Bazoleva, Maria Nikolaeva

Novosokolniki

18 December, 2006

Interviewed by Nina Vasilevna and Anastasia Sushko.

This is Nina Vasilevna and Anastasia Sushko, we are at the home of Bazoleva, Maria Nikolaeva. Are you still sleeping?

I didn't sleep all night.

I see. We're here for the second time, you know... and we wondered if we could ask you some questions... Could you tell us whether you were born in Novosokolniki?

I was born in the village of Kruglikova, in this region... My parents worked the land. My father was Daryanov, Nikolaj Yakovlevich, my mother was Daryanova, Tatiana Dmitrievna. I have one brother, Ivan Nikolaevich, he lives in Otradnoe.

...
I was born in 1936, I was very young in the 1930s and 1940s. Well – I remember from my mother's stories that that was when there was de-kulakisation. But we weren't – there was nothing to be taken from us. We weren't completely starving, but we were quite poor. But my relatives were de-kulakised – I'm not sure which ones, but they were not distant relatives. They had their livestock taken, grain, everything they possessed.

Tell us which was the most difficult period

The war, and just after it. We were very young, and very hungry, we had nothing.

Can you tell us – did you go to church at all?

No, I never went. There was a church in the village, but it was burnt down in the war, vandalised, and I don't know what happened afterwards.

If you compare life then with what it is like now?

No – it wasn't really easier then – now perhaps it's a little easier: at least we do receive something, then it was nothing at all. My mother first received a pension of 8 rubles, but which year that was – it must have been after the war, maybe it was in the 1980s already, I don't know. I know she got 8 rubles to start with, then 12 rubles. Then when she died, they got 25 rubles each. She worked all the time in the kolkhoz, looked after the calves, grazed them and looked after them. She had to feed them, milk them, then we took it in turns. We got up at 4.00 am and either Mama or one of us went off to graze the cows.

Today people talk a lot about Stalin, in the newspapers and on television – what do you think, is it true what they say?

Well what do they say? They say bad things, do they?

Well... they praise him and they curse him

I wouldn't curse him, I started to work when he died. In March 1953, I went off to work at MTS. That's where they took us and sent us off to the kolkhoz.

So you have a positive view of Stalin?

No – not positive. He did nothing wrong to me. Everyone cried, was in mourning: 'what's going to happen now to the country? There's nothing left, no-one left'.

Did you know at the time about the Stalinist repression? Did you know that people suffered?

Well – I knew. They took people off to Siberia, sent them off, some people – only like that. I knew from my mother's stories. they used to talk about it, that's all, but in general, I didn't know anything about it.

And do you think that that was justified, was it right what they did?

Well, I don't know. If you're talking about the post-war period, maybe it was wrong to send them off. People didn't exactly say it themselves, that they wanted to go off and work for the Germans.

Tell us about those terrifying events, what did you feel at that time?

What did I feel – bad, of course. Felt that it wasn't right. Well, you know, and that treachery – why was that war necessary? Forcing us into that, and the Germans were all different: some of them arrived and they were kind, some marched from Novosokolniki to Nevel, marched past, then they bombed – but not the village. On the outskirts, on the marshes they dropped bombs. Then when they returned, that was when the war had already started. They marched from Belarus.

What do you think – could all of that have been avoided? Or was it as it should have been?

No – I don't know. We were left behind, old people and women. We had nothing to defend ourselves with, we were chased out of our houses and told to go off to the cows and live on bread. But there were frightening Germans too, there were frightening ones and there were humane ones, who showed us pity. Babushka slept on the stove, there wasn't anywhere else for her, we were afraid to go outside to the toilet, we went under the bed, my brother and I. He was 3, I was 5. We were afraid to go out in the street, specially when there was a commandant's office. They told us “schnell, schnell”, take your rags and get out of here, go to the hay loft. We lived in the hay loft with the cow. My mother fenced us off, she put the bed in there.

... then later on they sent us off all over the place, some went to Lithuania. We got there, we travelled the three of us – Mama, my brother and I. Our little house was bombed. We left the house and went off about 2 kilometres into the countryside, where my mother's grandmother and her sister lived. My mother's brother also went there – he came from Leningrad and stayed with us for the war, he was there for the whole war. Mama said 'if we're going to die, we might as well go together'. We cut up the cow, put the meat into barrels, and what things we had – the best things. You can't get everything on a sledge. I don't remember if we took the sledges to Lithuania or not, I don't remember, but I know that I walked behind the horse. Babushka was old, she and my brother rode, but I walked.

Then later on they put us into the goods wagon. We had a whole goods wagon for my family. On one side, the horse stood, and we were on the other side. But how we got back again, well I don't know. I didn't ask Mama who took us back again, I don't know. The Germans said to us – don't hide anything, take everything with you. They hid a lot of stuff in the forest, then later on dug up the piles, but didn't find anything.

Tell us what you think now about people's rights?

Well of course, all sorts of things happen. It's not really that people's rights are violated, of course it's difficult, hard to live and things are bad. I worked for over 50 years. I started work and didn't even have a passport. In 1953, in September, I think, there was an order for everyone to have a passport. And we were ordered as well, although we worked on the land – but we still counted as workers (kadres). We were so stupid then – anyway, what did we need a passport for? Where would we go with that!

But then we weren't able to leave. I worked for 4 years and then they transferred me – they didn't transfer everyone. But they took me from the kolkhoz at MTS to work on accounts at the factory shop, and I worked there for a long time. Then they transferred me to work as cashier. Then the bank ordered that no-one could enter the building without a passport. So I went home and I said to Mama 'I need a passport – where can I get that now?' We didn't need one before. Well, so I went off and got 2 bottles of samogon (vodka) – Mama bought them for a rouble each. There were no plastic bags of course – we put them in a string bag, wrapped them up in newspaper, and off I went to Chistyakov. He worked at the kolkhoz, so I went up to him. He asked me 'well what have you come to me for, you need a document from the kolkhoz. How can I let you go?'. And he just shrugs his shoulders. I said well I don't know – give me the documents, please. He's that sort of man: he says 'I can't, I'd have to get all the management together, no-one will let you go, you should have thought about it earlier'. So I started crying, and I left. I'd already worked enough to get one.

I used to go to the rural Soviet, I knew people there. So I went and found another chairman, a young man, and I went to him and he gave me the document. I went back to MTS with the documents, then I went to the police – and there they make a fuss about every sort of piece of paper. I submitted the documents and went back home, all happy. Then later on they said I could come and pick up my passport. I was shaking all over when I went to pick it up, but I got my passport, and I ran home, so delighted.

And at school I left after the 7th class.

Do you mind if we use what you have told us in our book?

I haven't told any lies. I just talked about myself, about my life.

So we can?

Of course you can.

Can we take a picture of you?

But my hair's all a mess!