Indeed, today Dmitry Zatonsky is one of the major literary scholars and critics of Ukraine. In the summer of 1974, during my stay in Kyiv, I really wanted to know about the fate of E. S. Zatonskaya, and I was going to call her son. My good friend, the so-called "fellow soldier" in the camp, said that she spoke on this subject with Zatonsky, knowing him from childhood. He answered very dryly and restrainedly - the mother returned from the camp with a clearly disturbed psyche and lived out her life in a psychiatric hospital. It struck me like a thunderbolt. More balanced, wiser, good man I have not met. I knew that there was no mental illness in her family. Elena Samoilovna was an excellent storyteller. She talked a lot about A. S. Makarenko, whom her husband, as People's Commissar of Education, helped in his work.

She spoke very amusingly about Stolyarsky, whose students at one of international competitions became laureates - they were Oistrakh, Gilels and someone else. Sgolyarsky - a Jew, spoke Russian poorly. Speaking about how his school was praised abroad, where the competition was held, he said: "It was terror." Everyone laughed. "No, there was real fodder." The laughter became common. Finally, he declared: "It was a real sensation of the school named after me." The school was indeed named after Sgolyarsky. Elena Samoilovna told this very colorfully.

Astrakhan women lived in a common barrack. Among us was a very elderly woman, a paramedic by education, the wife of a professor of venereology Astrakhan medical institute. The old school paramedics were educated people. For many years she worked independently, replacing a doctor, in different places in Siberia and the Urals, among Ural Cossacks. This Anastasia Yakovlevna was a recognized interpreter of dreams in our area. Every morning, a bunch of women gathered at her bunk, asking for clarification on the meaning of the dream. Women came, both uneducated and very erudite. Everyone was in constant anxiety and needed reassurance. She slowly, thinking, gave a favorable explanation for any dream, and the women left her reassured. Anastasia Yakovlevna told me a lot about her observations on the human race.

One story was very interesting. About a hundred years ago, the Ural Cossacks at the first birth of their wives "gave birth" together with their wives. The husband writhed, groaned, but did not scream, and finally announced: "that's it, they gave birth." At this time, one of the women close to him entered and reported that his wife had given birth. She herself several times observed similar "births" of husbands. I have never read or heard about this custom of the Ural Cossacks.

Quarrels often broke out among women. Obviously, in order to pacify them, the authorities gave work. On a stretcher from the zone, according to the schedule, the women carried the earth and dumped it behind the fence. They worked two hours a day. A few days later it turned out that we carried the same earth back and forth. The women realized that they were actually “carrying water with a sieve”, and told the guards about this. "Earthworks" stopped.

In January 1939, the commissioner of our section summoned me. He asked about my medical experience, my former job and offered to conduct daily classes with the doctors of our area (there were 42 per 1000 women) on medical topics. He said that, according to his information, there are doctors more qualified and experienced than me, but they have not been working for about two years and have forgotten something, but my memory is still fresh. I asked where I could get the literature. He smiled and replied that all the books I needed should be in my head. On the same day, the elders of all the barracks announced the obligatory attendance of doctors tomorrow at six o'clock in the evening in the fifth barracks. Doctors of almost all specialties gathered, but therapists prevailed.

At the first lesson, various pneumonias, their course, complications and treatment were analyzed. The seminar lasted ten days. Many doctors have spoken. They supplemented my message, spoke with their observations. Several seminars on heart disease were held. They came to the classes willingly and performed also willingly. It was clear that the classes were a success. And I had concerns and considerable ones - to prepare for classes, to remember everything known, to systematize and try to present it in a more interesting way.

Almost simultaneously with our seminars, a sewing and embroidery factory was opened in all women's departments for sewing men's overshirts with Ukrainian embroidery, women's crepe de chine shirts with rococo embroidery and dresses from voile. Four departments were engaged in embroidery, one of the five departments sewed things from semi-finished products.

Our ninth precinct received designs for men's shirts from precinct five. A new barrack was specially built for work, large, very bright. When the hut was built, the doctors were invited to examine it. Everyone unanimously said that this was a hospital. Subsequently, during Patriotic War it was indeed used as a hospital.

The brigadiers in our section were strict, they gave a considerable norm, but the women were so tired of idleness that they began to significantly overfulfill it. Some gave four hundred percent, and reckoning quickly came - the eyesight of many began to deteriorate.

Men's shirts were embroidered from linen in small cells without canvas. The embroiderers of the foreman in Rococo embroidery, Vera Valentinovna, were very fond of. The craftswoman messes up something in embroidery, runs to the foreman. Crying: "Dissolve everything?". Vera Valentinovna always reassured, said: “We must remember that the iron decides a lot,” she took the embroidered thing, smoothed it herself, and everything returned to normal in most cases, only as an exception, the damaged place had to be torn open. The master of Ukrainian embroidery was a stern woman, the embroiderers were very afraid of her.

The composition of our women was diverse - both the wives of the elite of that time, and the wives of locomotive drivers, etc. The wives of Tukhachevsky, Uborevich, Geilit and other generals, the wives of people's commissars, members of the Central Committee of the party, diplomats, trade and plenipotentiary representatives lived on our site. I was especially struck by the presence in our camp of the wife and daughter of the hero of the "Iron Stream" Serafimovich - Kovtyukh, the wife of the writer Kirshon. I was friends with two Marias - Maria Nikolaevna and Maria Ivanovna. Both were from the Ural town of Kyshtym, where their husbands worked as railway machinists. They missed their families very much, but they were also proud of the attention that the NKVD paid them. “Think, Grigorievna,” they told me, “they took us all over Russia for free. We also had the right to free travel at home, but we never used it, we didn’t go anywhere further than our town. Again, the food is free. We sleep on white sheets, white pillowcases on the pillows, but at home, apart from colorful chintz, we never had any pillowcases or sheets. How many people have seen here - and French women, and Jews, even seen a Jap. Here's another "Trotskyite" to look - then you can die. An old woman Sedova, a relative of Trotsky, lived on our site. Once I showed it to my Marys. Now, according to them, it is possible to die, everyone has seen it.

Among the women, many personally knew Maria Ilyinichna Ulyanova and knew that in 1937 she was under house arrest. They grieved and cried a lot when they learned about the death of V.P. Chkalov. Maria Erazmovna Maletskaya, the sister of Chkalov's wife Olga Erazmovna, was on our site, we maintained friendly relations with her. She told me that shortly before the arrest of her husband, a prominent worker of the Leningrad City Council, she, expecting a possible arrest, went to Moscow to the Chkalovs with a request to take their son to her. The boy was about ten years old, he studied in Leningrad in music school for gifted children. With what bitterness she said that the king of the air, the famous Chkalov, did not find the opportunity to shelter a child. After the correspondence was resolved, Maria Erazmovna learned that her son was in orphanage. I do not know about the further fate of the child.

Even in those harsh times, not everyone acted like the famous Chkalov - Sergo Ordzhonikidze took the children of the arrested Pyatakov to him, he was not afraid!

Solid moans, sobs, cries rushed from the Georgian side of the barracks, when we learned from the newspapers about the appointment of Beria as People's Commissar of Internal Affairs, about his transfer to Moscow. The Georgians shouted that now half of the Moscow women would experience their share, Georgians, that there was no man in the world more cruel than Beria.

Somehow, Natalia Sats, the head of the Moscow Children's Musical Theater, appeared among us. She also suffered our fate, but she was in some other camp. Must be in the Mariinsky camps. We knew that there were Cheseir camps in Mordovia (Temlag), Kazakhstan (Akmolinsk), somewhere in Siberia. N. Sats stayed on our site for a very short time, just a few days, and disappeared. At one time, even when I was at large, I myself read in the newspapers that the head of the Moscow Children's Theater, Natalia Sats, had been conducting enemy work in the children's theater for many years.

On one of the summer days of 1939, an alarm was announced: a big fire started in the forest around our site. Everyone had to quit their jobs and help put out the fire. The gates of the zone were opened, and the women did not go, but ran - just think! - into the forest without an escort. The head of the hospital and I were sent with the necessary medicines to provide urgent assistance to the suffocated apiary workers. A guard accompanied us. We walked through the burning forest. The forest was mostly coniferous, the trees burned like candles. Shrubs were burning, grass was burning underfoot.

There were no seriously injured people at the apiary. The beekeepers are all civilians, they quickly came to their senses and decided to thank the doctors - their saviors (and there was no need to save anyone). First they treated us to honeycomb, then they poured us a large mug of honey. Not only have I never drunk, but I have never seen honey being drunk. Drinking it was very pleasant, easy. We got through the second one too. At parting, the beekeepers offered to see us off. We refused. They nevertheless led us to the straight road to the camp, said that now we would not get lost, and let us go, handing us a large piece of honeycomb. For some reason we walked embracing, although special tenderness was not characteristic of us. Suddenly I heard that we were both singing. I, I sang! I always said that if I sing, the Volga will flow back, since I don’t have any hearing. We walked swaying and tried to talk about the possibility of escape. The zone is open, there is no sentry on the tower. You can run - but where? What about documents? And money? Things? Where will we run? We don't know where we are. With these arguments, the “honey” courage, the fun was gone, and we approached the camp completely sober. Honey was distributed in the barracks. Everyone got a little.

A few days after the fire, a prosecutor came to our site from Moscow. He walked around the barracks and asked - who has any complaints and claims? They complained about poor food, about the lack of paper, envelopes, stamps. There were no major complaints. Suddenly, our Matilda, a ballet dancer of the Kirov Leningrad Opera and Ballet Theatre, jumped forward, fell on her knees in front of the prosecutor, folded her hands in prayer and began to beg to be released immediately. It made a deep impression on all of us. They shouted at Matilda not to humiliate herself, not to play a comedy, they pushed her away from the prosecutor, but he only shook his head and said that he was not a god, that if it were his will, he would have let us all go home.

The next day, a new rumor appeared that a completely different prosecutor was coming to us, bringing everyone a release and passports in a suitcase. His suitcase was stolen from him and now we have to wait until everything is ready again. And they believed, they believed that it was so!

In August 1939, among three doctors, I was sent to a depot in an unknown direction. Before that, the representative called us and announced that in two hours we should be ready to leave with all our belongings. Managed to meet and say goodbye to friends. Our departure was a complete surprise to everyone.

We brought our stage to the Potma station, from where the broad-gauge line began. Railway. Vohrovets said that we had a long way to go - either to some Sokha, or to Sozha. We did not know such geographical points, it turned out that they were taking us to Karelia, to the city of Segezha, not far from Bear Mountain. Thus began our journey towards Leningrad.

In Moscow, we were dropped off, transferred to another station. They brought us to the cars from the back side and ordered to kneel. It seemed like an eternity had passed, and we were all on our knees, surrounded by an escort. Such was the prevention against escape. Finally we were loaded into the Leningrad train. In Leningrad, they were sent to an arsenal women's prison. We stayed here for about a week, and we were taken to Segezhlag. The three of us were traveling in a four-seater compartment, which differed from the usual one by a lattice steel door, so that we were under surveillance all the time. The grill was locked from the outside.
Male prisoners were led past us to the toilet. Here we first saw people in shackles. I remember well one couple - a young man and a gray-haired tall man in shackles. They were always taken together...