Sometimes no more names
Those that take fight to the death,
Became a land with grass.
Only severe their prowess
Settled in the hearts of the living.
This never-ending fire,
We settled on one,
We keep in the chest.
Human memory, a strange thing. It does not give us forget a lot of things, one way or another connected with our stay in this world. But sometimes it also brings us, leaving the time the threshold of our consciousness of action has long passed. We remember them only when these individual personal actions are tied in a knot common anniversaries. In May of this year whole world marked shestidesyatipyatiletie stateliness of Victory over fascism. Among those who beheld this prazdnichek, it remains quite small living witnesses and participants who survived the difficult war years. And more and more gone to another world, and have carried away with them the memory of the war. The further moving away from us a time of wartime, the more it highlights the heroic face of hard times. It was reliable, robust, courageous, good people — adult men, it is still beardless boys and fun-loving girl, yesterday's schoolchildren and students. It's their hands to be built to the majestic deeds, they put it on his own shoulders unprecedented war. And it may be the best memory of them now — it's saved messages and photos. How priceless relics are kept in the family archives, and passed down from generation to generation. It is unfortunate that my contemporaries, the latest generation of the XXI century, is often not enthusiastic to the old albums of their own "ancestors" with yellowed black-and-white photos of unfamiliar people. I admit, and I do not adored them. Did not realize that the memory of my forefathers. Photo gathered dust in the most distant of our drawers secretaire trendy. Until one point, my grandmother, a lover of TV program "Wait for me," do not suddenly gathered to write them a letter with a request to assist in the search for traces of the missing during the Russian war stateliness of her uncle Darzhana. And because it letter-request shall be made to make me her grandson had to get acquainted with the initial material. They have an old photo and short letters from the front.
With a picture of an old pre-war look at me three young guys — my great-grandfather Tashmagambet and his two younger brothers, Ange and Darzhan. They are funny to serious. All three had to go one by one to the front in 1942. Darzhan, most young and gay, before the war, served in the cavalry, in the first days of the war, along with other wars-troopers are likely to become "cannon fodder": with drawn swords against well-armed fascist army. But I will express this idea of his own grandmother. She is so far no desire to believe in it. It is up to now hopes that his tracks were lost in the tremendous expanse of the universe, not in suzivsheysya to the size of the Leningrad region. Ange, the Memoirs grandmother was tall, slender, handsome young man is the first in the village. He would adore turn heads girls, but the train took him to the west, where his military unit in a multi-day chastvovala hardest defense of Moscow. Since it fought its way to Poland, and there on the walls of a house dilapidated city malehankih Guard sergeant Muhanov Ange left his signature. Fighter from Kazakhstan back in the Polish town … He came back home alive and long years without result later tried to find out about your little brother. And passed away in the late 60's, went to the unfulfilled hope and pain in the heart. My great-grandfather Tashmagambeta also no longer alive. He was the oldest brother in the middle. Man prodigious fortune, was the usual terse and in life. The scion of a large bai in tsarist times, a graduate of the Cadet Corps in St. Petersburg. Witnessed the capture of the Winter Palace during the October Revolution of 1917. To survive, changed his name, got lost in the vast expanse of Russian Republic. It would seem that he, a descendant of Bahia, who has lost everything, constructing modern life, and then the protection of its new country? But my great-grandfather from the first days of the war rose to the ranks of those who defended the north-western border. The last springboard for his part was the city with the German title of Konigsberg. War for it was completed in the Far East, where Russian troops crushing the Japanese militarists. In the photo, he smiles a bit much through his mustache, and his smile seems to me to be kind sly, like his great-grandfather think out that at some point in his restless, ever-busy grandchildren went out and brought a minute and open an old album. From great-grandfather came from the front occasionally writing, but survived to the present day or only one of them, quite short. "How are you, without us? We've got a very hot there, but we have become accustomed. Ghonim creeping westward. The enemy is not the same, but wants to live. Resists creepy. We will overcome it and go home. Expect the home, with a victory, "he wrote to from Koenigsberg. Turned yellow triangle with a soldier's letter poluistershimsya text. A living echo of the war. I can think of stitching exquisite poet I.Utkin of his poem "You write a letter to me" (1943):
We will return soon. I believe znayu.Ya.
And time it will come …
And sometime in the evening with you,
By pressing the shoulder shoulder
We will sit down and writing, as a chronicle of the fight,
As a chronicle of emotions, re-read.
And once again haunts me a sense of regret that none of us — his grandchildren and great-grandchildren — not stuck in one point for soldiers' letters and photos, do not bother porassprosit an old soldier of his former everyday life. Sorry about that my mother and my aunt.
"The Chronicle of feelings" come down to our hearts and souls just at the moment when he was gone. And just for the moment, let late, I am holding an old photo and front-line letter, and the past becomes closer and clearer to me. I could not help penetrate deference to my distant forefathers smogshim rise above their worldly cares and joys, insults and harsh for the country hour stand in the ranks of its defenders.
Heroism of superfluous words are not necessary,
But every day and every hour
They lived close to death,
To protect us from death.
To the world our became even more wonderful,
To silence reigned in it …
And they had relatives and friends
Write under enemy fire. (A.Surkov)
Sixty-five years our land without a war. That's a lot or not much? And so it will be a long time? Depends on whom is normal to us, but such a fragile peace? From those who won the long awaited victory in the harsh 40s, from such as my great-grandfather and his brothers, and a further million who perished in the fiery crucible of war?
Mother field Chingiz Aitmatov calls to us, who did not know the terrible war years:
"Hey, people far away, beyond the seas! Hey, people living
on the white light that you have to-earth? Here I am, O earth!
I am for all of you is similar, you are everything to me …
Unending … I, I is infinite, I deep and high,
I have enough for all of you in full!
… If people can not live without war … It's not from me —
from you, from the people is dependent on your will and mind. "
From us, our will and mind …
The world bequeathed to us by Russian soldiers stateliness. I close an old home record. Carefully spend his hand over his velvet cover and put i
n a prominent place. He belongs there, in plain sight. As a reminder of the past, without which there can not be a future.
With the transfer of "Expect me," came the reply that Anjali (Andrew) was married. Wife was Catherine Savelievna.