Exeter Yaroslavl Twinning Association
Yaroslavl College of Industry and Economy
«Помним славные победы! »
«Remember the Glorious Deeds! »
Name: Ilja
Surname: Sedov
Yaroslavl, 2020
Fatherland is the only unique homeland for every person, given to him by fate bequeathed to him by his ancestors. After all, it is no coincidence that in difficult moments of his life, a person recalls the place where he was born; from there is his own small homeland.
Unfortunately, such an event as war robs millions of innocent people and their lives from the motherland and fatherland. My grandfather - Sedov Alexander Vasilyevich had a similar fate, I want to narrate briefly his story and life in the war and after.
He was drafted into the ranks of the Red Army on August 12, 1941 and dismissed from it in 1945 with the rank of captain. My relative’s fighting path was not easy, because he fought in the sapper battalion, and sappers always went ahead of the whole unit, freeing the way from mines.
Alexander Vasilyevich, a participant in the battles near Stalingrad and near Kursk, liberated Belgorod, Kharkov, Kaliningrad regions from the Germans.
Unfortunately, he was seriously wounded on January 17, 1944, stepped on a mine and his leg was torn off. Then he went to the Moscow hospital, where he decided to start a diary in which he reflected his memories of relatives and friends, of friends and comrades. This diary is now in my hands. You will not be able to see, but I will describe its appearance. You can immediately see that it is old. My dad said that it is 60 years old, paper and photographs have turned yellow from time to time, but some amazing energy of those years comes from it, this cannot be described in words. The diary contains songs of those war years that the young captain liked: “Lizaveta”, “Twinkle” and “Sailor Bear”. Also in front of me are photographs of those times enclosed in the diary. Even on the shabbiest of them, one can see the soldiers, my grandfather's front-line friends, if you look closely at the photo; you can see serious, courageous and responsible faces and eyes burning with courage. This is very surprising, because all of them were 18 years old; I am struck by the hardening of that time, a difficult time. I hold photos of those times in my hands, if you look closely, you can see a hole pierced by a bullet, since these photos were always in his bag-tablet. In one of the battles near Stalingrad, this bullet hit exactly the bag, breaking through all the photographs, and easily injuring the fighter. I believe that so, the faith and love of parents and friends protected and protected him during the war.
Unfortunately, this did not save him from losing his leg in 1944, but he survived and, while in the military hospital, was actively engaged in creativity, namely, writing poetry. I will gladly give an example of a couple of the works of my relative:
The very first poem was "Childhood".
И юность пролетела незаметно
Ах! Где мое детство?
Его не видел я,
И след его уже простыл,
Да, что о нем и вспоминать то,
На фронте с немчурою
Жизнь я молодую положил.
В суровые годы войны,
Когда находился на задании
Свободной любимой страны
In this poem, Alexander described his childhood, which he did not see, because the war had come, he also said that, in battle, he laid his young life in the harsh years of the war, performing military duty. In the hospital, the days seemed long and the memories of a distant home side themselves surged on a young lieutenant. He composes the poem "Village". With love about his small Motherland:
И воздух здесь свежий,
Поля золотые,
Повсюду синеют
Цветы голубые.
А лес, как стена,
Неподвижно стоит,
И только лишь ветер
Тихонько шумит
Но время пришло,
Расстаться пора,
И мать проводила
Меня со двора
Но вот и обратно вернулся к родным,
К тем нивам, лесам и полям золотым
Все те же, что были, Родные края,
Лишь новое море здесь смыло леса.
In the poem, he recalled how he was brought up. He recalls those times when family affairs were accompanied by a song. Then he imagines how he will return after the hospital to his native village of Horde. He wrote about 30 such poems; unfortunately, I cannot list all of them. The girl Elena working in the hospital became a special motivation for writing such works, in the future, she will become the wife of my grandfather. After discharge from the hospital, he returned to his native village, where everyone was very happy and did not find a place for himself from happiness. Then everyday life came and Alexander wondered how he would live without a leg, because a disabled person at 21 was terrible.
He did not know where to work and his mother even hid the prosthesis sometimes so that he would not do anything with himself. My grandfather was a strong man, time heals, and he found work on a collective farm on a horse, went to Yaroslavl and brought Elena to his place. They lived perfectly, with four children. Then he became an engineer, things went uphill and everything in the family is good and until today, when I am writing this story.
I admire the story of my relative, I have great respect for the moments he lived in the war and his work, which I re-read from time to time.
I would like to express my opinion regarding those times and the war. I believe that everything that happens in these difficult times, all these battles, millions of deaths and stuff - these are all terrible things that I would never want to repeat again.
All this cruelty and thirst for power is still in half of the people on earth, but nothing bad will happen as long as there are the other half — courageous and kind people in whom I believe and support. Not just because people gave their lives and risked everything that is. They did this for the sake of their homeland, for the sake of a peaceful sky above their heads, for the future of their children and grandchildren. These are very worthy deeds, which have no end, I am happy to talk about it, I am proud of such people! I want to convey to all people who will read this work one small appeal:
War is the worst word in all languages of the world; I would like people to forget finally, how it is pronounced. Looking at all these innocent victims of those and present times, a trembling voice appears. With this story, I want to appeal to people for world peace and to reasonable actions, as well as to be responsive, strong spirit and smart people, as my grandfather was. Moreover, what will I be like in the future, because he fought for it and believed in it.