Holodnichy, Smorgon district

I was looking for the village of Golodichy in the Svir district of the Malodacha region - as indicated in the court case.

In the autumn of 1949, a financier was robbed in those Holodichy.

The very name of the village evoked unpleasant associations.

If the ancestors gave her such a sad name, then those Holodichi stand on a poor loam or in general on a dying swamp.

There was no Internet that evening - I overdue the payment.

Therefore, my searches, as in the early 20th century, were limited to the encyclopedia "Cities and Villages of Belarus" and the binder of the district newspaper "Stalinsky Slyach".

In the encyclopedia I did not find any Holodichs.

But there was something interesting in "Stalin's Way".

For example, I found out where the pioneers were taken on excursions in Stalin's Belarus, how they fought against deadly viruses, and what profession existed then, which is still unknown to me...

"Recently, the students of the Zasvir seven-year school of the Shemetau village council under the leadership of the senior pioneer woman Comrade

Piskizhova visited the Bolkav distillery.

Technaruk Com.

Kovaleva familiarized them with the technical process of obtaining alcohol, with the construction of a steam engine, with the laboratory and other equipment of the plant."

"Soviet authorities carefully protect the health of workers.

Medical care is provided free of charge.

In addition, the epidemic station carries out a great deal of work among the population for the prevention and control of epidemic diseases.

Medical planes are provided for the services of the sick.

Dozens of people's lives were saved by the emergency aid of medical planes, which delivered sick people to the cities of Minsk and Moscow."

"The reading room is always lively in the Vygalinent House.

Young people and old people gather here.

They read the newspapers themselves and listen to Comrade's reading.


He explains in detail about historical events in our country and abroad.

Those present are also very interested in such questions as how to restore the national economy destroyed by the enemy.

Izbach Mizula is often found in villages.

He conducts conversations with peasants on various topics.

And at the present moment, he chose the main topic — the explanation of the decisions adopted by the First Session of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR."

I also have my own Missoula.

Local historian and songwriter Oleg Mizula from the town of Zhodishka.

He also often conducts interviews.

However, not with the peasants, but with the guests of his farm.

And, of course, my Missoula has different topics than his family member.

It was from Oleg Mizula that I found out where those Golodichi were.

Or rather, Holodnichy.

Oleg Mizula

- Five villages were renamed in our vicinity.

Small names for the communist system are not very cute.

My grandmother was from the village of Ovechki.

It was renamed to Sosnovka.

The village of Martishka, or Martyshka, became Berozauka.

The seamstress became Lazovka, the pig became Malinova.

The laborers were united with the village of Andreevci.

It was such a long village, it still is.

But the part that changed their faith after the uprising was called Batraks.

After the uprising of 1863, people were lured from Catholicism to Orthodoxy, they were given land, they were given money in exchange.

And this, the poorest part, became Orthodox.

And it became Batrakami.

Well, the village of Holodnichy was renamed Krasnaozhernoe.

There should not be naked, barefoot and hungry under the Soviet government.

The true names of many settlements in Belarus are lost in the depths of the ages.

Bolshevik renamings affected even the ancient Romanovs, who became Lenins.

Many Octobers, Red Flags, First May, the completely Russian Guiding Star, Nadezhda, Oktyabrsky, Pobediziteli were born... At the same time, they renamed everything that they considered ecclesiastical or simply incomprehensible: Church became Proletarian, Igumen became June, and Felixberg became Proletarian Commune.

Chapaevki, Budzenavki, Valodarskii, Varashilovi and other Sverdlovi appeared.

Holodnichy, or (since 1964) Krasnaozhernoe, is an ideal village for a country vacation.

A small one-street settlement is hidden behind forested hills between two beautiful lakes.

What kind of hunger?

It seems that the first inhabitants of Holodnichy specially gave the village such a terrifying name to drive away strangers.

That paradise was only theirs.

However, there are almost no natives left here.

Paradise has long been revealed.

This can be seen from the well-kept cottages and heard from the silence that reigns in the courtyards: no barking of dogs, no mooing of cows.

Near one of her houses, her new urban owner made an art installation.

A mannequin in camouflage, a hard hat and a gas mask is sitting on the ledge.

The mannequin is holding a board with the inscription: "Let's leave a splendid legacy to our grandchildren."

Astravetskaya NPP — 25 km.

It was worth coming to Holodnichy just for such an installation.

But I was brought here by the case of Ivan Kazimiravich Podmostka, born in 1899, resident of Paseka village, Belarusian, middle-class peasant, non-partisan, illiterate, married.

"In October 1949, Podmostko Ivan Kazimirovich, living on the Paseki farm of the Svir district, established a criminal relationship with his relative, the leader of the gang Leonid Kozlovsky.

When the bandits visited his house in October 1949, Podmostko took part in drinking alcohol together with them, where the bandits discussed the robbery of the financial agent Statkun.

Knowing about the imminent robbery of the financier, Podmostko not only did not inform the Soviet authorities about it, but at the behest of the bandits went on a reconnaissance mission to find out whether the financier himself was at home and whether there were representatives of the Soviet authorities in the village, which he had executed, and bandits. being aware of the situation in the village.

In Holodichy, where the financier lived, they robbed the latter, taking 13,638 rubles of state money from Statkun.

The first and only person I met on the quiet street of hunger was a simple man.

Simple camouflage for fishing.

Simple eyes, a little hazy from simple drinking.

A simple incredulous look at a stranger.

Even the true name of the village that I spoke did not add warmth to his gaze.

The man said that he was the only one left in the village.

All the old people died long ago.

He had never heard of Podmostki and Statkuny.

You could turn around and go back.

But, walking to the end of Holodnichy, I noticed a completely different country house.

A large modern two-story tenement house, several outbuildings nearby, neatly stacked logs, tractors.

Gaspar of the manor has clearly been engaged in the forest for a long time and successfully.

I entered the wide yard.

No ordinary person left the house.

A short stocky young man with a watchful but not suspicious look.

I explained as briefly as possible what brought me to Holodnichy.

Alexander, that was the name of a difficult man, asked me to wait for ten minutes.

Went into the house.

Then he came out in disguise.

He got into his difficult jeep and asked to go after him.

We went to nearby Vishneva.

There, a difficult man went into one of the houses, and returned not alone, but with a not-so-young gentleman, his father.

Heavy jaw, direct gaze of blue eyes, gray hair.

Richtik is an American senator.

That's how I met Vladimir Purpur, a native of Holodnichy.

Vladimir Purpur

- Statkun worked for the Soviet Union.

His boys were my age.

I went to school with them, then we went to dances together.

I often visited their house.

I remember how my father came with such a big bag in his hands and there were lists.

I remember how meetings were held, how people cried.

The poor, who had no carts, no carts, no threshing floor, only went to help those who lived well, they immediately enrolled in the kolkhoz.

And my father and the others were sitting with their heads down.

Whether you want it or not, they will write it down.

I remember how they dismantled the threshing floor, how they took away the horse, carts, how my mother cried, how my father cried.

Everything was taken away.

One man served the government, the other was robbed by that government.

That did not prevent their children from being friends with each other.

At this point I will make a digression.

After all, the victim of this case is a financier.

In post-war Western Belarus, after MGB officers and upalminzags, people were most afraid of financial agents.

When the upalminzag climbed into barns and barns, the financial agent cleaned the peasants' pockets.

So that not a single egg sold on the market goes unnoticed, untaxed.

And taxes for relatively free single individuals increased almost every month.

A resident of the village of Kaptaruni, in the Pastava district, told me about one unique financial agent.

That financier always answered all requests and entreaties of the peasants to wait a little with two words: "Buy and sell".

"Don't you have eggs?

Buy and sell".

"No milk?

Buy and sell!" And so to everyone: "Buy and sell!".

He himself did not notice how one day the saying became his name.

The era of collectivization has passed, it has been a long time since there was anyone and there was no need to buy and rent something.

The former financial agent first became an accountant, then retired.

But for all people, this man remained Cupid.

"Cupizday went there", "Heard from Cupid".

"Where?" - "Yes, behind Cupizdaeva's house."

Probably, this is how surnames are born.

Vladimir and I went to see the oldest resident of Holodnichy, Aunt Reni.

The son of a peasant who was robbed by the Soviet government and the former chairman of the village council showed the way, and I happily thought that, no matter how hard the Soviet government tried to make all people simple, a difficult person is indestructible.

And very often, as in these Holodnychi, he is ready to put his affairs aside to help a Belarusian-speaking traveler.

And I think that Belarusian, that is, difficult language, is the main incentive for such an action.

Aunt Renia, an 80-year-old smiling woman, did not remember the circumstances of that long-ago robbery.

Aunt Renya

- Yes.

He was a financier.

But I did not hear that he was robbed.

But what happened then.

Someone was hiding, did not want to go to war.

Young guys.

But there were no political ones.

Mrs. Regina added a new plot to the picture of post-war life, which I have not heard anywhere.

- They laid under tractors, under combine harvesters.

It's scary to remember.

After the war, they settled down a bit - and here in the kolkhoz!

We held on until the fifty-third.

I remember, we children were flying, and the beans were lying under the harvester.

And they didn't go.

Where will they go for a living person?

It was, is and will be.

And now.

Who likes it, who doesn't like it - you won't go against it.

Belarus will not go against it.

So and then.

And then they laid down to earn money.

Working days.

After all, they cleaned it with scythes.

And here it is not necessary - the combine will do everything.

If in Kryzhovka the peasants chased away the harvesters with a fight from what they thought was their field in order to collect what they thought was their harvest, here the collective farm workers threw themselves under the combine harvesters to earn their own money.

Such was the Ludism of the collective farm.

- The Higher One will offend us.

And now he offends, and he offended before...

It often happens that you go for one topic, and a completely different one emerges.

The robbed financial agent went into the background.

And the story about how in the 1950s collective farms were placed under combine harvesters in order to harvest with sickles came forward.

Just to earn an extra day's work.

What was this mysterious working day, that people were ready to risk their lives for it?

I laid out old issues of the regional "Peasant newspaper".

"A woman in a collective farm is a great force," Comrade Stalin said.

Golden words!

Take at least our collective farm.

All the main work is done by women.

Women and animals take care of, and mow, and reap, and weed - everything cannot be enumerated.

And now, when the harvest is in full swing, the woman took on her shoulders the main burden of the work.

I would especially like to mention the work of two reapers who come to the field before everyone else and go home later than the others.

One of them will turn 50 soon.

This is Elena Asipovskaya.

You can always see Gerasimenka's collective farm next to her.

These women, who have a lot of experience in field work, harvest up to 30 hectares per day, while the norm is 15-20.

Women are happy to work in the collective farm field.

We are happy because our work leads us to prosperity, national pride, and happiness."

I wonder what the reapers from Holodnych thought of this cheerful note.

About wealth and happiness.

Economist Michal Zaleski was not at all surprised by the story of the famine reapers.

- And in Studzianka near Zabrze there was the same uprising.

Because the technology of the shaft collided with the technology of the market.

And these people did not understand why they were not allowed to earn.

"We do!

We are trying!

And these bitches..." I heard this from people: "What kind of idiot did they send the chairman?

Why doesn't he make money?".

The working day depended on the economy.

How much they spent on a working day.

It is not a fixed unit.

A working day in an exemplary collective farm is not the same as in a poor one.

The collective farm operated on the basis of the All-Union Charter of the Agricultural Artel.

Artel is a society.

"As you sink, so you pop."

But communists have always been characterized by duplicity.

As for you, Lakhs, this is the statute of the artel, and as for us, statesmen, it is scheduled deliveries.

If you and I were a group, we would sow grain, two quintals per hectare.

We would collect twenty centners.

Two quintals would be left for sowing, kept for themselves, left for livestock, the rest would be sold, left for the insurance fund and the rest divided.

That's what the artel would do.

And if it's not you who decides...

I found the answer to the question of what a collective farmer should receive in one of the issues of "Syalyanska Gazeta" from 1948.

These are the happy numbers in the collective farm named after September 17 of the Malodachan district.

If in 1945 they gave 1.5 kilograms of grain in one working day, in 1946 - almost two kilograms, then in 1948 - as many as 6. Potatoes in the famine of 1945 - 2 kilograms, in 1946 - 5, and in 1948, 12 kilograms!

They even gave money.

In 1945 - 50 kopecks per day, in 1946 - one ruble, in 1948 - five and a half!

The prices of those Stalinist rubles in stores are very similar to today's rubles.

Therefore, imagine that you were paid 150-200 rubles for hard work.

Isn't it true that Stalin's joy is not much different from today's?

I showed these figures to Wladimir Kazhamiak, a former teacher of the veterinary technical school in Ilya (it is the former regional center of the same region).

Vladimir Kazhamiak

- This is all untrue.

For a year of work, they could give a pood of grain.

And you carry these sixteen kilograms on your shoulder and bring them home.

All your grain earnings for the year.

What money?

They could give some potatoes.

Therefore, the peasants grew everything on their acres and relied only on their acres.

We had twenty acres near the house and ten acres in the field.

What money?

The state is poor, it cannot pay with money.

And how to get interested?

That's how they came up with these "sticks", as they were called.

After all, the foreman put such names opposite the surname in his notebook.

And this is control over you!

You can see that you go to work.

That you perform the minimum number of working days.

There was such a concept - minimum working days.

You have a nosebleed to do it.

And try not to do it!

There will be material penalties.

And they worked.

And on Sunday, and on Saturday, and there was no end.

And how much to give grain, potatoes,


It depends on the productivity.

And if the year is not fruitful and there is not enough grain?

And the state supplies should be fulfilled by the collective farm?

Give it to the state and leave it for sowing?

Here's a pud on your shoulder.

And in another year, maybe a little more.

And this is what Comrade Shostak from the Alkovitsa village council of the Illya district writes in the "Peasant newspaper".

There was, after all, that strange profession in the Soviet collective farms.

"Among the members of the Varashilov kolkhoz collective farm Sofya Bokhan enjoys well-deserved authority.

She has been an agitator in the third brigade for the second year.

Even now, during the hot season of cleaning, she can be seen almost every day during her lunch break in the field with a newspaper in her hands.

She conducts conversations with reapers, organizes collective reading.

Yanina Lobach, the reaper, left many ears of corn in the field.

The agitator noticed this and shamed the bridegroom.

On the same day, she told the collective farmers how bushels and tons of grain were wasted because of the remaining ears.

The next day, a caricature of Janina Lobach appeared in the collective farm wall newspaper.

Now Yanina and her friends do not leave a single spike in the field.

And they began to work much better."

Many poems about the happy collective farm life were printed on the pages of "Syalyanska Gazeta".

Poems of professional writers and self-made poets.

But no matter how much I searched, I could not find the word "working day" anywhere in these works.

I remember only the chorus heard from Vladimir Orlov: "Our working day, our working day."

It's a whole day again."

And here's what inspired the regional newspaper:

"I read Lenin,

I read Stalin,

that the collective farm road is

right for the peasantry.

To live well in a collective farm —

It's up to us.

So said Comrade Stalin,

our Father, teacher, friend.

Wider the street, spread out -

Give way to tractors.

We will fight together

for a high harvest.

Harmonist, play louder for us,

All the girls will sing along.

Let the whole world hear

how the collective farmers live.

You fly like a winged bird,

Our song is about the collective farm.

Father-Stalin thanks

and bow from us!

(From songs recorded in collective farms of Myadzelsky, Pastavsky and Smorgonsky districts of our region)".

Imaginary life and real life were maximally diluted by propaganda.

A stream of oil poured on Comrade Stalin, on his own party.

But nowhere is there a single word addressed to the person on whom the former peasant depended first of all.

This is not the chairman of the village council or the chairman of the collective farm.

These two bosses sit too high, you won't see them every day.

The main master for the kolkhoz worker was the one who put those workday sticks in the notebook.

Uladzimir Kazhamiaka, a teacher from Ilya, recalls:

- Foremen kept records and submitted this information to the accounting department.

And then it was calculated for each collective farmer how much to give him.

How much to deceive him, in short.

And try to quarrel with the foreman - it will be bad for you in all respects.

After all, it was the boss himself.

As a rule, it was a communist.

But at the end of each year, even though the kolkhoz was poor, the chairman (probably there was such an arrangement) held harvests.

Sometime in November, when the frosts were already starting, tables were set up in one of the village houses.

The chairman will write out bread, catch up with vodka, slaughter a sheep or a boar.

Well, everyone is happy, drunk.

One day a year was like that.

We, children, ran there for these feasts, for these drunken parties, and we saw it all.

And not only seen.

After all, we were also treated with vodka.

So that's where the love for harvests comes from.

Not the harvest of the people, ancient, but those of the collective farms, drunk and gambling.

I still found pseudo-folk proverbs about the working day and the collective farm.

In the book "Wise Counselors", published by "Fiction" in 1973.

In the era when there were no more working days.

"They didn't brag about the working day, but they bragged about how much they had."

"In a collective farm, what is the work, what is the pay."

"We frighten all enemies with the collective farm harvest."

The latest masterpiece refers to the article of the Criminal Code on the disclosure of state secrets.

When I see today what kind of car the chairman of the collective farm drives, excuse me, the director of the agricultural cooperative, and what figures appear in the payroll, I understand that the era of the collective farm continues.

And it was not by chance that the old peasant woman, Aunt Renya, repeated in the future tense: "The Higher One will offend us..."

Kill Upalminzag.

New book by Zmytr Bartosik

In the history of Belarus of the 20th century, the pages of Belarusian resistance to Soviet occupation, Russification, and collective farms remain the most hushed up and classified.

The truth about this resistance was destroyed or hidden in the archives of the KGB, and the living witnesses of the events died.

The knowledge about itself, about its dissent and the heroes of the struggle against foreign orders, torn from the nation's historical memory, is the main reason why these orders still rule in reality, bringing degeneration, slavery and forced emigration to Belarusians.

For twenty years, Zmytser Bartosik has been traveling around Belarus in search of true stories from the past.

This time, the documents of the Moladocha regional court (there was one after the war), which accidentally ended up in the public domain, fall into the hands of the author.

At one time, these documents were copied by the historian Mihas Cherniauski.

The main articles of criminal cases are anti-Soviet "banditry", anti-Soviet uprisings, underground, agitation, views and sentiments.

Dozens of cases are only a small fragment of the mass of court proceedings that took place in the former Western Belarus.

Zmytser Bartosik, with documents in hand, corrects the addresses of past events and often finds old-timers who talk about those involved in those crimes.

"We didn't want to enter this state" - this is the leitmotif of the memories and the explanation of the actions for which the participants received 25 years in prison.

People defended their property, their language and their freedom with weapons in their hands, forming partisan detachments of "forest brothers", fighting against the incoming foreign power.

They expected that the West, putting an end to Hitler, would also put an end to Stalin.