but soon acquiesced when a third soldier stepped in front of him and pointed his rifle at him. The next two minutes passed by as if we were watching through a fog. We were helpless. Volodimir pulled on his coat and fastened his boots. Before he was led away he turned towards us one final time and, in a quiet low voice that echoed in my ears for a long time afterwards, said, ‘Look after yourselves.’
He was led out of the door. As the last of the soldiers walked out we followed and stood just outside our front door. The snow was still coming down hard, and Volodimir and the soldiers tramped through it. He was bundled into the back of a truck. The engine roared as the driver clunked into gear and pulled away. Volodimir just gazed out from the back of the truck and we watched as he disappeared down our approach and away down the road. Mother dropped to her knees and, once again, began to sob.
Chapter 5
Ukrainian proverb: When one dog barks at nothing, a dozen will bark with him
It was as if I’d lost an arm or a leg. Volodimir was my big brother and he’d always looked out for me, we looked out for each other, but he’d been carted off by the Nazis, and I was left alone. I was like an orphan. The bedroom I’d shared with him was now more like a barn, it was too big. It was strange to be on my own in there. I had no one to talk to before I went to sleep. Consequently, I spent most nights half awake, wishing he was back with us. Sometimes, I’d find myself talking to the walls, as if he was still there. His bed was opposite mine in our room, and in the mornings I found myself walking over to it to wake him up, just like I’d always had to.
A week passed. Then two, and then three. We heard nothing. Would we hear anything from him ever again? We carried on living, day by day, but in something of a daze it has to be said. I carried on going to school, and my friends all asked me where Volodimir was. I had to choke back tears and be a Kozak as I told them. Then, they told me about their older brothers, cousins and neighbours. That very same evening, many of them had been hauled off by the Nazis.
It was systematic. The Nazis treated us as if we were nothing. Or less than nothing. We were just there to serve them. If we didn’t do what they requested then we knew we’d be shot. Because, before long, we found out the extent of their wickedness.
As always, the information was passed on from house to house, whispered behind closed doors, through cupped hands into Ukrainian ears. The Nazis were committing mass murder. It was clear that they’d embarked on a programme to wipe out as many Jews as possible, but not only Jews. They were killing Ukrainians, and other nationalities. More than ever, our lives became about survival.
Living in a war zone carried so much uncertainty. Not only were we occupied by the Nazi invaders, but we had Ukrainian Resistance and Russian Partisans operating in the area. It was chaos. The Nazis took some of the produce from our smallholding, and then we had the Ukrainian Resistance approach us for supplies. By the time the Russian Partisans came there was little left. There was one occasion, in the chill of an early evening, when a pair of Russians came into the village and walked up our approach. It wasn’t the first time they’d come calling, but on this particular occasion, instead of giving them anything, Father got his shovel out and stood in the doorway of our house, ‘Away with you! There’s nothing here for you!’
I came outside with him and one of our neighbours also came out, with his shovel. The Russians didn’t hang around. They fled back into the gloom, back into the murky outskirts of the village. For once we’d managed, in a small way, to defend ourselves and see off some of our adversaries. Okay, so we risked some retribution, but it was unlikely. The Russian Partisans had the Ukrainian Resistance to deal with if they did anything to us.
Our radio crackled
He was led out of the door. As the last of the soldiers walked out we followed and stood just outside our front door. The snow was still coming down hard, and Volodimir and the soldiers tramped through it. He was bundled into the back of a truck. The engine roared as the driver clunked into gear and pulled away. Volodimir just gazed out from the back of the truck and we watched as he disappeared down our approach and away down the road. Mother dropped to her knees and, once again, began to sob.
Chapter 5
Ukrainian proverb: When one dog barks at nothing, a dozen will bark with him
It was as if I’d lost an arm or a leg. Volodimir was my big brother and he’d always looked out for me, we looked out for each other, but he’d been carted off by the Nazis, and I was left alone. I was like an orphan. The bedroom I’d shared with him was now more like a barn, it was too big. It was strange to be on my own in there. I had no one to talk to before I went to sleep. Consequently, I spent most nights half awake, wishing he was back with us. Sometimes, I’d find myself talking to the walls, as if he was still there. His bed was opposite mine in our room, and in the mornings I found myself walking over to it to wake him up, just like I’d always had to.
A week passed. Then two, and then three. We heard nothing. Would we hear anything from him ever again? We carried on living, day by day, but in something of a daze it has to be said. I carried on going to school, and my friends all asked me where Volodimir was. I had to choke back tears and be a Kozak as I told them. Then, they told me about their older brothers, cousins and neighbours. That very same evening, many of them had been hauled off by the Nazis.
It was systematic. The Nazis treated us as if we were nothing. Or less than nothing. We were just there to serve them. If we didn’t do what they requested then we knew we’d be shot. Because, before long, we found out the extent of their wickedness.
As always, the information was passed on from house to house, whispered behind closed doors, through cupped hands into Ukrainian ears. The Nazis were committing mass murder. It was clear that they’d embarked on a programme to wipe out as many Jews as possible, but not only Jews. They were killing Ukrainians, and other nationalities. More than ever, our lives became about survival.
Living in a war zone carried so much uncertainty. Not only were we occupied by the Nazi invaders, but we had Ukrainian Resistance and Russian Partisans operating in the area. It was chaos. The Nazis took some of the produce from our smallholding, and then we had the Ukrainian Resistance approach us for supplies. By the time the Russian Partisans came there was little left. There was one occasion, in the chill of an early evening, when a pair of Russians came into the village and walked up our approach. It wasn’t the first time they’d come calling, but on this particular occasion, instead of giving them anything, Father got his shovel out and stood in the doorway of our house, ‘Away with you! There’s nothing here for you!’
I came outside with him and one of our neighbours also came out, with his shovel. The Russians didn’t hang around. They fled back into the gloom, back into the murky outskirts of the village. For once we’d managed, in a small way, to defend ourselves and see off some of our adversaries. Okay, so we risked some retribution, but it was unlikely. The Russian Partisans had the Ukrainian Resistance to deal with if they did anything to us.
Our radio crackled
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