Last Witnesses : An Oral History of the Children of World War II

“AT NIGHT I CRIED: WHERE IS MY CHEERFUL MAMA?…”

Galya Spannovskaya SEVEN YEARS OLD. NOW A DESIGN TECHNICIAN.

Memories have colors…

Everything before the war, I remember in motion: it moves and changes colors. The colors are mostly bright. But the war, the orphanage—it all becomes still. And the colors turn gray.

We were taken to the rear. Only children. Without mamas. We rode for a long time, somehow very long. We ate cookies and cocoa butter; apparently they didn’t manage to stock up on anything else for the road. Before the war, I loved cookies and cocoa butter—they’re very tasty. But after a month on the road, I stopped liking them forever.

All through the war I kept wishing mama would come soon, and we could go back to Minsk. I dreamed of the streets, the movie theater near our house, I dreamed of the tramway bells. My mother was very nice, very cheerful. We lived together like girlfriends. I don’t remember papa, we lost him early.

And then my mother located me and came to the orphanage. It was completely unexpected. What joy! I run to mama…I open the door…There stands a soldier, in boots, trousers, a cap, and an army shirt. Who is it? And it turns out to be my mama. Pure joy! Mama, and what’s more, a soldier!

I don’t remember her leaving. I cried a lot, that’s obviously why I don’t remember.

Again I wait and wait for mama. Three years I waited. This time mama came in a dress. In shoes. The joy of being taken back kept me from seeing anything. There was just mama—and this joy! I looked at mama, but I didn’t notice she was missing an eye. Mama—it was such a miracle…Nothing could happen to her…Mama! But mama came back from the front very sick. She was a different mama now. She seldom smiled, she didn’t sing, didn’t joke like she used to. She cried a lot.

We went back to Minsk and lived a very hard life. We didn’t find our house, which I had loved so much. The movie theater was gone…and our streets…Instead of it all—stones and more stones…

Mama was always sad. She didn’t joke and spoke very little. She was mostly silent. At night, I cried: where is my cheerful mama? But in the morning I smiled, so that mama wouldn’t guess about my tears…