(Magazine Version)
After father's evacuation, all responsibility for the family fell upon the shoulders of the sons, Timofei and Nikolai, and to some extent their older sister Klavdia. They were still children, but fully understood that their family's survival depended on them. They approached every task with complete responsibility.
From July 19, 1942 to February 14, 1943, the city of Krasnodon was completely occupied by German forces. Having occupied the city and settlement, the Germans destroyed nothing, only billeted soldiers in the residents' already small cottages, forcing the owners to huddle in one room. So it was with the Balatsky family. A knock came at their small house, which consisted of a kitchen and two rooms and was already home to eight people. Praskovia didn't want to open the door, but the knocking wouldn't stop. The blows seemed like they would tear the door from its hinges.
"Mom, open the door for them, or they'll take it off the hinges," said Timofei.
The woman reluctantly opened it. About twelve dirty, filthy Romanian soldiers, covered in insects, poured into the cottage. The children huddled in a corner in fear. Their mother gathered them all and took them to another room, praying to God to protect them. Throughout the occupation that followed, she understood that only the invisible hand of the Lord guarded her teenage daughters and their entire family from harm. At times when the family themselves had nothing to eat, the soldiers took the last of their food. "Mama, yayats, mleko, mleko" (eggs, milk, milk), they demanded in broken Russian, and Praskovia had no choice but to share their already meager food supplies. The Germans took the entire corn harvest, which the family had planted, for their horses. But because they had chickens, a cow, goats, and an orchard with a vegetable garden, the family survived the war. The cow was their greatest salvation, along with the goats and calves. In winter, all the young livestock had to be kept in the house to prevent freezing and theft from the barn. In summer they were fattened, and by winter the family had meat.
When the Soviet army liberated the city, soldiers, learning who had a cow, would come and offer to exchange milk for salt, and since salt was extremely hard to come by during the war, people readily accepted the trade.
The children, like adults, worked hard. In the village of Krasnanka, the manager of the enterprise where Nikita worked arranged to give workers plots of land for growing vegetables. The Balatsky family had six garden plots that needed to be dug, planted, weeded, and constantly watered. Nikita Titovich built an irrigation device on the river. It was operated by horses. Water was pumped from the river. On the bank was a drum, and in the water was another drum connected by a steel cable. It rotated with the help of the cable. A large wheel was fixed in the river with buckets attached to it. As the wheel turned, the buckets filled with water and emptied into a trough set on wooden supports. From the trough, water flowed into a ditch leading toward the garden beds. While working in the gardens, the boys lived in a shack, went to the river to catch fish and crayfish. Thanks to the gardens, the family could store vegetables for winter. They also gathered hay to feed the livestock in winter. These household concerns sometimes became dramatic.
"Today we'll go thresh the grain stacks. I'll pick up a friend, and you catch up," Timofei said to Nikolai and Klava, heading first to the gardens. Picking up his friend, they headed toward the railroad. Upon reaching the airfield, his friend said:
"You'd better go alone. I'm not going."
"Why?"
"I don't want to. I changed my mind," his friend answered and turned back.
Later, Timofei understood that God had placed a strong call on the boy's heart to turn back. He, like Tima, was from a Christian family, and his mother always prayed for the protection of her children. Timofei continued on, but as soon as he came over a small hill, machine gun fire started raining down on him. He fell and lay there, listening. But as soon as he raised his head slightly, the machine gun rattled again. He fell back down, snow flying around him from the bullets in all directions, and he lay thinking: what should I do? He began crawling forward, moving some fifty meters to where the slope down to the railroad began. He was no longer visible there. He descended to the railroad bed and walked home. He arrived to find Kolya and Klava already there.
"Why didn't you two go thresh?" he asked them.
"The Germans turned us back," they said.
"And I came under fire, but God protected me," said Timofei.
Like many boys, Tima was curious about everything, especially military equipment. Though it was dangerous, nothing could keep him in place.
"One time, when the Germans were already retreating, my neighbor and I saw a truck full of grenades and climbed on it. Suddenly, we see a German running and shouting something. We run! We're running along the top of the stable wall, the fascist is shooting, and only wall fragments are flying at us, but not a single bullet hits us."
"Once on my way home I saw a pile of shells and decided to disarm them so I could use them to stun fish later. I didn't finish disarming them and left it for the morning. But the next day I found someone had buried them. Fortunately, I had a sapper shovel. So for several days, whenever I ran to work, I'd stop, dig them up, pull out the detonators, and put them in my bag. I disarmed fifty shells that way... I must have been out of my mind! Thank God, not a single one exploded," Timofei reminisced about his youthful exploits one evening with his family.
"Did Mom know?" his daughter asked.
"No one knew! I kept them in the attic—such colorful little dolls. Then I'd stuff them with explosives and go fish-hunting. Other boys were disarming shells too, but it didn't always go smoothly. One boy—it went boom!—his guts spilled out. He ran in a panic screaming, 'Will I live? Will I live?' He ran fifty meters and dropped dead.
"And you saw all this?"
"Of course I saw it. Do you know how many deaths, how many corpses I saw?! Walking through the field—the whole field covered with dead soldiers... We'd pull a pistol from a pocket with an address in it, put the body on a sleigh and carry it to a pit, six by six meters, and dump them all there. We'd give the addresses to the foreman to notify the families. That's how we helped bury our soldiers..."
Every day for Timofei was a struggle for survival, not just his own but his entire family's. He constantly felt responsible for them. And it was the same today. Waking up, he went looking for some work to earn at least a piece of bread. When he and his friend passed a German field kitchen, a German called them over and ordered them to haul water in buckets. The boys got to work. Using an iron cup, they had to scoop water from a spring into a bucket and carry it up.
After bringing thirty buckets, Timofei asked:
"Sir, will you give us food?"
The German pulled out a pistol and said:
"Here's your food."
Another German standing nearby said to him:
"Take them. Let them haul water for you too."
"Come on," said the German, and the boys followed him.
At the field kitchen, he immediately poured them each a cup of milk and gave them a piece of white bread. After eating, the boys got to work. They quickly filled the large pot with water and received, in gratitude, each a bucket of pasta with pieces of lard. Timofei brought the food home, and he was so happy that today they would eat their fill. Praskovia, seeing so much food, completely forgot caution and fed everyone as much as they wanted. Until then they had been constantly hungry, living in poverty, and their stomachs couldn't handle such a load. Everyone got stomach aches, began vomiting, had intestinal disorders. Timofei regretted bringing home those noodles...
It was autumn of 1943. Kolya and Tima had come to the village of Gulyai-Pole in Poltava region. A woman they knew, who had been visiting their settlement, invited them to come with her so they could bring grain for their family. In that village, as the Germans retreated, they had set fire to a wheat field, but local residents managed to put it out, and though it was partially burned, plenty of usable grain remained.
"Kolya, get up," Nikolai heard through his sleep, and feeling a nudge in his ribs, didn't immediately realize where he was. He felt warm and cozy in his soft bed, while Timofei was shaking him and trying quietly to wake him without disturbing anyone.
Nikolai got up, dressed quickly, and the brothers, thanking their hostess, went out into the darkness of the just-beginning dawn. A cold wind bit at their cheeks and pierced their bones through their light autumn jackets. They tried to walk faster to warm up, but heavy bags slowed them down. When they reached the station, they looked around.
"Well, looks like we'll have to ride like stowaways again," Timofei joked, as if they'd ever paid for passage before.
Walking around the train so no one would see them, they hid and waited for it to start moving. A few minutes later, something creaked, a loud whistle sounded, and the train moved. The boys threw their bags and nimbly jumped onto the buffer—the place between cars. After some time, rain clouds gathered and it began to drizzle. There was nowhere to hide. The brothers sat pressed tightly together to stay warm. Meanwhile, their mother knelt and prayed for God's protection of her children. On the journey, when checking the train, they had to hide from workers so they wouldn't be discovered and thrown off. From sitting so long, their legs froze and went numb, and they could barely move them. But they had to act fast so they wouldn't be caught. Their station was approaching, and the boys prepared to jump. The train slowed. Timofei chose the right moment, dropped his bag, and jumped, with Nikolai following.
Grabbing their bags, they ran quickly across the railroad tracks and disappeared into an alley. Soon they were home, where the family greeted them joyfully. In the settlement was a kind miller who always ground grain for Timofei's family for free. This time too—he ground their grain, and Praskovia was able to feed her family with baked goods for a long time afterward.
When during the fateful forties everything even remotely edible was sent to the front, those left in the rear had to survive on whatever God provided. It was especially hard in early spring, when the stores from autumn had been eaten during the long winter. Children went to the fields searching for fallen grain heads left from last year's harvest. Sometimes they had to dig them out from under the snow. Then Timofei, with several of his peers, went to the field with a small shovel, dug through the snow to the earth, then scraped it with frozen hands to find a surviving wheat or millet head. The work was slow: hands froze, he warmed them with his breath or tucked them under his coat for a while and dug again. Hours would pass before he could collect two dozen heads. Wet and chilled, but happy, he ran home with the other boys. At home he'd sit close to the hot stove and warm his numb hands and feet.
Outside it was January 1943, everything was covered with snow. Food was running out and it was time to find something for sustenance.
"Children, dress warmly and go to the nearest village. Try to trade your father's canvas raincoat for food," Mother said to Klava, Timofei, and Nikolai.
The children took wooden sleds with sides, put the raincoat in a bag, placed the bag in the sled, and set off. Leaving the settlement, they turned onto the road leading to the neighboring village. Walking along the road beside a field, they pulled the sled behind them. Several times rare passersby overtook them. After walking some distance, they turned around and looked—the bag was gone! Klava began to cry...
"What will we do now? What will we tell Mom?" she wailed.
"Well, we'll have to go back," said Timofei, and the children turned toward home. Walking along the road, they noticed in the distance a flock of sparrows circling: the birds landed and hopped along the roadside. They decided to look and went closer, only to see grain scattered on the ground. The children began scraping away the snow and found barley grain underneath. There was so much—about two buckets' worth. They were overjoyed at the find, carefully loaded it all into the sled, and walked home. Though they understood that someone had stolen their raincoat, God miraculously cared for them so that they didn't even need to go to the village. In this too they felt the invisible, caring hand of God. Coming home, they rushed to tell their mother what had happened. Their mother thanked God for protecting her children and caring for their family. They ground the barley into groats with a hand mill their father had made, and Praskovia prepared porridge and soup for the children for a long time after.
With spring, hunger began to ease when the earth, awakening from winter, delighted with greenery. As soon as nettles began to sprout, they became the basis for first courses. Young greens were finely chopped, boiled in salted water, and if possible, seasoned with a handful of crushed grain. If someone found remains of frozen potatoes in a dug-up field, the potatoes were washed, sliced, and used. They also used various roots, lamb's quarters, sorrel, all sorts of berries and mushrooms, and those with orchards could enjoy fruit. Praskovia used all her ingenuity to feed eight mouths. When they managed to get some grain and grind it into flour, she'd add crushed boiled potato skins and sawdust from the sawmill, and bake flatbread. The flatbread wasn't particularly tasty, but it filled the stomach.
Timofei often recalls how they fought hunger:
"Kolya and I would go to the marsh where acorus grew. We'd pick a lot, and on its roots was something white and tasty. We'd break off these growths from the root and eat them—they were slightly sweet, and to a hungry person that was delicious! We also picked wild onion, garlic, and couch grass from meadows. We'd pick a lot, spit on it, put it on anthills, and after a while the ants would cover the grass, then we'd lick it and it was sour.
Sometimes we'd find a dead horse in the steppe, cut off pieces of meat, and bring them home. Other times we'd hunt rabbits: we'd chase them till they'd fall exhausted, and we'd get meat. Once we chased a rabbit from the steppe all the way to the settlement, cornered it in a building, but it didn't go to us—some man there took it from us," Timofei finished his story.
From childhood Tima was friends with a neighboring boy, Mikhail Tsybanev. Together they searched for food for their families, together they fled from Germans and rode bicycles. Mikhail lived his whole life in Krasnodon, and when Timofei came home to his native land, they always met and over tea reminisced about their childhood and youth.
Like all children, Timofei loved riding a bicycle, fishing, skiing and skating, or just walking. He was very talented and learned much from his father in woodworking. He made his own skates and skis. The skates he carved from wood, making them so thin that he could tie them to his felt boots with rope, and they slid on ice no worse than metal ones. Once Timofei went skiing, but it was a thaw and the hillside had bare patches. He hit one of these patches: doing a somersault in the air, he landed head-first in a pile of snow mixed with mud. His legs flailed in the air and he couldn't get out. With effort, he freed himself and trudged home. But even such incidents didn't stop him. Once the boys organized a bicycle race. Timofei was going at high speed when suddenly the front fork broke. The wheel rolled away, the front of the bike dug into the ground, and Timofei, flying from the saddle, hit the ground hard, striking his head badly. He lost consciousness and fell into a coma from the severe concussion. Instead of taking him to the hospital, the boys brought him home, thinking he was just asleep. He didn't come to all day.
When their mother found out, she took him to the hospital, but Timofei escaped through the window. Later this incident greatly affected Timofei's health—he was often bothered by headaches.
With the start of the war, everyone became involved. Not only because each family had sent someone to the front, but because the front needed food, clothing, and ammunition. Mothers had to feed their families, and children had to help them do it. By the recollections of war children, everyone worked: adults and even five-year-old toddlers. Children mainly worked in the fields: digging potatoes, collecting grain heads. In the village, children were accustomed to physical labor from childhood, but it was still very hard, since they were undernourished and had nowhere to get strength.
Klava, Tima, and Nikolai worked very hard. Besides garden work, the boys also helped harvest collective grain, and afterward gathered the remaining heads of wheat or rye. The distance was great—15 to 20 kilometers: to collect anything, they had to arrive in the field early in the morning. For this, they had to get up at 3 in the morning. Tima and Kolya went with their peers. Timofei woke up without an alarm and woke all his friends with a whistle they knew.
Once Timofei went with the boys to collect sunflowers. After gathering many "heads," they began beating out seeds into bags. Though the harvest had already been collected from the field, it turned out that this field couldn't be harvested from. Before they finished beating out all the seeds, police suddenly appeared (locals working for the Germans) and took everything from them, locking them in a barn to give them a beating later. They sat thinking how to get out. Night fell and everyone slowly fell asleep from exhaustion. Tima didn't sleep when suddenly the door opened and an old watchman beckoned him over and quietly said: "Escape from here!" So Timofei and his friends avoided the beating and safely returned home.
During the war there was terrible food shortage in the country. Everything was sent to the front. There was no bread in stores—it was given by ration cards. Workers got 800 grams of bread a day, non-workers got 300. Early in the mornings, boys woke up and went to the store to get bread. Queues were long; sometimes you had to stand for hours in frost, rain, and cold. You couldn't leave or you'd lose your place in line. Sometimes after standing for hours, there was no bread left.
At fifteen, Timofei went to work at his father's enterprise as a carpenter's helper. They worked twelve hours a day. After some time, Timofei was made a foreman. His brigade of twelve men made stools which they delivered to the warehouse.
In summer, on the way to work, Timofei always had to go around a pond, which took more time. In winter, when the pond froze, Timofei went straight across the ice. Once early in winter, going home for lunch, he decided to shorten the path and go across the pond—the ice seemed solid. But before he reached the other shore, the ice cracked and he fell into icy water. His quilted jacket got soaked and became heavy; his boots also pulled downward. There was no one to call for help—no one was nearby. Timofei mentally asked God for help and began striking the ice with his elbows with all his strength, slowly moving forward. Reaching the shore, he collapsed exhausted, but he had to go on. Times were very strict—being late could cost you your job. Getting home, Timofei barely had time to change and ran back. There was no time for lunch anymore. He had to work hungry till the end of his shift. There was much more he and his whole family had to endure during the war, and only God's invisible hand protected them.
