The best way to study history is not to learn it from text books, but with the help of eye-witnesses. For those who understand this viewpoint, any possibility to meet participants of historical events becomes a historical event itself. This summer I had the opportunity to talk to Ivan Terentevich Sidorov. He had been living in Norilsk for fifty-two years, as from the year 1940. Of course, he die not get to this town of his own will, but was deported to various camps right after his release from war captivity. He became a POW during the Finnish War.
The events of this war left such deep impressions that they were imprinted on his mind for the rest of his life. Therefore he is still able to report about the battle after which he was taken prisoner-of-war down to the smallest detail, although almost sixty years have passed since then.
- Thies war also became known as the Winter War, for it dragged on from November 1939 until February 1940. The Great Patriotic War, which took place afterwards, was of greater importance to the world than the Finnish War, so that the people, in general, do not know much about it. For me, however, the Finnish War was the only and most signifiant one.
Three-hundred thousand people died in this course of this war, many of them froze to death – the frosty temperatures went down to 40 degrees and even less. I served as a soldier of the air-borne troops, which, at that time, was quite uncommon for the Red Army (by the way, they did not call us soldiers, but Red Armists). As we were particularly important warriors, we were well-equipped with clothes; the supply with arms, however, was not sufficient: some of us had nagan pistols, others were using guns, but none of the soldiers was in possession of a machine-pistol.
Before they sent us to Finland, we learned how to fight in a place called Borispol. And we were trained how to react to possible attacks of the Germans, too. At that time they had had just occupied Poland, but intended to extend the movement of their troops to other European countries, as well. All students of our regiment school were taken to a place not far from Leningrad, where they taught us skiing, for otherwise it would not have been possible to fight against the Finns at all. In Finland even grandmothers go to buy foodstuffs onskis, while we, people from the Ukaine, had not even seen any before.
They took us to a burned down Finnish village, where – in earlier times – a cellulose factory had been working. We got our night camp ready and lit a campfire. During the night these fireplaces, one by one, exploded in the true sense of the word – obviously, the combination of cellulose and mazut (oil residues; translator’s note) produced a highly explosive mixture. As a result of the poisonous smoke, all soldiers awoke without eye-sight the following morning. We had to undergo medical treatment for two days; as soon as we had recovered, we were able to continue our march. We had been given the order to occupy a small island.
We had just crept up to this vry island, when illuminating rockets flashed up in the sky. They began to shoot at us by machine pistols. The soldiers around me fell to the ground like flies, while the enemy stormed forward by shouting “hurray”! Screams, sobbing and crying. The loud cry “mum”, however, left the deepest impression on my mind. I noticed a through and through bullet wound in one of my legs – fortunately, the bone had remained undamaged, so that I was still able to run forward. To be able to run forward was the most important thing then, after all. For some reason or other it seemed to us, as if victory was waiting for us somewhere ahead.
By the way, when we reached the island, we were welcomed by another invention of the Finns yet – the so-called “cuckoos”. This is what they called those little arrows, which were pulled up to the trees in some kind of a small hanging stage, from where the Finns would then open the fire and, in case it became necessary, could easily let themselves down to the ground in order to run away. Instantenously, my other leg got wounded; this time the bone was injured, as well, so that I wa s unable to get up. Finns came running up; they carried machine guns in their hands. They lined up opposite us. The head of the komsomol group shouted over to us that we should tear our membership cards into pieces without delay. But nobody was able to follow his instructions any more. Without further warning, the riflemen opened the fire, and immediately could be heard the terrible screams of the dying soldiers. A bullet hit one of my lungs, blood was running from my mouth, and I fell prone into the snow. The last thing I do remember is how I call for my mum in a surprisingly clear voice.
I do not know, for how long I had been lying there. Anyway, when they noticed that I was still alive, they carried me ona boat and took me to some hospital, where I was operated on. From there they directly sent me to a prisoner-of-war camp. By the way, when, after my release, I came to the Norillag, I noticed that it showed surprising similarities to the Finnish camps. They were practically the same.
I spent a whole year within this camp system. I was lucky to be a construction worker by profession. They sent me to Lama. There were only very few prisoners, the discipline was by far more relaxed. For this reason I am today of the opinion that it was great luck for me to get there. In Lama I got married (only three people attended to the wedding ceremony). And our first daughter was born there; she is now fifty-one years old. My live is attached to Lama to a great extent.
I used to work with Balts. I felt very sorry for them, for out of forty men, who had been sent to Lama for work, four were former generals – the others colonels and lieutenant colonels. They were all advanced in age and in a bad state of health, and now they had to bear the horrible mental agony of having been deported to the north, although they were alreadybent with age. They died away one after the other. Scurvy also spread among the prisoners like an epidemic. Later I put up a little cross made of larch wood, on which I wrote all their family names. At that time this was a very daring deed. A little later some Americans came to the place . They took pictures of the cross finding it a matter of utmost inetrest.
More lucky times came for Norilsk after the year 1953. In 1953 there was a prisoner revolt. Of course, there was a great bloodshed (many were shot), but we succeeded in pursuading the camp authorities to make some changes regarding the camp regime. One might describe this period of time as a particularly fateful one in the history of the town of Norilsk.
After my time in Lama I worked for the nickel combine. One one of the meetings I dared to criticize the management, and this was, if I my call it that way, thebeginning of my political career. At first they somehow pushed me into trade-unionism. Then they discovered documents from a session of our former comsomol cell, which had taken place during the war. On that occasion we had decided to number ourselves among the Communists in the event of death. When this became known to the public, they admitted me to the party, although this was quite unusual for a political prisoner. What is more – in the course of time I became the party organizer of the industrial plant I was working for.
No, I am not angry at the State, nor do I feel hatred for it. I took ma fate into my own hands. All things considered, former officers of the White Guards proposed to me to stay with them, while I was still a prisoner-of-war in Finland. They promised me training and education in France and England, a sweet and wealthy live – but I refused.. I preferred to stay, and I still like to be here today. I love Norilsk. And I do repeat once again that I consider myself to be a happy man.
Vitaliy TOLSTOV
“Zapolnyarnaya Pravda”, September 17, 1998, No. 141 (11979) (newspaper published in Norilsk)