HELEN SAGER STORY
Our step-mother, Helen Sager, Elena Woskoboinik, was from Ukraine originally and escaped during WW2. She wrote stories of her childhood memories and my father wrote little introductory comments that I italicized.
Shortly after moving here we found young Harris College was
starting a group of courses for "Continuing Education" and we went to several of them. Your mother attended one of them that I recently came across a notebook I
think you would be interested so I have enclosed the notes from "How to write your life History." I have included a few notes for you also.
H. Sager
Cod-Liver Oil
It was customary, in our family, to give young
children one tablespoon of cod-liver oil every day.
Since both parents were working, it was the job of may Aunt Shoora
to administer it. My younger brother and I hated it.
We would hide and do everything possible to avoid it. Aunt
Shoora knew that we liked pickles and came up with a
solution. "Take a deep breath, hold it, swallow the cod-
liver oil quickly and chase it down with a pickle, she would
instruct us. We followed her instructions and from then on
it was a lot easier to accept that smelly big tablespoon of
cod liver oil coming toward you.
The paper speaks for itself. Your mother was eight years
old when the 1932 - 33 famine took place. She never mentions, school or if she even went to school during this part of her life.
H. Sager
Dvedooshka (Grandfather)
Today I read in the paper that "A monument in memory
of the more than seven million victims of the Great Famine of
1932-33 in Ukraine was dedicated on Saturday, December 4,
1993, in Bloomingdale, IL., at St. Andrew's Ukrainian
Orthodox Church","
This statement brought memories flooding to my mind
… Ukraine.
For some reason, that I didn't understand, in late
summer, my parents brought my younger brother and me from
Charkov, where we lived, to a small village, Slovyanka, to
visit our paternal grandparents. We stayed (my parents had
to return to their jobs in the city) with our grand parents
almost a year and it was very enjoyable. The adobe house was
white washed with lime, had a thatched yellow straw roof,
green shutters decorated with painted flowers and dirt floors
indoors. It sat on the side of a dusty dirt road with cherry
trees behind it and farm buildings around it. There were
cows, pigs, chickens and pigeons. A slow moving river,
caught between lush green banks, was flowing nearby. There
was a lot to do here and much to see.
I would wake up in the mornings to the smell of bread
baking and food cooking in the kitchen and come running out
to see what grandma was preparing and to greet my grandpa,
who was bed ridden most of the time. He was usually resting
stove where it was always warm. He greeted me
with a smile and a kiss.
"Grandpa, grandpa, I would shout excitedly, "what
surprise do you have for me today?"
"Well, here it is, but you have to come closer to get
it. Guess which hand I have it in?" grandpa would say.
"This one!" I would point to one of his hands.
"Here you are, " and grandpa would give me a small
brown paper bag with several pieces of hard candy in it. I
would taste one and save the rest for later. It tasted sweet
and fruity and felt hard against the roof of my mouth.
This was a daily ritual that we went through and to
this day I do not know where or how he got that candy for me
every day, but I still recall the joy of it.
My favorite place was the pigeon house and its loft.
Upon entering it, I could hear the gentle cooing of the
pigeons. Climbing into the loft, I could see some pigeons
sitting on their eggs in their straw nests. A very sharp
odor permeated the loft to the point of burning my nose and
throat. But here I was high about the ground and looking
through the pigeon holes I could see almost the entire
village, the blue river flowing slowly and the homespun linen
stark white against the green of the banks drying in the sun.
The swoosh of the wings of the returning pigeons would
disturb my daydreaming and I would reluctantly climb down
the rough hewn ladder, that often left painful splinters in
my fingers.
Not till many, many years later in the United States
of America did I learn about the Great Famine of 1932-33,
created by Stalin. Only then did I realize why my parents
left us that long with our grandparents.
I heard this story many times. Again, Helen was about eight years old
at this time.
H. Sager
Grandpa's Preference
When staying with my paternal grandparents, as
child, it was always fun to watch my grandma preparing the
meal and setting up the dinner table. The table was covered
with a white linen tablecloth embroidered with traditional
Ukrainian red roses with black stems and leaves. There would
be 2-3 different kinds of steaming vegetables, some kind of
meat, bread, butter and dessert. Grandma would bake sweet
breads and pirogi, which would be filled with seasonal fruit,
jam, sweetened and flavored creamed cottage cheese, Or
steamed, sweetened mashed poppy seeds. Dessert was my
favorite course, We would all start Our dinner with meat ཝཱ
vegetables, bread and milk. But Grandpa would start with a
dessert. I asked him why he was eating his dessert first and
he responded by saying that once foods reach your stomach
they all get mixed together and he wanted to make sure he had
room for his favorite food. That was his preference and I
never forgot it.
:
Sweet Sixteen
When your mother was just fourteen years old her father was arrested and sent to the Hard Labor lamp in Siberia..
Before his arrest they had a nice three bedroom apartment but after his arrest they had to move into a one room apartment and share kitchen privileges and a bathroom. There were I, believe, five living there: Your mother's mother,, your mother and your mother's brother and young sister..
H. Sager
Sweet Sixteen
It was a sunny warm early spring day in Kiev after a
long cold winter. People were rushing down the hilly streets
leading to the main street, Christshatic. I felt wonderful
strolling leisurely down the street periodically stopping to
dreamily gaze into the shop windows. I just turned 16 and
felt very grown up and ready for an adventure. I briefly
stopped at the photographer's window looking at his display.
Suddenly the proprietor came out and asked me if I would pose
for a portrait it would be at no cost to my family and he
would give us pictures and display a very large framed
for the rest of the year! I was startled and
could feel my face getting red as he was complimenting my
long chestnut colored hair and my appearance.
would ask my mother and come back the next day at the
appointed time. My mother not only agreed to his proposal,
but even lent me her best dress to wear. The photos turned
out well and my portrait was displayed in the shop's window
for the rest of the year. Because of this incident I was
able to send a copy (of the free photos) to my father, who
was sent to hard labor camp in the Ural mountains.
German Invasion
Your mother was seventeen years old at this time and they were finally able to get permission to go to your mothers maternal home in Parlohrad.
This was probably in 1941.
H. Sager
GERMAN INVASION
Kiev, the beautiful historical capital city of
Ukraine, was basking in the warmth of a perfect early sumner
day. The chestnut trees lining sidewalks were proudly
sporting the white candelabras of their blooms and sidewalks
were full of people rushing here and there.
School was out and I was watching the people in the
street from the balcony of our only room. I Was seventeen
years old and my thoughts were with my summer plans. My aunt
Shoora who lived with us and took care of us was inside
altering my mother’s dress. My mother was at work and my
younger brother and sister were somewhere outside playing.
The room we were living in was one of the seven rooms
on the third floor occupied by six families, we all shared
one bathroom and kitchen. There were six of us since my
father's mother, Agrepina, just arrived for the summer visit
and to help with the children. My father has been arrested
and was in a hard labor camp without any trial -
just on drummed up verbal charges - a victim of Stalin's
paranoia. (He was taker away in the middle of the night in
1938, and we were able o see him once
jail where he reassured us of his innocence and told ub to never feel
ashamed of him.) At that time, we were forced to give up two
other rooms.
Every room in the flat had a speaker wired to s
central radio station which supplied us with government
programs: music, news and propaganda.
I heard a special announcement and listened to hear what it was.
Stalin was speaking. His voice very nervous and at times he was
actually crying. It was 4:00 p.m.; June 22, 1941.
I listened n shock as he was describing how Germans
who signed a non-aggression pact with the Soviet Union in
1939, broke the treaty by crossing the western border into
the Soviet Union without hardly any resistance from the army
and were bombing, burning and looting villages and towns,
killing local residents and raping women. The Jews were
being killed and soldiers taken prisoners.
(After the war I learned that Hitler signed the 1939 Pact with Stalin just to
gain time to prepare for War. He made agreements with both.
Finland and Romania to place German troops there to create an
Eastern Front. He wanted to expand the borders of the Reich
to include USSR land from Archangel to Astrakhan, in order to
gain industries and agricultural lands for Germany. Stalin
and Soviet forces were not prepared for the war. The armies
were not ready for Hitler's attack: between 1937-38, 38,000
senior officers had been purged, almost half of the tanks
obsolete and only one fourth in working order. Stalin was
was determined not to provoke the Germans and would not allow
Soviet reconnaissance planes to keep an eye on their
movements. Artillery fire was forbidden even after the
immediate German attack on the entire West Front Soviet
soldiers were fighting valiantly, resisting the Germans,
though it was hopeless. One thing the Germans found out was
patriotism was unbelievably strong.)
Immediately following Stalin's speech, lines began
forming at all stores with people buying and hoarding foods,
shoes and clothing. In spite of all the reassurance from the
government, people were frightened and angry. Many families
were seeking governmental permission to leave Kiev, to move
in with their relatives. residing further East in smaller
towns or villages, My mother attempted to do the same, but
was declined a travel permit, probably because of my father's
Arrest. She was finally able to reach her brother-in-law,
who was a Major in the Soviet Aray, and he was able to obtain
a travel permit for our entire family from Kiev to Pavlohrad,
Ukraine, where my mother's family was living.
While sitting in an overcrowded train, I couldn't help
but think that my summer plans were in limbo and I
frightened of what the future held for me.
First Worship Service
Your mother wrote ".. after the German
Occupation…” But she always told me that
the Italians were there in the town for a
brief time and then the Germans came and the Germans opened the churches that had been closed for so many years. Her grandmother taught her the Lord's Prayer.
How-long after moving here was your
Mother taken by the Germans I don’t know
but your mother told me she was eighteen
years of age when she lift her home in
1942.
H. Sager
First Worship Service
After the German occupation of Pavlohrad, Ukraine, the
churches were allowed to reopen after over 20 years of being
closed, destroyed, or used as warehoused, or museums of
"Religion and Atheism". My grandmother asked me to come with
her to a service. I agreed to come along out of curiosity
(I was raised an atheist). It was a Russian Orthodox Church
just at the end of our street. The floors were all marble.
There were a few benches along the entrance for persons sick,
elderly, or incapacitated. There were many people in the
church, all standing up, listening to the very formal
service. The fragrance of incense was everywhere. Candles
were burning and icons of saints were gleaming. When the
time came to pray, we would drop to our knees and touch the
floor with our foreheads. The floor felt very cold and hard.
The service lasted 2-3 hours and it affected all of your
senses: smelling the fragrance of incense, hearing the bells
ringing periodically, seeing the priests, robed in colorful
attire, and tasting the bread dipped in a huge gleaming silver
communion chalice of wine. It was a memorable experience. I
never forgot.
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