Sliding on the Snow Stone (6 page)

‘
J – Just some bread and milk,’ replied Volodimir. The bag was snatched up and the smaller one pulled out one of the pieces of bread and tore into it, shoving it down like he hadn’t eaten for days. Then he took some swigs of the milk. They swapped over. The smaller one kept the rifle on us, while the larger one took some bread and milk. The smaller one paced from side to side, never taking his eyes off us. The larger one didn’t speak at all.

‘
Right! We need some information from you. You’d better tell us the truth or we’ll blast you to Hell!’

‘
W-what is it you want to know?’ replied Volodimir.

‘
We want to know how to get to the mountains. To join the Resistance. You tell us how to get there from here, and tell us good!’

‘
What about the Red Army? Shouldn’t you be with them?’

Still holding the rifle, the smaller one stepped closer until we could see right down the barrel of the rifle. I caught a whiff of gunpowder.

‘
You want to know about the Red Army? Okay, we’ll tell you about the Red Army. They make us march on empty stomachs. They give us weapons, but don’t show us how to use them. And anyway, not all of us get weapons. They treat us like dogs, but expect us to fight for the glory of Stalin and his Bolshevik ideals. We’ve had enough. Now tell us how to get to the mountains!’

Well, in their situation, the two young Soviet soldiers couldn’t have struck it luckier. Volodimir’s love of the countryside, together with the fact that, as a family, we’d travelled west many times to visit relatives, meant that he was able to tell the two young soldiers the best way to get to the Carpathians in Galicia where it was common knowledge that the Resistance was based. The two of them listened to Volodimir closely and what he said to them must have rung true. To head south west, stay near to the waterways and the southern border. It all made perfect sense. While they listened to him they finished off what was left of the bread and milk. The smaller one threw down the bag, took a step closer and shoved the rifle in our faces. ‘Right you two! Lie down on the ground! Face down!’ We dropped to our knees and lay down.

‘
Put your hands out flat in front of you, and don’t move!’

Then everything went quiet. Everything stopped. I don’t know for how long. Even the blades of grass brushing my face seemed to stand still. The birds weren’t singing. I searched inside my head for a prayer.

The silence was broken by two pairs of feet swishing through the grass. We didn’t move a muscle until the sound was very faint, until we couldn’t hear it. Then we pushed ourselves up onto our knees and turned around. We took a few deep breaths. In the distance we saw the two boys. They’d raced off so quickly they were already more than a hundred metres away on the other side of the road. Volodimir and I stood up and brushed off the soggy leaves and the dirt. My hands were shaking. Even though we were used to seeing armed soldiers around, it was the first time I’d ever had a rifle pointed at me at such close range. Volodimir put his arm around my shoulders, ‘Come on Stefan, let’s go home.’ I just nodded. I couldn’t speak. We stood up. My legs were heavy, as if they were rooted into the ground. I took a few steps and we walked back the way we came. It was a slow walk, but I was never happier to be going home and lifted my face up to soak up the sun which was now shining down on us. Once we’d gone about a mile we stepped back onto the road where it was easier to walk. We thought it unlikely that any Soviets were in the immediate area.

As we got closer to the village Volodimir jumped up off the road onto the verge and climbed up onto the top of a wooden fence.

‘
Where are you going?’ I asked.

‘
Come on Stefan, let’s have a look around here.’

We were some distance away from the place where we’d run into the Soviet soldier boys and I was feeling a little better. So I jumped up and we climbed over the fence. We were in an overgrown meadow area with trees, shrubs and long grass all around us. Wild flowers of all shapes and sizes flicked around our knees as we made our way through this lovely glade. Volodimir led us through some trees until right in front of us were three or four bushes with luscious ripe blackberries covering them. We got to work. I felt a lot better after we’d filled ourselves up with the blackberries. We just about stripped those bushes. It was typical of Volodimir to find them.

‘
Have you been here before Volodimir?’

‘
No.’

‘
How did you know these blackberries were here?’

‘
I didn’t. I just got a feeling, from the way it looked when we were walking by.’

As brothers Volodimir and I were close. I could usually tell when he was lying. On this occasion it was clear to me he was telling the truth. This was typical of him. He was a real country boy, it was almost as if he’d sprouted up from the earth himself, his bond with nature was just like the early morning dew on a blade of grass - he was part of the natural world around him. From an early age he helped Mother in our smallholding with planting out and tending crops. Well, we both did, but the difference was, Volodimir was a natural. Everything he touched in our garden bloomed and flourished. He seemed to know what the weather would do, he had an instinct for it. He could tell us when it was going to rain, or when to expect snow. Most of the time he was right. He had a way with the animals too, as soon as he walked into our barn they all turned to look at him and walked towards him. He’d pat and stroke them and make cooing noises in their ears. They loved him. He always knew if one of them was sick or not so well.

Volodimir and I filled our bag with blackberries to take home for Mother and made our way back down to the road. We carried on walking, and before long we reached the outskirts of the village. There were a few villagers around, going about their daily business. It was a warm morning. Volodimir and I were tired from our exertions. Thirsty too. The blackberries had filled us up but their sweet juices left our mouths sticky. I wanted a drink of milk or water to freshen up my mouth, but inside I was shaking. I ran my fingers through my hair and, as we got closer to our house I slowed right down.

‘
Stefan, what is it? Come on, we’re nearly home.’

‘
But Volodimir, Father’ll ask us questions, you know he will.’

‘
Don’t worry. He might shout at us, but Mother’ll be pleased to see us. She’ll look after us.’

We walked up to the front door and opened it. All seemed quiet and we stepped inside, hoping to sneak into our room without being seen, but there was no chance of that. Mother and Father were sitting at the kitchen table looking right at us. As soon as Mother saw us she rushed over and hugged us tight. ‘Boys! I’m so glad you’re all right! I’ve been so worried. Where have you been?’

It was still early. We hadn’t been out that long, but Father obviously suspected that we’d been up to no good and must have shared his concerns with Mother.

‘
We’ve brought some blackberries back for you.’ Volodimir handed the bag to Mother.

‘
Oh that’s lovely! Look at this lot! There’s enough to make us a big juicy pie here.’

‘
Yes, we found a whole lot of bushes right inside the deepest part of the wood.’

‘
You’ve done well, my boys,’ Mother beamed at us, ‘what a lovely lot of blackberries.’

Father, however, was looking at us with furrowed brows, ‘So boys, did you see any Soviet trucks out there?’

‘
Well, we walked a while, and then we saw some deep tracks in the mud and decided not to go any further.’

Volodimir was a sly one. He could talk his way out of most things. I’m not entirely convinced Father believed us, but like Mother, he was glad to have us back safely. He forbade us to leave the village from that time onwards. He was right to do so. It was too dangerous. Anyhow, we weren’t exactly eager to relive the experience. Mother poured us each a long cool glass of milk and we drank it down. I felt safe again, inside the cosy walls of our little house. It was familiar. God looked over us in our home. 

Village life carried on, just like always. In fact, because of the situation in Poland we were able to go about our daily routine with less interference from the Soviets. They were occupied in taking back Western Ukraine from the Poles and securing that border. We lived our lives one day at a time.

Father listened to the radio more and more. The Nazis broadcast their propaganda, the Soviets theirs, as ever it was impossible to tell what was true and what was not.

I immersed myself in school, and in particular Ukrainian literature. The words of writers such as Taras Shevchenko and Ivan Franko seared into my heart and soul. They truly defined what it is to be Ukrainian, and Lord knows all our enemies had tried so hard to take that away. I enjoyed my studies. I wanted to know about the world around me, and all about the rest of the world across the seas, oceans, deserts and plains. We had some good teachers and I was always interested in how people lived in other parts of the world.

I had an aptitude for the practical side of things too. When I was 12 our class was instructed in woodwork. As we walked into the workshop for the first time the industrial smell of it filled my nostrils and I gazed in wonder at the rack upon rack of tools that were neatly stored in large cupboards. We learned about each one of them, and before very long, I was sawing, planing and chiseling joints. We practised the basics until we were deemed to be proficient enough to begin a project. Within a few weeks the woodwork teacher, Mr Markovych, took me to one side, ‘Stefan, you are doing very well in this class. It’s time for you to start a project.’

‘
Thank you Mr Markovych.’ I was truly excited about making something rather than just cutting joints for practice. He passed me a sheet of paper. I examined it and my eyes lit up. It was a plan of a model aeroplane. It was perfect. I hoped I’d be allowed to keep it.

‘
So Stefan, make a good job of this and you can take it home. It has to be perfect though, otherwise we’ll keep it here and reuse the wood.’ It was as if he’d read my mind. Mr Markovych gave me a bundle of rough timbers of various sizes. He helped me sort through them and work out which to use for each section of the aeroplane and then I was away. I planed each piece of wood, taking care to keep them perfectly square. Then I cut out the right lengths. Before long I was planing again and shaping each section, cutting joints and sanding down. Within a few weeks I was ready to assemble the aeroplane. I was nervous. Mr Markovych saw how hesitant I was and stepped in to help me at the gluing up stage. With his help I successfully put the aeroplane together. It looked fantastic! The propeller and the wheels all rotated perfectly and it looked just right. I lifted it above my head and made a whirring engine noise to give it its maiden flight.

‘
Stefan! Put that down. You haven’t finished it just yet.’ Mr Markovych explained that I would need to apply a final rub down to the aeroplane with fine sand paper, wipe it down and begin the process of varnishing. It took another two weeks to apply enough coats of varnish, and just before the final coat I painted a Ukrainian flag on the fuselage. A strip of blue and a strip of yellow, our national colours. Mr Markovych smiled at me when he saw this and ruffled my hair. ‘Well done Stefan.’ While I was waiting for the coats of varnish to dry I was left without much to do in the workshop so Mr Markovych came to me, ‘Stefan, another student started an aeroplane project some time ago but he never finished it. His family moved out of the area, so we haven’t seen him. Would you like to finish it off?’ Of course I was only too happy to take his offer up and, a couple of weeks later was walking home with a pair of beautifully polished, gleaming wooden aeroplanes.

When I got home I gave one of them to Volodimir. They became part of our daily games. The only other toys we had was a box of old tin soldiers that our Grandmother had given us, a relic from one of the abandoned houses. We played war games. We launched our Ukrainian fighter planes and they dived down over enemy lines and destroyed the invaders. It didn’t matter who the enemy were, they might have been Soviets or Poles. We drove them back, away from our land. That was all we wanted, nothing more.

The days passed by. The radio played and we listened as much as we could, or were allowed. When we heard about the Nazis invading France, and North Africa, we took notice. According to news reports the Nazi army was strong, organised and heading our way. Maybe we’d be free of our Soviet oppressors once and for all. Some people thought the Nazis would help us Ukrainians get our freedom. We waited. None of us really knew what lay ahead. All around us were the warmongers. The Red Army guarded our border, the Nazis on the other side, but there was no invasion. It was a stalemate and none of us could understand why. The Nazis were invading and conquering most of Europe. Why had they stopped at our border?

Two years of tension passed by, and we arrived at the year of 1941. Every day our eyes looked to the west. We wondered what was to come. Winds of turmoil blew across the mountains and the plains right into our homes. We knew there were many battles and conflicts taking place. It was as if the wind howled with the wails of those who had perished. The Nazis were sweeping through everything in their path. The British, and only the British it seemed, were out to stop them. France was already in Nazi hands. That much we knew.