Real USSR » Eva Muryzhnikova

The Wall: the Unaccounted Tragedies.

Eva Muryzhnikova — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 22:08:09 +0000

As previously stated by George Orwell, war is peace. So when Walter Ulbricht, the Leader of the German Socialist Unity Party, on June 15, 1961 said: “No one has the intention of building the wall!”, it took only about two months for the construction to begin. The rundown state of the Eastern part was forcing people to flee in the search of better lives in the West of Germany: in the first six months of the year 1961, about 150 000 people left their houses. However, more stayed — and so the Wall did not only separate the city — it cut families in halves.

On the morning of August 13, 1961 the Berlinians woke up to the first layer of bricks being erected.

Prior to the construction of the Wall, posters fake promises were all over the city

During the first months, this way grandparents got to see their grandkids.

One had to use props to wave to friends on the other side.

The first anniversary of the Wall, 1962: the woman on the roof waving to her mother.

The use of binoculars was helpful during the first few months after the erection.

The other side was watching, as well.

As the time went, the barb wire and bricks were introduced to keep people away. The bride under the windows of her grandparents. The bouquet was lowered on a string.

This bride only got to see her relatives via binoculars.

Many were prepared to leave their lives behind and just flee for the better.

The Eastern authorities trying to stop the Western photographers by sending light into the cameras by mirrors.

Those who got caught fleeing were shot on the spot.

Gunter Liftin was shot on August 24, 1961 — before the construction was even complete.

In February 1975 this brave fellow was caught by the patrol guards, trying to cross the mined field.

Another unsuccessful attempt: wounded in the field.

In 1975 John Runnings from Canada tried to destroy the Wall with a hammer but was severely wounded by the machine-gunned guards.

Within hours after the fall. The happiest of faces.

Images are courtesy livejournal user drugoi.

Glass Negatives circa 1928

Eva Muryzhnikova — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 00:59:24 +0000

Chemical photography as we know it today was not invented in a day — one of the stages in developing was the glass negatives photography, when the glass plates were covered with a protein emulsion — invented in 1841, the process was clunky and difficult to reproduce. Those images can now be identified by the uneven coat of emulsion, rough edges, thick glass and maybe even photographer’s thumbprint on it.

All in all, below are the 20+ images from the glass negatives — the shots of Soviet countryside life, shot around 1928. People, harvests, views, tools — whatever the photography aficionado encountered. Considering that this is pre-film, the spirit of these photos is mind blowing. We hope you’ll share our excitement.

A fashionista.

The glass slides. Dated 1928.

If anybody could help identify what these women are doing?

Late autumn

Sisters? Note the background

Another stylish couple. He reminds me of Clark Gable

River outing

Studying

A stylish threesome: mind the leather jacket

Harvesting

My favourie shot of the lot

If anyone could help us identify the little box? Milk? Tea? Coffee?

Everyone posing for the camera man

Still life

Woodworkers’ shop

City vistas

Family gathering

Winemaking?

Summertime. Apart from the watermelon, note the camera case in front. Now it would be called lomo

Lunch break

Harvesting. Plenty of apples this year!

TBC.

How Much Watch? Ten Watch!

Eva Muryzhnikova — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 14:07:08 +0000

Free postcards as a marketing ploy.

In 1959, a Soviet watchmaker MashPriborInTorg had what’s now called a solid market share of all watches and clocks made in the USSR. This ugly acronym stood for Machinery and Gadget Overseas Trade, and the factory made all the famous Soviet brands of watches which could be found in every household: Polet (Flight), Slava (Honour), Raketa (Rocket), Chaika (Seagull) and more pompous names, which in reality were good sturdy reliable watches: my Granddad had his Slava for more than 20 years, and never there was a complaint! For some reason, these goofy dolls were picked to advertise the watches, and today we have found a collection of postcards picturing a good set of such dolls wearing the Soviet tributes to fine watchmaking. Enjoy!

The set of cards

Every household I can think of now had a clock like that.

Unexpectedly, a black Pinoccio.

A sailor.

Forget me not in this lifetime.

Late for a date, no less.

Oleg Popov, The Sad Clown

Eva Muryzhnikova — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 10:16:03 +0000

In about six weeks this remarkable man will celebrate his 80th Birthday. Who is he? The most popular clown of the Soviet Union, also known as the Sunshine Clown, Oleg Popov is true icon of its own. Born in 1930, he had on of the toughest upbringings ever — yet he managed to become one of most recognisable people of the 20th century: he also was in Guinness Records Book for “being popular in the West and in the East”.

On top of his game. Oleg Popov in 1976.

He was training to be a plumber when, at the age of 17, his friends took him along to the local circus — overwhelmed, he later said there was no way back. He started learning acrobatics, gymnastics, tricks; he spent all of his time and money on learning about the famous clowns and their techniques. It did not take him long to become famous: his natural talent and an open smile made wonders.

In his interview for the Russian newspaper Arguments and Facts, Oleg Popov is reminiscing about the happiest day of his life:after Stalin’s death in 1953, all entertainment was banned as a deep mourning was announced. So the circus he was working at was shut, and those weeks of not doing what he loved was torturous. It took over two months for the ban to be lifted, and even then he was briefed not to joke “too much”. So coming out on stage and receiving a huge round of applaud made Oleg realised that it wasn’t only him who missed performing — it was also the spectators who needed laughter.

A Trip Around the USSR: Leningrad 1972

Eva Muryzhnikova — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 12:53:25 +0000

The Griboedov Channel. The bridges St Petersburg is so famous for.

By many, St Petersburg (Leningrad in 1924–1991) is often considered to be so beautiful due to its architecture of Italian origin. Quite strange to see these fine buildings embellished by the symbols of the Soviet Era. Let’s take a walk around this fine city in the summer almost 30 years ago.

When I was 7 years old, there was a flower market just like that next to our house. By Erhard K.

Image by Erhard K.

Peterhof, the Russian Versailles, by Erhard K.

Peterhof by Erhard K.

The Smolny Cathedral, by Erhard K.

The Neva River embankment, Rostral Pillars. Image by Erhard K.

The Dvortsovaya Embankment. Image by Erhard K.

Summer river cruises. By Erhard K.

St Isaac’s Cathedral, the monument of Peter the Great. By Erhard K.

The Winter Palace close up, Dvortsovaya Embankment. By Erhard K.

The Winter Palace, from the Palace Bridge, by Erhard K.

Peter the Great was the one to build this city on the swamps. During the Khruschev Era, the city was further decorated.

Nevsky Avenue, by Erhard K.

The Neva embankment, the Aurora cruiser, by Erhard K.

In 1925, the Aurora cruise ship played a major part in the October Revolution: the city was flaming with revolutionary spirit and so the Revolutionary Committee was created. On 25 October 1917, Aurora refused to carry an order to take off to sea, which sparked the Revolution. At 9.45 p.m. on that date, a blank shot from her forecastle gun signalled the start of the assault on the Winter Palace.

The Church of the Saviour on Blood (Spas na Krovi), by Erhard K.

The main street: Nevsky Prospect (Avenue). By Erhard K.

The Dvortsovaya Square, Aleksandriysky Stolp, by Erhard K.

We Bet Peter Jackson Never Saw This Hobbit!

Eva Muryzhnikova — Mon, 24 May 2010 21:31:50 +0000

A fun post for you today — a series of illustrations for a Russian edition of The Hobbit, 1989. The artist Belomlinsky portrayed the characters in a funky manner. The book was published at 300,000 copies and it was a success — I had itas a kid and it had me scared. I could never get over the fact that someone needs to leave their wonderful cave full of jars with pickles!

See how you like Bilbo, Gandalf, Gollum, the Trolls, the Big People and the Dragon — let us know if it makes you smile.

The Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien. The cover.

The Hobbit, Or There and Back Again.

The Map — from Hobbiton to the Lonely Mountain.

Merry Gandalf, isn’t he?

The Trolls

Gollum, plotting riddles with deadly stakes.

The giant eagles.

Big People — Bilbo’s encounter with humans.

Giant spiders in the black forest of Mirkwood.

The dragon battle

Back cover. Published by Children Literature.

Poetic Tuesday: Boris Pasternak, Winter Night

Eva Muryzhnikova — Tue, 18 May 2010 12:07:34 +0000

It has been a good while since we decided to broaden our format a little and introduce some new exciting series for our blog. So today we are introducing our Poetic Tuesday: every Tuesday we will (try to) post a remarkable Soviet poem, most probably on a fortnightly basis. This particular poem, Winter Night by Nobel Prize for Literature of 1958, the author of Doctor Zhivago, Boris Pasternak has been hand picked to open this collection. We thank Andrey Kneller for the translation. The best way to enjoy it, we suggest, is by clicking Read More.., then play the youtube video and when the words begin, read the poem. The video features Winter Night read in Russian by Boris Vetrov, violin by Secret Garden. It is truly moving — we hope you enjoy it as much as we do. Thanks for being such a wonderful audience — you are a pleasure to write for.

The blizzards all across the earth
Have swept uncurbed
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

As in the summer, moths are drawn
Towards the flame
The pale snowflakes soared
Towards the pane

Upon the glass, bright snowy rings
And streaks were churned
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

On the illumined ceiling
Shadows swayed
A cross of arms, a cross of legs
A cross of fate

Two boots fell down on the floor
With crashing sound
And from the crown tears of wax
Dripped on the gown

And nothing in the snowy haze
Could be discerned
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

A gentle draft blew on the flame,
And in temptation,
It raised two wings into a cross
As if an angel

It swept and swept all through the month
This frequently occurred
The candle burned upon the desk
The candle burned

Boris Pasternak

Best of Winter 2009–2010

The Victory Aftermath. Russia in Second World War.

Eva Muryzhnikova — Sun, 16 May 2010 09:12:35 +0000

The V-Day. Copyright unknown

On May, 25th 1945 Joseph Stalin made a celebratory speech devoted to the end of the Russian Great Patriotic War. The Second World War was coming to an end, but the Soviet Union was done fighting. The Russian troops had exited Germany and ahead lied a long road of rebuilding and rehabilitation. So in Kremlin, at the V-day Meeting, Stalin had said the following:

Do not expect me to say anything extraordinary today. I have a very simple, very ordinary toast to make. I would like to raise a glass to health of those people who are low in rank and invisible in the hierarchy. Of those who we consider to be the “small screws” of our huge state mechanism — they might be small but without them us generals, marshals and other top army leaders wouldn’t have made it. They are plentiful, they are a legion, it is tens of millions of people who have not been heard of — yet they hold us together, as the base holds the top. To their health!

Today we have brought to your attention a fragment of the interview with Yelena Bonner, a human rights activist, a dissident, a writer, and a widow of the late Andrei Sakharov — during the war she was a teen and now, courtesy to the Internet-magazine Snob.ru, she tells us about her experience during the war.

So — We did not fight for Stalin or the Soviet Union. We fought because we had no other choice.

Elena Bonner, b.1923. Image couretsy of snob.ru

Do you remember the war motto: “To Stalin! To Soviet Union!”

I was 18 when I was summoned — at the beginning of war, and till very late 1945 I spent with the troops — yet I never heard that motto. Every time there was a fire on the frontline we never shouted “To Stalin””, it was more like “You sons of fucking bitches!”.

So at the beginning of the war we have been told that many — lots! — of young people volunteered to be sent to the front line..

That was another huge lie about that war. Only a tiny percent of people who ended up in the front line volunteered to be there. The rest were mobilised, hands down. Every single man of the appropriate age, be him a farmer or a factory worker — all of them were summoned and sent to the war.

I was also mobilised, as thousands of other girls. I was a student at Hertsen Institute, and they had a huge banner on the wall: “Girls of our country, get your second, military profession now”. So we had to take a compulsory course in military education. The choices we had were about becoming a nurse, a communications technician or a sniper. I chose to be a nurse, and by the end of it I was listed as “suitable for summon”.

So on June 22nd, 1941 you heard about the German invasion –you know you are listed as “suitable”, so did you know you’d be part of the war very shortly? Did you have a feeling of upcoming radical change?

You know, it was a very odd feeling. I am eighty seven years old now, and now I am trying to comprehend what was happening and I am failing at it, how my generation lived anticipating the war. Not just the people of Leningrad — at least we experienced the war with Finland of 1939 — 1940 (the so-called Winter War), and it was a real war, with food shortages and no heating. So starting from 1937 I just couldn’t help but anticipate a war coming — and it was a solid, gut feeling. My Moscow friends felt the same.

So in 1942 you were summoned as a nurse — what did it feel like?

I was a nurse on the train, which was travelling in the Leningrad district, picking up the wounded and delivering them to Vologda or other safe destinations. There they were dropped off, cared for, nurtured a bit and then either returned back to the front line, or sent somewhere else, I am unsure… The train was constantly bombed, or derailed, or lost in the snow. And then I was wounded myself — I had a broken clavicle, a damaged left shoulder, injured nerve and a blood eye — I was bad and I was sent by the same train to Vologda and later to the Urals.

I guess I was very lucky throughout the war. There was no reason for me to be on the train — I could have been right on the front line. It was 1942, the toughest year by some account — nobody summoned during that year came back.

Yelena Bonner in her Moscow apartment. Image courtesy of Snob magazine.

How long did you spend on that train?

Till 1945 — till the very end. We were sent to Germany to evacuate the wounded from their territories in 1945. So on May 8, the VE Day, we were somewhere around Innsbruck, Austria, and this was our last journey bound for Leningrad. We arrived home, the train crew was restructured, I was made the Head of some medical department to care for the wounded bomb disposal soldiers. The war was technically over, yet these guys — working with the explosives — kept coming our way.I was one of the last ones to be demobilised, too — in August 1945.

Can you tell us some more myths about the war?

As I have said, nobody volunteered. Another one was that the Jewish did not fight — it is not true, they did. And probably the biggest one is post war — the exploitation of that war. And all these military parades show offs — they are no longer carried out to remember those who did not come back — now they have a mission of public relations, and TV ratings, and flexing the military muscle — both on the domestic and international levels.

Did you feel that right after the war things would change to the better?

We did — we felt that our country had just survived the incredible! We felt powerful, we felt like we were able to change things around, we hoped for the better.

So why do these war veterans who came back from the war never argue these myths about the war?

Why do you think when we came back and thought ah, we are so powerful — why do you think we all shut up?

May, 1st: Soviet Labour Day.

Eva Muryzhnikova — Sat, 01 May 2010 13:22:03 +0000

Parade of 1984, city of Ufa. Photo by N. Marochkin.

Day of International Solidarity of the Working Class, or Labour Day — was celebrated in Russia on May, 1st from 1919 to 1990. A public holiday for each every city, every township or village had a parade organised: flags were carried, posters and banners were up, kids had red ballons and portraits of the governing men were on display. The attendance usually was compulsory, but judging by the photographs now, I don’t think anybody minded: it looks like people had fum there. By May the weather was usually sunny and crisp, and this holiday was a little more that a propagandist activity: it was a unifying event. Please read on to see some faces behind the crowd.

Novosibirsk 1938. Photo from a private collection.

Novosibirsk 1953. Photo from a private collection.

Moscow 1958. Photo from a private archive by S. Buldakov.

Top Army guys. Moscow 1958. Photo from a private archive by S. Buldakov.

Novosibirsk 1958. Photo from a private collection.

Sports Club Marching. Novosibirsk 1972. Photo from a private collection.

Moscow 1978. Photo from a private archive.

City of Ufa 1984. Photo by N. Marochkin.

Toast to solidarity! Moscow 1978, photo from a private collection.

Moscow, late 1970s. Brezhnev is in the middle. Photo from a private collection.

Yes I Can: Dr Rogozov Performs Self Surgery

Eva Muryzhnikova — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 12:56:49 +0000

Remember our post about Slava Kurilov, the guy who jumped off the cruise ship near the Philippines islands — and swam to freedom for three consecutive days, completely alone at sea? Our today’s post tells a story just as remarkable — a young Russian surgeon Leonid Rogozov, stranded in Antarctica with the Sixth Soviet Antarctic Expedition, in 1961 performs a self-operation: under local anesthesia, surrounded by a bunch of guys whose only experience with medicine was sitting in a dentist’s chair, the 27th years old doctor removes his own appendix.

rogozovappendectomy2

Dr Rogozov had a very promising start, but had left for the expedition shortly before having to present his thesis on new methods of operating cancer. He was the only medical person in the expedition, and in the downtime he also performed driver’s and meteorologist’s duties. Six weeks after the arrival to the base, he started feeling ill: weakness came, then nausea, then abdominal pain along with body temperature rising. The diagnosis was easy: it was clearly a case of acute appendicitis — but the closest medical help was about 800 km away. Dr Rogozov wrote in his diary:

I did not sleep at all last night. It hurts like the devil! A snowstorm whipping through my soul, wailing like a hundred jackals. Still no obvious symptoms that perforation is imminent, but an oppressive feeling of foreboding hangs over me… This is it… I have to think through the only possible way out: to operate on myself… It’s almost impossible… but I can’t just fold my arms and give up.

Soviet Antarctic Expedition site four years prior to Dr Rogozov’s events

All the available conservative treatment was applied (antibiotics,local cooling), but the general condition wasgetting worse.And so the preparations for the surgery began. In his diary he describes these events in plain, almost emotionless language: how the guys found out, how he told them what was about to happen, what they were to do. Following Dr Rogozov’z instructions, the team members assembledan improvised operating theatre. They moved everything out of the room, leaving only the bed, two tables, anda table lamp. The aerologists Fedor Kabot and Robert Pyzhovflooded the room thoroughly with ultraviolet lighting and sterilisedthe bed linen and instruments.

In the event that Rogozov lost consciousness, heinstructed his team how to inject him with drugs using the syringeshe had prepared. Thenhe gave the main helpers a surgical wash himself, disinfectedtheir hands, and put on their rubber gloves for them. And so it began: with the team’s meteorologist holding the retractors, a driver to hold the mirror and other scientists passing surgical implements, he sat in a reclined position and cut out his own appendix under local anesthetic.

The operation went on for two hours.

One of his assistants, the station director Vladislav Gerbovich, later recalled in his diary:

When Leonid had made the incision and was manipulating hisown innards as he removed the appendix, his intestine gurgled,which was highly unpleasant for us; it made one want to turnaway, flee, not look—but I kept my head and stayed. He himself was calm and focused on his work, butsweat was running down his face and he frequently asked us to wipe his forehead … By the end of the surgery he was very pale and obviously tired,but he finished everything off.

Half way through the operation Dr Rogozov passed out, but was able to continue.

halfway through the surgery the assistants asked for a photo camera to be brought in

Once operation wascomplete, he took sleeping tablets and lay down for a rest.The next day his temperature was 38.1°C; he described hiscondition as “moderately poor” but overall he felt better. Hecontinued taking antibiotics. After five days his temperature was normal; aftera week he removed the stitches. Within two weeks he was ableto return to his normal duties and to his diary.

Those very instruments — on a museum display nowadays

A remarkable extract from Doctor’s diary:

I worked without gloves. It was hard to see. The mirror helps,but it also hinders—after all, it’s showing thingsbackwards. I work mainly by touch. The bleeding is quite heavy,but I take my time—I try to work surely. Opening the peritoneum,I injured the blind gut and had to sew it up. Suddenly it flashedthrough my mind: there are more injuries here and I didn’tnotice them … I grow weaker and weaker, my head starts tospin. Every 4–5 minutes I rest for 20–25 seconds. Finally, hereit is, the cursed appendage! With horror I notice the dark stainat its base. That means just a day longer and it would haveburst and …

At the worst moment of removing the appendix I flagged: myheart seized up and noticeably slowed; my hands felt like rubber.Well, I thought, it’s going to end badly. And all thatwas left was removing the appendix …

And then I realised that, basically, I was already saved.

Dr Leonid Rogozov

About a year later he left Antarctica for home: 29 May 1962 the ship docked at Leningrad harbour. The next day Dr Rogozov returned to his work at the clinic — and shortly after he successfully defended his dissertation. He workedand taught in the Department of General Surgery of the FirstLeningrad Medical Institute. He never returned to the Antarcticand died in St Petersburg, as Leningrad had by then become,on 21 September 2000.

“A job like any other, a life like any other”

This self operation was probably the first such successfulact undertaken out of hospital settings,with no possibility of outside help, and without any other medicalprofessional around. It remains an example of determinationand the human will for life. In later years Rogozov himselfrejected glorification of his deed. When thoughts like thesewere put to him, he usually answered with a smile and the words:“A job like any other, a life like any other”.

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