The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister (20 page)

Then I would be glad that he was someplace away, and I would feel ashamed of myself for even wanting him to be with us. (What thoughts could go through the mind of a fourteen-year-old girl who was faced with the horrors that were all around us and from which there was no escape!) The only thing I was comforted with is what I had learned in my early childhood and what Papa had taught me: “Never give up hope, and look for the rainbows and happiness!”

Our next-door neighbor (who lived across the hall with her two little girls) and Mama decided that it would be better for us to move in with them into her kitchen and let the Germans have our place. There were five of us—Mama and me and the lady and her two small girls—and we felt a little more secure and a little warmer. Since there was no electricity or even candles to provide any light after dark, we would all settle down in a huddle around the table in the kitchen and tell stories or fairy tales for her children. Her girls were four and six years old, and we tried to make them feel safe.

We could hear the German soldiers across the hall singing and talking loudly. The lady we moved in with had saved some old, dry bread in small bags, and Mama and I would make trips to the nearby village to get some potatoes and carrots. So all of us shared what we had carefully—sparingly, eating just enough to keep us alive.

One day Mama and the lady (her name escapes me, but if my memory is correct, she called herself Marina, or Maria) decided to leave me and her two girls, with me in charge. They took a sack to go around the area and look for some wood for the fire in the stove, to give us some heat. Mama told me they would hurry and would be back home as soon as possible.

NEIGHBORS •
Nonna’s description of the housing arrangements is unclear. The village house appears to be laid out somewhat like a small apartment complex. Or, perhaps the woman lived across the street, rather than across the hall, whereas with the German soldiers in the house they could certainly hear them “across the hall.”

Perhaps two or three hours passed since they had left. I was becoming worried when a few more hours passed and they were still gone. The little girls started to cry for their mother, and I tried every possible way to entertain both of them by telling stories and fairy tales. The sun went down, and it was getting colder outside. The fire in the stove began to die down, and the kitchen was getting colder.

I told the girls that our mothers would probably come home soon and that we should jump up and down, sing, or do whatever, to try to stay warm. So we started jumping up and down on the bed while holding hands and going around in circles. We kept reciting the Lord’s Prayer—“Our Father which art in Heaven”—over and over again. I thought that we needed to pray, or sing, or do anything to pass the waiting time. Being still a child myself (fourteen years old), I wanted to cry badly, but I held on. I started to think that something really bad had happened to Mama and her friend. I began to think that I might be left with these little girls, and all kind of negative thoughts were going through my head. I tried to figure out how we would go through the oncoming night. Early in the morning I could take the girls to my grandmother’s house—she surely would know what to do.

Finally, as I was having my worst thoughts, Mama and her friend stumbled against the door, and when I opened the door, what I saw scared me terribly. Mama and her friend stood there looking like two frozen mummies—they looked like they had been immersed in a pool of water that had frozen on them from head to toe. They were stiffened by solid ice, and they were shivering so hard that you could hear their teeth knocking.

There was a pot of water sitting on the stove, and it was still warm, so I dipped big towels into the warm water and wrapped Mama’s and the lady’s heads with the warm towels. Mama was moaning and grabbing her forehead and was saying that her head was very painful and she thought her nose and ears were frozen off. But they were not, and I assured Mama that everything was all OK. I took their frozen clothes off, wrapping Mama and Marina in dry blankets, sheets, and towels—just whatever I could find to make them warm. Mama cried with terrible pain in her back, and the lady, hugging her little girls, dropped off to sleep and did not wake up until daylight.

I wanted to know what happened to them, but I thought I would wait until Mama felt like talking. We broke a couple of chairs and made some more fire in the stove. I went outside to fill the big pot with snow so we could put it on the stove and make some more warm water.

The next morning, Mama told me what had happened. After they left home and walked around picking up scraps of wood here and there and putting it into their sack, German soldiers grabbed them and threw them into an old shack where there were some people already being held by the soldiers. The Germans were pouring water on them, and the water was freezing. This went on for a couple of hours, until some German officers came and freed them and told them to run home before they were frozen to the point of not being able to move. They were ordered to never be on the streets—ever again—for any reason! This was an act of those spiteful German soldiers thinking that they needed to pull a prank or an act of cruelty. However, I am sure that it probably caused some of the ones caught in that situation to get very sick, or maybe even die from colds or pneumonia. Mama continued to have headaches for a couple of weeks.

Eventually, we ran out of everything, and it was still a long time before spring would begin. Mama and I decided to move back to the Great House (or what was left of it) and stay with Grandmother. By this time, Grandmother had boarded up all the damaged parts of the house and stayed in one room, where she had installed a potbellied stove with a large flue pipe running through a hole in the window to let the smoke out—sort of serving as a chimney. On top of the stove, she could heat water and cook what little food she had. We went back to grinding the wheat kernels and making something resembling flour.

There was no cooking oil to cook with so Grandmother used (very sparingly) cod liver oil in the skillet to make pancakes. They tasted awfully fishy but were something to eat. We walked to the frozen fields and dug some frozen sugar beets (white). We would boil them for six to eight hours until they were edible—they were something else to eat. Grandmother tore half of her fence down to get more wood.

Needless to say, when spring finally did arrive, we got very busy planting anything that we could find to plant, and we felt that once again we had survived the worst!

30: Surviving the German Occupation of Konstantinowka

Editors’ Note:
Nonna recorded many miscellaneous childhood memories. These are a few, as well as two of her poems from that period.

I can feel my papa’s gentle and loving touch and hear the words of his encouragement, the words of such wisdom. I feel his love and his gentleness.

I can smell the oil paint coming from the pavilion where Mama was painting.

I can hear Mama’s singing and playing the piano or violin.

I can smell fragrances of flowers from my grandmother’s gardens.

I can feel the breeze coming from the upstairs windows and see the swaying of those lace curtains . . . as a young child.

I can hear the laughter of my brother, Anatoly, and feel the strong grip of his hand—still a very young boy’s hand.

FEELINGS

Today I had the sweetest feeling,

The world stood still for just a while.

I prayed to God as I was kneeling

And thanked Him for your sweetest smile.

FRIENDS

A good friend is like a glow in the darkness;

He brightens up your darkest thoughts.

When eyes are filled with tears, he harkens;

When you complain, he tires not.

It was sad to see the Great House in its damaged condition, and Grandmother living there alone. I remembered those beautiful years I had spent there when I was younger. With Petrovich not there, it did not seem like the same place, and of course, the damages from the bombings were pretty heavy. However, Grandmother was still the same warm, loving person that I remembered as a child. The nights in Konstantinowka were scary, since you could hear the German and the Russian artillery exchanging shots. The Germans were on the run, and they were hiding anyplace they could find. They were cold and hungry, many of them were injured, and some of them would die while in hiding.

Along in April and May, it seems that spring brought some quietness and peacefulness. Grandmother decided to make a big garden so we could plant some vegetables, and she planted some flowers next to the house. What she planted came in very handy. We ate from the garden and were careful not to waste anything. We consumed the tops and the bottoms of the vegetables. Of course, we did not have any meat, eggs, or milk, and we lived mostly on green stuff, but we did not suffer from hunger.

Since there was no electricity—not even candles or oil to burn the lamps—we would go to bed by dark—in the late afternoon or early evening. Grandmother and Mama would tell stories and reminisce, and we would try not to think about the days ahead since none of us knew what the future would bring for us.

Down at the railroads, there were still some trains moving, but no passengers were coming or going. I would run outside when I heard a train whistle blowing since I still lived with the hope that one day, somehow, Anatoly or someone else from my family would show up. Grandmother was hoping that Petrovich had somehow managed to get away and that he would appear. So, we lived mostly with a lot of hope, since it was giving us something to look forward to. But nothing happened, and we decided to make the best of the situation. People everywhere were like us—just kept going on and making the best of it. It took some more months for everyone to get used to it all. It was like we were in a state of limbo.

People organized a bazaar down on the outskirts of Konstantinowka and started selling or bartering for whatever anyone had. They were exchanging goods of all kinds, since money had no value. Mama and I were making regular trips to the bazaar, just browsing to see if there was some food or anything else that would be of value to us. We were happy to find anything that would help us survive those dreary times.

Mama and I decided to join the chorus at the Russian Orthodox church, and we went to practices for Sunday’s singing at the church. I don’t know where all the people came from for the Sunday services, but every Sunday, the church was packed. The services were typical of the Russian Orthodox Church, with all the candles, icons, etc., and I was looking forward to going there. Mama and I both sang very well, especially Mama, who sang in the first-soprano section. I sang mezzo-soprano.

I would get hungry, because the services were very long, and when the priest served the Lord’s Supper, the little piece of bread was very welcome. It was just a small square of leavened bread, but it tasted so good, and the small taste of juice tasted good, also. Grandmother was extremely happy to be able to go to church again—she never missed a Sunday to be there. The evenings were long, and when the sunset would come, we prepared something to eat and once again retired to our beds before dark.

There were times when I was all to myself—engrossed in my deep thoughts—and I kept a diary that I would hide in the old stable, under the carriage. There I would write about what it was like before the war, rather than what was happening now. I was hoping that if I kept writing about it, the old times would come back, and I could forget what was going on all around me.

A COLD MORNING •
This particular memory, taken from the diary entry of December 1941/January 1942, appears in present-tense translation. It was written before Anna and Nonna moved back to the Great House with Grandmother.

It is a very cold morning—forty-two degrees below zero. As I look out the window I can see just a few hungry sparrows perched on the fence. The snow is about three feet deep. There is no wood anywhere to be gathered to build a fire to make our quarters warm in the big old house where we are living.

Papa was buried a few weeks ago, and Mama and I are trying to make our lives as bearable as possible. We know nothing about the future for both of us. Of course, at my young age, I am not worried so much about the future, and I mostly miss my dearest brother, Anatoly, and Papa. I lie in the bed by the window, and as I look out the window, there is a large, round moon looking right at me. It makes my heart just stand still. I lie this way—staring at the moon—and wonder why all of the things that are happening are happening. It does not seem right to be there without Papa and my brother and the rest of my family. Every once in a while, I can hear dogs barking or wolves howling near the long wooded stretch on the horizon. These kinds of sounds will stay with me for a lifetime. Sometimes the full moon gives off enough light to read and write by, and since there is no electricity or oil lamps, the light of the moon comes in handy. I can write in my diary, and I can think of a lot of things to put on paper. I eventually drift off to a gentle sleep.