How my family celebrates May 9th. The writing. victory day in my family. Composition "Veteran in my family"
Grade 10 students Agniya Kuznetsova and Nikita Shchetinin wrote essays about their relatives and read it on URAL 56 radio. Ru
The Great Patriotic War - how much fear, pain, tears and lost lives we imagine and immediately remember after hearing just three words. Seventy years have passed since its completion. Two generations of citizens of our country grew up under a peaceful sky. Although neither we nor our parents saw the war, it still remained in the soul and memory of every person. The Great Patriotic War will forever remain in the memory of those whose fathers, sons, husbands and brothers gave their lives for a peaceful sky above their heads. During the war years, the Soviet people showed the whole world that they would defend their homeland, their land and their family even if they valued their lives.
In the war, not only many people died, but many lost their loved ones. The war destroyed families, separated loved ones. And how many families have not been created! And how many children were never born! It was a terrible tragedy for the whole people, for all mankind.
The war is a terrible tragedy and it touched every Soviet person. She touched, including our family. Both my great-grandfathers died in this terrible war.
One of my great-grandfathers, Alexander Matveev, went missing in 1943 near Stalingrad. We learned about this from the words of my grandmother, who was a child in those years. Another great-grandfather, Arefiy Andreyevich Piktorinsky, was captured in 1941, and on June 20, 1942, he died in captivity in Finland and was buried in the mass grave of Ayosaari. For many years our family tried to find any documents about the military fate of our ancestors. Only this year we received an official document from the Central Archive of the Ministry of Defense, and there are still no documents about the other great-grandfather. But we honor his memory and remember him, as well as other missing soldiers.
Many relatives in our family have died. My grandfather told me a lot about his relatives who fought at the front. So, for example, he told me about his mother's brother. This young man, my grandfather's uncle, was very upset that, due to his age, he was not subject to conscription. And from the very beginning of the war, he dreamed of getting to the front and waited until he was eighteen years old. He never turned eighteen. In January 1945, he turned seventeen years old, and he went to the front as a volunteer. He died in Berlin on May 2, 1945. This is the story that makes me feel the saddest. I think with tears that the boy was almost my age and did not live to win just one week. How many interesting things could be ahead of him. He was so looking forward to this victory and could not feel its taste. His name was Yury Georgievich Vinokurov. And I see him as a boy Yura, yesterday's schoolboy, cheerful and dreamy, who, like everyone else, dreamed of a graduation ball, to meet his love and that he would have four children. The Nazis killed his dreams. They killed the dreams of many millions of people. Now, when I see that fascism is starting to revive again in some countries, I remember the boy Yura and I feel pain and shame for those people who fought so fiercely against him.
I would like the war to never be forgotten. Because to forget it means to betray the memory of millions who did everything for victory, at the front and in the rear. I would like people not to forget how hard it was for us to win this victory. I would like to appeal to all people on earth. Please remember those who died defending our land. Remember about everyone who was not going to be a hero, but became one because he thought about the future generation, that is, about us. Remember the boy Yura Vinokurov. He died so that we could live happily!
Kuznetsova Agnia, 10th grade student
This year, our entire country is celebrating the 70th anniversary of Victory in the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945. I would like to note that in our country there are no people who were not affected by this event, since not a single family of our vast Motherland was spared by this war.
The war broke into the life of the Orcians as unexpectedly as it broke into the lives of thousands of our compatriots. On the day of the attack of the fascist invaders on our country, they swore to do everything for the Victory.
I would like to tell about my great-grandfathers, who happened to live during the Great Patriotic War. From the stories of my grandfather Anatoly Grigoryevich Rudakov, I learned about his father.
Rudakov Grigory Stepanovich, was born in 1907 in Kinel - Cherkasy district of the Samara region. He volunteered for the front in 1941. Private served in the city of Leningrad. During combat duty on the bridge, he was wounded in both legs, spent 9 months in the hospital. He was awarded medals and orders for military services to the Fatherland, one of the medals "For the Defense of Leningrad". Died in 1994.
My other great-grandfather, according to my grandmother, Ivanov Nikonor Samoilovich, born in 1896, died in 1984. He fought in the White Finnish War, and when the Great Patriotic War began, he worked as a livestock specialist at the Stroitel state farm. Having learned about the beginning of the war, he went to the Orsk district military registration and enlistment office as a volunteer, but he was not taken because of a wound received in the Belofinskaya war. At the beginning of the war, he was already forty-six years old, and he received a reservation. The country at that time needed experienced agricultural workers in the rear to provide the front with food. He was a party member and was very proud of it, he had orders and medals for selfless work in the rear.
Words of gratitude, respect, admiration are addressed to the heroes of the war, which will be heard on the day of the 70th anniversary of the Victory of our country in the Great Patriotic War.
The war of 1941-1945 is a time of glory, a time that showed what our courageous people are like. The will to win and faith - these feelings forced, forgetting about everything, our compatriots, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, to rush into the attack, and others, perhaps someone's grandmothers and great-grandmothers, with their last strength to stand at the machine, releasing ammunition for the front, and the boys and girls, our peers, to share the last piece of bread in the besieged Leningrad.
We are obliged to honor and keep the memory of those who sacrificed themselves for us, for our future. Our great-grandfathers won a bloody and difficult war so that we could have a peaceful sky and live happily. Blessed memory to them. Thanks to them for this from all our generation!
Shchetinin Nikita, 10th grade student
Municipal budgetary educational institution
secondary school st. Sovetskoy Sovetsky district of the Rostov region
347180, art. Soviet, st. Yu. Goreva, 7, Soviet district
Rostov region, telephone (fax) 88636323-6-32
All-Russian competition
"Let's bow to those great years"
2015
Spring. May. Lilac scent. A house immersed in a snow-white cloud of blossoming apple trees. Under the green mulberry tent is a long table covered with a festive tablecloth. Behind him is a large friendly Kaplin family: children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Here are the guests - friends of the family. They joyfully greet everyone and go to the main person at the table - my great-grandfather Pyotr Vasilyevich Kaplin.
The most important holiday of our family is Victory Day. Today, all our love and respect for the head of the family - grandfather Petya. I'm very small, so I can do everything. Here I climb onto my grandfather's knees, touching the medals on his chest. An atmosphere of warmth, kindness, happiness reigns around ...
Unfortunately, my great-grandfather died. But the traditions of the family are sacredly kept. May 9 is the most favorite holiday of our family. Only now he's sad: it's Memorial Day. We gather, as before, together and go to the village cemetery to the grave of our great-grandfather, lay a bouquet of lilacs, we are silent, we remember.
Great-grandfather did not like to talk about what he experienced while participating in the military battles of the Great Patriotic War. He talked about others, considering them heroes. But about myself… What can I say? Yes, he was wounded, he was awarded the Order of Glory. Well, it means he deserved it. For what? Why? Wounded ... and that's it.
I think veterans are laconic because they have experienced too much suffering, they have seen a lot of grief. Orders, medals and wounds on the body tell about their heroic deeds.
The combat path of my great-grandfather - Kaplina Pyotr Vasilyevich - I restored according to the documents I found on the website “The Feat of the People”, and according to the memoirs of my grandfather.
At the end of December 1942, Soviet troops liberated their native places from the invaders. Great-grandfather on January 1, 1943 was drafted into the ranks of the Red Army. He was not yet 18. But he was a strong, brave guy who hated the Nazis and dreamed of victory. I have already seen and experienced a lot of suffering and troubles.
He served in the rank of a Red Army soldier, was appointed Komsomol organizer of the rifle battalion of the 1176th rifle regiment of the 350th rifle division of the 12th army of the 3rd Ukrainian front,
He took part in the hostilities from July 1, 1943. Their regiment, as part of the 350 Infantry Division, took part in the Donbas offensive operation.
Our troops had to cross the Seversky Donets, the right bank of which dominated the left, and break through the heavily fortified enemy defense line.
On July 17, 1943, after artillery and aviation preparation, the Soviet troops went on the offensive. A fierce battle ensued. The battles for settlements were especially bloody.
In early September 1943, the battalion, whose Komsomol organizer was great-grandfather, was given the task of breaking through the enemy’s defense line in the area of the village of Golaya Dolina.
I read the memoirs of veterans, witnesses of the battle for Donbass, and I understand that it was hell there. The commander of the 8th Guards Army, General Chuikov, writes: “Fierce battles ensued in the village. Several times the same buildings passed from hand to hand. There are no houses left in the village. Equipment was on fire, soldiers were on fire ... Naked Valley in the army received a different name - "Dead Valley".
As a result of the fighting, the village of Golaya Dolina was wiped off the face of the earth. And there he fought, defending his native land, my great-grandfather.
My great-grandfather went through all these trials. Passed with dignity, honestly, like a real Russian soldier.
With excitement I read the lines of the Award sheet: “T. Kaplin gathered the Komsomol meeting of his battalion, correctly explained the task set by the command, and by personal example inspired the fighters to carry out the combat mission given by the command.
According to the stories of my great-grandmother, I know that during the offensive the battalion commander died, and my great-grandfather took command. He, a 17-year-old soldier, led the fighters forward.
I continue to read the award sheet: “As a result of bringing the task to the soldiers, the unit where Comrade Kaplin was located broke through the enemy’s defenses and went on the offensive. When this defense was broken through, Comrade Kaplin was seriously wounded on September 6, 1943 in the neck with damage to the vocal cords.
Four fragments of an artillery shell hit him. Doctors were able to remove two of them. And two more firmly "settled" in his body: it was impossible to touch them. One, having damaged the vocal cords, "stopped" near the spine itself. The other, shattered, remained in the thigh.
He was treated in hospitals for six months, was recovering, could not speak for a long time, and learned to walk again. On February 22, he was commissioned from the ranks of the Red Army with a record - "disabled person of the Patriotic War of the 3rd group."
18 years old - disabled. A terrible word ... Behind it is some kind of doom. But youth, vitality, perseverance took their toll. At 18, life is just beginning...
In 1947, the award found its hero: great-grandfather was awarded the Order of Glory 3rd degree.
Much water has flown under the bridge since that time. Great-grandfather is no longer alive ... But the memory of him, of the feat of the Russian soldier, is alive and will live forever. Whatever happens in my life, I will sacredly keep the traditions of the family, I will pass them on to my children.
On May 9, 2015, as always, we will gather with the whole family and go to congratulate great-grandfather on the great holiday - the 70th anniversary of the Great Victory.
It's hard for me to hold back my tears, but I'm not ashamed of them. These are tears of gratitude and respect. I am proud of my great-grandfather, I bow to him, to all the defenders of the Russian land. Eternal memory to you!
"Victory Day in our family"
Every year our whole family goes to the Victory Parade. Flowers, flags, music, a military parade - everything is beautiful, elegant, festive. But at the same time, it is a holiday with tears in the eyes. Our veterans, grandparents… Those who remember this war, who lived in those terrible days, who experienced all the hardships of the war years… There are fewer and fewer of them every year. There are fewer eyewitnesses of those events.
So in our family, only my mother’s mother, my grandmother, Valentina Alexandrovna, can already tell about those war years. Here is her story:
“Our family was big. Seven people. We lived in the village of Kuznetsovo, Susaninsky district, Kostroma region. My father, your great-grandfather, Sizov Alexander Lavrentievich, went to the front in the first days of the war. Our mother was left alone with five children. At first, my father taught at the courses of signalmen - he taught recruits. In 1942, my father was sent to the front. For a long time there was no news from him, and then a notice came that "Sizov Alexander Lavrentievich was missing." Where, under what circumstances - we did not know. And only after the war, a friend of my father, a fellow villager, with whom they went to the front together and fought, found us and told us that their group walked 200 km without stopping to the front line. And immediately, without rest, she entered the battle. From the division, after the battle, only 8 people survived. There was no one to bury, collect documents, write to relatives. The very place of the battle resembled a plowed field of earth and human bodies.
Grandmother was only seven years old when the war began. “Father went to the front. There were five children left in the family. Those who were 9 years old studied at school until lunch, and after lunch they ran to the field to help their mother make hay, dry it, turn it, put it in stacks. Digging potatoes in the collective farm. Helped with logging. They hauled logs. Chopped off branches. Firewood was being prepared. The younger ones (up to 9 years old) stayed at home - taking care of the little ones, doing household chores (cattle, gardening, cooking, cleaning). They did what they could to the best of their ability.
A cow saved from hunger and what grew in a personal garden. Nettles were collected in the fields, sorrel was collected in the ravines. They cooked soups. Branches of shrubs were brewed instead of tea. After winter, they dug up frozen potatoes from the ground. In autumn we went to the forest and to the swamps. Gathered berries and mushrooms. But no matter how hungry and hard people lived, there was not a single case of theft on the collective farm. Neither an ear nor a grain was brought into the house by my mother even on the most hungry days. Once on the collective farm they were allowed to take the remnants of flax seeds left after sowing. And women baked cakes for children from them. These cakes were called "drunk", because after them the head was very dizzy. Indeed, in fact, flax is not a food product, but a poison for the body. But there had to be something. Once a division went through the village, and the soldiers stood up for the night to wait. They cooked millet porridge. I still remember how yellow she was. Delicious. Until now, the yellow walls of the cast-iron stand before my eyes.
65 years have passed since then, but the memory of that terrible time is still preserved in human hearts.
My mother told me that at their school (she lived in Angarsk, Irkutsk region) there was a school museum of Victory. And on the eve of the 35th anniversary of the Victory, they, schoolchildren, made the book "Memory of the War Years." Went to visit veterans, recorded their stories. Then it was all transferred to the school museum.
As long as we remember - we live!!! So let this memory never disappear from our hearts, our families. Let people remember at all times, pass on this memory by inheritance!
Explosion. One more more. He lies in the trenches, convulsively holding a weapon. Taking a breath, he looks out of his shelter and sees this picture: Nina - a nurse crawling along the ground, dragging a seriously wounded soldier behind her. Her goal is a dugout in front, but she can't go there! He knows what will happen. He shouts to her: “Nina! Nina, no! But a courageous girl knows her duty, she wants to help, not thinking about what will happen now. The nurse is already inside the dugout, probably not wasting a minute, and takes out bandages and medicines. His face was both puzzled and relieved at the same time. It worked out. And suddenly a grenade explosion! There are no living people in the dugout ...
This is a frame from the movie "We are from the future", which was released not so long ago. "Black archaeologists" find a dugout with documents, wartime household items.
They only want to take advantage of it. Some time later, in a mystical way, they fall into the epicenter of the events of the Great Patriotic War. In the end, they will return home, but what they experienced will make them look at Victory Day, at the memory of veterans, at their lives in a different way. In my opinion, the story told in the film is instructive - do not forget what happened before you.
In the yard of the XXI century, two thousand and sixteen. Just think about this number "71". “So what?” you ask. I will answer you: "71 years of peaceful sky overhead." These years were preceded by four more years, which remained a severe wound in my country, in our families.
May 9 is the day when all of Russia celebrates the victory in the Great Patriotic War of 1941-1945. As the song that accompanies this day year after year says: "It's a holiday with tears in your eyes." People remember the past war, paying tribute to the dead. Crying is not only those in whose families there were defenders of the Motherland. Everyone is crying, regardless of gender, age, status. This day brings together people of different nationalities, as it was then in the forty-first.
In a moment of silence, the whole country freezes, only the muffled sound of hearts is heard. Everyone thinks about his own. Someone's grandfather served, whose memories weighed heavily on the soul; someone has a son who left and never came back. Grief was reflected in many wrinkles on the mother's face, and at that moment she, wiping her tears, holds the cherished envelope with a letter, yellowed from old age. The rest mourn the great loss that our country has suffered. They look with sadness at the veterans, whose number is decreasing every year, representing these grandparents as young soldiers who courageously defended their homeland.
Why are wars remembered for so long? I have asked this question many times. Maybe because people want to remember it? But why? Why voluntarily want to feel grief, sadness, grief? The sea of answers, as well as the fate of people. I can't answer for everyone, but I can answer for myself personally. I remember because it is an integral part of my life, a part of my history, which my ancestor made along with everyone else.
I am one of those teenagers who can still say: "There is a defender of the country in my family." On this day, my family, with special respect and honor, remember my great-grandfather Alexei Sidorovich Vlasenko, who in 1941 was appointed commander of a 76 mm gun of the 14th separate rifle battalion and sent to the Far East, where he took part in hostilities. He celebrated Victory Day there, continuing to serve the Motherland until May 1946. My great-grandfather was unspeakably lucky - during the war he did not receive serious wounds, was not shell-shocked, which can only be attributed to the protection from above and the faith of his relatives. In 1985, in commemoration of the 40th anniversary of the victory of the Soviet People in the Great Patriotic War, Alexei Sidorovich was awarded the Order of the Patriotic War II degree. To my great regret, many orders and medals, due to the frequent relocations of the great-grandfather's family, were irretrievably lost, but this does not change my sense of pride for him, for his courage and services to the Fatherland. I can't introduce you to his memories of those days. I did not find him alive, and my grandfather (the son of Alexei Sidorovich) knows little about this. My father did not talk about the war, this period in his life was too difficult. History manifests itself in everything that is around us. My great-grandfather was born in peacetime, unaware that he would become part of history. He grew up, studied and was called to defend the Motherland. He was destined for a hero's fate. Strange as it may sound, but I see his feat among the rays of the sun, in the sweet smell of flowers, in my little friend who wants to be a military man and defend his country. At the age of 7, I wrote a poem that was dedicated to my great-grandfather, I hope he would like it:
My grandfather was a veteran.
He served for many years.
He won all the same - for glory,
And he brought the medal home.
And he keeps honor and loyalty
Our homeland.
I think that on this day, more than one family watches a festive parade in Moscow, war films are the same for me. With us, this day is completely devoted to war films, and it doesn’t matter that they are the same from year to year. I, like my parents, believe that Soviet films will remain the best of all time. They are eternal. I am sure that I will be able to show my children these shots, which take the soul with realism and truthfulness. My mother does not get tired of watching the film "17 Moments of Spring", and my father will postpone any business if he knows that at the appointed time the film "Only Old Men Go to Battle" will be on TV. To my question: “Why do you like these films?” they, after a while, answer: "They are real." The number of Soviet films, of course, does not end there. Films: “... And the dawns here are quiet”, “In the sky, “night witches” will always be the favorites of the screen. Modern cinema is also not far behind. Films: "Apostle", "We are from the future", "Battle for Sevastopol" interest my generation to watch a war film. I'll be honest with you, I'm not one of those who like to watch such films. I delve into the film so much that it seems to me that I feel all the pain of the commanders who have lost more than one hundred soldiers, I feel the fear of the nurses who move in the war like through a minefield. One wrong step and you're just a memory. Well, if at all later they recognize. How many are missing? How many parents, brides, families still warm a small flame of hope that their soldier survived? I cannot look at these great sacrifices and understand that some of today's youth are not worthy of this sacrifice. How scary to realize that these soldiers are almost my age. I often remember the lines from the movie “Battle for Sevastopol”, where they said: “Every day brings losses and tomorrow you will be those losses!” Every day spent in the trenches is a gift to them. How scary is it to think about whether this is the last day of your life? Is this the last moment when you can say important words to a friend, confess your love or write comforting lines home. It hurts unbearably. My eyes fill with tears when I know for sure that these people are heroes. They fought not only for their freedom, they fought for everyone. With their lives they gave the world in which I live. I rejoice that the sun is shining, and I cry because in 1941 it was covered with military clouds. I often listen to the song "Cuckoo" performed by Polina Gagarina, and the lines: "Young, who remained in blessed memory" do not leave me for a long time. My mother prefers the good old “Katyusha” to all new military songs, and my father happily sings along the lines from “Victory Day”.
Good afternoon dear friends! In 1945, the bloody Great Patriotic War ended. Many years have passed, but the echoes of that time still remind of themselves. The terrible war affected all compatriots, almost every family has its own story.
Children's groups of local schools always perform, music sounds. A lot of people come. Nice to see people I haven't seen for a long time. The soldiers' kitchens are coming. That year there was delicious camping food - rich buckwheat with meat. The children enjoyed eating it.
Often, when the concert ends, we go for a walk with friends to Kratovskoe Lake. We cook barbecue and chat. And in the evening we always watch old films about the war.
This is how Victory Day is celebrated in my family. Of course, there are changes, but if we are at home on this day, then watching the parade and attending the rally are mandatory. This is our family tradition.
Congratulation
Dear friends!
I congratulate everyone on the upcoming holiday - Victory Day!
With all my heart I wish you Peace!
Happiness, health and love!
Appreciate what you have, do not forget the history of our country, pass on your knowledge to children!
Watch a short but very informative video, a chronicle of the war to the song "Victory Day".
Tatyana Solomatina