The Secret Holocaust Diaries

by Nonna Bannister

  That night—Christmas Day—after all the excitement had died down, we gathered by the ochag. We heard Grandmother’s stories from her life experiences, and those stories never faded away. As we listened to her, it was almost as if we were there. We were surrounded by love—and magic: the warmth from the fireplace; the smell of Christmas itself; and Babushka, sitting there with her hands folded in her lap—still wearing her beautiful dark green velvet dress trimmed with plenty of handmade lace—with her very gentle and strong voice and such a kind look in her eyes. All this remains in my memory forever. I can see her—just as she was then—anytime I want to go back to that very magical time in my life. She will always be an unforgettable image in my mind. It will never change even if I live to be a hundred years old—those kinds of memories I can keep with me and use as comfort when I feel unhappy or lonesome.

  That night, after we were all so happily bedded down, the last thing that we heard were the chimes from Grandfather’s clock (who knows how many chimes—perhaps twelve or less). None of us knew what Mother Nature was doing outside our windows. The big windows had shutters built from the inside, and they were shut to keep the cold from penetrating the house.

  When we awakened the morning after Christmas, it was so incredibly quiet everywhere—we could hear no sounds from the outside. It was such an awesome feeling, and everyone was wondering what was happening. When the shutters were opened, there was nothing to see except the snow against the window panes all around the house. Petrovich was outside the kitchen and yelling loudly, telling us that he was working on moving the snow from the entrance. It seemed that he had dug himself out of his cottage. It was a long time before anyone knew what had happened.

  All of this was very exciting for us, because we had never seen so much snow anywhere. The snowstorm had gone through our village and, with blizzardlike winds, had blown tons of snow—covering the two-story house up to the upstairs windows. Once Petrovich had uncovered the path to the door and freed the kitchen entrance, we were all allowed to dress and go help him shovel the snow away from the back of the house. No one cared how high or how much snow was up at the front of the house—we used the kitchen door for days afterward.

  While we were busy shoveling snow, I saw something moving by the stable—it was a bushy red thing, and it disappeared behind the stable. Letting out a yell, I pointed in that direction; following the creature’s footprints, everyone ran behind the stable, and what was there? Crouched in a corner between the fence and the stable wall was a baby red fox. It was very small—no bigger than a little puppy or a large cat. It had somehow gotten separated from the mother fox and wandered into our backyard. We all wanted to pet it and hold it, but Petrovich told us not to touch it with our bare hands, because once a human touches a wild creature, its mother would reject it, and it would surely die from hunger. So he put the baby red fox into a sack, got on a horse, and took it back into the woods. We all stood there watching him ride off, waving good-bye to our unexpected guest.

  We stayed outside even after dark (which was then about 4:00 p.m.). We had so much fun, and there was so much to do with the snow, which was by now quite sticky. We built igloos with long tunnels from end to end, and we crawled through them. It was warm inside the snow tunnels, and it was then that we learned why the Eskimos lived in snow igloos and survived the cold. It really was not that cold outside, since there was no wind, and with night coming on, a full moon was out. With everything being covered with snow, you could not tell whether there was a horizon—it just seemed to blend into the sky. What was amazing was the incredible quietness—both day and night. Occasionally one could hear a dog barking someplace, and at night the howling of a wolf came from the distant wooded area.

  Of course, there was plenty of noise from the voices of us children playing outside. One could smell the smoke from chimneys, which blended with the smell of frost and snow—it was a combination of smells one could never forget. It seemed that the entire time we were at Grandmother’s house (twelve days), the weather remained unchanged—there was not much sun to see with, but at night the moon was always shining. After the big snowstorm on Christmas Day, no more snow was falling, but it looked as though there was enough snow to stay for months, and I am sure that it was cold enough to keep the snow there for a long time to come.

  However, it was time for Mama, Anatoly, and me to head back home, and suddenly I really missed Papa and was ready to go back home to him.

  These two weeks of my life made an impression on me that will last until I die. Almost every year as Christmas approaches, I can spend hours and hours remembering those glorious times. It is almost as though I am going back in time to relive it all over again, sensing all of it as it was then—the beauty, smells, love, tenderness, fun, and touches of loved ones, especially my dear Babushka. Thank God for letting me have that very special Christmas, one that will stay with me forever!

  * * *

  WINTER’S DAY

  It was a magnificent December day,

  With the frost-covered trees

  Sparkling in the bright sun.

  The sled runners squeaked

  Over the frozen snow, as Papa

  Was pulling the sled. I lay there

  Staring into the bright blue sky.

  What was going through my little head

  At that time? I can’t remember but

  I was absolutely in peace,

  Very happy and secure!

  16: Reflections on Childhood

  * * *

  Editors’ Note: As an aging woman, Nonna sat up in the attic, pen in hand, remembering and recording on yellow legal pads her memories of a beautiful childhood. Here she stops the history of her childhood and just reflects on the sights and smells of those magical years when she knew such happiness, peace, and security—recollections that stand again in contrast to general accounts of suffering under Stalin at this time. Possibly in retrospect, any suffering allowed to penetrate the genuine comforts afforded by her family’s wealth paled in comparison to her war experiences later.

  * * *

  Childhood! Why are these impressions so fresh, so vivid? I am now over fifty, nearing sixty years old, living in a foreign country far from all that is native to me, yet I clearly see them, feel them, sense their fragrance—and not only figuratively, but literally. The five senses play a primary role in the life of a child, and after sight, the sense of smell is, of course, predominant. If I want to be transported to the past, nothing makes me experience it more vividly than recalling a particular scent—for instance, the smell of French lilacs under my window at Grandmother’s Great House, or perhaps that famous plum pudding that Grandmother prepared so carefully and served at Christmas time. Rum was poured over it and lit, and it was brought flaming to the table.

  Somehow, memories are mostly associated with the smell of favorite foods from childhood days—such as cherry turnovers, called pyroshki. They were prepared and fried in the kitchen. My mother prepared them by the same recipe as my grandmother’s, and the aroma would fill the whole house as they were fried. The fresh flowers—which were planted all around the house—and the blooming trees (cherry, apple, pear, peach, etc.) from Grandmother’s orchard also gave out remembered scents.

  I spent much of my time in the fruit orchard reading and doing my homework. Those are the times that will always strongly remain in my memories. I also read books that were more of a curiosity to me than the schoolbooks or library books. I would go through my father’s library and sneak some of his books out. These books made little sense to me, at the age of eight to ten years old.

  * * *

  “IN THE FRUIT ORCHARD” . . . “THROUGH MY FATHER’S LIBRARY” • Nonna is remembering times at the Great House other than her first visit at Christmastime. Probably the memory of her father’s library in conjunction with Grandmother’s orchard is linked to the time when Yevgeny and Anna moved in with Feodosija, later on.

  * * *

  My aunt Xenja allowed me to bo
rrow some of her books also. Her books were romances of kings, princes, princesses. I would simply devour them, and I would have many sweet daydreams. It seems funny to me now, though, because they were so innocently written. Nevertheless, I really enjoyed reading them, especially since some of them were sort of forbidden material for a young girl of my age. They seem like innocent books when you compare them with the junk that the kids today read. I would enjoy those books. They were something to be compared to the Harlequin Romances of today’s times.

  To me, my childhood was very exciting, as I look back over the past fifty-plus years!

  17: Back to Reality

  1933

  As we boarded the train to go back to Rostov, I was excited that we would soon be back with Papa, but I felt sadness that we were leaving Babushka. Now that I am older, I realize that she had really worked hard to give her children and grandchildren a Christmastime that none of us would ever forget. Grandmother had been through so many changes, and surely she knew that more changes were on the way.

  When we arrived home, Papa was so happy to see us, and of course, I had many stories to tell him about what had happened at Grandmother’s house during our visit. Life settled back into a routine, with Anatoly and me going back to school and Mama and Papa busy with their schedules. Mama was very busy with her social life and was giving a lot of concerts playing the piano and the violin. Papa was still working at the machinery factory, where he had many new friends. Mama and Papa also had new friends at the University of Rostov, and we made many trips to Nachichevan where the university was located. We went by streetcar—it would take us about forty minutes for the journey from our home. Papa had some extra jobs repairing some of the university’s medical and laboratory instruments, so he made many trips to the university.

  * * *

  BITS AND PIECES • Nonna wrote snippets about this time in an early diary. Here is one entry: “Today we spent a lot of time in the park—it was a lot of fun—just Mama and me. We will be going to the university in Rostov (Nachichevan) to see Mama’s friends. Hope we can stay at Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s house for a night. It was a lot of fun the last time we were there. Why do they live next to the cathedral? I always see the Pope (priest) coming out of the side doors.”

  * * *

  Mama had made friends with another very talented musician by the name of Mrs. Solzhenitsyna. I believe that we became acquainted with Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn during one of our visits to her home; he was with the chemistry department at the university. I always enjoyed visiting Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s home. I remember her son, Sasha Solzhenitsyn, with his funny-looking white coat, coming home for lunch. His ears were big and he never talked much, but I thought it was funny the way he would gulp down his cookies, and he would drink his milk fast. I liked the “Napoleon cake” that her cook made—it was the best!

  * * *

  SOLZHENITSYN FAMILY • Taissia Solzhenitsyna’s husband, Isaakiy Solzhenitsyn, had been a Cossack for Tsar Nicholas II at the same time as Anna’s father, Yakov, had. Isaakiy died in a hunting accident in 1918, six months before his son, Aleksandr (Sasha), was born.

  Aleksandr is known to have studied mathematics at the university, and he would go on to live a notable life of his own, including winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1970.

  * * *

  One day, Mama and I decided to pay a visit to Mrs. Solzhenitsyna—we were especially looking forward to seeing her. It was a beautiful morning. After Anatoly had left for school and Papa had gone to work, Mama decided to keep me home from school that day to keep her company on the trip to Nachichevan. It was one of the nicest days in May, and the flowers were in full bloom. We walked the couple of blocks to the streetcar station and boarded the streetcar. There were only a few people on that particular car, so we sat by the window and looked out—watching the people on the streets rushing to work, school, or wherever.

  Before we realized it, we had reached Nachichevan. We got off near the theater and walked down the street past the park and theater, close to the cathedral. Since we had no phone communications, we arrived at Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s quite unannounced, and Mama felt a little embarrassed. She did not like the idea of just “dropping in,” arriving at someone’s home without at least writing a note. However, this was a “spur of the moment” trip, and besides, it would have taken a few days to deliver a note. This day, Mama just felt like visiting a friend and did not feel like waiting a few extra days. It was a great idea to me! I was quite happy to skip school that one day and go with Mama. She left a note on the kitchen table for Papa though, telling him where she and I were.

  Mrs. Solzhenitsyna was very happy to see us. We got there just before she was going to go shopping, so all three of us decided to go down the main street of Rostov, taking a little ride by streetcar to get there.

  The first stop we made was an ice-cream parlor, where round tables with umbrellas were set up outside. We must have been the only customers at such an early hour of the day. I ate so much ice cream that I felt like my stomach was frozen. After the ice-cream treat, we headed to the bookstores. However, as we passed a toy store, Mama looked at me and said, “We really don’t want to go in there, do we?” By the time she finished asking the question, I was at the entrance to the store.

  I just looked at everything on the shelves, because we were always taught not to pick up the toys in the store but rather to wait until we were asked if there was anything that we wanted Mama to choose for us. My eyes caught a little plastic doll (it was a boy doll) dressed up in a sailor’s uniform, with a little boat in his hand. I had that little doll for many years; it had a special place on my toy shelves. I admired that doll all the time—it was a very special toy that reminded me always of that enjoyable trip down Main Street.

  On the way back to the streetcar and the ride back to Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s, we stopped in a music store, and Mama and Mrs. Solzhenitsyna bought some new music books. When we got back to her house, they tried the new music pieces and were quite happy with what they had selected. The cook had made some delicious cookies and some freshly brewed tea for us. The day passed quite quickly, and it was time for Mama and me to head back home.

  As we started to leave, Mama looked up at the sky and saw ugly black clouds. The wind had picked up, and people were running to safety. Mrs. Solzhenitsyna persuaded us to stay because it was obvious that the beautiful day had taken a turn and a big storm was on the way. Mama was quite concerned about Papa and Anatoly worrying about us, but there was no way to let them know that we were safe. It turned awfully dark outside, and the priest at the church opened the big doors to let some people on the streets come inside the church.

  There was no doubt that a cyclone was on the way, and we all went down into the cellar with pillows and some blankets. We spent that night (or at least half of the night) playing cards and games and singing and reading—any way that we could entertain ourselves until the storm passed over. We decided that we would have to spend the night at Mrs. Solzhenitsyna’s and go back home in the morning.

  This was one of those trips to Nachichevan that I could never forget. It was pleasant; yet at the same time it was exciting and scary. Needless to say, when we got home the next day, Papa and Anatoly were extremely happy to see us safe and sound.

  * * *

  MEMORIES OF THE SOLZHENITSYN FAMILY • Nonna’s childhood descriptions of Aleksandr were accurate, and she even kept a photograph of Taissia throughout the war; it survives to this day. Despite her memories of their cook, ingredients to make a Napoleon cake, and the purchase of music, Taissia and Aleksandr lived in relative poverty in their small apartment in Rostov-on-Don. Their many family possessions and all their family wealth had been confiscated by the government. Possibly as a child Nonna never understood the state of the other family’s affairs.

  * * *

  18: Troubled Times

  1933–34

  Rumors of war were spreading throughout Russia, and it seemed inevitable that we were in for som
e troubled times. Papa was still working at the machinery factory and was in contact with many foreigners from the Western countries. We had many foreign visitors at our home, and Papa would take them into his library and have long conversations with them. I never could really understand the conversations because they were spoken in several languages. However, Papa seemed worried, even though he never talked about the situation with Anatoly and me. He spent as much time with us as he could and would always try to be cheerful—but always teaching us things that would be useful to us later on.

  School was still being held, even though Russians were preparing for war. We would have drills on what to do in the event there were bombs being dropped. The Russian Air Force would fly over and drop fake chemical bombs during these drills. The civilian population were being instructed to dig shelters in their yards. These were to be like large ditches dug in a zigzag fashion that people could jump into in case of an attack. These large ditches were covered with boards in order to keep small children from falling into them. The government was also busy installing air-raid sirens as an alarm system.

  I was doing very well in school, maintaining a straight-A average. However, all these things were distracting. I remember the day I learned a lesson twice—first from my algebra teacher, Dr. Shutzburg, and then from my papa.