The Transformation of Civil Society: An Oral History of Ukrainian Peasant Culture, 1920s to 1930s 9780228017424

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t h e t r a n s f o r m at i o n o f c i v i l s o c i e t y

T H E T R A N S F O R M AT I O N OF CIVIL SOCIETY An Oral History of Ukrainian Peasant Culture, 1920s to 1930s

william noll

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Chicago

© William Noll 2023 ISBN 978-0-2280-1691-5 (cloth) ISBN 978-0-2280-1742-4 (epdf) Legal deposit second quarter 2023 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free The translation and publication of this volume in English was made possible by the financial support of the Holodomor Research and Education Consortium.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: The transformation of civil society : an oral history of Ukrainian peasant culture, 1920s to 1930s / William Noll. Names: Noll, William, 1950– author. Description: Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20220452695 | Canadiana (ebook) 20220452725 | ISBN 9780228016915 (cloth) | I SB N 9780228017424 (ePDF ) Subjects: l csh: Ukraine—Social conditions—20th century. | l csh : Ukraine— Social life and customs—20th century. | l csh : Peasants—Ukraine—History— 20th century. | l csh : Oral history. | l csh : Ukraine—Rural conditions. | l c sh: Social change—Ukraine. Classification: l c c h n530.9.a 8 N65 2023 | dd c 306.09477—dc23 This book was typeset in Minion Pro.

A Dedication in honor of the Murdered Millions

I compose these lines more than twenty years after writing the dedication for the Ukrainian-language publication of this book. In the year 1999, I noted the lack of public memorials dedicated to honoring all those who died as a result of the effort to bring socialism to the Ukrainian countryside. Since then, several monuments have been erected honoring those who perished in the famine, or the Holodomor (“death by starvation”), as it is known in Ukrainian. Some of them are extremely effective. This is as it should be. Nonetheless, too little has been done to honor the many hundreds of thousands of people who perished in the wholesale uprooting of families due to the ideological doctrine of the time, a doctrine of collectivization that justified evictions from homes, confiscation of property, and the wholesale theft of land, animals, and tools. I hope that in the near future the Ukrainian public will have appropriate commemorative monuments recognizing the deadly consequences of these pivotal events. Outside of Ukraine they are still surprisingly little known. Even worse, when these events are occasionally addressed, discussions are too often couched in a polemical language that is closely associated with the collectivist jargon, misrepresentations, and even outright falsehoods of Marxism-Leninism. As I note several times in this study, another language and another terminology should be employed. Each scholar finds their own language, but any language that excuses or justifies mass murder is reprehensible. In my opinion, we must seek other ways of discussing this tragedy; if we fail to do so, we perform a disservice to the memory of the murdered millions.

for Lida

For never are the ways of music moved without the greatest political laws being moved, as Damon says, and I am persuaded. Plato, The Republic, Book IV, 424 (translated by Allan Bloom)

Contents

Foreword | Natalia Khanenko-Friesen ix Acknowledgments xvii A Note on Transliteration and Terms xix

part one: material destruction 1 Introduction: Peasant Perceptions

3

2

Before Collectivization 25

3

Collectivization and Other Acts of Mass Terror Preceding the Holodomor 148

4

Holodomor: The Great Famine of 1932–33

5

Kolhosp

265

296

part two: cultural life and destruction in the 1920s and 1930s 6

Religious Organizations and Culture before and after Collectivization

397

7 Entertainment and Secular Rituals in the 1920s and Their Near Destruction in the 1930s 513 8

The Decline of Civil Society: A Summary Epilogue

758

736

viii

Contents

appendices 1 2 3 4 5

Questionnaire, Fieldworkers, and Archivists 763 List of Interviewees 777 Tables 801 On the Song “Shche ne vmerla Ukraiiny” 809 Five Complete Interviews 811 Glossary 897 References 903 Index 907

Foreword Natalia Khanenko-Friesen

A good book is like a river. Returning to the text is akin to stepping once again onto the riverbank, refreshed by the constantly moving waters; no two encounters are the same. William Noll’s seminal study is this kind of book. Noll’s oral history of Ukrainian village life in the 1920s to 30s, with its focus on the collapse of traditional rural culture in early Soviet Ukraine, came out in 1999, but the book’s journey towards the recognition it deserves was slow. An American ethnomusicologist, William Noll came to Eastern Europe still in the communist era. In the early 1980s, he engaged in fieldwork in Poland, where he studied rural music culture for his doctoral dissertation, which he defended in 1986 at the University of Washington. Throughout the eighties, still focusing on Poland, he also made research trips to Moldova, Slovakia, and Belarus. As socialism was on the brink of collapse, Noll returned to the region in 1989, first to Poland but then to what was still Soviet Ukraine, to witness the historic change that the fall of the ussr would bring about in 1991. Thus, by the early 1990s, Noll, a young scholar, had already built a reputation as a serious field worker and researcher of traditional music and culture in Eastern Europe. It is in this capacity that he joined the Harvard Ukrainian Research Institute as a research associate and specialist in the folk music of Eastern Europe (1990–92). His firsthand experience of the end of the socialist era in Europe, in Ukraine and elsewhere, as well as his training in social anthropological methods, directly informed his approach to the study of rural cultures in the region. Noll’s arrival to Ukraine marked the beginning of an entirely new chapter in his career and his life. In Ukraine, the scholar quickly became involved in the academic life of fellow folklorists and ethnographers. In the early 1990s, social anthropology as it was understood and practiced in Western scholarship was still academic terra incognita, and not everyone appreciated the style and foci of Noll’s academic pursuits. Ethnologists were at the beginning of their journey of post-socialist self-discovery. The study of Ukrainian folk culture was among the

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most heavily controlled research fields in the Soviet Union, and rural traditional culture, its bedrock, had itself almost been destroyed, as Noll demonstrates in his book. Many of the key intellectual voices in the fields of Ukrainian folkloristics and ethnology were repressed, exiled, or silenced. In early post-socialist Ukraine, scholars turned to documenting whatever was left of Ukraine’s national cultural heritage, and folklore was seen as such heritage. These recovery and preservation imperatives were dominant as scholars sought to document in the fullest possible way, and thus preserve, this cultural heritage before it was too late. At the time, few foreign scholars or, in particular, scholars with no Ukrainian roots were engaged in the study of Ukrainian traditional culture, which seemed to be the prerogative of native folklorists and ethnographers. It was this positionality as a Westerner and outsider to Ukrainian culture, with relevant field-research experience abroad, and the focus on social change as a factor of rural culture development rather than on cultural heritage, that made Noll’s ethnographic work in Ukraine stand out. Still, Noll found a community of like-minded scholars in Ukraine, and, with funding opportunities available in the US, he knew to capitalize, both literally and metaphorically, on the momentum in the field, as well as on growing Western curiosity about life in formerly Soviet lands. His research agenda further evolved, and, in the context of the post-socialist transition in Ukraine, Noll turned his attention to the study of socio-cultural transformations that took place in Ukrainian rural culture in the 1930s, that resulted from the forced Soviet collectivization of Ukrainian agricultural communities in 1928–33. With support from key American funding agencies such as IREX, Fulbright, the Ukrainian Studies Fund, and others, Noll built a team to undertake his seminal oral history study of these transformations. This work is presented here in English translation. Like any oral history research project, the Transformation project took time to evolve and be completed. Noll and his team of ten regional scholars engaged in fieldwork from 1993–95 in six oblasts of Ukraine – Cherkasy, Chernihiv, Kharkiv, Poltava, Sumy, and Vinnytsia. Following this field phase, Noll worked on processing, analyzing, and assembling the interviews and other material that made up this volume. Eventually, the monograph was published by Rodovid Press, which also housed a Centre for the Study of Oral History and Culture that served as the home base for the project. As the author emphasizes in his introduction, the subject of the Transformation project was the documentation of changes in civil society in the Ukrainian countryside during the 1930s. These changes were brought about by the forced collectivization or reorganization of individual, privately owned rural households into Soviet, collectively operated and centrally controlled agricultural farms that were literally called “collective enterprises” (kolektyvne hospodarstvo). The immediate aftermath of the infamous collectivization was the mass man-made famine of

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1932–33, the Holodomor, that took millions of lives in Ukraine. Rural Ukrainian civil society was also a casualty – the social institutions, norms, and practices that had developed in rural Ukraine over the centuries. Collectivization cut across and swiftly erased pre-existing economic, social, and cultural institutions that constituted the very core of civil society in rural Ukraine. Noll rightly emphasizes that Ukrainian rural civil society upheld the traditional culture itself, and with its eradication, many traditional cultural practices vanished as well. This loss of traditional culture and its institutions, further exacerbated by the mass starvation and death of its bearers, the villagers themselves, had not been subject to an in-depth and methodologically sound critical analysis and examination, neither in the ussr nor abroad. In the Soviet Union, such a study was not possible for ideological reasons. Outside of Soviet Ukraine, scholarly interest in the period of collectivization was for the most part directed to its most devastating immediate aftermath, the famine. While in the Soviet Union the authorities not only suppressed investigation but even denied that it took place, Western scholars engaged in the study of the Holodomor were focused on documenting its scope, interviewing its survivors in the émigré communities, and building global awareness of its magnitude and genocidal nature. Their work in this direction became even more active in the 1980s. In independent Ukraine, it would not be until the presidency of Victor Yushchenko (2005–10) that research on the Holodomor would become a national priority and an academic field of study, although research in this direction had been underway since the perestroika of the late 1980s. Noll certainly was familiar with the work of activist and journalist researchers, especially those affiliated with the Memorial Society, who had been collecting survivor accounts as attested by the fundamental work and testimony collection by Maniak and Kovalenko published in 1991.1 It is against this scholarly and intellectual background that William Noll, while in Ukraine in the early 1990s, conceived of his study. Rereading this book during its preparation for publication in English, I am reminded of how successfully Noll developed his argument on the basis of villagers’ testimonies and how effectively he positioned his research within the multidisciplinary theoretical considerations of Western social studies and dominant scholarly paradigms of the day. The author drew his inspiration from the works and critical thought of such specialists in peasant studies as Robert Redfield, Eric Wolf, George Dalton, and John Powell, and the social theory of the philosopher and economist Karl Polanyi. Noll’s discussions of rural culture and his understanding of traditional folklore were informed by and tied to his understanding of the notion of civil society, which he sees as “a historic 1 V. Maniak and L. Kovalenko, 33–y: holod . Narodna Knyha-Memorial (Kyiv: Radyans´kyy pys´mennyk, 1991). Maniak and Kovalenko recorded about 6,000 testimonies dealing with the famine/genocide.

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(long-standing) congregation of people who associate with each other on an equal basis, and voluntarily” (p. 493). Civil society is also a network of “institutions and practices which lie outside the pale of governmental control” such as local social, political, and economic practices and institutions, including local customs and rituals. Focusing on transformation or social change, Noll pays special attention to the issue of power relations and imbalances – between the state ideologues and the farming folk, the city and the village, the colonial pursuit of Soviet Marxism and the Ukrainian terrain of the Soviet empire. The argument for the progressive repression of Ukrainian village culture in the twentieth century unfolds throughout the entire book in the framework of these overarching questions. To present a thorough picture of how collectivization affected longestablished cultural institutions of rural civil society, Noll divides his book into two parts. The first addresses changes in economic and material life in the village before, during, and after collectivization. The second part touches on issues of “cultural” matters, including religion, expressive culture, and rituals before and after collectivization. Each chapter features, in addition to the author’s narrative, many rural voices, which offer the reader the opportunity to interpret the scope of the issue under discussion and to hear the opinions of villagers on the subject. Let me briefly touch upon a few key arguments advanced in this book that offered a novel perspective on rural culture before, during, and after collectivization. In Part One the author discusses changes concerning such aspects of rural life as land ownership, household economic activities, hired work, communal self-governance, and family as a powerful social and economic unit. For example, in the first chapter, the reader learns much about the economic institution of hired work as practiced among the villagers prior to collectivization: who could be hired, the amount of payment that could be expected for a particular kind of work, what kind of hired work was available to those seeking it, and so on. This aspect of village culture had been rarely, if ever, discussed in the Ukrainian ethnographic literature at the time. In the second chapter of Part One, which addresses the period of collectivization and highlights the loss and ruination of rural civil practices, Noll also profiles opposing viewpoints on collectivization. Although the majority of interviewees recollected how they had resisted collectivization and recalled their great sufferings during its implementation, a few villagers, mostly those who had actively promoted collectivization, expressed a notable degree of loyalty to the ideals of Soviet-style collective farming. In the interviews, the supporters of collectivization asserted that the state was not aiming to destroy individuals. Rather, they saw private property as the target of the collectivization campaign (p. 169). At the same time, many of the proponents admitted the link between collectivization and the famine that followed.

Foreword

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In the discussion of rural life under the collective farm system in the concluding chapter of Part One, Noll touches upon the elaborate mechanism of state control over the newly collectivized villages. It was impossible for the collective farmers to pay the range of new taxes. Taxes were introduced on household property, a number of household animals, poultry, fruit-bearing trees, food produced to feed the family, childlessness, and even government bonds that the villagers were forced to purchase from the Soviet government. The new system quickly turned the villagers into debtors of their farms, and of the state (p. 160). Under these conditions the economic production of individual households and well-being of families were severely undermined, which quickly led to starvation and famine in villages. In the same chapter, Noll also deals with the question of power relations and power organization on the collective farm. Villagers discussed who wielded authority, pointing to how collectivization erased their long-standing social institution of self-governance with its key skhodka or gathering of household heads. Local power soon become concentrated in the hands of collective farm directors and party leaders, many of whom were brought from the outside to head the farms. Noll’s discussion of the phenomenon of acceptance of theft on the collective farm was another novel focus in his work. Village ethics before collectivization were based on respect for the private property of others; theft before the collective farms was rare and seen as a strong violation of local principles of communal coexistence in the village. However, in the collective farm system, the villagers clearly differentiated between stealing from the collective farm and stealing from other villagers, with the first becoming an accepted practice and the latter disparaged. Theft of farm produce or property became a “normal” social practice and an integral part of life and work on the collective farm. Noll rightly asserts that the new and uniquely Soviet practice of normalized and socially approved stealing was the direct outcome of the collective farm system. He was the first Western anthropologist to discuss this practice with respect to Ukrainian rural life in Soviet Ukraine. The second part of the book engages with the cultural aspects of rural life and examines familiar subjects in Ukrainian ethnology, although from the perspective of sociocultural change. Noll looks at changes that affected religious life, wedding and funeral rites, carolling and folk iconography, village music life, the art of kobzari and lirnyky, and various calendric cultural practices typical of rural work and life. The respondents reflect on the deterioration of cultural and social institutions. Thus, the traditional social fabric of the kutky (unofficial neighbourhood networks) was soon replaced by collective farm squads that were composed of people from around the village and that remained the same for many years. In the same chapter Noll discusses

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the emergence of village clubs that were instrumental in ending the dosvitky (seasonal communal work bees), a social institution of youth gathering, as well as other traditional means of socializing of the young. Newly created village folk ensembles, with generic song repertoire introduced by city-trained club directors, outsiders to the village, accelerated the disappearance of local music and the traditional song repertoire. In his concluding chapter, Noll refocuses on the contemporary post-socialist village. In the early 1990s, when the research team was collecting testimonies about village life before and after collectivization, the villagers were in the midst of yet another social transformation that dramatically affected their lifeworlds. The 1990s in Ukraine was a period of decollectivization, directed at the reorganization of centrally run Soviet agriculture into a post-socialist, market-driven agriculture. Decollectivization, poorly conceived and coordinated, led not only to the collapse of agricultural production in Ukraine but also to the loss of jobs, social security, and income. It is not surprising that the rural narratives found in this chapter reveal how unable and unprepared the elderly villagers were to deal with the post-socialist transition in their villages. Returning to the issue of attitudes towards collective farming and the challenges of early post-socialist transition in Ukraine, Noll registers a certain nostalgia among the elderly villagers for their lifestyle before the 1930s. Noll also seeks to explain the ongoing challenges in the post-socialist Ukrainian countryside by the lack of the civil society that was fully and intentionally eradicated in the course of Soviet collectivization in the 1930s. It would take another decade for Ukrainian civil society to emerge after seventy years of repression, and it would take even longer for its institutions and practices to take root in rural Ukraine again. But after seventy years of Soviet rule in Ukraine, many of its key features that were instrumental to village life before collectivization are lost forever. All in all, the Transformation oral history project, documenting the impact of collectivization through the voices of its survivors, was ground-breaking. Although Noll’s research was first positioned as an ethnographic project and pursued within the field of Ukrainian folklore studies, it was clear to me that this book, once published, deserved to reach a much broader audience. Its content, research methodologies, intellectual approach, format, and even design were novel and unique. In the fields of Ukrainian ethnography and folklore studies, this work stood out for its focus on social change and civil society, rather than on the documentation of cultural heritage. For Noll, folklore was not a finite set of cultural texts and artifacts but a manifestation of intrinsic elements of rural civil society, itself a complex of cultural practices, norms, and institutions that constantly evolve and are negotiated as social context changes. And for the first time in Ukrainian ethnography, a scholarly monograph was advancing the views and perspectives of the villagers themselves.

Foreword

xv

The book played a pioneering role in the field of oral history as it was the first such publication in Ukraine to embrace and deliver on key principles of oral history methodology and practice. Oral historians seek and rely on oral testimonies as their key field data informing their own analysis. Good oral historians go beyond assembling interview collections as sources for future studies. They build and present their own analytical arguments on the basis of the gathered evidence while giving voice to their respondents and amplifying the respondents’ own messages. Noll valued this kind of subjectivity over the ostensibly objective descriptions of history or folk culture. Focusing on the social change in rural Ukraine of the 1930s, Noll presented villagers’ perspectives on their experiences of collectivization. Rural testimonies make up about 50 per cent of the monograph’s text, thus granting villagers fair representation in the otherwise fully academic monograph. Moreover, this scholarly text profiles testimonies in their original linguistic forms, retaining local dialectisms, terminology, and the flair of the oral narrative. Such presentation of rural voices in their original conversational form had not previously been seen in Ukrainian scholarship. As the book relies on local oral evidence rather than on archival documentation to engage with the period of collectivization and its aftermath, it also serves as an invaluable contribution to the fields of historical anthropology and ethnohistory. Ironically, or perhaps understandably, full appreciation of this project in Ukraine had to wait almost for a decade. After the book was published, it received some positive attention in Ukraine and abroad, but not nearly enough. It would take another ten years or so before this publication would be claimed by the emerging field of Ukrainian oral history as Ukraine’s earliest oral history project accompanied by a scholarly monograph. At about the same time, another large oral history project that focused on decollectivization in Ukraine took place, inspired by Noll’s research. Noll’s book also began gaining attention from specialists in Holodomor studies. With support from the Holodomor Research and Education Consortium at the Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, the Rodovid Press and the author of this introduction collaborated to produce the first online oral history exhibit of the interviews that serve as the basis for Noll’s monograph. With a new generation of researchers entering academia, interest in the Transformation project continued to grow, as did the understanding of its significance to the fields of Ukrainian rural studies, cultural studies, Holodomor studies, and Ukrainian studies overall. The challenge has been that as interest has grown in this seminal publication, it was out of print and difficult to access for both scholars and the general public. Even in Ukraine, not all large libraries had a copy. In the 2000s, Noll had left academia to pursue professional life elsewhere and relocated back to the US, while maintaining a home base in Kyiv. The book in a way had lost its main champion.

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Yet, writing from the vantage point of today, I am pleased to state that Noll’s work has had an important impact on the field of Ukrainian studies over time. Outside of Ukraine and Ukrainian studies, proper and much-deserved recognition of this seminal work is yet to be fully achieved. Finally, twenty-three years after its publication in Ukraine, this long-anticipated English language translation is here. Now that it is available in English, I fully expect that this book will appeal to and be appreciated by a broad range of scholars and serve as an important contribution to the study of rural societies in transition, peasant history, the history of totalitarianism, and the history of the Soviet Union.

Acknowledgments

It is with deep regret that I find myself compelled to begin this book with the statement that this study can never be replicated. The interviews that comprise its basis were conducted in the early-to-mid-1990s. All of the elderly village interviewees are now deceased. The people who could speak as true witnesses were born approximately between 1900 and 1915. They lived as adults through an entire series of catastrophes that are specific to this place and time, and it is primarily their words about these catastrophes that I utilize as the foundation of all that follows. The first edition of this book was published in 1999 in Ukrainian. Some of the elderly interviewees were still alive at that time, and other studies would have been possible for a few years. However, only one Ukraine-based ethnographer rose to this challenge, with some others contributing.1 It has therefore become even more critically important to publish this study in English for a global audience. Any study of this length – taking place over several years, with fieldwork and archival research taken on by numerous people – will invariably incur an enormous debt of gratitude on the part of the author to those many collaborators who made its completion possible. First of all, this work would never have materialized were it not for the assistance of my wife, Lidia Lykhach, who was instrumental in assembling the team of researchers for

1 Valentyna Borysenko’s work from 2007, Svicha pamiati: usna istoria pro henotsyd ukraintsiv u 1932–1933 rokakh [Candle of Memory: Oral History of the Ukrainian Genocide in 1932–1933], primarily researched the Holodomor and includes oral histories. Daria Mattingly, a PhD Candidate in Slavonic Studies at the University of Cambridge, focuses in her work on the activists of the time, those who carried out orders to repress people on the village level. Many of her conclusions on this subject are similar to mine. A documentary film by Serhii Bukovsky entitled Zhyvi (The Living), primarily about the Holodomor and largely based on oral histories, was released in 2008.

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this study. She and I traveled by car throughout many parts of especially eastern Ukraine to conduct fieldwork. All of our fieldwork there was performed together. Halyna and Mykola Kornienko, of Cherkasy, similarly were instrumental in the fieldwork conducted in central Ukraine. I would like to thank the Holodomor Research and Education Consortium (hrec) and its director, Marta Baziuk, for their generous support in preparing this English-language version of the study. They have made possible the publication of material that is not common elsewhere, and that holds no intrinsic commercial value. I would also like to thank Tetiana Mykhalychenko, translator of the Ukrainian-language interview excerpts into English. Her perseverance and determination in getting a massive task done correctly has made all the difference to the quality of the project. Thanks again, as always, to the hearty employees of Rodovid Press and the Center for the Study of Oral History and Culture, both in Kyiv. The song Shche ne vmerla Ukraiinа (“Ukraine Has Not Yet Perished”) is briefly mentioned in some chapters. The lyrics were penned in the nineteenth century, and it was already widely known among villagers many decades ago. People were imprisoned in the 1920s and 1930s (and afterwards) for singing this song. It has been the official national anthem since Ukraine’s independence. I provide the full text in both Ukrainian and English and detail a brief history of the song in Appendix 4. The ten fieldworkers and archivists who were part of the collecting process are listed in Appendix 1. It is impossible to convey how thankful I am to them. Finally, to the more than 420 village householders (listed in Appendix 2) who opened their doors to us for sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, stays, I owe a debt of gratitude that I will humbly and respectfully carry with me for the rest of my life.

A Note on Transliteration and Terms

In the main body of the text, personal names and locations are rendered according to a slightly simplified system, following the traditions of English-language common usage, such as rendering the initial Ia, Iu, and Ie as Ya, Yu, and Ye and rendering the -ii and -yi endings as -y. In instances other than place and personal names, as well as in the references and notes, the transliteration from the Cyrillic follows the Library of Congress system (with diacritics and ligatures omitted). In addition, the soft sign is omitted in the body of the text but retained in the notes and references, where it is rendered with a prime. I have italicized most Ukrainian words. However, some words are italicized only upon first use as they are used frequently.

pa rt o n e

Material Destruction

1 Introduction: Peasant Perceptions

c i v i l s o ci et y, eth n ol o gy, and fieldwork An Oral History of Peasant Perceptions The aim of this study is twofold. I describe in Part One the catastrophic terror unleashed by Soviet power on the countryside in the early 1930s, beginning with wholesale deportations and evictions, followed by the process of collectivization in Ukraine. I show the relationship between these events and the great famine of 1932–33 by framing the Holodomor within the context of what immediately preceded it and what immediately followed. I describe these events through the eyes of the peasant participants themselves. In Part Two I aim to illustrate the connection between the terror, the wholesale evictions, and collectivization followed by famine, and the Soviet state’s near destruction of traditional peasant culture and ritual as they existed before collectivization and the famine. The primary sources used throughout are oral histories of those who witnessed the terror and/or who participated in the terror: more than four hundred villagers in Ukraine who lived through the debacle as young adults or teenagers and who were interviewed in 1993–95 (the final decade of life for many of this generation). I do not attempt to present a meticulous historical overview of the period. Instead, I provide a sampling of the points of view of villagers on the near total destruction of the world as they knew it. The years of terror were not only of significance to political economy, with life-threatening consequences, but a cultural catastrophe of truly monumental proportions. The terror that is irretrievably connected to the effort to bring socialism to peasant populations changed the face of rural culture in all lands in which it occurred, including East Asia, and in Europe most conclusively in the lands of the former Soviet Union. In the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, the terror was instituted through a massive campaign of repression with the participation of many thousands of activists. For the peasantry in particular, the campaign included coercion, famine, eviction from one’s home, deportation,

4

Material Destruction

the confiscation of nearly all of a family’s wealth (especially the confiscation of personal property), the deliberate separation of family members, assassination, long prison sentences, and almost unbelievable suffering of enormous numbers of people, particularly via the Holodomor. Millions died as a direct result of the imposition of the idea of the collectivization of agriculture. In Ukraine alone, millions perished by famine, while hundreds of thousands of others died by exposure to the elements after eviction or deportation, by execution, or by diseases and epidemics that were a direct result of collectivization and famine. Millions more were uprooted in the process. Virtually all rural inhabitants lost most of their cherished material possessions. They were materially impoverished to a degree that is as difficult to believe as it is to describe. The terror was not merely brutal, materially destructive, and incredibly lethal. It also altered or demolished many of the cultural norms as well as institutions of civil society among these people, irretrievably transforming a long-standing cultural and social fabric of enormous complexity into a mock copy of Soviet urban standards, conceived and controlled by a small cadre of urban-trained activists. The perceived need for the transformation of both the agrarian economy and peasant culture was a component of the Marxist program from the start and probably should not be seen as merely a “Stalinist deviation.” We need merely to recall Karl Marx’s famous dictum on “the idiocy of rural life” and his thoughts on the desirability of creating a “rural proletariat.” Neither accommodates a peasant viewpoint. In addition, Vladimir Lenin himself put into place confiscatory policies in the late teens and early 1920s that led directly to massive famine and peasant uprisings over a large part of the ussr . Therefore, attributing to the Stalinist camp the entire egregious idea of transforming people’s lives through millenarianism is inaccurate and simplistic. Soviet Marxists of the 1920s shared a large body of belief, and while there were internal disagreements over certain issues, they assumed their ideology would produce the basic results that they desired. There was wide agreement among most concerning their wish to change the rural world into a form derived from their imaginations. Far and away the majority did not take peasant desires into consideration in their plans because peasants were little more than clogs in the mechanism (“potatoes in a sack”) that was supposedly and irretrievably moving to a point of completion in the distant future, and through which the Communist visionary mission would be executed for their desired ends. The nep (New Economic Policy) of the 1920s is seen in virtually all Soviet accounts as a strategic step that Lenin believed should have lasted longer than it did. Lenin and his camp are depicted as rational thinkers who considered how best to order the world, and the policies of nep are credited with the economic boom in the countryside during the mid-to-late 1920s. From a peasant point of view, however, the boom was the result of peasant entrepreneurship and peasant

Introduction

5

labor and ingenuity. State agricultural policy changes that began in the earlyto-mid-1920s and that lasted until 1930 – remembering that they were always regarded by state agencies as temporary – included a reduction of the tax burden, a stabilization of rights to given plots of land (but not ownership), and permission to peasant families to engage in commerce, to buy and sell in market conditions. In short, peasants were allowed to do what they did best without the restraints that Soviet power had imposed only two or three years earlier, and would impose again soon, with deadly results. Lenin is widely thought to have wanted collectivization to have been introduced more gradually than it was, and on a voluntary basis. Assigning this fact great significance also misses a peasant point of view. Peasants had no intention of voluntarily entering the socialist agricultural system. There is no indication in any statistics or interviews of the time of which I am aware that there was significant interest among peasants (other than among activists from the Komsomol, the Communist youth organization) in the self-destruction of their economic system or their society and culture. On the contrary, all but a very few peasants stayed out of the collectives throughout the 1920s. This was particularly true for Ukraine. Voluntary collectivization was a Leninist fantasy, or better put, an urban dweller’s fantasy, either of what was supposedly good for peasants or ostensibly providing a quick and efficient means to increase agricultural production. Even at a moderate rate of change, peasants could not regard collectivization as a reasonable approach to agriculture, the economy, or culture. From their point of view, it was not rational. From their point of view, it was insanity. From their point of view (here using language outside of the peasant lexicon), it was terrorism. Collectivization negated not only their economic norms but many of their cultural norms as well. In short, the Communist Party hierarchy of the 1920s – regardless of internal divisions over the desirable rate of collectivization – was nearly united in believing that their millenarian vision gave them the right to alter, whether immediately or more gradually, peasant cultural and social institutions of long standing. This belief would, in just a few short years, provide the rationale for the state policy of confiscating most of village wealth, destroying enormous amounts of village property, murdering millions, and turning village inhabitants into wards of the state. Along with their belief came their imagined right – they would have said their obligation – to destroy traditional peasant culture once and for all. Placing collectivization and famine in the context of today’s concept of “cultural ecology,” it can be viewed as a culture-destroying process, created and administered with specific destructive aims in mind. The rationale for this process was invented years before Joseph Stalin’s rise to power, largely by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels as well as by Vladimir Lenin and the leading lights of Bolshevism. In this group belong the agrarian economists of the 1920s, for example, L.N. Kritsman (see Cox 1986), their repression and execution in later years notwithstanding.

6

Material Destruction

In addition to establishing a socialist system of agriculture, there were at least two other aims of collectivization for the ussr as a whole: the destruction of the various agricultural systems of peasants (these systems varied by territory) and the elimination of the culture of peasants (varying by nationality and by region within national areas) as well as that of semi-nomadic groups such as those in Central Asia, in particular Kazakhstan. Both of these aims, destroying peasant-based agriculture and peasant culture, were necessary for the socialist agrarian system plan to be put into place. Although the two destructive aims might not have been formulated in party circles of the late 1920s specifically as part of one overarching program, they were certainly put into practice as part of a single program from that time. Again, seen from a peasant point of view, irrelevant are today’s discussions of plans for the future that were proposed by one or another party leader, and musings on “what might have been” had those plans been implemented are irrelevant. For a social historian, they are of minor importance. For a cultural historian, what is most significant (for both the peasant and the historian) is the discussion of the systemic repressive practices that were actually instituted and, most important, their effect on the peasant cultures and societies of the many different peoples of the ussr as they existed before collectivization. Ukrainian peasantry in the 1920s differed from Russian peasantry in substantial and important ways. Although they certainly shared close similarities in cultural norms, there were also many cultural elements that were unique to one or the other group. These included aspects of their economy and social organization. In addition both areas included dozens of micro-regions (as there were in most countries of central and eastern Europe) with their own variants of cultural norms. When considering differences between the Russian and Ukrainian peasantry, major problems appear in the Soviet historical literature on rural economy among peasants in the ussr . I have in mind the agrarian economists of the 1920s and 1930s who more or less repeated the Leninist views on peasantry – L.N. Kritsman and A.V. Chayanov (Chayanov 1986).1 The agrarian historian V.P. Danilov

1 I also believe there are serious problems in some of the conclusions of Chayanov (1986) and his group, although this topic cannot be pursued in detail here. Chayanov’s idea that peasants worked only until they had enough (and then stopped working) might have applied to parts of Russia. I do not know, but I remain skeptical. It certainly did not apply to most parts of Ukraine. The family farm was in a constant state of flux. The father and mother were always trying to expand so as to have land and various forms of wealth (draft animals, equipment, tools, linens of several types) to give to their sons and daughters, each acquiring a parcel of land as well as other forms of wealth, at the time they got married. This was not a quest of wealth for wealth’s sake, but a part of the peasant family enterprise. It was a distribution of wealth. The wealth went no farther than the family. Normally the father parceled out all the land except for what he, his wife, and youngest son needed (or in cases with no son, then a daughter and her husband). The last parcel was reserved for the youngest child (usually the son) when the father/mother died. In fact, this was still a part of village

Introduction

7

(Danilov 1988) espoused in his publications in the 1920s an idea diametrically different than Lenin’s views on the subject. Danilov supported the role of the small producers, using limited hand tools and on small plots of land, and praised them for their ingenuity. He also had a keen awareness of the peasant family economic unit. All three of these agrarian economists and/or historians were shot in the late 1930s. The main problem with their research, as I see it, derives from the prominent place of one or more imagined concepts in their analyses. First, the so-called kurkuli (in Russian kulaky) – a group most often depicted as wholly brutish and loutish, despised and shunned by their neighbors who viewed them suspiciously as a group separate and apart from other villagers – did not even exist in Ukraine in the 1920s (if they ever did at all), an issue discussed in chapter 2. Second, the idea of “class conflicts” within peasant society of the 1920s, which I discuss later, was an impossibility before collectivization. Finally, I believe their emphasis on the obshchyna (agricultural commune) as a socio-economic unit in the 1920s, and the supposed transition from the obshchyna to the kolhosp (collective farm), was entirely misplaced when discussing Ukrainian peasantry, especially as espoused by Danilov (Danilov 1988). The ethnographic record as I interpret it suggests that all three of these concepts are irrelevant to the Ukrainian case.2 There is one other consideration regarding this literature that, although likely well known among Ukrainianists, deserves repeating here. The majority of Russian intellectuals of the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century, as well as the overwhelming majority of the Bolshevik elite of the 1920s, were not only unversed in the ways of peasants but were hostile to peasant culture in general. Many of them appear to have despised peasants, considering them little more than dirty barbarians.3 Andrea Graziosi (1996) notes that Stalin considered peasants to be scum. A succinct description of the attitudes of early twentieth-century Marxists toward peasants is provided by Robert Conquest (1986, 20). Another description of this disdain is found in David Mitrany (1951), which remains one of the most comprehensive interpretations of perceptions of peasants from the early part of the twentieth century. Mitrany was writing primarily about Romanian peasantry, but much of what he says is applicable to other parts of peasant Europe. Ukrainian intellectuals of the late nineteenth and early twentieth

culture in the 1990s. In any case, land hunger was virtually never satisfied. Constant diversification in terms of home industries and services also belies Chayanov’s idea. 2 Compare Radziejowski (1980). 3 In his introduction to Semyonova 1993 (an ethnography of a Russian village undertaken in 18981902), David Ransel notes that the ethnographer regarded peasants as brutal and sly and not really Christians, but that she did not view them as children to be cared for as wards of a paternalistic state, a view widely held by officialdom as well as by a large part of the urban public (especially xxi-xxvii).

8

Material Destruction

centuries had mixed views regarding peasants. On the one hand, peasants were the supposed “repository of the nation,” while on the other, they were considered backward and ignorant. Most Ukrainian Bolsheviks of the late 1920s were active supporters and willing participants in the slaughter of Ukrainian peasants, especially during the years of rural terror (ca. 1929–34). Ritual institutions of peasant civil society are discussed throughout the study, especially in part 2. The discussion includes an examination of the extraordinary complexity of peasant rituals (for example, those connected to the wedding sequence, vesillia, which contained features of both economic and cultural significance). The economic and the cultural were woven into one braid and could not be separated easily. For example, the wedding sequence was one of the most important social events of the village, and in Ukraine, a primary means for distributing wealth among family members. In addition, its rituals contained some of the oldest extant genres of vocal music in Europe. The significance to peasant civil society of such institutions as dosvitky are little known to historians. Again, its features were both economic and cultural. Through this institution’s agency, most of a girl’s wedding dowry – wealth by any name – was created. And it was at dosvitky that many girls and boys found their betrothed during boisterous evenings of music and dance. Historians have rarely considered the important social roles and services of village muzykanty, startsi/starchykhy, and bohomazy (all discussed in part 2). They earned a large part of their family income through their services while contributing some of the most important aural and visual symbols as well as philosophy of peasant society. Given that economic and cultural norms were intertwined, altering one could drastically change the other. All of these rituals, institutions, and people were to become the targets of activists bent on transforming village culture and society in the 1930s. Many if not most such rituals had virtually disappeared by the outbreak of the Second World War. In the early 1930s, the collectivization process had adherents, both among the urban elite (leaders of the party hierarchy) and among the numerically small but newly empowered new village elite (those from among the formerly poorer peasants who became activists) – that is, among both the movers and shakers of state ideology and the village representatives of that ideology.4 In contrast, throughout the 1920s most villagers did not want to join the collective farm movement (e.g.,

4 The hundreds of thousands of urban dwellers who also believed in the ideology of collectivization, from among whom thousands went into the villages as shock troops to force peasants into the socialist agricultural system (the “Thousanders”), do not figure prominently in this study. Most of the interviewees did not discuss them at all, and those who did described them only briefly. They apparently were not as significant a force as depicted in much of the literature on this subject, and they certainly did not make a great impression on most villagers. They are discussed briefly in the excerpts in chapter 3, where those villagers who did speak of them discussed them negatively.

Introduction

9

coz). Passive resistance was rampant until adherents to collectivization started

evicting people from their homes, beginning in 1929 in a few regions, but accelerating in 1930, and depending upon the region, continuing for the next several years. In history books, the first two or three years of this period is usually called “dekulakization,” the term that Soviet power created in order to rationalize the process of evicting and murdering millions of people throughout the ussr . According to the perceptions of activists doing the repressing in the village, peasants who had no economic reason to join the kolhosp (collective farm) would not do so and would hinder activists’ efforts among everyone else. As it turned out, this was just another fantasy – a particularly deadly one – because most peasants, richer or poorer, wanted nothing to do with collectivization, and this remained true even after the mass evictions and executions of 1929–31. The level of destruction was enormous, with houses and churches burned to the ground. The reason for this destructiveness was that in addition to the enormous amount of land that was confiscated from peasant families in order to create the kolhosp, only a portion of the rest of a family’s wealth was directly relevant to building the kolhosp, namely, the domesticated animals as well as tools. It was irrelevant to the building of socialism in the countryside whether many people died, many houses were destroyed, families were evicted and torn apart, or if clothing, food, and creature comforts of all kinds became scarce or non-existent. In Ukraine before the rural terror began, an energetic farmer and his family could produce an enormous variety of agricultural products and also engage in a home industry or provide a service. Their lives were varied and eventful, particularly during the nep period, and the social and economic system in which they lived and worked rewarded them for hard work. The majority of villagers in Ukraine did not join the socialist agricultural system willingly because the system had nothing in common with peasant society and they did not see it as having anything positive to offer them. When in history have millions of people agreed to destroy their own culture and happily exchange it for another, especially if it delivered a virtual slavery as living conditions? I do not refer here to a political system but to the entire range of activities and institutions that constitute a civil society.5 In this case, they were being asked to transform their lives in accordance with an alien concept designed by urban dwellers who had scant knowledge of actual agricultural practice, not to mention the norms of peasant culture and society.6 The force used to bring about this transformation was coercive to an

5 Of course, millions of peasants fled from the kolhosp, seeking jobs in factories in small towns and cities. They did not, however, seek to destroy their culture. They were forced – as seen through their eyes – to abandon it. 6 I do not suggest here that the peasant social system sought to protect and perpetuate itself. It was not a living entity, so such a suggestion would be inappropriate. I am suggesting, however, that if it

10

Material Destruction

extreme degree. How could it have been otherwise? Peasants would not selfdestruct; therefore, they had to be destroyed as peasants, turned into something else, transformed. There is a massive amount of data available that documents the coercive nature of the terror years. In addition to the oral histories that comprise this study, there are numerous studies analyzing the degree and kind of coercive force utilized and some of the results of this force.7 For the most part I do not use in my analysis such terms as zamozhnyi (prosperous) and nezamozhnyi (poor), kulak (in Ukrainian kurkul) [derogatory terms employed by the Soviets for a supposedly wealthy peasant who was considered a class enemy – ed.], dekulakization (in Ukrainian rozkurkulennia), “class war” among peasants, or any number of deceptive terms that are so prominent in not only Soviet analyses of this time period but even in most of the studies by scholars from North America and Western Europe. I believe such terms are inappropriate in all but particular contexts that describe the specific terror campaigns undertaken by Soviet power in a given period. These terms do not reflect the real social structure of the time. They do not derive from the village lexicon of the 1920s and are the fabrications of urban-born analysts. When describing the actual social structure and relations, other terminology is desirable. An indiscriminate use of these terms perpetuates a series of colossal misrepresentations that were first foisted on the world by Soviet researchers and apologists in the 1920s and 1930s. These terms need to be used with circumspection. When describing the Communist Party position or the research of the agrarian scholars of the 1920s, the terms are useful and required (for example, Solomon 1984). However, when describing actual conditions in the countryside, they are best used only with qualification. There is an ethical question here that cannot be easily sidestepped. I believe that when discussing the actual social relations of that time, a far more logical and accurate method is to employ, wherever possible, the vocabulary of the pre-collectivization village. For example, a successful farmer in Ukraine was called a hospodar/hospodarka; or more commonly, khaziaiin (plural khaziaii; feminine khaziaika/khaziaiky). Villagers did not among themselves normally use the word kurkul. A khaziaiin was admired, not hated, and he was not, under any circumstances nor anywhere in village Ukraine, considered a “class” apart from other peasants.8 The khazaiin/khaziaika comprised the majority of the adult population, and while

could not perpetuate itself, it could also for the same reason not self-destruct. 7 Prominent studies on the collectivization followed by famine include Conquest (1986), Kulchytsky (1992; 2018), Fitzpatrick (1994), Lewin (1995), Graziosi (1996), and Applebaum (2017). 8 This is not to say that people were not envious of one another. Ukrainian peasants could be extremely jealous of another’s success, a trait common to people in other parts of the world. Fitzpatrick (1994, 14–15) notes that Russian peasants exhibited all the social traits of a discordant

Introduction

11

some were wealthier than others (generally by creating at least part of their wealth), this did not set them apart socially from other peasants. This ineffectual term kurkul and its very rare use in Ukrainian villages before collectivization is discussed in chapter 3. Where appropriate, I utilize village (emic) lexicon in describing social structure and relations.9 The lexicon carries within itself descriptions of the primary constituent parts of peasant social structure. I avoid the elitist and inappropriate vocabulary of Marxism-Leninism. For broader (etic) descriptions and analyses of village institutions and culture I use terminology derived from ethnology and ethnography (mostly from North American cultural anthropology) as well as from Western political philosophy. The Civil Society A term encountered frequently in this book that might give readers pause is “civil society.”10 It is used here to mean the great complex of social institutions that exist over long periods of time, are inherited and used by local populations, and which normally lie outside the pale of direct control of the state.11 These institutions are products of an understanding between people and are not simply a part of nature that a priori exists. Michael Oakeshott (1975, 109) notes that

society, including denunciations to the authorities and feuding. I am not aware of studies that reflect the same among Ukrainian peasants before 1930 and the beginning of the terror. 9 An ongoing debate in North American cultural anthropology over the best ways to describe and analyze social structure led to an emic-etic dichotomy. The debate can be summarized in a simplified way as follows. An etic approach assumes that a social structure can best be examined by applying a terminology that is extrinsic to the culture in question. An emic approach argues for using a terminology that is intrinsic to the culture. In this sense, the terms khaziaiin/ hospodar are intrinsic (emic), while terms such as “class war among peasants” or even the word kurkul as used by Marxist agrarian scholars is extrinsic (etic). For one interpretation of this dichotomy see Harris (1979). I utilize both emic and etic approaches, depending upon the context and need, although the concepts and terminology of my etic approach have nothing in common with Marxist theory. 10 The term “civil society” used here has been a part of Western political philosophy at least since Aristotle (“Politics,” Book I). It is an important part of the works of, among others: Thomas Hobbes (Leviathan 1651), John Locke (Two Treatises of Government 1690), Jean-Jacques Rousseau (Du contrat social 1762), and G.W.F. Hegel (Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts 1821). It is an implicit feature of the political philosophies of Thomas Jefferson (Declaration of Independence) and James Madison (co-author of The Constitution of the United States). One of its proponents in the twentieth century was Michael Oakeshott (Rationalism in Politics 1991 [1947] and On Human Conduct 1975 – especially chapter 2, 108-84). “Civil society” as a concept has been called by other names in this literature, such as “civil association” and “the civil condition.” 11 Although most aspects of a civil society are not under direct control of the state, this does not mean that there is no relationship between the civil society and government. On the contrary, civil society is one of the bases for the formation of government. A state cannot create a civil society, but a civil society is part and parcel of the creation of a state’s institutions.

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Material Destruction

these institutions are “complex, ambiguous, historic human associations.” He further characterizes civil society (110) by paraphrasing Aristotle: it is a relationship of human beings and of equals, it is a “constituted” condition, and it is a self-sufficient relationship. For purposes of this study, the important components of a civil society include the following features: it is historic (long-standing), it is a congregation of people on an equal basis (whatever hierarchy exists is purposely created by the participants themselves on a temporary basis); and it is voluntary (coercion is antithetical to it). All references to “civil society” are to institutions or activities that contain these components. Examples of civil society in village Ukraine of the 1920s include peasant institutions of ritualized activity, political activity, and commercial activity involving in each case people voluntarily congregating in order to take part in some action on an equal basis, an activity so well known that it operated without question and had been passed on to each generation from the distant past. In Ukraine of the 1920s, the ritual institutions included the wedding sequence, dosvidky, and street gatherings. I expand the definition of ritual institution to include what is commonly referred to as ritual “customs,” such as the spring song cycles, the winter song cycles, as well as the midsummer Ivana Kupala festivities. They fit perfectly into the definition as used here of “civil society.” In each case, people came together and took part in long-standing institutionalized activities that were not controlled by anyone outside of their social sphere, and they did so willingly. Political activity in the village revolved around the institution of the skhodky. Even though skhodky served as a mediator between the village and the state tax collector, the institution was locally run and administered. The aims, process of elections, and limitations of office were all locally fixed and administered, virtually without interference from the state. Office holders were invariably locals. Everyone knew and acknowledged the unwritten rules governing the elections as well as the rules controlling the office holders, defining what they could and could not do. The differences between the political institutions of peasant civil society and the institutions of the Soviet kolhosp (e.g., zbory) are obvious and profound. The skhodky are briefly discussed in chapter 2, and the contrasting zbory of the kolhosp years are discussed in chapter 5. Also belonging to a discussion of village civil society of the 1920s are those activities that took place in the village and small-town markets and bazaars – that is, during various types of rural commercial activity.12 This included the marketing of surplus product from the family agrarian enterprise as well as from home

12 I am not alone in discussing commercial activities and institutions as parts of a civil society. Among others, Aristotle devoted a great deal of attention to this matter in Politics, Book VII.

Introduction

13

industries. On market or bazaar day, thousands of people congregated at a given location. The rules among them governing the tens of thousands of daily transactions were unwritten but precise. The state did not manage this trade, although it did attempt to control certain aspects of it through taxes, tariffs, and the like. Even though certain products came into the village or town from far away, the control of local sale and purchase of these was standardized among peasants and those with whom they did business, and there was little or no government or state involvement. Home industries also were managed locally. When people gathered in small groups of two, three, or four to exchange or purchase products of home industries (shoes, clothing, icons, wheels, horse collars, barrels, pottery, and hundreds of other items), the transactions were a part of local culture. Everyone knew all the products, what they were used for, and their approximate value. There may have been products produced far away, and the market pressures of wide distribution may have impacted price structure, but the rules for the trade and the standards of the products were known to everyone without posters or advertisements. These activities conform in every way to the components of a civil society. Commercial institutions are discussed in more detail in chapter 2 (before collectivization) and chapter 3 (after collectivization). There were other institutions that were greatly influenced by, or themselves influenced, the civil society of peasants. These included institutions outside of peasant society. I have in mind here organizations or activities associated with the Orthodox Church. The village church choir is an excellent example of such an organization, and village iconography an example of such an activity. The choir consisted of locals who came together voluntarily, although there was sometimes a non-local (e.g., the priest or a choir director) in charge of rehearsals and choosing personnel when vacancies emerged. The repertory was obviously not local in origin, but the influence of this repertory and style of singing on the local peasant style of singing was profound. Its influence touched many genres of peasant music practice. The village icon painter, or bohomaz, painted primarily for other villagers the khatni ikony (house icons), for which he was paid a commission by those who ordered specific icons from him. Most (not all) of his subject matter was religious, but not all of it was canonic. The iconographic style touched most of his other genres as well, such as the kozak mamai [a popular Cossack figure in Ukrainian folk painting – ed.] and even landscapes. His local culture greatly influenced his iconography, for example, in the painting of a saint wearing (usually in part) local peasant clothing. Religious organizations and culture as well as those rituals and activities related to it, including the church choir and bohomazy, are discussed in chapter 6.

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Material Destruction

Ethnology/Ethnography I make extensive use of the term “peasant,” and a brief explanation of how the term is used here is in order.13 “Peasant” is not synonymous with the word “serf.” The term “peasant society” is not related to a scheme that includes stages of economic development but refers to a system of family-based agricultural production. The peasant’s labor commitment to the family enterprise is virtually total. This commitment has historically signified the uniqueness of this group, a commitment “to colonize, to ameliorate, to support, and to persist” (Franklin 1969, 1-2). Based on this description, it is possible to speak of peasantry in widely separated parts of the world (e.g., in Mexico, China, Italy, India, and Ukraine). The peasant is both an economic agent and a part of a household, while his holdings are both an economic unit and a home. Peasants form part of a larger, compound society. Such a complex social order is commonly referred to as civilization. Part of the agricultural surplus among peasants is sold, exchanged, or otherwise transferred to a dominant non-farming population, an elite social group, which uses these surpluses for its own purposes or profit, often distributing them among urban populations. This is as true in East Asia as in Italy or Ukraine and is as true in the twentieth century as in the eighteenth. However, the manner in which surpluses are collected, paid for, and distributed vary greatly from one territory to another and from one time period to another. The overall context in which these differences among peasants are created and exist through time – that is, in which the peasant and the elite co-exist – is a political entity, the state: “it is only when a cultivator is integrated into a society with a state – that is, when the cultivator becomes subject to the demands and sanctions of power-holders outside his social stratum – that we can appropriately speak of peasantry” (Wolf 1966, 11). Thus not only environmental conditions help create differences in social institutions and cultures of peasants in different parts of the world and in different time periods, but also the institutions of various states help at least in part to influence peasant/elite relationships. This description of the peasantry differs somewhat from that of some other anthropologists. Polanyi (1944, 3–25) and Powell (1972, 97), for example, regard peasant society as consisting of settled agriculturalists whose production and culture are distinct from but influenced or controlled by “powerful outsiders.” This is similar to Robert Redfield’s famous great tradition/little tradition

13 The explanation of the term “peasant” derives from what is broadly known as “peasant studies,” conducted over the last sixty years or so by mostly American cultural anthropologists such as Robert Redfield (1956), William Skinner (1964), Eric Wolf (1966), George Dalton (1971), James Scott (1976), and Samuel Popkin (1979), to name only a few.

Introduction

15

scheme in which the latter (peasant society) is controlled by the former through economic institutions as well as agents of the great tradition such as teachers, priests, and nobility (Redfield 1956, 1–6). In virtually all discussions of peasants, the elite group is seen as a dominating presence, albeit whose power and ability to control peasants can be greater or lesser depending upon the state and time period. This discussion is important for at least two reasons. First of all, it shows that a peasant civil society, as described above, is by definition distinct from the institutions of the elite group and is not synonymous with those of the larger compound society that includes urban dwellers. In other words, a peasant society and a national society are two different entities. Secondly, this discussion is important because of the view it provides regarding Ukrainian peasantry and its severe repression by Russian, and later Soviet, states. Between the end of the seventeenth century and the nineties of the twentieth, there were various forms and degrees or mechanisms of control that were exercised by the Russian elite over peasants in general and Ukrainian peasants in particular. The period from 1929 to 1934 is, of course, the most deadly and terrifying of times with regard to the state’s control over the peasantry in Ukraine. After the Second World War it is necessary to speak of a “post-peasantry,” specifically because of the degree of destruction of the social institutions and cultural norms of civil society that was carried out by Soviet power throughout the 1930s. Peasant society and culture existed after that time only in a fragmented sense, with the majority of its younger members turning away from peasant social institutions and cultural norms.14 The old debate among scholars as to whether collectivization was part of a “revolution” from “above” or from “below” becomes superfluous when viewed in the context of the peasant as a distinct part of a complex society. First of all, the word “revolution” is, I believe, another term that is better put aside in this context.15 The repression of peasant society through a process of terror should not be confused

14 Two views of post-peasants: (1) “Peasants remain identifiable as distinct entities as long as significant aspects of local village organization, activities, and peasant rights and obligations remain different from those of urban and elite persons within the same contemporary larger society, culture and economy. When this is no longer the case, peasants have become postpeasant citizen-farmers” (Dalton 1971, 222); and (2) “The present situation has all the features of being a temporary condition, where the strong feeling of the village’s separateness, memory of the past, its value judgements and living traditions still exist and are felt by the given group as ‘theirs.’ But the level on which these components contribute to the village’s structure is already so weak and ties with the general [national] culture so strong that it is difficult to call them nowadays a distinct folk culture” (Jackowski 1979, 166–7). See also Scott (1978). 15 I realize that this probably will not happen. Historians are as devoted to their academic jargon as any group of scholars, and historians of Russia and the ussr are no less wedded to theirs. It is

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Material Destruction

with the word “revolution,” which in other contexts has a fairly clear meaning. Second, there was no “below” to create a mass movement in support of socialist agriculture because by definition a peasant society cannot create the institutions that lie outside of it – in this case, the institutions of collectivization. It is especially illogical to believe peasant society would create the institutions that would destroy it. Third, when considering the “above,” there are innumerable problems, and the analysis becomes murky. If we consider that peasant and elite groups live together in a single complex society, why would the elite group purposely kill an extraordinarily large percentage of the peasant group, destroy its social and cultural institutions, and in effect leave it prostrate with no recourse but to attempt to have itself absorbed into the elite group? This kind of action has no precedent, as far as I know. There was obviously an elite group in control of agricultural surpluses in 1929–34, yet it is difficult to accept the idea of the Stalinist elite as part of a stable, rational, and complex society in which the elite (Marxists) and peasantry co-exist. This suggests two possible alternative interpretations of the calamitous events of the time, both of which regard the Marxist elite as temporary usurpers of power and not a component of a complex society. The first interpretation is that the elite group of the 1920s–30s had roots going back to Russia’s past. They created the collectivization tragedy and then created the Holodomor catastrophe, a scenario that was based on older development patterns inherent to the elite of Russian society. The catastrophe was carried out not by forces “from above” but by widespread institutions hostile to peasant society, especially as it existed outside of Greater (read “ethnic”) Russia. This is similar to arguments proposed by Richard Pipes (1974) and Andrea Graziosi (1996) and mentioned briefly by Oakeshott ([1951] 1991, 59). A second alternative interpretation of these events views the Marxist millenarian state as a form of foreign conquest in which ideologies and policies of the state were unrelated to the society that existed before the conquest – similar to great power colonialism in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. According to this argument, the control mechanisms instituted by the Soviet state after 1929 do not closely resemble a “great culture-little culture” dichotomy as described by Robert Redfield, or the “complex society” described by Eric Wolf. Rather than a “great culture” impinging upon the rights of a “little culture,” a newly installed, culturally alien (i.e., Marxist/millenarian) brutal authority determined to overpower and control for its own benefit the lands it occupied, destroying the social and cultural norms of a society of long standing in the process. For the most part, they

a rich vocabulary deriving, for the most part, from Marxism, Leninism, and Stalinism. As noted elsewhere, I consider most of it detrimental to accurate portrayals and analyses.

Introduction

17

succeeded. The second interpretation is actually more in line with how Marx, Engels, Lenin, et al. regarded themselves: destroyers of that which had existed in order to construct a world in accordance with their vision of what it ought to be. Returning to the discussion of ethnology, there is another literature written in Ukrainian, Russian, and Polish concerning the peasantry in Eastern Europe that is extremely helpful, especially in a study of cultural norms of the 1920s and their destruction in the 1930s. This is the enormous ethnographic literature from the mid-nineteenth to the early twentieth centuries, which includes literally thousands of articles and books on peasant customs, rituals, music, and aspects of village civil society. While not all of this material provides information useful for constructing a social history, much of it is pertinent to a study of cultural history. As many of the topics of peasant social and cultural history are not well known, even in Ukraine, I have where appropriate linked selections of this historical ethnographic literature from the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries to the discussions of rituals and institutions of civil society in the interviews, especially in chapters 6 and 7. Fieldwork in 1993–95 and Compilation of the Interviews This study is as much an ethnography as it is a history. In one sense, it can be viewed as an ethnography of collectivization and famine – that is, an ethnography of historical events. It uses direct, face-to-face interviews – that is, history based on an ethnographic survey. The survey is a collection of oral histories recorded from elderly villagers, both ethnographic and historical in its methodology and its aims. It makes use of answers to a questionnaire devised by project participants and is designed to capture the massive transformation of culture: both that which can be measured as material (loss of livestock, home, or of human life) as well as the non-material that is difficult to measure (the near destruction of peasant culture, including the institutions of civil society). From the beginning of the project in 1993, I planned a study that would present the villagers’ views of events, as much as that could be accomplished given that interviews would have to be conducted by several people, each of whom would bring his or her own influence and perspective to the interview process. In order to emphasize the thoughts and opinions of the interviewees, I have included interview excerpts by topic throughout the book, and my comments in each chapter can be regarded as an introduction to the excerpts found in that chapter. This study consists of statements collected from hundreds of people who were asked to evaluate how events affected their lives. Their views on many topics do not always show agreement. We find often widely conflicting statements regarding events in the past, or interpretations of what certain events or social processes meant to the inhabitants of rural Ukraine of the time. Nevertheless, there are

18

Material Destruction

topics which elicited widespread agreement – such as the fact that there was a massive murder campaign accompanying the collectivization process, immediately followed by a deliberate effort to kill a large percentage of Ukrainian peasants by forced starvation. Most villagers do not know why the murder campaign took place, although a few did put forward opinions, or why authorities who should protect them on the contrary were intent on killing them. In this sense, the interviewees understand no better than anyone else why the authorities of the time felt compelled to resort to mass murder. An understanding of the vagaries of the human heart is no more open to them than to anyone else. The main disagreements in the interviews are between two groups: first, those who were activists during the 1930s and played an energetic role not only in the collectivization process but also in repressing their neighbors, including carrying out the famine, and second, everyone else. The first group was quite small in number. I estimate the number of activists and those sympathetic to their cause at thirteen, out of more than four hundred.16 Their agendas were different to a certain extent from those of the other villagers, and their responses to some questions were in many cases strikingly out of line with what other villagers asserted. This difference might at least in part have been a result of the emotional investment they had in the Soviet cause, which was difficult for some of them to let go of in any case, and perhaps especially because it was an investment of their youth. As well, in the fledgling Ukrainian state of the early 1990s there was massive underemployment, and the state could not afford to meet its commitment to many people, especially pensions for the elderly. This attitude is illustrated by a comment from Mykyta Nadezha, whom I count as one of the activists: Mykyta Nadezha [from the full interview in Appendix 5] I will tell you this directly: Soviet power provided for us and should continue to provide for us now. We need to bring Soviet power back so that the average man can be in charge. Throughout the study, readers will find the principal disagreements over various aspects of village history arising primarily from these people, with other villagers more or less in agreement on many if not most topics.

16 A partial list of activists interviewed in the survey include: Petro Khudyk, Petro Kushnir, Konstiantyn Kryvonis, Oleksandra Posobilova, Motria Buslyk, Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak, Danylo Kuzmenko, Nykyfir Poberezhnyk, and Tetiana Kharchenko. Maria Dudnyk and Mykyta Nadezha claim a sympathy for the regime’s policies of the time, although they do not appear to have been activists. Interviewees were not always candid about their role in the 1930s, especially those who felt that they might have reason to conceal something.

Introduction

19

I use in this study primarily material collected by eight researchers in fieldwork, and two archivists, between 1993 and 1995 from villages in Ukraine. The questionnaire was compiled by project researchers, who gathered in meetings in Kyiv before fieldwork began. Both the questionnnaire and statistics concerning the fieldwork are shown in Appendix 1. Suffice it to say here that the total number of interviews was 428, with slightly more than 60 per cent of the interviews from central Ukraine (Cherkasy and Vinnytsia regions) and a little less than 40 per cent from eastern Ukraine (Kharkiv, Poltava, Sumy, and Chernihiv regions). Researchers had the option of adding or deleting questions and extending or emphasizing any topic depending upon the interests and experiences of a given interviewee. In this manner, longer oral histories could be gathered rather than just short answers to questions. The questionnaire has more than three hundred questions, but many of these were used only in special circumstances, for example, for village musicians, potters, or tailors, and were asked only of these people. Some interviews lasted only a few minutes, while others took seven or eight hours. All were recorded on cassette tapes, which are stored in Kyiv at the Center for the Study of Oral History and Culture. There were also additional questionnaires developed for specific groups of people. For example, there was a separate questionnaire especially devoted to the history of blind semi-itinerant singers (startsi) and singer/instrumentalists (e.g., kobzari and lirnyky). A project such as this is difficult to undertake because of the requisite coordination of multiple fieldworkers assigned over a large area. It is equally difficult to compile and collate the massive amount of material collected. The interviews that were gathered, if printed in full, would produce I estimate more than five thousand pages of material. It required several years to organize the material into its present form. I selected and collated excerpts from the interviews based on specific topics, which included: the repression during collectivization, the economic life of a kolhospnyk (collective farm member), the famine, the repression of religious institutions, the suppression of koliadky (Christmas carols), the repression of the startsi, and dozens of other subjects. For comparative purposes, five interviews are provided in full in Appendix 5. I was not concerned with utilizing the large body of written evidence from the 1920s–30s (archival sources, statistics, newspapers, journals, etc.) in this study, although a smattering of such material is included. It is tempting to link an oral history study to the written material about that period. However, this would significantly alter the aims of the study. In addition, it would require either an abbreviation of the documentary oral history material that is presented or a much longer study in multiple volumes. For certain research topics undertaken in the village, interviews provide information that would be difficult to combine with published material, largely because

20

Material Destruction

of the lack of or the obvious falsification of documentary material. For example, the overt repression of longstanding commercial institutions of civil society in the 1930s included a state-wide hostility to private home industries and to the family-based marketing of surplus goods and services. What were the effects of this repression on village culture? Statistics and even letters on the subject cannot be regarded as reliable because in the 1930s those villagers who were engaged in private commerce could admit the extent of their earnings not only on pain of increased taxes but on the risk of being labelled a kurkul by state agencies and thus dispossessed. The interviews provided various kinds of information on this topic (see especially tables A3.1, A3.2, and A3.3). They indicate the amount of surplus income that was generated as well as the kinds of products available for purchase, both before and after collectivization. During the period of rural terror, virtually every aspect of economic life was altered, first through massive deportations, often of the brightest people in the village; next through collectivization and the confiscation (theft, from the peasant perspective) of the material wealth of villagers; and then through the Famine/Holodomor, in which millions were murdered. In addition, the interviews provide the villagers’ perspectives on the extent to which thievery in the 1930s on the kolhosp and radhosp (state owned farm) became ethically acceptable – as long as the theft was of state property and not from another villager. Soviet statistics on thievery in the village in the 1930s cannot be considered reliable (discussed in chapter 4) because self-incrimination almost never occurred. The interviews provide information on the decline of ritual life of the village in the 1930s – a decline so great that by the end of the decade most of the former ritual institutions of peasant civil society were defunct. The topic of village ritual is too often regarded as the exclusive domain of folklorists, who in fact rarely research this period. Placing village ritual squarely into discussions of civil society and cultural history makes possible an entirely different interpretation. My contention is that the repression of peasant society and all of its institutions (ritual, political, and commercial) was part and parcel of the terror process of the time and can be seen as no less a serious assault than that which destroyed or led to the confiscation of physical property. The interviews are one of the most direct means by which the destruction of the commercial, ritual, and political institutions of the civil society of peasants could be researched. For researching some topics, especially ritual aspects of civil society, there might not be another methodology; that is, an accurate historical record concerning these topics existed for the most part only in the memory of those who lived through the events (e.g., the decline of dosvitky as well as the suppression of spring songs, discussed in chapter 6, and the suppression of funerary rituals as well as the repression of bohomazy, discussed in chapter 5). Another topic that cannot be easily documented by written or photographic material from the time is the repression of, for lack of a better term, an entire “social group” such as the startsi (semi-itinerant, blind beggar performers).

Introduction

21

According to several people whose close relatives were startsi at that time, these performers were heavily repressed by the police. Some ceased to perform when threatened with physical violence, others continued and were beaten. Still others disappeared and were presumably murdered by organs of the state. Very few continued to perform after the Second World War. Collectivization, famine, and the establishment of a new social order altered the village to such an extent that much of the music culture was transformed in a short time period. The Christian psalmy that had been the mainstay repertory of startsi almost disappeared. Performance contexts for song and dance that were formerly utilized by boys and girls, and/or village muzykanty, and/or startsi nearly disappeared in most regions. The interviews provide useful comparative material on topics that are featured in the historical literature from or about this period. For example, interviews that elicit information about death by famine in 1921, 1932–33, and 1947 can be compared and combined with the large amount of written and photographic evidence from the time and with the several studies that have appeared, especially since the mid-1980s (see Applebaum [2017] and Kulchytsky [2018] for information on this literature). Other interview topics that offer comparative material include the suppression of religious culture in the 1920s–30s and descriptions of those who were responsible locally for collectivization and repression.17 When longstanding church- and village-derived holidays were substituted by state holidays, the music that was part of the older practice declined, and a new music practice, or at least new songs, were invented for the state holidays – what I and others have called elsewhere the “parallel culture” of the Stalinist period (Noll 1993a). Some interviewees provided evidence of coercion in the way this repertory was introduced to the village, and their views of the subject can be compared with articles from the time that instruct “culture workers” on their proper role in socialist society as well as on the kind of repertory that was permissible to use.18 There is and likely always will be a need for a debate over which methodologies can be seen as most effective in a study of this period or any other. There must certainly be more than one effective methodology for researching social and cultural history. Various methodologies do not necessarily cancel each other out but can be seen as complementing one another, with each creating an envelope of information and interpretation that is not necessarily possible from others. Oral history contains one possible set of methodologies and interpretations. The interpretations of oral history and ethnographic data are not necessarily like those that

17 The literature on anti-religious campaigns of the Soviet state is quite extensive. Among the materials on the repression of religious music, see Dozhovtnevi (1938), Entsyklopediia (1938), and Antyrelihiinyi (1938). 18 Some of the sources detailing the growth and practice of music in “socialist culture” include: Polots'kyi (1931), Kharkiv (1932), Rekomendovanyi (1934), Shevchuk (1963), and Chepelaiev (1979).

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Material Destruction

derive from other sources of information. Oral history cannot formulate let alone answer all questions. It can, however, deal with certain problems in ways that would otherwise be difficult or even impossible to research. This is especially true for topics that are not well documented in the historical literature. This being said, I do not believe that all methodologies are equally useful in all circumstances. The repression of startsi and bohomazy as well as the suppression of ritual institutions were not researched during the Soviet period. Unfortunately, a corollary to this is that most Ukrainian folklorists and ethnographers in the 1990s continued this trend, and there was little fieldwork conducted by Ukrainian ethnographers that would show the differences between the village culture of the pre- and post-collectivization periods. Most folklorists and ethnographers conducting fieldwork in the 1990s, the last decade in which thousands of witnesses were still alive, were continuing research topics and methodologies that derive from the nineteenth century. They were for the most part attempting to find extant rituals which ostensibly show a continuity of practice from the distant past, at least from the end of the nineteenth century – a methodology that I think at best represents wishful thinking on the part of the researchers. Instead of documenting village culture as it existed, they were attempting to find isolated and often incomplete examples of a given ritual (or music practice) that had endured among a small number of people, usually from one person to about ten or fifteen in a given village. There was little or no effort to place that ritual in the overall context of village culture of the present. There was virtually no effort to discuss the ritual as an aspect of village culture history. The ritual was an object, unhistorical – that is, out of time – and unreal, regarded without reference to the passing of time or the physical world. Finally, a few words characterizing the interviews in a general way are appropriate. The picture presented here deriving from the interviews shows that the pre-collectivization period was a hard life. In these interviews, there is little in the way of romanticizing the peasant past. The interviewees did not, for the most part, state that all before the onslaught of Soviet power was good, and all after it was bad. On the contrary, there are many conflicting statements on this matter, even on the eventual ostensible benefits of collectivization. A few interviewees even seem quite content to disparage the family farm of the past. Readers will note that in some accounts there is a glossing over or evasion of some topics and questions. Part of this is likely due to failed memory (many interviewees were in their 80s and 90s), part because they did not want to talk about it – perhaps it was too painful to do so. Also, these are elderly people recalling their early years. In many cases they remember their youth, or much of it, fondly (as do most people), even when it was lived under extreme conditions. Youth is youth and is only once. A natural tendency to remember it fondly, although most often without undue romanticizing, is sometimes evident here. There are

Introduction

23

numerous exceptions where youth is remembered as a nightmare, especially for those whose youth ended with the beginning of the great famine or with eviction from the family home. When I began this project, I assumed that a large number of villagers would not answer many of the questions willingly. After all, this was 1993 and less than two years after Ukrainian independence. My assumption was that they would still be too frightened to respond candidly to questions about the policies of a state that had withered away only recently. To my surprise this was not the case at all, and only a few interviewees were reluctant to speak. The frank openness of most responses provides us a close look at several otherwise obscured topics in culture and social history. It is interesting to note that Ukrainian villagers for the most part do not use cliché names for people or events, nor do they employ derogatory names even for those who were responsible for killing their neighbors and family in the period under question. Thus, derogatory terms such as komuniak (“commie”) or obscenities rarely appear. The language is for the most part straightforward and largely without artifice. In villages where researchers conducted interviews among both those who were activists and those who suffered from the activists, there was little to no animosity exhibited toward those who were responsible for sometimes horrendous crimes. This may indicate that whatever kind of social authority activists derived from their power and position in the 1930s still existed at the time of the interview, at least in a residual manner. In addition, villagers had been subjected to decades of Soviet ideology, which seems to have had its desired effect. Some interviewees, such as Ivan Samsonoych Roman from the Poltava region, Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk from the Vinnytsia region, and Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets from the Kharkiv region, are able to tell an incredible story elaborately, sometimes even elegantly. Others struggle to speak clearly. Readers will note that some interviewees are quoted more frequently than others. The primary reasons for featuring them have to do with their clarity of thought and expression. The interviewees do not speak in a literary Ukrainian language, nor do they speak literary Russian. In addition to regional differences in lexicon, there were wide regional differences in pronunciation. Most of the project researchers were not competent to transcribe these dialects in a modified Ukrainian orthography showing the various kinds of pronunciation. Only one researcher, Vira Zaichenko, transcribed the interviews from her area, the Chernihiv region, in dialect. Nearly all other interviews were transcribed from the tapes that were recorded in the field (and are held in the offices of the Center for the Study of Oral History and Culture in Kyiv) using more or less standard Ukrainian orthography for rendering pronunciation. In a few instances, where appropriate, Russian orthography was used. No attempt has been made to “correct” unorthodox grammar or the mixture of languages. The idiosyncrasies of language were transcribed in the way

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Material Destruction

the interviewees spoke them, with the above-mentioned proviso, and the English translation of the transcribed excerpts follows suit.

a n ote to th e reader A word about currency and its names is needed here. There are two main words used for the unit of currency: ruble, the Russian term; karbovanets (pl. karbovantsi) in Ukrainian; and kopek for a coin. I have not been able to distinguish patterns to the usage of these words. A respondent might use both words in the same interview and even sometimes in one sentence. The song Shche ne vmerla Ukraiinа (“Ukraine Has Not Yet Perished”) is briefly mentioned in some chapters. The lyrics were penned in the nineteenth century, and it was already widely known among villagers many decades ago. People were imprisoned in the 1920s and 1930s (and afterwards) for singing this song. It has been the official national anthem since Ukraine’s independence. I provide the full text in both Ukrainian and English and detail a brief history of the song in Appendix 4.

2 Before Collectivization

There is no reason to idealize village life before collectivization. Without a doubt, it was difficult. The work was backbreaking and virtually never ending. However, what is of interest here are the differences in society and culture between the periods before and after collectivization. These differences were so great and the rupture of peasant culture due to collectivization followed by famine so profound that it is essential to compare village life of the two decades in as many facets as possible. The examination of village life before collectivization establishes a base line from which comparisons with village life after collectivization can be made. In this chapter, several aspects of village life before collectivization are discussed: land and commercial institutions of civil society; political institutions of civil society; children’s upbringing; and social stratification. The ritual institutions of civil society before and after collectivization are discussed in chapters 6 and 7. In addition, this chapter addresses several topics that don’t often (if ever) appear in the literature about this time period. Several of the elderly interviewees speak about a time when they were young adults in the ten or fifteen years preceding the First World War. Others came of age during the war and just after. Some recall family lore that takes us back to the days of serfdom before 1861 (e.g., Maryna Voitenkova, Ivan Mushynsky). There are very detailed descriptions of certain craft industries as they existed before collectivization, such as potters (Kateryna Zoria, Lievtykhiy Poluden, Ivan Bibik, Arkhyp Dzhyrma); wheelwrights (Yakiv Zborovsky); tailors (Yevdokia Labaiieva, Petro Kushnir, Ivan Mushynsky); and weavers (too many to list, but three examples are Vira Oliinyk, Lykera Pasichnyk, and Maria Palahniuk). Large numbers of families were engaged in multiple craft industries, according to Ustyna Osadcha and Oleksandra Posobilova. There are accounts of old units of land measurement, such as desiatyny (Andrii Dotsenko, Mykola Medvedenko, Valyntyna Ilchenko) as well as the currency then in use.

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Material Destruction

l a nd a n d c omme rcia l i n sti tu tions of c ivil so c iet y b e f ore c ol l e ctiviz ation There is a widely held belief that families with land holdings were only agriculturalists, and those who practiced a craft or service in the village did not farm. On both counts, this supposition is not true, as will become apparent below. All families in the village were agriculturalists and nearly all families in the village were engaged in commercial activities, both for cash sales and barter, or they were engaged in a service activity that produced income. The question of the amount of land farmed by a family before collectivization is complicated because of the changes in state land laws and local attitudes to land that occurred in the 1860s, 1905, again in 1917, and still again in the 1920s. This question goes beyond the scope of this study and can only be touched on here. In many locales of central and eastern Ukraine, a large number of peasants were tied to nearly feudal domains up to the 1860s, after which they gradually acquired more rights to small holdings. The agrarian reforms introduced between 1906 and 1911 by Petr Stolypin, the head of the Council of Ministers of the Russian Empire, enabled thousands of families to acquire land, in which khutory (singular khutir; that is, new outlying neighborhoods of the village) were allowed to be created outside of the village proper. These were often additional lands that a family could farm for itself. From 1917 to about 1921 in most regions some of the land of the gentry (in general wealthy landowners) and sometimes of the church was divided up and distributed among peasant farmers. In some cases, this land was purchased by peasant families, in other cases the land was seized by the state and allotted to a family on the basis of one hectare of land per family member. For example, a family of five could potentially receive five hectares. However, if the holdings of a family of five already totaled three hectares, they received only an additional two more, for a total of five. There were apparently numerous local nuances and variations on this theme. One general result of this distribution was a leveling of economic potential (see Maryna Voitenkova, Yevdokia Kyiko, Kostiantyn Kryvonis, Natalia Kravchenko, Andrii Filatov, Yevdokia Dyshliuk, Paraska Smola, Mykyta Nadezha, and Andrii Dotsenko). Table A3.1 (Appendix 3) shows the range of land holdings, some of the kinds of products sold on the market, and other income-earning activities in precollectivization times. Older interviewees for the most part remember quite well how much land their family held before collectivization. Three or four hectares was common. Among survey interviewees, wealthier families owned more than ten hectares. The wealthiest peasant landowner (not gentry, not a colonist, not a priest) in the project owned forty-four hectares, an anomaly. Table A3.1 also shows the kinds of products sold in small town markets before collectivization. Grains, fruits, and vegetables predominated. Another lively trade

Before Collectivization

27

was in livestock. Older oxen, and later older bulls, would be sold and younger ones purchased for less money the same day. Younger draft animals required training and were therefore less expensive. Farmers realized a net profit from the transaction and could repeat the process every few years (Mykhailo Ihnatenko). Selling oxen or bulls to buy horses, or vice versa, also could bring a profit, depending upon the age and quality of the animals. Meat was sold as were dairy products of all kinds. Eggs, onions, horseradish, beets, and any number of other vegetables as well as a wide variety of fruit (apples, pears, peaches, plums, cherries, etc.) were also commonly sold. A surprisingly large variety of products could be produced by one family. In other families, little was produced that was marketable. Valentyna Ilchenko notes that her family produced meat, grain, fruit, and oil from hemp, all of which were potentially marketable products. In most years, the surplus was sold on the market. In a bad year much or even most of what was produced was consumed at home. Maria Palahniuk says that with their three hectares “We never starved. We always had milk, salo (salt pork), honey, eggs, and apples.” Items to be sold were combined in numerous and unique ways, all depending upon the family’s land, labor, commercial activities, economic state, and preferences. In one case (Olha Odnoroh) the family sold beets and butter. Before the civil wars, this interviewee’s father had had a small lavka (literally “bench,” but the meaning here referred to an informal outdoor retail stand usually located near a road). Another family (Ustyna Osadcha) sold chickens, eggs, and cherries. Still another (Mykhailo Ivanchenko) farmed five hectares and sold grain and piglets at the bazaar. On the other hand, Yakiv Zborovsky said that his family lived mostly from the agricultural products of their land, although when he aged to maturity, he was also a wheelwright. They had two and a half hectares in a khutir. They periodically travelled to the bazaar where his father would sell a calf or a pig. Odarka Kryvchenko on the other hand, described an austere existence. In her family, no one was engaged in a non-agricultural home industry. They lived only from their farm. She said that they did not usually go to the bazaar. If they had a calf to sell, someone would come to them to purchase it. Small town bazaars and other marketplaces operated nearly every day, but Sunday was usually the biggest day of the week, as described by Olena Ponomarenko. She and her father hauled hay (sino) to the local sugar beet factory on Saturdays. Her father would stop at church to attend a service and to meet his friends. The daughter would stay in the wagon and guard the hay. On Sundays, they traveled together to the bazaar to buy and sell, and one of the things they sold was hay. Later in the season when they had sold off all of the hay from their own fields, they traveled around during the week to local villages and bought hay from other farmers. On Sundays, they hauled it to market and sold it for a profit. She and her father fished whenever possible. When they caught more than they needed, they took the fish to the bazaar in Cherkasy to sell.

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Material Destruction

The bazaar was a source of income larger and smaller. Even children sold products. The family of Olha Odnoroh had a store up until the Revolution, after which, they had too little land to make ends meet. When still quite young, she and her sister worked as laborers on other’s plots. They also sold beets and butter at the bazaar to earn money. Finally, the family had an apple tree. They lived not far from a small town, and people from town would come to them to buy apples. Other income earning activities varied widely. Many households were engaged in home industries and services (these services are detailed in chapter 7) that provided cash income. Others hired themselves out as laborers to other farming families (Varvara Pyvovar and Tetiana Barbaziuk – see “Hired Labor” in this chapter, below). Still others worked in rural factories, while families who lived close to urban areas sometimes had one or more family members working in an urban factory, commuting back to the village on weekends and some evenings. At least three interviewees kept beehives, with the honey hauled to market to be sold (Marko Demchenko, Hanna Honcharenko, and Mykhailo Ivanchenko). There were many combinations of activities, with resources pooled by family members. For example, Dmytro Lisachenko said that his father worked in a factory in Kharkiv while the mother farmed (she and her son did the plowing) and she also sewed on a sewing machine. Such machines at the time were not common. The grandfather (mother’s father) worked his own holdings as well as helping his daughter on hers, and he also contributed by catching fish. The father helped with field work on weekends and on other days when he was home: My father worked in Kharkiv and lived there for weeks at a time. He would come home on Saturday for the weekend to help us and then he would leave on Sunday night for Kharkiv to work Monday through Friday. – Who kept the family money? Our mother. But we didn’t really have any money. My mother would work on the farmstead during the day: we had a cow, a goat, and a mare. Our mother was in charge. She was feeding us, plowing the land, and working there all the time. She also worked for other people as a guard in the melon fields. – When she was plowing, was she the one behind the plow? Yes, she was the one. I was in front leading the horse, and she was behind [guiding the plow]. – How much land did you have? About 0.10 hectares, not much at all. – Did every family in your village work the land? My mother’s father lived in the village and he was a fisherman. We have two rivers – the Novy Donets and the Stary Donets – that were full of fish, catfish the length of a table. He also helped us work the land. My mother had a

Before Collectivization

29

sewing machine, and she made clothes. We didn’t have any money, so he gave us a sewing machine. He said, “You’ll pay me back later.” The sewing machine stayed in our house. My mother plowed and worked the land during the day, so we could have food, and at night she would sew. She had many commissions and made skirts and other items for people, whatever they asked for. They paid with whatever they could give. From the middle of the nineteenth century and continuing up to collectivization, there was a gradual expansion of industry in the countryside, with sugar beet factories especially prominent. Some interviewees had ties to or worked at rural factories, especially the sugar refineries that processed sugar beets. Family members of two of the interviewees (Halyna Riasna and Varvara Chukhlib) were contracted to grow sugar beets and then haul them to the sugar refinery. It is unclear whether the land farmed for this was theirs or belonged to the factory. They were paid either cash or in sugar, which they would haul to the market and sell. Others worked in factories, usually seasonally. Kostiantyn Kryvonis notes that his father worked as a plumber in a factory while his mother worked the family’s land holdings. Mykola Medvedenko notes that some young men from his locale worked in a local sugar factory in winter months. They walked twenty kilometers there and twenty kilometers back. Fedir Trokhymenko said that boys in his village worked at a sugar beet factory off and on but that the main source of family income was agricultural. His family hauled to the bazaar surplus product from their farm, especially grain and hay. Sava Chorny worked during the warm months in a brick factory, and in the winter as a lumberjack. Readers should keep in mind that regardless of other income-producing activities, all of the above interviewees had land holdings that they and their families worked. The point is that their income-earning activities were extremely varied and the agricultural labor involved in keeping their holdings was only one aspect of a diversified family business. Some interviewees may have been less than candid about their commercial activities before collectivization. In the early 1930s, a family with a past that included repressed relatives was not promoted in the socialist structure, or they were not promoted as well as those whose families who were not repressed. The veracity of some statements is occasionally questionable, perhaps out of a long-standing (and difficult to conquer) fear that authorities could punish a family that in the past had sizeable holdings or that had sold large amounts of produce and other products at the bazaar. For example, Marko Demchenko kept seventeen beehives but claims that the honey from these was for home consumption only. It seems likely that with seventeen hives he had more than enough to sell on the market or to barter with neighbors for various products or services. The population of many small towns and most cities in Ukraine included significant numbers of Jews. There was a smattering of Jews in the villages. In central

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Ukraine, however, there were large numbers of Jews in both small towns and villages. Most, but not all, village Jews of that time cultivated little or no land. They puchased food both in their natal village and in small town markets. Of interest is the emphasis several interviewees put on the fact that Jews were their main clients in the bazaars of small towns, especially for trade in grains, fruits, and vegetables (Tetiana Saliienko, Maria Bulakh, Maria Hrytsyna in the interview excerpts for “Social Structure”; Paraska Liubychankivska, Valentyna Ilchenko, Varvara Chukhlib). Two interviewees note that village Jewry came to their homes in the village to purchase food. For both of these families, sales in the village were primarily to village Jewry, and in the bazaar, to both Jews and gentiles (Paraska Liubychankivska and Valentyna Ilchenko). Yevdokia Labaiieva noted that although peasants were engaged in the entire range of home industries, small town and village Jews were especially prominent in some of these, especially as tailors and shoemakers.

home i n du stries One of the common mistaken assumptions among urban dwellers concerning rural life in Eastern Europe before collectivizaton is that agriculture was the only income-producing activity of most people and that those villagers who were engaged in home industries did not farm. In fact, most, but not all, families were engaged in a wide variety of income-producing activities, which included both agriculture and home industries and/or a service industry. In addition to the income-generating activities described above, both home industries as well as a number of services were vitally important in the economic life of the majority of people. Ustyna Osadcha Our village was like a state: it had a smithy, there were cobblers, leather tanners, and weavers. Everything was done locally. Trokhym Kozub Everyone had a trade of some kind. You could find anything at the market … Mykhailo Diachenko – Were the people self-sufficient? Easily. No doubt about it. We had our own mills. People cured leather and made boots; they wove cloth, too.

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Petro Kushnir Women made shirts, pants, and coats on their own. Almost every homestead had shoemakers and tailors that made shoes. Mykhailo Maslo – Were there many tradesmen in the village? Blacksmiths, coopers, wheelwrights, and shchnitsery. – Who are the shchnitsery? They did the artistic ironwork for the carriages. Kost Kovalenko One would sell grain and buy something. We had merchants in Myropillia: shoemakers, woodworkers, house painters, and blacksmiths. There were many smithies here, and they worked day and night. There were also many potters … Home industries and services provided most amenities in village life: kolisnyk (wheelwright); bondar (barrelmaker) who made numerous varieties of dizhky (barrels); tkach (weaver) who made, among other things, ceremonial towels (rushnyky) and tablecloths (skatertky), usually on a verstat (loom); kravets (tailor), often referred to in the interviews by the Russian term portnoy; shvets (shoemaker, in Russian sapozhnyk); koval (smith); honchar (potter); teslia (carpenter, in Russian plotnyk); and the melnyk (also known as miroshnyk), the miller who owned a mlyn (mill). Another home industry was provided by the bohomaz, who created icons. He and his work are discussed in chapter 6. Musical services were provided by, among others, the village muzykanty (small ensemble musicians) and the blind peasant minstrels, the kobzari and lirnyky. Village music before and after collectivization, both instrumental and vocal, is discussed in chapter 7. While virtually every villager was engaged in a variety of activities to make a living, some individuals created unique combinations in their work life that encompassed home industries and agricultural activities that would not normally come to mind. For example, in addition to farming, Andrii Zaiets explained that his father made and sold pails for washing clothes from willow tree stumps that he gathered in the forest. The interviewee’s mother was simultaneously engaged in digging, loading, and hauling clay that was then sold on the market, mostly to potters. In addition, he and his mother, sister, and nephew together gathered fruit from an orchard that they themselves had planted some years earlier. The grandmother drove to the bazaar every Sunday to sell these and other products the

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family produced. Everyone in the family had several jobs to do. Labor, resources, and income were pooled: Andrii Zaiets – Did your parents go to the market fair? My father used to make washtubs from willow trees (nochvy). My grandmother would go to a market in Valky every Sunday, and my mother was busy working with clay. She dug the yellow clay out of the soil ... [to sell to potters]. … – Did you have an orchard near the house? Not near the house. We bought land in the forest (about five desiatyny), and we made an orchard there. It was a good orchard and we had two drying cabinets where we would dry apples and pears for kompot in the summer and winter. They would dry the fruit and store it in the shed. Most families in the early twentieth century, and in particular in the 1920s (obviously after the 1921 famine and War Communism), were gradually expanding their commercial activities. For most people it was not an easy life. In speaking of the years before the Bolshevik takeover, Fedora Chub said that every day was a search for some way to earn a bit of money. Her father had land and cows (khudoba), and in addition he was a shoemaker, sawed firewood (drova) and sold it, and fished (both for family use and sale). After the First World War he purchased a mill. The father of Kateryna Yaremaka was a carpenter (teslia) and stove builder (pichnyk). The family farmed three desiatyny. As the father was frequently far away working as a craftsman, the mother did nearly all the farm work, and when the children were old enough, they helped out. The children also hired themselves out as labor. The father periodically sold a calf or sheep on the market. Mykhailo Diachenko described a variety of income-producing activities that were commonplace among villagers as well as a few that were likely less common. Everyone, he said, had their own land as well as orchard of varying sizes. Everyone had animals from which they derived food (cows, chickens, etc.). Almost everyone had small, handheld food-processing equipment of some kind at home. In addition, the majority of the population were engaged in some kind of home industry. Finally, many people worked temporarily in factories to earn money. – What did people do before the kolhosp? They farmed, tended their orchards, and made barrels. Each person had oxen and horses; everyone had a cart, a cultivator, harrows, and a thresher– those were the necessities.

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– Where did they get money to buy clothes? They would sell fruit. They’d ship the fruit to Kyiv by boat. Fishing was also common. Maria Palahniuk described the production and sale of a wide variety of products as well as several home industries. Her family had three hectares of land. There was a loom (verstat) in her home, but her mother wove and sewed only for family use. However, there were women in the village with a verstat at home who accepted special outside orders. They wove rugs and other items for money. In order to have a kozhukh (overcoat) made, the interviewee would take wool to a neighboring village to a man who specialized in kozhukhy and pay him for his work. At the bazaar her father sold apples, honey, and garlic as well as peas of several different varieties. She said that apples in the 1920s were a rarity in her locale as not everyone had an apple tree. Sofia Hrushivska said that her father owned a mill and had a small plot of land. He did not require a larger amount of farmland because he was partially paid in grain for his services as a miller and therefore had all the grain he could use. In addition, the family had a garden and a large orchard. From the latter, her father derived additional income. She described trips by wagon to the bazaar where he sold apples, plums, and vyshni (sour cherries). Oleksandra Posobilova described a variety of income-earning activities. Her father, in addition to farming his plot, was a wheelwright (kolesnyk) and cooper (bondar). He raised sheep and pigs, some of which he would periodically sell at the bazaar. One grandfather was a wheelwright and had four sons (including her father). Among the four brothers, they owned several mills. Her other grandfather owned two mills. Halyna Bezrodnia said that her father owned two hectares of land and was a tailor. The family of Fedora Chub owned a little more than two hectares of land as well as an orchard, and her father also was a tailor. While he sewed, the interviewee’s mother and some of the children did wash and ironed for customers. While still young he had learned to sew in Cherkasy from Jewish tailors. As an adult, he took on pupils of his own, and they lived with the Chub family in the winter, going home to their families during the warm months. The clothing the pupils produced was the father’s to sell. On Mondays, her father travelled to the bazaar, although he only infrequently sold something there (a piglet, for example). He instead bought supplies for the week. His products as a tailor were sold from his home and not at the bazaar. This family produced rope (kanaty) and thread (nytka) as well, although mostly for home consumption. Iryna Lotosh-Diatlenko’s father was a blacksmith. He owned land, “more than a desiatyna” (“bilshe desiatyny” – a desiatyna is 1.09 hectares), as well as a full complement of tools of his trade. His land was divided into three or

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four small sections and spread apart. He had three or four pupils working for him as apprentices, and he had the rights to sell the products they produced. When the interviewee or her sisters needed clothing or something else, he did the purchasing. Motria Hrytsyna remembers going to the bazaar with her uncle. He usually sold chickens. If the bird was a full-grown hen, they sold it for a ruble; if it was smaller, then for seventy kopeks. Among their best clients were the local gentry (pany), who, she said, treated them with respect. The survey provided information on the costs of other items as well. Ivan Mushynsky said that a pair of children’s shoes made by a village shoemaker cost five rubles in his locale. He also discusses prices for different kinds of lard, as well as some of the niceties of spinning wool. Andrii Dotsenko said that his brother made shoes for two rubles. According to Marfa Bila, shoes cost three rubles, and a man’s shirt cost one or two rubles. Many people, however, purchased little clothing as they made most of it at home. Cloth was partially made at home. Nykyfir Poberezhnyk related that cloth was made in his home on a loom. The work habits described by various interviewees varied widely. Hanna Honcharenko described her grandfather’s activities as many sided. He had ten hectares of land that he worked himself, an orchard, a mill, and he raised bees. In addition, he fished. On the other hand, Lykera Pasichnyk described a spartan life. Her father was a carpenter and was frequently gone from home for many days when he was working on building projects. Her mother did most of the farming. When still a girl, the interviewee infrequently went to the bazaar (far from her home), and sold some butter or a chicken, then brought home whatever was needed for the family. One of the most common home industries was shoemaking – found in nearly every village. All of the shoemakers and their family members interviewed for this project farmed land as well and in many cases were also engaged in other income-producing activities. Ivan Udovychenko said that his father had about one and a half hectares. Over time he added to that, apparently by purchasing land. In addition to making shoes, he also was a weaver, with a loom at home. Villagers came to their home to order products from him. He also made windows. Vira Oliinyk provided information about her father’s, grandfather’s, and great-grandfather’s commercial activities, taking the oral history back into the years before enfranchisement (that is, before 1861, when serfdom was abolished). She was born in 1918, and her father was a shoemaker in addition to farming his plot. She said that he did not sell at the bazaar. Customers came to his home to be fitted and place their orders, as Ivan Udovychenko also described. Her father’s father was a shoemaker for the local gentry, while his father before him was a

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tailor, also for local gentry. Her family history included at least three generations of village remisnyky (craftsmen). She provided many details on materials used and the quality of work of that period. Danylo Kuzmenko said his father was a shoemaker. He worked differently than described by Vira Oliinyk and Ivan Udovychenko. While the latter’s father worked at home and people came to him, Kuzmenko’s father could not do so because, as the explained, there were other, established shoemakers in the village. Presumably the competition was such that the one village could not support all its shoemakers. His father travelled to clients’ homes, spending the night with them and fitting them there, and even staying and working there at the home while finishing the product. He travelled up to forty kilometers away. In nonnatal villages he was likely viewed as an itinerant shoemaker, but in fact he had a home and family to which he returned whenever he could. He also farmed a plot of three hectares and kept an orchard, from which he sold plums at the bazaar. Ivan Roman confirms this work pattern. He remembers a shoemaker coming to his family’s home each autumn and spending a few days with them, making shoes for various family members. He ate and slept with the family. Motria Rohova’s father was also a shoemaker. He normally had pupils whose product he sold for his profit. He provided them room and board. The interviewee’s mother hired herself out to others, presumably mostly as an agricultural laborer. Trokhym Kozub’s father was engaged in several income-earning activities. He had about 1.75 hectares and worked as a bondar (cooper) and a teslia (carpenter). People came to him to request his services. They would often pay by barter, commonly giving him pigs for his work as a teslia. The interviewee said that there were thirteen barrel-makers in his village. He explained that his father took to the bazaar surplus grain that he had produced himself as well as pigs – presumably some of the pigs acquired for his services as a teslia. He said that there were six blacksmiths in his village. In addition to working his own land and cow herd, the father of Oleksii Strilkov was engaged in a wide variety of commercial activities. He was a bondar (cooper), mostly of dizhky (large barrels). His oldest son would haul these to the bazaar for sale. The father also acted as a middleman, selling vegetables purchased from others. But his specialty was in selling pottery. The interviewee said that his father would buy large quantities of pottery from a potter (mostly small items), then sell them on the bazaar a little at a time for a profit of three or five kopeks per piece. There were several interviewees in the survey who came from families of potters.1 Arkhyp Dzhyrma described how his father learned his craft. Her father

1 Numerous potters were interviewed as one of the researchers, Mykola Korniienko, is one of the main authorities on the subject in Ukraine and conducted interviews among potters whenever

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apprenticed himself for a year. The person with whom he studied had the right to sell his work and gave him room and board. Yevtykhii Poluden, another potter, noted that he paid money to his teacher, who was his uncle (here diad'ko). A large percentage of not only potters, but other craftsmen as well learned their craft from family members, which indicates that many crafts were handed down from one generation to the next among relatives. Certain families dominated a craft in a given village, for example, the Vovkohon family in their locale. Those non-family members who became potters in this locale mostly learned their craft from Vovkohon family members (e.g. the husband of Anastasia Shpak-Smolinska). Natalia Semeniaka noted that when there was no potter in a given village, everyone knew where to go in order to purchase pottery. Certain bazaars, even certain villages, were locally known as centers of pottery production. Once again, this is to a certain extent an indication of the degree to which certain crafts were family based. Yevtykhii Poluden remarked that there were more than fifteen potters in his village. A widespread misconception among scholars of rural culture in the former ussr is that those who were engaged in home industries usually had fewer or no farm holdings and that their income was based mostly or only on their crafts. In Ukraine this was simply not the case. Virtually all families who were engaged in home industries also farmed the land, and many of them had more than the average amount of land. The example of potters demonstrates this. Kateryna Zoria said that her father had seven hectares of land. In addition, he was a potter who worked year round on his craft. The father of Ilko Vovkohon had six hectares of land. He worked on his pottery whenever he could, but especially in the winter months when there was less agricultural labor to perform. Hryhorii Vovkohon said that his father was first of all a farmer. He derived a secondary income from pottery. He had four hectares and in addition to the usual livestock (a horse, oxen, chickens, pigs, cow) he kept about twenty sheep. He also kept an orchard of at least nine trees. Other potter-families had less land: Ivan Bibik noted that his father had two hectares, while Yakiv Briukhovetsky said that some potters had little land, such as his family with only about twenty-five sotok. The latter is uncommon, however. His is the only such statement among all those whose families were engaged in home industries. This range of holdings is indicative of the overall wealth of the various potter families. Not everyone had a honcharnia (potter’s workshop). Arkhyp Dzhyrma noted that only potters who were engaged in larger scale production could afford

possible. I have included here only part of the material he and others gathered from potters, primarily because Korniienko has published on this subject elsewhere (Korniienko 1997) using material derived from the interviews. There are other studies on the subject available as well, for example, Poshyvailo (1993), and Martynenko (1992).

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to build a horen (potter’s oven) and kryh (potter’s wheel), most often several of each. Potters producing smaller amounts of pottery would not need to invest in the construction of a honcharnia. It was economically more sensible to simply rent space and time in a honcharnia from larger producers when needed. Methods of hauling pottery to the bazaar and its sale there differed among the potters, as did the territorial range of their commercial activity. Some potters, such as the father of Ivan Bibik, hauled their product and sold it themselves. The interviewee noted that he traveled near to home in central Ukraine, but also more widely to the Poltava region and even to Belarus. Anastasia Shpak-Smolinska indicated that her father sold only at a nearby small-town bazaar, and only once a week or so. Hryhorii Vovkohon said that his father periodically packed his pottery in straw and loaded it onto his wagon, hitched up the oxen, and travelled to a local small-town bazaar to sell his products. However, many potters either did not haul the product themselves, or they did not sell it themselves. They might hire someone to haul it, or they might sell it to a middleman, who then took it to the bazaar for sale. Kateryna Zoria said that her father did not haul it himself, but instead hired someone to take it to the bazaar, where her father evidently sold it himself. Arkhyp Dzhyrma’s father evidently did the same. However, there were villagers who specialized in selling pottery made by others. They would purchase usually large amounts of pottery from a potter or potters, then haul it to the bazaar and sell it themselves for a modest profit. Both Fedora Karakai and Fedora Kolobotska came from families with such a specialization. One of the most detailed descriptions of commercial life of the time was provided by Ivan Mushynsky. He was a weaver, producing mostly men’s woolen pants. He described the bazaar and the specialties of various ethnic groups: the Roma (horses), Jews (meat and beer), peasant Ukrainians (vegetables, grain, clothing, etc.). He mentioned that there was a factory in Korsun that produced woolen products. Periodically the factory sent a wagon out, and those who raised sheep had bundles of wool ready to put in the wagon. He described local trade in pottery, shoes, and various woolen products. He also made rushnyky (ceremonial towels) and skatertky (tablecloths) on special order. Finally, he described how and where he learned his trade, and how much it cost him. At least two interviewees were perhaps not completely forthright in their appraisal of the amount of land their fathers had under cultivation, or about the sale of products on the bazaar. Ivan Solohub was uncertain about the amount of land he and his father farmed. He did not remember how many hectares they had (“I know it was not much land”) but, mysteriously, they had three horses to do the work. Together the interviewee and his father also hauled petroleum products by wagon. His father was, in addition, a carpenter (teslia). Hanna Buhaiova said that her father was a barrelmaker (bondar) and a shoemaker (shvets). In addition, he sold grain on the bazaar. She was defensive about this point, and was one of

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the few interviewees who, in her description of family life of the 1920s and earlier, employed the 1930s (and afterwards) standard Soviet language for private commerce (“speculation”), saying that her father sold grain, but not to the level of a speculator (“takoho ni, shchob prodavaty, vrodi spikulirovaty”). It is significant that most of the elderly villagers in our survey did not use the common derogatory terminology of the Soviet period, “speculator” (spekulant), for those who engaged in economic activities outside of the state sphere when describing commerce of the 1920s and earlier. Kost Kovalenko and Ivan Mushynsky, for example, both used the word komersanty (merchants) to describe those who sold products on the bazaar. Even when describing activities of the 1930s most of them used normal language. In the Soviet period, the word spekulant carried a host of negative connotations and was unthinkingly applied to virtually any private commercial activity, especially to activities which involved buying and selling a privately produced item, moving such a product from one locale to another, or offering a service for cash. Instead of the ideologically loaded term spekulant, most survey interviewees used normal language. They usually described in positive terms the buying and selling as well as the creation of products or the providing of services outside of the state sphere. They had a decidedly non-socialist mentality in which the private (read family-based) creation of wealth and the provision of services of civilization were the normal activities of civil society. They had good reason to speak of these products and activities positively: with the onslaught of collectivization, followed by the Holodomor, virtually all agricultural products as well as home industries and services declined sharply in terms of both quality and quantity when compared with those of the nep period in the 1920s. The quality of life for most people plummeted. When describing commerce of the 1930s some interviewees nonetheless used the word “speculator.” Nevertheless, because this word was virtually never used by them in the context of the 1920s (with the one exception noted above), it is evident that the very concept is an element of Soviet culture and tied irretrievably to socialist ideology. It can be seen as one of the many slogans that negatively impacted peasant culture, altering or perhaps for some people even destroying the view of private commerce as a normal, morally positive, and vital part of human life. Private commerce was redefined as evil, one of the “sins” of socialist mythology. Dmytro Chuchupak described the nep period from the point of view of someone for whom commerce was a normal activity. Finally, Halyna Lazarenko provided a description of her family’s activities at the bazaar in Poltava. She described a komersant (“merchant,” here her mother), her commercial connections, and provided some color regarding a bazaar in the Poltava region. Local Jews transported to the bazaar products and contracted the interviewee’s mother to sell two barrels of packed herring there. The interviewee

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related how her mother sold one barrel and met her partners at night in order to pay them. She described her father selling pottery there, and she remembered her mother’s hawking call, used on the bazaar to attract customers: [My mother would] say, “Give the decorated Easter eggs to your children. God gave me this, and I am passing it on to you.” She would take fish from each barrel and just give it away to people. People didn’t have money, but they brought [to her] bread, wheat, or a piece of lard. People used to call us Miss Kindness. “God gave me this, and I give it to you.”

in te rv i ew e xce rp ts : l a nd and c ommerc ial i n sti tu ti on s of ci vil so c iet y bef ore c ol l e cti v i z ati on ; home indu stries Pavlo Yevtukhovych Andriienko and Ahafiia Illivna Riabukha (Kharkiv region) – Did you own a horse?

pavlo yevtukhovych: We sold bulls and bought a horse. – Why?

pavlo yevtukhovych: The horse was faster. We also had two cows and

pigs. – How much land did your father have? pavlo yevtukhovych: Two allotments, that is four hectares. – Did your father work only in the field? pavlo yevtukhovych: Only in the field. – Did they have an orchard? pavlo yevtukhovych: There was an orchard near the homestead before collectivization. We had two homesteads: we lived in one, and the other one had four pear trees and some apple trees. The rest of the land was arable. – Did you sell any fruit from the orchard? pavlo yevtukhovych: No. … – Did your parents go to the market? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes, they’d go to the market to sell eggs and chickens. – What would they buy there? pavlo yevtukhovych: Whatever they bought there didn’t make it home. – How did they get to the market? pavlo yevtukhovych: They used two bulls.

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Tetiana Vasylivna Barbaziuk (Vinnytsia region) – What was the size of your family? tetiana vasylivna: Medium. – How much land did you have? tetiana vasylivna: My father had three desiatyny: three times 0.9 hectares. – What kind of cattle did you own? tetiana vasylivna: We had horses; then they [the authorities] started using the horses to transport some kind of an army. We sold the horses and bought oxen. In spring, the oxen would not want to move. They were good for nothing in the spring; you couldn’t sow anything. They didn’t have enough land, so they’d use someone else’s. Someone came and said, “Take half and I’ll keep half.” So, that’s how they lived, but they never lacked for bread because they did the work for the people, got half of the harvest as payment, and also had the harvest from their own land. They would thresh the grain and store it. The wheat and the rye they sowed were enough for the winter and spring. They didn’t go to the mill because they had enough. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Did your father have a large family? paraska mytrofanivna: We were three girls. – Did your father have his own farmstead before collectivization? paraska mytrofanivna: When the war started, he went to war and came back wounded; he lived a little longer and died. He owned four desiatyny of land. – Did you work the land on your own? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes. – Did you have any oxen? paraska mytrofanivna: No, we had horses, a piglet, and hens. We didn’t have any sheep. … – Did you have an orchard? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes. – What happened to it in the 1920s? paraska mytrofanivna: Who knows what happened to it? … – Did you formerly sell anything at the market? paraska mytrofanivna: We had enough for our family. We would sow the grain and plant the melon field. We used to take the beets to the factory, and the factory would give us sugar and beet pulp.

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– Where were the market fairs? Paraska Mytrofanivna: Lodyzhenka, Uman, and Ternivka. Always on Monday. Halyna Zakharivna Bezrodnia (Poltava region) – What did your father sew? halyna zakharivna: All kinds of clothes, especially overcoats and men’s clothes. He worked in a workshop. When he came here, he continued sewing here. – Do you remember women wearing plakhta? halyna zakharivna: It wasn’t common in our village. Hradysk is a small town with many newcomers. My father made a living sewing. Later on – I don’t remember what year it was – he was given two hectares of land and one hectare of reed bed. Then he bought a cow. I used to plow the land using cows; I’d join the neighbors for plowing. Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – How much land did your father own before the kolhospy?

ivan ivanovych: My grandfather had a lot of land. After the Revolution,

all his land was confiscated. My father had just about two hectares left near the house. – Were your parents potters? ivan ivanovych: Yes. My father worked the land and made pots. He would yoke a horse and go as far as the Poltava region and Belarus. He knew the holidays and tried to make it to the market fairs in Pyriatyn, Pryluky, and Yahodyn. It was like this all the time. – Were the village potters connected with the art foundations or the learning center? ivan ivanovych: No, only I am connected with the exhibitions and the art foundation. – What do you get from them? ivan ivanovych: I have an honorary certificate from them. It’s a pleasure and an honor for me. – What kind of clay was used in pottery? ivan ivanovych: It was called firesand and polymer clay. There was a clay pit near Hlibov khutir with red, black, and grey gleysol. – You make black-glazed ware. Do you use black clay for this? ivan ivanovych: No, I use firesand and mixed it with grey clay. Blackglazed ceramics is a totally different technique. You fire these pots the same way

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you fire the red ones, but afterwards, you need to smoke them very hard; the furnace and its rounded vault (klubuk) are filled with soil so the smoke doesn’t escape; you have to watch the furnace. If the smoke is not let out, the pots come out fine; if there’s a hole somewhere, you’ll get spotty pots. – At what depth are the potter’s clays found in the soil in your village? ivan ivanovych: Two or three meters. – During which season are they excavated? ivan ivanovych: They used to be excavated in winter at freezing temperatures, and now the clays come from the quarry. Four or five people get together and dig a clay pit; then they carry a year’s supply of clay to their houses. – Can you describe the process of mixing clay? ivan ivanovych: First, you need to dig it; then you soak it somewhere in a studio or in your house where you will wedge it. A wooden hammer is used to give it shape. Then you cut it in thin slabs (halky). Then we soak these slabs in water and put them in the pit where clay is stored (hruba). We use a rolling pin and rub the clay with the hands. We make enough slabs for fifty pots, and from the slabs we make lumps depending on the size of a pot. If this is a one-liter pot, we take a smaller lump. We know which lump to take for which size of pot. – Describe the structure of the potter’s wheel. ivan ivanovych: The lower part [of the kick wheel – trans.] is called a kruzhalo or spodniak. A round wheelhead (holivka) is placed on a pivot rod (vereteno). We make pots on the wheelhead. The pivot rod is attached [to the bench – trans.] with a small plank (lysychka). The potter’s wheel is installed for maximum stability. The lower part is called a pin (shpyl), and it spins on a stand (podstavka). – Describe the potter’s workstation. ivan ivanovych: The wheel is close to the bench; on the right-hand side, there are clay lumps and a bowl of water to wet the hands; there’s a wooden knife on the right-hand side and a wire to cut the pot. Once the pot is ready, it is placed on the plank on the left or in front of the potter. – How do you make a pot? ivan ivanovych: You have to have one hand inside the pot and the right hand on top; the preliminary shape of the pot is small, and the hand is inside of it. You start shaping the pot from inside and use the knife about three times – and the shape is ready. If I’m making a bowl, I would spread it sideways; if I’m making a jug, I’ll start with a tall and narrow slab. One hand is inside at all times. If a pot is to be shaped like a pumpkin, I would keep one finger and shape the sides toward the top. A handle is glued separately. – Where do you dry the pots?

Before Collectivization

ivan ivanovych: We had special shelves in the house (piatra) – planks

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ten to fifteen cm. wide where we’d put the pots to dry. Then we would rub the pots and mend any little holes in the bottom, stroking the pots with wet hands; then the pots are placed on the highest shelves where it’s warmer and they can dry faster both in winter and in summer. Now I have a workshop with shelving units. – Who decorates the pots with ornaments? ivan ivanovych: The ornament is ancient, including fluted rims and indented ornamentation. This was done by the potter according to his own imagination. His wife didn’t help him because she didn’t have time; she was weaving. He could make rim cuttings with a knife; the waves and stripes were made with a knife, too. – Were there relief ornaments? ivan ivanovych: No, not at the time. Some people would put reliefs on top. There were no flowers. Some would make narrow stripes (a finger’s width) from white clay and put them on red clay bowls. – Did pottery stamping bring about the decline of the ornamental culture? ivan ivanovych: Stamping was invented by someone to sell more pots at the market. – Could you talk about the process of making and applying glaze? ivan ivanovych: We used green and brown glazes of two types. The green one was made from copper oxide using red copper and regular yellow sulfur. We would put the copper and sulfur in a pot, cover the inside of the pot completely, put the pot in the oven, and the mixture would heat up in that closed space, resulting in mill scale (okalyna). We powder it in a cast iron bowl, sift it through a dense sifter, and get copper oxide powder that we mix with lead. We melt lead oxide in a large pan and stir it with a fire iron; when the oxygen gets there, the mixture turns into powder. You have to have the right proportion: half of the mixture is soft clay; then you take ten glasses of lead (this makes for twenty-one parts); when everything is mixed, you get green glaze. Lead or manganese as well as iron or copper oxide can be fired and powdered. We mix it, add mazut [fuel oil], and mix in a spoon of this powder – then roll the pot in this mixture and it sticks. Then the pots go into the furnace. – What type of furnace is used in your location? ivan ivanovych: The furnace is shaped like a stack. It is tall (called klubuk) and has an oven on one side and the doors on the other. In the middle of it you have the shelves where you put the pots. You have the vents; in the middle, there’s a rod that holds the shelves; the shelves have holes in them for smoke and fire to go through. – How many pots could fit there? ivan ivanovych: If it was a large furnace, it would hold a thousand pots.

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– How much wood did such a furnace use? ivan ivanovych: Four meters of dry wood (from pine trees). The firing process in the winter takes almost twenty-four hours, and during the summer – seventeen to eighteen hours, up to twenty hours. – Where did you sell the pots? ivan ivanovych: In Hlibov khutir, Oleksandrivka (they had their own potters there), Oleshnia, Papirna, Lavin – five potters’ villages. We used horse carts to go there. When the horses were replaced by cars, we started going Chernihiv and Mohiliov (Mogilev) in Belarus. Now people either go by train or by a horse cart. The cars are rarely used, not like before when you’d load a full car of pots and take them to the market. They make fewer pots now. Also, the financial department now has every potter under control; there’s no freedom, no support, and no subsidy. Marfa Oleksiivna Bila (Vinnytsia region) – How much land did your grandfather own? marfa oleksiivna: They had sheep and horses. My father had a cow, and after the First World War, he had two horses. When we joined the radhosp, we had good horses and a cow. The horses were given to the kolhosp, and the cow stayed with them until their last days. – What did your parents grow in their garden? marfa oleksiivna: Everything: hemp, beans, and beets. – Did they sell any of these crops? marfa oleksiivna: No. – Did they buy anything at the fair? marfa oleksiivna: They went to the fair every time because they needed to buy cups, buckets – this and that. – How much did a cup cost? marfa oleksiivna: About twenty kopeks. They were made in Dzhuryna, in Sharhorod. – Did you have a garden? marfa oleksiivna: A tree or two near the house. – What kind of work did you do at home when you were little? marfa oleksiivna: I grazed the geese and ducks; when I grew up a bit, I grazed the cow; then I went to school. The school was near the pasture; there were about fifteen of us going to school. … – What could one buy? marfa oleksiivna: Three rubles was the price for the first pair of boots. You would also get forty-eight kilograms of grain as food rations.

Before Collectivization

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– What was the relationship like with the landowner (pan)? marfa oleksiivna: If he needed you to do something, he was good to you. – Was he kind to your father? marfa oleksiivna: Yes. My father went to confession and told the priest that he worked for a landowner, and the priest said, “Work well for him, and he will be good to you.” … – Were there craftsmen who made boots or clothes? marfa oleksiivna: There were shoemakers here. – What about people who could embroider very well? Marfa Oleksiivna: Yes. – Did they get commissions for shirts? marfa oleksiivna: It would be two or three rubles. Dmytro Kravchuk was a shoemaker, but they were not well known. – How much did you have to pay a shoemaker to make shoes for you? marfa oleksiivna: We bought them ready-made, and they cost three rubles. Frosyna Okhrymivna Boiko (Kharkiv region)

frosyna okhrymivna: My father used to go to Crimea to buy salt. We

had a horse, and he used it for his trips, but later on the horse was stolen. – When did he stop going there? frosyna okhrymivna: I was little, so I don’t remember. When my father died, the family members were crying. I thought this was because we didn’t have any food to eat and I was crying myself. Yakiv Mykhailovych Briukhovetsky (Cherkasy region) – Were the potters paid for their work?

yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, like I said – 20 per cent. Let’s say a potter

made ten bowls; he would get back two ready-made bowls. This is how they were paid. If he painted ornaments – this was known as fliandrivka – he would get 15 per cent (1.5 bowls out of the 10 made). They would be paid with clean, well-made bowls and sell those bowls later. – Did the potters have land or farmsteads? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, they had land and worked the land. Some didn’t have much land and worked mostly as potters. My father had only 0.25 hectares of land; half of the land he used for grain, and the other half – for potatoes, which would run out by Christmas. He made a living making bowls.

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– What else did your father have on his homestead, other than the land? yakiv mykhailovych: He had a cow, pigs, and goats. Ivan Ivanovych Buhai (Kharkiv region) – Did your older siblings go anywhere as hired workers? ivan ivanovych: No, they worked at home with my father. – Who was the head of the household? ivan ivanovych: The father was considered the head of the household at the time. – Did your parents go to the market? ivan ivanovych: Yes, my father and mother used to go to a market in Zlochiv. – What did they buy and sell? ivan ivanovych: What would they sell? At the time, milk products were rarely sold, but they would sell plums and apples from the garden. – Not grain? ivan ivanovych: No. Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiova (Kharkiv region)

hanna yukhymivna: My father could make anything: barrels, shoes. He could also fix barrels. He would make a barrel for a neighbor, and the neighbor would work a bit in his garden in return. … – For whom did your father make boots? hanna yukhymivna: For widows; they’d come saying, “Fix my boots; I have nothing to wear.” He would fix her boots, and she would weed the garden in return. This is how it was. My father lived well. The two daughtersin-law worked very well, just as the four of us did. – Did your father sometimes sell barrels or grain? hanna yukhymivna: No, that would be like profiteering. He only made enough for himself. – Where did you get the money to buy clothes before the Revolution? hanna yukhymivna: We had a cow and horses at the time. You’d sell a bag of grain and buy enough cloth to make skirts. – Where would they sell the grain? hanna yukhymivna: We used to go to a market in Chuhuiv. – Did you make shirts yourself? hanna yukhymivna: Yes, we would. We’d spin yarn.

Before Collectivization

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– Did you also spin?

hanna yukhymivna: I would spin and embroider; a spool would be

woven day and night. – Did you weave?

hanna yukhymivna: My mother would weave; we would spin yarn, and they would weave and separate the threads. One of our daughters-in-law was a tailor, and she used to make shirts and skirts for us. – From fabric? hanna yukhymivna: Yes. – Did you embroider the sleeves of the shirts? hanna yukhymivna: Yes. Maria Andriivna Bulakh (Poltava region) – Did the neighbors borrow anything from your father? maria andriivna: Sometimes they would borrow something and give it back, money for instance. My father would borrow, too, and then pay back. – Did you sell anything at the market? maria andriivna: Yes. I remember when I was little, there was a Jewish man named Itsyk who had a store with various clothes. My grandfather would go to the market with a bag of grain (rye or wheat). He’d take it to this store, weigh it, get paid, and go to the market to buy whatever we needed: clothes or boots. People would also sell extra cattle, if they had any. There were market fairs in Lubny for Pokrova (Feast of the Intercession of the Theotokos) [October] and the Green week [summer]. They would bring so many cows and bulls to those market fairs! And it was fun, too – there was a carousel. Kids and servants would come and get on the horse or into a carriage (brychka) and go around. I used to go riding; my father took me there. He would pay, and I’d go a few rounds. The grown-up girls and guys would do it, too. This was on a Sunday, and everyone would gather from each village to have a look at the market fair. Hryhorii Kyrylovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – What did your father do?

hryhorii kyrylovych: He was a farmer. He owned land, bulls, sheep,

and pigs. … – How much land did he have? hryhorii kyrylovych: A total of four hectares, probably. Then 2.5 hectares were added.

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– And the cattle?

hryhorii kyrylovych: Two cows, a horse, pigs, about twenty sheep, and a few hens. – Other than farming, what else did your father do? hryhorii kyrylovych: He was a potter, and so was Pavlo. … – Where did they sell the pottery? hryhorii kyrylovych: There was a large market in Medvedivka; my father also used an ox cart to take pottery to the city – Sviethrad. – How did he stack the pottery? hryhorii kyrylovych: Pots would be placed into pots with hay in between. – Did your father sell pots? hryhorii kyrylovych: Yes. It was profitable at the time; you couldn’t get money anywhere. – What else did your father sell? hryhorii kyrylovych: A piglet once in a while. Ilko Terentiiovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – Did your father own land before collectivization?

ilko terentiiovych: He had a total of about six hectares in various

locations. It was at the time of land division, and everyone got a share. He also had two cows. – What did he have in addition to the land? ilko terentiiovych: Tools. He would work the land during the day and make pottery at night. This was before the kolhosp. He would make pots throughout the year, and pottery was the main activity in winter. During harvest season, he didn’t make pots. Maryna Petrivna Voitenkova (Kharkiv region) – How much land did your parents own?

maryna petrivna: You see, my parents were landowner’s serfs, so they

didn’t own land. After serfdom was abolished, the village was named Popivka. My mother wasn’t married to my father yet, and my father’s parents were serfs. – Do you remember the name of the landowner? maryna petrivna: No. – Was he a Pole or a Ukrainian?

Before Collectivization

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maryna petrivna: I don’t know; I wasn’t born yet. After serfdom was abolished, my grandfather went to work everywhere. He used to go far away to do various jobs to earn money for his children. I think he went as far as Tomsk, but I’m not sure. This was before I was born. – What did your father do? maryna petrivna: My father started buying land in Lytvynivka. Then the children – my siblings – started earning money because they were poor. Where they worked, they were paid nothing. After they started buying land, we started keeping cows. I used to graze the cows and we would get chased away from there; they didn’t let us be. – Who was chasing you away? maryna petrivna: The local shepherds said, “Graze your cattle in Popivka.” I wasn’t chased away when I grazed cows, but my brothers were. We had two cows and some calves. – Did you have a garden here? maryna petrivna: My three brothers settled here. They used to be serfs and then moved here. At the time, you’d save some money and buy three-quarters of a hectare. People used to get three-quarters of a hectare of land if a boy was born, but our brothers didn’t get the land because they were serfs. So, they saved money and would buy land if someone was selling. This is how we got a plot of land in the field. – Where did they get the money to buy land? maryna petrivna: My three older brothers worked for rich people. They had an agreement to be paid with clothes and money. My father would take their earnings to buy land. He himself worked for a rich man who lived down the road. That man was later dispossessed and all of his family died. My father worked for him and would come home for the night. – Was he a rich man? maryna petrivna: Well, yes. He had a lot of land and hired workers. My father helped with the cattle. He had to make a living because he was taking his children’s money to buy land since we didn’t get any. I had three brothers; I wish we had grown to own two hectares, but it was not meant to be because my brothers were serfs. Hanna Petrivna Honcharenko (Kharkiv region) – Did your parents have a large family? hanna petrivna: There were seven children. With my father and mother – a total of nine people. – Did your grandparents live with you?

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hanna petrivna: No, we lived at their place until my father built a house

nearby. – Who was the head of the household? hanna petrivna: My father was the oldest. When we lived at my grandfather’s, he was the head of the household, too. – How much land did your parents own? hanna petrivna: My grandfather had more land. He was a beekeeper, a gardener, and a fisherman. He also had his mill. He was very hard-working. … – When your grandfather was a landowner, did he hire any workers? hanna petrivna: Mostly he worked on his own. His sons were helpful. Maybe he hired someone once in a while. Then one of his sons died in the war. – When your grandfather owned a mill, did the local people come to him to grind the grain? hanna petrivna: Of course. – How did they pay? hanna petrivna: I don’t know. We didn’t need bread so much since we had seven desiatyny. We baked bread and took it to Liubotyn to sell. At the time we had enough bread to feed two cows and piglets. What would we do with more bread? We worked hard, got up early in the morning, and slept on a cart not to miss the bread delivery. Motria Fedorivna Hrytsyna (Sumy region) – When was life better?

motria fedorivna: During the tsar’s reign. The cost of twenty-eight

inches of cotton was ten kopeks. When I grew up, the tsar’s currency was no longer in use. The tsar was overthrown, and the Duma was set up. I got some fabric, but it was not enough to make a shirt. My father gave me ten gold coins. He lived in the city for thirty years and knew all the Jews and all the merchants. He said, “Go see a Jew. He’ll give you the fabric.” – Were there many stores? motria fedorivna: Yes, many. The stalls would go on and on, and they all would call out “What would you like?” – “I’d like a shawl, a large kerchief.” I bought high-heeled boots and enough cotton to make dresses and skirts. We lost so much money. God forbid. My mother used to buy and sell lard in town. I agreed to go to town with them at the time. They’d lock me up in the house for the day, and when they’d come back from work, they’d let me out and I’d run away. …

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– Were there many markets [before collectivization]? motria fedorivna: Yes, there were because the landowners would come. People from the villages would bring chickens and milk. – Were they proud that they were rich? motria fedorivna: No. They treated common people with respect. My uncle would take the chickens and say, “Marusia, let’s go to town.” When there, he’d unharness the horses and announce, “The Firebird, the Firebird!” Three chickens died of suffocation on the way. He goes, “Nothing wrong with that. You would have had to cut them either way.” And so, we sold them. – How much did he charge for a chicken? motria fedorivna: Under a ruble. A hen would cost a ruble, and a smaller chicken would be seventy kopeks. I bought all I needed: cotton, boots, and herring. Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – How much land did your father have before the kolhospy? sofia tymofiivna: Not a lot. He had a mill with a set amount of grain that people paid to have their grain ground, in place of money. This is how he made a living. During the famine, there was nothing. – So, when people came to use his mill, they didn’t give him money? sofia tymofiivna: No, they paid with grain – either a large bowl (koriak) or a bucket (mirchuk). – Did they pay with wheat? sofia tymofiivna: Whatever grain they brought to the mill. – So, your father could have less land but get enough food supply from the mill? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. Later on, we got married and left. … – Was your father in charge of the family money? Did he go to market fairs? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, he used to go to market fairs and he had some money. He used to sell plums and apples. We had a large garden with apples, plums, and cherries. They would go to a market in Shpola. Sometimes he’d take one of the guys to look after the horses. He would bring home some goods like cotton for shirts and skirts. … – Did all of your family live in one house or did you have two houses? sofia tymofiivna: We lived in one house. Later on, we got married and left. – What else was in your farmstead? sofia tymofiivna: Three types of sheds: povitka (tool shed), klunia (barn), and komora (grain storage). One of them was very good and was

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taken to the kolhosp nearby. It’s still there, but I don’t know where exactly. Our wooden barn is in the village somewhere around the training school. … – Did young boys and girls work as day laborers before the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: Some went as hired workers, and some stayed at home. – Did your father hire someone at times to help at the mill? sofia tymofiivna: No, he didn’t. My husband Oleksa used to help out after we got married. My father was old, so he’d fill in for him once in a while. Marko Mykolaiovych Demchenko (Sumy region) – What did your father do?

marko mykolaiovych: He was a khaziaiin; he was in charge of his farmstead. – Did he own any land?

marko mykolaiovych: I wish! We were eight people, and my father

alone was in charge. We only had three hectares. They used to give allotments if you had a son, and my father had five daughters. – Did he make enough to feed the family? marko mykolaiovych: We lived with God in our hearts. My father was a believer, an Orthodox Christian. – Where did he get the money? marko mykolaiovych: They worked. My grandfather didn’t have breakfast until he threshed a stack of hay with a chain. We didn’t have the money to hire a thresher. My father was lower than a seredniak, but they worked and earned. They had a cow and a horse. At four o’clock my grandfather would be packing millet or buckwheat in the field. The girls used to help when they got old enough. … – Did you have an orchard? marko mykolaiovych: Yes, but we didn’t sell the fruit. – Did they have any hired workers? marko mykolaiovych: No. We had enough work just for ourselves. – Did your father have an additional job somewhere? marko mykolaiovych: He was a beekeeper. He had seventeen hives. We had enough honey for our family. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – How much land did you have [1920s]?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: After the landowners with large holdings

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were evicted and the land sold to the people, we had six hectares for eight people in our family. We worked the land and sowed hemp. – What else did you sow? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Rye and wheat and the small sunflowers to make the oil that we used to fry meat. That was a real joy. And sugar – my mother would buy it only for kutia (a boiled wheat and honey/sugar mixture eaten ritually in honor of the dead). – Was life difficult? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes, poverty. We worked and worked all the time. Before the kolhospy, there were khaziaii that ran oil mills; people used to go there to press oil from seeds, and they paid the oil mill owner for that. – Was this in your village or did you have to go somewhere else? yevdokia mytrofanivna: It was three villages away from here. – Your father plowed and sowed. Did he have any trade? yevdokia mytrofanivna: No, he only reaped, plowed, and sowed. – Where did you go to the market fairs? yevdokia mytrofanivna: There was a small market in a nearby village and a bigger one in Shpola. – Did you go every Sunday? yevdokia mytrofanivna: No. – How did you get there? yevdokia mytrofanivna: He had horses and a cow, that’s all. – Did you keep pigs or geese? yevdokia mytrofanivna: We had pigs, and if there was a piglet, we’d eat it right away. We didn’t have any geese. – Were you considered seredniaky? yevdokia mytrofanivna: I think so. – Who was referred to as kurkuli? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Those were the ones who were dispossessed. They had a car, for example. The landowners’ fields were sold for payments to be made in installments; you had to sow and work the land. … – Did you work the land on your own or did you hire someone? yevdokia mytrofanivna: We didn’t have money to pay day laborers, so we worked on our own. I was about ten years old, but I already drove oxen on my uncle’s plow. This uncle was better off than others, and our father had a family: six children and two old people. One day when I was driving my uncle’s oxen, I fell and the oxen stomped on my feet.

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Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region) – Did your father own any land? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, 6.5 desiatyny, that’s six hectares or two allotments (nadel). This land was family property until 1924. Landowners got to keep their land, whatever they had at the time. In 1924, during the Soviet regime, a land reform was introduced to allot land to everyone. Each homestead got a plot. … – How did the family make a living when your father was alive? andrii hryhorovych: We lived off the land. Let’s say we lived that way until 1928, the time of nep (New Economic Policy). Lenin introduced the plan for electrification and industrialization of the country. So, we lived during the nep until 1928. After the Revolution – just like right now – everything was gone from the stores. Nothing was left because at the time in Sumy there was private property in several families: Struhatski, Makashovy, and Kulishovy. Most of them were Jews, merchants. They owned goods and kept them in their basements; therefore, they allowed nep . That is to say that I have the right to open a store, but to do so, I need the means. Some people would sell their horse or give up their land. He would go there and obtain credit. From there, he would bring herring, cotton cloths, and leather goods to sell. The financial department steps in – a patent and a registration certificate. … My cousin’s husband opened a store. We had many children in our family, and my mother went to him asking to take me in and give me some work. For the next three years, I worked in his store with the machine oil and kerosene and earned some money. At the time, the currency was changing: kerenki [paper notes valued at twenty or forty karbovantsi – trans.] and [Tsar] Nikolai’s currency disappeared, and the coins were introduced only in 1922. For a while, there was no money to buy things. For example, I needed to pay for horseshoes, sugar, or nails. Before 1928 we used a different metric system: versta (vs. kilometer), arshin (vs. meter), and pound (vs. kilogram). The current metric system was introduced in 1928. Prior to that, a mile was equal to eight versta, a versta was five hundred fathoms, a fathom was three arshin [71.12 cm], and an arshin was sixteen vershok. I learned this when I was in school seventy-five years ago, so it stayed in my memory. For instance, you need to buy a pound of sugar, which cost twenty-eight kopeks. Where could you get twenty-eight kopeks? My sisters (who lived long lives and died just recently) used to go to Kortsakovka to weed the beets for the sovkhoz [state farm], and they were paid fifty kopeks per day. They would get paid in the evening of the same day. There was no accounting office. They were given lunch, and in the

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evening, they’d have dinner at home. The round trip was seven kilometers, and she would earn fifty kopeks. A pound of sugar (400 grams) was twentyeight kopeks. How much sugar did she make? – 1.5 pounds. At the time, we were not paid with money, like these days. Some people have a salary, and others – their pension money. The radhosp didn’t have any money, and they would pay at the end of the year: three to five tons of grain. He would keep two cows and pigs. He could sell something and have money at home. A day laborer would be paid monthly, but this person would get paid once a year, and it would be enough for the whole year. So, let’s say someone who didn’t work anywhere has to buy some grease to fix the wheels to the cart so they don’t squeak. He would take two boxes of grain and carry them on his back to the private store owner. They would weigh the grain; sixteen kilos of grain cost fifty kopeks. The store owner would take the grain and send it away for sale. At first, there was a tax on produce (prodrazviorstka), which was applied to more well-off residents. Suppose someone brought thirty-two kilos of grain to sell and in return he took five pounds of kerosene, five kopeks each, or a kilogram of herring, which was thirteen to fourteen kopeks per pound (400 grams). This was cheap compared to the price he paid with his grain and the amount of labor he put into harvesting sixteen kilos of grain. So, you gave them sixteen kilos of grain and you got four hundred grams of herring in return. You brought the herring home where you have seven people; how would you divide the herring between them all? You could only look at a herring, but you ate simple potatoes. That was life. … andrii hryhorovych: Fabric would cost fifty kopeks for an arshin. Everyone sowed 0.1 hectare of flax on their land, ten by ten fathoms. Then people would thresh the flax and hemp, soak the fiber, and spin yarn all winter long (you would see so much dust in the house against the sunlight). Then they would weave, bleach the cloth, and sew a shirt. It was good and coarse. If you scratched yourself a bit, your skin would bleed. … andrii hryhorovych: After my father died, my mother was in charge of the family. She was in charge of the money, if there was any. She would be paid with a bar of soap or a spool of thread for her work. – When you got five desiatyny, who worked this land? Andrii Hryhorovych: When my brother left, the other one, Ivan (he died four years ago; I just got a letter from his wife), sowed the land. He had a disability in his hands after the war. When he left in 1926 or 1927, my mother and I sowed by hand for two years. We had a cow, several sheep, and one piglet. … – How did your family make a living?

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andrii hryhorovych: We ate bread and would sometimes cull a calf. When he finished studying, my brother would make boots for us. He studied to be a tailor for two years in Kondratovka, and he sewed for people. They would bring the materials, and he would charge two rubles for a pair of boots. There weren’t many tailors. Some people knew how to make boots, shirts, pants, jackets, or prepare the vine. You had to have the raw materials for all this. There were also blacksmiths, carpenters, wheelwrights, and coopers. If I had some metal, I would take it to the cooper so he could make me a barrel or fix an old one. A cooper would work with the materials that people brought him; he didn’t have his own. He would have to go to the forest if he were to get his own materials. Mykhailo Antonovych Diachenko (Cherkasy region) – Did your father own any land? mykhailo antonovych: Yes, up to a desiatyna. He was considered poor, but he lived quite well because he was a fisherman and had an orchard. Everyone in the village used to have an orchard before the kolhospy, but the village burned down during the Revolution in 1918. … – What did people do before the kolhosp? mykhailo antonovych: They farmed, tended their orchards, and made barrels. Each person had oxen and horses; everyone had a cart, a cultivator, harrows, and a thresher – those were necessities. – Where did they get money to buy clothes? mykhailo antonovych: They would sell fruit. They’d ship the fruit to Kyiv by boat. Fishing was also common. … – Were the people self-sufficient? mykhailo antonovych: Easily. No doubt about it. We had our own mills; people cured leather and made boots; they wove cloth, too. Now there’s no self-sufficiency, but back in the day if you needed to buy a bucket, there were blacksmiths in the village who made buckets and barrels. The Romani people would come to the village. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Did your parents go to the market fair?

andrii solomonovych: My father used to make washtubs from willow

trees (nochvy). My grandmother would go to a market in Valky every Sunday, and my mother was busy working with clay. She dug the yellow clay out of the soil and made lids (pokryshechky, balabushky).

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– What were these lids for?

andrii solomonovych: To fix the mud ledges in the house. – What did she cover with the lids though? andrii solomonovych: They were not actual lids. They were a type of ware that my mother used to sell the clay. – So, she used them as measuring cups to sell the clay? andrii solomonovych: Yes. – How much did your father charge for the washtubs? andrii solomonovych: A box of matches cost 0.5 kopeks at the time, and now it costs five hundred rubles. I don’t know how to tell the price for washtubs. – How much was one washtub? andrii solomonovych: I can’t say. It was long ago. … – Did you have an orchard near the house? andrii solomonovych: Not near the house. We bought land in the forest (about five desiatyny) and we made an orchard there. It was a good orchard and we had two drying cabinets where we would dry apples and pears for compote in the summer and winter. They would dry the fruit and store it in the shed. – Did you eat or sell the dried fruit? Andrii Solomonovych: Both. We had a large family. If you made a large pot of compote, a family of nine would finish it the same day. You had to make a new one every day. Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – How much land did your father own before collectivization? yakiv mykhailovych: 2.5 desiatyny. He had a sister Tetiana who was married. He built a house in the khutir where I was born, but my brother Oleksa was born in the village. – Did you have any cattle? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes: bulls, cows, horses, and sheep. We didn’t have any goats. Before we had any horses, we used bulls [to pull] a cart. – Did you have tools? yakiv mykhailovych: A cart, a harrow, and a plow. We used to lease half the plot from a poor man. My father was in charge of the farmstead. – Did your father have any trade in addition? yakiv mykhailovych: No, he only worked the land. – When you went to a market, what were you selling? yakiv mykhailovych: A calf or piglets.

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… – How did your family make money? yakiv mykhailovych: We went to work in a garden. There was a furnace for melting tar and an orchard. We’d go to an orchard to tend the trees and make the wooden wheel rims (obiddia). I made wheel rims. – How did you make the wheel rims? yakiv mykhailovych: We used long wooden planks from ash trees and a large pit (parnia) with a large boiler dug into the ground. It was covered so as to form a burrow, and we would put the wood into it. We’d use wood to steam the rims and put the rims right into the boiler; the burrow was blocked by bricks from the outside to keep the steam inside. The boiler was filled with water and wooden planks were placed on top. They were steamed; the firewood would go into a pit underneath the boiler to keep it boiling. The boiler was made of metal; it was very wide. The wooden planks were stacked one on top of the other up to the ceiling. You had to steam the rims so that they would bend because otherwise they could break. A rim was round and had a hole in it; four of us would roll the rim and fix it in position. When this was done, you would fix the end and the beginning with wires. Then it would be left on the wheel for four days to cool down. Then we would put the finished rims into the barn and start making the new ones. The finished wheel rims would be displayed outside the barn. The village carpenters were the ones who made these wheel rims. A man who needed four wheels for his cart would come: “Who can make me a wheel?” – “Ivan Depevianko.” He would take the ash rims to that person to have the spokes and the axis installed. – What were the spokes made of? yakiv mykhailovych: Ash tree. It’s been twenty years since we stopped working in the steaming workshop. – When you were young, were you paid? yakiv mykhailovych: We made a living making wheel rims. We could make a thousand or twenty of them. Then they’d be sold, and we’d get paid. – How much did they pay you? yakiv mykhailovych: How much did they pay at the time? You could get six rubles, and a loaf of bread cost five kopeks. The forestry owned the steaming workshop because all the lumber came from the forest other than the tires and kukshi [local word, unknown] that would go into the brake pads (kolodky). The axis was made of metal; if it were made of wood, it wouldn’t work that well. Wood was cut only in the winter because if the tree sap remained in it, worms would appear in the wood in the cold months. – What did you use to make brake pads? yakiv mykhailovych: A two-handle iron saw. Then we would make

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brake pads and the spokes. We sat on a long bench (oslin) and used an ax and a lathe when we worked with the wood. – Was there one steam-powered workshop in the village? yakiv mykhailovych: There was one in our village and one in Mozolivka. Frosyna Sylvestrivna Zelenetska (Vinnytsia region) – How much land did you own?

frosyna sylvestrivna: We had about seven hectares. The landowner

disappeared somewhere, and the land was divided between the people. We had eleven people and nine hectares of land. – Was your father considered to be a hospodar? frosyna sylvestrivna: Of course. If he wasn’t a hospodar, he would not have been dispossessed. We worked our land by ourselves. We used to sow a lot of grain at the time: rye, barley, wheat, and mixed grains to feed the cattle. We had a pair of horses, a cow, sheep, pigs, geese, and hens. We also had all the tools. One time, a poor man came and asked to plow his field because he didn’t have any cattle; some people did this. I don’t remember that we would lend him our tools. He didn’t do any work in return or pay us; he asked just like that. I can’t recall anyone working for us; we did everything on our own. – What did you sell? frosyna sylvestrivna: We didn’t have any surplus to sell because we had the cattle and the family to feed. … – Were you considered seredniaky? frosyna sylvestrivna: No, we were called khaziaii. If we had been a bit lower in status, we wouldn’t have been dispossessed. We had good horses and good clothes. Our family wasn’t lazy in any way. We worked and earned what we had. – Were there many khaziaii in the village? frosyna sylvestrivna: I could count them on the fingers of one hand: us, uncle (vuiko) [mother’s brother – trans.] Karpo, my father’s brother, Aunt Motria, Aunt Hanna, Todosii Rudy, Taras Dorosh, and someone else, I can’t remember who it was. There was no commerce of any kind, only our labor. Kateryna Kostiantynivna Zoria (Kharkiv region) – Where did your father sell his pottery? kateryna kostiantynivna: He took it to Vilshana and Kharkiv. There was a market in Vilshana and private stores in Kharkiv where he supplied the pitchers.

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– Were there many potters in the village? kateryna kostiantynivna: Yes, many. – Five to seven families, would you say? kateryna kostiantynivna: I can’t say for sure, but probably more than five families. There were some in Valky, too. … – Did you sometimes help your father make the pots? kateryna kostiantynivna: No, I only helped with finishing. A pot was covered with tar; you’d buy the lead and ochre dye. The lead was melted. We helped out with these jobs. – Both you and your brothers? kateryna kostiantynivna: My brothers helped, too. – Did your father do this in the fall or in the winter? kateryna kostiantynivna: Whenever he had the time. He had seven hectares and had to work the land. – Where would he dry the pots in the summer? kateryna kostiantynivna: There were wooden planks, and we also dried them above the sleeping ledge of the oven. – In the potter’s workshop or in the house? kateryna kostiantynivna: No, the pots were not dried in the house because they would dampen the air. – And in the summer? kateryna kostiantynivna: In the summer, the pots dry outside in the sun. – Was anything painted on them or any reliefs added? kateryna kostiantynivna: Not back in the day. Some were made of red clay, and on them other specialists used to paint patterns. – Were the pots glazed? kateryna kostiantynivna: Yes. You’d cover the pot with tar, then melt the lead, and add two or three glasses of ochre and one glass of lead. You’d use a tool to spread the tar and powder the pot with the mixture. We used to do this kind of work. – What did your father give you for this work? kateryna kostiantynivna: What did he give me? He would make a wooden bed (we still have it), a cabinet, and a dresser. – Did he make them on his own? kateryna kostiantynivna: Oh, no. He bought the wood planks, and the masters came to our house to make furniture. My father gave me furniture as a gift when I was getting married. – Did your father have horses and take pots to the market to sell?

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kateryna kostiantynivna: He didn’t sell them; he would only deliver them to Vilshana or Kharkiv. – Where did he sell them in Kharkiv? kateryna kostiantynivna: There were resellers. – What were the taxes like? kateryna kostiantynivna: I don’t know that.

Marfa Kindrativna Zubaly (Cherkasy region) – How many hectares of land did your parents have?

marfa kindrativna : My father didn’t have much land. The vegetable

garden was nice and large, but the plot of arable land was small: one desiatyna and 0.5 hectares. We used to sow hemp there. Why did we have so little land? My mother was from a very rich household; her mother had seven hectares of land; she had three daughters and two sons. They divided the land between the children: each son got two desiatyny, and each daughter – one desiatyna. My mother, however, got nothing because they were angry at her for marrying a poor man. This is how it was back then. Later on, her brothers gave my mother one desiatyna. My in-laws had more land. – Did they have any cattle? marfa kindrativna: My in-laws had two horses, a cow, and a calf. They had sons who worked digging the ground at construction sites (hrabari). They would bring the cattle and walk to work. The construction site jobs ended later on, and they were told to join the kolhosp. Then I got a cow carrying a calf, so we had two horses and two cows. – Did you have any sheep? marfa kindrativna: No. Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region) – How much land did your parents have before collectivization? mykhailo hryhorovych: Up to five hectares. They also inherited a separate vegetable garden far away in the field. My father was originally from a line of chumaks [legendary long-distance traders who used carts harnessed by oxen – ed.]. My great-grandfather Andrii Stepanovych Ivanchenko had twelve pairs of oxen. They were kept in a winter barn in that same garden. … – Did your grandfather have a trade? mykhailo hryhorovych: He only worked in the farmstead. He also had a bee house in the garden, and they would put the beehives into a pit near the

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house (trymnyk). The round beehives were made from one log (dublianky). … – Was there a garden near the house? mykhailo hryhorovych: Of course there was one near the house, and there was also a separate one. The chumaks used to settle on our circular street; they would set up their dwellings in a round shape, similar to the one they set up in the steppes during the night. This is why the street is circular. It’s called Ivanchenkivsky corner. – How was the farmstead managed before collectivization? mykhailo hryhorovych: I remember. My father used to take me into the field with him when I was five, and his field was behind this garden. He would plow the field while I watched the ox. I was in a cart, and he used the horses to plow. I remember that we also had a cart, and my mother and I would go into the field on our own. I also remember how we used to go to the market; we had good horses. My father had a millet huller. The millet huller was powered by the horses. All of this was taken into the kolhosp. – Did people come to your father’s homestead to use the equipment? mykhailo hryhorovych: Yes, he would charge a certain measure of grain (mirchuk) as was common at the time. I remember there were twelve windmills in the village. – Was there one owner or several? mykhailo hryhorovych: Each windmill had one owner. I remember this activity very well. My friend Petro Karpenko and his father were millers, and I used to spend time at their mill quite a lot. The third floor of the mill was particularly interesting: it would hoot and shake as if it were a ship. … – What did your parents sell at the market? mykhailo hryhorovych: Bread grains, piglets, and everything that the village as a whole was producing. They would buy different clothing items; often they would have clothes ordered and sewn in the village. There was also a carousel at the market and the smithies. As soon as you enter the outskirts of Zvenyhorodka, every corner has a smithy. People could fix a wheel or a tire. – Where were the markets set up at the time? mykhailo hryhorovych: In villages: Katerynopil, Talne, Zvenyhorodka – those were all our markets. – Were there specific market days? mykhailo hryhorovych: I don’t remember exactly. I think Friday was market day. The fall markets especially were very crowded and bustling. There were booths and tents, and people would come from different towns. This was during nep and private trade.

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Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – Did your father have a field?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: Yes, but not a lot: about a hectare and about 0.7 hectares in the steppes. – Did he have any cattle?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: A horse and a cow. – Any pigs?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: Yes, one – to breed piglets. – What about bees?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: No. We had little land, so my father

would go to other people to harvest crops. He would reap the crops and get every sixth or seventh sheaf in return for his work, depending on the owner’s rules. – Did he help harvest the crops in his village? mykhailo yevdokymovych: In his village or in Krasne; it was called Panske at the time. Their land was behind our land, near Chornobai. He had a barn and a well there. – Was this at your father’s place or at that of the khaziaii? mykhailo yevdokymovych: At the khaziaii. We would go there when I was six or seven. They had a steam-powered thresher, and my father helped with threshing and sowing. – Did he sow by hand? mykhailo yevdokymovych: No, he had a seeding machine. – What was the name of the khaziaiin? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Vasyl Petrovych Klymenko. – Did you and your mother help your father? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Of course. During the harvest, my mother and father both worked there, and I would be helping out with the rake. … – Do you remember where your parents went to the market? mykhailo yevdokymovych: The market was held in Irkliiev. – Did your parents sell anything at this market? mykhailo yevdokymovych: They would buy and sell, including the cattle. People would come here from Moscow to buy the production animals for meat. We had large bulls here, good for plowing, weighing about eight quintals each.

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Valentyna Ivanivna Ilchenko (Vinnytsia region) – How much land did you have? valentyna ivanivna: Up to twelve desiatyny, I suppose. It’s like 1.5 hectares in each hand. – What does “1.5 hectares in each hand” mean? valentyna ivanivna: It was called a pishak [an old, unofficial Ukrainian land measure equal to 0.5–5 hectares.] This is how field and homestead land was measured. Kalen had this much of arable land: winter crops (ozymyna), spring (yaryna), and grazing time (toloka). They used crop rotation: one year was winter crops, next – spring crops, and the third year – the land would rest and be used to graze the cattle. This was called “a pishak in each hand.” … – What was your farmstead like before collectivization? valentyna ivanivna: My father had two horses (a horse had a foal that would follow the cart everywhere) and a cow. There was usually a bull, too. We wanted to sell the previous year’s calf but then decided to keep it and let it mature. I used to graze these bulls. The following year, the bull started going after the cows, so the local boys would scold me, “Take your bull away from our cows.” – Who grazed the horses? valentyna ivanivna: As a rule, I was not entrusted with the horses. – What kind of work did girls do in the house? valentyna ivanivna: Girls did everything in the house – swept the floor and helped their mother to coat the clay floor (mastyny). It was an obligation to help my mother; she was very ill. … – How much land did your family have? valentyna ivanivna: A pishak of the field and the backwater; the field was in Korotyn. We had over fifteen hectares, up to twenty hectares. – What did your father do aside from working the land? valentyna ivanivna: He could do everything. – Did he have a beehive? valentyna ivanivna: Not at the time. He had a beehive when he got older. He had to make a harness and tie the cattle somewhere. Sowing hemp was mandatory every year; hemp grain rendered very good oil. – Was there an oil mill in the village? valentyna ivanivna: No, we used to go to Havryshivka. – Did your father go to the market? valentyna ivanivna: Yes. – How many times per week?

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valentyna ivanivna: Not every day. The market was held once a week

on Thursdays if one had to sell or buy something. – What did he sell? valentyna ivanivna: We had many pigs and a piglet that was bred for lard. We had several piglets, so when we’d slaughter one, the next ones could go into feeding. There was a separate barn for this piglet; the other ones were in another part of the barn. They were fed well, with nettle, weeds, and whey. We had a good cow, and it gave lots of milk. We would collect cream in clay pots and make butter, and buttermilk would be used to make porridge. – What did your father sell at the market? valentyna ivanivna: He planted many pear trees and had five wild fruit trees. He grafted five types of winter apples. These are the kinds that are easy to store over longer periods of time – large, white apples. – Did you dry the plums? valentyna ivanivna: My father did, and we had a large drying cabinet. We had a cellar dug out in the ground with ovens inside. The ovens were covered with clay, so the soil would not fall in, and the bread was baked inside. There were many widows in the village after the imperial war, and they would come to my father, “Ivan Hryhorovych, would you buy a pear from me, so it doesn’t rot?” – “How much?” – “Pay what you wish.” He would go there with a cart, and everyone, young and old, gathered the pears into a cart. My father probably slept for one hour a day. He would always sleep near the drying cabinet because he had to change and turn the wood. – What did he do with these pears later on? valentyna ivanivna: The Jewish merchants would come and buy them. My father had a horse cart and would take the produce to the market. People used to buy dried fruit very well at the time. The townsfolk did not have drying cabinets. – What else did he sell? valentyna ivanivna: We had a large garden with many apples, so he would sell apples and pears. The good pears would not go into the drying cabinet; he would sell them instead. This was prior to collectivization. After collectivization, he was accused of selling pears [i.e., illegally]. Fedora Terentiivna Karakai (Cherkasy region) – Did your father have a lot of land?

fedora terentiivna: He had little land.

– What did he do?

fedora terentiivna: He had oxen and cows. We also had horses at the time, and a young stallion that was so fast that my grandfather wasn’t able to

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hold him back. We exchanged him for some buckwheat flour in the kolhosp. They took our stallion and gave us an unreliable horse. – Did your father have tools? fedora terentiivna: He worked for other people, too. Children go to school now, but back in the day they would go to work. I used to go to the forest to plant [trees?]. I’d walk on my toes to seem taller so I would be allowed to work. They paid ten kopeks per day. At sixteen, I went to Horodyshche to work for a landowner with large holdings (ekonomiia) that produced potatoes. We would dig potatoes and put them into baskets and then load them onto a wagon that took them to the landowner’s holdings. Before the war, my grandfather bought grain alcohol from somewhere and got so drunk that it seemed like fire was coming out of his mouth. I made a liquid from horse manure, and it seemed to help him. … – Were there any potters? fedora terentiivna: Yes. One made such nice pots that we hired him and brought him the clay to use. The pots were so thin. We would fire them and take them to Zazirria to sell where we’d set up our cart with the horses. He would make the pots, and we would sell them. We paid him, but he came with his own potter’s wheel. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – Did your father have any land? yevdokia ivanivna: My grandfather had land, my father’s father. My mother’s father had land, too. My grandfather had five sons, and he would buy land from time to time. Then the sons got married and moved away, and the landowners started leaving, too, so the landowners sold or leased their land, and the village people bought it. Sometime in 1917, my father bought two hectares of land from the landowners with large holdings. Kost Petrovych Kovalenko (Sumy region) – Where would you get the money to buy something? kost petrovych: There was a lending society, I remember this. They executed [unclear in the Ukrainian text], so the people would borrow wooden planks or a winnowing machine. – Where could one get cash? kost petrovych: You would sell grain and buy something. We had merchants in Myropillia: shoemakers, woodworkers, house painters, and blacksmiths. There were many smithies here, and they worked day and night. There

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were also many potters, but not anymore. At the time, you’d use a clay pot to make food, and it was delicious; you could also warm up milk. I also had some jars, which I gave to my daughters-in-law. Now there’s nothing. Trokhym Savovych Kozub (Cherkasy region) – Did your father have his own farmstead before collectivization? trokhym savovych: Yes, my mother and father were hospodari [here, “landowners”] and managed their money. My father and I were coopers. We made barrels of various sizes. We had an orchard, so we made wine barrels. – How much land did your father have? trokhym savovych: He had 0.75 hectares and one more hectare, and he had a trade. He was a good cooper and a carpenter. – Did your father have any siblings? trokhym savovych: One sister. – What else did your father do besides work the land? trokhym savovych: He had a trade. He would buy oak tree material from the forest and make things out of it in winter. The products would dry over the summer. He would make water buckets small and large, and small and large barrels. We had a very good marketplace. We would sell the goods in the regional administrative center Horodyshche. – Did you sell them in the village, too? trokhym savovych: In the village, the people would come to our house to place orders. We worked and tended the farmstead. People lived as they could. They paid house insurance and expenses to feed the pigs. – Did your father have a workshop? trokhym savovych: He had a barn, and he worked in it. – What instruments did he use when working? Trokhym Savovych: He bought tools. The stores at the time carried all kinds of tools: chisels, handsaws, jack planes, jointer-planes – all kinds of tools. – Were there many coopers in the village? trokhym savovych: About thirteen. – Did people make musical instruments in your village? trokhym savovych: Not in our village, but they used to make balalaiky and guitars in the Chernihiv region. – What did you take to the market to sell? trokhym savovych: Sixteen kg of grain, if there was any extra. If we had cattle and pigs at home, we wouldn’t sell the grain because we had to feed the cattle. … – Where did you get lumber from?

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trokhym savovych: There was a lot of lumber in the forest before collectivization (the oak would be lying around for five years), and it was sold for next to nothing. People would buy it and make barrel staves out of it and anything else they wished. – Did you make any spindles or combs? trokhym savovych: I didn’t but some people did. They would sell them at the markets or take them from village to village to sell. – Did you have an orchard prior to collectivization? trokhym savovych: Yes. I grafted trees in 1927. – Were you forced to pay taxes? trokhym savovych: They counted each tree one by one and imposed a tax. After Stalin died, I paid 1,900 karbovantsi per year. I was sorry to cut down the orchard, and it was also forbidden by the authorities. They would fine those who cut down their orchards. One would chop an acacia by the road and would be fined, too. It was forbidden to cut trees. … – Did the blacksmiths make sickles? trokhym savovych: Yes, and now the factory makes sickles that feel like a saw. Back in the day, a blacksmith would make a great sickle that sounded right. If it was an old sickle, it would create chips and make a hissing sound. – Were there many smithies in the village? trokhym savovych: Six. – Were they considered khaziaii? trokhym savovych: Each had their own smithy. A furnace, a pair of bellows, and two blacksmiths – they could make anything. – Where did they get the wood from? trokhym savovych: In Horodyshche. You could take as much as you wished at the station there. – What are these blades (klynky) called? trokhym savovych: These are used to cut the staves of a barrel. This is called a head. – What were the instruments made of? trokhym savovych: We made them from hornbeam and maple; the beekeepers would order boards; I would buy the hoops at the market. – Did you ever make wooden hoops? trokhym savovych: No one makes them here. I can make a wooden one for you right now out of hazel. We did all kinds of woodwork. … – Where did you get the money if you needed to buy anything? trokhym savovych: Everyone had a trade of some kind. You could find anything at the market, and the prices at the time were nowhere near what we

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have now. Bread was cheaper back then. Sixteen kg of flour cost 1.5 karbovantsi, and no one would buy it because it was considered expensive. – Did you make your clothes on your own? trokhym savovych: Of course. We had looms to weave the fabric; then the fabric was bleached to sew the clothes. People spun yarn because they kept sheep. They would make jackets, pants, and suits. There was no state form of production. – Would you exchange a barrel for other goods? trokhym savovych: Yes, someone wanted one thing, and another – something else. My father would take about twenty wooden barrels with metal hoops to the market in Kherson. People were extremely rich there, and there was a lot of land for grain and wheat. They would pay with a measure of grain. A barrel would normally hold ten buckets of grain. He would bring a barrel of it home, and all the neighbors would come to borrow some because it was two or three weeks before the harvest, and there was nothing to eat. After the harvest, they would give back the grain they had borrowed. Uliana Kyrylivna Kolobotska (Cherkasy region) – What did your parents do before the kolhosp? uliana kyrylivna: They worked the land and had a horse. They didn’t have much land, around two desiatyny. – Who was in charge? uliana kyrylivna: My father was in charge of the money; he was the khaziaiin in the household. – Did you sell anything at the market? uliana kyrylivna: There were many potters, and my father would take the bowls to the market on a horse cart. He would buy them cheaply and resell them at the market. – Was there a garden near the house? uliana kyrylivna: We had a good barn, a shed, lumber, a harrow, a horse, and a cart. We had everything. My father could have lived longer if it weren’t for collectivization. Everything was taken to the kolhosp, which they didn’t want to join. The kolhosp came and took the horse, the plow, and the harrow. My father said, “I worked my whole life, did my best, and lived, and now they’ve taken everything and didn’t give me a penny.” My parents both got weaker soon and died.

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Natalia Stepanivna Kravchenko (Sumy region) – Who was your father?

natalia stepanivna: A peasant who worked the land. Every fall, he

would also go to the Hrazniansky plant to sell sugar beets. – How much land did he own? natalia stepanivna: 1.5 lots. – Did he make enough to live? natalia stepanivna: Yes. He had horses and cows. – Was the land located nearby? natalia stepanivna: All around us. … – Did your grandfather have a lot of land? natalia stepanivna: My grandfather was a working man. We had a bit of land, and we got some more when my father and his children took over the homestead, so in the end we had 1.5 lots. We were considered seredniaky. My father would sow the sugar beets, and my sister-in-law and I would weed, harvest, and transport them together. We would get the money, and our father would buy us something, but he said, “No girls, I won’t buy you anything.” An agricultural society was organized at the time; people put their plows and hoes together. Those who worked in the sugar beet fields got the tools. My father bought a plow, a metal harrow, and a hoe with our money. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko (Kharkiv region) – When your mother would weave for someone, did the people pay her with money or by working in her vegetable garden? fedir yosypovych: I’m not sure. I think they paid with money; no one worked in our garden. We didn’t have much land after the land division: five hectares when collectivization and the dispossessions started. Kostiantyn Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – Did your father have a farmstead? kostiantyn hryhorovych: He was a highly skilled locksmith. He used to gild the domes in churches. I was seven when he died. – How did your family make a living? kostiantyn hryhorovych: After the Revolution, land was allotted, and we had 0.5 hectares. – Did your father farm?

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kostiantyn hryhorovych: No, he wasn’t a peasant; my mother was,

and she worked the land. – Who was in charge of the family? kostiantyn hryhorovych: My mother. When my father was alive, he was in charge. – Were the village residents all peasants or working people, too? kostiantyn hryhorovych: Tradesmen lived in Kyianytsia; they worked in the factory. In the summer, they would be fixing things, and in the fall, they would process the sugar beets. – Where did you get your money from? kostiantyn hryhorovych: The landowner Lieshchynsky paid well. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Poltava region) – Your family didn’t do any other work besides farming, did they? odarka yakivna: They were farmers; we fed the cow, too. – Did you sell anything at markets? odarka yakivna: No. Once in a while we’d sell a calf. A merchant by the name Dorofei would buy it; we didn’t go to the markets. Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – How much land did your father have? danylo yosypovych: One lot. … – Who was in charge in your family? danylo yosypovych: My father. He was a shoemaker, and this is how he made a living. As soon as autumn arrived, he would take the materials and go to Svyniarivka to make shoes for people. He would make three pairs of shoes per day. Then he bought some land; we had three desiatyny after collectivization. – How much was a pair of shoes? danylo yosypovych: I don’t know. – Did he stay overnight in that village? danylo yosypovych: Yes, because it was thirty to forty kilometers away from here. – Whom did he make the shoes for? danylo yosypovych: Well, for the local peasants who lived there. – Did they commission the shoes? danylo yosypovych: Yes, he had a kum [godparent] there, some relatives, and that kum’s kum. He would often go to the market fair in Mlynkivtsi

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held on the Intercession of the Theotokos [14 October]. Sometimes the kum would come, too. – Did your father sell the shoes at the market fairs? danylo yosypovych: No. He would only fix shoes if someone asked. Those places had their own tailors and tradesmen who cured leather. – Why did he go to that other village and not make shoes in his own village? danylo yosypovych: There were other shoemakers here; the village was free. Some villages belonged to the landowners with large holdings [ekonomiia], and some were free from feudal restrictions. Someone from a free village could go anywhere he wanted or where he was invited. – Did you have an orchard near the village? danylo yosypovych: My father had a plum tree orchard. He would always loosen the soil around the trees by digging to make sure the plum trees gave fruit. – Did he sell the plums? danylo yosypovych: Yes, we would take them to Lozov and Dnipropetrovsk. He went there in our horse cart. – Did your father own or borrow horses? danylo yosypovych: He had his own horse. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – Did the women in your village sew their clothes or did they buy clothes in a store? petro ivanovych: Women made shirts, pants, and coats themselves. Almost every homestead had shoemakers and tailors that made shoes. We had Uncle Yakov, so my cousin [the son of Yakov] was both a tailor and a shoemaker. He made clothes for himself and his family, the same with shoes. There were also other tradesmen. The overcoats (kozhukhy) were made here, as well as various fabrics. Sheep hide was also made here, in the village, and the sheep were raised locally. Everything was produced locally. – Did any kind of barter exist? Shoes or clothes? petro ivanovych: Very little at the time. There weren’t many goods to exchange. – Did people sell the shoes or shirts they made at home? Did anyone buy them? petro ivanovych: No, there was no such concept of selling things. People wore the clothes they made on their own. – So, people made clothes just for themselves? petro ivanovych: Yes. Only the rich ones or the merchants could buy something. There was very little fabric on the market. A shirt made of sturdy sailcloth was a rarity. Some were linen, some were home-woven; the overcoats were made of linen, too. Some people made broadcloth and clothes out

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of it. Besides, overcoats were made locally by trained tailors. The village was self-sufficient. You asked if people were selling anything. Yes, they were – not because they had extra produce, but because they had to sell things. Eggs were sold at the time just as they are sold now; people had eggs not to eat but to sell to a merchant. Yevdokia Fedorivna Labaiieva (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember how much land your parents had? yevdokia fedorivna: Land was measured in desiatyny at the time, but I don’t remember how many they had. – What was the economic status of your family? yevdokia fedorivna: Middle, not very poor. My father made overcoats. He cured leather and sewed long overcoats and embroidered the short ones. If we were short on money, he would borrow some from the Jews. My father didn’t work the land; he only owned it. – Were there many such masters in Yaltushkiv? yevdokia fedorivna: Yes, there were also tailors and the shoemakers. Women were sewing for the most part. Jewish women were doing this. – Were there any potters in the village? yevdokia fedorivna: Yes. – What about icon painters? Yevdokia Fedorivna: No. We used to buy the icons. They would bring them to the market in our village. We had two churches: one in the center of the village and the other at the cemetery. One church burned down before the war. Halyna Dmytrivna Lazarenko (Poltava region)

halyna dmytrivna: Can I tell you about the market fairs? – Yes, please.

halyna dmytrivna: The market fairs were very, very big. – Was there one in your village?

halyna dmytrivna: Yes, a big one. My mother would bring ten pounds

of herring to sell, and with the money she earned, she would buy some sour milk or something else. One time she went to Poltava, and the Jews there said to her, “Daria Semonovna, we know you. We’d like to give you two barrels [of herring] to sell.” She didn’t want to at first, but they loaded the barrels onto a cart. So, my mother sold one barrel at the market, and the other barrel remained. At night, she took the money to these Jewish people, and again they loaded [unintelligible] onto her cart. They helped my mother set up a booth where today we have a small convenience store.

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– Was this at the market fair? halyna dmytrivna: She would take the fish to the market fairs, and my father would sell pottery. She used to help him count the pots, and during the lunch break my mother would go around the stalls to buy milk, eggs, and salt. She would also say, “Stop by my booth and bring a cabbage leaf.” People would line up, and she gave each person two herring from the barrel. – Was this barter? halyna dmytrivna: No. She didn’t take anything in exchange. She’d say, “Give the Easter eggs to your children. God gave me this, and I am passing it on to you.” She would take fish from each barrel and just give it away to people. People didn’t have the money, but they brought bread, wheat, or a piece of lard. People used to call us Miss Kindness. “God gave me this, and I give it to you.” Dmytro Danylovych Lisachenko (Kharkiv region) – Who was in charge in your family?

dmytro danylovych: Our mother. She worked more than our father

and was in charge of us all: who did which type of work and how. My father worked in Kharkiv and lived there for weeks at a time. He would come home on Saturday for the weekend to help us and then he would leave on Sunday night for Kharkiv to work Monday through Friday. – Who kept the family money? dmytro danylovych: Our mother. But we didn’t really have any money. My mother would work on the farmstead during the day: we had a cow, a goat, and a mare. Our mother was in charge. She was feeding us, plowing the land, and working there all the time. She also worked for other people as a guard in the melon fields. – When she was plowing, was she the one behind the plow? dmytro danylovych: Yes, she was the one. I was in front leading the horse, and she was behind [guiding the plow]. – How much land did you have? dmytro danylovych: About 0.10 hectares, not much at all. – Did every family in your village work the land? dmytro danylovych: My mother’s father lived in the village and he was a fisherman. We have two rivers – the Novy Donets and the Stary Donets – that were full of fish, catfish the length of a table. He also helped us work the land. My mother had a sewing machine, and she made clothes. We didn’t have any money, so he gave us a sewing machine. He said, “You’ll pay me back later.” The sewing machine stayed in our house. My mother plowed and worked the land during the day so we could have food, and at night she would sew. She

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had many commissions and made skirts and other items for people, whatever they asked for. They paid with whatever they could give. She didn’t sell anything. If we needed something, like slippers, she would make them herself. Iryna Vasylivna Lotosh-Diatlenko (Sumy region)

iryna vasylivna: [My father] made wooden spoons in the winter. He

also fished because the Psol was not far away, and we always had fish at home. When the river would overflow, we would drink water from it; it was fresh. You’d get a bucket of water from the river and go home. … – What did your father do? iryna vasylivna: He was a blacksmith and had his own smithy near the pasture. Before collectivization, we moved the smithy to our house. – Was it a large smithy? iryna vasylivna: With one bellows. He worked alone and had one assistant, a young man. – Did your father pay the assistant? iryna vasylivna: I don’t know. I saw him when we were out taking care of the horses or the cow. I don’t know if he came by himself or if my father called for him. He would make hay for us. He was probably a schoolboy. – Did your father have any land? iryna vasylivna: Yes. He came back from the army with some kind of illness affecting his legs. He had served in the cavalry. He was ten years older than my mother and had an apprentice at the time. He had several fields in three or four places, but the lots weren’t big. – How big, approximately? iryna vasylivna: Probably not more than a desiatyna. We used to help him with the harrow during the sowing. He would sow, and we would drive the harrow. We also plowed on our own. I would drive a horse, and my father would work the plow behind. My mother’s relatives used to come from Tokari to help us reap. They didn’t have any land, so they would come to help us reap and get a bag of wheat or rye in return. … – If your father needed to buy something before the kolhosp times, where would he get the money? iryna vasylivna: He worked and didn’t give any money to my mother. If he earned something and we needed a headscarf or cloth for a suit, he would buy those for us, nothing extra. We kept yellow banknotes in the thatch in the house. The money was found later when the house was dismantled. He wasn’t

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greedy, but he needed the money to buy tar and boots. If he gave the money to our mother, she would buy something for the girls to put into the chest as part of their dowry. Paraska Ivanivna Liubychankivska (Vinnytsia region) – How much land did your father have? paraska ivanivna: Four hectares. – What kind of cattle did he have? paraska ivanivna: Bulls, a cow, sheep, geese, and hens. – Did you work your farmstead on your own or did you hire day laborers? paraska ivanivna: At the time, no one hired day laborers. – How much land did your grandfather have? paraska ivanivna: He had the largest lot in the field – four hectares of felled forest. Then he had four morgens in each hand, and a morgen was equal to 0.6 hectares. He had two morgens behind the ravine, two more near the field in Sapizhanka, and some more near Kalytynka. He had a good deal of land but gave it away to his children when they started getting married. – Did your grandfather hire any day laborers to work the field? paraska ivanivna: Yes, but I don’t remember them. – What crops did he grow in the field? paraska ivanivna: Rye, wheat, oats, peas, mixed herbs, hemp, and potatoes. – Was this all for the family or for sale? paraska ivanivna: Everything at the time was for the family, but those who had a lot of grain would sell it. Jews lived in the village at the time, and they would buy produce. – Do you remember the currency of those times? paraska ivanivna: Mykolai’s [the Tsar’s] money. – Did your parents go to market fairs? paraska ivanivna: Yes. The market fair was in Dzhuryna. We would yoke the bulls and the horses early in the morning and leave for the fair. – Did they sell anything? paraska ivanivna: They would sometimes take wheat to sell and buy what they needed: kerosene, salt, or lard (because we didn’t keep pigs at the time). You see, we had a lot of working animals, but not production animals so we didn’t have our own meat or lard. For some reason, we didn’t keep any pigs. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) Who was in charge of the family? mykhailo pavlovych: My father, of course. He was the only one in the

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family who made any money. He was a merchant. For instance, we would sell cherries [from their orchard] and have money that way. – Were there many tradesmen in the village? mykhailo pavlovych: Blacksmiths, coopers, wheelwrights, and shchnitsery. – Who are the shchnitsery? mykhailo pavlovych: They did the artistic ironwork for the carriages. There was one hereditary shchnitser in Kvitky. – Were there any potters? mykhailo pavlovych: Yes, all of these trades were active. All of this was made for local consumption. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – Did your grandfather own a lot of land? mykola ivanovych: Yes, he inherited twenty stupni [feet?] as they used to say at the time from his father, 0.75 hectares for a three-tier crop rotation system. And he also got twenty hectares throughout his life by working. He worked hard and eventually owned land and horses, everything. … mykola ivanovych: My father was a farmer. He sowed wheat and rye, but we didn’t have any corn or sunflowers. A three-tier crop rotation system was in place: in winter we sowed rye and wheat, and in spring – oats, proso millet, and most of all – buckwheat. … mykola ivanovych: He didn’t have enough time in the day to work the land. When my father got six hectares and the Soviets came, they confiscated two hectares from us. They allotted one hectare per person. We had a cow and a horse, and we worked hard. We would harvest two hundred pounds of grain from a hectare. At the time, we would prepare fallow soil in May. We would plow it and look after it all the time to make sure it was free from weeds. We had our own plow and harrows; sometimes we would bring some compost. There were people who had six herds of sheep, one thousand sheep in a herd. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Did your father have any cattle?

ivan serhiiovych: At first, one cow and one horse, and later on he had two horses, a few pigs, and sheep. – How did he plow? ivan serhiiovych: He used a horse.

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– You didn’t have any oxen, did you? ivan serhiiovych: No. My great-grandfather had oxen because he was a chumak. I’ll tell you how land was divided when serfdom was abolished in 1861. My grandfather was a serf and used four oxen to plow the landowner’s field. The land was divided between those who were serfs. Those who were not serfs would not get any land. This is how the land was divided: a person with two oxen would get six hectares; a person with four oxen would get twelve. Someone who worked without draft animals got three hectares. … – Was there a market fair in your village? ivan serhiiovych: There sure was. There was one in Vilshana where everyone came. The market fair was where we now have a store and a school, and down below was the landowner’s pond. This is where the market was set up. People would sell sheep, pigs, and goats there. Now, on the hill we had oxen, cows, and horses for sale. The Romani people used to sell them. – Did khaziaii sell horses to each other? ivan serhiiovych: Of course. The Romani people resold them; the khaziaii were selling stallions, or they would keep a stallion and sell an older horse. – Did you have merchants who sold meat? ivan serhiiovych The Jewish people sold meat from dry cows, not pork. There was a butcher’s shop. The merchants [gentiles] sold pork. They bought pigs and sold pork; they had very little land. At the time, aged lard was more expensive than fresh, unlike now. There wasn’t a lot of old lard on the market, and it cost thirty kopeks per pound. Fresh lard cost twenty to twenty-five kopeks. One had to have a license. Jews use to sell beer on a Russian license. They paid a certain percentage to some Russians, because the Jews were not allowed to sell beer [on their own]. – Who made the clothes? ivan serhiiovych: Clothes were made locally. Before the Revolution, men didn’t have an overcoat. They only wore a camisole and a jacket without a lining. The overcoat appeared during the Revolution. Before that, it would be made of linen. If a woman was getting married, she had to make pants and a shirt for her husband, children, and herself. People would go to tailors to order overcoats for the children. People also made long linen undershirts for their children once they turned three years old. The child would wear this shirt until he grew up and the shirt reached his belly. One had two such shirts: while one was in the laundry, he would wear the other one. Back in the day, guys would wear a long shirt up until they turned twenty years old. They wore pants when they were drafted into the army. If someone was hiding to avoid army service during Catherine’s reign, he would get caught.

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… – What kind of sheep did you have? ivan serhiiovych: Plain black ones. – You didn’t have any curly-haired ones, did you? ivan serhiiovych: No. The wool from the ones we had was straight, long, and black. – How many times a year did you shear the sheep? ivan serhiiovych: Once a year. We sheared lambs, too. Some people sheared them twice a year, but that wool wasn’t good. It was called kushnirka; it was short and would not fit into the head of a needle. It would tear fast, too. – What did people make from wool? ivan serhiiovych: Overcoats (svytky). There was a fullery. – In your village? ivan serhiiovych: No, they would come from Korsun. A piece of vine the length of a finger would be used as a document. Half of it was given to the owner of the wool and the other half was tied to the woolen cloth. Sometimes letters were used to mark the cloth. Then the cloth weaver would tell people when to come to pick up their finished product. He would come to the market, and people knew where he would be located. They’d come and bring their piece of vine for him to identify their wool. He would match the two halves of a vine stick together to confirm. – Were there overcoats with creases (vusa)? ivan serhiiovych: One crease would be made to distinguish men’s overcoats from women’s. – How did the overcoats look from behind? ivan serhiiovych: They were the same. Every village had a different way of making overcoats. We didn’t have this type of clothing in Petropavlivka. Each village had different styles. In our village Vilshana people made round-shaped blazers made of plush (kruhli kufaiechky z plysom). We didn’t have any godets in our clothes, unlike people in Shevchentsi who used godets and folds from the waist down. We had a tanner, Serioha; he was a master at what he did. – Were the overcoats straight in your village? ivan serhiiovych: They were broader at the top. They were called polushubok or tulubok. Tulubky, however, were not sewn because they weren’t profitable. A kozhukh was popular because one could wear it and use it as a blanket, too. We didn’t have beds at the time, and houses were not built like they are now. There was a storage space for the produce or clothes, the hallway, and then a room with an oven. Next to the oven you had a sleeping ledge. There was no porch, just a large room. …

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ivan serhiiovych: Potters would bring pots to sell at the market in our

village Vilshany. The production itself was in Hnyle, and everyone would come to the market in Vilshany to buy pottery. … – Was there public bidding? ivan serhiiovych: This was in 1919. The Germans burned some structures down; some fell apart; some remained. The soldiers who came back from the war got one horse per two persons. – Were there artisans in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Artisans? There were the Swedish cobblers. The main shoemaker was named Kachan. He used to make knee-high boots from chrome-tanned leather. They cost fifteen rubles. – What type of leather was used to make boots? ivan serhiiovych: Chrome-tanned leather. It was good quality. People would order boots from Kachan, and he chose the leather himself. – Did the cobblers make bast [light, fair weather] shoes? ivan serhiiovych: Not in our village. – What about women’s footwear (morshchni)? ivan serhiiovych: Not in our village. Men and women used to wear rubber overshoes to walk in the snow. – What did people wear in winter? ivan serhiiovych: Boots. – What did they wear in the harvested fields? ivan serhiiovych: They walked barefoot. I worked as a tally clerk, and I would go barefoot to the field, all the time. – Did people make work boots (chuni)? ivan serhiiovych: No. People would walk barefoot, before and after the war. – Were there weavers? ivan serhiiovych: I am a weaver myself. During the Revolution we used to weave two threads by two. We had to weave enough cloth for the pants and the shirt. – Were the pants made of linen? ivan serhiiovych: They were made of wool and hemp. These were the adult pants. – Were they dyed? ivan serhiiovych: Not the woolen ones. People would dye the linen ones. Some used powder, and others – elderflower. There were many weavers. I used to weave cloth, rushnyky [decorative towels], belts, bags, and tablecloths. No one in our village made tablecloths. I was the first to do this. – What patterns did you use to weave the tablecloths?

Before Collectivization

ivan serhiiovych: Two-sided stitches (koropova luska), “buckwheat”

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(hrechechka), “Solanum” (paslin), and a wavy pattern (kryvulka). – Where did you get the red thread? ivan serhiiovych: We used to buy it. – What was it called? ivan serhiiovych: Zapoloch. – How was it sold? ivan serhiiovych: In small skeins. The rough threads (val) were spun from linen on the tablecloth and then bleached in the sun, the same way the cloth is bleached. It would be moistened and spread out on the grass. Once it dried, it was moistened and spread out again – this is when it would turn white. One summer was not enough to whiten it out completely. You had to do this over two summers or else repeat this more frequently over the course of one summer. Young people didn’t do this, but the old ones did. – Describe the rough threads. ivan serhiiovych: They came in skeins, removed from a swift and soaked in water. Then people would spread it on the grass and let it get whitened by the sun. The same goes for rushnyky: the same type of yarn and the same weaving techniques. I donated one rushnyk to our local museum. – Did you make rushnyky or tablecloths for sale? ivan serhiiovych: No. – Any commissions? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. People would bring me the warp (osnova) and yarn (val), and I would weave. – How much were you paid for this? ivan serhiiovych: Before the kolhosp, I was paid thirty kopeks per arshin. I used to weave in the winter and work the land in the summer; I wasn’t married then. – More often, was weaving done by men or women? ivan serhiiovych: Mostly women. I was an apprentice of one weaver in Zhurovka. The old people did this. – How much did you pay that old weaver for the lessons? ivan serhiiovych: I paid, of course. I took half a liter [of alcohol], pickled watermelon, and a kilogram of herring from the store. I went with my acquaintances, “Father, he wants to learn to weave.” He had many students in Zhurovka, but they didn’t learn well. He gave me a long look. I said, “I’m the only one from Vilshany, and I’m not your competitor. I only want to learn.” “Let’s have dinner.” I put a liter [of alcohol] and bread on the table; this was in 1924. He had a drink and said, “Alright, son, if you’re a weaver, I’ll teach you.” He told me how to set up a loom. I wrote it all down and practiced with him; he showed me how to do everything. I was eager to learn, so I learned. I

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gave him a bag of rye, and that was all. Then people started bringing me yarn and I charged them for work. I made one ruble per day. Back in the day, this was good money. I didn’t go to parties. I would just sit and weave. Only on Sundays I didn’t work. I bought my own clothes and shoes. I paid for everything myself. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – What did your father do after 1917? mykyta mykolaiovych: We got land, and a good life began for us. Lenin gave land; we got eighteen hectares. At the time, land was measured in desiatyny. A hectare was less than a desiatyna [a desiatyna is 1.09 hectares]. A German plowed our land. There was also a law – serfdom – land was allotted to men only, not women. Olha Vasylivna Odnoroh (Cherkasy region) – Did you have enough land to provide for yourself?

olha vasylivna: No. My sisters worked in a sugar beet field in Kaharlyk

as day laborers. They went to Zhurovka to earn money. – Where did they get money if they wanted to buy something? olha vasylivna: They worked in the sugar beet fields. They also sold butter at the market. Trekhtemyriv is like a village; they say it was a town in 1916. – Did people have orchards? olha vasylivna: No, this is a current trend. At the time, people mostly had vegetable gardens. There were no apple trees in the village, except in our backyard, so people would come to us to get apples. Our apple tree gave a very good harvest. – Did your father have authority in the village? olha vasylivna: Yes. He had a store and sold goods. He was respected. He had good handwriting and was literate. I don’t know who taught him. Before the Revolution, he used to sell goods in his store. He would buy and sell goods himself. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – Did your grandfather or father have any trade before collectivization? vira trokhymivna : They owned land and farmed; they sowed wheat, oats, and everything. The field was divided between several peasants. There was a specific lot for melons; it was guarded. Then the harvest would be sold elsewhere. They had a trade, too. My father was a very good shoemaker.

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My grandfather, may he rest in peace, could do anything and used to make overcoats (kyreii). When guys were getting married, they also came to him because he could make the best vidloha, the covering for the head. He would cut it and make a svyta (overcoat), too. A young man needed a svyta, and my grandfather used to make these combinations very well. I have a svyta that he made; I cut the sleeves because I used them to make felt boots. – So, the people would come to your grandfather to place orders? vira trokhymivna : Yes. – Did he sell the clothes he made at the market? vira trokhymivna : No, he only took orders from people. His father worked for the landowners sewing overcoats (chemerky); they were also called komzel'ky. When my grandfather swore an oath to serve as a soldier for twenty-five years, his father made him a komzel'ka. One time, the draftees were walking down the street in fetters, and he was walking next to them without the fetters for he wouldn’t run anyway. At the time, if someone ran away from service obligations, he would spend three years or so somewhere instead of his army service, so the next thing for him would be serving as a soldier (soldatchyna). So, when my grandfather was walking with the draftees, landowners were passing by in three carriages with four horses each. Back in the day, the landowners – no matter how high their rank was – would stop and get out of the carriage if a young woman was walking by. She would bow, and the landowner would thank her, give his blessings, and give her something for her wedding. If the draftees were walking by, a landowner would stop, too, to give blessings for their service and a long life. This time, the landowner asked my grandfather, “Why are you wearing a landowner’s komzel'ka?” He said, “It’s not a landowner’s komzel'ka. I’m a son of Ivan Stepanovych Malomuzh who is your tailor, and he made one for me.” – “And why are you walking with the draftees?” – “Because I’m going to serve for twenty-five years in place of my brother; I already swore my oath.” – “Go then.” He gave his blessings, the draftees took a break from their procession, and they parted. – What was the landowner’s name? vira trokhymivna : I can’t remember. – You said, your great-grandfather was a tailor? vira trokhymivna : My father-in-law, too, because my father went to live with my mother’s family. – Who was the one who worked as a tailor for the landowner? vira trokhymivna : My great-grandfather. They all were tailors, and their brothers were woodworkers. They used to make deer horns out of wood, and the landowners even took those horns to Poland for sale. The landowner’s name was Sytnitsky; there were many of them.

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– How did they pay your grandfather for his work? vira trokhymivna : They invited him to weddings and paid with grain for the most part: sixteen to twenty-four kg or so, the pay wasn’t high. – Did they bring their own fabrics? vira trokhymivna : Yes. When a young woman was about to get married, a nice woolen cloth would be made for her. – Did he sew fast? Why did people order the clothes from him since normally the women had to make the clothes themselves? vira trokhymivna : He was good at it. He would make such nice creases on the coats. – When did he sew, in the evenings? vira trokhymivna : Most people used to sew during the winter. People would light an oil lamp in the evening and spin yarn and weave, if they knew how. My grandfather used to sew during the day because it was his job; the stitches on the overcoat had to be even. He would even count them on the dress to know exactly how much wool to use to have even stitches. – Where did he buy thread and needles? vira trokhymivna : Thread was spun from hemp, from linen. My grandmother and mother would spin yarn and make very thin and sturdy thread; they would then twine and dye the threads. – What dyes did they use? vira trokhymivna : Marigolds and carnations. It depended on the use of the thread. Sometimes they used the bark of oak or alder tree. They’d boil the bark in water and place the thread skeins into it. – What about the needles? vira trokhymivna : He bought the needles. They were brought to markets from elsewhere, Poland, I suppose. He used to say that the Polish needles were the best. – Who did he buy them from? vira trokhymivna : There was a store on the site of the present-day bus station. At some point, a Jewish woman named Malka used to sell things there and at another time, it was a market site. It used to be the center of the village with St John the Theologian Church. – Did people in your village weave kilims? vira trokhymivna : Not kilims, but they made blankets and long narrow carpets for the floor. Later on, when the dyes appeared, people started dyeing the thread and weaving in basket style (v klitynku). At the time, almost every house had a loom because one had to weave enough cloth for a shirt, a skirt, a jacket, and a pair of pants. Clothes for the holidays were made from cloth, and everyday wear was made from linen.

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… – What did your mother’s father do? Did he live here in the village? vira trokhymivna : Yes, he was a peasant. – Did he have a trade? vira trokhymivna : They had a trade. Like I said, there were good carpenters and cabinetmakers in our village. My grandfather and his father were tailors. They (the Malomuzh family) lived close to the public pond. Stepan married Yavdokha, Hryhorii’s sister, Taras’s aunt. They had a very big family and worked for the landowner; they were honest workers. The landowner gave them some land in the forest to build a house and live. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region) – Who kept the family money?

ustyna yukhymivna: The money was never hidden; my father was in

charge. – Where did you get the money? ustyna yukhymivna: We sold hens, eggs, and fruit. We had a lovely cherry orchard. We didn’t eat meat or milk during the fasting days. We would make cheese. We also had fish that we bought at the market, a fruit drink (uzvar), and milk from hemp seeds. … – Were there any mills? ustyna yukhymivna: Yes, threshing was done at the mill. There were four mills on a hill; they were beautiful. When you went to the ravine, it felt like you were in another country. – Did people hire any day laborers? ustyna yukhymivna: Sometimes. A day laborer was considered a family member. When I was very little, we had a day laborer. She always played, ate, and slept with us. People were sent as day laborers if they needed to buy something that their family could not afford. Then she left, and I was in charge. A day laborer was treated well. … – What kinds of tradesmen did you have in the village? ustyna yukhymivna: Potters who made lids, pots, jars, and pumpkinshaped pitchers with thin necks. A low barrel was used to make dough. People also made dippers and carved yokes. – Did your father have oxen? ustyna yukhymivna: At one point, yes. – Did he own tools to work the land?

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ustyna yukhymivna: Plows and harrows. Our village was like a state: it had a smithy, there were cobblers, leather tanners, and weavers. Everything was done locally. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – What was your parents’ farmstead like? maria vasylivna: A cow, a calf, up to ten sheep, and two piglets. One would be slaughtered for meat, and the other – sold for various needs. We also had hens; my mother used to say that we didn’t need many. Not more than ten. We had three hectares of land. We were never hungry, and we always had milk, lard, honey, eggs, and apples. … – What did your parents do besides farming? maria vasylivna: My mother used to spin yarn, not for sale, just for us: to make a kilim or what we call riadno (a blanket from coarse wool), bags, and cloth for shirts. I didn’t like those rough shirts and couldn’t wear them. They could never talk me into wearing one because it was so hard on the shoulders. They would buy a thin fabric especially for me and sew a shirt out of it. – Describe how one would work on the loom. maria vasylivna: My mother didn’t weave any patterns. Other women in the village did; they took commissions. My father’s sister was mute and used to weave such beautiful kilims. My mother used to make what we called batochka (a regional word for a textile, unknown meaning). The cloth was very nice and thin. I still have it. We embroidered that cloth. – Did you make your own clothes? maria vasylivna: When we had the sheep, we would shear them, spin yarn, and make cloth. We didn’t have a fullery in our village; you would have to go to Mahliv or Berezivka. People used to sew overcoats (hunky, kozhukhy). – Did you make the overcoats at home? maria vasylivna: No, you had to take them to Antonivka where my husband was from. They made kozhukhy there. In our village, people made hunky. There was a man named Oleksa – I forget his last name – in Kalytynka. He was a very good tailor. … – Did your parents go to the market fair? maria vasylivna: The main market fair was in Dzhuryn five kilometers away from us; my parents used to go there in the horse cart. We always had strong, beautiful horses; my father loved horses very much. One stallion bit off my father’s ear and spat it out in the field. My father picked it up and went to the hospital the following day. He was told he had to come right away to

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get the ear stitched back. The horses were strong, and they lasted up until collectivization. Then one of them died, and we started joining other people who owned horses to work together. – Did your parents sell anything at the market fair? maria vasylivna: Apples and honey. – Did you go to the market to buy, sell, or exchange something? maria vasylivna: To buy and sell. – Were apples rare at the time? maria vasylivna: Yes, there were no apples in the village at the time. Other people’s children used to climb into our garden, and Maksym had to chase them away. My mother would sell apples, garlic, and nuts; we had a lot of nuts. – How were the apples sold, by kilograms? What were the prices? maria vasylivna: No, by bunches of ten apples. I don’t remember the prices because I left home early. Lykera Andriivna Pasichnyk (Poltava region) – Where did you go to the market? lykera andriivna: The market was far away in Prokhorivka. We would walk through the woods to get there. I would run there on my own on Sundays. I’m not afraid of anyone or anything, so I ran there to sell butter (we had a cow), or hens, or cloth. We would buy some clothes. After I sold some goods, I would bring the money home. We needed cash for daily expenses. Some people paid with coarse cloth (riadno). – Did you have an orchard? lykera andriivna: No, we had a cherry tree and an apple tree. – Was your family considered poor or seredniaky? lykera andriivna: My father went to the steppes to earn some money. He used to build houses in the steppes, and my mother was at home on her own. He would do some work and come home, and if he was asked to do more work, he’d go again. People asked for help with building barns and such. … – Did you have a loom at home? lykera andriivna: Yes, there was one at home. We would spin yarn and weave, move the warping machine (snivnytsia), and place the thread aside; then we would weave. I worked both the loom and the warping machine myself. Almost every home had those two. We would take the cloth we made to the market to sell and keep some for ourselves. We did not weave on Sundays and holidays, only during the week, in the evenings.

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Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did your father have any land? varvara ihorivna: He was a day laborer. We didn’t have any land of our own, just the hayfield. … varvara ihorivna: We didn’t have any land of our own, just a vegetable garden over there. He bought some land from a rich man and built a house here. Before, we only had a small house. He said, “I’ll build a house here.” He paid the money, did some more work to earn more, and started building the house. The house was held by wooden beams. … – Did you have an orchard? varvara ihorivna: Not an actual orchard, just two cherry trees and two pear trees. We had two oak trees, a field elm, willows, and one apple tree. We didn’t have a full orchard like other people did. Nykyfir Maksymovych Poberezhnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did you make any clothes at home? nykyfir maksymovych: We made cloth from sheep wool: we’d shear the sheep, spin yarn, and make coarse cloth. We’d make a coarse fabric on a loom, and then pass it on to have it made into cloth. – Did your mother make pants and shirts or did you have to buy them? nykyfir maksymovych: We bought them, but I don’t remember how much we paid. Yevtykhii Havrylovych Poluden (Cherkasy region)

yevtykhii havrylovych: We were three: my mother, father, and I.

– Who taught you pottery?

yevtykhii havrylovych: I learned on my own; we had many potters in the village. I went to one man to learn, to see how those guys were making pots. Then I would try on my own. I made a potter’s wheel myself. I also worked in a smithy and made an axis for the potter’s wheel. Then I made one hundred pots right away while I was learning. I dried them, broke them, and turned them back into clay. Then I made sixty-five pots and fired them. – Were you married when you started working? yevtykhii havrylovych: Not yet. – How many potters were there in your village? yevtykhii havrylovych: Many. Fifteen or more.

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– Were there any hereditary potters? yevtykhii havrylovych: Yes, in Nychyporivka. Both father and son in the Poludenko family were potters. Their furnace was on the road, outside their house. Back in the day, the market was held on Monday, so they would take one cart of pottery there the evening before, and the other cart – early in the morning on Monday. My uncle made pots, too. I went to him and asked him to show me how to shape clay with the hands. He said, “If you’re going to learn, pay me.” He showed me, and I made some pots myself. – You had to pay money to learn? yevtykhii havrylovych: Yes, and this was my uncle. I only wanted to see how he did it, but he didn’t let me. He didn’t finish the pot; he just got up and closed the door. Goodbye. – Where did you get clay for the pots? yevtykhii havrylovych: In the forests and ravines, where it had been dug for ages. – What was this place called? yevtykhii havrylovych: Chornenke. – What kind of clay was it? yevtykhii havrylovych: The blue one was called Poludnivska; the red one with lumps was called Ivkivska. We would dig the sand in the forest and add it to the clay mixture. Olena Klymentiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region)

olena klymentiivna: We would load hay and walk to the end of the

sugar factory through the bridge. Girls would go out on Saturdays, and my father would put me on the hay in the cart and off we went. He went to church where his friends were, and I was guarding the carts and the horses. I used to spend the whole Sunday with my father at the market. – Did you have hay in the meadow? olena klymentiivna: We took the hay from the meadow and sold it as if it were ours. And when we ran out of our hay, we would buy it cheaply in another village and take it to Cherkasy to sell at a higher price. We had to transport it to the market, but not everyone had horses. Or there was someone who was not able to transport the hay. This was before the kolhospy; I was a young girl. … – Did people fish in your village? olena klymentiivna: Yes, with a seine. I had three brothers. I would spin yarn day and night with my stepmother, and they were tying the long seines for three fishermen – my father and two brothers. We had three shares,

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and the fourth one belonged to another man, a stranger. A large, long boat was made out of oak, and people went fishing in it and put the nets into the boat. – What were the seines made of? olena klymentiivna: Hemp. They would spin the thread and tie the seines. We would remove our shoes and break flax with our feet. – Did you spin a specific type of thread for the nets? olena klymentiivna: Yes. – Was this coarse thread? olena klymentiivna: Yes. I learned to spin the coarse thread right away, and then twine it by two and twist it on the other side on the spinning wheel. Spinning was done on one side and twisting on the other. They used to urge me to spin faster because they had to tie the seines. – What other fishing modes were there? olena klymentiivna: We used fishpots, seines, and nets. My father had a seine. Some went fishing with a net. – If they caught a lot of fish, what would they do with it? olena klymentiivna: They would sell it here and in Cherkasy. – Did they dry or dry-cure the fish? olena klymentiivna: Some would dry, dry-cure, or smoke the fish at home. – Where was the market? olena klymentiivna: In Chapaivka. People went there every day. – Did you have your own boat? olena klymentiivna: Yes, our own large boat. – What was it made of? olena klymentiivna: Finely cleaned planks. – From what tree? olena klymentiivna: This I don’t know. – Did your father make it himself? olena klymentiivna: There were men who specialized in this. – Do they still make boats today? olena klymentiivna: No. Back then, they were forty to fifty years old. The boats were called dub and haliara. My father had a haliara which was used to transport cattle. People would borrow it from him. – Did he earn anything by leasing it to them? olena klymentiivna: Some people gave him something. Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova (Cherkasy region) – Was your father a wheelwright or a cooper?

oleksandra ivanivna: There were wheelwrights, coopers, and potters.

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– Who were more numerous: peasants who only farmed or those who farmed and had an additional trade? oleksandra ivanivna: We had people who could do any job, and we had some lazy people. If one was lazy, he owned the land but did not work it. He didn’t have any cows or horses. It was very difficult to hire a horse in spring. Before the kolhosp, people lived well in our village. People mostly worked the land and grazed the cattle. When I was little, my father had sheep and pigs. We would graze them in the meadows or in the ravine. … – Before the kolhospy, was there a mill nearby? What did the people in your village do besides farming? oleksandra ivanivna: Some made wheels like my grandfather. He was one of the four brothers: Maksym, Yukhym, Pavlo, and my grandfather Petro. The four of them had five mills. My grandfather had two mills, and each of his brothers had one. This was before collectivization. Some people made wheels; others made wheel rims and sold them to the wheelwrights. We also had potters and blacksmiths. Prokip Mykhailovych Lavrynenko was a blacksmith. He didn’t want to join the kolhosp and continued working as a blacksmith; he was paid well. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Did you make your clothes yourself? motria hryhorivna: My mother would buy me a headscarf or a skirt at the market fairs. – Where were the market fairs? motria hryhorivna: There was one in Morozivka on St Elijah’s Day [August 2] and on St Paraskevia’s Day. We didn’t go to that market fair; instead, we went to Hradysk when I got married. I took hens and other produce to that market fair. When the kolhosp started, it provided us with the carts, so we would go and sell the hens at the market fair. … – What types of shoes did your father make? motria hryhorivna: Men’s, women’s, and dress boots. He was a very good shoemaker and had many apprentices. My mother hired out as a day laborer for people. Ivan Samsonovych Roman (Poltava region) – Did your parents go to a market fair and where was it?

ivan samsonovych: I remember that my father and I went to a market

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fair in Sencha where we brought our cow to sell. Perhaps this is my perspective as a child, but I remember the market fair as a large gathering of people, cattle, and carts. There were so many goods for sale I thought one couldn’t see it all in a day. – Did you make any type of clothes in your family? ivan samsonovych: There were three boys in the family, and people used to say that we were very capable workers. Our father taught us to prepare the hide, and every autumn a tailor would come to make boots for us. He slept at our house and ate with us and sewed for the whole family. My mother did women’s work: sewed shirts and mended clothes. All this was done by hand because we didn’t have a sewing machine. Tetiana Panasivna Saliienko (Kharkiv region) – What is your maiden name? tetiana panasivna: Andriievska. We were exiled because we were labeled kurkuli. – What did your parents have? tetiana panasivna: They had horses; there were no plowing machines at the time. We had a few cows and three horses: two in the plow and one for breeding. We would milk two cows and raise the calves. We had a pasture, and some people used to graze their cattle on our pasture. – Did they pay you for this? tetiana panasivna: We had an agreement that they would either pay with money or help us cut the hay. – How much land did you have? tetiana panasivna: My father had forty-four desiatyny. – What did he sow? tetiana panasivna: Wheat, rye (mandatory), barley, and oats. We never sowed peas. If we needed some, we would sow the yellow one, y’know, in our vegetable garden. It was better for us than the green one. – What crops did you sow for sale? tetiana panasivna: My father didn’t grow vegetables for sale, only wheat and rye. During some years, we had to sell an animal because we didn’t have enough money. This year was a drought, same as some years in the past. – Where did your father sell the produce? tetiana panasivna: There was a place in Valky and Sytky nearby opened by the man named Hruba. His wife would receive the goods, and he and his Jewish partner would load the grain and send it off somewhere else. … – How many day laborers did your father hire?

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tetiana panasivna: There was one who worked for bread and money. Later on, we had the means to buy a mower that was drawn by horses; that was a great help. We the children would run around barefoot at the time even though people said that my father was rich. He was dispossessed, but at the time you couldn’t buy shoes anywhere; people would hire a cobbler to make the shoes. – Did a cobbler come to your house to make the shoes? tetiana panasivna: No, they would look for one to hire as a live-in worker. We would feed and pay him. At the time, only the adults had their clothes made for them; the children would just wear linen shirts until they grew up. When the boys grew up, they wore pants. – Who made the cloth? tetiana panasivna: Other people. We didn’t do this because there were nine children in our family; our mother didn’t have time to weave. We would sow hemp and flax, but we didn’t know how to prepare it for weaving. Other people did. … – Did your parents have an orchard? tetiana panasivna: Yes. – Was it large? tetiana panasivna: It was cut. It was near a pond. It was a very good orchard. At the time, my father would sell the fruit in Vodolaha. – The apples? tetiana panasivna: Yes, apples or pears. We would also dry them. We were made to cut them, and they would dry. My father sold the dried fruit to enterprises. – Did you have a pond? tetiana panasivna: Yes, our own pond. – What about the forest? tetiana panasivna: We still have twenty-two hectares of the forest, but I cannot take any logs from there. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – What was your farmstead like before collectivization? What kind of work did your family do? natalia hryhorivna: We sowed and plowed. My father had no other trade. – How much land did you have? natalia hryhorivna: Around seven desiatyny. We harvested and sold the grain, and later a tax was imposed – how much grain to give to each khaziaiin.

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… – Where was the market fair held? natalia hryhorivna: There was a wheat market fair in Kaniv and Khodoriv. – Did anyone produce anything in your village? natalia hryhorivna: No. Some people made monuments out of stone, but mostly it was farming. My father-in-law had a large farmstead because his father was a chumak. He used to go to Crimea to buy salt and roach and he bought a mill (tovpchak) for his son. – What was the grandfather’s name? natalia hryhorivna: Yosyf was my father-in-law. My father’s name was Hryhorii Khvylonovych. My father was poor because he became an orphan when he turned five, so everyone left. My father went to work for the rich as a day laborer. We didn’t live at home because we worked elsewhere. … – Did your family weave? natalia hryhorivna: Yes, I was a weaver myself. My now deceased father made a very good loom for us. One spring, we paid twenty-five pounds of grain for a loom. Then we made our own from viburnum, and I prepared the threads and wove cloth for the people. – Did people also make woolen overcoats (svyty)? natalia hryhorivna: Yes, people had the sheep and wove the woolen cloth before the Revolution. I had two shirts when I was getting married that my father made for me. I also had an overcoat (kozhukh). – Did your father have a kyreia or a kobeniak [types of coats]? natalia hryhorivna: He had a kobeniak. … – Were there any potters? natalia hryhorivna: Not a single one in our village. – Where were the potters? natalia hryhorivna: In Dubynytsi and Bohuslav, above the Ros river. They took the pots to Khodorov, and we used to buy them here. Paraska Fedotivna Smola (Poltava region) – During the Revolution, how much land did your father receive? paraska fedotivna: Land was allotted based on the number of people in the family. We had five people in the family, so we got five desiatyny. – What did your father sow? paraska fedotivna: Melons, rye, wheat, barley, proso millet, and buckwheat. We ate whatever we harvested.

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Ivan Kyrylovych Solohub (Kharkiv region) – Did people deliver machine fuel? ivan kyrylovych: Yes, it was called oil for threshers. They would pour it in as diesel fuel. – Was there any oil in Bohodukhiv? ivan kyrylovych: Only there. Bohodukhiv was an industrial place and had an oil plant. We used to go there. – Did you farm? ivan kyrylovych: We worked the land, but not a lot. I know I used to plow with three horses. I know we didn’t have much land, but I don’t remember exactly how much. – How much did you make delivering oil? ivan kyrylovych: My parents did this; I was very young at the time. This was probably before the 1930s. … – Was your father a blacksmith? ivan kyrylovych: My father was a carpenter, not a blacksmith. My mother sent the older son to a rich blacksmith to learn; then they set up their own smithy and started working. This was during the nep . The land was probably divided in the 1920s. Lenin died in 1924. Like I said, land was allotted per person. Those who didn’t want to work the land would give it to others for half the price. Oleksii Ivanovych Strilkov (Poltava region) – Did your father have any other trade besides farming? oleksii ivanovych: He was a cooper. He made barrels for sale and for himself. He also helped people to mend the barrels if needed (people used barrels to make sauerkraut, for example). He sold his barrels in Kudelivka and to the Seletska village council. He would take them there with his horse cart and sell them on the market. I didn’t go, but my older brother did. He would buy flax and clothes to resell. He would send barrels to Lubny and get paid. He also resold pots and various utensils three to five kopeks higher than he paid originally. This was useful both to us and to the people. He would also resell pigs. – Did your father have any cattle? oleksii ivanovych: He had two horses, four cattle heads, and three pigs. Not anymore. – Did he have an orchard? oleksii ivanovych: Just for himself and for the people.

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Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – What did your father do in the farmstead before the kolhosp? Did you own land? anastasia yukhymivna: We didn’t have much land. My father had a large family, many sons, so they divided the land between themselves little by little. We weren’t rich. We had about 1.5 or two hectares. Fedir Fedorovych Trokhymenko (Sumy region) – How did you make a living? fedir fedorovych: We lived off the land. We had some land and cattle, nothing else. – How much land did your father have? fedir fedorovych: About five or six hectares. This was considered a seredniak. If he owned ten hectares, he’d be called rich. – Did you go to factories to work? fedir fedorovych: Yes, to the sugar factory. There was there a labor registry office, so a person would go there for a few days and then try to stay and work at the factory to earn enough. There were few factories; most people worked the land. – Did you get all the necessities from farming? fedir fedorovych: Yes. – Where did you get the money from? fedir fedorovych: We sold bread, proso millet, and hay, if we had any extra. Ivan Kalistratovych Udovychenko (Cherkasy region) – How much land did your father have?

ivan kalistratovych: One and a half hectares and then he got some

more on the hill, so he became a seredniak. Then they confiscated our grain, and we were swelling from famine. – How many head of cattle did you have? ivan kalistratovych: A horse and a cow. With the amount of land that we owned, we were not allowed to have more cattle. If one had five or six hectares, they could get more animals. And if you only had 1.5 hectares, what could you do? You had to plant potatoes. Now we can buy food in the stores, but back in the day you ate what you produced; you couldn’t get it anywhere else. You could buy it on the market, but money was hard to make. My father used to weave on a wooden loom; even I used to weave, too.

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– Did your father weave for the family or for other people as well? ivan kalistratovych: He took commissions. I think he’d make three arshins for the people and the fourth one for himself. – What exactly did people order? ivan kalistratovych: Thin threads (desiatky and trynadtsiatky), coarse woolen cloths (riadno) and rushnyky. He also made shoes and worked with an ax; he made windows. If he didn’t have the energy, work was not done. Mostly he made things for the family. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – Did your mother’s father have much land?

mykhailo antonovych: Her father died long ago, and she lived alone.

She had about six desiatyny of land. Half of it she would lease to the people who plowed it and threshed the harvest. So, it was until she got married, and the two of them started working the land together. My father came from Shershenka, also in Lubensky region. – Did your father have any land? mykhailo antonovych: They had a big family, five brothers. They had some land (I don’t know how much); they were rather poor. His father didn’t give him any land. When he started living with my mother, he used her land. From his family, he got one bull and used it to plow until gradually he acquired greater means. Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – Did you have an orchard before the kolhosp? andrii fedorovych: Yes, all the land was taken up by the orchard. – What kinds of trees did you have? andrii fedorovych: Apple and pear trees. – Did you sell the fruit? andrii fedorovych: Of course. There was a famine in 1921, but our orchard gave a great harvest. We exchanged the fruit for so much grain, we didn’t know what to do with it. Stalin then started taxing orchards, so people started cutting them down. … – Did your parents own land? andrii fedorovych: Yes, each person got three desiatyny of land: women and men alike. Prior to that, I don’t remember exactly when, land was allotted only to men, but during my time both boys and girls got lots. – Was this after 1917?

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andrii fedorovych: Before 1917, we had self-employed farmers. This was up until 1929. The self-employed farmers owned a horse, a cow, and plows. Collective farming started after 1929, followed by kolhospy. Sava Ivanovych Chorny (Sumy region) – What did your father do? sava ivanovych: He was a farmer. He had four desiatyny of land. Before the Revolution, he had 1.5 allotments, which was equal to 2.5 desiatyny. After the Revolution, he had four desiatyny because we were a family of seven. – Was it enough to make a living? sava ivanovych: We lived modestly, but it was alright. – Did your father work a lot? Sava Ivanovych: We worked at the factory; he made bricks, plastered walls, and worked in the field. In the winter, he chopped wood in the forest. He had four brothers. … – How did your father make a living? sava ivanovych: He farmed and cultivated the grain to feed us. He also had an orchard. – Did he make enough money and grain to live? sava ivanovych: He had a pair of pants and a clean shirt for the holidays; otherwise, he’d wear simple linen clothes. Women used to weave, bleach the yarn, and make jackets, shirts, or pants. They would use elderflower to dye the fabrics. … – What type of khaziaiin was your father? sava ivanovych: A seredniak. He had a cow, a horse, and a couple of piglets. He also had a plow. At the time, people would sow three hectares and keep one as a pasture for crop rotation. One horse was used to plow the soil. People would get up and start working before sunrise at the time. It was good to plow in the cool hours of the day. – Where did your father send the harvest? sava ivanovych: Nowhere. He kept it home. – Where did he get the money? Sava Ivanovych: He worked in the forest all winter long. My father’s two brothers, his son-in-law, and my father would work all winter long chopping wood. It was a state forest and the forestry was in charge.

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Anastasia Varfolomiivna Shpak-Smolinska (Cherkasy region) – Did someone in your village make kitchenware? anastasia varfolomiivna: There were many people who made kitchenware: pots, bowls, everything. The old ones are dead, and the young ones can’t sustain production, even if they know how to make pots. My grandfather Ivan Shpak used to make very nice bowls when he was young. – When did your husband start making kitchenware? anastasia varfolomiivna: He used to make it when he was young. He returned with a disability from working on a steam train in Komsomolsk-onAmur, so he didn’t make pots anymore after his return. – From whom did he learn pottery? anastasia varfolomiivna: His father was not a potter. There was an old man named Sanko in Vovkohonivka. He was small but used to make the pots of his size. Some of his relatives are still alive, but none of them is a potter. His last name is Vovkohin (Vovkohon). My father learned from that old man and made very nice pots. – Did your husband pay this man? anastasia varfolomiivna: I don’t think he accepted money. People were kinder at the time and used to help each other free of charge. – What type of clay did he use? anastasia varfolomiivna: Clay was dug in Krutiaky in a clay pit. They still have clay pits there. Many people died in them. They would use ladders to go in, but the clay was slippery, and the ground would often heave. He [unclear to whom the pronoun refers] died there, too, and the children were orphaned. This is what people had to do at the time to earn some money. – What kind of kitchenware did your husband make? anastasia varfolomiivna: Pots, jars, bowls, and vases – those are the easier forms to make. It’s harder to make a pumpkin-shaped jar. You have to spin the wheel with your feet and pull the clay with your hands at the same time. – What types of pots did he make? anastasia varfolomiivna: Back in the day, people cooked in the ovens, so he made pots that could be placed into an oven with an oven fork. Pots were used to make borshch and everything else. Old people used to make very large pots. – What was this kitchenware made for? anastasia varfolomiivna: It was used to cook and serve the food. Those who knew how to make it had good sales. Clay is difficult to work with because you have to dig it from the soil. You also have to wedge it very well to make sure it was free from stones or roots. Otherwise, you’d get a bad pot.

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– Did people take the kitchenware to the market? anastasia varfolomiivna: They took it to Medvedivka where we had a market. People would flock there on Sunday; people were poor at the time. One person I know would make pots and bring them to the market in a cart to sell. He said he sold enough pots to buy himself an old bicycle. Dmytro Mykhailovych Chuchupak (Cherkasy region) – Suppose someone had to buy pants for their children, where would they get the money? dmytro mykhailovych: They would sell something and raise cattle to sell. I remember my father’s kum [godfather] used to visit us and he had horses. Vedmedivka had great market fairs, almost like Sorochyntsi. You could buy anything! This was at the time when Lenin was talking about nep , and right away everything was accessible and cheap: herring, other kinds of fish, clothes, and Singer sewing machines. We had the ones made in England on the market. Petro helped my father get some good furniture. When he was getting married, I think he had an English bed and Singer sewing machine. We only sold it recently. To have some cash, people would grow and sell the produce. People would buy a quarter of a bucket (chetvertyna) [presumably of grain] and go around singing; it was fun. This was the free market. Four or five years later Lenin died, and Stalin came to power in 1928 or 1929, and the deportations from the village to Siberia began. At the time, those deported had been the supporters of past policies, and lots of nep supporters who had a private trade were arrested. Perhaps my father was in commerce of some kind, I don’t know. He was a farmer, same as old man Yukhym. My father also worked on the land in my grandfather’s homestead which had a large garden. I remember my father and I used to take apples to sell at the market in Cherkasy. We would leave the house at five a.m., yoke the cows in Hlychanky, and come back in the evening. We would come on Saturday, and early in the morning on Sunday people would buy apples. Those apples were good. Then we’d go buy something: bread, bagels, some fabric, and boots. This was at the time when I was about to start school. Kateryna Kupriianivna Yaremaka (Cherkasy region) – How much land did your father have?

kateryna kupriianivna: He had three desiatyny of land in the village.

It was split into four parts between my grandfather and his three brothers. Later on, the brothers left, and my father, being a poor man, gradually bought the land back from them. He took the money to Kuban. His brothers were

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not mean people. They didn’t sell the land right away to strangers to get the money; they allowed my father to buy it. He would raise a calf, sell it, and use the money to pay for the land. One time, he was attacked by robbers and spent the whole night lying in the field. He wasn’t found until the morning. A desiatyna of land would cost ten karbovantsi to rent for a year. – Did your father have any cattle? kateryna kupriianivna: Besides the land, my father had cows, sheep, and pigs. He didn’t have any bulls or horses. He was a seredniak. He would sell a calf or a sheep at the market, if they had an extra one. They lived poorly and worked hard. My father died in 1934, and my mother in 1954. … kateryna kupriianivna: He was a carpenter, a beekeeper, and a day laborer for other people. My mother plowed the field and sowed crops along with the children. She also harvested and threshed grain. They did the men’s and the women’s work; they did everything. Our mother (not our father) taught us children to sow, reap, and put up a fence from reeds. Our father would come home for a sleepover and the next day he would go to work as a day laborer, fixing ovens, houses, or barns. – What did the children do? kateryna kupriianivna: They did the work they knew or could do. We would spin yarn and sew when we grew up a bit, and when we were little, we would graze the sheep and cattle. My younger brother didn’t want to graze the sheep because you had to do it no matter what the weather was like, but with the cows we could go somewhere. … kateryna kupriianivna: We didn’t have any day laborers. We were day laborers ourselves and worked on the ekonomiia in the landowners’ enterprises. In 1921, I used to bring a bucket of rye from Chornobaii. My father was a carpenter, and I carried grain. While my father was at work, I would graze people’s cattle to make sure we had something to eat. My father would earn [the grain?], and I would carry it home on my shoulders. People could get hired in the landowners’ enterprises from spring to fall, as they wished. They weeded crops in the vegetable gardens. Fedir Fedorovych Trokhymenko (Sumy region) – How did you make a living? fedir fedorovych: We lived off the land. We had some land and cattle, nothing else. – How much land did your father have?

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fedir fedorovych: About five or six hectares. This was considered a

seredniak. If he owned ten hectares, he’d be called rich. – Did you go to factories to work? fedir fedorovych: Yes, to the sugar factory. There was a labor registry office, so a person would go there for a few days and then try to stay and work at the factory to earn enough. There were few factories; most people worked the land. – Did you get all the necessities from farming? fedir fedorovych: Yes. – Where did you get the money from? fedir fedorovych: We sold bread, proso millet, and hay, if we had any extra. Ilko Terentiiovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – Did your father own land before collectivization?

ilko terentiiovych: He had a total of about six hectares in various

locations. It was at the time of land division, and everyone got a share. He also had two cows. – What did he have in addition to the land? ilko terentiiovych: Tools. He would work the land during the day and make pottery at night. This was prior to the kolhosp. He would make pots throughout the year, and pottery was the primary activity in winter. During harvest season, he didn’t make pots. Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region) – How did your family make a living?

andrii hryhorovych: We ate bread and would sometimes slaughter a

calf. When he finished studying, my brother would make boots for us. He studied to be a tailor for two years in Kondratovka, and he sewed for people. They would bring the materials, and he would charge two rubles for a pair of boots. There weren’t many tailors. Some people knew how to make boots, shirts, pants, jackets, or prepare the vine. You had to have the raw materials for all this. There were also blacksmiths, carpenters, wheelwrights, and coopers. If I had some metal, I would take it to the cooper, so he could make me a barrel or fix the old one. A cooper would work with the materials that people brought him; he didn’t have his own. He would have to go to the forest if he were to get his own materials.

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Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – How many hectares of land did you have before collectivization? halyna ilarionivna: About ten. – When someone was getting married, did they get any land? Halyna Ilarionivna: No, because this was already during the time of the kolhosp. – How many head of cattle did you have? halyna ilarionivna: Two oxen, a cow, a horse, pigs, and hens. We also had plows. – Besides farming, did your father have a trade? halyna ilarionivna: No. – Do you remember where the market fairs were held? halyna ilarionivna: In Vedmedivka. – Did people go there to buy or sell the goods? Halyna Ilarionivna: They went to buy things. They’d sell the bulls in one place and go to the other market to buy bulls again. … – What did land mean for your parents? halyna ilarionivna: They worked the land and were happy to have it. My father would sell a calf and buy some more land from the khaziaii. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko (Kharkiv region) – When your mother would weave for someone, did the people pay her with money or by working in her vegetable garden? fedir yosypovych : I’m not sure. I think they paid with money; no one worked in our garden. We didn’t have much land after the land division: five hectares when collectivization and the dispossessions started. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – Who taught you to make bowls [i.e., pottery]? arkhyp yakovych: Maksym Mykolaiovych Dzhyrmov. – How did you find him? Did you ask to join as an apprentice? arkhyp yakovych: No, he came to me. He was a good man. He said, “You know what? I see…” (he had three apprentices; two learned nothing, and I was the third one, who learned). So, he came and said, “Come work with me.” I wasn’t paid, but I did various jobs: powdering dyes (chervin), powdering sand, carrying gley [a sticky waterlogged soil lacking in oxygen, typically grey to blue in color], and making firewood. I did this for a year, and in

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spring I had some money and went to Oleksandrivka with this man. I earned some money and bowls. That man bought me a good pair of pants, a hat, and some white cotton to make a shirt. He said, “You have learned now.” And I continued working for him. … – Describe a potter’s workshop (honcharnia). arkhyp yakovych: It’s a little house with a furnace inside to fire the pots and bowls with a quern-stone to powder the dyes. You would dig the yellow clay in the woods, in the ravine; then it would be powdered and mixed with water. This is how we lived. – Was there a furnace and a potter’s wheel in the workshop? arkhyp yakovych: A furnace, two to four wheels, and a quern-stone. This was the workshop. – Not everyone had a workshop like that. Right? arkhyp yakovych: Far from it. A well-off person could make one. Others couldn’t. [When the kolhospy were established] we worked and were paid with a percentage out of ten items made – whatever the percentage they would set. In the kolhosp, we worked to have a record of the days worked (trudodni). … – At which markets did you sell the bowls? arkhyp yakovych: Medvedivka, Oleksandrivka, Kamianka, Telepyna. I told you before that I went. arkhyp yakovych: Yes, I hired horses. … – Did the potters own land? arkhyp yakovych: There was nothing during the kolhosp, just a farmstead. Nothing else. – What did you use to fire the pots? arkhyp yakovych: A furnace. It was very difficult to fire the lead. I’d rather dig a hundred-meter pit than fire lead. Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – What did your parents do before collectivization?

fedora oksentiivna: I know my father used to make hay for the rich

man Ivan Lukianovych Konon. My mother would take her three or four children to the steppes where they would play, my father would mow, and she would sheave the hay. Then they would transport the hay to the landowner and to their own place using the landowner’s carts. I don’t think they had cattle of their own at the time. They worked in this way in the steppes until the landowners’ land [ekonomiia] was split up among the people. Then they

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got a hectare of land in one place and some more here. We didn’t have much land and we went to work on other people’s lots. When we joined the kolhosp, we gave everything to it – whatever belonged previously to the landowners or was ours. We had little land before the kolhosp: 0.5 hectares near Kaliuzhny ravine, 0.6 hectares here, and one hectare on the landowner’s field. – What else did your family do? fedora oksentiivna: My father was a tailor, and my mother used to weave and take care of the children. My father used a sewing machine; he learned somewhere from the Jews in Cherkasy. He also had apprentices. In the summer, they would work at their homes and in the winter – at our place. They would sew and we would weave in the house. – Was your father paid? fedora oksentiivna: I’m not sure, perhaps he was, and these students helped. They stayed with us over the winter and went back home in the summer. I remember one named Novolsilsky. He was learning from my father in the winter and worked as a guard in the melon field in the summer. He was hired to do this for three years. When he finished studying, he helped our father make overcoats. Mostly people sewed by hand at the time; the sewing machine was rarely used. They made svutky, chymerky, and kozachky. – What is a kozachka? fedora oksentiivna: A man’s skirt with tails and pockets. – Did he make woman’s wear? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. People would bring corsets, jackets with tails in the back, belts, skirts, and overcoats with tails. At times, my father would be hired in the villages for a month, and he would go with his sewing machine. On Sunday, he’d come home to see us and then leave again. Once he finished sewing for that part of the village or the whole village, they would bring him home. I don’t remember how they paid him. … – Before the kolhosp, did people make rope? fedora oksentiivna: Yes, for their own use, not for sale. At the time, hemp was cultivated to make the thread, including on the kolhosp [she is thinking here of the 1930s, not the 1920s]. They would bring us the fiber and we would spin yarn day after day. The kolhosp paid well for this. At the time, we still had mills, and the ropes were used there. We would spin the thread and roll it onto the spool. My father would hold the thread and I would spin the wheel; then we would prepare the warp. We used a chair and a few metal hooks to bring several (up to four) threads together and make a rope. – Were there any market fairs? fedora oksentiivna: On Mondays we would go to the market fairs in the kolhosp [unclear]. People would bring a pig to sell and buy some fish,

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herring, or Black Sea sprats. Some people would sell the clothes they made. In the winter, one could go to Tiasmyn where people caught fish and dried it for the year ahead. They would heat it in the oven and then spread it on the hay to dry. We used to sit on the oven and eat this dry fish; it had caviar inside.

hi re d l a b or Hiring oneself out as labor was one of the sources of cash income available to villagers in the 1920s. While men, women, boys, and girls of virtually all ages except the very young and very elderly could participate in this labor market, it was largely the domain of young people. There were two main types of hired labor. The first was work on lands near to home, even in one’s natal village, on land owned by the gentry, the church, more successful peasants, or Jews. This work could be seasonal or semi-permanent; only a few villagers worked for someone most of the time as hired hands or as servants in and around a house. The second was to work for wealthy farmers or gentry with estates in regions far removed. For those villagers in the Cherkasy region, this second venue was usually in southern Ukraine on the plantations of either German farmers or local gentry. Most of this work was seasonal. Perhaps the most common form of hired labor, that which many villagers took part in if only in their youth, was seasonal labor: “One would work in the summer and rest on the oven ledge over the winter” remarked Petro Khudyk. Sofia Hrushivska notes that she took part in seasonal work both in her native village and far away. Mykhailo Maslo said that his father would travel from the Cherkasy region south to the Kherson region in the summer to work in the beet fields. He took his own horses with him to work. The interviewee, his son, stayed home and worked mostly on the family holdings. Halyna Hatko, from the Kharkiv region, said that her father lived in the Kuban for most of the summer and that when she was a teenager, she too went there to work. Meanwhile, her mother stayed home and worked the family farm. She notes that the farmers in the Kuban were of various nationalities, but she is unclear as to who precisely they were. Villagers hired themselves out to varying degrees and for various lengths of time. The interviewee Petro Khudyk said that the season to hire yourself out lasted for three or four months, usually from mid-to-late summer to the Feast of the Intercession or St Simeon (November). Others (Paraska Smola and Motria Rohova) said it lasted for six or seven months, from April (or just after Easter) until the Intercession (November). Certainly, different villagers took part in various kinds of labor activities, which were longer or shorter in duration. It is evident that some laborers were absent from their homes for long periods of time, even more than half the year, while others provided more casual hired labor for several weeks or so. Much of the seasonal labor that worked in regions far removed from

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their natal village were young people, usually unmarried. Once they had their own holdings such an undertaking was less desirable as they had essential work at home to perform. Most families did not have enough land to warrant hiring outside labor. They could farm their holdings with their own hands. There was no reason to hire someone to help on their holdings. In addition, their family farm absorbed nearly all the labor time of the family members, leaving little time or reason to hire oneself out. In other words, for the majority of village families, there was no need to hire help, nor was there reason to hire oneself out, except usually in their youth. Yevdokia Kyiko notes that her father had five sons and two daughters. The children farmed the five hectares with their father and mother and hired labor was unnecessary. Maria Palahniuk said that in her day and in her region (Vinnytsia) there was little hired labor in general. Most farmers had a few hectares which their families farmed. This meant also that they had no time to hire themselves out to someone else. On the other hand, there were circumstances where even farmers with medium holdings required laborers. A farmer with 4.5 hectares but no sons had to hire labor to help him (Maria Kozar). Poor families with small holdings but several children were the most common pool of laborers. A family with no holdings and no property at all was rare. Ivan Mushynsky describes a family dealing with a fairly common situation. The family had holdings of two hectares, but there were several (unknown from the interview how many) children. The family members had to work as laborers for others to make ends meet as the two hectares were not sufficient to feed them all. In another case a man relates how he began working as seasonal help when he was only ten years old. His mother was a widow. The mother had land and two sons and a daughter, but when they were still very young, she was unable to work it all by herself and so hired labor to do so. In addition, she hired her young daughter out to another family, and later her sons also hired out as laborers, with the entire family working and pooling resources (Andrii Pavlichenko). In the 1920s in some regions there were fewer of the large farms on which in the past hired labor necessarily worked. Before 1917 the situation was different in those regions, where more families had fewer land holdings. The leveling that took place after 1917 – with the breakup of some of the estates of the gentry and the church – changed the face of agriculture in many locales, with the poor receiving a bit more land and some of the large estates disappearing. Earnings for seasonal labor varied and could be in cash or grain or in other foods. Table A3.2 shows the variations in pay. When working in the fields, most farmers would feed their hired help in addition to whatever they would pay them (Frosyna Boiko). Most interviewees say that as laborers they did not earn much money. As shown in table A3.2 earnings for field work varied from seven to about fifteen rubles per month. Most interviewees discuss cash paid for labor, although

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there were exceptions. Maria Kozar described how one farmer in her village paid labor at least in part in food. He would make loans to a family that had little to eat at the end of winter when their autumn stocks had run out. He provided them with meat or the cash with which to buy food, and they would pay him back in labor during the summer months. Frosyna Zelenetska describes the hiring of a young orphan who pastured the family’s animals and who lived with the family for several years, then moved away when he grew up. It seems unlikely he was paid more than board and keep. Those who hired out for non-seasonal labor, that is for a longer period, had different terms. According to Andrii Pavlichenko, a girl who hired out for a year at a time earned fifteen karbovantsi for the year plus clothing, food, and a place to sleep (usually on the floor in a corner). She could be asked to work either in the house (cooking, cleaning, and washing), taking care of farm animals (preparing their food, feeding them, pasturing them), or working in the fields (sowing, weeding, harvesting) as well as processing food for storage (jarring, drying, salting, smoking, etc.). A gentry estate included a large number of year-round hired laborers. Ivan Mushynsky describes the kinds of people working there, among others: smiths, carpenters, guards, and shepherds. According to him they earned 7.50 karbovantsi per month as well as cooking oil, flour, firewood, plus a small garden plot for their own use, if they so wished. Table A3.2 also shows some of the labor activities of interviewees before collectivization. Field work was mostly with sugar beets. Other work included pasturing animals, fetching water, and watching children. The table also indicates some of the social groups that hired labor: gentry, wealthy farmers, and Jews. Another category not indicated in the table was labor hired to work church lands. The questionnaire did not include questions as to which group provided what kinds of amenities, or which group was the best to work for. Only one interviewee, Tetiana Barbaziuk, commented on this, saying that the better off peasants (khaziaii) paid better than the gentry. Living conditions for hired labor varied from tolerable to uncomfortable. Halyna Hatko said that she and the other seasonal hired labor slept outdoors in their employer’s barnyard. There were three girls and several (unclear how many) boys and men. Andrii Pavlichenko notes that he worked for one man for three years, sleeping “under the stove.” On a large estate – known locally as an ekonomiia – that belonged to a German family in the Kharkiv region, Hanna Marynenko described a small hut used exclusively as sleeping quarters for seasonal laborers. She goes on to say that they were well fed, with milk every day and pyrozhky (stuffed pastries) or other foods. She says that her brother worked on another estate where the bread was bad, so she would save bread from her meals and give it to him when she saw him. When Andrii Pavlichenko was asked if his employers treated him well, he said they treated him as hired labor, no better

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and no worse. Mykyta Nadezha says the same. The interviewee Marfa Bila said that her father hired out to local gentry, who treated him well. The father told his priest about his treatment. The priest responded: “Work well for him, and he will be good to you” (roby dobre yomu, a vin tobi).

i n te rv i ew e xce rp ts: hired l ab or Tetiana Vasylivna Barbaziuk (Vinnytsia region) – Did the khaziaii do all the work in their farmstead on their own?

tetiana vasylivna: Someone who wanted to help would go to the kha-

ziaiin to harvest or weed. The khaziaiin would pay more than a landowner would and he gave people breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He paid well. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region)

– Did guys and girls get hired to do seasonal jobs? paraska mytrofanivna: They went to work for the landowner. I remember a landowner would go around in a horse cart announcing, “Come work in the sugar beet field!” He paid forty-five kopeks per day, fifty kopeks if it was raining. I earned some money this way when I was little (I worked for one week) and bought boots for three rubles. Boots were sold at the market. Marfa Oleksiivna Bila (Vinnytsia region) – Was there labor division between men and women? marfa oleksiivna: My father used to work as a coachman and did other jobs there, too. My mother spent a long time in Western Ukraine (something like twelve years in Moldova), and she kept cows and a piglet at home. – How much did your father earn at the landowner’s? marfa oleksiivna: Five rubles per month. – What could one buy with this? marfa oleksiivna: The first pair of boots would cost three rubles. People would also get forty-eight kg of grain as food rations. – What was the relationship like with the landowner (pan)? marfa oleksiivna: If he needed you to do something, he was good to you. – Was he kind to your father? marfa oleksiivna: Yes. My father went to confession and told the priest that he worked for a landowner, and the priest said, “Work well for him, and he will be good to you.”

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Frosyna Okhrymivna Boiko (Kharkiv region) – Did your family hire day laborers (naimyty)? frosyna okhrymivna: We were considered poor, but we didn’t live without cattle. We had a cow, sheep, and bulls. We didn’t have any laborers; we did everything on our own. – Were you paid when you became a day laborer? frosyna okhrymivna: Depending on the contract. The agreement was that the landowner would buy the laborer’s clothes, boots, and food. We had a landowner by the name of Baitsur. He was a good man and people worked for him because he paid well. He would visit his laborers in the field, “That’s enough work. Take a break and rest.” Everyone loved him and went to work for him. He had an oil mill; he had everything. He was harmless and offended no one, but the Soviets deported him. [The authorities] confiscated everything and are still using it, the bastards. Halyna Ivanivna Hatko (Kharkiv region) – Was your father a local? halyna ivanivna: Yes. – What did he own? halyna ivanivna: He lived all the time in the Kuban region by the Black Sea. – Why? halyna ivanivna: He was making a living there. – Was he a day laborer? halyna ivanivna: Yes. – Did he work in the summer or in winter, too? halyna ivanivna: Only in the summer. – What did your mother do at the time? halyna ivanivna: She was growing crops (khliborobyla). … – How much could your father earn in one summer? halyna ivanivna: I don’t remember. A prized worker at the time would earn one hundred rubles (katerynka) [a banknote with the image of Empress Catherine II]. The landlords would hire them every year. When my father would get hired, he would almost never come home until the winter. – Have you ever been to Kuban? halyna ivanivna: Yes. – Whom did you visit there? halyna ivanivna: We went to get hired as laborers. We went there when

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there was a major drought and a famine. We kept waiting around there [for work] but didn’t make any money and went home on foot. – How many days did it take to get home? halyna ivanivna: Ten days. – Were you single or married at the time? halyna ivanivna: Single. – Where on the way did you sleep? halyna ivanivna: There lived a landowner from our village Byshkin and we slept over at his place. – Why did he live there? halyna ivanivna: He moved there. – Did he get married there? halyna ivanivna: No, he and his wife moved from there. – Was he rich there? halyna ivanivna: No, he wasn’t rich. He lived and worked there. – Where at his place did you sleep? halyna ivanivna: In the yard, in the middle of it. – How many people lived there? halyna ivanivna: Three girls; the rest were guys and men. – There was no work, and you were just sitting around and waiting? halyna ivanivna: Yes, there was no harvest; it was during a drought. – When you were on your way there, did you know that there’d be a drought? halyna ivanivna: No. It’s far from our village. We didn’t know what it was like there. Our people used to go there to work and would often move there with their families. A bachelor would spend some time living there. Then he’d come back, get married, and take his wife to the Kuban region with him to live. – Was the land better there? halyna ivanivna: Well, yes. There was a lot of land, unlike in our region where land was allotted only if you were a man. Women didn’t get any land. In Kuban they had a great deal of available land. – When did they start to allot land to women? halyna ivanivna: I don’t know when. During the Revolution. – Were the khaziaii in Kuban only Ukrainians, or were there Russians and Germans, too? halyna ivanivna: All kinds of people. When I was there, the local Kuban people used to lynch the newcomers from other towns. They – ancient Cossacks – lived there a long time. The newcomers were like our people. I used to sleep over at one man’s house there, and his son was lynched and his daughter Halka (who was the same age as I am) was taken away [presumably kidnapped].

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– Why was he lynched? Halyna Ivanivna: The newcomers were lynched so they wouldn’t come to live with the Cossacks. – Did the Cossacks or the authorities lynch these people? Halyna Ivanivna: The Cossacks. Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – When you were single, did you do seasonal jobs as a day laborer? sofia tymofiivna: Everyone would go to the landowners [ekonomiia] to make a living. – In your village or somewhere else? sofia tymofiivna: In my village and elsewhere. – When would you normally go to work? sofia tymofiivna: When the season would start, weeding the sugar beets and such. They would pay ten to fifteen kopeks. At the time, seven to ten kopeks would buy you a meter of fabric. – Were the day laborers usually young or would the older people go, too? sofia tymofiivna: All ages. Whoever could walk and work. – Was there a store? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, and they would call out to customers. – Who worked in the store? sofia tymofiivna: Ukrainians were selling things there. The merchants would lay out their goods on the counters, “Come take a look at my fabrics.” Frosyna Sylvestrivna Zelenetska (Vinnytsia region) – Were there khaziaii who would hire people to work in the field? frosyna sylvestrivna: Uncle Karpo, my father’s brother. He hired an orphan who had nowhere to go. That orphan grazed the cattle, and when he grew up, he went to Sapizhanka. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – What about your sisters?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: My sisters worked for the Germans, where the Germans lived on our territory. – Where did the Germans live? mykhailo yevdokymovych: There was a colony that was in the process of returning to their land, not far from Cherkasy, on the right bank. – Was this before the First World War?

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mykhailo yevdokymovych: Yes. Each spring, my sisters would go to

work for this German and would work there until Saint Simeon Stylites [14 September] or the Intercession of the Theotokos [14 October], sometimes until Saints Cosmas and Damian [14 November], and then they would come home having earned some money as they had agreed with the landowner. – How much did he pay? mykhailo yevdokymovych: About forty rubles. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – What did your father do? yevdokia ivanivna: He spent five years at war which began in 1917. My mother went everywhere as a day laborer. She went to work for those who had a lot of land and a thresher, and she worked near a thresher where she’d earn sixteen kg of grain. – Did your father hire any day laborers? yevdokia ivanivna: No, he had five sons and two daughters – seven souls. We did all the work by ourselves. Then the guys got married. We had about five hectares and some additional plots (pomirky); we had arable land. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Did your uncle have day laborers? maria pylypivna: He did all the work on his own and didn’t join the kolhosp, so he was labeled a kurkul. My grandfather had a large farmstead and hired day laborers. When my grandfather died, my father continued to work alone. My grandmother was in charge of the housework. They had as much land as we did: 4.5 desiatyny. We had a seeding machine, two horses, and bulls. When my grandfather was alive, we used to have six horses. – How did your grandfather pay the day laborers? maria pylypivna: Someone would come before springtime and say that they had nothing to eat, so he would pay them with lard or money for the work that they would do later. In the summer, they would do the work: weed, sow, and harvest the sugar beets. Iryna Vasylivna Lotosh-Diatlenko (Sumy region) – Were there many rich people?

iryna vasylivna: Yes. When we grew up, we went to one man’s farm-

stead to weed the crops. He had a lot of land. He wore boots and was called a kurkul, but his house was low, and the neighbors used to say that he didn’t

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undress before going to bed. He couldn’t make both ends meet because he had a lot of land, but no one to work it because he had to hire people and pay them. There were rich people who had day laborers. One lived opposite our house and worked as a petty officer. He had two homesteads and hired day laborers, men and women, who lived in his homestead while working. He had furniture. In our family at the time, we only had two wooden benches next to opposing walls (so everyone in our large family could sit down), a table, and a chair. Hanna Pylypivna Marynenko (Kharkiv region) – Did your father sometimes hire day laborers? hanna pylypivna: To do the work? When the German war began, I became a day laborer and my younger brother (two years younger than me) went to work for the landowner. – How did the landowner pay? hanna pylypivna: With fabric to make clothes as well as money. – How much money? hanna pylypivna: I don’t remember. My brother and I (starting at age thirteen) went to work for the landowner. – What kind of work did you do there? hanna pylypivna: I would transport the hay. One time, a wagon nearly killed me. I was on my own and a wagon was rolling down from the hill. I got drawn underneath and it ran me down. – Did you sleep on the landowner’s premises? hanna pylypivna: There were rooms for us to sleep. … – What did you eat at the landowner’s? hanna pylypivna: We ate well at that time. We even baked pies. The landowner made us bake them. He also ordered halushky with milk every day. He fed us well. – Was the landowner a Ukrainian? hanna pylypivna: They probably were from Germany. – Did he know the Ukrainian language? Hanna Pylypivna: We ate well at the landowner’s, but where my brother worked the bread wasn’t good. I would sometimes send him some bread. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region)

mykola ivanovych: Those who did not place their hopes of making a living off the land worked in the sugar plant in Cherkasy; it was called

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Tereshchenka. The guys would work all winter long. I had a horse, so I was hired to plow and sow. – Were you paid with money? mykola ivanovych: Yes, but it was such difficult work. The sugar plant was twenty km. away, and we walked to and from for our shift. Everything was done manually. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Did you hire any day laborers?

ivan serhiiovych: We did everything on our own. A reaper was used for

harvesting, and girls would be hired to make sheaves, but we didn’t have any day laborers (naimyty). … – How did you pay those girls for sheaving? ivan serhiiovych: With money. – What about the day laborers that were hired for the whole year? Ivan Serhiiovych: They would get money, too, but they also got food and clothes. A landowner [here likely an ekonomiia] had permanent positions for blacksmiths, carpenters, wheelwrights, guards, and those who looked after the bulls and the horses. There were no production animals, just the working animals. Those workers were paid 7.5 per month [currency being discussed was not indicated in the original interview. “7.5 rubles per month” is mentioned in the interview below by Nadezha.] and given food rations. – What year was this? ivan serhiiovych: Before the Revolution. The food ration included two pounds of oil, sixteen kg of flour, and some firewood per month. Those who worked all year round also got half a desiatyna of ripe wheat; they only had to harvest it on their own. In spring (yaryna) they would also get half a desiatyna of the landowner’s land – sow what you will. There were few of them. – Did they have any land of their own? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, they had a bit of their own land. Our neighbors had two hectares, but the family was large. Two hectares was not sufficient for them. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – When before the Revolution your father worked for the landowner, were those landowners kind to the people? mykyta mykolaiovych: How shall I put it – so-so. This is how it was and still is: if you’re a good worker, the landowner or the khaziaiin is kind to you. This is how it was back then and still is. A good worker was appreciated

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and spared. Some would give their people two liters of milk every morning. Each worker had a two-liter bottle. A woman would bring out a container and say, “That’s your milk.” And the men would pour it into their bottles. There were some landowners who would beat their workers a great deal. Some had to be loved, and some – beaten. – How much was your father paid by the landlord? Mykyta Mykolaiovych: 7.5 rubles per month. Life was hard. Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Cherkasy region) – Where did you go to work? maria serhiivna: I worked for the people here: I grazed the cow and looked after the children. Then I went to another village and served at a rich man’s homestead. – Were they khaziaii? maria serhiivna: Yes, they had their farmstead. – How did they pay you? maria serhiivna: I had an agreement with them to receive twenty pounds of grain per year. I worked all year long. In the winter, I looked after the horses, cows, sheep, and pigs. In the summer, I worked in the field plowing and sheaving. In the fall, I would stack hay on the steam engine along with the men. I was fifteen. I did this in 1921. Then I went to work in Zolotonosha because by then I needed clothes to wear. I was growing up but had nothing to wear because there were ten of us children in the family. I worked for three years for a good Jewish family. I earned all I needed and even saved money to purchase down to put into pillows. That’s it. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – Did guys and girls go to do seasonal work? vira trokhymivna : Yes. – Where to? vira trokhymivna : To the landowners [probably an ekonomiia]. The landowners had large plantations of sugar beets, wheat, and such. We used to go to do the work for them. I have a story to tell. We had a sugar beet field near the forest, and the landowner’s territory was where the bus stop is today. The women worked in the field and got tired. They went to the forest and lay down to rest. My mother and Maria Nykonorivna sat down and started singing “Gently Flows the Danube” (Tykho-tykhy Dunai vodu nese). The landowner Metelitsky was on his way and stopped to listen. When they finished, he said, “Come here.” They got scared thinking that he would beat them for

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not working. He said, “Here, take a karbovanets each and buy something as a souvenir from me. You sing so well.” Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – How much land in total did your family have? andrii hryhorovych: We had enough land, but we did not work it; we didn’t have enough energy. My mother was a widow; we didn’t have working animals (tiahlo) like bulls or horses. We only had a cow. My mother would do some work for people, so they could come and sow on our land, but you know how strangers do it: fast and half-heartedly – then they are gone. When we grew up, we went to work as day laborers. … andrii hryhorovych: I served. In 1920, I went to work and continued until 1928. I worked for one man for three years and slept under the oven. You know how a person sometimes sleeps under the oven? – So, you became a day laborer at the age of nine? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, I hadn’t yet turned ten when my mother sent me to work. I cleaned the stables and looked after the cattle: two cows, two bulls, two calves, and twenty sheep. This was my responsibility. You had to clean and feed the animals and bring them water from the well. A cow would drink three buckets of water at lunch. You put a bucket in front of the cow, and the water is gone right away. You have to go get water again. I was little but did all this. – Did your older brothers become day laborers, too? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, all of us. Our mother couldn’t feed and dress all of us. – You said you had three desiatyny of land. Did your mother sow the land, after all? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, with rye, proso millet, and buckwheat. We didn’t cultivate wheat at the time. I suppose we didn’t think about it. Rye would usually yield a better harvest. We threshed the grain with a chain. People would bring their grain and we threshed, so we had our own bread. … – Your mother didn’t work as a day laborer? andrii hryhorovych: No-no, just us because we were orphans [here meaning their father had died]. – How did the people who hired you treat you? andrii hryhorovych: They treated us well. Our mother would send us to the responsible people: doctors or those who had money and didn’t offend children. – Did they pay you anything?

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andrii hryhorovych: I made fifteen karbovantsi a year. In 1927, I earned fifteen rubles and clothes. It was mandatory. – Were you treated humanely? andrii hryhorovych: I was treated as a day laborer. They didn’t prevent me from joining them for dinner. Everyone ate together from the same bowl. Well, there was no dinner table. No, there was one for Easter, Christmas, and the New Year. The rest of the year, people would just sit down on a sleeping ledge next to the oven and eat from one bowl. They would prepare a large bowl, and everyone took some. – How long were you hired for? andrii hryhorovych: For a year and then again for a year. After that I wanted to leave; I didn’t want to be there anymore. When I grew up, I was a worker, a shepherd, y’know. On Sunday, you had to graze the bulls, cows, and sheep. They also had pigs, but their daughter took care of them. I only dealt with the cattle. They had a lot of cattle. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – Did your family have any servants or day laborers? maria vasylivna: Never. We didn’t need them. We only had three hectares of land. This was not enough. We worked the land on our own. – Were there khaziaii in the village who hired day laborers? maria vasylivna: Almost none. Everyone worked by themselves. Perhaps there were rich people who hired others before my time. Priska Fedorivna Reva (Kharkiv region) – Did you work as a day laborer? priska fedorivna: Yes. – Whom did you work for? priska fedorivna: Over there, in Liakhivka. One foster father took me in to look after his two children, a boy and a girl. The boy was about sixteen, and the girl – about twelve. They had a cow and a horse. At first, I lived in Mlynkivka and also worked for a rich man. – Was he a landowner or a khaziaiin? priska fedorivna: A kurkul. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Did your father have any land? motria hryhorivna: No, he worked for a landowner. After the

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Revolution, we owned 0.7 hectares of land that the landowner gave us. In addition, my father continued working for the landowner. When we grew up a bit, we went to work for the landowner as well. He lived close by. My mother spent almost her whole life there. – What kind of work did your mother do for the landowner? motria hryhorivna: She milked the cows, weeded crops – everything. When we were a bit older, we would herd the cattle and weed the crops. – At what age did you start working? Motria Hryhorivna: I was fifteen when I started working for the landowner. – What did you do before that? motria hryhorivna: When I was little, I didn’t work. Our mother would lock us in the house, and our grandmother would look after us. My father and mother worked non-stop. They did whatever they were told to. … – When would the work usually start? motria hryhorivna: I was usually taken to work after Easter and finished everything by the Intercession of the Theotokos [14 October]. Then I would come home and spin yarn. My mother would get yarn from people because we didn’t have our own. At the time, it was hard to make money. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Did you have any day laborers? natalia hryhorivna: My father didn’t have any. Occasionally, he’d hire people to thresh the grain and cover the roof in the winter. We had a barn; we used two pairs of horses to bring two beams for the barn from Pshenyshnytsky forest where we made a deal with the foresters. The people from another village used to come with their chains to thresh. – Were they paid well? natalia hryhorivna: Of course. They were paid with grain. Paraska Fedotivna Smola (Poltava region) – Did you go to work as day laborers? paraska fedotivna: I worked for a landowner and for Jews. – What did you do there? paraska fedotivna: I pumped water for the cattle and drove two pairs of bulls. The musician guys that I used to drive would yoke and then unhitch the bulls and give me the rod to drive the bulls. You could live on the landowner’s homestead and at the Jews. For the Jews, I used to carry the water, clean the floor, and wash the dishes.

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– What did the landowner pay you? paraska fedotivna: One hundred rubles up to the Intercession of the Theotokos [14 October]. This was probably for three months. – The khaziaii didn’t treat you badly, did they? paraska fedotivna: No-no, they didn’t. A clerk would come out in the morning, “It’s time to wake up.” Some would get up, and some would draw a blanket over themselves, and he would pull the blanket – time to wake up. In the evening, we had music and parties outside. They didn’t treat us badly. – What did the Jews pay you? paraska fedotivna: Sometimes seven, sometimes six rubles per month. – Could you buy clothes with this money? paraska fedotivna: The stores didn’t have enough supply at the time; this was at the beginning of the Revolution. Sometimes, you’d buy some cotton somewhere, but you could not find a headscarf unless someone was selling it at the market perhaps. It wasn’t easy to get clothes. I once bought a pair of stockings for thirty rubles. This was a monthly salary. I bought the stockings before Easter, brought them home, and my mother nagged, “Have you seen anyone pay thirty rubles for a pair of stockings?” I had grown up already. My youngest brother was a shepherd for the landowner, and my older brothers – I don’t even know what they did. – What was the work term like? paraska fedotivna: From April until the Intercession of the Theotokos (14 October) for that much money. My father would charge the landowner three rubles for plowing, and someone from the family would do it. Or else, they would give us boots or something else as compensation. So, we lived. – Did the landowner treat anyone badly? paraska fedotivna: No. My mother’s father was beaten with rods. He told us once that he was a serf and got beaten by a landowner’s clerk. – “Why were you beaten?” – “I was a carriage driver for the landowner and overheard that serfdom was going to be abolished on a particular date. I went to a tavern and had a drink.” As I was walking back, I was asked where I went. – “I went looking for abolition.” They denounced him to the landowner, and the landowner ordered a beating. – “I got a beating, and serfdom was abolished in five days.” Most people would sow winter wheat (it renders good bread); I didn’t see any rye. We used to have wheat noodles. One would make millet or buckwheat porridge and halushky; they fed us well. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Did your father hire any day laborers? petro vasylovych: We did all the work by ourselves.

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– Did a man ever do a woman’s work? petro vasylovych: Never. Both of my parents helped around. My father’s brothers – Demchenko Zakharii, Khtodosii, and Vasyl – hired day laborers. – What did he pay them? petro vasylovych: Whatever they earned over the summer – they were shepherds or something. – For how long would people get hired? petro vasylovych: For three or four months – for a season – until Saint Simeon Stylites [14 September] or the Intercession of the Theotokos [14 October]. – Starting when? petro vasylovych: Starting in “the summer” Saint Nicholas [22 May]. They were paid with grain or, more frequently, with money. – Were the lay laborers ever treated badly? petro vasylovych: No. One would work in the summer, and rest on the oven ledge over the winter. We had some people who didn’t work but earned more than others. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did the richer people hire day laborers?

varvara denysivna: Yes, it would happen. My father had a day laborer, but he didn’t work all year long, just during the harvest and the threshing. – How was he paid? varvara denysivna: I don’t know. – Was he from the poor folk? varvara denysivna: Yes.

p ol i ti ca l i n sti tu ti ons of c ivil so c iet y The structure of political life in the pre-collectivized village of the early twentieth century was considerably different from that which later was foisted on the village during the collectivization period. Only a cursory examination is presented here, derived from the interviews. There is a literature on the subject, with a few sources readily accessible while others are not.2 Village political

2 One accessible study on the 1920s is Kalinichenko (1991). On the other hand, there are numerous regional studies, not easily accessible, written in the 1920s which provide a wealth of information on the social and political structure of the village of the time. For central Ukraine (especially the Cherkasy region) see Hospodarstvo Kyievshchyny (1926), Ekonomichny Cherkashchyny (1926), Humans'ka okruha (1926), and Vidchyt Shevchenkivs’koho (1927).

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structures varied somewhat from region to region, but the general picture shown here held true for most of central and eastern Ukraine to 1928 and in many cases to the year 1930. Once collectivization began, most elements of the political institutions of civil society were either destroyed or transformed markedly into something unrecognizable. Every one or two years, or as need dictated (as often as every few months), adult village males with property, as well as other important people in village life, gathered to decide various matters of importance to them as well as to elect a starosta, who would become the head of local government until the next election. This was not necessarily a village post, but rather often applied to an entire volost' (that is, an administrative unit of several villages). These gatherings were known as skhodky and they were the main political activity in the village. The starosta, once elected, led the skhodky and acted as a kind of sergeant-at-arms. The skhodky and the starosta were empowered to decide or act on a number of problems, many of which could affect nearly anyone in the village: to whom to rent village common land; where to build a bridge or a dam; among whom and how to divide land in questions of disputed holdings or in questions of new holdings; how to help widows, orphans, and the destitute; as well as other issues (Mykhailo Ihnatenko, Mykhailo Maslo). Other voting participants of the skhodky included the village priest or priests and the diak or diaky (cantor/cantors of church services). This was not an example of village democracy, but a limited republican excercise from which men without land holdings as well as all women were excluded. Men had to be at least eighteen years old and married with their own land holdings. They elected as starosta only individuals who were considered to be upright and industrious citizens. They were required to have land, draft animals, be successful and industrious farmers, and have a good reputation. Heavy drinkers or those with questionable reputations, that is, all those not held in the highest esteem by the village community, were not usually elected to posts (Ivan Mushynsky). Other elected posts included strazhnik (guard), pysar (clerk), and banshchyk (treasurer). Women were not allowed to vote. They did sometimes attend the meetings, but according to several interviewees they were not supposed to participate in discussions: Mykhailo Maslo – Did women go, too?

mykhailo pavlovych: The men went, and a woman was secondary. The

men would gather and settle important questions: where to build a bridge, where to set up a pond, and what other type of work to do. They would decide on this and allot the land.

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Ivan Mushynsky – Did women take part in a skhodka? ivan serhiiovych: No, God forbid. See also the comments of Ivan Panych (p. 127). The roles of women and divisions of labor and authority are discussed below in the “Family” section of this chapter. In most locales voting took place not in a public building such as a library or club (neither of which existed in most locales), but in the home of one of the local landholders, a house that was large enough to accommodate a large number of people (Petro Kushnir). Voting in most regions was by secret ballot. Ivan Mushynsky described the election in his region in some detail. Candidates were considered, then accepted or rejected one at a time. Voting was secret and was accomplished by placing the “ballot” into a covered box or jar: by placing a bean you rejected a candidate; by placing a pea you accepted him. Beans and peas were added up and the candidate’s fortunes announced.

int e rvi ew e xce rp ts : p ol i ti c al institu tions of c ivil s o ci et y b e f ore c ollec tiviz ation Pavlo Illich Vovchenko (Sumy region) – Who was in power in the village before the Revolution? pavlo illich: A starosta was in power. He was elected by the community during a large assembly. We were young at the time, so we were not included in the electorate. The older, bearded men would go and say, “Ivan should be a starosta.” They knew he was a reliable man. The others would respond, “Zakhar should be one; he’ll bring things in order.” This was how the assembly went. They would discuss and throw hats. – Would they elect a reliable person or a rich one? pavlo illich: Not a rich one, but a smart one. And they listened to him, too. Anton Vasylovych was a good chairman in our village for about fifteen years. Then in 1924 they elected a rich one, Stepan. He presided over the whole corner of the village, and there was no justice during his term. Halyna Ivanivna Hatko (Kharkiv region) – Who allotted the land? halyna ivanivna: There was a town hall. – Who was in charge of the town hall? halyna ivanivna: A starosta and a secretary (pysar).

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– Was there a local community assembly (skhodka)? halyna ivanivna: Yes. – What would they decide on? halyna ivanivna: The land allotment: who would get land and who wouldn’t. – If a husband and wife occasionally had an argument, would the skhodka still take place? halyna ivanivna: No. Motria Fedorivna Hrytsyna (Sumy region) – Do you remember a pre-revolutionary community?

motria fedorivna: Yes. There was an elected police servant in the village

(desiatnyk). A starosta would remind him about the Sunday skhodka. The landowners would come in phaetons. We the children were interested in seeing the landowners. The whole village went to a skhodka: both women and men. They [the landowners] would walk by and see a young woman reaping a crop with a sickle, “What a hard-working girl!” As they walked on, they’d see a man resting under an apple tree and panhandling, “That girl will feed this lazy man. Give him some dry toasts.” Then they would have the assembly. – Was a desiatnyk elected or assigned? motria fedorivna: The people would elect a reliable one. We used to have the land and meadows at the time to make hay. One such desiatnyk was hired to stack hay for every man in the village in equal measure; this was common land. He made the biggest haystack for himself. – What issues would they review during the assembly? motria fedorivna: The landowners hired people, in order to discuss payment. The people would decide which meadow to sow and how much to get paid. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – What were the authorities like in the village before the kolhosp? Who was in charge? mykhailo yevdokymovych: A khaziaiin was in charge. A man was assigned to the village council for one or two years. – What was this position called? mykhailo yevdokymovych: A starosta. – Was he elected by the people or assigned by the government? mykhailo yevdokymovych: He was elected. He had to be a khaziaiin, not someone lazy. – What was the election like?

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mykhailo yevdokymovych: A skhodka.

– Were skhodky only held during the chairman election or at some other time as well? mykhailo yevdokymovych: They would be announced as needed, and people would come. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – What was the highest body of the village council before the Revolution: assembly (zbory), skhodka, or starostat? petro ivanovych: Starostat. – Were some decisions made during the assembly? petro ivanovych: There was a skhodka; people would come. – Did all the peasants come? petro ivanovych: Yes, there were reminders, “Go to the skhodka!” – Where did the people gather since there was no village club at the time? petro ivanovych: No, there was no club. They would gather in Denys’s house over there – there used to be a house near the store on the hill, where now there’s a beer pub. If this was in the summer, they would gather in the grazing field near the store. – Describe how the skhodka went. petro ivanovych: The county policeman (uriadnyk) came from the regional district. He was a government servant. Then I don’t know; I think there weren’t many government representatives at the time. I don’t remember how it went; I heard some accounts. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – Who was the highest authority in the village?

mykhailo pavlovych: A starosta. There was a volost where several villages

belonged. There was a starosta, a village guard (strazhnik) [the lowest police rank in the village], and a secretary (pysar). If they needed an additional administrator, they would invite some old man, “Keep track, and you’ll report to us in the evening.” There was a separate barn where they would store and thresh everything: this was the common fund to help the widows, orphans, and the poor. Once you donated grain to it, a mark was made. Everything was accounted for. – Who elected the starosta? mykhailo pavlovych: A skhodka. Artiom Serhiiovych would walk around the village and announce in a loud voice that all men were invited to the town hall for a skhodka. – Did women go, too?

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mykhailo pavlovych: The men went, and a woman was secondary. The men would gather and settle important questions: where to build a bridge, where to set up a pond, and what other type of work to do. They would decide on this and allot the land. – Did skhodka also decide where to get lumber? mykhailo pavlovych: I think lumber was bought from the forestry. This was done by the vote. You had to own horses and tools and be a good khaziaiin and a just and religious person. Such people were elected. Some people would recommend one, and some – the other. They would vote. A swindler would not get elected. – Would it happen that a rich man was in charge of the election of a starosta? mykhailo pavlovych: If his reputation was not good enough, the candidate would be turned down. … – Did all people have equal rights during the skhodka? mykhailo pavlovych: Of course, all. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Who was the main authority in the village before the Revolution? ivan serhiiovych: At the time, we had a volost and a starshyna was the main authority. He was elected. Our volost consisted of the villages Zhurovka, Petryky, Vilshana, Verbivka, Zelene, and Tovsta. In the village, we had a starosta and a kardoharnia [a type of administrator]. No protocols were drafted at the time. … – Was the starosta elected in a local village? ivan serhiiovych: A starosta was elected in our local village, and the starshyna was elected by all the villages of the volost by a secret ballot. Those who voted yes would put a pea into a container, and those who voted no would put a bean into the box; people were not literate. For the election of the starshyna each village would propose its candidate. … – What was the highest body of this government? ivan serhiiovych: Skhodka. – What decisions were made during a skhodka? Ivan Serhiiovych: Decisions on the economic activities and the jobs that had to be done in the village. In 1908, they wanted to build a hospital in our village. It was discussed at the skhodka, but the village hospital had to be funded by tax money (desiatyna). The people didn’t want to proceed, so the hospital was built instead in Shevchenkove, and we only had a landowners’ hospital. – Did people go to that hospital?

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ivan serhiiovych: No. People didn’t get ill much at the time. The land-

owners’ laborers worked in that hospital because we had three landowners. A doctor would see children up to seven years old, but not the old people. So, the people didn’t go to the hospital and went to women-healers instead. ivan serhiiovych: No, God forbid. … – Did all members of the community have equal right to vote? ivan serhiiovych: All except women. All who came had the right to vote. – What was the voting age? ivan serhiiovych: Eighteen. – Were only married men allowed to vote or could young bachelors vote, too? Ivan Serhiiovych: No, young men did not vote. Only the khaziaii. A bachelor didn’t go to a skhodka because he was not a khaziaiin; he was called a burla. Ivan Vasylovych Panych (Sumy region) – Were there starosty in the village?

ivan vasylovych: Yes, they were elected by the community. Our neigh-

bor was a starosta. I remember the community would gather and the starosta would decide. The assembly was mandatory in the spring before sowing. At the time, it was not called a village council, but a rozprava. There was a guy there who would give directions: mend the roads. Then the people would get together – some came in a car and others brought spades – and fix the road. During the tsar’s reign, my father paid three rubles in taxes, and a ruble was worth a great deal at the time: Sixteen kg of flour used to cost fifteen kopeks. – How long was the starosta’s term? ivan vasylovych: I don’t know. There was a specific house which was destroyed during the Revolution. I wasn’t old enough to experience the old times for long, but a starosta was still there in Soviet times. That house was used as a village club for the assembly. – Did the women attend the assembly, too? ivan vasylovych: No, God forbid! They would chase a woman out with wooden sticks. A woman was not held in high esteem at the time. Her responsibilities were considered to be the oven and the children. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Prior to collectivization, were there zbory (assemblies) in the village?

halyna ilarionivna: Not zbory, but a skhodka. My parents used to go. – Your parents paid taxes. What was the tax?

halyna ilarionivna: They took [grain] to Tsentrzerno [The Central

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Grain Warehouse] in Kamianka. – Where in the village did the skhodka take place? halyna ilarionivna: In the village council. – And prior to collectivization? halyna ilarionivna: The village council already existed at the time. I was six years old when they were setting it up. – Did women go there? halyna ilarionivna: Why would they? At the time, women didn’t go anywhere. They had no time to go. They were busy spinning yarn and weaving. – Were the khaziaii the only ones who went? halyna ilarionivna: If a skhodka was necessary, men would be summoned, and they would go. Hryhorii Demydovych Sozansky (Vinnytsia region) – How did people in the village get together before collectivization?

hryhorii demydovych: Men would go to a skhodka.

– Did all the people have equal rights? hryhorii demydovych: Some were deprived of their right to vote: priests, deacons, church servants, the starosta, and those who used hired workers. Kateryna Kupriianivna Yaremaka (Cherkasy region) – What was the authority in the village [before collectivization]? kateryna kupriianivna: Before collectivization, a starshyna, a pysar, and a banshchyk were the authorities. – Who were they? kateryna kupriianivna: A starshyna is like a starosta. A pysar is a secretary. A banshchyk is a treasurer. They used to work in the volost and had their own farmsteads at home. They were in charge of the whole village. At the time, everyone had their own land. You could work the land if you wanted to or not work it. Taxes were high at the time. A skhodka took place every three months and was attended by men only.

fa m i ly structure , au t horit y, and l ab or Two basic kinds of family structures were common in the village: nuclear and extended. Nuclear families tended to extend when the children came of marrying age. Grown children would remain with their parents at least until marriage and often for long after that, bringing their spouse to live with their parents. This

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could apply to either daughters or sons. In the event children did not marry they most commonly lived with their parents, inheriting the house and land holdings on their parents’ death. Without a wife or husband (for example, in cases where children were crippled or blind and remained unmarried) they rarely would live apart from the nuclear family (Halyna Riasna). Most people lived in an extended family. In addition to the extension of the nuclear family when a son’s or daughter’s spouse came to live with the parents, families were enlarged in various ways, according to several interviewees. In one instance two brothers each had separate homes but farmed together the land left them by their father (Marko Demchenko). If two brothers stayed on with their parents, when the parents died the two brothers would often continue together, each with their families. In one instance thirteen people lived in a two-room house: Sava Chorny – Did your family live in one house? sava ivanovych: We lived in one house with my father and mother. My grandfather had six people in the house, and his brother had seven daughters. They all lived in one house. – How many people lived in one house? sava ivanovych: It was a standard house. The elders would sleep on the floor. The married ones and the bachelors would spread some hay on the floor to sleep. They say they lived in peace. Why? Because the parents were the law. The father’s word was not debatable. Everyone worked to keep the homestead and the family in order. The interviewee emphasized that order was maintained because of the inherent authority of the male heads of families. Most interviewees agreed that the father or grandfather was the head of the family, kept the family money, and made the crucial decisions affecting family welfare. Several, however, noted that both the mother and father controlled the family equally (Varvara Chukhlib), and a few pointed out that mother was the moral authority of the family (Ivan Roman). Men and women had different tasks to perform, but there was considerable overlap: a man sewing was as common as a woman doing heavy labor in the fields. Widows and widowers especially had to find a way to continue the work that their late husbands or wives had normally done (Andrii Dotsenko). Varvara Chukhlib noted that virtually any kind of work pattern could be found and that everyone, either a male or female, was flexible as well as knowledgeable about a wide variety of labor: – Was labor divided into men’s and women’s work?

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varvara denysivna: It depends. At times, my father would go into the

field; I would drive the horses; my mother would harvest the crops. When we were in the field, I would harvest the crops with a sickle.

Halyna Riasna described a similar flexibility in social and labor roles: – Would your father hire only men for a specific type of work, and only women for another type of work? halyna ilarionivna: Women were hired to plow and sow. Once we grew up, father would transport the haystacks together with the girls. They managed it on their own. Girls did men’s work. On certain matters, particularly regarding family customs regulating the division of labor (and indirectly the meaning of “womanhood” and “manhood”), social mores could be stringent. Ivan Mushynsky notes that “women’s work” was with the pots and with children. A man could not, by custom in his locale, pick up and hold in his arms one of his children in public. To do so could lead someone to cast aspersions on his “manhood.” If he so wished, he could hold his children in his arms in the privacy of his home when no one was looking – but only then. Family labor was by far the most common form of village labor. Younger children worked the easiest jobs such as pasturing animals, while older children gradually took on harder work. One or more adult males commonly lived with their parents, along with the adult males’ spouses and children. At any given time, everyone had work patterns to realize: “Konem orav syn, bat’ko volamy orav” (“The son plowed using the horse, and father – using the oxen”) (Halyna Riasna). In yet another setting, the mother and father both hired themselves out to the local gentry on a part time basis (as part of a large group working the gentry’s holdings), while the rest of the time the father worked his family’s holdings while the mother worked at home; grandparents and children worked at home all the time (Motria Rohova). In a more unusual setting an extended family of fifteen people lived under one roof in two rooms: the interviewee’s nuclear family (three people); his father’s brother and family (ten people); as well as grandmother and grandfather. The family holdings were twenty hectares. The children were hired out for light labor until age fifteen, after which the boys took on heavier jobs such as cutting grass for hay as well as plowing and seeding, again often as hired labor for others. The women kept sheep, shearing them and processing the wool in order to make clothing for the family. They also wove, sewed, and embroidered. The men worked the family holdings, assisted part of the time by their boys as well as the women (Mykola Medvydenko). Children’s Upbringing: Work, Language, and Education

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In the peasant society of Ukraine before collectivization, as in virtually all peasant societies, children were a source of labor. The youngest began by pasturing animals – mostly milk cows, oxen, horses, geese, and sheep. Interviewees gave various starting ages for this, but in general it could begin anywhere from five to ten years old. The youngest age mentioned of a child working (here it is mentioned by the interviewee as a learning situation, not the work itself) is reported by Olha Odnoroh, who says that from age three she accompanied her grandmother to the garden. From age five or six she helped pasture pigs. Andrii Pavlichenko said that fiveyear olds pastured geese, while older children pastured cows and horses. Harder and more labor-intensive chores were rarely forced on young children as they were unable to carry them out. All children, boys and girls, took part in the pasturing of animals. In some locales, this was one of the few chores for which children could earn money. Here pasturing was sometimes done by pooling the animals of several households (stadamy) and it was especially in such cases that children were paid: kopiiku zaroblialy (“They earned a kopek.”) (Marko Demchenko). Sheep especially were pooled (otary) and one or several children were hired to take them to pasture and watch over them. Ivan Mushynsky noted how much they were paid: – Was a shepherd hired? ivan serhiiovych: Hired and paid. If I gave him five sheep, he would charge five rubles for the summer. Thirty rubles was a large sum at the time; one could buy a cow with that. Each sheep had an earmark or a collar. They would all go in a flock. Pavlo Vovchenko reckoned a different price for pasturing horses: The little guy would get twenty or thirty kopeks so he could buy himself a jacket, and for this he’d graze the horses all the summer long. More difficult or labor-intensive chores began when they were between ten and twelve years old, although they accompanied their parents to the fields before this and learned the work patterns for especially potatoes and beets already from a younger age (Natalia Kravchenko). There were partial gender divisions of labor among children. According to one interviewee (Frosyna Zelenetska), boys more often than girls fed and watered the animals and plowed and sowed in the fields. Girls worked in the house cooking and sewing in the cold months, while during the warm months they also worked in the fields. Some work was performed in a group of boys and girls. This was voluntary association – they gathered then came apart out of friendship and/or mutual need. It was a part of the normal civil society that existed virtually anywhere government authority or other forms of despotic control of land and labor was

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minimal or even not found. This was described by Iryna Lotosh-Diatlenko: Boys and girls would get together to break hemp and have fun. We used to soak the hemp in the backwater near the meadow. The backwater was so clear and full of fish at the time; now the river Psol is all covered in duckweed. When we went to soak the hemp, we had to wear pants because there were lots of leeches in the water and they would stick to the shins – there was a good deal of screaming. We would sometimes put [the hemp fiber] on top of the water; it floated and stayed close to the shore. Then you put two stakes and threw soil with a spade on the hemp to pull it down and to dampen the soil on top. Children were trained from a young age to address all adults by the formal form Vy, and not by the familiar ty (Maria Bulakh; Yevdokia Kyiko). In many families, children did not sit at the table to eat with adults. When guests arrived, the children were to go to another building or go outside and play (Iryna Lotosh-Diatlenko). Children in most regions received only a rudimentary education at best. It was rare that a child could be spared from work for the long hours required daily for schooling beyond the primary grades. In the following account (Tetiana Saliienko), the interviewee is the only one of her family to attend high school (lycée). Her family was wealthier than most other peasant families and she was able to attend only because she cried and pleaded for it. She attended high school for three years in a small town near her natal village where an apartment was rented for her. Other expenses included tuition for the school itself, separate food for her, and transportation costs between the village and town. After three years her parents announced that was enough. She was needed at home. She left school and returned home to work on the family holdings. Note the language of instruction, which was Russian (this was in imperial times). Although she knew Ukrainian, she did not study it in school: – How many years did you study there? tetiana panasivna : Not long. My mother said, “Child, you need to help at home. Enough reading and writing. Help your mother.” I completed the village school and studied for three years at the gymnasium. They taught French there. There were no Ukrainian classes, and I didn’t learn it. – What was the language of instruction in the gymnasium? tetiana panasivna : Russian. – Did your siblings go to the gymnasium? tetiana panasivna : No, only I. The older ones didn’t go; our father wouldn’t let them. I was the one who asked to be sent there because I was

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getting good recommendations in school, so he let me study more. But you had to pay and buy your child the boots and clothes, so later on he said: “You studied a little; that’s enough. You need to work, child.” He made me work.

int erv i ew e xce rp ts : fa mi ly stru c tu re, au thorit y, a n d work i n the family Tetiana Vasylivna Barbaziuk (Vinnytsia region) – Who was the head of the family? tetiana vasylivna: My father was in charge of the money. He and my uncle worked on a lathe. My father had one brother, but he was the kind of person who would spend all his money on alcohol. He was sturdy and strong, too. – Did they have authority in the village? tetiana vasylivna: Yes. … – What kind of work did you do? tetiana vasylivna: The same work that my parents did: weeding and reaping the harvest. In spring, my father would sit down at his lathe, and I would drive the horses to plow the land with a harrow. My father would go home, and I would continue plowing. Maria Andriivna Bulakh (Poltava region) – Did children look after their parents? maria andriivna: At the time, yes. Unlike now, when someone marries, he moves away from his father and doesn’t want to live together. Back then, the children lived with their parents because otherwise the father would not build a house or give them land. No matter how the father behaved, he was still looked after by his children. – How was the property divided? maria andriivna: If a child lived on his own, the father would give him something, if he had anything to give. The father divided land: some got more, others got less. More land was given to the child with whom the father lived. Those children who separated earlier got less land because the father had to keep some for himself and the son that lived with him. There was some land for girls who were getting married. [In one instance] the girl’s father had died, but the land was available to them. I had a grandmother who owned a hectare of land; this was long ago. This was called mother’s land (materyznena

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zemlia). … – Did you use the formal “you” (Vy) when addressing your parents? maria andriivna: Yes. No one at the time used the informal “you” (ty) when talking to their father, God forbid. Pavlo Illich Vovchenko (Sumy region) – At what age were children taught to work?

pavlo illich: If the father was poor, his children would start working at

the age of ten. If the father was rich, his son would grow up to be tall but still wouldn’t work. He’d just walk the streets smacking women’s rear ends. And the little one would be driving the horses and the cart with the rich grown-up sitting in it. The little guy would get twenty or thirty kopeks so he could buy himself a jacket, and for this he’d graze the horses all the summer long. Marko Mykolaiovych Demchenko (Sumy region) – Who was the head of the family? marko mykolaiovych: At first, it was my grandfather, and then my father. My grandfather was hard-working (khaziaiin). My father was, too, but not to the same extent. My grandfather read the Bible and went to church. – Did he work with your father on their farmstead? marko mykolaiovych: My grandfather split the farmstead with my father. Semen and Serioha. One had his own children, and my father had his own. We had one garden, but two houses. … – At what age were the children taught to work? marko mykolaiovych: Starting at age six or eight. Some grazed geese or cows; some would graze other people’s cows. Each earned some money. I used to graze cows throughout the summer until the winter to get a pair of cotton pants. Many people wove at the time. Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region) – Was there a clear division of labor between men and women?

andrii hryhorovych: Yes, and so it will always be. A woman has never

been a carpenter. A man has never woven cloth or spun yarn. A man could make some food. If you wanted to eat, you could cook something if there was any food in the house. But men’s and women’s work were divided, because physically a woman cannot be a blacksmith. Some parts are so heavy she

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cannot lift them. There were some women – widows – who worked the land because they couldn’t hire anyone [could not afford to hire anyone]. Domna Fedorivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – At what age were the children taught to work? For instance, if the father was rich, until what age could his children not work? domna fedorivna: A rich father would not send his children to work. They had to be home. Only members of poor families who had nothing to eat and nowhere to go had to work. I had to start working because I had no choice; I had to buy some clothes. – Was there a division of labor between men and women? domna fedorivna: At the time, you did what you had to do. Any job you could get. This is how life and work went. Hanna Vasylivna Zamohylna (Poltava region) – How were the parents addressed? hanna vasylivna: Only with the formal “you” (Vy) for both father and mother. God forbid one would ever use the informal “you” (Ty). The formal “you” was also the form of address to the kumy (Godparents) and other peers. No matter how the kum or kuma behaved, you could not swear at them; it was a big sin. Yelizaveta Fedorivna Zashalovska (Kharkiv region) – What kind of work did you do at home when you were little? yelizaveta fedorivna: I grazed the cattle, the cow. We had a cow, a calf, ducks, pigs, and geese, so I helped around the homestead. – Would you sometimes go to the field with your father to sheave the hay? yelizaveta fedorivna: Of course. We used to own land, so we used to go there to sow and do all kinds of work in the field. Frosyna Sylvestrivna Zelenetska (Vinnytsia region) – What kind of work did you do at home when you were little?

frosyna sylvestrivna: I grazed the geese, weeded the crops, embroi-

dered, and spun yarn into slivers. All our family would go to weed the crops together. – Was there a division of labor? yelizaveta fedorivna: Yes. Guys fed the cattle and plowed and sowed

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the field, and we the women worked at home. We didn’t do any yard work. In spring or summer, we’d go to the field if there was work to do there. In the fall and winter, we would spin yarn; we had work to do daily. – What kinds of products did you make yourselves? yelizaveta fedorivna: Cloth and jackets. We raised sheep and spun yarn on a wheel. At the time, people used to sew long overcoats (hunky and kozhukhy), so we hired help. We used to make and embroider shirts and skirts for ourselves. Valentyna Ivanivna Ilchenko (Vinnytsia region) – Where did your parents sleep?

valentyna ivanivna: Usually on the floor, not in a bed. Parents and

children slept together. – Who slept on the oven ledge? valentyna ivanivna: Yukhtyma, our grandmother. That was her territory. She had many bundles of onion bulbs or garlic heads there in winter; they were kept there because the temperature was warm. – What kind of work was your father’s responsibility? valentyna ivanivna: All the yard and field work: bringing compost in the spring, plowing the field, sowing, and planning where to sow different crops. And the horses, too. He had to herd them to the stables for the night. – What did your older brother do? valentyna ivanivna: When he grew up, he grazed the horses. My father worked on his farm. Everyone did some kind of work. – Who was considered the head of the family in your house? valentyna ivanivna: My father. – Who was in charge of the money? valentyna ivanivna: The money was kept on the shelf for the utensils. No one ever took a penny, and we never hid the money anywhere – neither in the chest, nor in the bag. The shelf was shaped as a corner. – If your mother had to buy some clothes for the girls, could she take some money from there? valentyna ivanivna: My father and mother bought the clothes. Our mother was ill, so it was more my father’s responsibility. She spent more time in bed suffering from pain than taking care of us the children. – So, who made sure you had the boots and clothes? Who made you the shirts? valentyna ivanivna: Our mother made the shirts. – Did she embroider them, too? valentyna ivanivna: Yes. If she was feeling better, she would embroider the collar and the sleeves.

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– When you were little, did you have embroidered shirts? valentyna ivanivna: Yes, and I knew how to embroider myself. My mother taught me even before I went to school. I would take the needle and embroider. – Did your father marry into a family with land or did he have land of his own? valentyna ivanivna: He was the oldest of the five brothers. I think he married our mother because of her land, not out of love. Our grandmother Yukhtyma had three sons and our mother, the oldest of her siblings. A childhood illness – measles or something – took all of the boys in one year, and only my mother was left alive. One time, she was running around outside after the rain and broke her knee. There were no doctors in the village at the time. Her leg healed, but she was left with a permanent limp. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – Who was the head of your family?

valentyna ivanivna: My father.

– Did you use the formal “you” (Vy) when addressing your parents?

valentyna ivanivna: Yes, no one used the informal form at the time,

except one girl I remember. Some people would try to convince her not to use the informal form of address. Everyone else used the formal address. Kost Petrovych Kovalenko (Sumy region) – At what age were children taught to work?

kost petrovych: People say that children should be taught to work early

on. When I was twelve, I used to plow and graze horses at night. My father was strict: I had to bring the horses back on time in the morning. Sometimes he would beat me with a stick. Our neighbor had a plot of land next to ours. My father would tell me to plow twenty-five fathoms (I would be so sleepy) and say, “Kost’, I’ll teach you how to get enough sleep and plow at the same time. Put down the shaft (we used to wear sturdy overcoats at the time – siriaky and svyty), put the overcoat on top of the shaft, and lie down. You won’t be able to rest long. When you feel the wooden shaft on your back, you’ll get up.” – Were other people’s parents strict, too? kost petrovych: Some were drunkards. I had two sisters; I was the youngest.

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Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Did you use the formal “you” (Vy) when addressing your parents? maria pylypivna: Only the formal “you.” My children, however, used the informal “you” (ty). Natalia Stepanivna Kravchenko (Sumy region) – Who kept the family money?

natalia stepanivna: A wooden box in the closet was used to keep the

family money. Only my father and grandfather made money. Once we were done with the home chores, we’d go to the sugar beet field where our mother worked and make some money there. The money was in the box; we didn’t touch it. My nickname was the shepherd; I used to graze geese when I was in first grade. The geese hatched during Lent, and eventually they were moved to the garden where I grazed them. One time, I got distracted playing around, and a crow pecked two goslings. What lie would I tell at home? I came home crying, “They were fighting while a mother goose was in the water.” – At what age were the children taught to work? natalia stepanivna: They would sheaf as soon as they grew up. Then they would weed the potatoes or go to pull weeds in the sugar beet fields. They would be taught to work from early on. Iryna Vasylivna Lotosh-Diatlenko (Sumy region) – At what age were the children taught to work?

iryna vasylivna: We would do housework. If you went out until 10 p.m.,

you had to get up in the morning before your mother stirred. We used to sow hemp and spin yarn. Boys and girls would get together to break hemp and have fun. We used to soak the hemp in the backwater near the meadow. The backwater was so clear and full of fish at the time; now the river Psol is all covered in duckweed. When we went to soak the hemp, we had to wear pants because there were lots of leeches in the water and they would stick to the shins – there was a good deal of screaming. We would sometimes put [the hemp fiber] on top of the water; it floated and stayed close to the shore. Then you put two stakes and throw soil with a spade on the hemp to pull it down and to dampen the soil on top. – How much hemp does one need to make a shirt? iryna vasylivna: We spun yarn and wove on our own, so we would use about one hundred cubits [a cubit is equal to forty-five cm]. Back in the day the unit of measure was not a meter, but a cubit. People would weave one

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hundred cubits of cloth either from staminate (male) or pistillate (female) plants. Then the cloth would be cut depending on what the person needed – a shirt or a pair of pants. We used to weave a lot during the winter. Two people would spin yarn because we also had to do the housework. – Did your father have any horses? iryna vasylivna: He had horses and oxen. Later on, I didn’t want to graze the oxen anymore and they switched to horses. If you let the oxen go grazing in the summer, they’d go into the woods and the bushes. I was afraid of following them there and would run home instead, crying, while the oxen were already taken by someone else. We had a bit of arable land to plant beets, so we used the oxen to plow it. Then my father switched to horses. I was perhaps eight or nine when I went to stack the hay with my father. I would pass him the stacks with a hayfork. One field was far away, so we would leave home in the evening to get there. The oxen would graze, and we would stack the hay and take it home. We had a large folding cart. My sister and I used to transport buckwheat and millet. We would stack about sixty sheaves and bring them home; the field was not too far away. My father made two metal breaks for us, so the horse was moving slowly, not running. … – Were children present at the dinner table? iryna vasylivna: Not in our family. Children were never at the table with the guests. The adults would sit at the table, and the children would be in the other room or playing outside. – Did children respect their elders? iryna vasylivna: Of course; they never used the informal “you” (ty) [when addressing elders]. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region)

mykola ivanovych: We lived together – my father and his brother – for

fifteen years in one house. The house was big enough for fifteen people and had a thatched roof. My father’s brother had eight children and my father had two, plus two grandparents, my uncle and his wife, and my mother (my father was at the imperial war). My grandfather had twenty hectares of land, four horses, some sheep, and a cow. … – At what age were children taught to work? mykola ivanovych: Most children worked as day laborers (naimyty). I, for instance, grazed cows until the age of ten, and when I turned fifteen, I reaped rye and wheat with a scythe, plowed, and sowed. …

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– Your father had an individual farm after the Revolution. Did he make enough money to cover the basic expenses? mykola ivanovych: Yes, he made enough money because we only had to buy clothes. Everything else we already owned: cattle, one piglet, onions in the garden, and cabbage. People used to sell these at the market. – Did you have homespun fabric, too? mykola ivanovych: Yes. My mother used to weave. This was during the Revolution. During the tsar’s reign, we had sheep and wove fabric. Then there were the so-called stupy near the Dnipro – roller mills – that produced the cloth. People would make jackets, overcoats (svyta), and hooded cloaks called burka and known earlier as yarmolka. A khaziaiin would wear one. – What about women? mykola ivanovych: Women wore overcoats (svyta) and kozhukhy. They slaughtered the sheep and prepared the hide on their own. – Were these coats embroidered? mykola ivanovych: Sure thing! There were trained tailors among the locals who made such coats and decorated them with grey stripes. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Did women take part in a local community assembly (skhodka)?

ivan serhiiovych: No, God forbid. A woman is for pots. Women used to

be concerned with pots. There was a custom at the time to say of a man who held his child in his arms in public, “She put a skirt or a clay bowl on him.” Or, “Stepan’s wife put a skirt on him.” He could hold his child in the house, but not in public, not to be seen like that. … – At what age were the children taught to work? ivan serhiiovych: From early on. When a girl was six or seven, she had to be near her mother helping peel the potatoes. When a child turned seven or eight, he or she would graze the cattle. An older one would go to graze the cattle, and a younger one would follow. – Were the sheep grazed in flocks or did each person graze their own sheep? ivan serhiiovych: Each person grazed their own cattle, but the sheep were taken care of by the shepherd. I grazed a cow, and the sheep would follow it because if they were on their own, they were afraid of dogs. There were sheep flocks in the village corners. – Was a shepherd hired? ivan serhiiovych: Hired and paid. If I gave him five sheep, he would charge five rubles for the summer. Thirty rubles was a large sum at the time;

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one could buy a cow with that. Each sheep had an earmark or a collar. They would all go in a flock. Olha Vasylivna Odnoroh (Cherkasy region) – At what age were children taught to work? olha vasylivna: At the age of five or six children grazed pigs. The pigs would be taken to the field to eat spikelets and then locked up in a pigsty for the feeding after the Intercession of the Theotokos [14 October]. A six-yearold child would graze other people’s cattle (zaimanok) in the woods and the fields. Kids didn’t have time to play. Once they learned to walk at the age of three, they would follow their grandmother into the garden. At the age of five or six, they would graze ducks and geese. – Was there a division of labor? olha vasylivna: Yes. The older ones worked in the field and had to graze the oxen in the evening and sleep overnight in the field next to them. Early in the morning, the oxen had to be brought home and harnessed for the fieldwork. Neighbor boys and our girls would graze the cattle on the island. Oleksandra Yukhymivna Omelchenko (Poltava region) – At what age were you told to work? oleksandra yukhymivna: Starting at age eight, I was plowing the steppes with two horses, two oxen, and a cart (harbychka). My father used to say, “Do no fewer than one hundred rounds.” You’d come to the steppe, install the plow, and hook up the oxen. The horses were first. I was alone driving the horses and watching the plow; it was hard. I would get to the edge and switch to another furrow. My father was demanding. He’d go into the steppe and show me how to plow. Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – At what age were children taught to work?

andrii hryhorovych: When they could walk. Around age five or six

they would graze geese. When they were six or seven, kids would graze the cow. That was all. Then, if the family had horses, children could drive horse carts, too. – Was there a division of labor between men and women? andrii hryhorovych: No, everyone worked together, whoever could do the job. Of course, if someone could not do something, a man or another woman would step in. Everyone worked.

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Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – What did your mother do? maria vasylivna: She helped my father in the field and was mainly doing the housework. She would get up around four o’clock in the morning to make food while all of us were still asleep. We would lock the cooked food in a barn to keep it away from the cats. When we woke up in the morning, my mother and father were already gone. We would run to the barn and eat the food. – What did children do? maria vasylivna: My responsibility was to clean, sweep the floor, and feed the chickens, piglets, and sheep. And the boys: your father was still a child and was just running around, but Maksym was already helping around [Maria Vasylivna is being interviewed by her daughter]. – Who was considered the head of the family? maria vasylivna: They lived in great harmony and did everything together. Of course, a woman was always in charge. – Who got to keep the family money? maria vasylivna: They made all the decisions together, but my father was in charge of the money. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – Who was the head of the family?

motria tymofiivna: My father.

– What kind of work did your father do and what did your mother do? Motria Tymofiivna: My father would plow, sow, look after the cattle, and my mother only milked the cows. They would plant potatoes together; my mother would also weed the crops and cook at home. – How did the children help around the farmstead? motria tymofiivna: We grazed cattle. My brother grazed the cattle, and I grazed the sheep; we had six of them. I was very little, and they would wake me up in the morning so I could graze the sheep. I used to fall asleep at the shore while grazing, and the passers-by would pat me with a stick to wake me up. Olha Mytrofanivna Reuta (Sumy region) – At what age were children taught to work?

olha mytrofanivna: A five-year-old would already graze the geese. I

used to milk the cow when I was eight because my mother was away at the market in Sumy, eighteen km. away from our village. She would take cottage

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cheese and butter to sell there. She would go to the market every Sunday, and I would milk the cow. “Olia, when you finish milking the cow, let the calf in.” I would try to milk the cow faster. Everyone else was getting accustomed to farm work in the same way. – Did your father hire any day laborers? olha mytrofanivna: No, the children helped around. My grandfather had eight children, and they all lived in one house. When my mother was getting married, there were already eleven children. Our grandmother was mean. When she lived with us, she disliked everything we did: we were not right for her, and the children were not right. During the time of the dispossessions, they were exiled to the Donbas. – Was there a division of labor between women and men? olha mytrofanivna: Of course! A woman would take care of all the housework, and the man would take care of and drive a horse. My grandmother used to say that the men would go to one man’s house to drink, and the next day – to another’s. Men used to help. Everyone worked hard. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Did your father own any land?

motria hryhorivna: My father didn’t have any land of his own; he

worked for the landowner. After the Revolution, we owned 0.7 hectares of land that the landowner gave us. For the rest, my father continued working for the landowner. When we grew up a bit, we went to work for the landowner as well. He lived close by. My mother spent almost her whole life there. – What kind of work did your mother do for the landowner? motria hryhorivna: She milked the cows, weeded crops – everything. When we were a bit older, we would herd the cattle and weed the crops. – At what age did you start working? motria hryhorivna: I was fifteen when I started working for the landowner. – What did you do before that? motria hryhorivna: When I was little, I didn’t work. Our mother would lock us in the house, and our grandmother would look after us. My father and mother worked non-stop. They did whatever they were told to. Ivan Samsonovych Roman (Poltava region) – What kind of work were children taught to do? ivan samsonovych: I know that before I went to school, I did all kinds of farm work. I grazed the geese, fed the pigs, and weeded the crops.

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– Who was considered the head of the family: your father or your mother? ivan samsonovych: I cannot say for sure, but I think it was my mother. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – When you lived at your parents’, did your whole family live in one house? halyna ilarionivna: All of us lived in one house. Then my middle sister got married. Then my brother also got married while my sister and I stayed at home until I got married. I settled here and have been living here since. – What kind of work did your mother do and what did your father do? halyna ilarionivna: They were both taking care of the homestead. We had land, oxen, a horse, and a cow. My father would harness the oxen and go plow the field; my mother cooked and brought food to the field. They would also sow and weed the crops. The cattle were the responsibility of my father. When the kolhospy were built, all our property was taken to the kolhosp. – Was your father in charge of family life, or would your mother be in charge at times? halyna ilarionivna: My father was the head of the homestead. – Who helped around? halyna ilarionivna: The children. My brother plowed using the horse, and my father – using the oxen. – Who was in charge of the family’s money? halyna ilarionivna: My father. … – Would your father hire only men for a specific type of work, and only women for another type of work? halyna ilarionivna: Women were hired to plow and sow. Then we grew up and my father would transport the haystacks together with the girls. They managed it on their own. Girls did men’s work. Tetiana Panasivna Saliienko (Kharkiv region)

tetiana panasivna : When I was a student, my father was renting an

apartment in Valky, where we have a bus station now. At the time, we didn’t say “the university;” we said “gymnasium.” This is where I studied. – How many years did you study there? tetiana panasivna : Not long. My mother said, “Child, you need to help at home. Enough reading and writing. Help your mother.” I completed the village school and studied for three years at the gymnasium. They taught French there. There were no Ukrainian classes, and I didn’t learn it. – What was the language of instruction in the gymnasium?

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tetiana panasivna: Russian.

– Did your siblings go to the gymnasium? Tetiana Panasivna: No, only I. The older ones didn’t go; our father wouldn’t let them. I was the one who asked to be sent there because I was getting good recommendations in school, so he let me study more. But you had to pay and buy your child the boots and clothes, so later on he said: “You studied a little; that’s enough. You need to work, child.” He made me work. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region)

– What kind of work did your father do and what did your mother do? anastasia yukhymivna: They both sowed and plowed together and helped each other. – Who cooked? anastasia yukhymivna: My mother. – Who took care of the cattle? anastasia yukhymivna: Both of them. We had a cow, a horse, hens, and pigs. We were building a house. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Would women do men’s work? petro vasylovych: No. A woman would sheave during the harvest; she did everything, and the children worked with their father. My mother did housework; that’s all. She would bake bread almost every day and look after the cows at home. – Who was in charge of the money? petro vasylovych: My father. We didn’t buy any land. We got some during the Revolution. – Did your father hire any day laborers? petro vasylovych: We did everything on our own. – Would a man do women’s work? petro vasylovych: No. My father and mother used to help each other. Sava Ivanovych Chorny (Sumy region) – Did your family live in one house? sava ivanovych: We lived in one house with my father and mother. My grandfather had six people in the house, and his brother had seven daughters. They all lived in one house. – How many people lived in one house?

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sava ivanovych: It was a standard house. The elders would sleep on the

floor. The married ones and the bachelors would spread some hay on the floor to sleep. They say they lived in peace. Why? Because the parents were the law. The father’s word was not debatable. Everyone worked to keep the homestead and the family in order. … – Who was the head in the family? sava ivanovych: My father, at the time. – Did you have many children? sava ivanovych: Four. – Who was in charge of the money? sava ivanovych: Only my father. If he was away, my mother would be in charge of the money. If necessary, she would take the money and buy something. She and my father would discuss this prior to buying something. – Was life better back then? sava ivanovych: Worse. Life was the best during Brezhnev’s time [Leonid Brezhnev was the Soviet leader from 1964 to 1982 – ed.]. We had a good time: there was enough of everything, and you could buy all you needed for a hundred. … – At what age were children taught to work? sava ivanovych: From early on. At the time, we had a piglet, a goose, a calf, and a cow. Children would get work according to their age. When they grew up a bit, they would graze cows or calves. We would graze the cattle in a pack or individually. When I grew up, I stopped grazing calves and piglets and started grazing the horse. The younger ones grazed the calves and the piglets. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – How many children were in your family? varvara denysivna: Four: my two sisters, I was the third one, and my brother. – Who was in charge in your family: your father or your mother? varvara denysivna: My father. – Did your mother obey him? varvara denysivna: At the time – God forbid – a woman could not say to her husband, “You’re lying.” She had to humiliate herself if she wanted to say this. The father’s word was the law. – Did your father have money? varvara denysivna: Not a lot; he liked to drink. If my mother had any

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money, it would go to buy a skirt or something else for a child. My mother paid for it out of her own money. – Where did your mother get the money? varvara denysivna: She would sell something at the market and get some money. … – Was work divided into men’s and women’s work? varvara denysivna: It depends. At times, my father would go into the field; I would drive the horses; my mother would harvest the crops. When we were in the field, I would harvest the crops with a sickle. Feodosia Romanivna Shcherbak-Nevtrynis (Sumy region) – At what age were children taught to work?

feodosia romanivna: I started working when I was ten.

A neighbor woman-interviewee [name unknown] who spoke: We had three sons. My husband worked as a record-clerk on the farm; I worked the land, went to work, and took care of the children – all on my own. We had a farmstead (khaziaistvo). The children would graze the geese. Before they went to school, they already knew their tasks: to cut the hay for the calf or to graze the geese. At home, they knew their responsibilities. Parental Authority

In peasant society before collectivization, the authority of parents was one of the basic elements of family life. Parents had much to teach their children about survival as well as socialization: the procession of customary observances (wedding, funerary, baptism, and seasonal events such as the winter cycle, spring cycle, the midsummer Ivana Kupala, and harvest rituals) were more or less strictly followed, as were customs governing social relations among neighbors and family. Among the latter were customs regarding inheritance. Most land was passed through the father’s line to his male heirs (Halyna Riasna). If he had multiple sons, then the land was divided among them in ways decided by the father or the family together. Female heirs also could inherit, usually daughters. This was most common when a family had no sons, or few sons, but could occur even when there were multiple sons. When a daughter inherited property, by custom (although not necessarily by law) it remained hers when she married, to do with as she pleased; that is, it did not become common property. As described above, it was known as “mother’s land” (materyzna zemlia – Maria Bulakh) and could be a deciding factor in a woman’s courtship.

3 Collectivization and Other Acts of Mass Terror Preceding the Holodomor

In the two to four years that immediately preceded the Famine/Holodomor of 1932–33, a new village elite was invented and supported by Soviet power. This new village elite was formed primarily from the previously poorest elements of the village. With collectivization, the village social structure was turned on its head. The poorest became important people, and the khaziaii became little more than laborers in the socialist agricultural system. The new elite was organized and guided by Komsomol activists and kolhosp and village council leaders into terrorist-like brigades of thieves with license to rob, evict, and deport; to steal land, food, grain, tools, and draft animals; and even to murder. They were given free rein to confiscate virtually the entire family farm, all in order to “build socialism in the countryside.” The villagers’ private wealth was effectively destroyed in this blatant campaign to transfer individual property to the kolhosp. This new elite of the village was of course executing decrees issued by higher authorities (see Ivan Roman, Oleksandra Posobilova, Domna Dudnyk, Mykhailo Maslo, Varvara Pyvovar). They were locals, and it was they as well as the local buksyry (Komsomol activists) who carried out the depredations inflicted upon the village population (Pavlo Andriienko, Motria Buslyk, Andrii Zaiets, Mykhailo Ustymenko, Fedora Chub, Motria Hrytsyna, Marfa Zubaly, Halyna Tarasenko, and others). Oleksii Syniuk -Did the poor ones evict people from their houses? oleksii ivanovych: If I had to put it crudely, the usurpers and the paupers were the ones that tried to strike it rich.

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Mykhailo Ustymenko – Who were the people who performed the evictions and deportations: locals or newcomers? mykhailo antonovych: Locals. They did such things! If they had had a license to kill, they would have done so. But they then only took people’s property and clothes. I was left wearing just one shirt. They took everything else that I hid in the house. They evicted me from my house and all that was left in the house was gone. There were the local activists as well as activists from other places who would break into your house during the day, sit down, and write, “You owe this and that. Are you paying or not? You owe this much and this much.” How could I pay if they had taken everything? “I won’t pay.” Then they’d start bargaining and selling my property. A group of poor people would steal whatever they saw in the house and then put it up for resale. Oleksii Strilkov – Who were the people that carried out collectivization? oleksii ivanovych: The locals. Some were from the regional administrative center, but for the most part they were from our village. Locals dispossessed locals, searched all the corners of a house for grain, took the last grain, and left the people to die. When we were dispossessed, they even took the rake. All of those who did this have already died. Village residents did this evil deed. They came in their buksiry teams and woke people up at night, “Give us your grain, now. Give us sixteen kg or thirty-two kg.” I told them, “I am hungry myself.” The locals were the cruelest ones. As in other chapters, I am not interested here in presenting material derived from published articles, party archives, etc., but only in giving a voice to villagers who lived through the mass terror of deportation and eviction, followed by collectivization and famine. I only present points of view provided by oral testimony from the interviews. They vary somewhat in their sympathies. Most are categorically anti-collectivization and are unambiguous in their feelings. Others say that it was beneficial to collectivize, but the methods used were far too brutal. A few are sympathetic to socialized agriculture in general and do not severely criticize what happened. The years of collectivization, which varied by locale, were immediately preceded by other acts of mass terror and horror perpetrated by Soviet power, namely the eviction and often deportation of large numbers of people. In some locales entire families were evicted and deported. In other areas just the father was deported while the wife and children were evicted and had to find other housing when

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they could. Often they could not, a topic discussed below. The time of wholesale eviction and deportation immediately preceded collectivization just as collectivization immediately preceded the Holodomor/Famine of 1932–33. I view these earlier acts of terrorism as stepping-stones on the way to famine. Collectivization would have been much more difficult to accomplish without first deportation, repression, and in some cases simply the murder of the best and the brightest in the village during the eviction/deportation years. This occurred, depending upon the locale, between 1929 and 1932, but most intensively for most locales from 1930 to 1931. The famine – a contrived event and deliberate attack upon the Ukrainian village and the Ukrainian nation – would have been infinitely more difficult to accomplish without the great majority of villagers being dispossessed of most of their land, nearly all agrarian tools, all draft animals, carts, harnesses, etc. during collectivization between 1930 and 1933. In other words, they no longer had, first of all, the advice and example of the best and the brightest lights of the village. Second, they had lost access for private use to most small agrarian tools and to their large draft animals. In other words, they could no longer farm on their own. This helplessness made them horribly vulnerable to murder by organs of the state and the new village elite. They were no longer free-standing small producers and private agriculturalists, but essentially wards of the state. Theirs was a forced labor in the socialist agrarian system and they were thus more susceptible to the depredations perpetrated by the state than had they remained independent land holders. The vast majority of village small producers had become little more than slaves on latifundia of the socialist agricultural system.

m as s te rror a n d re pressions begin: de f i n i ti on s and t ypes The repression of an individual or a family could include any one or all of the following: verbal and physical harassment with an intent to harm; the denial of access to goods and services; eviction from one’s home; the confiscation of virtually all personal possessions such as clothing and footwear; the confiscation of all draft animals, most landed property and tools, and nearly all foodstuffs and grain; and finally imprisonment, deportation, and execution. In any given village, the state had no need to evict, exile, or execute everyone opposed to collectivization. That would have meant dealing in this manner with the majority of villagers. Instead, targeted individuals and families, beginning with the hardest working and most successful farmers, were selected for the harshest repression. This was a process not completed in the early years of collectivization but continued throughout the 1930s. Depending upon the locale, there were families still outside the system of socialist agriculture in the mid-1930s. The majority of these

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were either repressed or in the system (or both) by 1938 (Motria Hrytsyna). Afterwards, there were only a very few holdouts. All had been repressed in one way or another. Their property had long before been confiscated by the kolhosp, but a very few still refused to work there. In their description of land holdings and social structure of peasants before collectivization, Soviet period analysts (and many still today) usually used a three-tiered village class structure of poor, middle, and rich peasants (bidniak, seredniak, i kurkul). It is important to note that this terminology was not village-based but was derived from urban analysts, including Lenin. It was not formerly used in the village and does not reflect the reality of village culture and social structure before collectivization, which was different – as briefly described in chapter 2. It is useful to compare village descriptions of economic structure before collectivization with that of Soviet analysts. In the pre-collectivization village, there was a two-tiered socio-economic structure described in village lexicon as: bidniak (“poor”) and khaziaiin (described immediately below). There was not a precise measurement as to who belonged to which group, and various members of one family, brothers, sisters, and cousins, for example, could be considered members of different groups. In addition, people who entered their youth in one group could by middle age have migrated to the other group. This was not a class structure, neither was it an inherited estate. However, it was not a purely economic estimation of a family’s wealth either. A khaziaiin [fem. khaziaika; pl. (m.) khaziaii, (f.) khaziaiky] was considered a hard worker, a moral and upright person, a “normal person.” The poor were viewed either as unfortunate – the death of a family head or having large numbers of children or both would or could impoverish a family – or as lazy, with their condition often seen by interviewees as tied to alcoholism. One of the myths propagated during the Soviet period (and afterwards) by apologists of the collectivization and famine tragedies is that the kurkuli (in Russian kulaky), that is, the so-called “rich peasants,” were those who were justly repressed during collectivization.1 The utilization of this term ostensibly provided Soviet power the rationale, the reason, and the obligation to murder enormous numbers of people. One of the several problems with this notion is that the word

1 Apologists for collectivization include scholars who lived and worked in the ussr and Eastern Europe as well as many who lived in Western Europe and North America. For example, in the Soviet period there were many American professors who, while lamenting the slaughter that collectivization entailed, were quick to point out the supposed “necessity” of collectivization, arguing that a socialist form of agriculture was superior to that which existed within the framework of small peasant holdings farmed by literally millions of people using small hand tools. According to the apologists, the millions of unfortuates who died or who lost property simply got in the way of an inevitable process.

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kurkul, although it certainly existed, was not commonly used in villages before collectivization. People simply did not usually talk in that fashion, isolating one category of people and degrading them – at least not until after 1930. This was not a peasant-based behavior pattern. Fedir Kravchenko and Andrii Filatov were precise and unequivocal in their evaluation of the term kurkul: – When did the word “kurkul” come into usage in your village? When your grandfather was working, was he called that, too? fedir yosypovych: No-no, not at that time. The word came into usage during collectivization – a prosperous kurkul, high class, low class. – What does the word “kurkul” mean? fedir yosypovych: The rich one. – We now say “kurkul” – what word did people use back then? andrii fedorovych: “Kulak.” We didn’t have any well-off people in our village. – Were there any kulaky before the kolhosp? andrii fedorovych: Well, I told you that there were people who were a bit better off. – Did people call them “kulak”? andrii fedorovych: Back in the day? No. – Was such a person called rich or khaziaiin? andrii fedorovych: Well, khaziaiin. These same two interviewees as well as Vasyl Yavdoshenko, Natalia Semeniaka, and Kost Kovalenko noted that those the state labeled kurkuli during this period were simply the hardest working families in the village. A person was known to fellow villagers not as a kurkul, but simply as a khaziaiin. Natalia Semeniaka – Who were those called kurkuli? natalia hryhorivna: The hardworking people. My father was very hardworking and appreciated by the people; he liked to work with his hands. His house was one of a kind in the whole village: it had a pediment and a second floor. How was he a kurkul if he had seven desiatyny of land, and his father-in-law had ten? My paternal grandfather, a chumak, had ten desiatyny, and he gave my father an oil mill and a machine to make millet. He had a yard for cattle and many pigs. On the other hand, Valentyna Ilchenko gave the classic definition propounded in

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the Soviet period regarding kurkuli: they were those who hired labor, and it was necessary to distinguish them from everyone else: Stalin was probably in power already. There was some kind of a decree, and they started collectivization. But prior to collectivization, they had to get rid of the people who were against it. These rich people were against. Why would they need collectivization if they had their own farmsteads? They would have to give their labor and the horses they fed and cared for to the kolhosp. My father had such well-fed and beautiful horses. So, these people were declared kurkuli. A kurkul is a person who has more property than necessary. These homesteads had hired workers (naimyty), too. She is saying that these wealthier peasants had successful farms and therefore no need to join a collective farm – they would lose more than they would gain by joining a kolhosp (cf. Mykhailo Maslo and Mykyta Nadezha). It is perhaps not so odd that this is precisely the Soviet narrative deriving from that time period. The “wealthy” would never join a kolhosp, so they had to be evicted and deported or jailed or killed, and the poor would gladly join because it would bring them a better life. However, it was not at all that simple.

ev i cti on s a n d dep ortations The loss of a home is a catastrophe for families anywhere in the world. In a peasant society where surplus is never large, where even good neighbors can share only for so long, and where official refuge does not exist, it is a horror. Petro Khudyk, one of the interviewees who was then an activist doing the repressing in his village, briefly relates a history in which he personally took part in causing the death of an entire family with seven children. He would give only partial details and did not wish to talk further about it, so all we know is that the local village council (sil’rada), comprised of activists of the new village elite, evicted a family, all of whom perished as a result. Ivan Roman describes the destruction of an entire khutir by local activists. The residents were resisting joining the kolhosp. For reasons known only to the activists of that time and place (although one can guess as to their reasoning), every house, every barn, and every storage shed in the khutir was destroyed. The families were scattered, and the interviewee does not relate their fate. He probably didn’t know. He describes only what happened to his family: they found shelter in a dwelling owned by a factory, and later moved to a larger house. He unfortunately does not go into how they made a living. In many locales, the only people an evicted family could turn to in order to find shelter were family or neighbors. For example, the family of interviewee Fedora Chub took various evicted neighbors into its home until they could find a place

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of their own. There was a long line of such evicted people staying with the family Chub: an elderly man, then a woman, later a young woman with a child, and then an orphan boy who was the last member of his family alive. Oleksii Syniuk noted that in his locale, families were not allowed to take in evicted families: “(Activists) would tell a neighbor that they would also come for him if he let evicted people in for the night.” Fedora Chub was told the same thing, but she went ahead anyway and took in the long line of people described above. Fedora Hatsko notes that she and her sisters were orphans, their mother dead before collectivization and their father dying in the famine. They were evicted from their home, which was then burned by Komsomol activists. Hatsko had been ordered by the local authorities to go to work in the fields of the kolhosp, even though she was not a member. On the day of the eviction and burning, one sister was lying in bed at home ill with malaria. While in the fields working, Hatsko was informed that the house was on fire, but the brigade leader in the fields would not allow her to leave work to go see if they had burned her sister along with the house. At least two questions are begged to be answered here: why were young orphans labeled “enemies of the people/state” and evicted from their home? Further, why was their home burned? The interviewee cannot answer the first question, and her answer to the second question is a startling claim: they were evicted, and their home burned by the new village elite, in order to make charcoal (drevesne buhillia) from the burnt ruins, particularly from the knots in the wood, which burned the slowest. The local Komsomol activists then hauled this charcoal by cart to Kharkiv and sold it for cash, which they pocketed, presumably giving part of the money to local kolhosp officials who would have rented the wagon and horse to them. By this time, the only wagons and draft animals in the village were the property of the kolhosp. Those officials were partially protected from the implication of participating in illicit private commerce by the fact that a rental had taken place, and that they had not taken part in the cash transaction selling the charcoal. The confiscation, then burning, of the dwelling were, in Soviet terms of the time, legal. Maria Palahniuk worked in the 1930s in the kolhosp office. She remembered what the local head of the kolhosp had to say about a woman and her children who were evicted. The woman is identified as one Motryna. Her “crime” was that she did not want to join the kolhosp. She was forcibly evicted from her home, and her children were literally thrown out of the house. The head of the kolhosp swore at the mention of her name. He asked the interviewee why she was upset because Motryna was repressed, saying that Motryna deserved to be hanged for her “crime,” namely not wanting to join the kolhosp. Olha Reuta notes that her family received advance notice from a friend inside the new village elite that the family was about to be evicted and deported. First the father fled to the forest and the mother would take him food late at night. Then the entire family was evicted and lived in the forest for about three weeks,

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begging food from neighbors late at night. The interviewee remembers that she saw there many people, families evicted with nowhere to go. In the years immediately preceding the famine, 1930-31, many thousands of people were evicted, and a large number wound up living in the forests between or near villages. Yakiv Zborovsky I was evicted and sent into exile and brought here into the woods. My family died; only one child survived (he began crying). We were taken into the woods, and many of the dispossessed people died there. This presents the nightmare scenario of thousands of mostly women and children wandering the forests that dot the land between villages, attempting to find some way of staying alive. This normally lasted for a short time, but in some locales longer. The ultimate fate of most of those families was not known to the interviewees. However, if those evicted stayed in that locale in those forests and did not find shelter and work elsewhere, I suspect that they could not have possibly survived the famine (see Yakiv Zborovsky and Olha Reuta). When families were evicted from a house, they needed to find another or some other shelter. The alternative was death. In some cases, after resettling in a second house, they were repressed and evicted once again (e.g., Fedir Kravchenko). Yevdokia Bondarenko noted one family was evicted from their various homes five times over a period of several years. There are numerous descriptions in the project of families evicted but not sent into exile who could not find housing locally, many of them just wandering around for a time. Some (as above) lived in forests scrounging a bite to eat here and there, while others begged on the road. Those more fortunate found semi-permanent work, often non-agricultural, in factories or mines. Many such families left their natal regions entirely and found work far afield (Mykhailo Ustymenko). There were many references in the interviews to the topics “evictions and deportations,” including accounts by Yevodkia Bondarenko, Maria Bondarenko, Motria Buslyk, Domna Dudnyk, Maria Dudnyk, Hanna Zamohylna, Yakiv Zborovsky, Mykhailo Ivanchenko, Danylo Kuzmenko, Andrii Pavlichenko, Oleksandra Posobilova, Petro Khudyk, Maria Nychyporenko, Andrii Pavlichenko, and Oleksii Syniuk. Olha Reuta provides a long and detailed description of her eviction. Andrii and Marfa Oklei (husband and wife) talk of activists seizing their house and living there. Mykhailo Ustymenko provides a detailed narrative of his eviction and of his fate after eviction. Ivan Roman lived in a khutir, which was utterly destroyed by a brigade of activists.

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– Who was in this brigade? ivan samsonovych: The village activists. – Do you remember their last names? ivan samsonovych: No, I don’t want to make a mistake, but what is interesting is that almost all of them died in the famine. My mother used to say that this was their punishment from God; they wanted our death and found their own instead. During the evictions they took everything into their own houses – our clothes and food. They thought this would go on forever; they would sell the goods and buy vodka. They were so cruel. They threw one of our relatives, and threw a woman through a window into the snow because she didn’t want to leave her house. You understand, these activists were used as an instrument to execute the decrees of the authorities above. The following description of eviction and deportation was provided by Marfa Zubaly: – Did people come up to say goodbye to the ones being evicted and deported, or was that forbidden? marfa kindrativna : It wasn’t forbidden. We had a mountain in the village, and we lived at the bottom. One man [being deported] said, “Goodbye, willow. Goodbye, alder. Goodbye, woods and fences.” People used to cry so much, it was an awful time. May it never happen again. Domna Dudnyk notes that those doing the evicting were often cruel and spiteful. All of her livestock was the first of many things to be confiscated. She recounts, “All of this was taken; they left us nothing. Our house was new and not yet plastered, so they took it apart and left only the floor. The authorities evicted another family and moved it into what remained of the house. They did this all out of spite.” – Did your father apply to join the kolhosp? domna fedoriva: He did and nearly joined along with Bomko and Martyn. The condition was, once you joined the kolhosp, to go from house to house and evict people from their homes. My father said, “I can’t do this.” This provoked anger against him and for this he was evicted and dispossessed. They didn’t leave him anything, not a gram. Motria Buslyk describes her repression and that day in the early 1930s when she began her journey into exile to Siberia. On the day she left her village, everything was confiscated, and she was evicted. She was allowed to take nothing. She could only put her child on her hip and walk away. She returned in 1942. Maria

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Nychyporenko and Maria Dudnyk both say that none of the families sent into exile from their respective villages returned. In many cases the entire family was not sent into exile, just the fathers, many or most of whom did not live to return home (Maria Palahniuk). Ivan Udovychenko believes, as do numerous other villagers, that many of those supposedly sent into exile were actually shot somewhere along the way. They say that this would account for no one ever hearing a word about their fate (from Udovychenko’s village, seventeen or eighteen families). However, death came in many ways. Yakiv Zborovsky describes an exile experience, near Finland, where he says whole families were set down in the middle of nowhere and wandered about in the snow in the forests. They were simply swallowed by the void without a trace. Andrii Pavlichenko described the case of a man exiled to Irkutsk apart from his family. He apparently claimed to have been given land and a job and liked it there. He was allowed to return home in order to bring his entire family to Irkutsk, to which they all emigrated. A far more common situation was that described by Kost Kovalenko, who remembers in 1931 often hearing at night the screams and crying of people who had been evicted and were being deported as they waited at the railroad station for the box cars that would carry them into deportation and, in many cases, to their deaths. In a second, later wave of evictions Yevdokia Bondarenko notes that once the war began, the evictions again became frequent: “they started evicting and deporting them, chasing them out of their house. This was done about five times.” She described one man who tried to return to his house but who would get evicted again. – Was this done to the father or the son? yevdokia petriva: The father was exiled to Solovky [the Solovetsky Islands in the far north of Russia – ed.] with his whole family. They were a large family. They picked the mushrooms there, ate them, and died, all of them. Relatives of most of those who were arrested and disappeared never found out what happened to them. After independence in 1991 it became possible to gain information kept in kgb (nkvd , cheka ) secret police files, but one had to specifically request the information. The majority of the elderly had not done so, as contact with the security apparatus was shunned altogether by most people, regardless of reason or need. Few traveled the difficult road to finding information on relatives who disappeared decades earlier, even some sixty years previously. One who did dig for that information was Mykhailo Ivanchenko, a village intellectual. He quoted on tape for the interviewer sections of the documents he obtained from kgb files, shown in the excerpts in this chapter. His is a poignant account of the arrest and execution of his father in 1938 and is but one story out

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of similar thousands, likely hundreds of thousands. All but a few such stories remain untold. Maria Bondarenko notes that once a relative was arrested, those back home usually heard nothing more about him. He simply vanished. Oleksandra Posobilova had an uncle whose family was severely repressed. He was arrested and sent to prison. Then his family was evicted, and everything confiscated. His family was deported without him. After a period of time (not disclosed), he was released from jail. He had to walk back to his natal village several kilometers. He was weakened from his period of incarceration. He died on the road en route to his home. Regardless of how they were called, either the rarely used “kurkul” or the more commonly used khaziaiin, in many locales the successful or “wealthier” villager was not allowed to join the kolhosp in the first several years of the terror. Their land was confiscated, they were evicted and/or deported. Most such families died or disappeared. No one knows the number of such people who were murdered by the Soviet authorities in this manner, but judging from the descriptions of empty houses all over the village in the early 1930s, one can only assume that it was in the hundreds of thousands at the very least: Maria Dudnyk – Were there people in your village who were exiled? maria omelianivna : Yes, of course. – Do you remember who was exiled? maria omelianivna : I have forgotten already because I didn’t live there. – How many families were exiled? maria omelianivna : Five or six. – Did the men leave on their own or with families? maria omelianivna : With their families. They were all evacuated and that’s it. They were not allowed to live here. – Did they come back? maria omelianivna : No, the exiled families did not come back. Natalia Semeniaka – How many rich people were there in the village? natalia hryhorivna: Three were exiled to Vologda in the beginning. Later on, they started dispossessing the people like my father; I don’t know how many such families there were, perhaps three. They would come for mandatory donation of food to the state (prodzdacha). One had to give a certain amount of grain to the state. We gave and gave; they took all the grain;

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nothing was left, but they kept imposing a quota to give; then they labeled us kurkuli in order to be able to deport the people and not let them live at all. They came to our house and took everything. One Naumenko came from Rzhyshchevsky (a regional administrative center), evicted us from our house and locked it; we were outside. My now deceased father took my baby son Hrysha into his arms and cried, “I worked so long to earn this, and now this is what I get for my old age.” We cried for some time and started thinking what to do next because it was winter. That administration activist moved into my father’s warm house right away. What could we do? We went looking for a house and found a small one on the corner. The woman owner let us in. Oleksii Syniuk describes a man from his village who was evicted from his home, with a pot of borshch snatched from his oven. During the war he returned to his natal village, found those who had evicted him, about fifteen in number, tied them to pear trees in an orchard, and shot them. Readers should know that although revenge killings happened in some locales, they seem to have been surprisingly infrequent (cf. Hryhorii Vovkohon). There were many who were evicted and deported for arbitrary reasons that make no logical sense today, but in the Soviet context were common. This same Oleksii Syniuk notes that one man was evicted, deported, and disappeared because he told the new village elite that they were sowing buckwheat too early. Another man was arrested and disappeared because he read the Holy Gospel. He was declared insane and disappeared. It should be noted that most villagers in the 1930s and afterward took on the three-tiered classification of Soviet analysts, commonly using the term “kurkul” during and after the time of collectivization and more to the point, after the great famine. This has been a norm among most villagers since that time. It is not surprising that many villagers took on this classification scheme. This was the language used to define them and their families by those who held virtually total physical control over them. They heard and/or read it a thousand times. A person not of the “poor” classification had a harder time getting better work on the kolhosp, and their children were often denied access to higher education as well as the Komsomol. Most people dreaded having the term kurkul used in reference to them in the 1930s (and to a limited extend afterward) as this classification limited their family’s economic and social potential considerably. That group of villagers who came to see themselves through the derogatory terminology propagated by state authorities resembles those in a colonial situation in which the subjugated come to see themselves through the eyes of their overlords and use the language of the overlords to describe themselves. However, the villagers’ use of the term “kurkul” is not always understandable – just as the state’s use of the term was not consistent or understandable. For example, Yevdokia Bondarenko described a family as kurkuli in the years immediately

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before collectivization because they had a cow, a horse, and an oil press. However, almost all families had a cow, most had a horse (or oxen), and nearly all had food processing equipment of one sort or another. Viewing this family as wealthy is not understandable and is but one of the thousands of instances of the illogic and confusion from this period that carried over to the 1990s. Evidently state authorities chose to repress this family for reasons other than wealth. In addition, not only wealthier families resisted collectivization. Many poor families also did not want to join the kolhosp. Frosyna Boiko noted how a particular family in her village with little land and considered poor did not join in the first months, did not want to join at all, but was eventually forced to do so. Obviously, the problem with the notion of the repression of khaziaii is not only semantic. There was a wide assortment of people repressed in the villages during the three phases of terrorism – the wholesale evictions and deportations, collectivization, and the Famine/Holodomor – in the village of the early 1930s. Many villagers, not just wealthier peasants and Ukrainian patriots, suffered once again from terrorism later in the 1930s during the various Stalinist purges and once again in the Second World War. Many interviewees expressed dismay at one or another family’s repression, stating that they were neither wealthy nor threatening to anyone. For example, Motria Buslyk claimed that her family was quite poor. They were nonetheless evicted and sent into exile to Siberia for several years. She said that everyone was afraid of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person for fear of reprisal. The logical inference was that these repressed families were opposed, or at least reluctant, to joining the collective farm and/or to giving up their farm implements and animals (see also Ustyna Shepalenko-Osadcha, Domna Dudnyk, and Maria Dudnyk), and that these were the people local authorities singled out for punishment as examples to others. Although this may have been the case with some, perhaps with those named above, it was not so with others repressed. An outspoken resistance to collectivization either through economic reasons or through patriotic Ukrainian sentiments would set a person up for repression, but the reasons for being repressed were far more varied than that. For example, Ustyna Shepalenko-Osadcha noted that her uncle was jailed for pointing out mistakes in the agricultural practices of the new village elite, as he did again when he told them they were harvesting the grain when it was still too green. For his efforts, he became an “enemy of the people” or “enemy of the state” (voroh narodu). He was sentenced to prison three times for these and similar offenses. A comparable instance was the case of the father of an Interviewee (Fedir Kravchenko) who told kolhosp officials that they were sowing barley too early in the season. He also was labeled an “enemy of the people” and was kicked out of the kolhosp and burdened with impossibly high taxes, which if he could not pay, he would have to sacrifice his home to the kolhosp.

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Other interviewees, even those few sympathetic to collectivization, shake their heads remembering those who were repressed, not understanding at all why (Kostiantyn Kryvonis). One neighbor might inform on another simply in order to avenge an old grudge. Motria Buslyk noted that many people were repressed in this manner, being labeled “enemies of the people” in the process by the new village elite of bosiaky (“lazy goof-offs”), who encouraged this practice. Mykhailo Ustymenko said the same, noting that he did no one wrong, but that they greatly wronged him. He lost his home and all possessions and was in prison for several years because someone informed on him for imaginary offences: Thank God, all those enemies of mine are dead, and I’m still alive. I caused no harm to anyone. Some people were not accepted into the kolhosp on purpose to demonstrate to the others that they, too, would be dispossessed if they didn’t join. This was the system at the time. People came to fear their neighbors, never knowing who was listening to them and for what reason. An anonymous informer could be taken at his word by the authorities, as described by Ustyna Shepalenko-Osadcha. Ivan Roman noted that people were in a constant state of fear. Sofia Voropai noted that her father tried to join the kolhosp and was not allowed to. Shortly afterward the father was arrested and disappeared. The interviewee felt that this was because he had supported the losing side (the Whites, the czar) in the civil wars some fifteen years before. Many others were repressed because they could not pay their taxes. These were people who did not join the kolhosp in the early 1930s and who, as non-participants in the socialist agricultural system, were liable for a punitive tax (described in detail below). Finally, there were people thrown out of their homes because the new village elite wanted the houses. Oleksii Syniuk depicted a village party secretary who coveted the home of one family. They were evicted so he could take it. Fedir Kravchenko noted that in his village members of the new elite wanted the house of one elderly man for the kolhosp office and forced him out, after which he went to live with his son. He and his son were later in turn thrown out from that home as well. He tells of a second man whose home was coveted by the local head of the kolhosp. This man agreed to trade homes with the official in order not to be repressed. This villager then sold his newly acquired home and fled to a village several kilometers away in order to escape any further whims of this kolhosp official. There was rarely an appeal to a higher authority to which one could go in such cases, for an appeal in itself usually meant even harsher treatment from the higher authorities or revenge from the lower ones at a later date (see Anastasia Kalashnyk).

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In addition to all of these cases, priests, former gentry, and the Ukrainian intelligentsia were repressed as a matter of course, probably because they were the ones who usually carried the strongest national identity. They are discussed elsewhere in this study.

f orc ed to j oi n the kol hosp in the time of su tsi l na kole k t yv i z at si ia (“ f ul l - on c ollec tiviz ation” ) When asked whether they joined the kolhosp willingly, interviewees answered in a variety of ways, although most were clearly negative with regard to collectivization: Hryhorii Vovkohon – Did the people join the kolhosp out of their own will? hryhorii kyrylovych: What fool [“yaky durak”] would join of his own free will? They were forced to. Andrii Pavlichenko – Did the people join the kolhosp gladly and right away? andrii hryhorovych: No one joined gladly. Natalia Semeniaka – Did many people agree to join the kolhosp? natalia hryhorivna: No one agreed, but they were forced … Ivan Bibik – Did everyone join the kolhosp readily? ivan ivanovych: No, not readily. They were forced to. Marfa Zubaly – Were you forced to join the kolhosp? marfa kindrativna : Yes, very much so! People didn’t want to join. The force used to persuade a family to join the kolhosp generally started with relatively benign visits by kolhosp officials If these did not work, then other

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means were used. Maria Nychyporenko noted that her relatives were among the first to join the kolhosp and that these relatives simply signed her and her husband up. There was no consultation, and after their livestock, tools, and land had been confiscated there was little reason left to quibble. A more common type of intimidation was the ominous night visit by local activists, often led by the head of the kolhosp and his cohorts, and/or by local Komsomol activists. They usually did this perhaps in order to heighten the dramatic effect of their demands and perhaps to cloak their movements to those who might physically resist them. However, as noted by interviewees who witnessed or took part in this activity, the activists without a doubt also wanted to confuse and abuse villagers. Oleksii Strilkov noted that they deliberately came at night in order to deprive the family of sleep, demanding that they turn over whatever food they had in the house and showing no mercy for anyone, regardless of age or condition. As Andrii Filatov remarked, they would come to a family’s home five or more times in one night in order not to allow them any sleep or rest and to wear them down psychologically (Ivan Solohub). Kost Kovalenko said that the activists went out night after night, threatening or arresting villagers. In many locales, activists would sleep during the day, then “work” all night, returning repeatedly to the same family’s house, pressumably until they either relented and joined the kolhosp or they were evicted for failure to comply. In other cases, more novel acts of torture were applied. Ivan Roman relates how his father was arrested for not wanting to join the kolhosp. He was held in a cell exposed to the elements and he lay in the snow for three days: In the evening of the third day, my father came back. He was exhausted, unshaven and said one thing, “I enrolled in the kolhosp.” Then he lay down and fell asleep right away. We covered him with blankets, but he was shaking all the time while he was asleep. My mother said that those were the chills. Two days later he told us that he was locked up in a cold barn and kept there for three days without food or water. This was the beginning of December. He licked the snow that came inside through the cracks and had hypothermia. Sofia Voropai – When the kolhosp was set up, how often were the meetings held? sofia ivanivna: Often. There were both general and brigade meetings. A person who didn’t want to join the kolhosp was summoned to the staff office. The authorities locked the door to the room and harassed that person. It was horrible.

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Maria Kozar – What was the attitude like toward those who did not join the kolhosp? maria pylypivna: They were locked in a cold room. One such man lived with his wife and didn’t want to join the kolhosp, so he was evicted from his house. Those who didn’t want to join were locked in a cold room. Ustyna Shepelenko-Osadcha – Who conducted collectivization?

ustyna yukhymivna: The activists, the fgb [?] employees, and the party

members. During the famine, when it was time to weed the beets, women couldn’t go because their legs were swollen. They locked up the ones that couldn’t go into the cellars. It was horrific. It’s hard to describe. Motria Potapenko

When everyone joined the kolhosp, my father said, “I will follow the people.” My mother didn’t want to join the kolhosp. Then my father and other men were locked in a house for the night. As soon as a person signed the papers to join the kolhosp, he was dismissed. If someone didn’t sign, he was allowed to go to work during the day but was locked up again for the night. Andrii Filatov – Were you in a soz [a form of collective agriculture in the 1920s]? andrii fedorovych: Of course, where else could I be? – Did you join it? andrii fedorovych: Yes. They were forcing us; they didn’t let us sleep. They would summon me five times during the night, “Sign here.” First, they summoned me to a soz and later to the kolhosp. – Why did they summon you at night? andrii fedorovych: Because the people didn’t want to join, so they would not let them go to bed. – Was the staff office full? andrii fedorovych: Yes. As discussed in more detail in the next chapter, the people involved in the terror of the early 1930s were the same for each stage of that terror. Those who conducted evictions were the same people who used force to compel people to

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join the kolhosp and were the same people who confiscated all foodstuffs from families’ homes, leaving them to starve.

c onf is cati on of pe r s ona l propert y, livesto c k , and fa r m i mpl e m e n ts duri ng c ollec tiviz ation This topic and that of eviction, deportation, and arrest were dwelt on heavily by many respondents. Although the project questionnaire had several questions on these topics, the range and length of answers was often out of proportion to these specific questions and can be viewed as an illustration of the degree of pain and frustration that the loss of property entailed more than sixty years after the fact. This appeared to be the focus of a general frustration and the crystalized form of sorrow for all they had lost. Among the many interviewees who provided information on collectivization, here is a partial list: Pavlo Andriienko, Motria Buslyk, Hryhorii Vovkohon, Andrii Pavlichenko, Motria Potapenko, Ivan Roman, Natalia Semeniaka, Petro Khudyk, Maria Kozar, Ivan Udovychenko, Marfa and Andrii Oklei, Oleksandra Posobilova, Motria Rohova, and Oleksii Syniuk. In the late 1920s and early 1930s not all villagers understood the implications and the meaning of collectivization, and the changes awaiting them with the socialization of agriculture. They were not sure of the direction the Soviet state was taking with regard to collectivization. Andrii Zaiets, for example, stated that at the beginning many villagers did not understand that collectivization meant giving up both their land and most of their livestock as well as their tools. They had no idea of the radical transformation in their lives that was being planned by party officials and members of the new elite. Ivan Udovychenko noted that when collectivization began in his locale in 1929 everyone was forced to join the kolhosp. A year or two later they were told that they could leave it if they wanted to.2 They discovered a catch: their land, livestock, tools, and implements were not returned to them if they left the kolhosp. This meant that most of those who did leave eventually joined again as it had become difficult, or in some cases impossible, to make a living from agriculture outside of the socialist system.

2 This presumably refers to the time of Stalin’s famous “dizzying heights” statement in which he supposedly faulted activists for collectivizing too quickly and ostensibly recommending a slower pace, a stance he would again reverse in 1932 with the planning and execution of the great famine, when collectivization’s most brutal effects began to be felt. This interview (Ivan Udovychenko) thus provides in miniature an overview of the history of collectivization up to the great famine (see also Mykhailo Ivanchenko).

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As Ivan Udovychenko described above, once property was lost to the kolhosp it was not possible to recover anything. Mykhailo Ivanchenko described the anguish his father felt when he found his confiscated livestock being poorly treated on the kolhosp. He had been forced into the kolhosp and had lost all his livestock. When he saw how they were treated he went to the kolhosp ferma (livestock holding area) and took them, leading them back home. Shortly thereafter, kolhosp officials came and took them away from him again. The interviewee noted that the kolhosp here was in general poorly administered. The best land was confiscated by kolhosp officials, but then they did little with it, letting much of it lie fallow or left unplowed and unseeded completely as they lacked the experience and/or appropriate tools to cultivate it effectively. In some locales confiscated personal property such as clothing and shoes as well as some farm implements were divided up among the activists. Some of this was later sold to the highest bidder, or sold at the local market bazaar, while in other locales it was used or consumed by the activists involved in the repression. Petro Khudyk was a member of the sil’rada (village council) and was one of those repressing his village in the 1930s. He admitted to helping evict his neighbor from his home and not only confiscating his property but doing it for personal gain and for his colleagues’ benefit on the village council. They divided the family’s clothing up among themselves and took the confiscated grain to the kolhosp. Motria Rohova had a similar story. Here the activists were named as Komsomol members. They took the confiscated clothing and other products to the local school where they were sold to the highest bidder in what sounds like an auction, or they were sold at the bazaar. The interviewee noted that the people buying had very little money, also that only the formerly poorest elements in the village then had any money at all. Mykhailo Maslo described the new village elite as unimaginative louts whose political beliefs were motivated by personal gain. The interviewee said that confiscated food and drink wound up in the activists’ home pantries; that they were from the poorest segments of village society; and that they were drunk much of the time on beverages confiscated from their neighbors: – Who were the cruelest?

mykhailo pavlovych: The local authorities had activists who were illiterate fools. At best they might have four years of school. They were the poorest people, just sucking up to the authorities. They had no conscience. They were just sucking up to stay in power. What did they do? All these activists had plenty of everything during the famine. One activist’s wife would be making dumplings, and as soon as someone came into the room, she’d cover them with a newspaper. They also drank like crazy. They’d confiscate lard and other food and have a drinking party. They lacked nothing.

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Mykyta Nadezha, who was openly sympathetic to collectivization, was directly asked by project fieldworkers if such claims were true and if confiscated products were used for personal profit. He disputed the claim, saying that grain was “rightfully confiscated” then sent to state granaries for distribution. He did not mention other confiscated items (see also Fedora Hatsko). It is likely that in many, if not most, locales, collectivization allowed local toughs a chance to take over and steal with impunity, and as noted above, for others to get even for supposed past slights. Yevdokia Dyshliuk described a scene in which clothing is literally taken off her back, to become part of the spoils of the activists doing the repressing. The mother was home working while her son was in the fields when the local activists came to repress her family. The mother put her son’s new suit of clothes on under her dress in order to hide it, but the activists discovered it and pulled if off her by force, several of them throwing her to the ground and holding her down while they stripped her. Maria Palahniuk described a scene in which a girl whose family is being repressed is sent to dig up small gold coins, earned in the 1920s during nep, and buried for safe keeping. A local activist surreptitiously followed her and when she found the gold coins, he jumped out from his hiding place, stole them from her and put them in his pocket. Confiscated property included clothing, money, household goods, food, farm implements and tools, as well as food processing equipment (Yevdokia Bondarenko). It also included all elements used in various home industries (smithing, pottery, milling), the confiscation of which is described in a later chapter. Vasyl Yavdoshenko describes the confiscation of all twenty-four private mills in one locale. The populace no longer had anywhere to grind their grain and state distribution was uneven, virtually always through the kolhosp or radhosp. Villagers with grain at home would sometimes grind it by hand between two stones to ineffectually make flour. Several interviewees used the word buksiri or buksyry to describe those activists, especially Komsomol activists, as those doing the repressing in the village (Pavlo Andriienko, Ivan Roman, Varvara Pyvovar), or the verb buksiruvaty to describe what they did (Oleksii Strilkov). Pyvovar Varvara uses the term buksirna komanda (brigade of buksiri) which they termed locally a Komsomolska orhanizatsia (a Komsomol organization) to describe those activists who were seeking and confiscating grain and food. They would pay special attention to the large pillows that were common in village homes, looking under and in them for jars of “hidden” grain. Ivan Ilchenko [this excerpt is in the next chapter] said that those doing the confiscating were both locals and from farther away, but the locals were under orders from activists from the regional center, usually a small town several kilometers away. On the other hand, Pavlo Andriienko and Oleksii Strilkov both said that those performing the act of repression were local activists, all known to them. They were even neighbors, and that they worked in groups of three or

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four: “Village residents did this evil deed.” They took all foodstuffs from each building in turn. Mykola Sokyrko [excerpt in the next chapter] said that these activists were organized into special brigades formed specifically for the purpose of confiscating everything they could from villagers. He also said that they were local people. These brigades came in waves. First one came in and cleaned out everything it could find. A few days later a second arrived, and still later a third, each searching not only the house, but the barn and other buildings as well as the grounds themselves looking for signs of something recently buried, usually a sign that foodstuffs had been secured away. This interviewee saw men confiscate food from their own relatives. Ivan Roman depicts the moment of confiscation: frightening chaos, people out of control, neighbors gone berserk; his mother crying and his father helpless. The result was to leave them without food and without seed to plant for the future, literally a sentence of death: One day the so-called buksiry [Komsomol activists] came to our house … I was at the table studying when I heard the noise outside: the dog was barking, and the hens were cackling. I thought, “What happened?” They were in our yard with their cart. They started searching for grain right away: in the barn, the shed, the pigsty. Then they broke into the house and started piercing the oven with metal spears. It was awful – the dog was howling, my mother was crying, my father was standing there looking bewildered, and I was observing all this. The search went on for two hours; they turned everything over and took even the poppy seeds and the beans. Do you understand what it is like for a family to be left without a single grain? From these descriptions by our interviewees, it is difficult to distinguish between the confiscation of foodstuffs during the initial stages of collectivization and later confiscations that created the Famine/Holodomor.

t he a lte rnate v i ew: c ollec tiviz ation was g o od or was nec essary The few interviewees who expressed positive opinions about collectivization were all from the ranks of the village poor in the late 1920s who became activists and part of the new village elite by 1930. These people gave responses that were at odds with those of most other interviewees. Kostiantyn Kryvonis and others (e.g., Mykyta Nadezha) claim that everyone in the village joined the kolhosp immediately and voluntarily, which clearly was not true. Petro Kushnir also claims that most families voluntarily joined the kolhosp in 1930 and that those who did not were under the influence of agitators who were against collectivization. Mykyta Nadezha said that only the wealthier families did not want to join the kolhosp

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and that their property was justly confiscated. He claims most of them in the end wound up working on a local radhosp. According to this interviewee, only a man as strong as Stalin had the guts to carry out the dirty business of collectivization. In the survey this was a rare positive statement about the party elites of the time. As is evident from these comments, those who were activists at the time and who participated in repressing other villagers take a point of view of this process that differs considerably from that of most other villagers. Of primary importance to the activists was the necessity of liquidating private property.3 Their belief system dictated that this must be done. As Petro Kushnir stated: “Evictions and deportations went on like this: the goal was not to destroy the man, but his property; to turn it into collective property.” Mykyta Nadezha believes that the state had the right to introduce the population into the socialist agricultural system but claimed that no one was forced to join: – When the kolhospy began, was the land taken away [from people]? Were those Soviet authorities or not? mykyta mykolaiovych: The Soviets. No one took the land. Who told you that land was taken away? We have a decree confirming the indefinite use of the land. – Do you have this decree? mykyta mykolaiovych: We have it in the [kolhosp] office. It says in gilded letters that the land in the kolhosp is ours for indefinite use. It’s a large book, and in gilded letters it says that the land is transferred to the kolhosp workers for indefinite use. He further states that villagers were not forced into the kolhosp, claiming that “speculators” and “thieves” spread this slander. He states that everyone who joined did so voluntarily and that they legally signed their property over to the kolhosp, with each family receiving a document with gold leaf from the kolhosp stating that their land had been given over in perpetuity to the kolhosp. This document, he claimed, was kept still today in the kolhosp office and that the transfer of land title was thus legal as well as good. This interview is given in its entirety (see Appendix 5). He provided a compact but personal history of collectivization, beginning with the soz , moving through the dictates of Stalin, and ending with the terror of the early 1930s, with the eviction and exile of those who resisted joining the kolhosp, the period of collectivization, and the Famine/Holodomor of 1932–33. 3 The project participants found only a few villagers who had been activists for the socialist agricultural sector in the 1930s. They have always been a minority, and there were of course far fewer of them than those who were forced into the system.

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A few interviewees said that joining the kolhosp was not only the right thing to do, but that it was a good thing and brought an improvement to their lives and/or to the lives of other villagers. Some of these people were from the group of agitators and activists who were responsible for the repressions in their respective villages in the 1930s (Kostiantyn Kryvonis, Petro Kushnir, and Mykyta Nadezha). They claim that the villagers happily joined the kolhosp, and only those under the influence of “anti-kolhosp” agitators did not do so immediately, but nonetheless everyone eventually did join. Mortria Buslyk was not as enthusiastic and elsewhere described the horrors of collectivization. However, on this matter she said that her father joined the kolhosp immediately because everyone in the village agreed to join. Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak claimed that her family wanted to join because they had little land and were poor. The interviewee said that for them the move made economic sense. Several interviewees said that the desire to collectivize was strongest among those who were from the poorest levels of society before collectivization. Varvara Pyvovar: – Did the locals evict and deport people? varvara ihorivna: Yes, the locals, an organization. They were called a buksir team: Oksana, Dunka, Oryshka, Petro, and one other Petro. They would come on a cart, search the houses, take the wheat, and leave. All of them were from the poor families and they dispossessed the rich because they were the ones who didn’t want to join the kolhosp. A partial list of the many who claimed this include: Mykyta Nadezha, Maria Palahniuk, Oleksandra Posobilova, Oleksii Syniuk, Mykhailo Ustymento, Fedir Kravchenko, Motria Buslyk, and Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak. The implication here is that the poor had little to lose by joining, although everyone else lost a great deal. Some lost nearly all they had. Several interviewees claimed that their families were the first to join the kolhosp. These claims might perhaps derive from the social and political pressures of the Communist period when it was constantly necessary for the ambitious to show or even prove their loyalty to the ideals of the regime. This was an expression of a ritualistic myth which automatically showed the family’s loyalty and even enthusiasm. It is doubtful that in our modest survey we would have been able to find several who were the first to join in their locale. One of the slogans used by activists in getting people to join the kolhosp was to say: “You are respected in the village. If you join, then the others will follow.” Several of the interviewees still repeated this slogan in the mid-1990s, for the most part with unequivocal pride in the role that their family played in the collectivization process. The slogan is one of the clichés of village life in the Soviet period. Fedir Kravchenko said that his mother and father together decided to

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join and that they were the first in their village to do so. The interviewee said that her father was told that if he joined, the rest of the village would follow. Nadia Onufriichuk related a similar story of how her father was approached by a Twenty-Five Thousander [an urban working-class activist recruited by the Soviet authorities to help carry out collectivization – ed.] who used the slogan described above (“‘If you join the kolhosp, other people will follow you.’ My father was respected in the village”). He did join, and his descendants still liked to say that he was the first to join, and that this influenced the decision of others to join and thus made history in their village.

i n te rv i ew exc erp ts: de f i n i ti on s a n d t y pes of repressions Pavlo Andriienko Yevtukhovych (Kharkiv region) – Could you describe how the kolhosp was set up? pavlo yevtukhovych: When the kolhosp was set up, they took away our other farmstead and didn’t give us anything. – Why did they take it away? pavlo yevtukhovych: They took it after my parents refused to join the kolhosp. – Why did they refuse to join? pavlo yevtukhovych: They didn’t want to join. – Was the head of the kolhosp from your village? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes, a local. – Did he try to convince your father? pavlo yevtukhovych: It was such a long story. You might as well hang yourself. … pavlo yevtukhovych: They taxed the people so heavily; no one was able to pay such a high tax. – Was this high tax imposed on your father because he did not join the kolhosp? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes, and then he was forced to join. They confiscated everything: ninety rabbits, the pillows… Then they gave us back the pillows but kept everything else. I know our people joined the kolhosp, but their cow, grain, and beans were all taken away. – What did they say about this? pavlo yevtukhovych: Three or four of them would come – they were called buksiry, and take everything they could find – grain, potatoes, everything. – Were they locals?

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pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes.

– Could one turn to the regional administrative center?

pavlo yevtukhovych: Where would you go? They were the same

everywhere. – When your father was rich, did the poorer villagers sometimes come to him for advice or to ask for bread or anything else? Pavlo Yevtukhovych: The rich ones were expelled at the start of the collectivization, right away. Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp readily?

ivan ivanovych: No, not readily. They were forced to.

– How were they being forced? ivan ivanovych: Through confiscation. A group of people would break into a house – a Komnezam, a village council chairman, and a kolhosp chairman elected by the people – and they’d go, “Will you join the kolhosp?” The person would say, “I’ll think about it.” Or someone who was poor and had nothing to lose would not care and join. Those who were rich and had property such as a healthy horse would abstain; they were sorry to give away their property. [The authorities] would put pressure through taxation. Just as soon as my father paid one tax, in two weeks he had to pay another one. My father had a bag of money, and he gave it all to them. He still had to join the kolhosp. Yevdokia Petrivna Bondarenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any kurkuli in your village? yevdokia petrivna: Yes. They were evicted from their houses and deported. One such man’s family was exiled to Solovky; his daughter got married in Sosnovka and stayed. His son got married here and stayed, too. Then when the war began, they started evicting and deporting them, chasing them out of their house. This was done about five times. He’d return to his house and get evicted again. – Was this done to the father or the son? yevdokia petrivna: The father was exiled to Solovky with the whole family. They were a large family. They picked the mushrooms there, ate them, and died – all of them. There were also a brother and a sister from that family. The brother stayed here and lives in Pidhorodnia now. – Are they still alive? yevdokia petrivna: The brother got ill and went blind. One woman

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came from that village and said, “He went blind and cannot walk. He gets by with a cane. He also lost his ability to speak.” He was paralyzed. … – What was the name of the exiled kurkul? yevdokia petrivna: Semen Khrystenko. – What did he have? yevdokia petrivna: An oil press, a cow, and a horse. Back at the time, kurkuli were all like people are now: they owned an oil press, a cow, and a horse, and that was enough to qualify as a kurkul. Now people have two cows, pigs, hens, and houses, and they are not called a kurkul. Maria Oleksandrivna Bondarenko (Cherkasy region) – Were the people who did not join the kolhosp evicted and deported? maria oleksandrivna: Yes, they were, and no one had a single letter from them, and their relatives didn’t know where they were sent. Our father had a neighbor who worked for him as a servant, so he was labeled a kurkul. He wasn’t rich; he just had two cellars and paid the hired worker what he could. He was poorer than his relatives who lived nearby, but he was evicted and deported, and his house went to that hired worker. His relatives were old and without children. They returned from exile and built a house here; other people looked after them, and then they died. God knows what happened to those who didn’t have a family. Motria Hryhorivna Buslyk (Poltava region) – Did your father join the kolhosp right away? motria hryhorivna: Yes, we joined as soon as the kolhosp was set up. Our father-in-law was deported. I wish they had joined. What could one do on one’s own? They took all the land into the kolhosp property, and all the people joined. Some didn’t. They worked in Pyriatyn or somewhere else. … – Were you considered bidniaky or seredniaky? motria hryhorivna: We were poor (bidniaky). There was no way we could have any riches because we were ten people in the family. – Were there any richer people in the village? motria hryhorivna: Maybe there were some, but I don’t remember if they were very rich. My deported father-in-law was poor. – Why was he deported? motria hryhorivna: They took someone in place of him, and he was

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exiled by the people who visited the houses and dispossessed the people. In the evening they’d have a meeting, and in the morning, they would come and confiscate everything – a couple of horses, a cow, and the grain from the baskets. A woman activist came and threw my entire dowry from the chest into a bag and took it away; she only left the chest. I said, “I haven’t worked here yet; I haven’t earned anything; this is what my parents gave me.” But she took it all, loaded it on her cart, and left. This was at my father-in-law’s house, and my daughter Olka was still small. I was crying, but the activist pushed me away and took everything, including a couple of horses and a cow – everything. We were not deported the same day; in about two days they brought a cart – and put all of us there: me, my daughter, three girls, my husband, and our father and mother. They took us as far as Marianovka and there they put us on a train to go to the North. When they brought us there, they let us out right at the railway tracks, in the woods. They said, “Get out.” We all screamed, and the militia kept saying, “Calm down, calm down!” We were screaming amid the tracks. There was so much snow. In our village the snow had already melted, but there it was still so high. You jumped out of the wagon and into the snow. Then they unloaded everyone, and the train departed. The carts came to pick us up: one horse per cart. They loaded our things and took us five hundred meters away across the woods. They brought us to a place with wooden barracks: the top was covered with pine needles, and the lower part – with soil. Inside, the barracks were very long and had clay ovens and prison-type plank beds on either side. So, they left us there. We screamed and cried so much there. We suffered through the spring and summer there, and next year they moved us to a town called Horie. There they had log houses; they were warmer, but they, too, had plank beds. We lived there until 1942. Only God knows what life was like there. We were hungry and cold all the time. Later on, we were getting ration packs (paiok) and a few coins. We lived there; men and women worked on logging and wood loading. Then they took the men away, and only the old ones, the young ones, and the women like me stayed – and we continued to do all the work until the time we were allowed to go home. They said if we had family at home, we could go. I came back during the war. I came and saw my mother grinding something on a quern-stone next to the bed. I came in with my two children, and she took us by the hands. I had a bag, and each child had a bag. We said hello. My father was in the garden, and my mother was inside. My mother said, “My dear children, where are you coming from? Where did you fly in from?” And we stayed in their house. My husband was drafted to the war and killed right before the armistice in May. … – What did you take with you when you were being deported?

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motria hryhorivna: There was nothing left, just some rags. There was

no bread; they took everything. I picked up my child and left. … – How many of you from the village were taken there? motria hryhorivna: Four families from two villages (Krucha and Mala Krucha) – Ovrasiienko, Sered, Yarish, and Kolenko. They called us rich, but we weren’t. My father-in-law had three hectares of land. How does this make him a kurkul? He had a cow and a couple of horses; he didn’t have any bulls. … – Did your father-in-law have any hired workers (naimyty)? motria hryhorivna: No, he was from a poor family. – Was he evicted and deported because he had three hectares of land? motria hryhorivna: I don’t know. Maybe he said something to someone. At the time, if you said something to someone, you were an enemy. There were people who didn’t work, tramps. Maybe someone denounced him. … – Were there any Komsomol activists in your village? motria hryhorivna: Yes. One of them (a woman) came to search my house and confiscated my dowry. She was a local, from Kruchany. She was from a poor family. They were from all backgrounds. Hanna Herasymivna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak (Vinnytsia region) – Did you join the kolhosp?

hanna herasymivna: Yes.

– Why did you join the kolhosp? hanna herasymivna: Because we didn’t have any land to live off. Our garden was small and too tight. – Did you give anything to the kolhosp? hanna herasymivna: Everything. We were registered to live in the area and bought the fields from the migrants. We raised a horse from a foal and used that horse in a cart. In the meantime, we worked the land until we joined the kolhosp. Everything [land, horse, cart] was given to the kolhosp. Hryhorii Kyrylovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – Did the people join the kolhosp of their own will? hryhorii kyrylovych: What fool [“yakii durak”] would join of his own free will? They were forced to. – Was your father repressed? hryhorii kyrylovych: Yes, during collectivization. He was at work; we

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had about 0.2 hectares of wheat, and my father heard that people were called for a meeting. He said to my mother, “Let’s dig it into the ground.” What else could they do if the activists lived all around? They made a dugout and put a container with about 480 kg of grain there; then they fixed a sleeping ledge at night and fired the oven early in the morning. But some people saw what they did at night and a brigade of about twenty people with horses came to confiscate the grain. They dug it out right away. They brought two bags to the village, and took the rest, one by one. They took our cow, two pigs, the yarn, and the millet – all we had in the house. My father worked in the kolhosp’s forge, so he would go and take a rifle with him in the evening. My mother would call for him right away. He came and said, “I got so angry; I wanted to shoot someone. Let it be as it will be.” He went to Chyhyryn, and our cow (thin and bony) was given back to us – nothing else. Sofia Ivanivna Voropai (Cherkasy region) – What year was your older sister born? sofia ivanivna: 1907. She and her husband split up. When they started setting up the kolhospy, he submitted a request to join, but she didn’t want to. She said, “I won’t obey the devil. I would not then be a free kozachka [Cossack woman].” And he left her. … – Why was your father taken? sofia ivanivna: He was a guardian. – What does that mean? sofia ivanivna: He served in the tsar’s police. He was a hero. He had awards: two gold crosses, two silver ones, a gold medal, and the Cross of St George. All his awards were taken. He was arrested in 1938, on St Eudocia’s Day. He survived the Civil War and the First World War. He used to say that he got so tired of war; he took a German [as a captive?]; he was very brave. They were arrested and not even allowed to change. Next day, I brought him some new clothes. I used to visit him often, but they didn’t allow any food, not even a piece of bread. During the last visit, we kissed through the metal bars; his head was bandaged. People saw him being transported on the main road, and we didn’t see him after that. … – What did your father have when you were still a child? sofia ivanivna: Seven desiatyny of land in the hayfield and two hectares of a garden. We were not rich, but we were hated a great deal. – What were you called: bidniaky, seredniaky, or the rich? sofia ivanivna: Seredniaky. We had a cow that was confiscated in 1929.

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We had a horse too; our garden was taken, but the land remained in our possession. My father went and bought another horse, and it was taken away, too. They took everything and even wrote that we had a thresher which we didn’t have. He wanted to join the navy, but they wrote in his file that he exploited others’ labor, so his military application was refused. – Did your father join the kolhosp? sofia ivanivna: He submitted an application, but it was not accepted; his voting rights were taken away. – Your mother didn’t join the kolhosp either? sofia ivanivna: No one joined. All the older relatives left; I was the youngest who stayed home. Then a document from Moscow came stating that my father was unlawfully accused and that he was released. We waited for his return, but no one came. My older sister went to Cherkasy to ask where he was and was told that he died of heart disease. At that time, a sentence of execution was replaced with twenty years of prison. – Did all people in your village join the kolhosp? Sofia Ivanivna: Not all of them. An old man named Roman Lukich didn’t join (he’s dead now); our family didn’t join; neither did a woman kozachka. … – When the kolhosp was set up, how often were the meetings held? sofia ivanivna: Often. There were both general and brigade meetings. A person who didn’t want to join the kolhosp was summoned to the staff office. The authorities locked the door to the room and harassed that person. It was horrible. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – Did your parents join the kolhosp right away? fedora yukhymivna: My mother died prior to the kolhospy; she was buried when we still had the church, the priests, and the pivchi [singers in church, sometimes a church choir]. My father died in 1933 of starvation. He had been taking care of us, and then… We were left on our own. Our sister died in the radhosp in Vyrishalne, and our house was burned by those bastards. – The Komsomol activists did this? fedora yukhymivna: They came. The charcoal at the time was taken to Kharkiv; people were trying to make a living somehow. The crosses in the cemetery we cut and burned to make charcoal and take it to Kharkiv. Nobody wanted to die. They came to our house at night. At the time, I was seventeen and worked in the fields. I was in the kolhosp. – Did you join the kolhosp in writing?

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fedora yukhymivna: No. I was walking down the street and met the head of the kolhosp. He said, “Go to work.” So, I did. My sister was ill with malaria, and the younger one was nine or ten years old. We were sleeping in a barn in the fields. We were herded there as if we were pigs. In the morning, a woman chef came to cook a zatirka [any kind of flour, e.g., wheat, oats, buckwheat, etc.; into which is stirred boiling water] for us and said, “Fedora, your house was set on fire and burned down.” I asked if the girls were alive, and she said she didn’t know. They didn’t let me go home until later in the evening. Then the brigade chief said, “I’ll give you a document.” There used to be a large bridge here, and the guards were on the bridge. – The Komsomol activists? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. They were there to intercept people who were running away from the fields. They would lock such people up in a barn, without food. I worked until the evening and had dinner. Then they let me go home and gave me the document for the bridge guards to let me pass. I came to the village and asked one woman if my sisters were alive. She said they were in another person’s house. But our house was burned to the ground. – Why did they set your house on fire? fedora yukhymivna: So that they could have the charcoal from the ruins to take to Kharkiv. I was grief stricken. I stayed. There was a rich man who was dispossessed at the time; his mill was confiscated. In 1933, they left their children at the station and the militia took them. His wife came home, became ill with tuburculosis, and soon died. – Why did she leave her children? fedora yukhymivna: Because of the famine. – Was she the one who left the children? fedora yukhymivna: No, she and her husband did. Many people abandoned their children, so they could be saved. Halka Buzko did the same. They would put the children where they could be picked up by the authorities and fed; the authorities had some food. – Were her children saved? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. – Did the surviving children return? fedora yukhymivna: Some did. – What about your husband’s children? fedora yukhymivna: No. They may have died. Who knows? – Did many people abandon their children at the time? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, all of Ukraine did. It was horrible. When we lived independently, life was good. We made hay and had mills; we made flour and bread. I still have an oven.

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Motria Fedorivna Hrytsyna (Sumy region) – Were the activists local or from elsewhere? motria fedorivna: Both. People were heavily taxed. If someone did not pay the tax, they would confiscate everything. People were arrested and put into prison; some were deported. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – Do you remember how many people were taken to Siberia during the evictions and deportations? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Not many, perhaps three families. Then they used repressions. I want to tell you about my experience of eviction and deportation. There were three categories: the rich were the first, and we were the third. The head of the village council and the head of the kolhosp came to our house, but there was nothing to confiscate. We were poor. My older brother was born in 1915; I was born in 1913. My brother had a suit, but he was away at work. My mother put the suit on in fear that it would be taken away. My brother used to wear rags, and this was a simple and clean suit; she wanted to preserve it for him. You know, they didn’t shy away from pulling my mother to the ground. They pulled up her skirt and took off the suit, both the jacket and the pants. Is it acceptable to undress a person like that? I don’t mind the kolhosp. We would have gone there and worked, but they didn’t have to destroy so many lives by starvation. Domna Fedorivna Dudnyk – What category were your parents?

domna fedorivna: They weren’t rich; they were the so-called seredniaky.

They were in the middle and a bit more resourceful. I remember we had a thresher; four or five people would use it together. – Did they have a home in the village? domna fedorivna: Yes. Now they say that those who could afford to own a farmstead were arrested, and those who were good for nothing even now own nothing. But back then, such were the times. I cannot say exactly what we owned: we had a cow, horses, pigs, barns all around. We didn’t have any bulls. All of this was gone; they left us nothing. We had a new house that was not yet plastered, so they took it apart and only left the floor out of the whole house. They took it apart to the ground, only leaving half of it. They evicted the Partyh family (Lida is the one who survived); they moved them to our house. They did this all out of spite.

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… – Did your father apply to join the kolhosp? domna fedorivna: He did and nearly joined along with Bomko and Martyn. The condition was that once you joined the kolhosp, you had to go from house to house and evict people from their homes. My father said, “I can’t do this.” This provoked anger against him, and for this he was thrown out of his house. They didn’t leave him anything, not a gram. So, my father continued struggling to survive. He bought a piglet from Kulchynsky, Leontii’s father, took it to Kyiv, and earned something to buy food for his children because there was nothing to eat. He did this a few times, and the authorities now accused him of profiteering. They were already suspicous because he didn’t want to join the kolhosp, and after he started reselling things, they began to keep track of him. Konovalchuk’s windows got broken. Who did it? And they would accuse my father. Someone’s house was set on fire. Who did it? Again, my father and Semen Hrynchak did it. The three of them were arrested, but since there was no evidence, they were soon released. This went on for three years while he still lived with my mother. She had a baby boy who died, and after that my father was exiled. For the next seven years, we went from one house to the other; we didn’t have anything. – You didn’t know where he was, did you? domna fedorivna: No one has given us any information to this day. He just disappeared. – What year was this? domna fedorivna: Probably 1933–34, the difficult years and the famine. – You didn’t have your own house? domna fedorivna: No, we didn’t. My poor mother used to do anything to survive. She’d buy a bottle of vodka somewhere and exchange it for beans. She’d find some tobacco and exchange it for beans or some flour. This is how we survived that period. Maria Omelianivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Were there people in your village who were exiled? maria omelianivna : Yes, of course. – Do you remember who was exiled? maria omelianivna : I have forgotten already because I didn’t live there. – How many families were exiled? maria omelianivna : Five or six. – Did the men leave on their own or with families? maria omelianivna : With their families. They were all evicted and deported and that’s it. They were not allowed to live here.

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– Did they come back?

maria omelianivna : No, the exiled families did not come back. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Who set up the kolhosp in your village? andrii solomonovych: They organized a meeting with the head of the village council and some kind of a representative from the regional administrative center. They took notes on who did not want to join the kolhosp. In our village, thirty people applied to join. They noted it. – Did you join the kolhosp? andrii solomonovych: Yes, I joined. – Why did you want to join the kolhosp? andrii solomonovych: I wanted to join because one had to. After a year of working there, they documented all my possessions and took all of them away. – Did you think that they would not take your property if you joined the kolhosp? andrii solomonovych: I did think that, but … Then I was taken by the military recruitment office for a ten-day meeting. A representative there asked me whether I was in the kolhosp or whether I was dispossessed. I said I was in the kolhosp and all my property was confiscated after one year of work. He picked up the phone right away and called Kobzarivka, asking why I was dispossessed. After some questioning, he said, “Your property will be returned.” I came home and saw the brigade that used to go to people’s houses and evict people. One man was sitting on the bed, and the other on the bench. One threw the keys at me. I said, “You can eat them. Pick them up, you fool!” That was all. Hanna Vasylivna Zamohylna (Poltava region) – What was the attitude like toward those who joined the kolhosp right away? hanna vasylivna: It wasn’t the same everywhere. In our village, the people who did not join the kolhosp in the year it was set up were dispossessed. Their cows, horses, and grain were taken away. The next year, they kept trying to make it but eventually they joined the kolhosp. People used to say that this was temporary and would end soon, so people believed and joined.

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Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – Were people deported?

yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, I was sent to the west of Ukraine and to

Finland from there. From Finland I was sent back home when I was in the army. I was on guard at night and injured my fingers by frostbite when I was deported from Finland, so I was not accepted to go to Japan. When it was time to go home, we stayed because there was no train. Shtyrka and I were walking somewhere in winter; it was minus sixty degrees centigrade. An old man was walking by to keep vigil and heard us speak Ukrainian. He approached us and asked: “What area are you from?” “From Cherkasy region in Ukraine.” “What village?” “Mliiiv.” “I’m asking because I heard the Ukrainian language. I was dispossessed and brought here into the woods. My family died; only one child survived.” He cried: We were taken into the woods, and many of the dispossessed people died there. My uncle from Mliiiv was also deported and he never returned home. Marfa Kindrativna Zubaly (Cherkasy region)

– Were people sorry when their land was confiscated? marfa kindrativna: When their land was confiscated? The rich ones were deported to Solovki [Solovetsky Islands in the far north of Russia]. I was married at the time, but my mother used to tell the stories. There were still services at the local church at the time, and we used to live close to the church. These two rich brothers used to live on the other side of the road. People would be arrested on their way to church, placed in the cart, and taken to Zolotonosha. In Zolotonosha they’d be put on a train and taken to Solovki. – Where is Solovki? marfa kindrativna: I don’t know. People left behind all they had and left with their families (cries). – Did people come up to say goodbye to the ones who were being evicted and deported or was it forbidden? marfa kindrativna: It wasn’t forbidden. We had a mountain in the village, and we lived at its bottom. One man [being deported] said, “Goodbye, willow. Goodbye, alder. Goodbye, the woods and the fences.” People used to cry so much; it was an awful time. May it never happen again. They hurt the people so much. Is it their fault that they were rich? They had land and cattle. They did what they could; each had their own fate. There were perhaps three

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poor families in our village who went around panhandling. One such family had three daughters; they married well when they grew up. Is it their fault that their parents were poor? Their father didn’t have any skills, nor did their mother. She used to weave, and that was all. Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region)

mykhailo hryhorovych: We had some families who were deported.

My father was smart, and he knew that this would happen, so he donated his property to the kolhosp in advance. If he hadn’t, he could have been deported. He had a thresher that used horses for transportation and a nice black horse; he gave them to the kolhosp. Then in 1932 the situation was uncertain. He didn’t want to join the kolhosp. The kolhosp was not set up yet, so they would herd all the cattle into a poor man’s (nezamozhnyk) barn to feed, but that man didn’t have feed for the cattle. The catlle started bellowing, and the women who were sorry for the cattle went there and took the animals home one by one. There was a crowd. In the same way, the horses were taken back to the households. Then the authorities came and took the cattle back. This kolhosp was poor. It only had thirty harrows and a few plows. They didn’t have a material base to set up a kolhosp, but they took the best fields. Now the people own the land near the school; the kolhosp has the best lands. At that time, they started setting it up. – In what year was it set up? mykhailo hryhorovych: We had a co-operative to work the land (they were called soz at the time). It started in 1922 and was mostly made up of the nezamozhnyky [the poor], but they knew they didn’t even have the tools to work the land. In 1929, the kolhosp was set up officially during the so-called total collectivization. All the people had to join and submit applications. People didn’t want to and didn’t write those applications. … – What was it like when the dispossession brigade came to your father’s? mykhailo hryhorovych: I was at school. This was in April 1938. Two militiamen came and took twelve people to the village council. The group that went to people’s houses had two militiamen, the head of the village council, and an executive. My parents were told that there would be an investigation. My mother felt that something bad was about to happen, but my father said that it was okay and would turn out well. The authorities most likely saw the war coming and they knew that a particular category of people could turn against the Soviet regime. This is my impression because most of the people [in the brigade] were military people. My father was arrested, but we kept his notebook – he liked to write down his village philosophy on how life could be

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improved for the people. There was a shelf in the house close to the tie beam where he used to put a loaf of bread. In a crevice near the shelf, I found his notebook; I no longer have it. They were arrested and taken to Zvenyhorodka. There was a long break in school, and our school was outside the village. They were transported by vehicles, sitting there on their knees with two nkvd representatives sitting there with rifles. My father recognized me and waved his hat at me. I have a document; I’m a member of the Society of the Repressed Ukrainian Political Prisoners. My father was arrested on 21 April 1938. On 22 April, he received a negative record (kharakterystyka). He was accused according to Article 5410, and the document has his words, “I plead guilty to membership in a Ukrainian nationalist insurgent organization in Husakovo of Zvenyhorodsky regional administrative center and to anti-revolutionary work.” This is how they wrote it down. The decree of 25 April sentenced all twenty-six of them to execution by firing squad. “The Decree of the Ukrainian nkvd troika in Kyiv region of 25 April 1938. Protocol No. 228 for the accused Ivanchenko Hryhorii Dmytrovych born in 1881. Executed on 19 May 1938.” And so it was. I recently learned about how and when this happened. My mother was waiting for him all that time, thinking that he was still alive. Valentyna Ivanivna Ilchenko (Vinnytsia region) – Was your father considered rich? valentyna ivanivna: He was considered one of the rich. There were few such homesteads. – How many such homesteads were there in the village? valentyna ivanivna: Around fifteen. One was Trokhym Ilchenko in Boishukivka – he had a large yard, many barns, stables, and lots of cattle. Another family – the Poliushchyks. Closer to the main road there was a rich man Shnyrov. Another one was Hryhorko Paliiv. These were about fifteen homesteads that changed very soon. Stalin was probably in power already; there was some kind of a decree, and they started collectivization. But prior to collectivization, they had to get rid of the people who were against it. These rich people were against. Why would they need collectivization if they had their own farmsteads? They would have to give their labor and the horses they fed and cared for to the kolhosp. My father had such well-fed and beautiful horses. So, these people were decleared kurkuli. A kurkul is a person who has more property than necessary. These homesteads had hired workers (naimyty), too. – Did your father have any hired workers?

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valentyna ivanivna: He didn’t. He did all the work on his own. I don’t

remember that he had any hired workers. – Did the other rich families have hired workers? valentyna ivanivna: Almost all of them did. There was a young man, an orphan, I think. His mother was a widow; his father didn’t return from the war. At the time, it was one war after the other. In 1905, there was a war with Japan, and then the Revolution. So, they took this young man as a hired worker. Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk (Kharkiv region) – When the Komsomol activists came, did you ask them, “What are you doing?”? anastasia trokhymivna: Who could say anything? I lived at my mother’s, and they came and took everything we had – canvas blankets (riadiuha) and the bags of grain. It was the time of the kolhosp, so they took everything. – Did you go to the administration to dispute this? anastasia trokhymivna: No. My husband and I were building a house; we put up the walls but didn’t have a roof yet. We bought a barn. Then the famine began. We didn’t live at home at the time; my husband was away, and I used to go away, too. The kolhosp workers took the wooden planks and the rooftop. Where could you go to dispute this? Nowhere. Kost Petrovych Kovalenko (Sumy region) – When did the kolhosp start? kost petrovych: In 1931, and at the same time they started the evictions and deportations. It was not a good time. They evicted and deported the rich. Some of the people in our village were merchants (komersanty). A lot of people from our village were exiled to the North. Nobody returned. At night, there were many people crying at the [train] station. – Did everyone join the kolhosp? kost petrovych: No, the kolhosp agitators came when I was an adult. We had a good plow; I used it and I was sorry to give it away. There was a state activist that dealt with the rich. There was no chance to have it our way; they would do what they planned to do. The people brought harrows and plows to the kolhosp and later on took some of the tools back, and the panic began. My father was strict. I said, “I’ll go take our plow back.” He said, “Don’t do it; it won’t be done our way in any case.” I did get the plow nonetheless, and he scolded me. The same night, one person was arrested and exiled. The next night – one more. Then the people brought the tools back to the kolhosp.

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This was when I was in school. Before this, many people were deported. I will never forget what Zatoshny said: “Humans were exiled, and the subhumans stayed.” You see? They took all the tools back to the kolhosp. … kost petrovych: The hard-working ones all disappeared. Those who worked were labeled kulaky. – How many of them were exiled at the time? kost petrovych: Too many – four hundred. Whole families were evicted and deported, and their houses demolished. – How much land did they have? kost petrovych: Some of them had large families and some of them were educated people. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Were you forced to join the kolhosp?

maria pylypivna: The poor people were glad to join and searched the

other people’s attics when the brigades came to evict people from their houses. They would come and go to the attic, and you had to be there, silent. – What was the attitude like toward those who did not join the kolhosp? Maria Pylypivna: They were locked in a cold room. One such man lived with his wife and didn’t want to join the kolhosp, so he was evicted from his house. Those who didn’t want to join were locked in a cold room. … – Did the peasants vote? maria pylypivna: God forbid. Nobody could say anything. At the time, if you complained, you were arrested and exiled right away. You would not come back. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko (Kharkiv region) – Did your mother get paid for her weaving work?

fedir yosypovych: I’m not sure; I think people used to pay. None of us

worked anywhere else; we didn’t have much land after it was divided. We had five hectares. During collectivization, we were classified as rich, but the land didn’t allow us to be rich. There wasn’t enough of it and the quality of the land was poor; it wasn’t even. Someone from the regional administrative center told my father to join the kolhosp to avoid the hatred and persecution. – We looked through the archives of the kolhosp meeting minutes regarding dispossessions and found one last name: Kravchenko K.F. Who was it?

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fedir yosypovych: It’s probably Kyrylo Fedorovych or Fedosovych. His nickname was Vukhnal and his last name was Kravchenko. – Was he considered a kurkul? fedir yosypovych: Not a kurkul. He was thrown out of his house, and his house was used as a kolhosp administrative office. They also had a barn and a warehouse there. – Was he deported? fedir yosypovych: No, he disappeared somewhere, but he wasn’t sent far because he was old, but his son Yosyp Kyrylovych lived nearby. If you had been to the edge of Zrubanka, the poorest house there was his. On the other side behind the fence, was the house of this old man [K.F. Kravchenko]. Then they wanted to throw him and his son Yosyp Kyrylovych out of the house, too; he worked in transportation. Those lazy ones that used to search the houses wanted to chase him out, but still can’t do it. … – Who was the head of the kolhosp? fedir yosypovych: Kuzma Afanasiiovych Kalaida. – Who was Kotliar? fedir yosypovych: Semen Prokopovych Kotliar. – He was the chair of the convocation. fedir yosypovych: Possibly. – Was Kalaida poor? fedir yosypovych: He was such a pauper. His house is still standing on the other end of the village. He later swapped houses with one man who knew that there’d be evictions. He moved from Zrubanka to Sortirovka. His house was made of straw while the pauper’s [Kalaida’s] was covered with iron. This is why he went for an exchange. That man had a large yard and nothing else – just a house and a toilet. He had no other property anywhere and many children. After they exchanged houses, that man removed the roof and sold the rest (he needed the iron); then he fled to Sortirovka and wasn’t subject to eviction and deportation. – Could it be that Kalaida told him to flee? fedir yosypovych: No, the regional administrative center knew better. The people who worked there used to be landowners back in the day. They knew what was coming. … – Was the representative of Zolochivska village council named Zaitsev present at this meeting? fedir yosypovych: I don’t remember this one. – They said the kurkuli should be expelled from their houses and then Hnatchenko’s wife stood up …

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fedir yosypovych: Maria Ivanivna Hnatchenko. She is dead now. – She said Kravchenko was a good man who used to help the poor. He should not be expelled. fedir yosypovych: Yes, my father was good to all the people. She lived close to us, and if she didn’t have enough to eat, she’d come to our place, asking, “Give us some, give us some.” When she came, she used to help around the place with the work. – Then Khrystenko spoke to support Kravchenko, and Kalaida said that Kravchenko was mean and stole from his mill during the famine. Did he mean the famine of 1921? fedir yosypovych: Kalaida didn’t have a mill. My father used to go to the mill that belonged to the kolhosp. It was at Kyryl Fedorovych’s house, but it stayed in the kolhosp property. My father learned quickly how to use it; not everyone could. My father used to reproach them for not sowing properly. Then Kalaida complained to the regional administrative center and asked to expel my father from the kolhosp because he was harming their work. In 1932, he was expelled from the kolhosp. My mother and he used to work in the kolhosp. In 1930, when the kolhosp was set up, I went to study in Kharkiv. I studied in a special school that taught carpentry and cabinetmaking. I studied there for six months. When I finished school, the building for Hazprom [Hazova promyslovist – a department overseeing natural gas projects] was just being built there, so I worked there for a while. Then in early 1931 the turbine plant was built, and I was transferred there along with the whole brigade. I was young, and my uncle was the chief of the brigade. I wasn’t lazy, and I was respected at work. Then from cabinetmaking I went into steel fixing until the end of the construction project (I was installing rods on the roof). Then one man from my brigade fell at work and died; I got scared and left the turbine plant for good. – When your parents left the kolhosp, where did they go to work? fedir yosypovych: They were expelled from the kolhosp and came home with a bond certificate for one thousand rubles due in twenty-four hours. This was in 1932; one bond due today in twenty-four hours; next bond due tomorrow in twenty-four hours, and so on without end. We had some cash saved in the barn. I said, “Father, you’ll need to pay one thousand every day.” I worked at Malyshev plant at the time. (I wasn’t accepted because I was too young, so I used my older brother’s documents and worked under his name as Stepan. When they started introducing the passports, I quit, got my own documents, and went back to work under my own name. I worked in the foundry and earned 1,100 or 1,200 per month.) So, I said to my father (because I was getting paid once a month and he had to pay the bonds every day), “Dad, you know what? Don’t pay the bonds. You don’t have any small children. Let them

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evict you from the house; let them do what they want. We’ll go to another village somewhere near Kharkiv and buy a homestead with the money that we have saved. You won’t be considered a kurkul and no one will bother you.” He agreed and did not pay the bonds. The bonds were there probably for the whole week; then they took them away. We still had a cow and a pig for six months but were forbidden to slaughter the pig. The cow was good; it could have probably calved in a month. Then came Kalaida and Shalaidyshchev to confiscate the cattle. My father had already prepared the feed for the pig (ground seeds and beans); it was one-and-a-half years old and they didn’t allow us to slaughter the pig. – Did your father want to slaughter the pig? fedir yosypovych: Yes, for a long time he had nothing to feed it with. Then they came to evict us from the house. Our house was in the garden, and a window was open. They took the cow, and the pig was still inside. My father and I started singing; I don’t remember which song, but we loved to sing. And Kalaida said, “Look, they are singing!” A month later, they told him to join the kolhosp again because there were not enough workers. So, my father joined the kolhosp again. … – When did the word “kurkul” come into usage in your village? When your grandfather was working, was he called that, too? Fedir Yosypovych: No-no, not at that time. The word came into usage during collectivization – a prosperous kurkul, high class, low class. – What does the word “kurkul” mean? fedir yosypovych: The rich one. … – Were many people evicted in your village? fedir yosypovych: Yes. One old man named Smetana was thrown out of his house and disappeared somewhere. Then he came back and built a little house, but the previous one was taken away from him along with all the farmstead. Kostiantyn Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – Can you describe collectivization? kostiantyn hryhorovych: It was unlawful to confiscate all the property the people had, and they confiscated it from the wrong people, from the most hardworking ones. My wife had two people in her family, and they had a mill, a thresher, and two horses – a whole kolhosp. How could one evict such a man? But they did and arrested the people in his family and deported them to Solovky. The wrong policy. Nobody at the time said that this was wrong.

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… – What was the people’s attitude like? kostiantyn hryhorovych: The people were not sad; it was unfolding on its own little by little. Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there people who did not join the kolhosp?

danylo yosypovych: Yes.

– Were they forced to join? Danylo Yosypovych: They were not forced; later on, they were evicted and forced to move to Solovky. – How many people in your village were evicted and deported? danylo yosypovych: I can’t say exactly how many families; about 190 homesteads. Our village was big. – Were five to six families exiled to Siberia? danylo yosypovych: Perhaps ten homesteads. I remember Ivan Karpenko who had ten desiatyny of land and was originally from the gentry; he lived here in the khutir Bukivka. He was exiled as were a few other well-off people. – Did they return later on? danylo yosypovych: Some did, and others didn’t. Those who were younger came back, and the old ones stayed there. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – You said that you had dvadtsiatypiatytysiachnyky (“Twenty-Five Thousanders”) in your village? Were they the ones that set up the kolhosp or did the local residents take part as well? Komsomol activists or some other group? Can you describe how it happened? petro ivanovych: Evictions went on like this: the goal was not to destroy the man, but his property; to turn it into collective property. People did not join the kolhosp for a reason. Consider someone who had four horses. Or another man in our village Syrotiuk who had sixty hectares of land. He didn’t say, “Look, I think I have too much land.” My cousin was married to Syrotiuk’s son, and she didn’t want to consider us relatives because we had a family of eight and only four hectares of land. – Was Syrotiuk a kurkul? petro ivanovych: Yes, he was. He didn’t want to join the kolhosp, so the authorities decided to confiscate his land. – Perhaps he had a large family?

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petro ivanovych: His wife, three children, and an old man. And sixty hectares. He didn’t work the land himself; other people worked there. He leased it to other people to make hay. … – Were some people from your village exiled to Siberia? Did they come back? petro ivanovych: Some were exiled. They were not punished too severely or driven to death. Those who accepted the system stayed. We had some younger men – Sashko Yehorychiv and Sashko Lavrynenkiv – whom the local Komsomol activists told to go and work in industry. “Here you’d be considered kurkuli, and there you could be respectable working people. No one will bother you. You will work; you just have to renounce your property.” They went to work in the factories, but others were exiled. Those who had served their sentence, came back. Some came back here, and most of them came back to Moscow or Tula, in the cities. Here’s an example of kulaky from our village Bilousenky; Nastia from their family lived here. They were exiled. Then they came back and went to live in Moscow and were given excellent apartments there, as is right and proper. … – How many homesteads were there in your kolhosp in 1929? petro ivanovych: In the village, we had 360 homesteads. – How many of them joined the kolhosp? petro ivanovych: In 1929, only nineteen joined. In 1930, the people saw how mass collectivization looked and all were suggested to join. Some of the people joined the kolhosp willingly, and the other ones were not sure. Some were also under the influence of anti-kolhosp activism. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – Who was the cruelest?

mykhailo pavlovych: The local authorities had representatives who were illiterate fools. At best they might have fours years of school. They were the poorest people, just sucking up to the authorities. They had no conscience; they were just sucking up to stay in power. What did they do? All these activists had plenty of everything during the famine. [One activist’s] wife would be making dumplings, and as soon as someone came in, she’d cover them with a newspaper. They also drank like crazy. They’d confiscate lard and other food and have a drinking party. They lacked nothing.

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Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – When was the kolhosp starting to be set up in your village? Was there a soz before the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a soz first. – In what year? mykyta mykolaiovych: 1928. – Who started the kolhosp in your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: The paupers. soz were the paupers. I joined a soz when I was sixteen. Our family gave up their land (they were well-off), and the pauper who got the land had eight people in the family – 1.5 desiatyny per person, so he got a total of twelve desiatyny. – Was it much? mykyta mykolaiovych: Not much, but they had no tools to work the land. They elected a man and a woman as representatives to send to Lenin so he would give us, the poor, a tractor. The Komnezam organized this, and Lenin approved. He signed a document for the Kharkiv region, and we got a tractor. … – Your father owned land, so he didn’t join? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, he didn’t join. – How many of you were in this soz ? mykyta mykolaiovych: About fifteen. – They also came without land of their own? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, without land. – Where did you get better land from? mykyta mykolaiovych: We had a society with some extra land. You understand, a newcomer would move in with his family to live here, so we should give him some land. This was how society worked. Land had to be available for the people. The people would come – refugees, the Poles. They would get some land. – You were fifteen people in a soz , and how much land did you have? mykyta mykolaiovych: 1.5 hectares per person. – Was the land collective? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. I plowed the land using the tractor; then we’d reap the harvest. We would then divide the harvest equally between all. The horses, the cows, and the tractor were all collective property. This was soz. – Where did you live? mykyta mykolaiovych: Over there. – Not at your father’s?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: No.

– Did you build a house of your own?

mykyta mykolaiovych: No, I lived at my father’s. – You didn’t build a communal house?

mykyta mykolaiovych: No-no, we didn’t have this. – Why didn’t soz last? Why did the kolhosp begin? mykyta mykolaiovych: We went from soz to the kolhosp because we learned that soz was a middle-class farming enterprise, and the kolhosp

was supporting the older people. We started setting up collective meals and helping the elderly. The cooperative was another stage. In the soz we would divide everything earned throughout the year. In the cooperative we had the poor members and the elderly, and the cooperative would help them. This was a different stage. – When did the kolhosp begin? mykyta mykolaiovych: In 1933. Stalin had vertigo in 1933, so he ordered collectivization. He was set-up, and as strong as he was, he wasn’t afraid to accept the responsibility. Collectivization amounted to nothing. Like Horbachov [Mikhail Gorbachev] and his perestroika. Stalin said, “Dismiss the kolhospy.” … – What about the kurkuli? mykyta mykolaiovych: The kurkuli didn’t want to join the kolhosp. They were taxed, asked, and persuaded. They were taxed; their land was not confiscated, but they were heavily taxed until they would pay, and they would pay until they had nothing left. Then the person would come, “Enroll me in the kolhosp.” This was how it was. Smarter people sold their farmsteads and left. Most of them fled to the sovkhozy [in Ukrainian radhosp, a state farm]. They were accepted to the sovkhozy, and life in the sovkhozy was better than in the kolhospy. They paid some money there and provided three meals per day. In the kolhospy they only marked the days worked, and they gave everything except the money (there was no money). They paid money only at the end of the year. … – When did the power belong to the people? mykyta mykolaiovych: In 1917 when the Soviet authorities were given to us. Lenin gave us land and the right to choose authorities. – When the kolhospy began, was the land taken away? Were those the Soviet authorities or not? mykyta mykolaiovych: Soviet. No one took the land. Who told you that land was taken away? We have the decree confirming the indefinite use of the land.

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– Do you have this decree?

mykyta mykolaiovych: We have it in the [kolhosp] office. It says in

gilded letters that the land in the kolhosp is ours for indefinite use. It’s a large book and in gilded letters it says: the land is transferred to the kolhosp workers for indefinite use. – After 1917, did life change for the better? mykyta mykolaiovych: It became totally better. … – Tell us about collectivization. Some people say the land was confiscated, and you say it wasn’t? mykyta mykolaiovych: No one confiscated anything. We came to the kolhosp and were given the book. There was a large meeting of all the kolhosp workers, and in gilded letters it says, the land is transferred to the kolhosp workers for indefinite use. The land was marked with pegs, so no one used other people’s land. – Who gave this book to the kolhosp workers? mykyta mykolaiovych: Sovnarkom [Soviet of People’s Commissars]. – Why do other people say that they were forced to join the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: I know this activism. – Was it a lie? mykyta mykolaiovych: This was the same as this perestroika. Some people like it, and some don’t. Those who give bribes, the profiteers, and the hooligans like perestroika. It was the same at the time of the collectivization. Lenin’s law was very good: work and earn. It was very good in the kolhosp. – If the well-off people had the land and the cattle, why would they join the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: Let them do their own work but let them pay the taxes. But the taxes were set up in a way to make the rich join the kolhosp because otherwise they got in our way. – How? mykyta mykolaiovych: Because he would live better than we did. We had to work, and what about him? He would lie in the shade. He’d finish working his land and sit down to rest. – How could he live better if he was resting in the shade so much? mykyta mykolaiovych: Because we gave him a separate piece of land. Between the stretches of our land is a stretch of his. He would work a little on it and leave to take a break. … – You say that people were not forced to join the kolhosp but joined out of their own free will? mykyta mykolaiovych: They did (laughs).

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– What were you saying about Stalin’s vertigo? mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a law for Sovnarkom: collective agriculture had to be set up on voluntary basis as in the example of our soz . We were fifteen people who came together on a voluntary basis. We received a tractor. We asked for the land from the society. We got the land and worked. Some people did not accept this, so the authorities forced them to join the kolhosp. If they followed Lenin’s way (as he said – on a voluntary basis), the peasants could organize villages on their own. Stalin made the wrong decisions; he crushed Lenin’s policy completely. – Did people in 1933 understand this and think the same way you think today? mykyta mykolaiovych: I think they did not understand this. The Soviet government could not provide for the people, you understand? It could not provide either bread or anything else. How could it? It had just begun; it was new and had to support an army in some way. – Your neighbor said that people’s property was taken away and sold along the road? mykyta mykolaiovych: No one took anything away except in the case of the rich individuals who didn’t share grain and used to hide it. They were taxed, but they didn’t pay the taxes. – Was the grain that was confiscated from the people brought to the barn? mykyta mykolaiovych: To the barn first and then it was given to the government and the regional administrative center. No one sold a single grain anywhere else. This was all done by the party and the Soviet authorities. They had to feed the army and the people, and the rich were hiding the grain. Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Cherkasy region) – When the kolhosp was starting in your village, did your parents join right away? maria serhiivna: My grandfather went first along with his brother. My mother-in-law and I didn’t want to join. They came and said, “We’re in the kolhosp already.” Like that. – What about your husband? maria serhiivna: Some who didn’t want to join were forced, but my grandfather and his brother volunteered to join. … – During collectivization, were many people deported from the village? maria serhiivna: Many. Not one from my relatives. – Did they return later on? maria serhiivna: No one came back, no one.

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Andrii Platonovych Oklei and Marfa Illivna Oklei (Kharkiv region) – When was your godfather evicted? marfa illivna: After he was evicted from his house and the house was demolished. andrii platonovych: Yes, he lived nearby. They came and evicted him. – Did they come in carts? Andrii Platonovych: They came on foot and evicted him in a way you would come in when we were outside; you’d enter the house and tell us we had no right to come back in. He was evicted in March or in winter. He had four children; they went to different places, and he was left with his wife. When they came, they said it was not his house anymore and he could go where he wanted. – Who came to his house? andrii platonovych: The locals. The Kocherha brothers came and some other people. They are dead now. I lived with my mother, and we were considered poor. They came to our house as well and took a loaf of bread from the table. We were left with nothing. – Where did your godfather’s family go after their house was taken away? andrii platonovych: After he was evicted, all of his property stayed there. Each of us – you or me – takes care of the food to eat, right? Back in the day people had cows, two or three pigs – to have meat. They took everything, and my godfather took an icon and said, “Let me live some more.” He left, and they remained the owners of this home and property: two cows, two bulls, a horse, pigs, lard and meat, various kinds of flour, and a windmill. He left, but his father-in-law spent one winter in his house. The activists at the time, if they found a piece of bread in the house, would keep searching in the yard. They had metal spears and used to stick them into the soil to see if the house owner had hidden any bags with grain in the ground. In this way, they’d find wheat or barley and confiscate it. They’d say to the owner, “You dug it all up to avoid giving it to the state?” My father moved to Zmiiov for the summer. He did various jobs for the people. He had two boys after he was evicted from his house; they ran away somewhere. One went to the Donbas. He used to make hay or grind the grain for people in a hand mill. They would pay him or give him some flour. There was a plant in Zmiiov (I can’t remember its name), so he went to work there. With the money earned, he bought a horse and started working in a plant there. They would carry wood planks and cement from the station to the plant. Later on, he built a house.

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Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – Did the people join the kolhosp gladly and right away? andrii hryhorovych: No one joined gladly. … – Were many people deported? andrii hryhorovych: Oh! Yes, many! – Approximately how many homesteads were deported or left on their own? andrii hryhorovych: About twenty-five people. – Did anyone come back? andrii hryhorovych: Some people did. – How many people came back? andrii hryhorovych: After fifteen years. – Did they tell stories about their life there? andrii hryhorovych: One person was arrested and exiled with his family to Irkutsk. He said, “Why didn’t I get there sooner?” He was sent there by himself, spent three years there, and then came back to get his family. He said life was good there. No one bothered him there. He had land and worked. … – Did you have to give all your property to the kolhosp? andrii hryhorovych: We took it there right away. – Including the horses and the cows? andrii hryhorovych: Not the cows; only the horses, the cart, the horse harness, and all the tools. – Did you have a thresher, a seeding machine, or a winnowing machine? andrii hryhorovych: No. You’re talking about large equipment. I had a cart, two bulls, a young horse, a plow, a cultivator, and the harrows. All the tools were new because my brother and I worked in a bank and earned all of this, y’know? We were planning our lives. – How much land did you own before the collectivization? andrii hryhorovych: We had six hectares of land: four hectares in one location, one hectare in another, and one hectare under the homestead. – Did anything remain of the homestead after the arrival of the kolhosp? andrii hryhorovych: You see, they gave… what’s it called? … They moved people out to live in the fields – khutory. This is where the people received land and everything. Move there and live there or move your house, y’know? We didn’t make it because the kolhospy had already begun.

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Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – How did relations change within the family after it lost its homestead during collectivization? maria vasylivna: My father joined the kolhosp late, around 1935. He didn’t want to join for a long time, and the other people followed his example and didn’t want to join either. Not far from here used to live another seredniak, Kornii Klipka. He was summoned to the staff office at night, “Why aren’t you joining the kolhosp?” He said, “If Vasyl Palahniuk joins, I will join.” My father used to argue with him, “Am I telling you what to do?” … – Did everyone join the kolhosp in your village? maria vasylivna: The poor people did because they had poor tools. They may have had more land, but they weren’t able to work it. There were also ill people or those with many children, and since the authorities promised a good life, they joined out of conviction. Seredniaky were holding on, and one could say that they joined because of the pressure. … – What kind of people carried out collectivization? maria vasylivna: The cruel ones. – Did they denounce other people? maria vasylivna: They forced people. They had a gun and came at night. I remember one activist from Rozhnativka (not our village) by the name of Kryvoruchek. The people there had an uprising against a kolhosp, and he jumped out of the window. There were no uprisings in our village. We had – how shall I put it – our local activists, the paupers: Shelestian Ratushniak was the head of the village council; he conducted the evictions, and he was cruel. Another member of the village council was Yukhym Stepanovych Vasylenko from Kalytynka; he was cruel, too. I remember he summoned Motryna when I was working at the village council and started harassing her. I was working in the same room with him and made a face when I heard how he spoke to her. He said to me, “Why did you make that face? Should she be pitied? She’s a viper. She should be hanged.” She didn’t want to join the kolhosp and had a nice house. … maria vasylivna: Motryna was thrown out of her house and her children were dragged out by their hands. My mother said, “Run to the barn. They dug gold into the ground somewhere there.” True, they had gold; these were the nep years, and wheat was sold for gold, but we never had gold; I never saw any. I forgot to tell you: my father worked in the cooperative and used to bring these golden coins, and I used to sort the coins by ten karbovantsi; those were coins,

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but we didn’t have any actual gold. Frosia said that when this representative went with her and when she dug out the gold, he put it into his pocket. … – Could you talk about the repressions? Were people deported? maria vasylivna: Yes, the kurkuli were deported during collectivization. Filimon Slobodianiuk from Kalytynka was deported, and Motryna [likely a close relative] was thrown out of the house. Hryhir, the father of Todosii Rudy, was also deported. Taras Dorozhovy was deported as well as our relative Ivanko Konovalchuk, y’know, the father of Aunt Paraska. Who else? There were seven khaziaii. – Was any one of them deported with their family? maria vasylivna: The families were thrown out of the houses, but only the men (“khaziaii”) were exiled: Hryhir Rudy and Filimon Slobodianiuk. They didn’t touch Konovalchuk, just those two. – Was your father deported later? maria vasylivna: Yes. – Did the people who were deported come back? Maria Vasylivna: Slobodianiuk didn’t come back; he only wrote a letter – not even he himself, but his friend did. They were somewhere; I can’t remember where. That man sent a letter here but didn’t say that Slobodianiuk had died. Hryhir Rudy came back worn out, emaciated. He said he worked as a guard there and prayed day and night for his children to survive. He came back infirm, too weak; he was not more than twenty-nine when he was repressed, so young. He came back after ten years and said he nearly died of famine but was spared; there were good people there, too. He was given a job as a guard somewhere and he survived because he was young, twenty-nine . . . Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did locals evict and deport people?

varvara ihorivna: Yes, locals, from a Komsomol organization. They

were called a buksir team: Oksana, Dunka, Oryshka, Petro, and one other Petro. They would come on a cart, search the houses, take the wheat, and leave. All of them were from the poor families and they dispossessed the rich because the latter were the ones who didn’t want to join the kolhosp. Their houses were searched all over, even underneath the pillows. They were ordered by the regional administrative center to do this.

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Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova (Cherkasy region) – Who was referred to as poor (bidniak)? oleksandra ivanivna: I don’t know why there were poor. They never had a cow or a horse. They had large families and they or their children worked as hired workers. – Did they work well? oleksandra ivanivna: In their homesteads, the land was worked poorly. When the kolhosp began, seredniaky were not involved, but the kurkuli were humiliated and evicted. Their property was taken, and these bidniaky became the rulers then. They took the grain and the last bits of food from the kurkuli. – Was this done by the poorest people? oleksandra ivanivna: Yes. For some reason, they never had any pigs or horses. Either they didn’t have anything to start with or they were lazy. … – You spoke about your grandfather’s brother who was dispossessed. Was he exiled? oleksandra ivanivna: The Soviet authorities did this is a very unfair way. They made provisions to establish the kolhospy – fine. What can one do? But they tortured the kurkuli a great deal. My maternal grandfather’s brother had two mills. My mother said they worked very hard: at night they would not sleep and think where to get more money to finish building the other mill – this was for the village, for the people. And what did they do to our grandfather Maksym? They threw him out of his homestead. His family was sent to the ravine; all my grandfathers used to work there digging dugouts. My grandfather Petro was not evicted from this large house because his son-in-law worked as a secretary at the village council and didn’t allow this. Grandfather Maksym’s cattle were confiscated, and he was imprisoned. Then they saw that he was about to die and released him. He didn’t want to go back home and went to Cherkasy instead; it was difficult at the time to come back. As he was walking there, he died on the way, like that. They could have taken everything and left us just one cow and 0.7 hectares of land as was with us all, and let people live. They used to say that the kurkuli were causing some kind of harm. Maybe some of them did, but my grandfather worked like a slave. He only knew his homestead and his cow. That was all. – What did people say about him? oleksandra ivanivna: No one said anything. He wasn’t the only one who was evicted and deported. They only said that they were hard-working people and they got driven away.

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Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – Did your parents have land and cattle? motria tymofiivna: They owned cattle; cows, horses, pigs, and chickens – as it was supposed to be. They had three hectares of land. When everyone joined the kolhosp, my father said, “I will follow the people.” My mother didn’t want to join the kolhosp. Then my father and other men were locked in a house for the night. As soon as the person signed the papers to join the kolhosp, he was dismissed. If someone didn’t sign, he was allowed to go to work during the day but was locked up again for the night. Olha Mytrofanivna Reuta (Sumy region)

olha mytrofanivna: My father gave everything away except the veg-

etables. He gave away the horse and the tools because my grandfather was considered a kulak, and we had no choice. My father and my grandfather signed a document confirming the division of property, and the forester demanded through the regional administrative center that my father join the forestry. We owned land that fell under the dispossession. We had everything. My father was a peredovyk [“the best in their field of labor,” an ideological and proganda tool], and the regional administrative center let him go. This was 1931, and he was thirty-one years old. … – What changed after the kolhosp [was created]? olha mytrofanivna: When we had our local kolhosp, it was not bad. Then we were merged with the other kolhosp and everything was moved there. Our land was taken by the plant as technical land. – Were many people evicted and/or deported? olha mytrofanivna: Many. My father was wrongly accused of stealing a wagon of potatoes; my father was very literate. They sealed off our cellar; then they came to check and didn’t find any stolen potatoes. At the time, there were regular mandatory deliveries of meat to the government. Five people would buy one bull. The authorities claimed that my father didn’t meet his quota of meat delivery. They came and confiscated everything, including potatoes, and they evicted us from the house. My mother put on all the clothes and couldn’t button up her coat. “Why is she so fat? Undress her!” They would come with iron spears and pierce everything – the locals took our property. About twenty carts were used to transport the potatoes. We had wooden planks for the floor in the attic. If they broke into the house and saw a wooden floor in the house, it was a reason enough to warrant a dispossession. The same if they saw the metal roof in the house. They took our planks, too. They left us home;

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they didn’t have enough carts for the chests. They took the blankets, too. Our friends and acquaintances were packing some of our belongings into bundles; my mother didn’t know who got which thing; she wasn’t even thirty years old at the time. They packed everything and took it all away; they took three piglets. What could we do? They left us one boar, two pigs, and a cow. Our barn had a barrel clasp. My father was arrested. The head of the village council went to my mother’s brother who was an accordion player and asked him to play at the village council. He played, and all the employees left the building when a secret note was slipped in warning my father of what was coming and urging him to run for his life. In thirty minutes, he ran away. My mother knew that he was close to the woods already by the nighttime. She knew in which direction he was heading, and around midnight his things were taken to him. It was awful. Then my mother’s brother came and said, “Lock the house and don’t spend the night at home.” We went to live at my mother’s mother. They would come to confiscate the cow, but they could not do it. My mother and I would come to feed hay to the cow through the attic; we didn’t open the doors. One day we came, and the cow and the pigs were gone. We were away from home for about three weeks. Those who were evicted lived in the forest, and some people came to us to spend the night. We lived at my grandmother’s and there was a trial. The forestry service supported our case as well as the regional administrative center saying that we paid all our taxes and shouldn’t have been searched. The kolhosp chairman said, “I dispossessed sixty homesteads. I wanted to establish order.” His last name was Kruhly. Bochkin, the kolhosp chairman, has a brother who was a revolutionary. He was a smart man and a lieutenant colonel. … – Were many families deported? olha mytrofanivna: There were no deportations; families were leaving on their own. My grandfather had three daughters and a married son; they all left. The girls went to the Donbas. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – When the khaziaii were being evicted, what was done with their property?

motria hryhorivna: They brought it all to school or some other building and sold it afterwards. – Who bought it? motria hryhorivna: The poor ones. Where else would they sell it? – Did the Komsomol activists bring the possessions to that place? motria hryhorivna: Yes.

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Ivan Samsonovych Roman (Poltava region) – Was someone evicted in your village? ivan samsonovych: Not in our khutir. This happened of course in the village, but in our khutir everyone was given five hectares of land, and everyone became seredniaky. Those who didn’t join the kolhosp joined some soz ; they’d run around trying to make a living. You know, you had to work, and some people didn’t want to work. But there weren’t many of them, just two. We had a total of seven families in the khutir. The five other families were good workers; everything was tidy and taken care of. In the fall of 1932, they started confiscating the bread. I have to say that the harvest was good that year; we had the corn and the beets. We were helping our parents to peel the beets at the time; I remember this very well. One day the so-called buksiry [Komsomol activists] came to our house – this was the word for those who confiscated the grain. I don’t know why they were called that. I was at the table studying when I heard a noise outside: the dog was barking, and the hens were cackling. I thought, “What happened?” They were in our yard with their cart. They started searching for grain right away: in the barn, the shed, the pigsty; then they broke into the house and started piercing the oven with metal spears. It was awful – the dog was howling, my mother was crying, my father was standing there looking bewildered, and I was observing all this. The search went on for two hours; they turned everything over and took even the poppy seeds and the beans. Do you understand what it is like for a family to be left without a single grain? … – What happened to your khutir then? ivan samsonovych: It was destroyed when they started a campaign against the seredniaky. No one wanted to join the kolhosp, so a brigade broke into houses and shattered the roofs of the houses and the barns to expose the people to rain and snow. What could one do? Besides, everyone’s gardens were confiscated. We were forced to ask for a homestead from the plant, and there we built a small house at first and then a bigger one. So, the khutir was simply destroyed. – Who was in this brigade? ivan samsonovych: The village activists. – Do you remember their last names? Ivan Samsonovych: No, I don’t want to be mistaken, but what is of interest is that almost all of them died during the famine. My mother used to say this was their punishment from God; they wanted our death and found their own instead. During the evictions they took everything into their own houses – our clothes and food. They thought this would go on forever; they would

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sell the goods and buy vodka. They were very cruel. They threw one of our relatives (a woman) through a window into the snow because she didn’t want to leave her house. You understand, these activists were used as an instrument to execute the decrees of the authorities above. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Who was called kurkuli?

natalia hryhorivna: The hardworking people. My father was very hardworking and appreciated by the people; he liked to work with his hands. His house was one of a kind in the whole village: it had a pediment and a second floor. How was he a kurkul if he had seven desiatyny of land, and his father-in-law had ten? My paternal grandfather, a chumak, had ten desiatyny, and he gave my father an oil mill and a machine to make millet. He had a yard for the cattle and many pigs. … – Who initiated the idea to set up a kolhosp? natalia hryhorivna: This was a right introduced by Lenin to prevent the spread of travelling beggars (startsi) because there were many of them at the time. The doors would not close, they’d come so often. – Did many people agree to join the kolhosp? natalia hryhorivna: No one agreed, but they were forced: some representative from the regional administrative center would come: “Give us your cattle.” We belonged to Rzhyshchevsky regional administrative center at the time. When collectivization began, we went between jobs in the kolhosp and the orchard. What kind of kolhosp was it? They didn’t even have a space to keep the cattle locked up. I remember my uncle (my father’s cousin) used to take the horse and the cow back home. Back and forth it went with the kolhosp. This was how it was. – Then did they give their cattle to the kolhosp for good? They didn’t take it back? natalia hryhorivna: No, they didn’t. Cattle and people died, but when it got settled, it was good, and the kolhospy became well-off. The better land was given to the kolhosp; people lived well. Lenin suggested the way. He said this was to prevent the spread of travelling beggars (startsi). … – Where did they take the kurkuli? natalia hryhorivna: To Vologda; most of them died. – Why were they deported? natalia hryhorivna: Because they were kurkuli. The next fall they started evicting us, too. The kolhosp had been set up by then and we worked

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there. The village activists came, took everything, and locked the house up. My father had a good deal of property: the stables, a barn, a beehouse, a shed with three plows, and a large yard. They threw everything out of the house and evicted us, and we had nowhere to go. You had no right to find a job; it was a great distress, such a distress. My husband left for the Donbas in winter on 18 January, on the eve of Jesus’s Baptism Day. He nearly perished. At first, he worked at the railway station and then in a coal mine where his acquaintances worked, evicted guys like him. … – How many rich people were there in the village? natalia hryhorivna: Three were exiled to Vologda in the beginning. Later on, they started dispossessing the people like my father. I don’t know how many such families there were, perhaps three. They would come for a mandatory donation of food to the state (prodzdacha). One had to give a certain amount of grain to the state. We gave and gave; they took all the grain; nothing was left, but they kept imposing a quota to give. Then they labeled us kurkuli to be liable for deportation. They would not let people live at all. They came to our house and took everything. Someone named Naumenko came from Rzhyshchevsky regional administrative center, evicted us from our house and locked it. We were outside. My now deceased father took my baby son Hrysha into his arms and cried, “I worked so long to earn this, and now this is what I get for my old age.” So, we cried for some time and started thinking what to do next because it was winter. That administrative representative moved into my father’s warm house right away. What could we do? We went looking for a house and found a small one on the corner; the woman owner let us in. We came into that house. God, it was cold! She didn’t have any firewood. We always prepared firewood for the winter in our house; we haven’t had a single winter without it. In the morning, people came. One brought some firewood, another brought hay. People helped us. So, we lived, and then in the spring my father took me to the Donbas with him. Then we went around Poltava and Luhansk looking for work, but as kurkuli we didn’t have any documents, and you could not start any job without documents. It was very distressing. Oleksii Ivanovych Syniuk (Poltava region) – Were many people well-off in your village? oleksii ivanovych: Not many, but we had twenty to thirty seredniaky; they were evicted and deported during collectivization, especially in 1933–34. I knew this because I was a Komsomol member. The secretary of the party would call the Komsomol activists to involve them in the collectivization

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process, but I used to avoid this because I was embarrassed. My grandfather was evicted from his house. – Describe the evictions and deportations. oleksii ivanovych: They would say, “Let’s get to Ivan’s or Hrytsko’s tomorrow; their house is bad, so let’s get to that one; his house is good.” The activists would come in and evict the people living there. … – How did the well-off people join the kolhosp? oleksii ivanovych: He would gladly join, but they didn’t accept him because he was a kurkul. – Where did he go? oleksii ivanovych: He died, and all of this property was taken. They would come, tell the owner who had four children to get out, and lock the house. They would tell a neighbor that they would also come for him if he let the evicted people in for the night. This was their method. At the time, I was of a different opinion; perhaps I thought that this had to be done. Now I understand … – You were spared because you joined the kolhosp? oleksii ivanovych: We joined the kolhosp; we were the bidniaky. If someone was a little well-off, he abstained from joining, but they went after whoever they targeted, even if he had joined the kolhosp. There were some bidniaky who didn’t want to join, and they were evicted and deported too. – Were there people who were exiled and didn’t come back at all? oleksii ivanovych: Many. One person said that it was too early to sow buckwheat, and he was declared an enemy of the state and disappeared. One read the Gospel and was arrested as a madman so that he wouldn’t campaign [against collectivization]. … oleksii ivanovych: They were sent to bring order. They ruled a great deal. Those who joined voluntarily but were scheduled for eviction and/or deportation were evicted and/or deported. Those who didn’t want to join even though they were poor, were evicted, too, or harassed in some other way. Many people joined voluntarily, and many didn’t want to join because when you joined the kolhosp you had to give away your cows, bulls, horses, plows. They capitalized on a person’s property, yet he didn’t even have enough to eat. … – Did you join the kolhosp out of conviction? oleksii ivanovych: Voluntarily. My father was very poor; he was an activist in the Komnezam. We didn’t have land of our own; we worked in a group. … – Did the poor ones evict people from their houses?

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oleksii ivanovych: If I had to put it crudely: the usurpers and the paupers were the ones that tried to strike it rich. They came to my house and started searching it. They found a bundle of dried olives or beans and took it away. Do you think they took it to the kolhosp? They took it home. In general, there were ten to fifteen of them, and it’s clear that they were poor and lazy and didn’t want to work. In our village Dibrova there were no extra-rich people. One was evicted, and the secretary of the party organization moved into his house. The evicted man Yosyp Oropiiovych was an officer in the White Army. He had a good house and a garden. They even took the hot borshch from the oven when they were evicting him, and so he went roaming somewhere. I remember his father wearing a peasant overcoat (kozhukh) when just yesterday he was an officer. This officer surfaced when the German occupation began. He summoned fifteen people and said, “You were the ones who took my borshch during the dispossession; you – took kasha.” He tied them to pear trees in the orchard and executed them; the officer provided the list of names. The key usurpers were killed. This is how it was: a poor man was labeled a kurkul. That poor officer became a starosta [village leader] during the war. He was literate and was an officer, but so what? As the Red Army was retreating, he fled. Oleksii Ivanovych Strilkov (Poltava region) – Who were the people that carried out collectivization: locals or newcomers? oleksii ivanovych: Locals. Some were from the regional administrative center, but for the most part they were from our village. Locals dispossessed locals, searched all the corners of their houses for grain, took the last grain, and left the people to die. When we were dispossessed, they even took the rake. All of those who did this have already died. The village residents did this evil deed. They would come in their teams of buksiry and wake people up at night, “Give us your grain, now. Give us sixteen kg or thirty-two kg.” I said, “I am hungry myself.” The locals were the cruelest ones. Halyna Tymofiivna Tarasenko (Kharkiv region)

halyna tymofiïvna: My childhood was during the difficult years. I

only remember that they were digging out the potatoes and could break into anyone’s house. I remember how my mother hid on top of the oven, and I was alone in the house. She said, “Child, don’t open the door because there’s nothing in the house to take.” It was 1932. At our neighbors’, they dug out the potatoes from the garden pit; this I remember. They set up a pantry in front of the store, and they went around it the whole day; in some places, they’d

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dig out the beans, and in another – some lard. They went around robbing the unfortunate people like that. People would hide a bag of beans behind an icon, but they would find it, take it to the pantry and have a party with drinks. I saw this with my own eyes. The locals from the regional administrative center would come in order to commit extortion [vykachka], and in the evening they would take a bottle of vodka and eat the food that people earned with tears. They used to sing songs a great deal. Ivan Kalistratovych Udovychenko (Cherkasy region) – Describe the beginning of the kolhosp. ivan kalistratovych: It was simple. In 1929, they announced, “Everyone must join the kolhosp!” Whether you wanted or not, you submitted a notice and joined the kolhosp; they took away your horse and cow. We had a small barn with long shelves inside: “We’ll take these shelves.” To prevent the barn from falling apart, my father then put up two thin poles; they came and destroyed it. Everyone was forced into the kolhosp, and then later on they declared freedom: those who wanted could leave the kolhosp. Some left and then joined again; back and forth this went. Then we settled down. Those who left the kolhosp didn’t get their land or cattle back – nothing. Those who protested a bit were evicted and deported right away – right away. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – Who were the people who performed the evictions and deportations: locals or newcomers? mykhailo antonovych: Locals. They did such things! If they had had a license to kill, they would have done so. But they only took people’s property and clothes. I was left wearing just one shirt; they took everything else that I hid in the house. They evicted me from my house and all that was left in the house was gone. There were the local activists as well as activists from other places who would break into your house during the day, sit down, and write, “You owe this and that. Are you paying or not? You owe this much and this much.” How could I pay if they took everything? “I won’t pay.” Then they’d start bargaining and selling my property. A group of poor people would steal whatever they saw in the house and then put it up for re-sale. I had nowhere to go, so I stayed for some time with my father-in-law. He fed me, but how long could it last? I left and was arrested in the village. They asked, “Have you paid off your dues?” How could I pay them off if they dispossessed me? Then they imprisoned me; they transported me from Lubny to Kharkiv where I spent one year. I was sentenced to three. I worked on the construction sites

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and at the brick plant. I was treated well there because I worked well, and the boss let me go on vacation for a week. While I was away, I was told, “Why should you go back there to work for free?” So, I went to Bogoroditsk (Tula Oblast) where I worked in the mine until 1950 and when I was old, I received a mining pension. Thank God, all those enemies of mine are dead, and I’m still alive. I caused no harm to anyone. Some people were not accepted into the kolhosp on purpose to demonstrate to the others that they, too, would be dispossessed if they didn’t join. This was the system at the time. … I had two sons; one was probably five at the time. During the evictions, I lived at home and my father-in-law lived nearby. He used to resell things a bit and could support me a little; I had potatoes dug up in the pit in the garden. Seniv Riaby came to confiscate the potatoes. He was a fool who would kill a person if he were told to. So, he uncovered the pit and was loading the potatoes when my little one went up and put some potatoes into his pockets. When Riaby saw this, he grabbed the child and nearly choked him. He took all the potatoes from him. Can a human being do this – take potatoes away from a child, load them on a cart, and leave? I’m thankful to my father-in-law who supported me and my wife. Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – Were there any kurkuli in your village? andrii fedorovych: What kurkuli are you talking about? We had some people who had a cart, a thresher; they were not dispossessed. Some people arranged with the authorities and bought a house in Kharkiv. The authorities said to them, “Teach someone how to work to replace you, and we’ll let you go. We’ll give you a certificate.” He took some guy as an apprentice and showed him how to work. – We now say “kurkul” and what word did people use back then? andrii fedorovych: “Kulak.” We didn’t have any well-off people in our village. – Were there any kulaky before the kolhosp? andrii fedorovych: Well, I told you that there were people who were a bit better off. – Did people call them a “kulak”? andrii fedorovych: Back in the day? No. – Was such a person called rich or khaziaiin? andrii fedorovych: Well, khaziaiin. For instance, when it was time to vote for a starosta, he didn’t get paid for this role. He got half a desiatyna of the land in the meadow and half a desiatyna of arable land and he worked. He

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had a seal in his pocket. A scribe (who held a paid position) would come to a starosta with the documents that had to be signed or sealed. He would do this and say, “I’ll be over there in the field – plowing, or sowing, or mowing.” He worked – unlike the ones now that just walk around. If it was necessary to be on duty, we would take turns. I would be on duty today, you – tomorrow. “If the person on duty needs me, I’ll be over there.” This is how it was. … – Were you in a soz ? andrii fedorovych: Of course, where else could I be? – Did you join it? andrii fedorovych: Yes. They were forcing us; they didn’t let us sleep. They would summon me five times during the night, “Sign here.” First, they summoned me to a soz and later to the kolhosp. – Why did they summon you at night? andrii fedorovych: Because the people didn’t want to join, so they would not let them go to bed. – Was the staff office full? andrii fedorovych: Yes. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – What was the people’s attitude toward the fact that land was taken away from them? petro vasylovych: It was very bad that the land was taken away. People said the authorities didn’t let them live. – Were those who were against the authorities sentenced? petro vasylovych: Some were. They left and died. Some came back. There were two brothers; one of them was my neighbor and we both were members of the village council. I said to him, “Go home because they are coming after you to dispossess you. Tell your brother Vasyl, too.” Vasyl had seven children; he didn’t warn his brother and went home on his own, without fear. He was evicted, and all his relatives died. All of his brother’s children died, too. This was it. It’s terrifying to be telling this. – What did they do with the confiscated property? petro vasylovych: They took it to the village council. The grain was taken to the kolhosp, and the clothes were just kept for their own use. Monsters. They should be the ones to be dispossessed. The people had nothing left so they went around the steppes looking for anything that was hidden in the ground. There were all kinds of people.

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Fedora Oksentiïvna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp? fedora oksentiivna: Everyone. – Were they forced? fedora oksentiivna: Some went voluntarily, some were forced. … – Who were their people that executed collectivization: the locals or newcomers? fedora oksentiivna: Mostly the locals. Yakym Kostohryz; later on, Posypaiko was the head of the kolhosp. I remember him well because he harassed me a great deal and beat me with an iron key. Around the time of the dipossessions, we hid some wheat, rye, and clothes in a dugout. We were accused of not paying the dues or something. I stayed home, and my father was away in Pohoriltsi. My father came and took a bag of rye or wheat and some clothes and left. There used to be guards at the time. They also took from our stash, but then they reported my father. I was home and I was interrogated whether my father took the grain or not and when. The interrogator locked the door and hit me with a key; I was trying to break out of the house. They took whatever they wanted. Next day my sister brought me home; there was no one there, and she left me there alone. Then my father came, “What happened?” Everything from the stash was taken to the kolhosp. This was 1932–33. … – Were people evicted and deported? fedora oksentiivna: Yes, and our family got shaken a bit, too, but not too much. – What did they take away from you? fedora oksentiivna: Blankets, carts, horses – all we had. – Were people deported from the village? fedora oksentiivna: Many were deported. They would take people out into the steppes away from the village and leave them there by the ravine and tell them not to dare go back to the village. They would say to the people in the village not to take kurkuli into their houses or else they too would be exiled. One old man was evicted as well as another woman with a child. The boy was orphaned. She and her son lived with us while she was looking for a place to live. He would go into the field to collect spikes so no one could see. She would grind a small bag of flour. My old man was on the sleeping ledge, and her son was crying for her. Then they bought a small house somewhere.

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Ustyna Yukhymivna Shepelenko-Osadcha (Cherkasy region)

– ustyna yukhymivna: The activists fooled us. Lenin fooled us in the

first place when he said, “The land to the peasants, and the factories to the workers.” People believed this. Before you had to pay much to buy land, and now they promised it for free. During the collectivization they took all the land people had. In our village, someone decided to build a commune and they started confiscating the cows. I wish you could see this – atrocious! The brigades went around; people used to hide cows inside the houses and lock the doors; the brigades would then break all the milk jars outside in the yard. The cows were taken to the kolhosp and people told to get a milk allowance. The cows were neglected and later on given back to the people because the kolhosp couldn’t take care of them. … – ustyna yukhymivna: The representatives used to come and demand property. My uncle, an agriculturist, was sent to prison almost every year. “Start harvesting the grain.” He responded, “I won’t because it’s not ripe yet.” They then declared him an “enemy of the people” and sent him to prison. The grain was not ripe; they would harvest it, but it would not get accepted for packing. Three times my uncle served his time in prison. – Was anyone deported to Siberia? Ustyna Yukhymivna: Many were evicted and deported. In 1929 there were no deportations, and in 1930 I left. Vasyl Arsenovych Yavdoshenko (Poltava region)

vasyl arsenovych: Many of the evicted Cossacks were deported. Why

was one called a “kulak?” Because he slept on his fist, didn’t have enough to eat, and didn’t sleep long enough to make sure the horse was fed in the morning, so he could use it to go to the field to work. They were great workers.

h ol d ou ts f rom c ollec tiviz ation A fact little discussed in the literature about collectivization is that all villagers did not enter the socialist agricultural system (kolhosp and radhosp) in the first few years of collectivization. Some families resisted and a large number of these, probably the majority, were repressed. There were a very few in scattered locales who apparently did not enter in the early 1930s and were not repressed. Some who stayed out for several years were repressed at a later time – five to nine years later. Virtually all were eventually forced to join. Some purposely never joined a kolhosp at all, preferring by choice to work on a radhosp. Reasons for not joining

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a kolhosp seem to have often concerned an aversion to collectivized labor and/or bitterness at having their land, livestock, and tools confiscated. The treatment by government authorities of those not joining varied somewhat depending upon locale. That some were not repressed in many cases may have been due to the intervention of local authorities and their more lenient reaction to selected resisting villagers. However, the questionnaire did not include material on this topic, and so it cannot be addressed further here. The how, why, and where pertaining to the Soviet authority’s reaction to holdouts from socialized agriculture are highly individual and do not always reflect state policy, which was, of course, to confiscate uniformly and to punish all those who resisted. The first aspect of that policy – to confiscate uniformly – was systematically carried out regardless of whether or not a family joined the socialist agricultural sector. Those who joined willingly and immediately as well as those who resisted and were forced to join later eventually saw their property confiscated and incorporated into the kolhosp. Those who joined earlier, as noted elsewhere, in some locales were allowed to keep their cow. However, regarding the latter policy – to punish those who resisted – local officials occasionally acted in a non-life-threatening manner and some families were left outside of the socialist labor system for years, although this was a distinct minority of cases. As described elsewhere in this chapter, there was a true ruthlessness with which most local authorities carried out punishment against resisters. Petro Kushnir’s response as to why those who did not join the kolhosp were repressed is of interest because it corresponds with the ideological slogans of the Communist period. He claims that most villagers joined the kolhosp immediately, and they joined out of belief. He notes that the poor would have joined in any case as they had nothing to lose. The rich did not join because they did not want to give up their privileges, and they agitated the poor not to join. All the problems with collectivization, he says, were because of the agitation by the rich for the poor not the join, and the wealthy thus deserved whatever punishment they received. Disregarding for the moment the ideological stance that only the rich suffered from collectivization (an untenable position given the famine and the wholesale repressions in the village, which are dealt with in other parts of this study), those punishments, that is, the consequences of not joining the kolhosp, were many sided. Some families starved, others were evicted, some exiled. The heads of some families were arrested, and some of these executed. There were families that managed to keep alive and together by moving away, either to work in another region or by travelling constantly, buying and selling odds and ends. Virtually all who did not join were saddled with prohibitively high taxes, which if not paid meant a jail term for the head of the household, usually the father. The most common consequence was a constant pressure, a fear based on threats of physical force and of psychological terror. In most cases this eventually did what its perpetrators intended it to do, for most families sooner or later joined the kolhosp.

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A common punishment for not joining the kolhosp was slow starvation. Without going into detail, Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak notes that people died from not joining the kolhosp. Several interviewees discuss this in more detail, noting that those who joined the kolhosp willingly and at the beginning did not suffer as harsh a treatment as those who stayed out. As noted above, those who joined willingly could in some locales keep their cow. Those who were forced to join usually lost all their livestock. The loss of the family cow meant the loss of a crucial dietary staple. Villagers derived a large portion of their protein as well as vitamins and minerals from dairy products. At that time, there was no other way to get dairy products as they did not then exist as sale items in village stores (such stores did not exist in most villages), and for most villagers such items were prohibitively expensive at the bazaar. The loss of their cow could literally mean near starvation for a family (Oleksii Syniuk, Hanna Zamohylna, Maria Kozar, Fedora Chub, Pavlo Andriienko, Ivan Bibik). Marfa Zubaly describes this in more detail. Those who were among the first to join the kolhosp in her village were allowed to keep some of their livestock, usually a cow and chickens (readers should note that this did not hold true in many locales). The interviewee notes that her parents joined and kept their cow. Her uncle and aunt resisted. The authorities later confiscated everything from them – cow, land, and tools included – and they starved to death soon after. Staying off the kolhosp in this village was therefore a risk that meant scrounging for food outside of a system hostile to all who did not take part in it. Arkhyp Dzhyrma described the same kind of circumstance in which those who joined early on kept their cow and received a bit of land to farm on their own. Those resisting were allowed nothing, neither animal nor land. Several informants were explicit in their evaluation of the economic necessity of joining the kolhosp in the early 1930s. According to them, those who joined survived, or at least had a chance of surviving the famine. Those who stayed out perished (Oleksandra Posobilova, Motria Hrytsyna, Yevdokia Dyshliuk), and there were apparently thousands of families that did not join and died as a result. Andrii Zaiets clearly states that those who joined the kolhosp received a minimum amount of bread, while those outside the system had to fend for themselves. The famine, this interviewee believed, was specifically designed to herd people into the kolhosp. Those within the kolhosp had food and survived. Those outside the system had nothing and perished. The incentive for joining was life itself, regardless of whether local authorities were evicting or exiling villagers. Petro Khudyk, an activist at the time doing the repressing, expressed a similar opinion: – Did many people die during the famine? petro vasylovych: Many. Those who didn’t join the kolhosp died. – Were the kolhosp workers fed?

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petro vasylovych: The kolhosp workers at least got something. Those who didn’t join didn’t get anything at all.

Hanna Zamohylna stated: “There were people who died of starvation in 1933, but they would have survived had they joined the kolhosp.” Marfa Zubaly described the fate of two families that did not join. After their land and livestock were confiscated, they tried to make ends meet by travelling to and from Cherkasy two or three times a week, walking and hauling small goods to market. They did not manage to make a living and died, presumably from a combination of exhaustion and starvation. Their children, meanwhile, joined the kolhosp and survived. Natalia Semeniaka relates a similar horror: – Was everyone forced to join the kolhosp right away?

natalia hryhorivna: Everyone. Some remained as odnoosibnyky. I

remember one man who had many children but didn’t join the kolhosp. His children died. People who were in the kolhosp were getting something. – Was he heavily taxed? natalia hryhorivna: Yes. Oleksii Strilkov describes a village life in which those who did not join the kolhosp were viewed literally as animals by the authorities, to be dealt with and removed in any way the authorities saw fit. The interviewee notes that their fate was eviction and sometimes deportation. A few interviewees said that undue pressure was not brought to bear against those who did not join (e.g., Andrii Oklei, Mykhailo Maslo), while far more claimed the opposite and spoke of the repression of those who did not join the kolhosp. Even those sympathetic to the Communists confirmed this. Petro Khudyk, a pro-Communist activist in the 1930s, said that those who did not want to join the kolhosp were, in his term, “liquidated.” Even after the authorities had confiscated their land, livestock, and tools, some families still did not join the kolhosp. This resistance persisted despite constant pressure to join, mentioned by several interviewees (e.g., Yakiv Zborovsky and Fedora Chub). In some locales, virtually everyone was a member of the kolhosp by the third year of collectivization. It was not possible to stay out longer than that and stay alive because of the pressure exerted by the authorities and the lack of food (Andrii Pavlichenko and Anastasia Kalashnyk). Mykola Medvedenko described the forced gatherings in the interviewee’s village of those who refused to join the kolhosp. The local authorities would stand before them and shout abuse at them, demanding that they join. Threats were thrown at villagers, as the authorities said that they were expanding their definition of “kurkul” to include all those who would not join. Being labeled a kurkul, of course, was a sentence of death or exile at this time. The fear of arrest ran deeply in villages.

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In reading the historical literature about this period when it discusses urban life, one of the features that is most striking is the degree of fear that people had to live with. Although this is usually associated with urban life and with intellectuals and political activists, it was no less true in the village. Ivan Roman describes this fear: – What was the situation like in the village during the mass repressions? ivan samsonovych: Constant fear. My father was a simple worker, but he was literate. In 1937–38, for almost two years, he didn’t sleep at home because he was afraid. Such were the times. They would come at night and arrest a person, and that person was gone. Everyone was very afraid and lived in constant fear. To this day, I have no idea where my father then slept at night. We would come to school and learn that this or that person had been arrested. We had a teacher of Russian language and literature who was twenty-five years old, but to us he was an older man. He was arrested and never came back. Then the director of the plant and the lead engineer there were gone. All of this created a great deal of fear. Our mother used to discipline us strictly, so we wouldn’t say anything that one shouldn’t say. The terror continued throughout the 1930s and 1940s, and the fear of arrest was no less present in the late 1940s than in the early 1930s, according to Ivan Udovychenko: – What did people think of those who were exiled? ivan kalistratovych: No one could think or say anything because everyone lived in fear. Today one was arrested; I could be next. No one could know or think anything. In 1947, there was [Marshal Kliment] Voroshilov’s Decree to exile mostly the people of Western Ukraine because they did not obey. In our village, we also had meetings. Those people were called “unreliable” and “accomplices.” Everyone was lying in the grass and thinking, “Would it that I was not named.” Andrii Oklei, who did not join the kolhosp until 1935, for several years was engaged for several years in open, but not quite legal in the Soviet context, commercial trade. He would buy and sell clothing and food products, usually trading the one for the other, then trading again in a third transaction selling for a profit. In one sentence, he said he was not unduly pressured to join the kohosp as he was then still young. In another sentence, he describes how local officials tried to prevent him from earning a living outside of the kolhosp. In addition, his house was burned down by a man who may have been acting on an order from local officials. His mother, who was asleep in the house at the time, narrowly

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escaped being consumed in the flames. One of the state’s final measures to crush the resistance of those who hadn’t joined the kolhosp was to level prohibitively high taxes on them, a measure that frequently resulted in eviction and/or deportation. Since most of their tools, livestock, land, and belongings were confiscated by the kolhosp (whether they joined or not), they had nothing and virtually no way to make a decent living. The taxes were impossible to pay. The punishment for non-payment was prison. Several interviewees describe these taxes and their punishments. One of the most common was the tax leveled on orchards. Danylo Kuzmenko describes his family’s destruction of their orchard due to high taxes. The family had forty plum trees. The state leveled a fee of ten rubles per plum tree, an impossibly high tax. Failure to pay meant eviction from one’s home and/ or prison. They could not pay, of course. They had to cut down the orchard so as not to be found delinquent in payment of taxes, and thus avoided eviction or prison. Olha Reuta contradicted Kuzmenko’s statement about high taxes on orchards, saying that only land was taxed, and orchards did not count. Motria Hrytsyna said that in her locale those who were unable to pay their taxes had all their possessions confiscated and sold by the authorities. They were also evicted from their homes and the building used by the kolhosp. Frosyna Boiko noted that the taxes collected at that time by the new village elite were not only monetary but could also include food products. From whatever eggs and milk the interviewee’s family might produce, a certain percentage was collected by local authorities (although it seems unlikely that such “taxes” went farther than the homes of the tax collectors). Hrihory Vovkohon described a widespread problem. His livestock had been confiscated by the kolhosp as part of the routine confiscation in his village – even though he did not join. Subsequently he was hit with taxes that he could not pay. Although he fled the village for a time, he was eventually found and sentenced in 1937 to three years in prison. Yakiv Zborovsky noted that the taxes were intended to maintain constant pressure on those holdouts not joining. He said that this pressure generally had one of two results: either the family joined the kolhosp or fled the village. There were specific terms applied to those who did not join the kolhosp and tried to make a living from agriculture outside of the socialist system. The most widespread term, one that had some official sanction and use, was odnoosibnyk (Andrii Pavlichenko, Mykhailo Maslo, Andrii Ovcharenko). This term carried with it the implication that the person so labeled was selfish and standoffish. Another term, one used unofficially among villagers in some locales, was indus (Maria Bondarenko, Yakiv Zborovsky) or indiuk (Trokhym Kozub). To the question “At the time of collectivization, what did they think of the people who did not join the kolhosp?” the interviewees answered variously. Sometimes the interviewer unambiguously formulated the question so that the “they” was understood to mean “villagers.” However, the question was sometimes

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formulated ambiguously, and some interviewees took the “they” to mean villagers while others, the authorities. When the “they” was understood to mean other villagers, a common response could be paraphrased “live and let live”: Andrii Pavlichenko, “People didn’t pay attention to them;” Mykhailo Maslo, [They were treated] “with indifference, without hostility;” Marfa Zubaly, “They did as they wished. No bad attitude.” Maria Dudnyk at first took the “they” to mean the authorities, and answered, “Not well. None wanted to acknowledge them. They were given the silent treatment.” When asked about her personal evaluation, she answered differently: “I will speak for our family. They were our neighbors, and it was a pity to see this happening to them.” Others took the “they” to mean the authorities, such as Yakiv Zborovsky: “They were taxed. Also, the good land was confiscated [for the kolhosp], and the bad land was given to those who didn’t join [the kolhosp].” Natalia Semeniaka answered, “They were treated poorly. No one gave them anything.” Ivan Bibik said, “They were not in favor in the eyes of the authorities. They were considered hermits or such that were against Soviet power.” Trokhym Kozub anaswered, “Bad. The authorities didn’t like them.” Still another opinion is of interest. Marfa Zubaly notes that her mother and motherin-law constantly nagged her and her husband to leave the kolhosp after having joined it because, they said, it was a sin to belong to that organization. Two inteviewees claimed to have not joined the kolhosp on religious grounds (Marfa Zubaly and Hanna Zamohylna), although the theological reasoning was not clearly stated in either of these instances. Andrii Dotsenko, on the other hand, who did join and who disapproved of those who did not, provided a clear theological position on why it was one’s duty to join the kolhosp: “Those who didn’t join were looked down on by the others, even those who did join at first and then fled. ‘Why is he going against the flow?’ He had to go where all the others went because even the Holy Bible says that all earthly power derives from God.” This position could be expanded to read: given that a villager had no control over the economic and political aspects of his life in the new regime, he therefore had no reason not to do what he was told to do. It was remarkable that so many felt otherwise and were willing to risk the dangerous censure of the state. This censure was summarized by Andrii Dotsenko, who quoted Lenin: those who are not with us are against us.

f l i g h t f ro m th e kolhosp There is no doubt that many thousands of people moved away from the village in the 1930s as a direct result of being evicted from their homes and/or not allowed to work locally. For others, fleeing the village was a means of escaping the kolhosp and the near starvation conditions that existed there at that time. While some left temporarily, others did so permanently. However, the road from village farm to

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factory labor was not direct for many people. It was instead often a twisting and tortuous journey leading through casual labor and temporary jobs of various kinds. Some never left their agricultural roots, taking jobs in factories in suburban areas or in small towns where they could simultaneously farm a small plot or at least keep a large garden while working in a factory. The circuitous road was often not one of permanent labor, but a series of temporary jobs. In some cases, the family later returned to the village and moved away again several times. In other cases, displaced farmers who took factory jobs in the 1930s returned to a village upon retirement. Anastasia Kalashnyk described the twisting route she and her husband travelled in order to temporarily escape the kolhosp. After their family’s lands and possessions were confiscated, her husband moved for several months to Mariupol in southeastern Ukraine where he was hired, likely without documents, for agricultural labor during harvest season. Shortly afterward, she and her husband became wandering salesmen. Between about 1929 and 1933 they travelled widely, selling small items they could easily carry. They survived the famine doing this, after which they quit the road and joined a kolhosp in their natal locale. Hanna Zamohylna recounted the story of a man from her village who fled to the southeast, taking one daughter with him. There he built a makeshift home from a small shed. He worked as hired labor, although for whom and for how long is not clear. Motria Rohova noted that some people started doing odd jobs. Fleeing the village to find other forms of labor could, in some cases, be seen as a form of resistance to the collectivization process and the ideals of socialist agriculture. Many of those who resisted joining the kolhosp were people who took up non-agricultural labor in order to stay out of the kolhosp. These jobs included mining, factory work, lumberjacking, and work on the railroad. Begging was also a main source of income, if only temporarily, for thousands of people dispossessed of their property by eviction. Those who fled the kolhosp after eviction and those who fled for other reasons had a similar problem: in most cases they did not have documents that ostensibly were needed for travel and to be hired at a job. The laws on personal identification papers changed in the 1930s, after which it was supposedly more difficult for people to move off the kolhosp. However, these laws were enforced in some locales less stringently than in others. In the most severe cases, virtually no one was allowed to travel without special documents (Hanna Snurinkova). In other locales, dozens of people simply left, and sought and found employment elsewhere. In many locales, after eviction a family was not allowed to engage in agricultural labor on the kolhosp. In such cases, the family had little choice but to leave their village. The twisting road away from the kolhosp was often a direct result of not having the proper papers needed to find permanent employment. There were many non-agricultural jobs that could be found without papers. Natalia Semeniaka provides a description of some of these jobs:

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My husband left for the Donbas in winter on 18 January, on the eve of Jesus’s Baptism Day. He nearly perished. At first, he worked at the railway station and then in a coal mine where his acquaintances worked, evicted guys like him. Marfa Oklei notes that her father worked many kinds of jobs after eviction. When the family of Andrii Oklei’s godfather was evicted, it was winter, and they had nowhere to go. They were not left with even a loaf of bread. Everything – clothing, food, tools, and animals – was taken. They lived that winter with relatives. Then the father went from house to house in a neighboring town asking if there were odd jobs for him to do. They had two boys, one of whom fled to the Donbas region. Oklei’s godfather worked in a factory in a neighboring town. He gradually built up a small farm, working in the factory in the day and at home on his holdings in the evenings and other free time. The mines in southeastern Ukraine, mostly coal mines, provided work without documents to many families. Mykhailo Ustymenko (this interview excerpt is in the first section of this chapter) describes his father’s journey from the farm to the mine. They were evicted from their home with everything confiscated. He was then told that he owed taxes, although obviously he had nothing left with which to pay them. For failure to pay these taxes he was sent to a labor camp for several years, which he mostly spent making bricks. Upon his release, he moved to Russia and worked there in the mines until 1950. He later moved back to Ukraine. Less appealing but perhaps no less common was simply begging on the road or from house to house. Natalia Semeniaka and Maria Dudnyk [the Dudnyk interview fragment is in the first section of this chapter above] both describe their period as startsi (wandering beggars). Dudnyk was then a young girl and wandered with her mother. Her father had refused to join the kolhosp. After they were repressed, he tried for a time buying and selling various small goods, travelling to and from Kyiv. Eventually he was arrested and disappeared. There were two children in the family. One died, the second, the interviewee, and her mother wandered from place to place for seven years, living mostly by begging. The most common non-agricultural jobs available to displaced farmers in the 1930s were those in factories, described by several interviewees. Virtually all said that a person could earn more in factories than on the kolhosp and that this was the reason for leaving the village (Kostiantyn Kryvonos, Ustyna Shepelenko-Osadcha, Halyna Riasna). People were routinely paid far better for work in factories than for work on the kolhosp. This provided an incentive to leave the kolhosp and move to areas in need of non-agricultural labor. Seen from the viewpoint of state planners, it was a convenient and quick way to both depopulate some of the villages and to establish a blue-collar group to work the growing factories of the day. Agricultural employment was still possible in some locales both for those evicted and those resisting collectivization by fleeing the kolhosp and working

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on the radhosp. These state farms paid a flat salary with no pretense as to worker-ownership. Some of them were short of labor in the early 1930s and hired people without documents. Andrii Zaiets said that his father had refused to join the kolhosp. Most of his family died – how is unclear – in the 1930s, after which his father went to work on a radhosp. Although he was pressured by authorities to leave the radhosp and join the kolhosp, he never did.

t wo fa m i ly histories The family histories related by Ivan Roman and Maria and Andrii Ovcharenko (this excerpt is in the previous section of this chapter) provide a glimpse of many of the issues discussed above. Here is a summary of their remarks. Ivan Roman The collectivization process began innocently enough, with a “russified” man from a poor family coming several times to the interviewee’s home and suggesting that if their family would join the collective everything would be better for all: they could “even eat varenyky with butter” (i budem varenichky s maslom kushat’!). Then others started to come by frequently mixing visions of a bright collective future with dark threats of reprisals for staying out of the system. When the family still did not join, the father was arrested and was held incommunicado for several days. He was put into a small unheated cell, apparently partially open to the elements for he was lying in snow. He was not given anything to eat or drink nor allowed to sleep for three days and nights. He was frequently interrogated, and his tormentors demanded that he join the kolhosp. He finally did so, signing a document, after three days in the cold box. Upon his release, he walked home (several kilometers) and collapsed. He was unable to talk for two days. In spite of what he pledged to the Communists, and in spite of the fact that all of his land, livestock, and tools were confiscated, he never worked a day on the kolhosp. He simply never reported to work. Instead, he found a job in a nearby sugar factory where he labored until his retirement. The interviewee notes that it was fortuitous that he found this job, for otherwise they would not have survived the “hungry years” (holodni roky – that is, the Holodomor). Maria Ovcharenko [primarily] with Andrii His father did not want to join the kolhosp. He was one of the odnoosibnyky labeled by officials “an enemy of the people/enemy of the state” (voroh narodu). He was arrested, tried, and sentenced to exile for the “crime” of hiding his horse. His “crime” was that he borrowed a horse to plough his half-hectare of land that

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he did not want to sign over to the kolhosp. Since he used a horse, the village authorities taxed him as if he “illegally” owned the horse. When he could not pay the tax, he was sentenced in 1939 to five years in a hard labor camp in Murmansk. He lost his nose and some of his fingers to frostbite there, according to letters he sent his family. Once the war began, contact with him was broken and they did not hear from him again. After he was gone, the tax burden on the family remained in force. Payment was forced on them by the authorities through eviction and confiscation of all they owned. The interviewee and her younger brother survived from 1939 on as itinerant beggars (startsi). Of interest in this interview is the description of the trial, which was public. The interviewee attended the trial. Witnesses were called by the state to say that the father had been seen with a horse. The father demanded that neighbors be called to testify on his behalf that the horse was borrowed, but the demand was not met. Only witnesses for the prosecution were allowed.

int erv i ew e xce rp ts : odn o osibnyk y, fleeing the kol hosp, a n d t wo family stories Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region)

ivan ivanovych: When the kolhospy began in 1932, my father joined for half a year and left. He had a horse and a broken cart. He barely made it home. Then my father sold that horse, made a new cart, and was an odnoosibnyk until 1939. … – What was the attitude toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? ivan ivanovych: They were not in favor in the eyes of the authorities. They were considered hermits or such that were against Soviet power. … – Who were their people that executed collectivization in your village: the locals or the newcomers? ivan ivanovych: The locals. Tetiana Viktorivna’s father had two cows and seven children. The cow was confiscated and taken out of the village. On the road, it calved; the family was left without milk. This was very cruel. Frosyna Okhrymivna Boiko (Kharkiv region) – Were people forced to join the kolhosp? frosyna okhrymivna: Yes, but there were those who didn’t join. I worked in the garden. Those who joined the kolhosp regretted it very much because they were heavily taxed and had to donate eggs and milk. It was a rip-off.

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… – When everything was taken away, what kind of work did people do? frosyna okhrymivna: Land and all possessions [including draft animals] were confiscated. What could one do? They kept working at home and would borrow their own horse from the kolhosp to plow the land, if the kolhosp let them. … – Had everything changed with the arrival of the kolhospy? frosyna okhrymivna: I don’t remember when it all changed. – How did you pay for bread? frosyna okhrymivna: We kept some cattle. – Why didn’t the people chase away the Communists? frosyna okhrymivna: We weren’t in the kolhosp. – Were you forced to join the kolhosp? frosyna okhrymivna: Yes, but we didn’t. – What did they tell you? frosyna okhrymivna: What could they do if we were poor (bidniaky). – And the wealthier ones? frosyna okhrymivna: They had to donate all their property, all the cattle. – They didn’t want to do this? frosyna okhrymivna: No, they didn’t, and they cried, but they were forced to. Maria Oleksandrivna Bondarenko (Cherkasy region)

maria oleksandrivna: My father was disabled (first category). He

worked in a saw cutting mill for four and a half years in the Mykhailivsky forestry. He had a disability allowance for his children. It was meant for his wife to support the children, but they didn’t give it to him because he was an indus. – What does indus mean? maria oleksandrivna: It meant that he didn’t join the kolhosp. My mother had a large family. They didn’t give her the allowance. Now they say, “Go and get it.” My father worked in a saw cutting mill for four and a half years, and they didn’t give him the certificate of disability of the first category. They wanted to exile us to Siberia, but we stayed because we had a large family and were seredniaky.

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Hanna Herasymivna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak (Vinnytsia region) – Were there people who didn’t want to join the kolhosp? hanna herasymivna: Yes, some. – Were they forced? hanna herasymivna: If you want to, join; if you don’t, you’ll be forced. Some died, and some were deported. Hryhorii Kyrylovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – Did people join the kolhosp voluntarily? hryhorii kyrylovych: What fool [“yaky durak”] would join the kolhosp voluntarily? They were evicted. One man had a mill, so he got evicted with his child. There was an old bald man and a woman with a newborn who were forced into an empty house in March. It was a torture. – How did people make a living? hryhorii kyrylovych: At first, they were paid with bread for their work; there was no monetary compensation. Later on, they paid fifteen coins (kopeks), but it actually went to the kolhosp [in fees and taxes]. They took all the people’s property. If someone broke something or left a tool somewhere, no one was responsible. – What did those who didn’t join the kolhosp do? hryhorii kyrylovych: They went to other places to work. I went to Oleksandrivka, and two taxes were imposed on me. I didn’t join the kolhosp from the start. I took a saw and went straight to Oleksandrivka; people paid taxes there, too. They were taxed with twenty-six kg of meat, and I was taxed with fifty kg. I gave my cows to the kolhosp. … hryhorii kyrylovych: I was sentenced to three years in 1937. I didn’t write a notice asking to join the kolhosp and never went there, so I was charged with corrupting people. Two witnesses signed the testimony against me. Can I make someone think the way I think or vice versa? I worked cutting and loading wood in Kuibyshev and Stavropol. They gave testimony that I was stealing their hens. May he eat his hens in heaven! So, I went back, but is this what you call “voluntary”? I was forced. Motria Fedorivna Hrytsyna (Sumy region)

motria fedorivna: There was a cooperative; those who wanted to join

did so. It was not possible to work separately from one’s father-in-law, so we were told to join the cooperative. My father was the chairman of the village

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council. We were ten to twenty people in the cooperative. We harvested the grain and got 160 kg per person; we were four in the family. We also got 160 kg of barley for the hens. The next year, the activists came, but the people didn’t want to donate their gain. … motria fedorivna: In 1929 no one joined the kolhosp, but the grain was already confiscated from the kurkuli. – How many people were deported from the village? motria fedorivna: More than ten, and no one came back. If you couldn’t pay the tax, you sold everything: a table, a chair. And you were evicted from your house. – Did the odnoosibnyky stay? motria fedorivna: My father-in-law and one other man remained odnoosibnyky; that’s all. My father-in-law was a member of the party. Around 1938 he joined the kolhosp … Before that, he had a horse and worked for other people plowing their land. The people who didn’t join the kolhosp cried. When my neighbor, who had five children, was evicted, the activists took his cow and the calf was running after it, and so were the barefoot children. They took the cow to a barn, and they gave it to the kolhosp. I read in the Gospel that Lenin was a dragon who would be active for seventy years. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp or not? arkhyp yakovych: The kolhosp? Hmm … My mother-in-law did not join. She was very religious, and she said that by joining the kolhosp people were going to the devil himself. She lived a long life and died when she was ninety-two. She lived two or three houses away from me. – And she never worked on a kolhosp? arkhyp yakovych: No. – Were people forced to join the kolhosp or did they join voluntarily? arkhyp yakovych: If someone didn’t want to join, their cow, homestead, and land would be confiscated. They gave you land for a house – the kind of land that you couldn’t do anything with. Some people were even deported to Siberia. Some people who lived in Kyslivka made dugouts to stay alive. Such things used to happen. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – Did your parents join the kolhosp?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes.

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– Was all their property – the fields, the horses – confiscated? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes. – Did your father worry? Did he resist joining the kolhosp? yevdokia mytrofanivna: No, he did want to join. It’s that they [the authorities] didn’t need to do it the way they did it. They imposed famine on the people and shipped away the bread. There was even a poem: “Red carts keep coming. The peasants keep delivering bread to the factory workers.” This was in our primer. My brother went to school and learned this poem. I didn’t go to school because I had nothing to wear, and we lived in a khutir five kilometers away from the school in the village. I used to weave fabrics, sew, and embroider bed sheets, and in exchange someone would buy me a shawl from the merchants (here: spekulianty). Then my father didn’t fulfill the bread production requirements of the third category. How could he if they had already taken all the grain away? So, they died of famine because they [authorities] took everything to the last crumb and sent it away somewhere. Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region) – Were there people who did not join the kolhosp? andrii hryhorovych: Yes. Lenin said, “Those who are not with us are against us.” Those who didn’t join were looked down on by the others, even those who did join at first and then fled. Why is he going against the flow? He had to go where all the others went because even the Holy Bible says that all earthly power derives from God. Maria Omelianivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did everyone in your village join the kolhosp voluntarily or not? maria omelianivna : No, not all joined voluntarily. The richer ones were evicted and often deported; their sheds and barns were taken apart. They joined the kolhosp at the very end when they understood that there was no way around it. – What was the attitude like toward those who didn’t want to join the kolhosp? maria omelianivna : Not well. Nobody wanted to acknowledge them. They were given the silent treatment. – I don’t mean the people in power. Did the neighbors feel sorry for the people whose houses were dismantled? maria omelianivna : I will speak for our family. They were our neighbors, and it was a pity to see this happening to them. – Were they rich?

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maria omelianivna : No, of course not. They had more land and were better off. They wanted to work their own land but weren’t allowed to. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Was your father’s property confiscated when the kolhosp was being set up?

andrii solomonovych: His horse was taken; he didn’t have a cow at the

time. – Did he join the kolhosp right away? andrii solomonovych: No, he didn’t. – He never joined? andrii solomonovych: No. He perished while working on the radhosp after his family died. – Was he forced to join the kolhosp? andrii solomonovych: Everyone was forced. One person was forced into it and his house was confiscated and turned into an administrative office. We were joined to Kobzarivka. Ten homesteads here, thirteen homesteads there. Then these kolhospy were merged together. – Were the kurkuli exiled from the village? andrii solomonovych: Well, yes. The chair of the village council would pay a visit to them and say, “Yosyp Stefanovych, I know you. I will evict you from your house tomorrow.” So, he was evicted and deported. – Was he someone who didn’t want to join the kolhosp? andrii solomonovych: Yes, he didn’t want to join. “I won’t go, t hat’s all.” – What did they do to him? andrii solomonovych: Nothing was left in his house; everything was taken into the kolhosp. One economically poor woman moved into his house and started living there. All kinds of things used to happen. … – Was there a famine in 1933? andrii solomonovych: You know, they created it back then. They didn’t give people any grain, so the people would join the kolhosp. People had nothing to eat and were falling as pears fall from a tree. Then they started joining the kolhosp. When everyone joined and started working there, they would get two kg of bread per workday, sometimes 700 grams per workday. For example, I got 1.3 kg of bread for 1.5 workdays.

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Natalia Hryhorivna Zaichenko (Chernihiv region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp in your village right away? natalia hryhorivna: No, not everyone. Those who didn’t want to join were evicted and deported. Any bags or bundles – everything was confiscated. Few people wanted to join the kolhosp. We didn’t join right away, only in 1934. My husband didn’t want to join, and we didn’t until all our harvest was confiscated. Then we joined the kolhosp. Hanna Vasylivna Zamohylna (Poltava region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp in your village? hanna vasylivna: No, not everyone. Our kurkul had a horse-powered machine at the time the steam-powered ones were becoming available. There were two brothers in Popivka who were poorer than him, but the three of them bought a steam-powered thresher and used it for their crops and also to do jobs for other people who paid them with bread. They owned this thresher for around three years. They would go around other villages and earn much bread to be then resold for money. They were told that they would be evicted, deported to Solovki, and killed. When the man from our village heard this, he said, “Let’s sell the machine; otherwise, they will confiscate it.” They sold the thresher for money to the kurkuli like them that hadn’t heard the warnings yet. He was warned again, “Get ready and leave or else you will be deported to Solovki or killed or starved.” Little by little, he sold his horses and the cattle. By the time collectivization began and they came for him, he had nothing. He left the family in the house and went to the Donbas to work in a radhosp. He was a carpenter, and a good one. He later brought his daughter to the Donbas. When the brigade had come to his house, they found some barrels and some other things which they took and resold at an auction. People would come; some would buy barrels. We went just to take a look – as neighbors. His wife and daughter left the village to join him in the Donbas. There, he bought a barn and half a garden from some woman. He built an oven with a sleeping ledge in the barn and lived there. In our area Liubarshchyna people were neither rich nor poor. He had one arm and no children. He didn’t join the kolhosp. He would do odd jobs here and there digging the wells. He never joined the kolhosp. He used to say, “I have read the Bible. It says not to join the kolhosp. I will die of hunger first, but I won’t join the kolhosp.” Overall, people joined, but not immediately. Some joined during the first year; those who were threatened joined in the second year. People were being herded into the kolhosp for three years until everyone joined. Some people left the village because they didn’t want to join the kolhosp.

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…

hanna vasylivna: There were people who died of starvation in 1933, but they would have survived had they joined the kolhosp.

Maria Semenivna Zatykra (Vinnytsia region)

maria semenivna: We lived in one house while we were kids. I got

married in 1934, and my father was evicted. My father had a nice house: four doors, six rooms. This house was confiscated for the kolhosp. The head of the kolhosp wanted to marry my older sister, but my father didn’t want this because the head of the kolhosp was a member of the Komsomol. Then that official retaliated: my father was evicted; the house was transported to the kolhosp, and they built a barn there. They took the good lock and the windows. The house is still there. I got seventy thousand for the house. They took the cow, the horse, the stone shed, a large barn, and everything that was in the house. My father had good furniture. He wasn’t exiled. He went to work at a plant in Tomashpol. … – Did everyone join the kolhosp in your village? maria semenivna: No, my father didn’t join. Why was he dispossessed? Because he didn’t join. – Was the eviction performed by locals from the village? maria semenivna: Yes. They evicted my father and me from the house. It was his neighbors who were evicting him. My father went out and cried. My husband was dragged out of the house by the arms – this by our neighbors. He said he was sorry, and he cried. Later when the head of the village council told them to give us back the key, they didn’t want to give it back. Kyrylo Stashko, Petro Darmoviz, and Yakiv Spekuliak – all of them are dead now. They tortured people. I remember I was standing on the road; we slept in the barn and didn’t go out, and my grandmother made borshch. We went to my brother’s house across the road, and on the way back we saw that there was someone in the house. I came back and said to my grandma, “There’s someone in the house.” Then we both came in and saw them taking the borshch to the hearth and eating it with a ladle; there was no spoon. My grandma said, “See, Anton, how good it is. Your wife Motrona wasn’t capable of making borshch like that.” – Were some people exiled from your village? maria semenivna: Around five. It was 1933–34. – Did anyone come back? maria semenivna: No one did. All of them along with the priests were deported.

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Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – Did anyone from your family go to work as hired workers? yakiv mykhailovych: No. My father died in 1933 during the famine. First, there was a cooperative and then the kolhospy started; my father didn’t work in the kolhosp. In 1933, many people died. … – Did everyone join the kolhosp? yakiv mykhailovych: No. At first, people didn’t join for quite a while; then taxes were imposed, and pressure exerted; some people left the village, and some joined the kolhosp. … – What was the attitude like toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? yakiv mykhailovych: They were taxed. Also, the good land was confiscated [for the kolhosp], and the bad land was given to those who didn’t join. Marfa Kindrativna Zubaly (Cherkasy region) – Were there many people who didn’t join the kolhosp? marfa kindrativna: Not many, almost half – less than half. They suffered for a while and then decided to join. – Were all the tools taken away to the kolhosp? marfa kindrativna: We had a cow, and for some reason it wasn’t taken away. My father-in-law’s property – the cow, the plow, and everything else – was confiscated. They died of famine, he and his wife. It was atrocious. They didn’t join the kolhosp; we joined sooner. When we joined, they announced that anyone who didn’t want to stay could leave. My mother and mother-inlaw came and said, “Leave the kolhosp because it’s a sin to be in it.” So, we left. Then we joined again. Such was life. – Did you have any trouble after you left the kolhosp? marfa kindrativna: No. … – Were you forced to join the kolhosp? marfa kindrativna: Yes, a great deal! People didn’t want to join. – How did those who didn’t join the kolhosp earn their living? marfa kindrativna: There were two such families who didn’t want to join the kolhosp for a long time. They went to Cherkasy on foot two or three times per week. They died early because Cherkasy is far to walk to on foot. They used to make baskets or other things to sell there. They were poor; this was difficult work. They would make some money and buy something on their way back. They lived in poverty, and later on their children joined the

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kolhosp. The parents died. They were afraid of the kolhosp; perhaps they thought it would be their end or something. They gave everything and were left with nothing, no tools to work with. – What was the attitude like toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? marfa kindrativna : They did as they wished. No bad attitude. – Who performed the collectivization – the locals or people from elsewhere? marfa kindrativna: The activists were locals, and one was from the regional administrative center. He lived here. The locals would confiscate the last crumbs. Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk (Kharkiv region) – When the kolhosp was set up, did you and your husband join immediately? anastasia trokhymivna: No, we didn’t join. Some people did, and my husband was a hired worker in Mariupil, Slavenske. He also worked for various people before he got married. In 1933 after the famine, we joined the kolhosp. – What were you told in 1929 since you didn’t join the kolhosp? anastasia trokhymivna: Nothing. – Were you not forced? anastasia trokhymivna: No, not us. Those who wanted to, joined. – How many people in your village didn’t join the kolhosp in 1929? anastasia trokhymivna: I don’t know. Many. – About ten families or more didn’t join? anastasia trokhymivna: More. – Were you able to keep the land and the cattle or did the kolhosp take them away from you? anastasia trokhymivna: We had nothing. My father-in-law owned something, but we had nothing. – How did you make a living? anastasia trokhymivna: I lived at my mother’s, and then we bought a little house here and my husband moved in. He was in Kharkiv up until the war. I was in the kolhosp and he had a cow. My husband would come back home for the weekend; I would normally take the cow to graze, and he would bring it back home in the evening. One neighbor used to say to him, “You don’t work. Go to work.” It was a very hard time for us before the war; he went to Kharkiv to work and would come home for the weekend. – Was the brigade chief angry that your husband didn’t join the kolhosp? anastasia trokhymivna: No one said anything, not the top administration, not anyone else. – You said someone scolded you when you took the cow for grazing?

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anastasia trokhymivna: Back in the day, Saturday was a day off. – Why did you join the kolhosp in 1933? anastasia trokhymivna: Everyone joined by then, and so did we. – Before you joined the kolhosp, did the people tell you to join? anastasia trokhymivna: No one said anything. – You just wanted to join in 1933? anastasia trokhymivna: Well, 1933 was the famine year. My husband was in Mariupil and came back. People died by then, but there was work to do in the field – mowing and sheaving. We both joined the kolhosp. One day, they were stacking hay and my husband fell down. He never went back to the kolhosp. He went to Kharkiv instead, and I worked in the kolhosp until I was sixty. – When you joined the kolhosp in 1933, did this help you survive the famine? anastasia trokhymivna: Oh! We had already survived the famine by going around to other places to work: to Kuban, to Komaryky. Where didn’t I go? I traveled to exchange various goods so we could eat. – You had one son during the famine? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes, born in 1928. – What goods did you use to exchange? anastasia trokhymivna: Anything we had – the linens, the dowry. – And in those places you went, did the people want to exchange this for produce? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes, anything could be exchanged. – Did you take your necklace there? anastasia trokhymivna: I didn’t have a necklace, but some people did bring one for an exchange. – When you were coming back from Kuban, did people come out to the road and ask you for food? anastasia trokhymivna: No, at the time we used to go there, some people would cross our path and take the food away. In 1947 my son went to Kuban (I didn’t go anymore) and he was robbed of his food on the train. They took his backpack from his back. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region)

yevdokia ivanivna: We went to work in the kolhosp. The ones that were more well-off went to the kolhosp right away and stayed alive. Those who didn’t want to join perished. Trokhym Savovych Kozub (Cherkasy region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp? trokhym savovych: Some people were called indiuky [another word for

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odnoosibnyk]. They were not allowed into the kolhosp by the authorities, so they wouldn’t disturb the ones who had joined. They were given some land to work on and pay tax. – What was the attitude toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? trokhym savovych: Bad. The authorities didn’t like them. Kostiantyn Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – Where did people earn a living after collectivization? kostiantyn hryhorovych: The manufacturing plants paid stable salaries at the time, and one could get nothing in the kolhosp. There was no kolhosp and still isn’t one in Kyianytsia. Everyone worked at the plant. – Did the workers gain better qualifications? kostiantyn hryhorovych: No, worse. Formerly there were highly qualified workers because the education was better. There are no such masters anymore – those people could do anything. People were clever at the time. The tools that were made at the time were unsurpassed. Now the specializations are narrower. Back in the day, you could see a bigger picture. – Was life in the kolhosp worse than the life of those who worked at the plant? kostiantyn hryhorovych: Worse, much worse. Stalin’s taxes were too high. Where could a person get money to pay except by selling what one had? Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – How many plum trees did your father have in the garden? danylo yosypovych: I can’t remember. Perhaps thirty to forty. – Was the plum orchard taken away into the soz , too? danylo yosypovych: No. – When the kolhosp started, did you take the plums for sale on the market? danylo yosypovych: [Unclear] – What was the attitude toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? danylo yosypovych: No, this was before the kolhosp. During the kolhosp we didn’t take plums to the market because my father was too old to go. Maybe he would continue, but the plum harvest wasn’t as good. Then they started destroying the orchards because you had to pay ten rubles for every bush. Then we cut down the plum trees – they were young trees – because it was not profitable to pay that tax.

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Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – Did the people in your village join the kolhosp voluntarily, because they were forced to, or out of conviction? petro ivanovych: First, most people joined out of conviction that they had to. Then the poor ones went because of the need – they didn’t have enough land. The land and the tools had to be collectivized so people could work together. The rich ones were not in a hurry to join the kolhospy and were persuading the poor ones not to join either. But everything changed quickly. It was not forced but mandatory. They introduced collectivization. It was hard in the beginning as people were harming collectivization. – How did they harm it? petro ivanovych: By not joining the kolhosp. Those were the richer ones and those from the poor ones who were persuaded by the rich. – In what way did they cause harm though? petro ivanovych: They campaigned against the kolhosp, saying they would not live in the kolhosp. – Any practical actions on their end? petro ivanovych: Some caused harm. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – When was the kolhosp set up? mykhailo pavlovych: I think it was 1930. They were set up at lighting speed. – Did everyone join right away? mykhailo pavlovych: Some did, and some didn’t. My uncle, for instance, didn’t join, so he was dispossessed. The last bean was taken away from him. My father went to talk to him, “Mytrofan Vasylovych, join the kolhosp. Don’t go against the authorities. They will turn you into a pauper.” He convinced him and wrote the application for him, “I request to join…” “No, no, don’t write that. Phrase it differently because they are asking me to join, I am not asking.” My father wrote, “Accept me into the Voroshylov kolhosp.” Then he said to my father, “Pavlo Vasylovych, they found two bags of grain.” They used to go around with spears and pierce everything. They took everything except one bag they couldn’t find. He used that grain to make flour on the quern-stone, but he didn’t take it to the mill. – How did people treat odnoosibnyky? mykhailo pavlovych: With indifference, without hostility. Everyone was forced to join the kolhosp. If someone joined voluntarily… My fatherin-law was an activist and gave everything to the kolhosp voluntarily. My

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mother called them a gang. If they were approaching with the bonds, she’d say, “Here comes the gang.” You see, in one family the wife believes in one thing, and the husband – in the other. This was their purpose – to split the family and the people. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp? mykola ivanovych: No, God forbid. People didn’t want to give away their property because it was the time of nep , and they were earning well. Some covered their house with a metal roof. Some were able to buy a motor. We used a seeding-machine while many people were doing this by hand. The two of us learned to use the machine. – After the kolhosp was created, were there many odnoosibnyky? mykola ivanovych: Many. And then a slogan appeared: “Full-on collectivization” (sutsilna kolektyvizatsiia). This was in 1930–31, but some poor folks didn’t join. Someone would work as a hired worker, buy a horse, become a landowner, because he didn’t want to join the kolhosp. He had a house, a wife, and children. What could they do since people were not eager to join the kolhosp? The head of the village council Khrypko was sent in from Cherkasy. He summoned a meeting in the village club and said, “Why don’t you people want to join the kolhosp? The government said everyone should be in. I know why you don’t want to join. We weren’t smart about identifying kurkuli. We thought they had big bellies and wore coats, but now we know we have to look for them among those dressed in old rags.” What followed was full-on collectivization. People sold the horses and came home. Since then, everyone was in the kolhosp. Andrii Ivanovych and Maria Yakivna Ovcharenko (Cherkasy region) – Were there people who didn’t join the kolhosp? andrii ivanovych: Yes. – What were they called in your village? andrii ivanovych: Odnoosibnyky. – How did people treat them? andrii ivanovych: I don’t know. I was a schoolboy at the time. maria yakivna : An enemy of the people. – Did people say so? maria yakivna : No. My father didn’t join the kolhosp and was sentenced to five years in Kandalaksha near Murmansk. The war caught him there and there he stayed. He was sentenced for the following: we had 0.5 hectares in

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the field and 0.2 hectares near the house. The family had my father’s mother, my father, my mother, and two children. He was accused of having a horse while he didn’t. He used to borrow his brother’s horse to plow the land and carry the grain for packing. A horse tax was imposed on him, but he had nothing to pay with except our 0.7 hectares of land. He was tried in court here in the kolhosp in the village. And there were some nice witnesses to confirm that he had a horse and was just hiding it. Where could you hide a horse? He was sentenced to five years on 9 September 1939. I had just graduated from seventh grade and had to think of the next steps in education. My father was sentenced. My mother had wounds on both hands, so I stayed. My father spent five months in Cherkasy. Amnesty was requested, but he never got it. He was in Kandalaksha near Murmansk from 1939 until the war. He wrote that he had frost bite on his nose, cheeks, and hands. The war began; one day we got the last letter from him. The next day the war began, and that was the last time we heard from him. We wrote everywhere including to Moscow. The response said that he was drafted by the recruiting station in Kandalaksha and that was all. We never received any other information. My younger brother and I became travelling beggars (startsi). … – Do you remember the court day? maria yakivna : Yes, I went to court. I followed my father there, crying. The secretary of the village council said to me, “Don’t cry, daughter. They will let him go and he will come back.” Next day, he was taken to Smila on foot. He came home to say goodbye, and I walked with him up to the khutir. – Were you allowed to be present in the court room? maria yakivna : Yes. I was there. We sat on benches. During the session the jurors were sitting on the stage. – Who were those people at the table? maria yakivna : They are all dead by now: the head of the village council Kharko, the secretary of the village council, and another head of the village council. I know that Pavlo Slidchenko, Victor’s father, was a witness in the case about the horse. He got up, a lousy man, and said, “He has a horse and he may be hiding it.” My father said, “Provide witnesses. All the people in the village know me. Let them say who saw a horse in my homestead. I borrowed my brother Danylo’s horse to transport grain.” … maria yakivna : My father was deported but we stayed. They imposed a tax, but we had nothing left, just an empty house and a chest. I used to sew items for export. We had a brigade in Smila that sewed the shirts and dresses for export. This is how I earned the money to be able to send my father parcels. They came in winter to inspect the property and found nothing except

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the export linens in the chest. They had no right to take it away, so they went into the cellar and took the barrels. We – our old grandmother, two children, and my mother – were left without borshch. andrii ivanovych: Such was this Holodomor. maria yakivna : This was not Holodomor. This was 1940. – Were they from the village council? Maria Yakivna: Yes. They came from Pleskachiv. – Why do you think that man testified against your father? maria yakivna : He was such a dirtbag. He didn’t know my father but wanted to suck up to the authorities. Andrii Platonovych Oklei (Kharkiv region) – Were you already in the kolhosp when you went exchanging goods from produce? andrii platonovych: I hadn’t joined yet at the time. I joined in 1935. – Prior to that, you didn’t apply to join and you were not forced to? andrii platonovych: No, they didn’t argue with me; I was young at the time. When I got older, one fool was ordered to set my house on fire because they claimed that I brought four bags of flour. It was at the time when I went to Zamky – you know Zamky station nearby? And at night when I was about to go home, the people from Laman took away my [unclear]. I spent the night in Zamky and came to a bazaar in Laman in the morning to be told by the person who set my house on fire, “Go take a look; your house is on fire.” My hands fell. “Who set it on fire?” He said, “I don’t know.” He did it because they claimed that I brought four bags of flour. How could I have four bags? I would normally get eight kg of millet and eight kg of flour and give it to my mom so she could sell it at the bazaar for money. I used to go to Kharkiv and buy children’s shirts for my acquaintances. They would give me millet and flour. They were kind to me and fed me for free. I would bring the millet and the flour to my mother and leave again. My cousin also lived with us because she was an orphan. When the house was on fire and the reeds snapped, my mother was lying down facing the wall. At first, they thought the sound was from the rain outside, and only then they saw that it was the fire (I had planned, but hadn’t had time, to put bars on the window. If I had, my mother would have burned alive in there). My sister broke the window and they jumped out. My mother took bundles of food with her, and outside there was the man who had set the house on fire. She said to him, “What are you standing here for, you son of a bitch? Do you think I’ll give you my produce?” Prior to this, my mother was home when he came and took her wooden barrel (zhlukto) with ten rolls of linen, each roll about twenty meters long. My mother used that wooden barrel to bleach the linen.

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– Was he a member of the party? andrii platonovych: A minor bastard. When my mother and sister left the house, they couldn’t do much. Later, the main bandit from the regional administrative center came from Balakleia region where we belonged at the time. The Communists were in power at the time. The head of the village council came, too, to look at the house that burned down to the ground. The property of my brother and two sisters – overcoats and clothes – was stored in the attic at my mother’s house. They were evicted from their houses, and they said, “Mother, you won’t be evicted; we’ll keep our things in your house.” Everything burned down there. I came home wearing my last pair of … I had nothing to change into and nothing to eat. I brought eight kg of flour and eight kg of wheat; the two of us were in the house; my mother was cooking. Here come the administrators Shapovalov and Mandenko, “Why are you home?” “Where else would I be? I just got home. Don’t you see I’m still wearing my long underwear?” After they left, I took a fishing rod and was on my way to try to catch some fish. They met me on the way, “Where are you heading?” “I’ll go fishing.” “Go stack the hay.” Where we now have the bridges, was a field of hay, already mown. “How will I go to stack the hay if I have such misery at home?” “We don’t care about your misery. Go stack the hay.” Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – How did the people who didn’t join the kolhosp make a living? andrii hryhorovych: Where could they earn anything? – Did everyone join the kolhosp? andrii hryhorovych: Everyone. – Were there any odnoosibnyky? andrii hryhorovych: There were some, but they didn’t make it. – How long did they last? andrii hryhorovych: One or two years, and then … – Just about until 1933? andrii hryhorovych: 1933 … there’s nothing to say about it. But before 1930–31 the people were still trying to make it, and then they’d say, “God damn it, if this is how it is, I’ll go to the kolhosp.” And they joined. – What was the attitude like toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? andrii hryhorovych: People didn’t pay attention to them. They’d say, “Ivan didn’t join the kolhosp, and he’s living alright. We did join, and we are doing okay, too.” The kolhosp paid very little [Na palychky robyly].

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Ivan Vasylovych Panych (Sumy region) – Were there any odnoosibnyky? ivan vasylovych: No, not anymore. Everyone was under pressure at the time to join the kolhosp. It was a horrible thing, tragic. The whole country was brought into the kolhosp, but there was nothing to eat. The horses started to die. Spring came, and there were no tools to work the land. When the tractors started coming, things got better. They started bringing the cows, but somehow it didn’t work out. – How did your father do during the collectivization? ivan vasylovych: My father cried, “How is it possible that they took my land away? What will happen now? I’m dying.” He died in 1939. He didn’t spend a single day in the kolhosp. I worked in the sovkhoz [state farm] and provided the food, so my father didn’t go anywhere. He got sad and died. Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova (Cherkasy region) – Were there many people who didn’t join the kolhosp?

oleksandra ivanivna: Not many, but there were some. They didn’t live

so well. Those who were in the kolhosp would go partying, singing, dancing after work; they had fun. Those who didn’t join the kolhosp locked themselves up in their houses and were sad. People would come to their houses they had locked the doors and didn’t let anyone in. I don’t approve of this. Even the Germans came and said, “Go work in the kolhosp.” The odnoosibnyky greeted them with bread and salt and said, “We didn’t work in the kolhosp.” They were beaten by whips. One had to work and not hide in the corners. Well, what can you do? Such was the system. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Did everyone in your village join the kolhosp? motria hryhorivna: Almost all joined, but there were some people who went around doing odd jobs. Ivan Samsonovych Roman (Poltava region) – Do you remember how the kolhosp was being set up?

ivan samsonovych: I remember an acquaintance of ours named

Khyzhka. He was at war from 1914 until 1924 and was half-Russificated. He ended up in Volochaevka as he fought the war for the Soviet authorities. I remember he came to our house in 1929; we lived in the khutir. My mother

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brought the treats because he was a guest, and we rarely had visitors in the khutir. He said to her, “Nastasia Prokopovna, let’s join the kolhosp and eat dumplings with butter!” You see, this was the pinnacle of his desires – dumplings with butter. My mother said, “Oh, God. If we all work together there, it would be useless work.” This was only the beginning. Then people from the village council started coming more often and forcing my father to join the kolhosp. My father didn’t want to join, and my mother was crying; she was afraid of the kolhosp. In the fall of 1932, my father was summoned to the village council in Brys where our khutir belonged, and he was away three days. My mother was crying, and six of us children were crying, too (four of us and two children of my mother’s brother). In the evening of the third day, my father came back. He was exhausted, unshaven and said one thing, “I enrolled in the kolhosp.” Then he lay down and fell asleep right away. We covered him with blankets, but he was shaking all the time while he was asleep. My mother said that those were the chills. Two days later he told us that he was locked up in a cold barn and kept there for three days without food or water. This was the beginning of December. He licked the snow that came inside through the cracks and had hypothermia. He had very good health; otherwise, he wouldn’t have survived such a torture. He was very strong; he used to carry loads of three hundred kg. He was wearing an overcoat and good boots when he went there. This also saved him. They let him go when he signed the papers. He walked five kilometers home and couldn’t get warm. His body was so exhausted because he didn’t sleep while there. How could one fall asleep in a freezing room? The second day at home, he was able to speak. Even though he joined the kolhosp on paper, he didn’t go there; he went to work at a sugar plant. They needed the workers and they accepted him. It was called at the time The Plant Named after Stalin. Now it’s called Lokhvytsia Sugar Plant. However, my father was forced to give away all of his possessions to the kolhosp – the horse, the tools, everything. My mother cried, but what could you do? If you signed the paper to join, you had to give everything you owned; they demanded it at the time. But he didn’t work a single day in the kolhosp. This saved us during the famine because he was getting ration packs at the plant. … – What was the situation like in the village during the mass repressions? ivan samsonovych: Constant fear. My father was a simple worker, but he was literate. In 1937–38, for almost two years, he didn’t sleep at home because he was afraid. Such were the times. They would come at night and arrest a person, and that person was gone. Everyone was very afraid and lived in constant fear. To this day, I have no idea where my father then slept at night. We would come to school and learn that this or that person was arrested. We had a teacher of Russian language and literature who was twenty-five years

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old, but to us he was an older man. He was arrested and never came back. Then the director of the plant and the lead engineer there were gone. All of this created a great deal of fear. Our mother used to discipline us strictly so we wouldn’t say anything that one shouldn’t say. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – What was the name of the kutok (corner of the village) where your family lived? halyna ilarionivna: Who knows? This kutok was called the center; over there – Maiorshchyna; where we were – Rizanovo; and there – Spasovo and Riabtsevo. I don’t know what the kutok of the first brigade was called. When the kolhospy began, they started calling the kutki the first brigade, the second brigade; we were the fourth brigade. … – When the kolhospy were set up, did the people continue to celebrate Christmas and have parties like before? Halyna Ilarionivna: Not anymore. … – Did many people move to the city to work when the kolhospy started? halyna ilarionivna: Almost all young people from Lubentsi went to Cherkasy or Smila. – They didn’t want to work in the kolhosp? halyna ilarionivna: They didn’t pay the money back then, and the young people wanted to buy shoes. They went to work in a sugar plant and some other plants. There was a mechanics plant in Smila, I forgot its name. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Was everyone forced to join the kolhosp right away? natalia hryhorivna: Everyone. Some remained as odnoosibnyky. I remember one man who had many children but didn’t join the kolhosp. His children died. People who worked in the kolhosp were getting something to eat. – Was he heavily taxed? natalia hryhorivna: Yes. … – What was the attitude like toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? natalia hryhorivna: They were treated poorly. No one gave them anything.

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Hanna Yakivna Snurinkova (Kharkiv region) – Where did you get the money to buy clothes? hanna yakivna: They would pay us with money, produce, and coins. People lived as they could. They worried about losing their job. We had passports. The kolhosp was the only place where a person without a passport could work. Nowhere else could one find a job if one didn’t have a passport. We couldn’t leave. If you left, you could only get a certificate. Some insistent people managed to get a passport. Ivan Kyrylovych Solohub (Kharkiv region) – How did the kolhosp start in your village?

ivan kyrylovych: They started summoning the people at night and tell-

ing them to join the kolhosp, no other choice. My brother was an activist and he said, “Dad, enroll in the kolhosp. It will be good. Ivan will work there, and so will sister Katka.” We were the youngest ones. I said, “Maksym, go away. I don’t want to see you.” He left; he joined the kolhosp, but we did not. Oleksii Ivanovych Strilkov (Poltava region) – Did you join the kolhosp right away? oleksii ivanovych: When collectivization began, we joined. Some people didn’t want to join. They were looked at as if they were wild animals. Some were richer, some poorer, but they didn’t want to join. Some were very welloff. They worked by themselves and hired workers only when they needed to thresh the grain with chains. They hired people during the harvest and paid sixteen kg of grain per day. Or they would give them every third stack of the hay they made. This was day-to-day work. – What was the attitude like toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? oleksii ivanovych: They were looked at as if they were wild animals. – Were they dispossessed? Oleksii Ivanovych: Yes. There were people from Seletska, close to where our land was in Irzhavytsia. They were evicted to the valley where they made dugouts, but they were also evicted later from the dugouts. I remember seeing their windows on the way to our land. I don’t know where they were exiled to. Ivan Kalistratovych Udovychenko (Cherkasy region) – How many families were exiled? ivan kalistratovych: Seventeen to eighteen. None of them came back.

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They must have been executed, as I’m hearing recently. People say they were executed on the way. – What did people think of those who were exiled? ivan kalistratovych: No one could think or say anything because everyone lived in fear. Today one was arrested; I could be next. No one could know or think anything. In 1947, there was Voroshilov’s Decree to exile mostly the people of Western Ukraine because they did not obey. In our village, we also had meetings; those people were called “unreliable” and “accomplices.” Everyone was lying in the grass and thinking, “Would that I were not named.” Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Were there peasants who didn’t want to join the kolhosp?

petro vasylovych: Yes, they were liquidated because of that. First, there was a soz .

– Where was it better to work? petro vasylovych: It was easier in the kolhosp. – When was life better: during individual land ownership or in the kolhosp? petro vasylovych: Life was good in the kolhosp. I wish communism continued. … – Did many people die during the famine? petro vasylovych: Many. Those who didn’t join the kolhosp died. – Were the kolhosp workers fed? petro vasylovych: The kolhosp workers at least got something. Those who didn’t join didn’t get anything at all. Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – How did the people who didn’t join the kolhosp make a living?

fedora oksentiivna: First, they went to the mountain to eat ground

peas. In 1932–33 there was no food. – What did they live on? fedora oksentiivna: Whatever one had at home. We had very few people who did not join the kolhosp. In our kutok (corner), two or three families didn’t join. They were religious, so they didn’t go. – What was the attitude like toward those who didn’t join the kolhosp? fedora oksentiivna: Everything happened. Some were locked up, some exiled, but still they didn’t join.

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Ustyna Yukhymivna Shepelenko-Osadcha (Cherkasy region)

ustyna yukhymivna: I was offended by the contracting practice. They

started contracting people: you were obliged to stay in the village, stay in the kolhosp, and do the work. I was very offended that my calf was contracted in this way. I went to the field to dig beets, and the girls and I decided to go to the sugar plant in Balakleia, eighteen km. away from our village. Next day, we went to the field but left the beets and went to the sugar plant. I worked with the evaporator, and I was hired without the documents. I worked there for a season and learned all about evaporation, and my other friend worked in the machine department. When we came back, the contracting began, and people were enlisted to work in the Donbas. There were not enough workers there at the time, so I went. When I came, I had two karbovantsi and a piece of bread; I was hungry. Some guys came up to me, “Miss, do our laundry.” I washed and pressed their clothes and got paid three karbovantsi. Then I was hired as a motorist to work the ventilator. Then I was sent to the children’s playground for a season. Then I worked as a motorist at the grinder in Krasnyi Luch. Finally, I was sent to work in the mine. Anastasia Varfolomiivna Shpak-Smolinska (Cherkasy region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp?

anastasia varfolomiivna: Some didn’t – odnoosibnyky. They were

harassed, poor people. They were imprisoned and dispossessed. One man didn’t join a long time, so they put him into jail, and his children worked odd jobs as hired labor because they had nothing to live on. It was a difficult time, heaven forbid. – How did odnoosibnyky make a living? anastasia varfolomiivna: They went around people’s houses doing odd jobs. The family of Saniutenko would come to my father to dig the harvest and my father would pay them with potatoes and beets. They didn’t have land of their own because they were dispossessed. Later on, they were disposessed and sent away and they never came back. They were such fine people, skilled workers. They could build a house and everything. Their sister lived her whole life in a dugout, waiting for them to come back.

w ho l e d c ol l e ctiviz ation? One of the questions asked of nearly all interviewees was “Who led collectivization?” The answers varied but included the following: our people; outsiders who came to our village; both our people and outsiders; and Komsomol activists.

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Some also described in detail who these people were and the ruthlessness with which they operated. In virtually all locales there were local activists who were instrumental in leading collectivization. In addition, in some locales outside agitators were brought in from urban areas in order to propagate the idea of collectivization, and in some cases to change agricultural practices – often with disastrous consequences. Few interviewees said that only outsiders led collectivization. Far and away the majority noted that both locals and outsiders were involved in the process, although the vast majority were locals. Some said that most of the agitators for collectivization were locals, but the leaders all were outsiders who directed what the locals were to do (Vira Oliinyk, Frosyna Boiko, Varvara Pyvovar). Hrihory Vovkohon noted that the heads of the village council were sent in from outside, while the “good people” evicting their neighbors from their homes were all local Komsomol activists. The interviewee noted that it was one of the requirements of joining the Komsomol that you take part in the gangs of youth that were ravishing the village and evicting families from their homes. Maria Palahniuk described these bands of thieves as well as, in her opinion, why they were so eager to take part: The brigade consisted of Komsomol activists and nezamozhnyky [the poor]. You understand, the thing is the poor envied the rich. This feeling of envy created the repressions and what have you. They couldn’t stand that someone was living better than they were. They lived better because they were naturally more capable. Yevdokia Dyshliuk – Did the locals or the newcomers conduct collectivization? Yevdokia Mytrofanivna: Some were locals, and some were newcomers. They sent some kind of an activist, but the rest were locals: the head of the village council and the head of the kolhosp. Domna Dudnyk – Was this done by newcomers? domna fedorivna: No, locals. The father of this Mykhailo Y was the leader. These were the first Communists [in that locale]. – Do you think it was on their own initiative or they were forced? domna fedorivna: We didn’t see any newcomers. Maybe they got some directives from somewhere, but locals executed it all.

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Maria Dudnyk – Did locals or newcomers conduct collectivization? maria omelianivna : Both. – Who was crueler? maria omelianivna : Mostly the newcomers, and a few locals. The Komsomol activists from the regional administrative center forced them. Marfa Zubaly – Did locals or newcomers conduct collectivization? marfa kindrativna : The locals were the activists, and there was one man from the regional administrative center. He lived nearby. Locals had the last word. Yakiv Zborovsky – Who conducted collectivization? yakiv mykhailovych: Locals; the newcomers came to train them. – Who was the cruelest? yakiv mykhailovych: If a person has a soul and believes in God, he’d spare a crying woman even if he were a Communist. Someone else might have abused her. Such ones were in demand on the kolhosp. Mykhailo Ivanchenko – Did locals conduct the dispossessions? mykhailo hryhorovych: Locals, from Zvenyhorodka. – Why do you think they were so cruel? mykhailo hryhorovych: Apparently because they obeyed orders. They thought that this was the power of the poor and the proletariat, of their government and that they had the right, as they say, to establish a dyktat [here meaning “dictatorship”]. Of interest is the age of some of the youths involved. Many were students, often quite young and usually led by Komsomol activists. Lidia Hrabovska said that when she was in the seventh grade (about twelve or thirteen years old) and still a Pioneer [Soviet mass youth organization for children ages nine to fifteen – ed.], she was summoned from her school during the day to join a group of youths who went to a neighboring village to confiscate grain and property. She was gone a week and was not permitted to inform her mother of her whereabouts all that

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time. Their methods were simple, she said. They walked through a village stopping at selected houses and accosted the family, demanding bread and grain for the state. The selection of the houses was provided by the representative from the Komsomol to the village council and other activists from that village. When the group was not satisfied with what the family “voluntarily” gave them, they had license to search and seize at will, however and whatever they wished. Among those who were sent into the village from outside as agitators for collectivization were party and nkvd agents as well as students and the “Thousanders” (tysiachnyky). A few of these, in particular party representatives from small towns, took locals for spouses and settled down in the village permanently (Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak). This same interviewee said that some of those outsiders who came to their village were military personnel. The “Thousanders” included two waves of non-local agitators, the “Hundred Thousanders” (stotysiachnyky) and the “Twenty-Five Thousanders” (dvadtsiatpiat’ tysiachnyky) sent for the most part from urban areas to help with the collectivization process. Some of these were from neighboring small towns (as related by Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak), while others came from regions far away (Petro Kushnir). Few of them had even the slightest idea about agriculture. Most were simply committed to communism and their main purpose was to agitate for the idea of collectivization. Usually there were only a few of them in a given village. Petro Kushnir notes that his village in the Chernihiv region received three Twenty-Five Thousanders, and later two students from Kyiv. These people usually lodged in the homes of local families, presumably in most cases with those sympathetic to the collectivization process. They stayed in the village for two or three months, or even only a few weeks. Several interviewees commented briefly on the ruthlessness of those in charge of collectivization (Petro Khudyk; Maria Kozar [this fragment is in the chapter “Famine”]; Nykyfir Poberezhnyk; Natalia Semeniaka). Others described this in more detail. Ivan Panych described a man who came from outside his village (unspecified from where but likely one of the Thousanders) who would walk from house to house waving and pointing a pistol at people, demanding that they “voluntarily” join the kolhosp. In light of this ruthlessness, perhaps the greatest contumely as registered in the interviews was reserved for local Komsomol activists, perhaps because they were locals repressing neighbors, unlike the Thousanders who were strangers from afar. Although in later years village Komsomol groups would become active in promoting highly selected cultural activities in the village, in the early years of collectivization the cultural activities of Komsomol were rare, while their confiscatory practices were primary. Maria Palahniuk described the actions and main function of Komsomol activists in the early 1930s. They moved in roving bands of youth, armed with metal rods, and directed by the head of the village council, confiscated food and grain from families: “They would come and say, ‘Go around the village and search for grain.’

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They took metal rods and went around.” Nykyfir Poberezhnyk said that in his locale the head of the village council exiled anyone, even one of his group of bandits, who spoke against him. He would tolerate no dissent. Kostiantyn Kryvonis described a surreal scene from the time when he and his cohorts in Komsomol “liquidated the kulaks” (My likvidiruvaly kulakiv). There were dozens of empty houses in the village, those of families already deported. The roving Komsomol activists “worked” at their job (berating farmers who did not want to join the kolhosp, confiscating grain, etc.) until about midnight. Then they quit for the day and spent the night in any of the many empty houses already dotting the village – the houses of those already deported. Several interviewees were explicit in their negative evaluation of the role of the Komsomol in the early years of collectivization. Ivan Solohub called them thieves (hrabizhnyky), while Andrii Oklei called them bandits (bandity): “They were throwing children out of their homes through the window. They would open the windows at night, grab the children, and throw them into the snow outside. This was how they dispossessed the kurkuli.” Oleksii Strilkov said that in his village there were two Komsomol activists. They took any food, any grain they could lay their hands on. The interviewee said that their confiscatory practices created famine in the village, although he was presumably referring to 1932 and the beginning of the Holodomor. In later years, joining the Komsomol was a matter of prestige for many. This was not the case in the early 1930s. Membership seems to have been strictly limited, at least on the village level. Only one interviewee claimed otherwise. Andrii Filatov said that anyone in the village who wished to join could do so: you signed up, they accepted you. This was clearly not the case for many. Motria Rohova, Varvara Pyvovar, and Mykhailo Ustymenko said that Komsomol members in the early 1930s were taken exclusively from the ranks of the village poor – that is, those who were considered poor before collectivization. Fedir Kravchenko noted that he was denied membership because he was descended from a line of kurkuli (Nu ty zhe z kurkuliv). In his village, they did not stage plays or engage in cultural activities. However, the interviewee said that they did take part in “concerts,” which in fact were mandatory gatherings organized by the kolhosp in order to propagandize the villagers. On the other hand, the prestige of Komsomol membership in later years was such that even members of families who suffered at their hands in the 1930s later joined. Fedir Yavdoshenko related that in 1935 when he was in the fifth grade, a relative gave his mother a bit of wheat flour out of which she made a kind of pastry (pyrizhok), which in those times was a rarity. His teacher at school, a Komsomol member, saw him eating this pastry in school and reported him to the local Komsomol activists who sent people to their home to look for flour. It was assumed by these authorities that it was not possible for her to have this flour as people in the kolhosp did not earn enough money to

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buy flour, nor were they given it in kind. Therefore, they reasoned, she must have stolen it, which meant that it was their duty to go to her home and investigate. Once there, however, they found no flour because there was none. The leader of the group attempting to confiscate flour, who was about the interviewee’s mother’s age and thus perhaps had been her classmate, went to the attic alone on his mother’s request. He told the group that the attic was empty, but in fact there was a bag of barley there. This might have been an act of kindness to the interviewee’s mother. That bag of barley was the family’s only extra staple for several months that year. Two years later the interviewee applied to and was accepted in the Komsomol. There were pictures taken of him and others who had just joined and they received their Komsomol cards. They were taken to a movie theater, the first time he had ever seen a film. Not everyone who was called upon to do so was able to carry out the repression of neighbors. Hrihory Vovkohon said that he did not join the Komsomol specifically because he would be required to take part in the eviction of people from their homes. Hanna Marynenko noted that her husband was a member of the village council. As part of his duties, he was supposed to be sent with others to the homes of neighbors in order to evict them and/or to confiscate their property, food, etc. He did not want to take part in this. So, they elected someone else to take his place, who did take part in confiscatory practices. According to the interviewee, she and her husband did not suffer reprisals because of this. Yakiv Zborovsky noted that he was a young man in his early twenties when he and others his age were sent to the village council and told that they could join the Komsomol. They would “be given important work, easy work” (i my vam velyku robotu damo. Lehenku robotu). They had only to go to a family’s home and confiscate whatever they could find and take their horses from them to the kolhosp. When the pair arrived, they found the people waiting for them, crying. The young men could not go through with it and left without fulfilling their mission. Upon their arrival empty handed back at the Komsomol headquarters on the kolhosp they were soundly cursed by the authorities for their insubordination: Go to the bridge in Horodyshche and turn right, go to the people who live there and see what can be confiscated from them. If there’s anything, take it.” – “What should we take?” – “If you see two pairs of horses, take them.” Matvy and I went to see, and the people there were crying. What could you do? My heart couldn’t take it. So, we left. “We cannot do this.” They swore at us back at the kolhosp. Several interviewees described what is perhaps most kindly characterized as incompetence among the new village elite and their urban-born compatriots that led the collectivization process. Many had little or no knowledge of agriculture,

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sometimes with humorous, sometimes with murderous, results. This lack of knowledge was especially prevalent among the “Thousanders” who were sent into the villages from towns and cities in order to propagate socialist ideas. Fedir Kravchenko noted that one of these thousanders could not tell the difference between wheat and beans. When his ignorance was discovered by his superiors, he tried to cover himself by saying that a villager lied to him as to what was being planted. In another instance, a new elite member did not know when to sow and when to cultivate (Oleksii Syniuk). Andrii Dotsenko describes a tragicomic situation, in which a blind man, one of the Thousanders, was sent from an urban area to oversee agriculture in the interviewee’s village. This man had no idea about the requirements of agriculture: what was needed to sustain both human and animal life, what to plant, when to plant, etc. He obviously could not even see what he was supposedly talking about. He forbade the villagers to sow oats and millet, saying that the only grain they needed was wheat; this in order to make kasha [here a wheat-based gruel]. All other foods, he said, were unnecessary. This regime if followed of course meant starvation for the village – not to mention the lack of fodder for the animals which would result. The interviewee notes that this man – and other Twenty-Five Thousanders – was sent from afar to teach them about collectivization. All he and they did was talk about how good the future would be on the kolhosp. In fact, they knew nothing about agriculture. The fact that they were to some extent in charge of kolhosp policy put the lives of all villagers at risk, a risk that would tragically play out very soon after. Olha Reuta described a tragedy that was common in many locales. Kolhosp leaders decided to cut down an orchard, presumably in-order-to create more field for planting grain. They apparently discovered that the new field was unsuitable for grains, and so replanted the orchard there, which of course would have taken years to grow back. In the process of discovering their mistake and trying to rectify it, they deprived dozens, more likely hundreds, of people of a dietary staple for many years; this in times of famine and near famine. One can only wonder how many lives were lost as a result of their ignorance and arrogance.

int erv i ew e xce rp ts : w ho led c ollec tiviz ation? Frosyna Okhrymivna Boiko (Kharkiv region) – Who conducted collectivization?

frosyna okhrymivna: Locals. They were entitled because they belonged to the party. The party members did whatever they wanted at the time – lawfully or unlawfully, they did anything. They were given orders and had permission [to conduct a wide assortment of repressions]. – How did they appear in the village?

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frosyna okhrymivna: There were authorities of some kind. Who

demolished the church? The party members. The Communists were here, too. The head of the council was not a local. – What year did he come? frosyna okhrymivna: Before the kolhospy, after the Revolution. Motria Hryhorivna Buslyk (Poltava region) – Did locals or newcomers conduct the dispossessions?

motria hryhorivna: Perhaps there was a rare newcomer, but mostly they were locals.

Hanna Herasymivna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak (Vinnytsia region) – Did locals or newcomers set up the kolhospy? hanna herasymivna: The newcomers. – Where did they come from? hanna herasymivna: I don’t know where they were from. They were military personnel. Six or seven of them came. They set up a kolhosp and got married here. – Were they Ukrainians? hanna herasymivna: Adamovych was one. Kerychenko was maybe a Russian. Chychenko is a Russian last name. – What last names are common in your village? hanna herasymivna: Vyklenko, Skliar, Pohribniak, Khrapko, Khymych. Hryhorii Kyrylovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – Who conducted the collectivization? hryhorii kyrylovych: Newcomers. The locals were also so “good” as to evict the people from their houses. There were Komsomol activists, too. I didn’t join Komsomol because I knew they would make us evict people. One person joined the Komsomol and went to evict Naumenko. Later on, his own father was evicted – such mockery. Neighbors would pierce their neighbors’ walls with spears looking for grain. Lidia Serhiivna Hrabovska (Vinnytsia region) – What do you remember about collectivization? lidia serhiivna: I was in the seventh grade when we were enrolled in the brigade that went around the villages. The brigade had about fifteen people as

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well as all of us, the Pioneers. I went with them to Perekorentsi. For the whole week, my mother didn’t know where I was. – What did you do in the village? lidia serhiivna: We went from house to house confiscating the bread and the grain. I was just present, and they voiced the demands. They would come into a house and tell the people to give away their grain. The representative of the village council had a plan and lists of people. There was also a representative of the regional administrative center. Komsomol activists as well as village activists knew the people on the list. This was 1931–32. – What if a person didn’t have any grain? lidia serhiivna: They searched. They used spears and also dug in the garden; they took everything. We were sent from school to go with them. – Were you often sent to go with them? lidia serhiivna: This was in the fall; I remember the swamp and that it was cold. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – Did the locals or the newcomers conduct collectivization? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Some were locals, and some were newcomers. They sent some kind of a representative, but the rest were locals: the head of the village council and the head of the kolhosp. – Were they Ukrainians or of other nationalities? yevdokia mytrofanivna : Ukrainians and Russians; there were no other nationalities. Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region)

andrii hryhorovych: Twenty-Five Thousanders came to conduct collectivization. Have you read [Mikhail] Sholokhov’s And Quiet Flows the Don? It had such characters as Nagulnov and Davydov. We had a similar newcomer Riabov who came to conduct collectivization. He was a person who had never in his life seen actual agricultural production. When they started seeding, they had plans for a certain amount of oats and an amount of proso [millet] to seed. He said, “No panicum need be seeded. He said that we only need to seed millet, so we can have kasha.” [The Ukrainian language has two words to denote two different stages in processing one food: proso (the actual millet plant) and millet (the final product).] This man had never seen farmland. He was an appointee from the working class. Perhaps he was a member of the party or an activist of some sort. So, he was sent to the village to conduct collectivization. He didn’t know anything about proso/millet and was sent to conduct collectivization. He was there for

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propaganda purposes. He didn’t beat or torture anyone. He just came to tell the people to join the kolhosp and live a good life. Propaganda.

Domna Fedorivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Was this done by the newcomers?

domna fedorivna: No, locals. The father of this Mykhailo Yakovlevich

was the leader. These were the first Communists. – Do you think it was their own initiative or they were forced? domna fedorivna: We didn’t see any newcomers; maybe they got some directives from somewhere, but locals executed it all. Maria Omelianivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did locals or newcomers conduct collectivization? maria melianivna: Both. – Who was crueler? maria melianivna: Mostly the newcomers, and a few locals. The Komsomol activists from the regional administrative center forced them. – Do you remember these Komsomol activists? maria melianivna: I don’t. Our Danylo was one of them, but he didn’t do such things. Those who did were hard-core, but he didn’t cause any harm. Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – Who conducted collectivization?

yakiv mykhailovych: Locals; the newcomers came to train them. – Who was the cruelest?

yakiv mykhailovych: If a person has a soul and believes in God, he’d

spare a crying woman even if he were a Communist. Someone else might have abused her. Such ones were in demand on the kolhosp. I was a young man. They would summon us to the village council and say, “Enroll in Komsomol and we’ll give you important work, easy work.” – “Go to the bridge in Horodyshche and turn right, go to the people who live there and see what can be confiscated from them. If there’s anything, take it.” –“What should we take?” – “If you see two pairs of horses, take them.” Matvii and I went to see, and the people there were crying. What could you do? My heart couldn’t take it. So, we left. “We cannot do this.” They swore at us back at the kolhosp.

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Marfa Kindrativna Zubaly (Cherkasy region) – Did locals or newcomers conduct collectivization? marfa kindrativna : The locals were the activists, and there was one man from the regional administrative center. He lived nearby. The locals had the last word. Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region) – Did locals conduct the dispossessions? mykhailo hryhorovych: Locals, from Zvenyhorodka. – Why do you think they were so cruel? mykhailo hryhorovych: Apparently because they obeyed orders. They thought that this was the power of the poor and the proletariat, their government and that they had the right, as they say, to establish the dictate. They obeyed their leaders because they were the party members, and the party was dictatorial. The regional committee would order, and the local party members would execute their orders. Some of them had died. One of them was the person who transported the bodies and buried some people alive. There’s one man here who’s five years older than me. He was taken to the burial place but came back to life when they paused for lunch. This is tragedy. And the one who loaded the bodies on the cart ate some bread and had twisted bowel obstruction; he died, too. The people from the Komnezam and Komsomol didn’t have much either. They were as poor as we were. They got some ration packs from the kolhosp, of course, but not much. Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk (Kharkiv region) – Who dispossessed people?

anastasia trokhymivna: The locals.

– Were they from Komsomol or from the party? anastasia trokhymivna: Komsomol activists. Kostiantyn Petrovych Kovalenko (Sumy region) – Who conducted collectivization? kostiantyn petrovych: The newcomers and the local activists. They evicted people. All these activists are long dead now.

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Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Who conducted collectivization? maria pylypivna: The locals. They are all dead. They were worse than the newcomers. – What did people in the village think of them? maria pylypivna: They were treated poorly. They were called “activists.” Sturdy guys would come, “We were told today to dispossess you.” “Who gave the order?” They themselves did. The head of the kolhosp was separate. It was called soz at the time. When the Germans came, they hanged him and his secretary. The head of the kolhosp was not mean, as far as I remember. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any Komsomol members at the time? fedir yosypovych: Yes. I wan’t accepted into the organization because I was considered to be one who could harm the process. – Did you want to join the Komsomol? fedir yosypovych: Not really, but all my friends joined (they were poorer than me). It was considered respectable to be a part of it, and I was considered out of sorts because I didn’t join. – And after this you said that you wanted to join? fedir yosypovych: Yes, and the secretary of the Komsomol said, “No, you are a bit of a kurkul.” – Who was the secretary of Komsomol? fedir yosypovych: Vasyl Balybyk. – What did the Komsomol members do? fedir yosypovych: Nothing special, the same things others were doing, but they had more trust. They had organizational meetings and wage bonuses. In 1933, I left my job and found out that one could not get a job for six months (quarantine) if one had previously missed a day at work or quit, so I went to the kolhosp to work in the spring of 1933. So I worked the entire summer on the kolhosp because as a child I had learned to use a seeding machine and a thresher. I could do all kinds of jobs. Leaders were sent in from Kharkiv from a newspaper called The Communist. They were decent. They didn’t praise you for being in the Komsomol, they praised the people who worked. The political department at the time gave the hard-working Komsomol activists (udarnyky) sixteen kg of grain per month, but there were no Komsomol members in our kolhosp who were more hardworking than me and my cousin Nastia Kravchenko. So, they had to give us the grain, and not the Komsomol members. The secretary of the Komsomol went to the regional

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center administrative center to complain, and the response was, “We have good Communists there (three of them), so it’s probably your fault if you cannot get the grain compensation. Leave it alone.” – Whom of the local Communists do you remember? fedir yosypovych: Kalida and Shabaldy. – What about Pasiuk? fedir yosypovych: Pasiuk too. There weren’t many Communists. – Did the Komsomol activists stage plays and concerts? fedir yosypovych: I don’t think so, not at that time [they did in later years]. I knew about the other concerts. – Did the Komsomol members work on the kolhosp? fedir yosypovych: Yes. – What did they do there? fedir yosypovych: Any job they were sent to: to plow with the horse, to use the harrow. They were not very capable. I, on the other hand, knew how to use a seeding machine or a mowing machine. In 1933, the Komsomol members made a decision during their meeting about the horses. That year something was wrong with the cattle. The horses were dying of hunger, but we had to continue seeding. I came to the kolhosp and found horses with large wounds on their shoulders. I had a lot of trouble with them for a day because they would writhe in pain when I lashed them. In the evening, I went home and made these long, stoking-type bags filled with chaff to cover the wounds. By the end of the spring seeding, the horses’ wounds had healed, and I got a bonus in the regional administrative center during a meeting, instead of the Komsomol members. – That’s why they didn’t like you? fedir yosypovych: Of course. They didn’t like this at all. … – What did Pasiuk do? fedir yosypovych: He was an accountant. He was knowledgeable and could make stoves. My father was sowing wheat once, when Pasiuk came: “What are you sowing, Yosyp Serhiovych?” My father answered randomly, “beans.” Paisuk sent a document to the regional administrative center saying that we sowed five hectares of beans, and he received a letter in response: what kind of beans? Where? It wasn’t the season for beans yet. So, my father was questioned, but it calmed down later on. – What did Pasiuk say? fedir yosypovych: He said that my father lied to him.

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Kostiantyn Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – What changed during kolhosp times? kostiantyn hryhorovych: I took part in the collectivization process in Trostianetsky region. I studied at the professional technical school which had a Komsomol organization, and so I took part in collectivization. We liquidated the kulaky. We confiscated the grain for the seeding from those who hid it. Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – Did locals or newcomers conduct collectivization in your village? danylo yosypovych: Mostly locals and some came from the regional administrative center in Kharkiv. They were sent here and given assignments here. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – How many Twenty-Five Thousanders were assigned to your village? petro ivanovych: Three. Later on, students from higher education institutions were tasked with this. – From what towns did they come? petro ivanovych: For instance, two were from an institute in Kyiv. They rented rooms from us. – What did these students do? petro ivanovych: They would give talks about what a kolhosp was, how it worked, and why it was set up. They provided information, that sort of thing. – How was this done? Were those lectures? petro ivanovych: In every kutok [corner] of the village there was a so-called village reading room. The people would come there for such meetings. Hanna Pylypivna Marynenko (Kharkiv region) – Was your husband a Communist, a Bolshevik? hanna pylypivna: He was chairman of the village council. When they started robbing and arresting people, he refused to participate in this. He didn’t want to. He would take into his own house those people who asked to be hidden away. Then they elected someone else to take his place and it was he who started dispossessing people. All those people were sent to Kharkiv. They survived and lived well. Even our brother’s in-laws were exiled. We were not exiled because we were seredniaky.

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– When he left his job, did his superiors say that he had to work? hanna pylypivna: No, nothing much. He was taken captive and tortured because of one person. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – What did your uncle do in the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: He was in the Komnezam, the Committee of Poor Peasants. – What did that committee do? mykyta mykolaiovych: Nothing. The poor people got together and received good land. I used to plow the land for them using the tractor. Whatever I earned, we’d party and drink. We split the harvest between us. Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Cherkasy region) – Who was the head of the kolhosp?

maria serhiivna: Ivan Svyrydovych, a village man. He was so illiter-

ate and ill-mannered. When the thresher was operating, he would load the stacks. – Did the newcomers manage the kolhosp? maria serhiivna: They were newcomers, but who they were we still don’t know. Andrii Platonovych Oklei (Kharkiv region) – Were there Komsomol members in your village after the Revolution? andrii platonovych: No. They became active in 1935, 1936, 1937. – When the kolhosp was set up, there were no Komsomol activists at the time? andrii platonovych: There were Komsomol activists and there were bandits. They were throwing children out of their homes through the window. They would open the windows at night, grab the children, and throw them into the snow outside. This is how they dispossessed the kurkuli. – Are you talking about one of your neighbors? andrii platonovych: Yes, my godfather nearby. He had a house in the forest. He owned a mill, bulls, and two cows. Back in the day, a policeman came to our house and his daughter too (he has died, and so has his wife) asking to describe how my godfather was dispossessed. I was about seventeen and I saw this. A family named Kocherha lived near our house. When the Revolution began, they wanted to set up a commune here. They wanted to have communes everywhere. They built a house with fourteen rooms

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nearby for everyone to live in. They built it up in the mountains, near the top of Mount Homolsha. Then everything turned around. Stalin didn’t let the commune happen. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – When the kolhosp was set up, how old were you, ten? vira trokhymivna : A bit older than ten. I was born in 1918, and the kolhosp started in 1928 as a soz . The first commune was in Demkove. It was organized by Demchenko and the kolhosp was called “Spikelet.” Our local people didn’t go there at first, but when soz was set up everyone went there whether they wanted or not because all their property had been taken: horse, plow, everything. One had to go. – When was this? vira trokhymivna : In 1925. – Who confiscated people’s property? vira trokhymivna : A committee came, took the property. They built stables and took the horses there. – Did this committee consist of the local village residents? vira trokhymivna : The members were locals, but the leaders were newcomers. – Where from? vira trokhymivna : Who knows? Some were Russian. There were more Russians in the leadership [than Ukrainians]. Nadia Yakivna Onufriichuk (Vinnytsia region) – Did your father join the kolhosp?

nadia yakivna: My father was the first to join. The Twenty-Five

Thousanders came to our village. One of them came to my father’s and said, “If you join the kolhosp, other people will follow you.” My father was respected in the village. He was the first to join, and many others followed. – Where did the Twenty-Five Thousanders come from? nadia yakivna: I think he was from the Donbas. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – Who conducted collectivization? maria vasylivna: There were local activists, but they didn’t campaign strongly. Other activists were sent from Vinnytsia and Sharhorod. – Do you remember these people?

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maria vasylivna: Yes. The head of the village council in Dzhuuryn was a

Jew named Sheivekhman. He was a Communist. He was an activist. – Were these the Twenty-Five Thousanders? maria vasylivna: It might have been them. Back in the day, I didn’t understand this very well. – How did they look? maria vasylivna: There was even one Byelorussian. He came to our house, and Maksym was playing outside. He asked him, “Little man, where’s your bat¢ko (Father)?” Maksym said to him, “Hold on, I’ll go ask my tato (Dad). He’s in the garden.” The boy didn’t know the word [bat’ko] that the Byelorussian used. I don’t remember the man’s last name. … – Who conducted collectivization? maria vasylivna: Komsomol activists and local activists. I remember Onufrii Prokopovych Chymyrys. What did they do? They forced others to go around searching for bread. – Who forced them? maria vasylivna: Who? The head of the village council and the non-local activists. They would come and say, “Go around the village and search for grain.” They took metal rods and went around. People reminded Nykyfor Poberezhnyk of his deeds. We didn’t have the horrors of the famine. But I remember a small boy Panteleimon Kravchuk born in 1928. He was four or five at the time. His father had hidden some wheat in a bag and told him to sit on the bag if the activist brigade came. The brigade consisted of Komsomol activists and nezamozhnyky [the poor]. You understand, the thing is the poor envied the rich. This feeling of envy created the repressions and what have you. They couldn’t stand that someone was living better than they were. They lived better because they were naturally more capable. Some people say these capacities are from God, simply. They saw that some people had clothes, shoes, and food, and out of envy they reported these people. So, when they came to search Kravchuk’s house, the little boy said, “My dad said not to tell anyone that I’m sitting on a bag.” So, they took it. Such were these activists. Then Ratushniak, the head of the village council, fled to Chelyabinsk [in the Russian Ural Mountains – ed.] before the war and met our Maksym there. – He ran away with his family? maria vasylivna: Everyone fled. The Palamarchuks lived in their house. – Were they afraid? maria vasylivna: Of course.

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Ivan Vasylovych Panych (Sumy region) – Who conducted collectivization? ivan vasylovych: Locals. There were some newcomers, I remember. One named Baida. He used to run around here with a gun to make people join the kolhosp “voluntarily.” Various things happened. I didn’t listen to it all. I was a young man and didn’t follow this closely. During the time of the dispossessions, I was dating a girl. Those who conducted the dispossessions are dead now. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did the locals dispossess people?

varvaraihorivna: Yes, a local Komsomol organization. They were called

buksiry: Oksana, Dunka, Oryshka, Petro, and one other Petro. They would come on a cart, search the houses, take the wheat, and leave. All of them were from poor families and they dispossessed the rich because the latter didn’t want to join the kolhosp. Their houses were searched all over, even underneath the pillows. They were forced by the regional administrative center to do this. Nykyfir Maksymovych Poberezhnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Who was the first head of the village council? nykyfir maksymovych: We had a cruel man named Shelestiian. While he was in power, all those who were known as patriots [activists used the word natsionalisty (nationalists)] were repressed. He was very spiteful, and he had a group of guys with him. If someone said something about him that he heard, the next day that person was deported. – Did those people come back to the village? nykyfir maksymovych: Some did. Olha Mytrofanivna Reuta (Sumy region) – Who conducted collectivization? olha mytrofanivna: Locals. … – Were there any orchards? olha mytrofanivna: Where we lived there was a large (0.5 hectares) orchard. The kolhosp started and they cut down the fruit trees. They later planted them again. In the end, we didn’t get a big enough harvest. – Were you taxed?

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olha mytrofanivna: The land was taxed at the time. Orchards didn’t count.

Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Who conducted collectivization: locals or newcomers?

natalia hryhorivna: They came from the regional administrative cen-

ter, from Rzhyshchiv. The locals were activists from the ranks of poor folk. – Who was crueler? natalia hryhorivna: The locals. They tortured people. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region)

– Were there many Komsomol activists in your village? motria hryhorivna: Not many. – They came from poor families? Motria Hryhorivna: Yes. – Rich ones didn’t join the kolhosp? motria hryhorivna: Why would they? The poor ones went because they had nothing. – Were they cruel to the rich ones? motria hryhorivna: There were some that didn’t go to arrest people. Oleksii Ivanovych Syniuk (Poltava region)

oleksii ivanovych: Hundred Thousanders were sent to the village. A miner came to Dibrova to monitor the kolhosp. He asked the brigade chief, “Are you sowing?” – “No, not yet. First, you have to cultivate the grain.” – “Cultivate it after [you sow],” said this dumb man. They were sent here to monitor the kolhosp. It was they who were in charge of everything. Ivan Kyrylovych Solohub (Kharkiv region) – Were there any Komsomol activists in the village? ivan kyrylovych: The Komsomol activists were thieves. They used metal rods to poke and search people’s gardens. If they found grain with this rod, they would dig it up and take it. One time they came to my brother’s threshing floor. My brother was a director of the mill. There was also a warehouse keeper. Danko was sturdy and came running to see what was going on. They were confiscating everything and didn’t consider whether you had children or not.

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Oleksii Ivanovych Strilkov (Poltava region) – Who conducted collectivization: locals or newcomers? oleksii ivanovych: The locals. Some were from the regional administrative center, but for the most part they were from our village. Locals dispossessed locals, searched all the corners of a house for grain, took the last grain, and left the people to die. When we were dispossessed, they even took the rake. All of those who did this have already died. Village residents did this evil deed. They came in their buksiry teams and woke people up at night, “Give us your grain, now. Give us sixteen kg or thirty-two kg.” I told them, “I am hungry myself.” The locals were the cruelest ones. … – Were there any Komsomol activists [in your village]? oleksii ivanovych: Yes, two of them, and Komnezamy [Committee of Poor Peasants], too. They would even rummage the sleeping ledge (built onto the stove) looking for grain. They would also pull the pots out of the oven and eat all the cooked food. The locals oppressed the people with the famine. Did Stalin know what they were doing? These were locals, from the village. They would look for the last potato, find it, and take it with them. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – Who joined the kolhosp?

mykhailo antonovych: The poorer Komsomol members. The rich were

not accepted.

Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – How many Komsomol members were there in your village? andrii fedorovych: About twenty. – What about Communists? andrii fedorovych: Communists also numbered about twenty. – Did the peasants want to join Komsomol? andrii fedorovych: Of course. First, they were accepting only the poor ones, but later on anyone could join. If they put in an application, they would be accepted. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Were newcomers sent in to dispossess people? petro vasylovych: It was done more by locals. They were cruel, too. They didn’t spare anyone.

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Ustyna Yukhymivna Shepelenko-Osadcha (Cherkasy region) – Who conducted collectivization? ustyna yukhymivna: Activists, nkvd agents, and party members. During the famine, when it was time to weed the beets, some women couldn’t go because their legs were so swollen. Those who were unable to go were locked up into cellars. It was horrific. It’s hard to describe. Vasyl Arsenovych Yavdoshenko (Poltava region) – Were there Komsomol activists in your village? vasyl arsenovych: Yes, there were. They got varying attitudes from the people. In 1937, I graduated from the seventh grade and wanted to go to Hrebionka, not to the academy, but to work as a fireman on a steam locomotive. I wrote a letter requesting that the kolhosp allow me and four others to leave the kolhosp. My father attended the meeting where they were reviewing our letters. The accountant Mykhailo Mykolovych was allowed to leave; Vasyl Zatelepa was allowed to leave, too, but not I. “Who would stay to work on the kolhosp then?” Perhaps I could even have studied to become an engine driver had I started as a fireman on the steam locomotive. My father was considered a seredniak, and since I was his son, there was this pressure. I remember my sister who died in 1935. I was in the fifth grade, and our teacher Halyna Ivanivna was a Komsomol member. During the long recess, she saw us eating a kind of pastry (pyrizhok) with grated beets and vibernum berry filling. She told local activists immediately that I was eating a pastry. Just when I got back home from school, Prokop Dmytrovych Kravchenko came over. He was about the same age as my mother, and he searched our house for grain. My mother said, “We don’t have any grain. My brother gave me some flour and I made that pastry.” They were preparing to go to the attic and continue searching. My mother said again, “Let Prokop go there by himself, not with the others.” There was a bag of barley behind the chimney shaft in the attic. When he went up, he said, “There’s nothing here.” He came down, and that little bag of barley stayed there. We lived on that for a long time. We would pound it in a mortar and make kutia [a crushed barley paste]. I was a Komsomol member, too. I joined when I was in the seventh grade. We were registered in the district committee of Komsomol. We were photographed and got our membership cards. Afterwards, we had a formal visit to a movie theater where a film with sound [a talkie] was playing. This was the first time I had ever seen a film.

4 Holodomor: The Great Famine of 1932–33

The Holodomor (death by starvation) was a deliberate attack on the Ukrainian nation. This has been the general consensus among those who research this subject since at least the early 1980s, and among many others since the 1930s. The famine, as well as other actions undertaken by Soviet power in the early 1930s in rural Ukraine, was an example of pure terrorism with an obvious intent to murder and designed to teach a population a lesson that they could not ignore. The various forms of terror undertaken by Soviet power in the early 1930s were all part of a deliberately planned three-pronged attack. I cannot see any other way to approach this. The first of the three prongs of attack was conducted by local residents in a few locales who had an open-ended mandate from the local kolhosp and/or regional party officials to confiscate whatever they could find. They were in fact expected to terrorize families – visiting them at night, screaming at them, shouting profanities – and at the height of the terror, were among the brigades that were stealing their food. In all three prongs of the attack, these groups of people were directly responsible for stealing land, animals, grain, clothing, and whatever else they desired to seize. In all three phases of the terror, according to the oral histories, local activists were the primary trigger men, those who executed duties assigned to them from up the chain of command. These same people repeatedly returned to village homes to terrorize, evict, and deport, and place impossibly high taxes and fees on villagers. They were the ones who confiscated livestock and tools in the early years of collectivization; and it was they who returned repeatedly to a village home in order to cajole a family into joining the kolhosp. They then again returned to cajole their victims into taking on an ever-increasing oblihatsiia [an “obligation,” an arbitrary administrative fee, very theoretically a loan by the kolhospnyk to the kolhosp; described in detail in the next chapter]. Most importantly, it was they who, in 1932-33, were directly responsible for the third prong of attack, namely confiscating a family’s food, roaming from house to house, from family to family,

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knowing full well what they were doing, forcing families into starvation (see, for example, Ivan Ilchenko and Mykola Sokyrko; see also Pavlo Andriienko, Motria Buslyk, Maria Kozar, Hrihorii Vovkohon, Andrii Pavlichenko, Motria Potapenko, Ivan Roman, Natalia Semeniaka, and Petro Khudyk, among many others). In many, and perhaps most, cases, these local activists were from the same village or from neighboring villages of those they had targeted. Many activists actually knew the people they were killing, and they performed their tasks with relentless zeal and purpose. Mykola Sokyrko reveals that those who participated in these brigades of sanctioned thievery and murder never expressed in later years any remorse for what they had done. His family and others nearby were repressed by the father of one of his friends from school, a man he had known his entire young life: – Later on, did you happen to hear words of repentance from the people who did this? mykola panteleimonovych: No, they were silent about it. I had a friend here, and her father was seemingly a good man, but then he was part of the chervona mitla (“red broom”). They came to my wife’s sister; she said, “They would find a kilogram of flour and take it. Who permitted them to confiscate the last kilogram of my flour’? … I also want to tell you a story about one person. He was the father of my former classmate. He seemed to be a smart man, but he, too, was a part of the chervona mitla. He was one of the people who came to my wife’s sister’s house, took everything, and shouted at me, ‘What are you standing here for? Go on, show us what you’ve got.” How would the civilized world label such people? They can be viewed as serial killers, murdering people who, in many cases, they had known their entire lives, men and women and children; a sanctioned, legalistic murder. Of course, these activists did not shape policy. That was a job for higher-ups (e.g., Ivan Ilchenko): – Who were these people that went searching the houses?

ivan dmytrovych: Locals, but they were sent by the regional

administration.

The interviewees of the project could not possibly have known those people orchestrating the terror in distant cities and so they were rarely mentioned. If distant figures were mentioned, it was mostly without direct knowledge and based on conjecture. Even the “Dean of Evil,” Joseph Stalin, is only sporadically mentioned in the interviews. The study participants talked about the people they witnessed doing the stealing, in many cases people they knew.

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From a peasant perspective, the holodni roky [the hungry years], began immediately, as soon as the activists could perform their tasks. All food was taken, not just bread and grain, but grandma’s peach preserves in the kitchen pantry, as well as mama’s jars of pickles stored in the cold room adjacent to the house. Also removed from the cold room were potatoes and onions and other vegetables, as well as the jars of finger-sized sausages made usually by fathers and sons, in which the meat was preserved for consumption during the coming winter in large clear glass jars full of salo (salt-pork) as a preservative. Eggs and milk were seized and likely wound up in the homes of the activists and kolhosp officials, as did, I suspect, much or even most of the rest of the confiscated food. Most of the grain was apparently sent along to kolhosp and party officials. Interviewees could not possibly have known what happened to their food after it was taken, but my suspicions were theirs as well. In addition to confiscating all foodstuffs, the activists took most of a family’s clothing, leaving them only the oldest clothes. The activists apparently took most of this stolen clothing to the local market town bazaar where it was sold or bartered, with the money presumably pocketed by the activists or perhaps split with kolhosp officials. This created a bizarre effect on the marketplace. Used clothing became one of the most important items sold or traded on the bazaar throughout the 1930s. During and after the famine clothing flooded the bazaars, so much had been stolen and so many people had either died or were dispossessed, and it remained a bazaar staple until at least the Second World War. To my knowledge, there was never a time before and never a time since when such a glut of used clothing was available in the bazaars and small-town marketplaces of rural Ukraine. Almost no one could purchase new clothing as they had no money. Making clothing at home was essentially impossible, especially in the early years of collectivization and throughout the famine. The looms were silent and sewing could not take place as there was no material to sew and no thread with which to work. All craftsmen not conscripted into an artil (a craft collective described in detail in chapter 7) ceased work as they had been conscripted into the ranks of the kolhospnyky and outside work was usually not allowed as it took away people’s work time on the kolhosp. All singing, all weddings, as well as all outdoor or processional gatherings ceased to exist for many years. During the early years of collectivization, kolhosp officials would not allow them because they took time away from labor on the kolhosp. Later, the Holodomor eliminated people in large numbers, and along with them, forms of rituals and entertainment. These events and gatherings are discussed in detail in chapter 7. Many interviewees provided striking and moving accounts of this catastrophe. This chapter presents the opinions of interviewees concerning possible reasons why the Holodomor took place, descriptions of the harvests of these

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years, accounts of some of the things people were forced to eat at the time, and general viewpoints of the hardships and horrors of the great famine of 1932-33. Several interviewees also made brief mention of the regime-induced famines of 1921–23 (Soviet-wide) (e.g., Maria Voitenkova) and 1947 (especially but not only in the western regions of Ukraine) (Liubov Drobchak, Yevhenia Klishchuk, Ivan Panych, and Paraska Smola). Those voicing an opinion as to why the Holodomor took place for the most part held the view that the state purposely engineered the famine. Although this opinion was widely held, most of the interviewees were less sure as to the reason or reasons why the state might want to undertake such an action. The one fact that most interviewees who discussed the famine agreed upon, was that the primary reason the famine occurred when it did was that representatives of the state confiscated nearly all food and private stocks from people’s homes and purposely left them to starve (Varvara Pyvovar, Maria Kozar, Mykhailo Ivanchenko, Ivan Roman, Mykola Sokyrko, Oleksii Syniuk, Ivan Ilchenko, Nadia Onyfriichuk, Mykyta Nadezha). Mykhailo Ivanchenko and others said that in addition, the seed needed for planting the next year’s crop was gathered and hauled away. The special brigades, the Komsomol activists/buksiry as well as (in a few regions) the “red broom” were responsible for these acts. Few interviewees felt that the confiscation of food and seed stocks to famine levels was not done purposely, although to what end only a few could address. Even some of those who were then sympathetic to the socialist system admitted to what happened. Others felt that the famine was engineered in order to drive people into the kolhosp system (Motria Rohova, Andrii Zaiets). Mykyta Nadezha, one of the first traktoristy (tractor drivers) in the Kharkiv region, was in general sympathetic to the collectivization movement. As for the famine, he felt that tse vzhe dilo politicheske [“It was a political matter.”], a comment here conforming to the actual definition of “genocide” [henotsyd] as described by Raphael Lemkin in 1953, but without using the word itself. Nadezha disagreed with those who believed that the famine was created to drive people into the kolhosp system: No, that’s not the reason. This was Stalin’s work. He destroyed many Bolsheviks: Kirov, Postyshev. He killed them. Perhaps this [the famine] was done with a similar purpose – to exterminate the people so they would not start a revolution, something like this. This is a political case and very hard to crack … Now no one can prove why exactly Stalin did this; he killed the Bolsheviks, so they would not replace him. You can see the famine in a similar way. He decreased the population in the nation so people would live in fear. (see Appendix 5)

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Other interviewees also felt that it was carried out in order to reduce the population of Ukraine. Oleksii Syniuk: “The usurper Koba [Stalin’s nickname] and Molotov were destroying the Ukrainian people.” A number of interviewees said that they did not know why the grain and food were confiscated by the state. Hanna Buhaiova: – Why was this famine created? hanna yukhymivna: Who knows? The harvest was good, and there was grain, but they didn’t let us have it. Why they didn’t give it to us, I don’t know. Nadia Onufriichuk noted that she didn’t know why the famine occurred, but “Someone did this on purpose. They installed control towers and watched to make sure children did not pick the ears of grain.” One respondent, incredibly, implicated the villagers themselves. Petro Kushnir, an activist in the 1930s and later, ventured an obviously contrived account: that the famine occurred because fields were planted with too few seeds in 1932 (as if families who had been farming for many generations would deliberately do this), and that too few people came to work on the kolhosp to make it a viable enterprise, which in some locales might have been true. Several interviewees noted that there was no weather-related or crop-related reason for the famine. The weather had been good, and the harvest was bountiful (Ivan Ilchenko, Nadia Onufriichuk, Hanna Buhaiiova, Maria Kozar, Melanka Novak). Returning to the interview with Mykyta Nadezha: – What did the people think was the cause of the famine? mykyta mykolaiiovych: They thought that it was due to atmospheric causes. There was a propaganda campaign saying that this was the year of a poor harvest and a drought, so there was no grain to harvest … We had Communists in the village, but who could openly tell me that it was wrong? But Mykola Sokyrko puts it differently: “People understood that it was on purpose. Do you think people are stupid?” Yevdokia Dyshliuk notes that pupils were taught in school to praise the confiscation of foodstuffs, but she adds that the authorities “didn’t need to do it the way they did. They imposed famine on the people and sent away the grain. There was even a poem: ‘Red carts keep coming. The peasants keep delivering grain to the factory workers.’ This was in our primer at school. My brother went to school and learned this poem.” Only one interviewee said that the famine did not occur. Nykyfir Poberezhnyk: “We didn’t have a famine, and not one person died in 1933. If they had confiscated

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the grain, there would have been no harvest. But we had such brigades that went around the houses just for show.” In other words, according to him, there was no famine and the brigades going from house to house were just for show, pretending to repress villagers. Another disingenuous statement came from Petro Kushnir, an activist in the years of rural terror: We had a famine in 1932 and 1933 because the fields were not sown. Not everyone had the necessary attitude to work. They thought maybe it [the kolhosp] was temporary. – So, the kolhosp fields were not sown? petro ivanovych: Right, the kolhosp fields. Then in 1934 they started sowing once again and in 1935 there was a harvest. In addition, there were confused ideas expressing very unlikely scenarios. Nadia Onufriichuk, when asked why she thought the famine occurred, answered: “I don’t know [why] because there was a good grain harvest that year. They used to say that the grain was confiscated on purpose and dropped into the sea.” Although it is impossible to reconstruct now, rumors must have abounded, and there had to have been confusion over why Soviet power would kill them purposely and in such huge numbers. A few interviewees claimed that while famine raged near them it was not in their village, or on their kolhosp or radhosp, or in their family, etc. For example, Natalia Semeniaka said that on her radhosp no one died, but people around them did. Her father had come to visit her family. She and her husband lived in radhosp barracks some distance from her natal village. Her father left their barracks to go home. The father apparently had to go a considerable distance. He was already weak from hunger, and the husband asked him, you won’t die on the way, will you? The father answered no. But in fact, he did die on his way home. Melanka Novak similarly claimed that their family did not suffer famine. Their father in 1933 bought a cow (she did not explain how this unlikely event occurred) and they had milk, which saw them through the famine. She claimed that they hid the cow in their barn in order to keep her from being stolen. This is an extremely unlikely scenario, because barns were the first stop for the brigades confiscating everything. Maria Voitenkova also said that her family did not suffer famine, listing four reasons why. First of all, they retained their cow. Second, they were still young and did not yet have children to feed. Next, they were on the main road leading into Kharkiv and were able to sell something there. Lastly, her husband had a factory job in Kharkiv from which he earned a bit of money and food. Interviewees could not possibly have known how many people died in their locale. Until independence in 1991, you would put yourself in physical peril from

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state agencies for asking such questions. By the time of this project (1993–95), when Teklia Nadezha was asked [by the author] in her interview how many perished in her locale, she answered candidly, openly and at once: Trokhy ne vsi (“Not quite everyone”), an extraordinary thing to say, and it would seem to me, very possibly true for her locale. It was necessary to gather the dead. Bodies could be anywhere. People died in village roads or in the fields, under fences, in schools, railway stations, and in main thoroughfares, but thousands of people and perhaps millions, died of starvation in their homes, often in their beds from which they had become too weak to stand up and leave. The bodies of the elderly and children seem to have usually been found in the home, or under it or next to it. Leaving the dead where they lay was unsafe. Typhus and other diseases were epidemic in some locales, killing thousands. Someone had to go from house to house looking for corpses, then pile the corpses onto carts and take them to mass graves for burial. Surviving kolhospnyky performed this task themselves. Special brigades were formed and were supervised by kolhosp or Komsomol officials. Varvara Pyvovar provides a nightmarish account of her rides with her father to count and to pick up the bodies of the village dead, seeing bodies swollen with fluid and gas from death. She was ten years old at the time. Mykola Sokryko was ordered by the head of the kolhosp to go through the village and examine each house, counting the dead and identifying them as much as possible. He said that he went to two or three houses, but could not continue, so sickened was he by the sight. When he told the head of the kolhosp that he refused this work, the kolhosp head asked: Ty shcho, proty sovietskoii vlasti (“So, you’re opposed to Soviet power?”). Oleksii Syniuk described a bitter scene, difficult to believe for its sheer cruelty, but unfortunately likely true. He was a groom for horses and oxen on the kolhosp in 1932–33. He and other grooms were told to hitch up a wagon and ride through the village to collect the dead. In a particular home, they found an elderly couple. The man was dead and was taken out and loaded onto the cart. The woman was not yet dead. When the boys began to pick her up to load her, she protested that she was still alive. Someone answered her: Shcho, my zavtra po tebe budem iikhat'? [“So, what? We’re supposed to come back for you tomorrow?”]. They loaded her into the cart as well and presumably took her away for interment with the rest, presumably in one of the mass graves that were common in many locales. Arkhyp Dzhyrma described these mass graves as did Motria Rohova, Varvara Pyvovar, Nadia Onufriichuk and others. Oleksii Syniuk continued his account: “My father used to deliver food and told this story. ‘Some man came to pick up the bodies of the dead children. [At one house] he took four out and pulled one more by her legs from underneath the bed, but she was alive. Still, he took her.’ They would bury some people alive. He looked into the [mass] grave, and the people were moving. Horrendous.”

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In order to stay alive, it was necessary to eat all manner of items that a person would not normally eat. In addition to the village dogs and cats, people ate leaves from trees, moss, boiled snails, and grass. They would glean whatever they could from already harvested fields. If they could get them back, they ate the horses and other animals previously confiscated and placed into the kolhosp herds. Ivan Roman described some of the things that he and his family ate during the famine: crow’s eggs, magpie eggs, and birds: Also, we used to catch sparrows in winter and eat them. If we happened to catch a wild dove, that was like a holiday. – How did you eat it? ivan samsonovych: That was great meat! The soup was very good from it. We used to catch them right by the barn. We would spread out the net, and a sparrow or a dove would walk into it. They ate young leaves from linden trees and gathered moss and made it into a kind of pancake which they fried [probably on water] and ate. Nadia Onufriichuk also described eating leaves. She hoarded whatever bread she could earn or find and fed this to her children. She survived by eating leaves from trees. Ivan Roman further related the fate of a neighbor who, during the famine, took back his family’s horse from the kolhosp. He killed it, then butchered it and he and his family cooked and ate some of the fresh meat. He was arrested and sentenced to prison. He tried to escape from the railroad wagon on the way to the prison. He fell, and his legs were cut off by the train and he died. This interviewee also described the deaths of other neighbors, a man and his son who had gone to the kolhosp fields after harvest. They were trying to gather some straw from the remnants left behind after the harvest. Activists from the kolhosp saw them and attacked them, beating them with their hands and clubs. They killed the father instantly. The son escaped but disappeared, was never heard from again and was presumably murdered and buried elsewhere. Mykola Sokyrko saw a cart being driven through his village with dead bodies in the back. He wanted to see where the people were being buried, so he took a short-cut to the cemetery. On his way there: I saw a dead horse on the road. The people made so much fuss over it. Each was trying to get [i.e., carve off] a piece of the carrion. He continued with what he saw when a student in Kyiv: terrible things were happening there, too. People from nearby villages would come to the city because in the city people got four hundred grams of bread,

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and the working people got eight hundred grams or so. Mothers with children sat next to houses begging for food. Fedora Hatsko describes a desperate situation with children that was apparently common in the famine years. There was a rich man who was dispossessed at the time; his mill was confiscated. In 1933 they left their children at the station and the militia took them. His wife came home, became ill with tuberculosis, and died soon. – Why did she leave her children? fedora yukhymivna: Because of the famine. – Was she the one who left the children? fedora yukhymivna: No, she and her husband did. Many people abandoned their children where they could be picked up by the authorities and fed; the authorities had some food. – Were her children saved? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. … – Did many people abandon their children at the time? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, all of Ukraine did. It was horrible. The most terrifying accounts of searches for food sources during the famine belong to descriptions of cannibalism. In the project, Paraska Bezkorovaina, Halyna Lazarenko, Mykhailo Ivanchenko, and Olena Kyrychenko all provided such accounts. Bezkorovaina related three separate incidents of cannibalism, at least one of which she evidently witnessed. Paraska Bezkorovaina: – Were there cases of cannibalism during the famine? paraska mytrofanivna: It’s scary, but yes. When Nastia’s uncle died, he was not buried right away. In the morning they took a look at the body and saw that he was cut up. It was so scary, and no one went looking for traces. There were two sisters. [One sister], Marusia was slaughtered, and there was something cooked. At night, the militia came and took that flesh. A nephew came from the village. He had been slaughtered too and put into a bag. Halyna Lazarenko also related several accounts of cannibalism, among others the murder and eating of children: My mother went to one neighbor whose wife had died and who had many children. My mother gave him some millet. He says, “Odarka, is that you?” Then he took an ax and went after her. She started running from the house

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and through the garden where she saw children’s heads and bones. My mother used to say, “I shall never forget this as long as I live.” That neighbor had already killed his children before her visit. He used to dig bodies out, cut them up, and boil the flesh. He had lost his mind. Olena Kyrychenko relates how a neighbor boy discovered two human heads on the property of one Yosyp. As the news spread through their part of the village, she and her mother went to see for themselves: He was being killed by his neighbors. They used sticks to beat him. They took a pot from the oven and saw children’s hands in the pot, so they put them into a box and took the box to the cemetery. Then they took the clothes from the attic. Yosyp would kill a person and put the clothes in the attic. The people were beating him, covering him in tar, and burning him. He begged to be spared. Then they dropped him alive into a well. He admitted to cannibalism. Mykhailo Ivanchenko paints a picture of the village during the famine, an insane world where pretenses of normalcy were maintained even as people’s stomachs swelled up and others dropped dead in their tracks. School was one of those pretenses in many locales. He noted that children went to school each day and were fed a gruel or stew of some sort, which apparently was not sufficiently nutritious because children literally died in their seats during lessons. Varvara Pyvovar said that in a school in her locale, children were fed some concoction, it was not clear what, and they all died from it. It was apparently toxic. Ivan Roman noted that in his locale children were taught in school that everything was fine, there was no famine. Nearly half the people in his village died. Paraska Smola said that she and her sister attended school during the famine. As they sat there starving, they were taught to sing songs glorifying the Soviet state: They made us sing a song, “Who needs the nursery? All the friends-workers, all the workers” [sung in Russian]. They made us sing it to earn some soup. You would sing, but it was hard to open your mouth because you were so hungry. We would walk back home bloated and hungry and gather bones on the way. Paraska Smola continued: Many people, men and women, died during the famine. Olianko and Fedora Pohodykha lost all of their children. Many people died in 1933. My younger sister and I survived in the nursery.

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Varvara Pyvovar described events in her village. Her description below is made in the third person about unnamed people, so I make no claim as to the veracity of the statement. This account might belong to the gossip about the tragedy that was rampant in this generation, or it might be true: A little one would go there [nursery kitchen] with a bowl and a spoon, and on his way back [to the table] would hunch over and die. A mother went out looking around for old, rotten potatoes in the soil. She found a green potato and made soup out of it. [She fed it to her son]. When she did so, her child’s face broke out in green pimples. She came back home and found her son dead next to the house. She dug him into the ground, and that was that. Motria Rohova also discussed nurseries: – Were there nurseries during the famine? motria hryhorivna: Yes. – Were the children fed better there? motria hryhorivna: What did they have to feed them? They used to give them [the nurseries] some flour to make halushky [boiled dough]; then the nursery closed down because there was nothing to eat. Entire families perished from famine. Olena Ponomarenko: – Did your father want to join the kolhosp?

olena lymentiiva: No, he didn’t. He died during the famine, as did my

stepmother and my sister. Then my brother lived on his own, and his four children died [then he and his wife died as well]. My other brother had a wife from another village. She used to go there to get something to eat, so she was able to feed her three children. They survived, but my sister-in-law died. Mykola Sokyrko So many people died. Do you see that piece of land over there without any houses? [Before the famine] three families lived there. All of them died of starvation. Motria Rohova In some households every single person died. There was one family with an old man, his son, three sons of that son and two daughters, and only one daughter survived.

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Ivan Roman There was also the household of the Pistun family of six: father, mother, and four children. Three girls died of famine right away and were buried in the forest, near the khutir. The remaining son and his father were beaten to death by kolhosp activists, and the mother went insane, locked herself into a shed and perished, as described earlier. Ivan Roman continued with an unusual account about orphaned or abandoned children: I also saw dead children, the so-called street children [bezpryzornyki]. They would die in the slag heaps from carbon monoxide poisoning. The slag was hot, and they used to go there to get warm. They were so weak they would fall asleep and die on the spot. In addition to the descriptions above, there were several miscellaneous accounts of life during the famine that deserve special mention. Ivan Roman described the deathly quiet in the village during the famine. Nearly half his village had died. The chickens, roosters, ducks, and geese were all long gone. The horses, cows, pigs, and oxen had been confiscated and moved to the kolhosp. The dogs and cats had already been eaten. Birds were caught whenever possible. There were no animals left in the village. Where their sounds of life had formerly been a normal part of the background noise of the village, now there was only quiet. Also, people before the famine were constantly singing. During, and to a large extent after the famine for many years, no one sang. There were no children shouting and playing in the street. The normal active aural life of the village had been replaced by the quietude of mass death. Motria Rohova noted that during the famine her mother was a baker of bread that was sent on to factories. She was not allowed to take any of her product home to help feed her family. When the interviewee (a girl at the time) found that her legs were beginning to swell up from malnutrition, she moved to a camp that was pitched in the fields of the kolhosp. Establishing such a camp assured the kolhospnyk of at least a minimum amount of income from labor, even at the height of the famine. This was because at such a camp those working in the fields received a token meal. The interviewee remembers that once, when there was supposed to be a pea soup, the kolhospnyky would not wait for the soup to be cooked, but took the pea pods, broke them open, and ate them raw, such was their hunger. Those peas were apparently the extent of their token meal that day. Ustyna Osadcha left her village in 1932 to work in Odesa where, she says, there was not a famine. “When I came to Odesa, I thought that I had made it to heaven

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– there was as much bread as you wished on the table.” She returned to her village in the Cherkasy region several months later at the height of the famine. There she found a desperate situation where family members sometimes killed one another over food. One boy, she related, stole the family calf and together with other boys killed it and ate it. Someone (the interviewee does not say who), possibly from the family, killed him for this and buried him next to the river. The interviewee also described wholesale abandonment by fathers of their families, leaving them behind supposedly to find work elsewhere, then never sending money or food back – essentially leaving them to die: We had another family nearby where the husband left his wife and children to save his life. Nobody visited them. She was found dead in the field and the children hunched over her – all dead. Paraska Liubychnkivska described another desperate situation. A hungry neighbor boy was begging for food. He had nothing to sell or barter in exchange but told her that he would invite her to his future wedding when he had one if she would give him something to eat now. Andrii Dotsenko was in the army in 1932–33. After hearing about the famine back home, he applied for leave, which at first was not granted. He eventually secured a leave and returned home, bringing flour to his mother and sister, likely saving them from starvation. A sadly ironic description of the famine was provided by Yevdokia Dyshliuk, who said that her parents gladly joined the kolhosp. They wanted to, but because virtually everything they owned was confiscated by the kolhosp, they were no longer able to generate enough food or earn enough cash to stay alive. Her parents died in the famine “because they [the authorities] took everything to the last crumb and sent it away somewhere.” So, a couple who deliberately and purposely wanted to become a part of the socialist agrarian system, and joined, was killed by the very same system that they were a part of and admired. Finally, Ustyna Osadcha from the Cherkasy region provides a defiant statement. This sentiment is widespread throughout rural Ukraine, and this viewpoint is not original with this interviewee: When someone tells me, that we should unite [unclear, either with Russia or with a new ussr ] and then we’ll have everything as it was earlier, as opposed to the current poverty [of the early-to-mid 1990s], I say “Birds have nothing to eat in the winter and they survive. Take away that same bird’s freedom and put it into a cage and give it food and water, and it will die. It is better to die hungry than to live in chains.” [krashche vmerty holodnomu, nizh but v nevoli].

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i n te rv i ew e xce rp ts : famine/ hol od omor Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Were there cases of cannibalism during the famine? paraska mytrofanivna: It’s scary, but yes. When Nastia’s uncle died, he was not buried right away. In the morning they took a look at the body and saw that he was cut up. It was so scary, and no one went looking for traces. There were two sisters. [One sister] Marusia was slaughtered, and there was something cooked. At night, the militia came and took that flesh. A nephew came from the village. They slaughtered him too and put him in a bag. Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiiova (Kharkiv region) – Why was this famine created? hanna yukhymivna: Who knows? The harvest was good, and there was grain, but they didn’t let us have it. Why they didn’t give it to us, I don’t know. Hanna Petrivna Honcharenko (Kharkiv region)

hanna petrivna: My father died in 1933. – Did he die of starvation?

hanna petrivna: No. He had bilious fever. He caught it for the second time, and it took him.

Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – Did many people die of starvation in your village?

arkhyp yakovych: Ohhh. If you walk with me over there, I’ll show you

the cemetery behind the pond. If only it were one death. Old man Ivan used to take bodies there every day. If he dug a grave, he’d put two or three bodies into it. When he covered them with soil, sometimes a knee, a heel, or an elbow would show. They kept covering the body parts with soil. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – Did your parents go to the kolhosp?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes, they did.

– Were their possessions taken away – the field and the horses? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes. – Did your father worry? Did he resist?

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yevdokia mytrofanivna: No, he did want to join. It’s that they [author-

ities] didn’t need to do it the way they did. They imposed famine on the people and sent away the grain. There was even a poem: “Red carts keep coming. The peasants keep delivering bread to the factory workers.” This was in our primer. My brother went to school and learned this poem. I didn’t go to school because I had nothing to wear, and we lived in a khutir five kilometers away from the school in the village. I used to weave fabrics, sew, and embroider bed sheets, and in exchange someone would buy me a shawl from the “speculators.” Then my father didn’t fulfill the bread production requirements of the third category. How could he make it if they had already taken all the grain away? So, they died of famine because [the authorities] took everything to the last crumb and sent it away somewhere. Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region)

andrii hryhorovych: I served in the army in 1932–33. At present, they are drafted at the age of eighteen, but at my time in 1932 I was twenty-two. I served nearby in Okhtyrka in the 68th rifle regiment. During the famine, my mother and my younger sister were still in the village. They were writing letters, but I never got them. I worked in the command unit and there was a quarantine of six months. All the letters were destroyed. Sometimes, I’d get notices of someone’s death. I would come to the chief of staff with this letter and ask to be released home. He said, “We’ll write to the local authorities, and they will provide help.” But there was no help. Then finally I was released for a few days. I went to a politotdel [political – read party – administrative division]. We didn’t have a regional administration anymore because it was moved out in 1930 when Khotinsky region was removed as an administrative district and the territory administratively merged with Bilopillia. Here in Khotin, the radhosp introduced a new position – the head of politotdel. So, I went to see the head of this party administrative district and wrote a document requesting thirty-two kilograms of flour. With that document, I went to the mill and got 32 kilograms of flour which I took and gave to my mother and sister. Then I went back to my army unit. Liubov Davydivna Drobchak (Vinnytsia region)

liubov davydivna: In 1947, there was a major famine – no corn, not a

crumb of bread, nothing. I was seven years old at the time. I remember how my now deceased mother cried and prayed when Easter came. There was a field near our house, and the people were planting peas. My mother said, “Let’s go collect some of those peas.” We were afraid. My mother prepared

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pockets in her dress and dressed me in the same dress, with the pockets. We went and gathered those sprouted peas from the soil into our four pockets and brought them home. It was perhaps about half a bucket, all of them sprouted. A neighbor came and brought an egg and a piece of bread. My mother didn’t eat that egg, she just smelled it. We were four children, so she divided the egg between us. Then my older sister and I went to pick sorrel in the Pokutynski valleys. We brought it home, and our mother made a soup out it. This was our Easter dinner. I remember this dire and sorrowful Easter. Maria Petrivna Voitenkova (Kharkiv region) – Was there a famine in the village? maria petrivna: Yes, it happened as soon as I got married in 1921. I didn’t have children at the time, so we made it. Then in 1933 we had another famine, and people died. In our village, there weren’t so many deaths. We live close to the road to Kharkiv so we could go to Valky and get some food there. I had a cow at the time, and my husband used to bring something from Kharkiv because he worked there. This famine didn’t impact us very strongly. Both of my sisters came to my house to get some food. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Why was there a famine in 1933? andrii solomonovych: You know, they created it back then. They didn’t give people any grain so that they would join the kolhosp. People had nothing to eat and were falling as pears fall from a tree. That was when they started joining the kolhosp. When everyone had joined and started working there, they would get two kg of bread per workday, sometimes 700 grams per workday. For example, I got 1.3 kg of bread for 1.5 workdays. Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region) – Did much change when the kolhospy were introduced and your father came back? mykhailo hryhorovych: He came back because we asked him to. I wrote a letter because I was alone. There were cases of cannibalism in the village. I went to school, and we used to make a fire and boil snails in school. Children would die during the lessons. My mother was swollen and bedridden. One of my sisters was already dead, and the other was next to my mother. In the spring of 1933, my mother was unable to walk. Then they started gathering us at the village square. We, the children that survived, were

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gathered into the house of a man who had been previously dispossessed and deported and we were fed some lentil soup. A great many children died. My father came back and became the chief horse keeper. On his way back, he got out at Tsvitkovo station to drink some hot water, and the train left for Khrestynivka with his luggage and the bread and lard in it, so he came home empty-handed. I was a schoolboy at the time and cried a great deal when he told me that he had Franko’s fairy tales [Ukrainian writer Ivan Franko, 1856-1916] in that lost luggage. As the chief horse keeper, he had authority in the village, but the horses were dying just like the people. You understand? So that the horses wouldn’t fall, people use to suspend them. We started eating horse meat. My father started bringing it home along with garlic sausage; we had garlic. I still remember the smell of horse sweat. Those horses saved our lives. The Kazakhs ride a horse for about twenty km in order to make it sweat. That is when the meat is good. We didn’t know this, but we were saved nonetheless. Then people became stupefied – how can I put it? They were psychologically traumatized, to some extent, by the famine. Our seed supply was taken away and people were doomed to starvation. I remember how they searched the house and confiscated the produce. They would poke holes in the ovens and the walls with a stake. They took our bag of beans. My mother walked around crying, and the people were stunned. Then they calmed down in the kolhosp. The school started sending us to harvest kuzka [Taraxacum kok-saghyz, commonly known as the Kazakh dandelion and used to produce rubber] in the beet fields in the spring. If you harvested a bottle of it, you’d get a candy as an encouragement. People started getting back on their feet. When the grain ripened in 1933, people would pick the wheat ears. One woman was sent to prison for five years for doing so, and she never came back. Ivan Dmytrovych Ilchenko (Kharkiv region) – Why was there a famine in 1933? ivan dmytrovych: That year the harvest was very good, and the famine was created by Stalin on purpose. – Did you know about this? ivan dmytrovych: Swollen bodies were lying in the park in Kharkiv, and in the morning the cars would come to take them away as well as those without signs of life. In the city, all the people were receiving a paiok [here, a small amount of land, generally for a garden]. In our region many people died of starvation. They [authorities] would come to my house twice a month. We were hungry, but our legs were not swollen. Prior to this, they came to every house and demanded that the people give them all the grain they had. A brigade used to go from house to house. Some woman had a pot with beans,

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and they took it, too. – Who were these people that went searching the houses? ivan dmytrovych: The locals, but they were sent from the regional administration. Olena Pylypivna Kyrychenko (Cherkasy region)

olena pylypivna: I was nine years old. My mother and I sat down on

the floor to eat and we spread a cloth. This was in the summer. A woman neighbor came in with her two daughters and asked for some food. My mother invited them to eat with us. We had a cow, so we had milk, kasha, and borshch. They ate with us and left; this was during the famine. They say that the next day Olona went to Yosyp’s house with her girls but never came back. We didn’t know that he was a cannibal. How did we find out? He had a wife and a handicapped son, and they were gone, too. One of his neighbors sent her son to ask him for some yeast for borshch. He came running back and said, “Mom, there are two human heads there.” She went to see. Yosyp was strong even though he had a bad leg. We had a hired-on woman [naimyt], so I went with her to see. He was being killed by his neighbors. They used sticks to beat him. They took a pot from the oven and saw children’s hands in the pot, so they put them [human remains] into a box and took the box to the cemetery. Then they took the clothes from the attic. Yosyp would kill a person and put the clothes in the attic. The people were beating him, covering him in tar, and burning him. He begged to be spared. Then they dropped him alive into a well. He had admitted to cannibalism. Yevhenia Oleksandrivna Klishchuk (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember the famine?

yevhenia oleksandrivna: Yes, I do. It was in 1933 and 1947. I don’t

know how I managed to save my children. So many deaths around; it was so scary. I had two children – a son and a daughter. I did what I could. I would go to Zapadna to exchange grain. Thank God we have food to eat now. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Why was there a famine in 1933?

maria pylypivna: They took everything; they robbed us. The harvest was very good in 1932. – What did people eat? maria pylypivna: What did they eat? The leftover potatoes. Some people

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had some money left, perhaps. They [the authorities] confiscated everything down to the last shell. If they saw some beans in a pot, they would take them. They made sure you had nothing left. Many people died. We survived because we had a cow. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region)

petro ivanovych: During this time, they sent the so-called “Twenty-Five Thousanders” [urban activists] and they were responsible for setting up the kolhosp. We had a famine in 1932 and 1933 because the fields were not sown. Not everyone had the necessary attitude to work. They thought maybe it was temporary. – So, the kolhosp fields were not sown? petro ivanovych: Right, the kolhosp fields. Then in 1934 they started sowing once again and in 1935 there was a harvest. In 1936–37 they recovered to the pre-famine level: a landowner used to harvest 1,600 kg from a desiatyna that he owned, and he would harvest from the kolhosp land as much. In 1938 there was enough grain and potatoes in the kolhosp. Prior to 1938, the pay was administered at the end of the year and the days worked were marked in the register. During a meeting of agrarian leaders of the oblast [region] in 1938 (I attended it), it was agreed to draft instructions to pay people according to their productivity. This document was drafted, and from the year 1938 people have been paid according to their productivity: whoever worked harder and produced more earned more. Labor was encouraged. If you exceeded the goals, you got an extra percentage of the wages. I, for instance, worked in the pigsty, and all the time… – Was this before the war? petro ivanovych: Yes, before the war. Halyna Dmytrivna Lazarenko (Poltava region) – Tell us about the famine of 1933. halyna dmytrivna: It was 1933. I worked in the Donbas. When I came to the bazaar, all of Ukraine was there: a lot of children and a woman. I gave people bread, gave them what I had. Nearby people were dying. This is how it was in our village: a cart would go around collecting bodies. Sometimes they would even pick up people who were still alive. I used to send my mother parcels with food, but we agreed that no one should know that they were from me. Otherwise, people could kill her because they were so hungry. For example, my mother went to one neighbor whose wife died and who had many children. My mother gave him some millet. He goes, “Odarka, is this

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you?” Then he took an ax and went after her. She started running from the house through the garden where she saw children’s heads and bones. My mother used to say, “I shall never forget this as long as I live.” That neighbor had already killed his children before her visit. He used to dig bodies out, cut them, and boil the flesh. He had lost his mind. “Aunt Odarka, the swallows are flying around. Catch one and boil it for me. My mother was taken away.” My mother couldn’t give anyone food without spreading the news that she had food to give. One time my mother wrapped pastries and bread into a cloth. She took the cloth and underneath it was a woman’s breast. That was our neighbor; he died of starvation. A cart would go around: “Is there anyone else?” And someone would bring out a [body of a] child. A great many people died in our village. My brother was evicted from his home by kolhosp and Komsomol activists and chased out into the cold with a baby that was two months old. He barely saved himself and ran away so they wouldn’t kill him. They took everything they could. Paraska Ivanivna Liubychankivska (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember the famine? paraska ivanivna: The famine was major in 1932–33. People’s bodies were swollen, and many died, but this was in other villages. In our village the famine was not so pronounced and not many people died. Only Shtefan Riabenky died. Everyone else was swollen, but survived, thank God. I know that many people died in Sadkivtsi; they were poorer there. Our people had a bit of land near the field. That land was not taxed, so we survived because of it. In other villages, people were very poor. They would bring whatever they had to other people’s houses to exchange for food. I got an icon from a woman from Sadkivtsi. I gave her two buckets of potatoes for it. One time, Petro, Buniv’s son, came; he was twelve years old and all swollen. He said, “Please, give me something to eat. I will invite you to my [future] wedding if you give me something to eat now.” I said, “Child, I hope you feel better first.” I gave him some bread. There was also Ivan Apaty whose family suffered greatly from the famine. I used to bake bean and potato bread. Just as soon as I put this dough in the oven, this guy came in and wanted to take the dough. I said, “Don’t eat the dough because it’ll make you sick. I’ll give you a piece of bread.” Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha and Teklia Ivanivna Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – Was there a famine in your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: Famine? I don’t know. This is a political affair. – How many people died?

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teklia ivanivna: Not quite everyone. mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a famine in Ukraine. – And in your village?

mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a famine here, too. I was a tractor

driver. People died like flies. Someone would go into a thicket to find last year’s potato or some herbs and would die right there. We used to plow last year’s thickets and we would sometimes plow through the dead bodies there. What could one do with them? No one could bury them properly because all the living ones were swollen and weak. This is a political affair. You must know better that this is what Stalin did. … – What did the people think was the cause of the famine? mykyta mykolaiovych: They thought that it was due to atmospheric causes. There was a propaganda campaign saying that this was a year of a poor harvest and a drought, so there was no grain to harvest. Then the people understood that it had happened only in Ukraine. Not everyone understood the real cause. Some did, but you could not say it directly. You know how Stalin ruled. The people knew who had done this. The politicians and the party members knew. We had Communists in the village, but who could openly tell me that it was wrong? They kept sending the message that it was due to a bad harvest and a drought in Ukraine, and things were different in Russia. Why was it different in Russia if they also had the Soviet regime there? Later on, you could talk openly about this. This was a political affair. This is a very difficult question. – After the famine, did the people come to enlist in the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: Some did. – Someone said the famine was created to make all the people join the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, that’s not the reason. This was Stalin’s work. He destroyed many Bolsheviks: Kirov, Postyshev. He killed them. Perhaps this [the famine] was done with a similar purpose – to exterminate the people so that they would not start a revolution, something like that. This is a political case and very hard to crack. No one has solved it to this day. I am being honest with you. – Was there a working kitchen in the kolhosp at the time? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they prepared food and gave it out little by little. Our heads or chiefs were from the Kubinsky regiment. They were stationed in Chuhuiev, and they gave us (especially the mechanics) grain and bread. There was a time when we had seven tractors and I was by then in the brigade, and the chiefs helped the people. They brought corncobs without the kernels, just the cobs, to the mill. People would boil these cobs in a large pot. It was a very difficult time. Why it happened, I cannot say. Now no one can

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prove why exactly Stalin did this. He killed the Bolsheviks so that they would not replace him. You can see the famine in a similar way. He decreased the population in the nation, so people would live in fear. You could understand it this way, but no one knew for sure. Melanka Yosypivna Novak (Vinnytsia region) – Did you survive the famine, too? melanka yosypivna: We didn’t have a famine. In 1933, my father bought a cow, so we had milk and lard. We kept the cow in a barn, so no one could steal it. My father made a hole in the floor, but they dug through the cellar, got into the barn, and took our flour, grains, and about forty-nine kg of lard. None of us got swollen from hunger, however. Nadia Yakivna Onufriichuk (Vinnytsia region) – Where were you during the famine of 1933? nadia yakivna: I was here. – Did your family starve? nadia yakivna: Yes, very much. My legs were swollen. I used to go to work in the field because they gave us 200 grams of bread per workday. I didn’t eat that bread because I had two children born in 1928 and 1932. I ate leaves where we weeded the cherry trees near the woods, took the bread home for my children to eat, and sang all day. The girls would say, “What do you eat to have the strength to sing?” I told them, “Bread and lard.” That bread was stolen from me about four times. My neighbor said, “You should have eaten it.” But I said, “If I had eaten it, I would have felt guilty. If a hungry person ate it, I feel less guilty.” My husband worked on a construction site. He was a highly skilled metalworker and carpenter. As I walked to the field to work, I’d see a cart every day that carried the bodies and they would load them into a single pit. No one knows where they are buried. – Why do you think this famine happened? nadia yakivna: I don’t know because there was a good grain harvest that year. They used to say that the grain was confiscated on purpose and dropped into the sea. Someone did this on purpose. They installed control towers and watched to make sure children did not pick the ears of grain. – Were those who got caught punished? nadia yakivna: Not punished but taken to court. My friend put a handful of peas into her pocket (she had four children), and the court day was coming up for her. She cried. Her neighbor was a public prosecutor. I went to see him. I cried a great deal and asked him to stand up for her. He called her. What I

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liked was that his children called him “tato” [the Ukrainian word for “dad”]. In our village, if a father was a state servant, the children had to say “papa” [the Russian word for “father/dad.”] So, she said to him, “Come to my house, and if you find anything other than that handful of peas – beets or potatoes – then judge me and shoot me right there.” He did not take her to court. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region)

ustyna yukhymivna: The famine of 1933 began, and I was making dried bread [sukhari, often used to preserve bread] to send home. One hungry family came and ate my sukhari. I decided to go on vacation. I came and saw that the famine was in full swing – the end of 1932, early 1933. I was hired as a pioneer guide at school and given sixteen kg of white flour for a month. We would grate beets, add some flour, and make pancakes. I was in Komsomol, and the Komsomol regional head sent me to Odesa. We were hungry, and my father said, “Go, maybe you will survive.” People were dying; it’s a scary thing to describe. People died, and in the village, you had empty houses all over. When I came to Odesa, I thought that I had made it to heaven – there was as much bread as you wished on the table. I came back home around the harvest time, and I saw how people were dying and begging for bread. Goodlooking young men were lying under the fences and living their last days. My mother was very thin, and all the other people were thin too, but I was plump. I feared that I might get killed because there were cases of cannibalism at the time. A family lived nearby who had a calf. Their son was so hungry that he stole that calf and ate it with his friends. Then he was killed [by whom is not made clear] and buried near the river. People lost their humanity. Parents killed their children without any remorse. We had another family nearby where the husband left his wife and children to save his life. Nobody visited them. She was found dead in the field and the children hunched over her – all dead. When someone tells me that we should join [likely a reference to a reconstituted ussr or Russia] and then we’ll have everything as opposed to the current poverty, I say, “Birds have nothing to eat in the winter and they survive. Put this bird into a cage and give it food and water, and it will die. It’s better to die hungry than to live in chains.” Ivan Vasylovych Panych (Sumy region)

ivan vasylovych: I worked diligently all summer long, so that I would

have enough for the winter, but this was not the case. I made it through the famine in 1933, but nearly died in the 1947 famine. I came back from the army in 1946, worked as a tractor driver in 1947, but there was nothing to eat; I

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barely survived. I was so swollen and had nothing to eat until the harvest. I ate whatever I could – red elderflowers from the forest, beet seeds, and goosefoot – just to survive. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did your father have a profession? varvara ihorivna: No, he didn’t specialize in anything. He joined the kolhosp in 1929; he was forced to. It was being set up in 1928 and started working in 1929. My father was the horse keeper there; there was no church by then. In 1930–33 people started dying because Komsomol activists went from house to house confiscating everything. They were called in the village buksir (pl. buksiry). They searched for grain everywhere – pots in the oven or barrels one would put in a pit in the garden – they searched all over. If they saw two loaves of bread on the table, they would take one and leave one to the family. It was awful. My father would often tell stories about life at that time. We would sit on top of the oven, light an oil lamp, fry the seeds [likely sunflower or pumpkin seeds], and eat them, listening to his stories. They took all the grain. There used to be mills everywhere here, but by this time – not a single one. Those had been the private mills, and they destroyed them all. My father says, “What should I do? Should I join the kolhosp? There’s no land; all the land was confiscated by the state. Where should I go?” So, he went to the kolhosp and was made the horse keeper. At that time, people started swelling from starvation. People started dying, and he was given a cart and a dapple-gray horse. There was a tractor driver by the name of Hrytsko Yosypovych Bublyk. He was rich and didn’t want to join the kolhosp. He told my father to go around the village with the cart to collect the bodies. They dug a large grave. I was visited recently by Chokolenko from Lukomnia and Liudmyla Fedorivna, the head of the village council, and no one knows how many bodies were in that grave. I used to hug my father’s neck, “Dad, I’ll go with you to take a look at the dead” [she was ten years old at the time]. They would carry a woman’s body, so bloated. They’d put about six such bodies on the cart and transport them to the cemetery. There were no ropes to lower the bodies into the grave, so they would just drop them like that – boom! The belly would crack open, and water would flow from the grave. “Step away from the grave!” he’d tell me. I would, and then I’d hang around his neck again and off we went. I wrote down that there were no fewer than 150 bodies. This was during the famine and afterwards. The head of the kolhosp himself was surprised by my memory. I remember them all. Someone would come to us and say, “My wife is dead.” We would come to get the body, but he’d say, “I already put her in the cellar pit and covered her with soil.” Next day, we came to see him again,

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and he says, “My child is dead; I put him next to my wife in the cellar.” I knew their last names and knew who was buried where, so I documented the entire village like that: who was buried in the cellar, who was in the well, who was left lying just like that, and who was even eaten by dogs. This Chokolenko used to say, “We’ll put your name into the Red Book of Ukraine” [an official list of endangered species; this was a cynical joke]. … varvara ihorivna: I was six years old when they [presumably parents] joined the kolhosp. I promise you, it’s indescribable what happened then. They set up a nursery where an old woman was cooking something for them. A little one would go there with a bowl and a spoon, and on his way back would hunch over and die. A mother went out looking around for old, rotten potatoes in the soil. She found a green potato and made soup out of it. When she did so, her child’s face broke out in green pimples. She came back home and found her son dead next to the house. She dug him into the ground, and that was that. Nykyfir Maksymovych Poberezhnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember the famine? nykyfir maksymovych: Yes. We didn’t have a famine, and not one person died in 1933. If they had confiscated the grain, there would have been no harvest. But we had such brigades that went around the houses just for show. Olena Klymentiiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region) – Did your father want to join the kolhosp? olena klymentiiivna: No, he didn’t. He died during the famine, as did my stepmother and my sister. Then my brother lived on his own, and his four children died. My sister-in-law found a job here, but she and her four children died. My brother went to work in construction in order to survive. He became bloated there. One day he came back home, dug out some small potatoes, put the pot into the oven to cook, and died on the spot. My brother, his wife, and four children died. My other brother had a wife from another village. She used to go there to get something to eat, so she was able to feed her three children. They survived, but my sister [in-law] died. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Do you remember the famine?

motria hryhorivna: How could I forget it since I nearly died myself? My

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mother used to bake bread in the bakery for the working people, so she would bring home little bits of dough, bake lipenyky [dough with nothing inside] for us, and split them into little pieces. My legs were swollen. Then the brigade leader gave me a job in a camp in the steppes. I went there; we would boil peapods. We didn’t separate the pods. We ate anything because people were dying of starvation all around. Whoever could work would get some of that broth, and those who were unable to work didn’t get anything to eat. Both men and women were falling. – Did more women or men die? motria hryhorivna: Men died more often than women. Those who worked got one hundred grams of grain per day. Those who didn’t work got nothing. Someone would be walking around and suddenly fall over. Then the body would be taken to Morozivka where they had an open grave and put ten bodies there at a time. In some households every single person died. There was one family with an old man, his son, three sons of that son and two daughters, and only one daughter survived. And no one wanted to dig the graves. They used reins or rope on the horses so that they could be led to the bodies to be picked up. Whatever a person was wearing at the time of death, that was how they would be dropped into the grave – plop! It was horrendous. I remember all this because I was healthy. – You had reed beds nearby? Could you go fishing? motria hryhorivna: Yes, we could, and we had reed beds. We had nets and used to fish that way. In the reeds, we collected sorrel and then we dried it and crumbled its bud clusters to make flour for lipenyky. The husk was not edible; you would be poisoned if you ate it. We had potato skins. We also ate buckwheat chaff. What didn’t we eat at the time! – Was there enough fish in the reed beds? motria hryhorivna: There were fish, but you had to have nets to get at them and you had to wade into the water to place the nets. People also used fishing rods. My father was a fisherman. He used a fishing rod in the summer and scoop nets in the winter. Those who couldn’t fish died. It was a horrific famine. I wish it had never happened. – Were there nurseries during the famine? motria hryhorivna: Yes. – Were the children fed better there? motria hryhorivna: What did they have to feed them? They used to give them some flour to make a dough for boiling or frying [halushky]. Then the nursery closed down because there was nothing to eat. – How was life for the head and the secretary of the kolhosp? motria hryhorivna: They lived. What could the head of the kolhosp do? – Did they die, too? motria hryhorivna: No, they didn’t. Peasants did.

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Ivan Samsonovych Roman (Poltava region)

ivan samsonovych: The search went on for two hours; they turned

everything around and took even the poppy seeds and the beans. Do you understand what it is like for a family to be left without a single grain? For some reason, they didn’t touch the potatoes, and this saved us because we had something to eat in the winter. My father used to bring a paiok [an addition to his wages, probably here a ration packet of produce or grain] and his wages from the factory, so we had something to live on. We were a family of eight. Also, we used to catch sparrows in winter and eat them. If we happened to catch a wild dove, that was like a holiday. – How did you eat it? ivan samsonovych: That was great meat! The soup was very good from it. We used to catch them right by the barn. We would spread out the net, and a sparrow or a dove would walk into it. In the spring, we would gather crow or magpie eggs and fry them. It was very hard to climb so high because the crows make their nests high above. We also ate small nestlings. My father knew plants well, so he told us which ones to eat. I remember we used to eat nettle and dandelions. It was very bitter, but it’s considered a medicinal plant, so it gave us vitamins. We also ate new linden foliage. Those leaves were sweet, and we liked them. Whatever the plant was that our father would show us, we ate it. We would collect algae, dry it, turn it into a powder, and make cookies. Only now I realize how we were able to survive – these plants gave us all the necessary vitamins and elements. Our family didn’t eat cats or dogs. Our neighbor Sukhyna used to go to the soz , and when the famine began, he slaughtered his horse to save the family. This was punishable by imprisonment at the time, so he was arrested and put on the train to prison. He jumped off the train, his legs got cut off, and he died. His family survived though. There was also the household of the Pistun family of six: father, mother, and four children. Three girls died of famine right away and were buried in the forest, near the khutir [an outlying neighborhood]. The remaining son went with his father to pick some small potatoes in the fields. The kolhosp workers caught them there and gave them a beating, especially the father. People used to say that they damaged his liver so badly that he died. The son disappeared. No one saw him after that, and no one knows what happened to him. His mother lost her mind. She was such a beautiful woman, a true Ukrainian beauty: black eyebrows, large eyes. She used to wear a necklace and an ochipok [woman’s head gear]. She lost her mind, left home, and went to live in a shed, where she died. This was the end of the family. Our family was lucky mostly because my father worked at the factory. They used to get a paiok, a salary, and dried beet pulp on Mikoyan’s orders.

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– What did you do with the beet pulp? ivan samsonovych: We ate it – what else?! If you put it in water for some time, it was even tasty. You understand, we were always feeling hungry. You only had one thought – that you wanted to eat – even though we used to go to school diligently and I was a very good student. On the way to school, we would see many bodies. People would walk somewhere and die on their way. One morning, we started out for school and we saw a body next to our barn. He had taken a potato from our barn, and there was still some starch on his lips. One time, my father and I were walking through the woods and heard cries. My father ran there and found a man who was barely breathing. My father brought him home, dug out a grave, and buried him. We still don’t know where that man was from and who he was. I also saw dead children, the so-called street children (bezpryzornyki). They would die in the slag heaps from carbon monoxide poisoning. The slag was hot, and the children would go there to get warm. They were so weak they would fall asleep and die on the spot. We used to fear them because they would often attack us, grab our bags, take out the bread, throw away the bag, and run on. I also saw a dead boy at the bazaar. – Did the people in your village die of famine? ivan samsonovych: In our khutir it was just that family that I told you about, but in the village almost half of the population died. You know, before the famine, people in the village used to sing so loudly, we heard them in our khutir. Then my mother and I would walk there during the famine, and everything was so quiet: there were no people; the backyards were covered in weeds, no fences, no dogs. Dogs were eaten; it was so scary. As we were walking along, my mother would point to a house, “Their whole family died, every one of them.” At school we were told that everything was good. In 1934, we, the Pioneers and the Octobrists, were performing in school, stigmatizing Kirov’s murderers. [Sergei Kirov was Communist Party leader in Leningrad whose assassination in 1934 marked the start of a major purge in the Soviet Union during the 1930s – ed.] – Did the people understand the real cause of the famine? ivan samsonovych: Why not? We, the children, listened to what the adults were saying – this was the main source of information because you could not get anything from the newspapers or the radio back then. – What did people say? ivan samsonovych: They used to say that they [authorities] confiscated everything. The harvest was good, but we were hungry. The Komsomol activists [buksyry] took everything.

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Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Where were you during the famine? natalia hryhorivna: We were in the Khvylivetsky radhosp on the Poltava side. We were not starving. We met some people; Marusia was an outrider, a kind of courier, and there was enough bread. There were beets in the field, and people went to dig them. My husband said to my father, “Stay here, father, and work as a guard, and you won’t starve.” But my father said, “No, son, I’ll go home and make a living fixing the nets for the boys.” So, he left and died in Zarubantsi. Oleksii Ivanovych Syniuk (Poltava region)

oleksii ivanovych: I was a groomsman in the kolhosp stables in 1933, so I received a handful of chaff per day. My mother mixed it with cobs and various leaves and made lipenyky. People were lying outside, and the stronger ones were told, “Yoke a horse and go pickup the old ones who have died.” They came [to a house] and saw that an old man was dead, but that his wife was still alive, moaning. “Come on, woman. You, too.” – “I’m still alive.” – “So, what? We’re supposed to come back for you tomorrow?” And they took the old woman, too. My father used to deliver food and told this story: “Some man came to pick up the bodies of dead children. [At one house] he took four out and pulled one more by her legs from underneath the bed, but she was alive. Still, he took her.” They would bury some people alive. He looked into the [mass] grave, and the people were moving. Horrendous. That usurper Koba [Stalin’s nickname] and Molotov were destroying the Ukrainian people. Paraska Fedotivna Smola (Poltava region)

paraska fedotivna: The potatoes rotted over the winter. We used to wash off the starch, peel the potatoes, and make pancakes. Everything happened. Many people, men and women, died during the famine. Olianka and Fedora Pohodykha lost all of their children. Many people died in 1933. My younger sister and I survived in the nursery. They made us sing a song, “Who needs the nursery? All the friends-workers, all the workers” [sung in Russian]. They made us sing it to earn some soup. You would sing, but it was hard to open your mouth because you were so hungry. We would walk back home bloated and hungry and gather bones on the way. When the grain ripened, my mother would cut the ears. We would crumble, dry, and grate them and make a thin gruel [kandior]. My mother would pour some into one bowl for the two of us. We would eat it all and still feel hungry. In 1946–47 you

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could only get food by stealing. In 1948, a Jew was the new administrator. He gave us bread, and then we started coming back to life. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko (Cherkasy region)

mykola panteleimonovych: In 1933 so many people died. Do you see

that piece of land over there without any houses? [Before the famine] three families lived there. All of them died of starvation. At this end where a nice house stands, there used to live a woman and she died of famine too. I studied in the Art Institute in Kyiv and came home for school breaks. You know, it was a horrible state: I would come from Vilshany and see a cart in the fields carrying something and about fifty people walking behind it. I guessed that they were taking the bodies to the cemetery. I took a shortcut to go there too, and I saw a dead horse on the road. The people made so much fuss over it. Each was trying to get a piece of the carrion. When I was in Kyiv, terrible things were happening there, too. People from nearby villages would come to the city because in the city people got four hundred grams of bread, and the working people got eight hundred grams or so. Mothers with children sat next to houses begging for food. I saw a lot of this as a student. We used to get four hundred grams of bread; it was difficult, too. The soup wasn’t good. They would just boil cucumbers, and the four hundred grams of bread was not enough. I saw how the condemned people walked down Velyka Zhytomyrska street toward the Lukianivska prison – from the city center where the monument to Bohdan Khmelnytsky was – those were the court locations where people were tried, and after court they were escorted down Velyka Zhytomyrska street. I used to walk by and saw it all. A car would transport the old people, and the younger men would walk behind the car, then women with children. One woman was with four children. She carried one in her arms and held the other one by the hand. This was a horror. One old man [being taken to prison] threw himself in front of a tram. I witnessed his death. People flocked to the site. I didn’t see how exactly he was injured, but I know that he died. He knew that very few people survived the Lukianivska prison, so he decided to take his life. – What did people think was the cause of the famine? Was it created on purpose? mykola panteleimonovych: People understood that it was on purpose. Do you think people are stupid? For instance, you would get a couple of kilograms of flour somewhere and you would bake a little something. Then comes a special brigade and takes everything away. Why did they take the last grain and the last kilogram of flour from the person? This was all done on purpose. And everyone understood that these were not our brothers and not our administrators.

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– Later on, did you happen to hear words of repentance from the people who did this? mykola panteleimonovych: No, they were silent about it. I had a friend here, and her father was seemingly a good man, but then he was part of the “red broom” [chervona mitla – brigades that repressed villagers and robbed them with kolhosp encouragement]. They came to my wife’s sister. She said, “They would find a kilogram of flour and take it.” Who permitted them to confiscate the last kilogram of my flour? There were some people in the village who – how should I put it? – would suck up to the authorities and be in favor. My wife’s sister’s husband protested. He was told, “Go search people and confiscate the grain.” And he said, “I won’t go.” He left the village for Dniprelstan and worked there. He was an accountant. I also want to tell you a story about one person. He was the father of my former classmate. He seemed to be a smart man, but he, too, was among the “red broom.” He was one of the people who came to my wife’s sister’s house, took everything, and shouted at me, “What are you standing here for? Go on, show us what you got.” They took the last produce we had. Tell me, what can such a person think? Is this done on purpose or not? Of course, it was on purpose. When I came [home] for a break from school, the head of the village council asked me, “Go and document who died and who survived in this kutok [corner] of the village.” So, I went from house to house; I walked into one house and saw a body with the eyes open. I felt cold shivers running down my spine. I walked into the next house and saw the bodies of two children. I could not go any further. I went to the village council and said, “Here, take your books. I won’t do this anymore.” – “So, you are against Soviet power?” – “No, not against, but my temperament will not allow me to do this. I come in and see a body. You know, I’ve never seen the dead, and suddenly I saw them there.”

5 Kolhosp

th e e c on omi c l i f e of kolhospnyk y Income Derived from the Kolhosp Kolhospnyky earned very little in the early years of collectivization, so little that one can only wonder with admiration at the tenacity they showed in staying alive. Many were able to supplement their meager wages on the kolhosp with cash or products earned from their own efforts (either food products sold on the market or services rendered for cash). However, in the 1930s these efforts were subject to a high rate of taxation, and some of the taxes were so high they negated any success in finding supplemental economic activity. Most kolhospnyky held the new system in contempt and had a very low regard for the policies of the kolhosp (with regard to wages) and of the state (with regard to taxes). The kolhosp paid nearly nothing in wages during the first years. After the famine, the kolhosp began to pay wages, although when exactly and how much varied by locale. Wages were figured on the basis of working days (trudodni): a kolhosp member earned a specific amount for each working day. Working days were assigned by kolhosp officials. If you were in their favor you were assigned more days. If you were out of favor you were assigned fewer days. If you landed on their blacklist, they could keep you from working at all, which in the given instances was the equivalent of being sentenced to death by starvation. According to supposed policy, kolhospnyky were to be paid both with products and a cash wage. The kolhosp was theoretically a collective in which the kolhospnynky were members, having signed over to the kolhosp whatever little land they possessed as well as their few draft animals as well as most of their tools. In practice, they had virtually no say in kolhosp policy and received little or nothing in cash and were paid primarily in grain. Several interviewees stated that in the first two or three years of collectivization they were not paid anything at all (Anastasia Poludenko, Andrii Filatov, Mykhailo Diachenko, Yakiv Zborovsky, Maria Nychyporenko). The latter noted that kolhhospnyky had a grim joke about wages:

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– How much were you paid? maria serhiivna: Paid? We worked for free at the time, for a mark in the records. They [kolhospnyky] used to joke: “There’s a woman sitting on a blanket, counting the workdays; she counted ten days for one workday.” Such were our “earnings.” I’m telling you the truth. According to most interviewees, in-kind wages (products) for labor in the early years of collectivization varied from one hundred grams to one kilogram of grain per day, although this was not paid regularly. Most interviewees note that they were paid in grain only once a year – at the end of the year. They received primarily wheat. Their grain diet before collectivization was quite varied, including oats, barley, wheat, and buckwheat, among other varieties. Maria Voitenkova said that sometimes they received a little bit of corn, but that they were not paid in vegetables, including beets. They received a mishok (s.) [basket] of grain (Mykola Sokyrko) or two mishky (pl.) (Hanna Snurikova) once a year. Most other interviewees did not specify how many mishky they earned, simply stating that they received “very little” (Ivan Ilchenko, Fedora Chub). A mishok was approximately fifty kilograms. In calculating three hundred working days per year at one mishok per year, they earned less than one hundred seventy grams of grain per day. If they received two mishky per year, for three hundred days of work they earned three hundred forty grams of grain per day. The number of days that was worked was crucial to the survival of a family, as was the amount of grain paid per day. Since working days were assigned by officials, a kolhospnyk was dependent upon the graces, good or bad, of kolhosp officials. Andrii Filatov said that one year he was supposed to earn 500 grams of grain per day. At the end of the year, just before they were scheduled to pay him, they informed him a mistake had been made and that he had to “give back” 300 grams per day. Thus, he netted two hundred grams per day for the year. Most often a family would reckon their working days together as one unit, pooling resources, following traditional patterns from pre-collectivization times. Some noted that when more than one member of a family worked the kolhosp fields together, they had more grain. Kateryna Zoria noted that at one time she was classified as able to work only part-time and assigned eleven days per month. Before that she and her husband had together 700 working days. She said that 300 working days per person was a bare minimum. Maria Dudnyk noted that about one kilogram of grain per day was sufficient for her family, but half that amount (500 grams) was not. With 700 working days at one hundred grams per day, they could earn 1.35 mishky. Seven hundred working days with 200 grams of grain per day would earn them three mishky (150 kilograms) for the year. At one kilogram per day after 300 working days (according to Kateryna Zoria the usual minimum), they earned six mishky (300 kilograms) for

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the year – i.e., about six times greater than that described by several interviewees. Assuming that what Maria Dudnyk said above is accurate – that it took one kilogram per day for a family to survive – how did those families earning less survive, earning as little as 100 or 200 grams per day? It was certainly not through the cash wages they earned. These wages were, for most, about fifteen or twenty kopeks per day. However, almost all of these wages were confiscated by the state in various forms of taxes, forced loans to the kolhosp (oblihatsiia), as well as fees, described in more detail later in this chapter. Before returning to the question of survival on the minimum wages in the hostile and toxic environment of early rural socialism, it is useful to compare the wages of common kolhospnyky and those in somewhat higher echelons of the kolhosp hierarchy. The material on this subject that was gathered does not include information on the highest levels, the wages of the head of the kolhosp, or those of village council members. Our interviewees had little or no information on those subjects. There is, however, in our project information provided on middle levels of the hierarchy. Maria Voitenkova noted that when her husband was promoted to “agronomist” (ahronom), her family received more and better food. Especially prized were the potatoes that they now received. Common kolhospnyky were not paid in vegetables, including potatoes. Among the more flamboyant figures in kolhosp life of the early 1930s were the traktorysty (tractor drivers) and combine drivers. From project participants, it is unclear exactly how much the traktorysty were earning in the early 1930s. One tractor/combine driver in the project (Andrii Pavlichenko) said that he earned a good wage, but his recollection took him into the late 1930s: – What did you get for your work in the 1930s? andrii hryhorovych: Back then, I made a living. I got married in 1938, and before then I used to be a tractor driver and combine driver. Back then, I had money. When I drove the combine, I earned 35 rubles plus 25 puds (pudiv) [a pud is 16 kilograms; thus 25 puds are 300 kilograms] as a bonus of premium class wheat in a month because I worked in the radhosp. Therefore, twenty-five puds were equal to 300 kilograms, which is the equivalent of six mishky. This is in striking contrast to the wages of kolhospnyky. According to the interviewee, rank-and-file kolhosp members (read “laborers”) earned about four and one-half rubles per month (when they were paid), roughly nine times less than this traktoryst at thirty-five rubles per month. Most earned far less grain than the tractor/combine driver and according to those cited above, up to six times less. Most traktorysty earned a great deal more than rank-and-file members in the early 1930s. Another traktoryst, Pylyp Kharchenko, notes that he earned up to three and one-half rubles per day and three kilograms of grain per

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day, which was, according to the interviewee, more than that which common kolhospnyky earned in cash and in grain: – Was life in the kolhosp better? pylyp kuzmovych: At the time, life was better. I lived well and got a good deal of grain. I would sell sixteen kilograms of grain and have money. I used to get three kilograms per each day worked, and others didn’t get much. As tractor drivers, we got three kilograms and 3.5 rubles while others would get 15 kopeks. Kharchenko was placed by his brother, a local activist, into this position. By the end of the 1930s, the earning power of kolhospnyky in many regions had improved somewhat. They were earning more than the minimum subsistence wage of the early 1930s. Motria Rohova noted that she was earning three kilograms of grain per working day in the years after the famine; when, exactly, is unclear.

in c ome e a rn i n g acti v i ties of f the kolhosp From the discussion above, it is evident that in the early years most families did not receive enough food or cash from the kolhosp to make ends meet. They could not survive on these wages, and in fact kolhosp officials did not expect them to. Most people received a large part of their food from the family plot as well as from home industries and specialized services. In other words, the precollectivization economic patterns from private transactions, many of which were non-agricultural, continued (and to some extent still exist in the village of the early twenty-first century), but the level of income from these transactions was considerably less in the 1930s than in the 1920s. One of the important village economic activities of the 1930s was the buying and selling of used clothing, or its exchange for food. Many families were engaged in this at the time, and from the information provided by the interviewees it appears that this was far more common in the 1930s than in the 1920s or any time before. In many cases it was an act of desperation, one of the last sources – even if small – of income the family was able to muster. Before collectivization most villagers were engaged not only in the production of agricultural produce, but also the sale of a surplus portion of that which they produced. That is, that which was not needed for the immediate needs of the family was sold, usually for cash, or bartered. The transaction usually took place in the markets of small towns and villages. In most cases goods were hauled by wagon to a nearby market or bazaar and there sold by the producers themselves. Typically, this surplus included grain, fruit, vegetables, milk, cheese, eggs, poultry,

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sausages, and other meats. Also, animals on the hoof were sold, especially calves and piglets. After collectivization, and especially after the famine, most families had far less surplus, or none at all, with which to generate a cash flow. The reason was, of course, that they no longer had enough land or time or tools to farm, nor were they allowed to keep more than a bare minimum of livestock, with land and livestock and tools having been confiscated under state auspices during collectivization. Virtually all wagons had been confiscated (in Soviet terms, they were “donated”) from farmers and taken to the kolhosp. There was no longer a convenient way to haul surplus or crafts products to market. If villagers engaged in this practice, they most often walked. According to the interviewees, cash was in short supply in most Ukrainian villages in the 1930s. It had been more plentiful before collectivization, especially in the mid-to-late 1920s during nep . Far fewer villagers had access to cash than before collectivization, and those who had access had much less cash than before. For those villagers who continued any aspect of private commerce, this cash was generated more or less as it had been before, that is, by first, the sale of agricultural surplus, and/or secondly by the sale of home industry products and/or services. Also, as before, sales were mostly made in village and small-town bazaars and markets. Those purchasing were other villagers as well as small town residents. Villagers engaged in private commerce were vulnerable, however, to repression by state authorities. Private commerce had become “speculation” according to state policy and the new elite of the countryside. This negative connotation was applied retroactively to include those who had improved their standard of living in the nep period, as related by Dmytro Chuchupak: Four or five years after Lenin died, Stalin came to power in 1928 or 1929, and the exiling to Siberia began. At the time, they were after the supporters of the past policies, and lots of nep supporters who had their private trade [in the 1920s] were arrested. Perhaps my father was in commerce of some kind, I don’t know. Most families were able to retain a garden after collectivization. The size did not vary greatly from one family to the next. At most these plots were about fifty sotkas; that is, half a hectare (e.g., Halyna Riasna), although most holdings were smaller (e.g., twenty-five sotkas or one-quarter of a hectare). In the 1950s, some families were allowed to expand this somewhat, to eighty sotkas or eight-tenths of a hectare. The amount of land allotted a family was not stable and could change over the years – the kolhosp could take a garden from a family, as discussed by

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Motria Potapenko.1 People lived primarily from their gardens. When Frosyna Boiko was asked if people had been more concerned about the well-being of the kolhosp land or their own garden plot she answered: “Of course, they cared about their own property. People would work in the kolhosp until the evening and wished for it to fall apart; they would find any excuse to run to their own vegetable gardens.” She and others needed the time to work for themselves because from these garden plots virtually all of the family’s vegetables were grown, primarily potatoes, onions, cabbages, cucumbers, peas, and carrots. There were also red beets and corn later in some locales. Virtually no one had a horse or oxen (all of which had been confiscated by the kolhosp) with which to work their land, which was plowed and cultivated by hand. Some people rented a horse from the kolhosp for plowing. They did have chickens, especially for eggs, and later some had ducks or geese. In the years after the great famine some, but by no means all, families had a sow, which meant that they had piglets either to use for the family’s meat or to sell. Many families were also able to retain their cow. The importance of dairy products in the diet of the time was discussed earlier. Also important were calves, which like the piglets were either used by the family for meat or sold. As discussed in previous chapters, orchards in some regions were destroyed through the high tax policy of the state, leveled at those families with fruit trees. Since kolhospnyky were paid so little and usually only at the end of the year, the question arises: how did they clothe themselves, buy shoes, sugar, and all the necessities and accessories of farm life that could not be manufactured by themselves? The answer is that the local market and the bazaar were both active places of private commerce, even in the early years of forced collectivization, at least until the famine, at which time nearly all trade came to a halt until 1934 or so. The local bazaars would remain important sources of income for villagers throughout the Communist period, as they still are in the twenty-first century. The products from the family garden and livestock remained a source of income,

1 In the Brezhnev period there was a gradual increase in the kinds of products sold on the market, but it wasn’t until just before Ukrainian independence followed by the demise of the ussr that village families were freely allowed to buy and sell horses and oxen, thus making possible once again short distance hauling. Concurrently families were able to expand their holdings, many taking on one, two, or even three hectares (usually leased from the kolhosp). Immediately, the marketing of family-farm products once again became a mainstay of village economic activity. From 1991, and especially from 1992-93 to 1998, on market day literally hundreds of horse-drawn wagons could be seen on their way to the local market in most locales. The wagons were loaded with products from family labor intended for sale on the market. With the financial crises of the late 1990s, especially from 1998, the number of families participating in village and small-town markets declined, although the degree of severity of the depression varied from one locale to another. Economic life recovered after that.

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just as they had been in the 1920s and before. One difference, however, is in the kind and level of economic activity. Villagers had fewer products to trade and the quality of some of these had declined from pre-collectivization levels. Trading in livestock almost no longer existed. Maria Nekhai noted that her family sold potatoes, beets, and cucumbers on the market in order to have money to buy sugar. She also said that while before collectivization her family always was able to sell something on the market, after collectivization this was difficult. Maria Dudnyk sold flour, grains, and eggs for cash. Sofia Hrushivska sold pickles and vegetables for cash. Earlier, before collectivization, her father had a large orchard and sold apples, plums, and cherries. Halyna Riasna sold chickens, eggs, and starch from potatoes. She also wove cloth and sold it for cash (see the last column in table A3.3 of Economic activities for comparative examples of economic activities after collectivization). Farm products that derived from a villager’s own animals (cow, pig, chickens, etc.), orchard, and garden were sold, including milk, butter, eggs, fruit, vegetables, and meat. Products which were transferred to the kolhospnyk from the kolhosp as payment for labor (instead of paying money) were sold on the market if the kolhospnyk had a surplus of these goods: especially grains of various kinds, sugar, and potatoes. After collectivization, a village family no longer owned horses or oxen; all draft animals were confiscated by the kolhosp. Private cars were a rarity until the 1970s, and at no time until independence could most people afford them. It was therefore difficult for decades for most villagers to haul to market a surplus they might have derived from their garden plots, or for those who still had fruit trees, surplus fruit. Only items that could be hand carried to market (usually from about two to ten kilometers away), or more rarely held while riding in a crowded bus, could be marketed. The list of such items is small and includes milk products (especially cheese and cream), and salted meat as well as buckets of vegetables and fruit. One person could carry two buckets and a knapsack. After collectivization, the majority of villagers did not engage in marketing agricultural products on a regular basis. There was no marketing of products during the famine. In the first place, state authorities did not approve of a concerted effort, only very small production was allowed. In the second place, their plots were only a fraction of the size they had been before collectivization and families usually consumed most of whatever they produced. It remained difficult to haul products to market (except the small products discussed above) for most families, although there were exceptions. The 1930s offered a mixed picture in terms of where clothing was made. Some families still made most of their clothing themselves. Others were buying much or most of their clothing from others, some of which was hand made in villages, and some of which was manufactured in factories. Of interest here is the amount of clothing being sold or purchased at the local bazaars, either where clothing was exchanged for food or food for clothing. In the 1920s, although clothing was

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routinely bought and sold, there is no indication from the interviewees in this project that large numbers of people had to sell clothing in order to buy food or had to sell their food resources specifically in order to purchase clothing. Most clothing had then been made at home. If a piece was needed it was usually made, or more rarely purchased with cash. Many interviewees stated that in the 1930s they bought and/or sold clothing. Halyna Riasna made riadno (rough cloth) specifically to sell on the market: We used to grow flax and linen at home and weave cloth. We used to soak the hemp in the rivers, break it, remove the husks, and weave in winter when we didn’t have to go to work in the kolhosp. We would prepare the slivers, spin yarn on a swift, warp it, and weave. Dmytro Lisachenko noted that his mother began sewing for hire after collectivization: from there we moved to Kharkiv, and my mother went from apartment to apartment there, sewing for people and making a living. We lived on the road, like gypsies. Maria Dudnyk notes that there were families that still specialized in making clothing: – Did you make your own clothes yourself? maria omelianivna : We used to spin the wool, make the cloth, and make snow boots out of wool and felt. – Who made them? maria omelianivna : There were people in Dzhuryn who specialized in making cloth. – What kind of clothes could you personally make? maria omelianivna : I would spin the wool, dye it, and make skirts. We sowed hemp and made and embroidered the shirts. She stated that in the early 1930s, and again during the war, her family was in the business of exchanging food for clothing. People brought to her family clothing which was exchanged for food products. Andrii Filatov said that people sometimes sold animals on-the-hoof in order to buy clothing. Maria Nychyporenko said that she had money to purchase clothing only at those times when the kolhosp paid her in sugar. She would then take the sugar to the market and sell it to have money to buy the used clothing available on the market. Paraska Bezkorovaina noted that in her locale many made most of their clothing still themselves,

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as before collectivization, and that many still were wearing clothing from the period before collectivization. She said that by the mid-1930s the young people in her village were buying their clothing. The girls were not making it as much as before. Also, people routinely exchanged clothing for food. Several interviewees specifically stated that people did not exchange food for clothing (Nykyfir Poberezhnyk; Halyna Riasna), the implication being that they paid cash for it. Varvara Chukhlib also noted that people in her village did not exchange food for clothing, but she also said that they rarely purchased clothing at all, as they still made it. Two interviewees discussed in more detail the various kinds of clothing still made in their homes in the 1930s (Maria Dudnyk and Halyna Riasna). Home industries remained an important feature of economic activity, but like the commercial transactions of produce, meat, and dairy products described above, the level of income generated from these home industries was greatly reduced in the 1930s compared to the 1920s. Comparing the wealth of the two decades provides evidence of the real poverty that socialism produced in the countryside in the 1930s. Before collectivization, a miller did not require a great deal of land to farm himself, rather a garden for growing vegetables. He did not need to have a great deal of land to grow grain himself as he took grain in trade from his customers, who came to him to mill their grain. For his services, he might receive money or barter for grain, or a combination of cash and barter, as described by Sofia Hrushivska: – How much land did your father have before the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: He didn’t have much land, but he had a windmill. He would grind grain for people and they paid with buckets [mirchuky] of grain, so we had some for ourselves. During the famine no one had anything. Mirchuk was a measure of grain that was given in place of money. – So, when people came to him to grind the grain, they didn’t give him money? sofia tymofiivna: No, they paid for his work with a large bowl [koriak] or a bucket of grain [mirchuk]. – Did people pay with wheat? sofia tymofiivna: With whatever grain they brought for grinding. – So, your father could have little land but make a living with his mill? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, and then later we got married and moved out. This same miller also kept an orchard which produced more than his family needed. It was a seasonal source of cash for his family. The interesting point here is the combination of cash-producing labor activities. An enterprising family such as this was in a position to augment their income in various ways and such a family might take advantage of several different kinds of opportunities:

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– Was your father the keeper of the family’s money? Was he the one who made decisions about going to a market? sofia tymofiivna: He went to market fairs, and he was in charge of the money. He used to sell plums and apples. We had a large orchard, so we always had a harvest of apples, plums, cherries – everything. They would sell the harvest in Shpola. Sometimes, he would take one of the boys with him to keep an eye on the horses. He would bring us some fabric for a skirt or a shirt. He’d usually bring us something from the market. With collectivization, all private mills were either destroyed outright, or they were confiscated and became a part of kolhosp property. Milling became a centralized activity controlled by the state. Grain was either processed into flour, etc. at a kolhosp mill or, more common, it was shipped farther away for processing, and the finished products (bread, flour, pastries) were shipped back again. What had earlier been a local commercial activity between neighbors became one more aspect of a centralized socialist economy. The family of the interviewee above lost their land, their mills, and their orchards. Their wealth was destroyed, and decades passed before it was even partially replaced. Vasyl Arsenovych Yavdoshenko describes the destruction of local mills as well as the poor performance of the economy in the transition period before a socialist structure stabilized: – Who was the activist in the village? vasyl arsenovych: Kravchenko for the most part. I saw his tombstone in the 1941 marble monument to the revolutionaries in Pyriatyn and Berhamyn. Our activists – Vertytvoroh, Kravchenko, and Prokop Dmytrovuch Hohol – were intense and conducted the dispossessions. We had twenty-four mills, and they piled up stones around them and broke down the mills. They did the wrong things. They should have let the new happen and the old stay, but they destroyed the old and didn’t create the new. People still used quern-stones to grind the grain. The village tailor (kravets) was increasingly rare from the late 1920s to the Second World War. At the time of collectivization most tailors were forced either into joining a state controlled artil (crafts collective) or in giving this home industry up altogether. Such artils were not found in all locales. Thus, if no such artil existed in a particular tailor’s immediate locale, he could no longer continue as a tailor and was pressed into agricultural labor on the collective farm and virtually ceased to work as a tailor, except perhaps for family. Two interviewees provide contrasting experiences with regard to collectivized tailors. In one (Halyna Bezrodnia), an artil is formed in this tailor’s locale, thus she is able to continue work as a specialist, but only within the socialist sphere. Her daughter, on the other hand, privately

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made and sold rushnyky on the market throughout the 1930s. Before collectivization, Bezrodnia worked at home, and people usually came to her there to be fitted. With collectivization, she worked in the local shop for a wage and her income was greatly lessened from what it was before collectivization. In the second example (Fedora Chub), no local artil is formed. Here after collectivization the interviewee is effectively barred from working as a tailor. She no longer has time to work as a specialist because she is pressed into long hours of daily work as an agricultural laborer. In addition to losing the income from her sewing, she earlier had “pupils” (read apprentices) from which she derived income (the pupils’ work was hers to sell). This source of income was also lost with collectivization. Yet another cash producing activity, the sale of fruit from her orchard, ended also in the 1930s when taxes on fruit trees soared and she was unable to pay the taxes. She destroyed the orchard so that she would not be liable for the taxes on it. Halyna Bezrodnia – What did your father sew? halyna zakharivna: All kinds of clothes: overcoats and mostly men’s wear. He worked in his workshop. When he moved here, he continued sewing. … – Was this during collectivization? halyna zakharivna: My father didn’t join the kolhosp; he continued sewing. – This wasn’t his private workshop? halyna zakharivna: We had a guild (an artil “an artisans collective,” organized by activists working for the kolhosp) in the village. – Who set up this “guild”? halyna zakharivna: The state, of course. Fedora Chub

fedora oksentiivna: My father was a tailor; he used to make clothes for the people on a sewing machine, and my mother would weave and take care of the children. My father learned to sew from Jewish people somewhere in Cherkasy. He also had apprentices while he worked as a tailor. They studied with him in the winter and worked at their farmsteads in the summer. They would sew, and we would weave in our house. … – Did your father continue sewing after the kolhosp was set up? fedora oksentiivna: Barely. He had to go to work. He used to make

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hay and stack it in the winter. They staked hay in a particular way, and the stacks would stay like that for ten years without ever getting wet. Grandfather Arsenty was the best at this; no one can do it anymore like he did. – Were they forced to pay taxes [on their craft work]? fedora oksentiivna: When the kolhosp was set up, they didn’t sew much anymore because they had to work in the kolhosp and there was nothing to sew at the time. My father transported coal to the kolhosp, and he took me with him to help. We’d burn the coal and give the larger pieces to the kolhosp and the smaller [?] to the pigs; we also made rope that was used to spin the mill. … – Did you have an orchard in the 1930s? fedora oksentiivna: Yes, but we chopped it all down after they started imposing high taxes per each tree they’d record. Potters faced the same restrictions imposed on tailors and were also shepherded into artils in the 1930s. If no artil existed in a potter’s locale, he was often unable to continue working as a specialist, except on a minimal basis, because after the hours of labor on the kolhosp or radhosp, and working his own holdings, he had neither the time nor the energy to work more. Ilko Vovkohon said that before collectivization his father was engaged in farming, pottery, raising and shearing sheep, keeping other animals, and working in his orchard. He transported his pottery by wagon (pulled by oxen) and sold it in a small town a few kilometers from his village. During collectivization he was repressed, thrown out of his home, and transported to Siberia. Ironically, this enabled him to continue working as a potter. Most other potters, however, were not able to continue. After collectivization most smiths lost their clients as well as their tools and thus the ability to continue as specialists. As horses were confiscated by the state and taken into the collectives, the only possible client for a smith was the state. As agriculture became a state activity and most horses and oxen were confiscated by the state, there was little private wagon transport. In fact, almost all wagons were confiscated and turned over to the kolhosp. In most cases only those smiths employed by the kolhosp or radhosp could continue working as specialists; the rest of the smiths could no longer engage in their specialty. It is noteworthy that this happened virtually overnight. When village private livestock in horses and oxen were confiscated during collectivization, the need of families for a smith’s skills no longer existed. Most smiths’ shops, tools, and other accouterments were confiscated by the kolhosp, as described by Iryna Lotosh-Diatlenko. Instead of working as a smith as he had done before collectivization, the father of this interviewee sold vegetables on the market in the 1930s for small amounts of cash (this in addition to his work as a laborer on the kolhosp).

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Some craftsmen and specialists were needed on the kolhosp and a favored few were able to continue their former crafts as specialists on the kolhosp. Maria Nekhai noted that her father was a carpenter (teslia) before collectivization, and he continued to work as one for the kolhosp.

ob l i g ati on (obl i hatsi ia) The confiscatory policies of the early years of collectivization were continued throughout the 1930s, especially in the guise of taxes and the oblihatsiia (obligation). Taxes were heavy, particularly on those who did not join the kolhosp. The taxes were geared to be so high as to drive them into the kolhosp. However, everyone paid one or another kind of tax on the small plots of land they still farmed, on whatever livestock had not been taken by the kolhosp, and on their property as well as on their income. There were also certain punitive taxes levied against people who did not conform to the behavior patterns decreed as the norm by the state (some of these taxes lasted another fifty-to-sixty years, nearly until the demise of the Soviet state). One of these punitive taxes was directed against women: those couples who did not bear children had to pay a punitive tax. Failure to pay it could mean a jail sentence, usually leveled against the woman. In the 1930s even complaining about this tax could mean prison. Varvara Pyvovar was one of many who suffered from this. She was overheard by informers complaining about it, and she did not pay it on time. Activist officials came to arrest her, and it was only through the intervention of other activist officials that she was not jailed. In terms of out-and-out repression of the largest number of people, the oblihatsiia was perhaps the most onerous and is thus of special interest. Kolhospnyky had to pay the “obligation,” which resembled a tax. It was technically and theoretically a loan by the kolhospnyk to the kolhosp, but it was not “paid back” usually for decades. It perhaps is best thought of as a fee charged to the kolhospnyk on an administrative basis, supposedly on what his garden was estimated to produce, or on whatever else he might have produced in handicrafts and the like, or on his property, or on literally any criterion the administrating officials wanted to cite. The officials “estimated” output and income and calculated the amount owed. This meant that an official of the kolhosp could levy a fee of virtually any amount he desired upon a member of the kolhosp. It was an effective method of keeping protests to a minimum without resorting to physical force, because those who protested working conditions or other matters would be slapped with a higher “obligation.” Most important, it was a convenient method to pay literally nothing to much of the labor force for several years. Whatever was supposed to be paid to a kolhosp member (“pennies”) in terms of salary, was never actually paid, but was kept by the kolhosp to pay the oblihatsiia – often every bit of or even more than

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what he had earned. The kolhospnyk was compelled to sign a document from the state showing that he was to pay a given amount of cash over a certain period of time, and that this amount was to be redeemed by the kolhospnyk from the state at some point in the future, as determined by state agencies. As it turned out, the amount to be paid back was usually decades in the future and thus the value of what was paid back was greatly reduced from the precious funds paid into it in the 1930s. Paying this “obligation” was a huge problem for the kolhospnyk, who in any case received no more than a pittance for labor performed. The problem of paying the obligation was most often solved by the kolhospnyk through one or more of four ways: 1) telling the kolhosp to retain all of his wages for several years, effectively forgoing any cash salary from the kolhosp for this period of time (thus settling part of his “debt” with the kolhosp); 2) signing up for extra work on the kolhosp for which he received no payment, meaning Sundays and nights, the value of his labor supposedly subtracted from his “debt;” 3) selling products on the market and bringing the cash to kolhosp officials; 4) taking products produced at home directly to kolhosp officials (eggs, meat, butter), which were then counted as payment. The oblihatsiia for many people was so heavy that they received no money for labor on the kolhosp for several years, while most of whatever they earned off the kolhosp was confiscated by kolhosp officials or sold and the cash given to the officials in order to pay the oblihatsiia. Millions of people in the 1930s worked from sixteen to twenty-hour days for no more than a handful of grain. You had to “voluntarily” sign up for this obligation, much in the same way that you “voluntarily” joined the kolhosp – you were forced to do so by local officials. In most locales, the kolhosp would not assign you work until you had signed up to pay a certain obligation, determined administratively by kolhosp officials. For most people, only the assigned labor on the kolhosp made possible earning a livable wage. The use of the oblihatsiia produced the most inexpensive labor at the maximum number of labor hours that was physically possible. In this sense, the oblihatsiia was a form of involuntary labor contract, intended to enrich the kolhop and the state at the expense of the majority of rural dwellers. It was a logical extension of the collectivization process that provided a legalistic formula for confiscating the wealth of villagers and rewarding the new village elite. After the Second World War, for most people beginning in the 1950s, the oblihatsiia began to be redeemed, and for many years retired kolhospnyky received a small addition (usually quite small) to their pensions as a payback of the obligation funds that were paid in the lean years of the 1930s. According to most interviewees, only a small percentage of the money paid-in was actually redeemed. Several interviewees gave graphic descriptions of the hardships encountered from the imposition of the oblihatsiia. Yevhenia Smola said that until 1948 most of the money a member-laborer earned from the kolhosp was taken back by the

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kolhosp in the form of the oblihatsiia. Hanna Zamohylna noted that they were paid only a bit of grain, and that the twenty kopecks per day they were supposed to receive went toward their oblihatsiia, the level of which was set by officials. You were always in debt, no matter what you did or how much you paid. Once you began to pay off what they said you owed, they simply imposed more oblihatsiia. The interviewee notes that the family would sell their calf as well as eggs and meat in order to meet their obligation payments. Motria Hrytsyna described a similar situation. Fedora Chub said that they sometimes had to pay in grain as they had nothing else of value. This means that even the pittance they were given in grain for labor by the kolhosp was in part returned to the kolhosp as payment of the oblihatsiia. Paraska Liubychanivska said that she had to sell most of what she had in the house to pay the obligation: linen, rugs, and almost anything of value. Night visits by kolhosp officials to selected households were intended to force families into signing up for an increased oblihatsiia. These nocturnal raids are reminiscent of those used in the first years of collectivization to terrorize families into signing over their holdings, tools, etc. to the kolhosp. They are reminiscent also of the raids on homes when the famine was initiated. They were executed by the same people when evicting and deporting, when pressuring people to join the kolhosp, when forcing them to sign up for more and more “obligation,” and when stealing all food from a family’s home, leaving them to starve. These people included the head of the kolhosp, members of the village council, Komsomol activists, and members of the new village elite, most often called in the interviews simply aktivisty (activists). Maria Kozar described night visits by kolhosp officials, who would purposely arrive after the household had gone to sleep, if necessary, breaking down the door, then rudely waking the family and haranguing them for as long as it took to get them to sign the oblihatsiia promissory note (which was the “loan” being paid to the kolhosp). Kost Kovalenko also suffered these raids. He had been told to sign up for an obligation of 200 rubles. He told them that he could not manage that much, but that he would sign up for one hundred rubles. Late the next night, representatives of the village council came to his house and woke him and his wife up. They threatened them and ordered him to sign up for 200 rubles, which he did. In order to pay this, he took one of his two piglets to market and sold it, turning the money over to the kolhosp. There were specific punishments for not paying the oblihatsiia, or not paying it on time. The most powerful incentive for paying was that kolhosp officials would otherwise not assign hours of work on the kolhosp, which if not remedied effectively would mean eventual starvation (Yevhenia Smola). In addition, you could be pressed into labor gangs that were sent off the kolhosp to do assorted labor, as Olha Reuta described the threat to be sent into the forests for long periods of time to work in gangs of lumberjacks. As described in chapter 3, some people were imprisoned for failure to pay these taxes and fees (e.g., Mykhailo Ustymenko).

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in te rv i ew e xce rp ts : wages in the kolhosp, earnin g s ou tsi de of th e kolhosp, home enterprises, a n d tax ation Uliana Hryhorivna Andriiash (Sumy region) – How much were you paid per workday [trudoden]? uliana hryhorivna: Twenty kopeks. They would give bread more often than money. Money was too tight. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – What did girls put into their dowry chest? paraska mytrofanivna: Rushnyky, shirts, tablecloths, and riadno (cloth). They made rushnyky themselves. – Did they make kilims [carpets]? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes. People in Cherpovody also made pots and embroidered a great deal. – How many potters were there? paraska mytrofanivna: One. He made everything: pots and large milk jars [krynky]. – Did he own any land? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, he was a seredniak and took his goods to other villages to sell. – Did his wife help him? paraska mytrofanivna: He did everything by himself. – Did he do this during collectivization? paraska mytrofanivna: I don’t know where his family went when the kolhospy and the famine started. Many people died at the time. Halyna Zakharivna Bezrodnia (Poltava region) – What did your father sew? halyna zakharivna: All kinds of clothes: overcoats and mostly men’s wear. He worked in his workshop. When he moved here, he continued sewing. … – Was this during collectivization? halyna zakharivna: My father didn’t join the kolhosp; he continued sewing. – This wasn’t his private workshop?

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halyna zakharivna: We had a guild in the village. – Who set up this guild?

halyna zakharivna: The state, of course.

– Do you remember if people had their own private workshops?

halyna zakharivna: We had private smithies, a wheelwright’s workshop, and many cobblers. This is how people made a living. Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – How were the lazy ones treated?

ivan ivanovych: The situation changed completely. Those who worked

and those who did not work, both got a pension allowance either way – all became equal. … – How were people paid by the kolhosp? ivan ivanovych: You couldn’t live off that. We had bad land. The harvest wasn’t good. We only sowed rye and planted potatoes. – Where did you get the money to buy clothes? ivan ivanovych: We had some money thanks to the forest. We picked berries and mushrooms in the summer. We would dry the mushrooms, sell them, and buy shoes and clothes. – Did you make clothes by yourself? ivan ivanovych: Yes, of course. We sowed hemp and flax and wove cloth. Those who owned sheep before collectivization would weave woolen cloth; after collectivization, no one raised sheep anymore. – Did you exchange the clothes for produce? ivan ivanovych: This was in 1933. My mother took all the clothes to Belarus – a corset and a good plush skirt – and got ten pounds of rye for this. … – What about during the 1930s and 1940s? ivan ivanovych: We had four independent farmers [odnoosibnyky] remaining in our village, and all of them were forced into the kolhosp. People gave their horses to the kolhosp. My father did not join the kolhosp until 1938. After that, there was no choice; the taxes were too high [for those working off the kolhosp]… … – How and when did pottery start in your village? ivan ivanovych: It appeared when they started making glass; there were two corners (kutky) in our village, and the village was called Hutei. In glassmaking, they used forms made on a potter’s wheel; then they cut the form in

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two, dried it, and fired it. Glassware brought down the demand, and people switched to pottery: pots, bowls, and so on. Each person made pots at home; almost everyone had their own furnace, and those who did not would ask to use someone else’s oven to fire their pots. – Did people practice pottery throughout the year? ivan ivanovych: In the 1920s, people made pots when they had free time. Mostly, they worked in the field plowing and sowing. In the winter, they would make pots at home. It got harder after the kolhospy were set up. The potters were not allowed to work on their own; they had to join a large potters’ guild in the Lenin Plant where thirty other potters worked. The rest went where they could; some went to work in the forestry. In the 1920s and 1930s almost every house had a potter, sometimes both father and son. About 130 potters died in the war, the leading masters; the ones that came back had disabilities and could not work. In the 1950s, in the two villages Hibov Khutir and Oleshnia we had up to one hundred potters. – How many potters are there right now? ivan ivanovych: Very few, about fifteen in these two villages. – When was pottery forbidden? ivan ivanovych: After the war and before the other war. Those who did not join the guild to work were heavily taxed and the trade was repressed; the prices were very low. – Were any potters dispossessed? ivan ivanovych: Not in our village. – What was the impact of the famine? ivan ivanovych: Having a horse, a pot, or a bag of grain helped people survive. They would exchange it for something. Not a single potter died during the famine. … – Were taxes imposed? ivan ivanovych: The financial department had a tax inspector who was responsible for tracking potters, and he imposed taxes randomly – to prevent the person from carrying on with the trade. All the years [after collectivization] it was like this. Frosyna Okhrymivna Boiko (Kharkiv region) – What property did people care about more: their own or that of the kolhosp? frosyna okhrymivna: Of course they cared about their own property. People would work in the kolhosp until the evening and wished for it to fall apart. They would find any excuse to run to their own vegetable gardens.

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[The administration] imposed taxes to be paid with eggs and milk. You had to give them this even if you didn’t have hens or cows. Yakiv Mykhailovych Briukhovetsky (Cherkasy region) – Did the kolhosp pay you somehow for your work? yakiv mykhailovych: It paid very little. We used to make middle-sized bowls (in pottery, they are called #6). One had to make sixty such bowls to earn two workdays [trudodni] in the kolhosp. – What was this requirement of sixty bowls called? yakiv mykhailovych: This was the requirement, a potter’s dozen. We had four types of bowls. One had to make forty items of #4 bowls, fifty of the smaller ones, and sixty of #6 ones. You had to make one hundred of the smallest bowls. – What were the smallest bowls called? yakiv mykhailovych: Sotniovka. Because you had to make one hundred [sto] of them. Each batch was valued at the same price. Each of the batches, no matter the size or the number of the pots (either sixty of #6 or one hundred of the smallest ones), was called a potter’s dozen. I don’t know why and who made this up and when. The price was the same, but I don’t remember how much exactly it was. – Did a potter have to make all of those types of pots in a single day? yakiv mykhailovych : No, just one type. Next day he would make pots of the other type, whatever the type was needed at the time. – This was considered two workdays [trudodni]? yakiv mykhailovych: Two, two and a half, or one and a half; it depended on the number of pots he made. – He wasn’t the only one working in a workshop, was he? There must have been several people. yakiv mykhailovych: Several people, sometimes five. – Did each potter fire his own pots or was this done collectively? yakiv mykhailovych: There was a specific furnace, almost like in the kolhosp… At home, each potter fired his pots on his own. – What about in the kolhosp? yakiv mykhailovych: In the kolhosp, a specific person was assigned to steam, fire, dry, and watch over the pots. – Did he decorate them, too? yakiv mykhailovych: The potters who made the pots were the ones who decorated them. Most of them knew how to decorate the pots; very few didn’t have this skill. They all used various patterns in decorating. We had one potter by the name of Stepan who was very good at decorating the pots and his pots were the most expensive on the market.

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– What was his last name?

yakiv mykhailovych: Stepan Kaniuka.

– When were these workshops set up in the kolhosp? yakiv mykhailovych: Before the war and also after the war. They lasted until 1949. Then that was it; they didn’t exist any longer. – Why? yakiv mykhailovych: I don’t know why. Maybe they were not profitable. Cooking pots [kazanok] and plates appeared at the time, and pottery declined. People would no longer make pots at home because of the taxes. I’ll tell you, for instance, if I were to be making pots at home now and they imposed a tax of, say, 40 per cent, I would have to stop making pots. It wouldn’t be profitable. – Who imposed taxes at the time? yakiv mykhailovych: The financial department. Yes. They used to have a tax for everything at the time: if you had even one goat, the tax would be goat’s hide or hair. Gardens were taxed. People also had to pay tax with milk, meat, and Easter eggs. The same goes for pottery. – What was the tax amount? yakiv mykhailovych: I can’t say for sure because I was a young boy. Then it all got mixed up. I remember my father would bring money; my sister Tetiana and I would count a whole pile, and in the morning my father would take the money [to the financial department]. Everything was given away. – Did he take the money to the village council? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, to the financial department. – Did you get to keep anything for yourselves? yakiv mykhailovych: Of course, whatever was left. Whatever would slip through the fingers, so to speak. Nonetheless, the potters lived a bit better and had some cash. We paid taxes, but we still were better off than others. – What happened to the ones who did not pay? yakiv mykhailovych: They were forbidden to work and sell their goods. – Did one have to have a license? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes. – Was it issued by the finance department? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, in Chyhyryn. – When did people make the pots if they also had to work in the kolhosp? yakiv mykhailovych: At night. My father was strong, and he used to make pots during the night. By day, he would work in the kolhosp, using his own cows to plow, transport the hay, and so on. And by night, he’d sit down to make pots. He worked day and night when I was little. They started dragging me to the kolhosp in 1950, before the army. At the time, it was less strict – sometimes you worked, sometimes you could take it easy.

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– If someone didn’t come to work, would that person be fined? yakiv mykhailovych: Of course! You had to go to work. My father went to work. If someone was a specialist, they could sometimes mark his workdays ahead or so. People did what they could. – During kolhosp times, did your father make pots elsewhere or at home? yakiv mykhailovych: Right in our house. There was a small separate hut, like a kitchen. The house was full of pots, and the children used to go to grandmother’s house to sleep because there was no room to sleep in the house. The house was damp and dirty. This was incredible; my wife saw all this. When I set up my first potter’s wheel and started making pots, she would cry, “Help!” She said I didn’t need this, but I had much love for pottery. I didn’t make pots in the house. I made a small workshop in the corner for myself and I made few pots, so this didn’t dampen the whole house. I still make… – Your father used to do all the pottery-related jobs in the house. Where did he keep the clay? yakiv mykhailovych: Outside. It would lie in a pile there. In the summer, he would wet it, take it inside, and wedge it. In the winter, he would chop the frozen clay and put in into troughs inside the house to defrost. … – In your village, did people join the kolhosp voluntarily or were they forced to? yakiv mykhailovych: They were dragged in! My father wouldn’t join until 1940! – How did you make a living? yakiv mykhailovych: Pottery. The kolhosp workers used to make two hundred grams of bread per day. They had much less than we did. They would, pardon my language, flash their behinds, that’s it! They didn’t have anything to wear, nothing! … – Did the potters take the pots to the market themselves? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes. – Were there resellers that would come to buy pots in bulk? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes. Also, women would buy pots. – Where did people go to these markets? yakiv mykhailovych: Chyhyryn, Cherkasy, Poltava, and locally to Telepyna, Kamianka, Oleksandrivka, Znamianka, Kirovohrad, everywhere, but not too far. I’m not sure, perhaps they went to Kyiv, too. – Were the pots sold out? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes! Yes! – Were there separate potters’ rows on the market? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes. Potters would set up their separate stalls.

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Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiova (Kharkiv region) – At what age did you go to work in the kolhosp? hanna yukhymivna: Probably around fourteen. – What kind of work did you do? hanna yukhymivna: I dug pits one meter deep for the garden. I did whatever I was told to do. – How were you paid for this? hanna yukhymivna: I got nothing. They promised to give us one to two hundred grams of bread per day, and then they said it had to go to the front lines. So, we said, “Right.” We would gather potatoes and bake them for the children; we didn’t protest. Let them take the bread to the front line, and we would make it somehow. We would also gather sorrel and cook it. Later on, during the harvest, after sunset, we’d go to pick spikelets. (It was not normally allowed). If someone had a man in the household, he would help us grind the grain and we would make a kind of broth [balanda]. We survived very difficult times. Hrihorii Kyrylovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – What did your father do?

hryhorii kyrylovych: He was a peasant. He owned land, bulls, sheep, and pigs. … – How much land did your father own? hryhorii kyrylovych: About four hectares and 2.5 hectares were added later. – How many heads of cattle did your father own? hryhorii kyrylovych: Two cows, a horse, and about twenty sheep. We didn’t have many pigs or hens. – What did your father do besides working the land? hryhorii kyrylovych: He was a potter, and so was grandfather Pavlo. … – Where did you sell the pots? hryhorii kyrylovych: There was a large market here in Medvedivka and we also took pots to town, in Sviethrad. My father would use bulls to transport the pots. … – Until when did your father make pots? hryhorii kyrylovych: Until he turned seventy-five. – Did he make pots during collectivization?

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hryhorii kyrylovych: We were evicted from our house at the time. He worked, but what kind of work was there? We moved to his brother’s house, and he went to Siberia. People worked with what they had: someone had wood, and someone had a house to work in. This was during the kolhosp time. My father had to do something. – Was there a potter’s workshop in the kolhosp? hryhorii kyrylovych: Yes, but it didn’t last long. They needed wood to maintain it, but they weren’t good workers to provide enough. – Did people want to work in the workshop? hryhorii kyrylovych: You’d need 560 kilograms of wood. People worked while they were ruining buildings and dispossessing people. When there was nothing left to break, they sold my father’s market for ten rubles and his barn for thirty rubles. The barn could hold a hundred haystacks. – Was there an orchard next to your house? hryhorii kyrylovych: Yes: pears, apples, and plums. People would come, and my father would either give or sell them the fruit. Ilko Terentiiovych Vovkohon and Olena Pylypivna Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – Did everyone join the kolhosp? ilko terentiiovych: Many people in our village didn’t. They were heavily taxed and put under pressure. Our father’s brother was put under such pressure until he joined the kolhosp along with his sons. My father joined the kolhosp in 1932. – How did your father make a living? ilko terentiiovych: Pottery. – Why didn’t he want to join the kolhosp? ilko terentiiovych: My mother was very much opposed. My father gave the kolhosp a harness, a good cart, a harrow, and a plow – everything. He had two carts and managed to sell one. He also had a beautiful mare. People came from Borovytsia and gave my father a horse and a lot of grain for that mare. The kolhosp used this mare for breeding. – Who conducted collectivization? ilko terentiiovych: The locals. People used to call them kostohryzy (“bone-eaters,” i.e., “thieves”). It was they who organized the kolhospy and the brigades. The Vasiury were the Komsomoltsi that organized this. They would have a drink with their father, and in the evening, in the winter, a group of thirty would go around trying to persuade people to join the kolhosp. All of them were smoking on purpose while talking to people, harassing people into submission with their endless smoke. It was a rule in our house for the children not to run around when the adults were in. If they wanted a drink or

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something, they had to tell their mother and she would give it to them. Then the children would fall asleep, and the talks of kolhosp would start again. We didn’t have a life. And the “loan” (oblihatsiia), my goodness! – How much did the kolhosp pay people? ilko terentiiovych: Zero point zero, so to speak. Labor was measured in workdays. If you were skilled, it would be 0.25 workdays; 0.3 if you collected bugs; 0.5 if you had to weed the plot but did not finish your assignment; and 0.25–0.3 if you worked with the rake. – Where did you get the money to buy things? ilko terentiiovych: My father went to work during the day and made pots at night. … – Where did you sell your pots? ilko terentiiovych: In Oleksandrivka, Borovytsia, Khudiaky, and Medvedivka. – Did you take the pots there on your own or did someone help you? Ilko Terentiiovych: If I worked in the kolhosp and didn’t have a horse, I could borrow a couple of horses and go. Before this, we would use cows for transportation; we’d join forces with the neighbors for this. My neighbor and I went to Oleksandrivka together. The pots were light, and no one else sold pots there, so we made good sales. In Medvedivka, people would always bring us a drink after they were done selling bread, rice, and everything else. We would buy a quarter of a liter [of alcohol] and sit down to eat. This was both before and after the war. … ilko terentiiovych: In winter, it’s very damp, so it’s better to [make pots] in the summer. In winter, you have no choice: you have a metal furnace with a chimney, and you chop wood. – Did people come to your house to buy pots? ilko terentiiovych: They would come from the coastal areas if they knew that I was making good pots. They would come to me in sleds, fill their carts, stay overnight, and head beyond the Dnipro. The Dnipro wasn’t as wide back in the day; you could cross it on a ferry. – Did they resell the pots? ilko terentiiovych: Yes, they would resell them and come back to me to give me treats [presumably a part of their profit], if sales were good. – When was this? ilko terentiiovych: In the summer, especially closer to the fall – both before and after the war. – Did you do this during the famine of 1948? ilko terentiiovych: Yes.

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– Who taught you pottery? ilko terentiiovych: Terentii Mykytovych’s father. – When did you stop making pots? ilko terentiiovych: In 1964. I didn’t want to do it anymore because it was not profitable. I became a kolhosp brigade leader. I had 1,000 sheep, 350 calves, 22 pairs of workhorses, and 200 workers on the team, including 40 women who weeded the land. – Did other artisans stop working, too? ilko terentiiovych: Yes, gradually. … – Did you sell your products on the market? ilko terentiiovych: Yes. – What were the prices like at the time? ilko terentiiovych: We were so poor. In 1933, my father had to sell a tall stack of pots to be able to buy sixteen kilograms of rye. In 1945–47, he had to sell one hundred pots to buy sixteen kilograms of grain. – Were you taxed? ilko terentiiovych: Of course. – Who imposed the taxes? ilko terentiiovych: The financial department. They would come in and ask how many pots I made in six or twelve months, but I wouldn’t tell the truth. They didn’t bother the ones who went to work in the kolhosp, but they brought to tears the ones who worked for themselves. – Did everyone join the kolhosp? olena pylypivna: During the harvest time, they would come to collect the oblihatsiia payments at night. They wouldn’t let you sleep until you’d repaid it. – Were the potters a bit better off? ilko terentiiovych: A bit better off while he was making pots, but they would be gone while he was making the next portion – let alone if he had a large family. – What did people in the village make? ilko terentiiovych: Some made sleds; others made carts or sewed jackets. They did what they could. Some people didn’t know how to make anything. Before collectivization, some would take a chain and go to various villages in the area [to thresh grain with the chain for people as a day laborer]. Maria Petrivna Voitenkova (Kharkiv region) – How much were you paid?

maria petrivna: We were not paid. This is why our pension allowance

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now is so low. It’s because we worked for nothing and there’s no account to draw pension funds from now, so we could have a larger allowance. We did all kinds of work: during the war, women used to dig the soil in the field with spades and stack hay. Two of them would carry half a stack using two sticks. We would walk very far into the field; the field was far, and we had to walk everywhere. As for the sugar beets, we had to dig them manually. It was hard work and you had to give the harvest to the kolhosp. – And you never got paid for any of this work? maria petrivna: Never. One time, I was given a ruble, and I lost it on the way; it fell out while I was walking home. – Were you given any wheat? maria petrivna: Yes, wheat and corn. They didn’t give us any beets. When my husband became an agronomist, we were paid with potatoes; they gave us a lot. In the beginning, there were no extra potatoes to give to workers. My husband did a good job developing potato varieties. He would have a team of two or three women to dig out the bad potato varieties. Sofia Ivanivna Voropai (Cherkasy region) – What did people say about those who did not join the kolhosp?

sofia ivanivna: They said they were lazy. I was thirty years old, and I

started making money with my embroidery. – Was this a guild? sofia ivanivna: There was a guild in Zolotonosha. Here we used to have a brigade chief, a woman who used to bring the sewing goods and products. I used to embroider up until the beginning of the war. … – How much were you paid for the shirt? sofia ivanivna: Twelve rubles for a shirt and seventeen for a dress. I used to make over one hundred rubles a month. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – Where did you go to make money? fedora yukhymivna: To the sovkhoz. – Did they pay more there? fedora yukhymivna: Well, life was hard, no one here paid any money, and they would only give us a thin soup [zatirka]. We had nothing. All I owned got burned down, and all I had to wear got worn out. They wouldn’t let us leave at the time. Later on, they gave me a passport for a year, and I left. My grandmother took one of my sisters to Kharkiv to give away as a child, and

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the other sister had a hard life here; she went from apartment to apartment. – She took your sister to town and gave her away to someone as a child to keep? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. – Were you not given a house? fedora yukhymivna: No. There were many empty houses at the time [due to massive deportations] and I was a kolhosp worker, but no one provided any services to the orphans. – Did your sister go from house to house asking for food? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. – Did people give her any food? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, they would give her a piece of bread or a piece of a pumpkin. – Did people consider it a sin not to give any food to the one who asked for it? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, people feared to sin at the time. Back then, people wouldn’t sit down to eat on Sunday until they came back from church. My mother died, and my father was in charge of the household. They would slaughter a pig, but they wouldn’t let us try a sausage until Christmas. They would make the sausages, but you could not eat them. – What kind of work did you do and how much did you earn in the radhosp? fedora yukhymivna: We earned very little, but we could at least buy boots or something like this. Unlike here where they didn’t pay us anything. … – What did you take to Kharkiv to sell? fedora yukhymivna: I didn’t take anything to Kharkiv. We started selling things when the kolhospy were set up. In 1947, we used to catch lobsters and sell them in Kharkiv, so we could buy grain and make some food for the children. The kolhosp didn’t give us any money until the spring loans. Then they made calculations and when the loan period was approaching, they would summon you and not let you go to work until you paid the money you saved. They didn’t give us any money, only some grain. – How did people survive then? fedora yukhymivna: They would plant their gardens, live off their land, and live in famine, that’s all. In 1947, many people were swollen from famine. We made it. I had a husband and two children; my daughter had died during the war before my husband came back from there. We used to buy nets and make fishing nets to catch lobsters. We would wade in the Donets, catch them, and take them to Kharkiv to sell. You would get about thirty rubles from sales, buy one to three glasses of grain, grind it, make a broth [balanda], and go to work. We used to make brushes and brooms from weeds. You’d make thirty to fifty of them and sell them for ten to fifteen kopeks a piece. – What about milk?

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fedora yukhymivna: We started buying goats and kids in Kharkiv on our own and raised them. When the kolhosp started giving us grain, we bought calves and started raising cows, too. We kept the cows and would slaughter pigs, that was it. My husband died in 1976. I continued raising cows for four years after his death, when I lived alone. My son lives in Hres and will soon retire. I have one daughter in Balakleia (she was born in 1937 and is retired, too) and one more in Sholudkivka. – When did you retire? fedora yukhymivna: It has probably been thirty years already. I was paid twelve rubles. – Was it enough at the time? fedora yukhymivna: Of course not, but a loaf of bread cost fifteen to sixteen kopeks at the time. I was able to buy more then than with my current allowance of 160 rubles. What can I afford to buy with it today? – Were you paid a bit more after the war? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, a sovkhoz was set up, and people started living better. They started raising cows and receiving milk and meat. When I worked there, a kilogram of pork or beef cost twenty-five rubles and I used to buy five kilograms. So… we were paid twelve rubles, then they added eight, and later on – eight more. They started paying us twenty-eight rubles. When my husband died, I had a pension allowance of twenty-eight rubles. Motria Fedorivna Hrytsyna (Sumy region) – How much did people in the kolhosp make? motria fedorivna: For one marked day of work, you’d get fifteen kopeks and 250 grams of bread. You’d have to wait for the fiscal year to end to find out that you didn’t earn anything and, in fact, owed them money. Mind you that we used to work day and night. Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: We worked to have a workday marked with a stick. They would put a stick next to the house for each day worked [it would be stuck into the ground]. – For your work you got a stick? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, a stick. And we kept working. – Did they pay money or give any food for each stick? sofia tymofiivna: Sticks were used to mark the number of workdays. They paid something, but very little.

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… – Where did you get the money to buy shoes? sofia tymofiivna: We would earn a little something; people paid. I used to get twelve rubles from the kolhosp, so I could buy a loaf of bread and some shoes. It’s not at all the same now. – During the kolhosp time, did you use to go to the market fairs to sell fruit? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, we’d sell fruit, and we would buy clothes at the fairs. We lived in my brother’s house. He left for Baku; he worked in Budyshchi. He worked, and I washed a barrel and made sauerkraut in the attic. People would pay for it, and we had sauerkraut and pickles to eat. … – How much land did your father have before the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: He didn’t have much land, but he had a windmill. He would grind grain for people, and they paid with buckets [mirchuky] of grain, so we had some for ourselves. During the famine, no one had anything. Mirchuk was a measure of grain that was given in place of money. – So, when people came to him to grind grain, they didn’t give him money? sofia tymofiivna: No, they paid for his work with a large bowl [koriak] or a bucket of grain [mirchuk]. – Did people pay with wheat? sofia tymofiivna: With whatever grain they brought for grinding. – So, your father could have little land but make a living with his mill? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, and then later on we got married and moved out. … – Was your father the keeper of the family’s money? Was he the one who made decisions about going to a fair? sofia tymofiivna: He went to market fairs, and he was in charge of the money. He used to sell plums and apples. We had a large orchard, so we always had a harvest of apples, plums, cherries – everything. They would sell the harvest in Shpola. Sometimes, he would take one of the boys with him to keep an eye on the horses. He would bring us some fabric for a skirt or a shirt; he’d usually bring us something from the market. Ivan Yeremiovych Demianenko (Cherkasy region) – In what year did you work in the potter’s workshop? ivan yeremiovych: In 1936. I didn’t go to the kolhosp; they didn’t pay anything there. When I was a young boy, I fled to Russia, and I was a real potter. I made all kinds of pots. I made pots in Russia until 1933 and then I came back. We had a good orchard, and we used to sell cherries and buy some fish or bread. This is how I made a living. The guilds were set up in 1937 or 1938.

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– How many guilds were there? ivan yeremiovych: One near the field, and one near the ravine. – Were there many potters? ivan yeremiovych: Many; almost all of them used to make pots. Some worked in the kolhosp, and some didn’t. There were about ten of them; their labor was marked with a stick, and they were told to go. The quota was sixty items per day for two-liter pots, thirty items per day for four-liter pots, and twenty-five items per day for six-liter pots. People from Zolotonosha would come for the pots. They had disabled people there and would load six to seven cars of pots per day. The kolhosp was getting the money but didn’t pay anything to its workers. – How was the work organized? ivan yeremiovych: A man from our village would bring the clay and wedge it, and we would make the pots. I would come and cut some wedged clay off with a wire; then I would fire the pots. The furnace was in the building. It was a large space that had everything; it was built by the kolhosp. The furnace was rebuilt, and the workshop had about fifteen potter’s wheels. – Where did you get the clay? ivan yeremiovych: From the logged land. We would dig ten to twelve meters deep; the clay there would be jet black and sticky like oil. – Did the potters work at home, too? ivan yeremiovych: They worked at home in the mornings and evenings and would go to work during the day. They would sell the pots on the market. – When did you stop working [as a potter]? ivan yeremiovych: When the war began. The production was good at home and there [in the kolhosp?]. Pots were fired with lead. Lead was turned into sand; pots were covered with heating oil and placed into the furnace. The temperature was set high so it would melt. Once it melted, the glaze looked like a mirror. This was how the pots were made. – Did you make any furnaces at home? ivan yeremiovych: When I was making pots, I did. – Was the workshop reestablished after the war? Ivan Yeremiovych: When I came back from the war, I worked at home. After the war, they paid per workday. You would finish your work, come home, and work at home until late at night. My wife would go to work in the beet fields, and once we got back home, we would continue working at home until the late hours.

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Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – Where did people get the money to buy the clothes and the shoes [after collectivization]? arkhyp yakovych: They would sell potatoes or a piglet or a calf. People did what they could. They wore the clothes that were patched over and over. … – Was there a potter’s workshop in the kolhosp? arkhyp yakovych Yes. We pulled that kolhosp through like never before. There were four of us workers and we… Luka was a blacksmith in charge of the smithy. I made fifty items per day. To make fifty items per day, you had to make close to one thousand bowls. There was an older, sturdy man who said to me, “Let’s compete who can make more.” So, he made … how much is five three times five? A set of ten had thirty large bowls; thirty bowls was considered a set of ten. If he made 150 in a day and I made two sets of ten, that is sixty. I made four or two sets of ten of smaller bowls times five, and he – times five. The only difference was that I made them thirty minutes faster. So, he goes, “Damn! I didn’t think you’d cream me like that.” I said, “Brother, if you wanna try me, you can’t win.” And the reaping! You had to reap for seventy-two days. When I came back from the army, I reaped buckwheat and hay for seventy-two days, and it started snowing when I was reaping the buckwheat. I served in the army in Iran. I was brought from Sukhumi and was healthy, not wounded. The brigade chief would say to me every day, “Come on, come on.” So, I worked seventy days reaping in the field, that’s no small thing. – Were the potters who had workshops dispossessed? arkhyp yakovych: Kyrylo Kanonetsky was dispossessed and exiled, but in the end, he came back home and continued working. Only this time he worked mostly at night. … – Were the potters heavily taxed? arkhyp yakovych: Oh! This was the reason why they quit pottery. Some worked at night because they were afraid. The taxes were extremely high, God forbid! I worked in the financial department of the village council, and I was also a cooper. The people who used to make pants and jackets were heavily taxed. I remember I came to work early one morning, and I saw Prokip Snisarenko and the head of the village council fighting. I didn’t know why they were beating each other up. I took them apart, “Guys, take it easy. This is not the street.” The head of the village council ran for the phone and called up the inspector from the finance department – Hrysha Dmytrovych Yatsenko. So, he and Yatsenko got on the motorbike, and I followed them on my bicycle and off we went to the house of one man. The guy who was in a fight worked

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as a carpenter for the owner of this house. Pavlo was disabled; he had one leg. Yatsenko said, “Who built this house for you?” – “Why do you ask?” – “I want to hire a person who does this kind of work. What’s his name?” The head of the village council was standing there, listening. “Prokip Snisarenko built my house.” I knew that he was lying, but it was not my business, so I was standing there silent. He walked around and asked, “How much does it cost?” – “415 rubles.” So, he made a note and is passing him the paper to sign, but he didn’t want to sign. Then the head of the village council took the paper, signed it, and passed it on to me to sign. I said, “My business is to make payments. If I have an invoice, I take the amount, that’s it.” So, they went to this man’s house that was built by Prokip. The head of the village council knew who built the house. Hrysha came (I forgot his patronymic), and the head of the village council asked, “Who built the house?” – “Why do you ask?” (He spoke Russian.) – “Don’t worry. I want to hire him.” – “Prokip Snisarenko built the house.” – “How much did he charge for it?” – “415 rubles.” This was a great deal of money at the time. He took notes, “Please sign.” – “Why should I sign? I’m just giving you the spoken answer.” They signed and slammed him with 250 or 300 in taxes! He didn’t pay. He wasn’t earning anything and didn’t have any money at the time. Nothing! They took the school cart and all of us – this inspector, the head of the village council, and I – went to his house, to this guy Prokip. “Are you going to pay?” – “I don’t have any money. I will pay in installments.” – “Pay us now!” This guy had a good radio receiver at home. Hordii thought that I was the dumb one and said to me, “Take it.” I said, “No, you take it. I won’t.” So, he and Yatsenko took the radio and sold it to the cooperative; I don’t know how much they got for it. And Prokip paid the tax in installments in the end. That’s a story for you! People started fearing [the administration] and all the enterprise (here “crafts”) work stopped. – Did the potters sell their goods in a separate place on the market? arkhyp yakovych: Yes, but only on condition that they paid income tax. If they didn’t and were caught, they would be fined heavily! … – How many potters were there in the village? arkhyp yakovych: In our village, about seventeen, not fewer. – Was this before the war? arkhyp yakovych: Before and in the beginning of the war. There weren’t many dugouts, maybe five or six in the whole village. … – Did they measure carts? arkhyp yakovych: No. You’d fire the pots and bring them to the market in Borovytsia, Shabelnyky, Khudiaky, and Lesky. I used to go there in a cow cart. Some would hire gypsies and their horses to transport the pots.

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– How much did a bowl cost? arkhyp yakovych: A good one would cost one ruble before the war. A potter could make 1,500 bowls a month, so there you go. If the furnace was big, they could make 1,500 bowls. If a smaller one, then 1,200–1,500. You could sell 1,000–1,300. A cow cost 1,000 rubles. Domna Fedorivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – How did people who didn’t join the kolhosp make a living?

domna fedorivna: They suffered because their land would be constantly

taken away; they did what they could until the second kolhosp was built later on. One was named after Stalin, and the other one after [Ukrainian Communist Party leader] Petrovsky. So those who didn’t join the first one, were herded together into the second one; they saw that there was no choice. They didn’t pay money at the time. They gave a kilogram or two or three [of grain?] per day. At the end of the year, they would calculate kopeks, deducting fifteen or eighteen or twenty kopeks. At the very end of the year, you’d know if you earned a ruble or so. And when the last year was closed, you had to do what you could if you needed money. Maria Omelianivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – How did the kolhosp pay the people at the time? maria omelianivna : They gave people only grain. – How much did you get? maria omelianivna: Half a kilogram per workday, sometimes a kilogram per workday. – Was this enough to feed a large family? maria omelianivna : When they gave a kilogram per workday, it was enough. … – Did the people support collective property? Did you personally care about the crop being good and harvested in a timely manner? maria omelianivna : At the time, all people cared about the crop to be good because they knew that if things were good in the kolhosp, we’d have a lot of bread. – Did people care about the kolhosp land in the same way they cared about their own? maria omelianivna: Yes, once we got used to it, the feeling was the same. … – Where did you get the money to buy the clothes?

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maria omelianivna : I’d sell flour, grain, or eggs – this and that. Where else could we get the money? We didn’t have any pigs or calves as some other people did. – Did you make your own clothes yourself? maria omelianivna : We used to spin the wool, make the cloth, and make snow boots out of wool and felt. – Who made them? maria omelianivna : There were people in Dzhuryn who specialized in making cloth. – What kind of clothes could you personally make? maria omelianivna : I would spin the wool, dye it, and make skirts. We sowed hemp and made and embroidered the shirts. – Could one exchange something for clothes in your village? maria omelianivna : Yes. During the war or the famine, people would exchange produce for clothes. Those who were in dire need would bring us the clothes for an exchange. This is how my sister Natalka got a very good green skirt; my mother gave a bowl of rice for it. Mykhailo Antonovych Diachenko (Cherkasy region)

mykhailo antonovych: The first years in the kolhosp were difficult, and later on they started taxing us heavily. You’d work for a whole year and not know how much you’d make in the end. They would mark the days you worked, but you never knew exactly how they calculated those. People would say: they gave me 1.5 kilograms of potatoes. And if they were given two kilograms of grain, that was considered a great deal! … – Where did you get the money after the kolhosp? mykhailo antonovych: Each did what they could; some made the cloth. Women had weaving work for the winter. I used to break the hemp. All people used to weave; then we would bleach the cloth to sew the clothes. It was difficult work, and on top of that you had to embroider the collars in the end. – Did you sell the fruit and the fish? mykhailo antonovych: We lived off the gardens, for the most part. There was no trade. There was a private smithy before the kolhosp was set up. The carpenters and the coopers were private entrepreneurs. They worked and had some money.

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Maria Opanasivna Yeshchenko (Chernihiv region) – Did you produce anything at home for sale? maria opanasivna: Some milk, potatoes, and onions. It wasn’t just us; all the people were selling something on the market. – Was it like this all the time? maria opanasivna: Well, at the time. – Did people sell produce on the market after 1933 or not so much? maria opanasivna: Not so much. 1933 was a very difficult year for me. I had a child, and with the famine it was very hard. 1947 was even harder than 1933 because I had several children. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region)

andrii solomonovych: We got two kilograms of bread per workday;

sometimes 1.5 kilograms or 700 grams. For example, I worked 1.5 days today and got 1.3 kilograms. … – Where did people get the money to buy things? andrii solomonovych: We used to wear linen clothes that we dyed using elderflower. They imposed large loans on us at the time. They’d charge you 800 or 1,000 rubles, and you had to pay. They would come to your house, sit down, and sign papers. I came home once, and they were there, “Here. Sign this.” – “No, I won’t sign.” Next day, they would come late in the evening or at night, to put more pressure. There was no money back then. – If you signed, you had to pay the money? andrii solomonovych: No, it was to make you pay later. This was back in the day. Hanna Vasylivna Zamohylna (Poltava region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp? hanna vasylivna: Yes. When our kolhosp was the only one, no one was stealing; we had enough for everyone. When it was merged with Horodyshche, people started stealing. Things went down the hill from there. We didn’t earn enough, there wasn’t enough bread, and people were stealing. They paid us only twenty kopeks per workday, but you wouldn’t even get that because you had a thousand [rubles] in loans (oblihatsiia) and owed them money in the end. If someone had a cow or a calf, they would sell it. We also paid taxes on Easter eggs and meat.

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Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid in the kolhosp? yakiv mykhailovych: The first three years that I worked there they didn’t pay anything. Later on, they started paying well, and we lived well. … – Did people sell any produce on the market after the famine? yakiv mykhailovych: No, nothing. – What about after the war, say in the 1950s? yakiv mykhailovych: They would sell the cattle. My father used to work in a private enterprise. There was a horse-powered thresher. – Did people sell any produce on the market after the collectivization? yakiv mykhailovych: Nothing. – Was there an orchard? yakiv mykhailovych: There were fruit trees for our family. – In the 1950s, were the fruit trees taxed? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, the trees and everything. People gave the state rye, wheat, potatoes, and meat. People would come from the village council, and we paid them our taxes. – What if someone could not pay the taxes? yakiv mykhailovych: I was in Cherkasy serving in the military. (People did military service from one to three months at the time.) My father failed to pay something, so they took our cow. My father went asking to get the cow back, but it was locked up in a barn. At the edge of the khutir lived a kolhosp activist; we called him katsap [a pejorative term for a Russian]. My father told me that the cow was locked up for two days, and as a military man I went to talk to them: – Why don’t you give back the cow to my father? – He doesn’t have any money. Who are you? – I was doing my military service in the past two months. – Alright, I will write a note; show it to your supervisor and you can take the cow back and pay the money back in installments. So, my father and I went to take back the cow. Kateryna Kostiantynivna Zoria (Kharkiv region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp?

kateryna kostiantynivna: They used marks to record the days

worked. You know, then they would say, “You haven’t done enough work to earn a mark.” Eh, the kind of work we did and how we did it. No one should work like this, and people shouldn’t be forced to work so much; people today won’t survive it like we did.

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– Did you receive wheat and corn at the time? kateryna kostiantynivna: Yes, we did, but what use was that? The minimum you had to work at the time was 300 workdays. My old man and I did up to 700 workdays. He did the sawing, and I did various jobs, wherever they sent me and in the vegetable garden, too. They recorded that I worked eleven days. After my eye was removed, I didn’t work anymore; I had a disability of the second category. – Eleven workdays per year? kateryna kostiantynivna: No, per month. What did they give you per workday? When the kolhosp picked up, they started giving more. Then they determined that my disability was the third category and told me to go back to work. – Did you work during the Second World War? kateryna kostiantynivna: No. – Where did you work afterwards? kateryna kostiantynivna: In the vegetable garden brigade. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: They didn’t pay us and took everything

away to pay the (oblihatsiia) “loans.” When I worked in the Dnipro River Hydroelectric Station, three to four men would come to impose the loan: you owe us this much, sign here, and pay back later. What would I pay it with? It was a hard time. If you went to the woods and stole some wood, they’d fine you. They would cut the wood and transport it on a two-wheel cart as far as Chornobaii. … – What did you earn in the kolhosp to make a living? mykhailo yevdokymovych: We had a cow and went to the market. We never had the milk from our cow, God forbid; we only took it to the market to sell. The state also imposed the taxes that we had to pay by giving them milk. Just giving it away to them for nothing. Ivan Dmytrovych Ilchenko (Kharkiv region) – How much did people earn in the kolhosp?

ivan dmytrovych: They paid us very little. Some years, we had nothing

to pay the tax with. Sometimes, they would just give us only a hundred grams of grain per day. It was a very hard time.

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Semen Kharytonovych Yonenko (Cherkasy region) – Did you make pots at home? semen kharytonovych: Yes, at home. – Throughout the year? semen kharytonovych: Yes. – What was it like during the kolhosp times? semen kharytonovych: We continued making pots while it was allowed. When it was not allowed anymore, we stopped. – How long ago did you stop making pots? semen kharytonovych: Long ago. – Why did you stop? semen kharytonovych: It wasn’t profitable. The administration imposed taxes on us. The license [to produce pottery] didn’t allow for a larger scope of work, and they would always come to the market to check. – Were the potters dispossessed? semen kharytonovych: No, not the potters – the rich people were dispossessed. – Weren’t the potters rich? semen kharytonovych: No, they weren’t. Fedora Terentiivna Karakai (Cherkasy region) – Did you join the kolhosp on your own or were you forced to? fedora terentiivna: I was forced. – By the locals or the newcomers? fedora terentiivna: The locals went around people’s houses at night. They came and took the cow away on a rope. The local men. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – Did your father do extra jobs to earn more? yevdokia ivanivna: He worked for various people as a craftsman, did odd jobs, and was hired for long-term work outside the village (zaverbovuvavt’sia). In April, he’d go to work at the windmill until the Intercession of the Theotokos in October. He’d work there throughout the summer and get some payment. When we left our father’s house, we lived in poverty and didn’t have anything. My father didn’t have any land at the time. Later on, they bought a house, and then got a few dug-outs and two hectares of the hay field. My father’s father gave them some land and the hemp, and they started working the land. They would seed the hemp and proso millet. The arable land for

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grain was in the field up the hill. My grandfather had a mill, and when he got weaker, he gave it to my father. It was a windmill; he used it to thresh his own grain and other people’s grains. There were six mills in Trybok and three in Ostrovok. He would thresh for the people, and they would pay with grain. There was no money at the time. They would thresh six or seven bags, and he would take a set measure for his work. – Did you have a garden? yevdokia ivanivna: There was a small orchard: cherry trees, plum trees, and one apple tree. The soil was sandy, and the plants didn’t grow that well in it. – Did you sell anything on the market? yevdokia ivanivna: Yes, that was our only way to make a living. During the famine and the kolhosp time we didn’t go to the market much. When we had a cow, we used to sell cheese, butter, eggs, and pysanky (decorated Easter eggs) on the market because there was no other way to get money. Everything went to the market. We didn’t have enough to eat at home for ourselves, but we took the produce to the market. We used to buy clothes, but never food. When my father came back from the war, he bought a cow because we had our own hay at the time. People from Chudnov would come to buy the hay because they didn’t have enough of it there, so we became seredniaky. We didn’t hire anyone; we did everything by ourselves. Kost Petrovych Kovalenko (Sumy region) – At the time of the kolhosp, where did your father get the money? kost petrovych: We joined the kolhosp and earned marks that symbolized the days worked. We worked day and night. I took care of the horses and grazed the calves. I was a brigade leader for two years. My wife was in charge of the kolhosp land plot [lankova]. We earned a good deal of grain and bought a cow, and then the (oblihatsiia) “loans” sucked out all the money we had. The brigade chief came up to me and said, “Here is the loan for 200 rubles. Sign it.” I said, “I can’t go with two 200, but I’ll sign if it’s one hundred.” So, we had an argument. I came home that night, and my wife said, “I was at the market, and we were pressured with the obligations. Did you sign for much?” I went to bed, but they came at night and summoned me to the village council where they threatened to exile me. – Were there any private entrepreneurs left? kost petrovych: Yes, and for a long time. I signed the loan for 200, sold one of my two piglets, and paid the loan that way.

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Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Were you paid by the kolhosp? maria pylypivna: Twenty kopeks per workday, never thirty. If you met the work goal, they would mark you 1.5 workdays – just a mark in the records that you did your work. At the end of the year, they would give you one hundred grams of bread and twenty kopeks. If you signed the loan (oblihatsiia) papers, you would have nothing to pay it back with. Back in the day, they used to come at night and make you sign the loan papers, whether you wanted to or not. You had a loan from the state, and if you didn’t work the required workday, you would have no days off. Trokhym Savovych Kozub (Cherkasy region) – Did you sell anything on the market after the famine? trokhym savovych: The barrels and such. – Was this after the war? trokhym savovych: People used to buy barrels at the time because they would make sauerkraut and pickles. This was before they started buying metal pans. – When did you stop selling on the market? trokhym savovych: When they started demanding a license. I had to have one and pay some amount per year to have the right to sell the goods on the market. If you didn’t have a license, you’d be fined. This was after the war. – Who imposed these licenses? trokhym savovych: The regional administration. A representative from the village council and from the regional administration would come to check. If you didn’t have one, they would not let you work on the market. – When did you work? You went to work in the kolhosp, right? trokhym savovych: This was before the kolhosp. – When you worked in the kolhosp, when did you have the time to make barrels? trokhym savovych: In the evenings and mornings. I’d work a couple of hours in the morning and leave for the kolhosp. … – How much did the kolhosp pay you? trokhym savovych: If you worked a year, you’d still get too little bread in the end. Each had 0.5 hectares and a desiatyna and took care of their land. There was not enough resource for the cattle. – Where did you get the money if you needed to buy something? trokhym savovych: Everyone had a trade of some kind. You could find

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anything on the market, and the prices at the time were nowhere near what we have now. Grain was cheaper back then; sixteen kilograms of flour cost 1.5 karbovantsi, and no one would buy it because it was considered expensive. – Did you make clothes by yourselves? trokhym savovych: Of course. We had looms to weave the fabric; then the fabric was bleached to sew the clothes. People spun yarn because they kept the sheep. They would make jackets, pants, and suits. There was no state form of production. – Would you exchange a barrel for other goods? trokhym savovych: Yes, one wanted one thing, and the other – something else. My father would take about twenty wooden barrels with metal hoops to the market in Kherson. People were exceptionally rich there and there was a lot of land for grain and wheat. They would pay with a measure of grain. A barrel would normally hold ten buckets of grain. He would bring such a barrel home, and all the neighbors would come to borrow some grain because it was two or three weeks before the harvest, and there was nothing left to eat. After the harvest, they would give back the grain they borrowed. … – Were there any potters in the village? trokhym savovych: About five people and they made very good pots: bowls and jars. People would make dumplings in the bowls, grind millet for borshch, or grind poppy seeds for cakes. They also made pumpkin-shaped jars for water. … – When did they stop making pots? trokhym savovych: During collectivization. Uliana Kyrylivna Kolobotska (Cherkasy region) – Your father didn’t want to join the kolhosp, did he?

uliana kyrylivna: They forced the people to join.

– The locals or the newcomers? uliana kyrylivna: Both. – How did they make a living? uliana kyrylivna: They went from house to house. There were about three of them. – How did people treat them? uliana kyrylivna: I don’t want to even think about it. They evicted people from their houses and took everything away to the last potato. – Were the people dispossessed? uliana kyrylivna: Yes. Some were evicted from their houses and

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deported somewhere, I don’t know where. Their houses were used by the kolhosp. One old man came back; he had been deported as far as Arkhangelsk [a city in subarctic Russia– ed.]. – How much were you paid? uliana kyrylivna: What did they pay us back then? Fourteen kopeks per workday, and we didn’t even see that. They would just make a mark for each workday. Maybe you raised a piglet, but the taxes were high: meat, 120 eggs, 460 [rubles?] in taxes, plus the loan. There was no money to pay with, and I also had to pay the childless tax because I wasn’t married. This was before the war. … – Were there many potters in your village? uliana kyrylivna: Yes: Mykhailo Kravets, Demian Kosiachenko, and Denis Drobit. Oh, many potters. – What did they make? uliana kyrylivna: Pots, bowls, and jars. Demian Kosiachenko also made cups. – What did they do with them? uliana kyrylivna: They would sell them on the market in Vilshana. Everyone had a horse. Those who didn’t, would hire one. During collectivization they would hire a car from the kolhosp. – Did people who could not make their own pots hire potters? uliana kyrylivna: Yes, they would pay the potters. There was a widow who didn’t have any money. She used to bring some clay, wedge it, chop the wood, and hire the potters to fire the pots. Then she would go to Vilshana to sell the pots. – Were these potters taxed? uliana kyrylivna: Sure thing. Different ones had different taxes. – When did you have time to make pots if you worked in the kolhosp? uliana kyrylivna: In the evening and during the night. – Did the neighbors help? uliana kyrylivna: Some would help carry the pots to the oven. In 1947, Ivan was a good potter. I used to fire nice, glazed pots and sell them. The pots got broken, and I had been so hopeful about selling them. We had a really “good” head of the kolhosp who used to check up on us and wouldn’t let us make pots. People would make pots at night, and if someone didn’t come to the kolhosp one day, he’d be fined – such hardship. … – Wasn’t it considered a sin to work on holidays? uliana kyrylivna: If it was a holiday, we didn’t work. During the kolhosp time, we worked on Sundays and holidays. Sometimes, if you didn’t want to work, you’d run away from home and hide somewhere to avoid going to work. They used to make people work on Easter.

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Kost Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – Where did people earn money after collectivization? kost hryhorovych: Back in the day, the factories paid salaries, and the income was stable. The kolhosp gave us nothing. There was no kolhosp and still isn’t one in Kyianytsia. Everyone worked at the factory. – Did the workers gain better qualifications? kostiantyn hryhorovych: No, worse. There used to be highly qualified workers at the time because the education was better. There are no such masters anymore – those could do anything. People were clever at the time. The tools that were made at the time were unsurpassed. Now the specializations are narrower. Back in the day, you would see a bigger picture. – Was life in the kolhosp worse than the life of those who worked at the plant? kostiantyn hryhorovych: Worse, much worse. Stalin’s taxes were too high. Where could a person get the money to pay except selling what one had? Dmytro Danylovych Lisachenko (Kharkiv region) – What did you eat after collectivization? dmytro danylovych: My father’s relative Kliementiv lived on this street. My father’s sister was married to him. He was like Chapaiev [Vasily Chapaiev was a Red Army commander during the Russian Civil War– ed.] He had a team, and they protected the village. He didn’t have land, as far as I remember; he was like a Cossack and he liked being in charge. So, he helped us, and from there we moved to Kharkiv, and my mother went from apartment to apartment there, sewing for people and making a living. We lived on the road, like gypsies. My mother’s sister and her children stayed in the village. They all worked in the kolhosp. They were illiterate and didn’t have any skills. Their great-grandchildren might still be living there. Iryna Vasylivna Lotosh-Diatlenko (Sumy region) – Were you paid well at first in the kolhosp? iryna vasylivna: In the first year, it was okay. Afterwards they paid less and less until the payments stopped completely. My husband worked as a driver. He’d have lunch in the field with the brigade, and in the end, he owed them money for that soup or borshch. This is why the children left. … – What did your father do? iryna vasylivna He was a blacksmith and had his own smithy near the pasture. He moved it to our house before collectivization.

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– Was it a large smithy? iryna vasylivna: With one bellows. He worked there with his assistant, a younger guy. … – Did your father own any land? iryna vasylivna: Yes. – How much, approximately? iryna vasylivna: Over a desiatyna. We used to help him with the harrow during the sowing. He would sow and we would drive the harrow. We also plowed on our own. I would drive a horse, and my father would work the plow behind. My mother’s relatives used to come from Tokari to help us reap. They didn’t have any land, so they would come to help us reap and get a bag or wheat or rye in return. … – After the kolhosp was set up, where did the people start making money? iryna vasylivna: If I harvested a cucumber or a tomato, I would take them to the market to sell. The market was held three times per week. I used to sell ten vegetables for five kopeks and would buy something else with the money I got. Paraska Ivanivna Liubychankivska (Vinnytsia region) – How much did people earn in the kolhosp at the time? paraska ivanivna: There were three of us working in the kolhosp: Hryhir in the workshop, Pylyp on the tractor, and I in the sugar beets field. For the whole year, we earned 144 kilograms of grain; this was our payment. How could one survive on that? The taxes were terrible. I used to sell whatever I could: cloth or blankets – anything I had – to be able to pay [taxes]. There was a guy who always stood near the administrative building telling us to pay taxes. – Did the locals or the newcomers collect taxes? paraska ivanivna: The locals. They are all dead now. Shelestian was the head [of the kolhosp?] at the time. Oleksandra Fedotivna Marchenko (Cherkasy region) – When you worked there gathering pinecones, was it enough for you to buy food and clothes? oleksandra fedotivna: Not at all. I’d walk in the snow gathering the cones. The boss himself saw how hard I worked carrying those loads in the snow. One time, he asked, “Why are you crying, daughter?” I said, “I gathered the cones in the snow, but I was robbed. Now I have nothing.” There were three of us girls,

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and he sent us to sort potatoes in the cellar. At least, we could warm up there. Upstairs, the men were doing their work, so we’d take some potatoes to them. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people make songs about the kolhospy? mykola ivanovych: I haven’t heard any. There were jokes: “It’s good to live in the kolhosp: one person is working, and one hundred are resting.” [Rhymes in the Ukrainian: U kolhospi dobre zhyt’, odyn robyt’– sto lezhyt’.] Various things happened, but it was not bad. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – When did people start supporting collective property?

ivan serhiiovych: After the famine in 1935 or 1936. The harvest was good in 1937, so we got seven kilograms of grain per workday and 50 kopeks cash. Everyone supported the kolhosp. I gave my plow, horses, and harrows to the kolhosp. Everyone remembered their property. We gave the state our grain to sow and feed the cattle, and whatever was left was to pay for work, so everyone cheered for the collective property to work out. … ivan serhiiovych: When the kolhosp was set up, I stopped weaving because I had to go to work in the kolhosp every day. People started buying textiles in the stores, and the tablecloths I used to make went out of fashion. I sold my loom for twenty rubles. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region)

mykyta mykolaiovych: Most fled to the sovhospy (state owned farms);

life was better there than in the kolhospy, and they paid some money. In the kolhosp, they only marked your workdays, but in the sovhospy people got money and food three times a day – most importantly, they got money. In the kolhosp, they would make the marks for each day worked and give food, but not money. Money would be paid only in the end of the year. – What did you do in the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: I drove the German tractor “Fordson” from 1928. Maria Maksymivna Nekhai (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid in the kolhosp for each workday?

maria maksymivna: A few kopeks or nothing at all. We were so poor,

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dear Lord! They would make a record that I worked, give me a mark, and that was it. We got nothing. … – What did you buy clothes and boots with? maria maksymivna: You’d take the potatoes, sugar beets, or cucumbers from your garden, run to the market, sell them, and buy half a pound of sugar. Half a pound! Back in the day, a pound was the measure; now we have kilograms. Kids would come, and that sugar would be gone very soon. … – How much land did your father have before the collectivization? maria maksymivna: Around six desiatyny, not too much. He was a poor man. – Did he have any siblings? maria maksymivna: He had brothers. – Were they poor, too? maria maksymivna: Yes. – What kind of cattle did you have? maria maksymivna: A cow, a horse, the sheep, and a piglet. – Did your father sell produce to be able to buy something? maria maksymivna: Yes, he’d sell something and buy anchovies. – Did he have to sell something after 1933, too? maria maksymivna: There was nothing to sell. We worked for a mark, one hundred grams of grain. We didn’t sell anything, and they gave us very little money in the kolhosp. … maria maksymivna: My father was a carpenter. He built people’s houses. – Was this his additional job? maria maksymivna: Yes, he made expensive masti [meaning unclear, possibly “doors”] out of metal. – Did he do this work before collectivization? maria maksymivna: Yes, yes. When I was little, he used to make metal masti for the railroad, and then he started building houses for people. … – Did he carry on with the carpentry after the kolhospy were organized? maria maksymivna: He worked in the kolhosp. – As a carpenter? maria maksymivna: Yes, he helped people fix their barns and such. – At what age were the children in your family given work to do? Maria Maksymivna: They did everything: weeding, planting, everything. From what age? Starting at age eight or nine. They would also graze the cows and horses.

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Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Chenihiv region) – How much were you paid? maria serhiivna: Paid? We worked for free at the time, for a mark in the records. They used to joke: “There’s a woman sitting on a blanket, counting the workdays; she counted ten days for one workday.” Such were our “earnings.” I’m telling you the truth. … – Where did people get the money or food? maria serhiivna: We ate whatever grew in our vegetable garden– pumpkins, potatoes. The famine was terrible; we suffered so much! – Where did you get the money to buy clothes? maria serhiivna: We had nothing, I’m telling you. Only the food we produced by ourselves. Someone would give us sugar, so we’d take it to the market to sell. Andrii Platonovych Oklei (Kharkiv region) -Were you forced to go to work? andrii platonovych: Yes, they would force us to go to work at the time. There was a famine at the time, and people would flee to save their lives because they didn’t give us anything to eat here. I tried to run away, but he caught me in the yard and kicked me in the back. He arrested me and took me to a cellar. They also caught Musiivna and Kholodniak, so the two of us spent the night in the cellar. In the morning, my mother came and brought me some food to eat. Then they sent us to stack the hay. We spent the day stacking the hay; I must say they gave us broth to eat there. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region)

ustyna yukhymivna: I was offended by the contracting practice. They

started contracting people: you had to stay in the village, stay in the kolhosp, and do the work. I was very offended that my calf was contracted in this way. I went to the field to dig beets, and the girls and I decided to go to the sugar plant in Balakleia, eighteen kilometers away from our village. Next day, we went to the field but left the beets and went to the sugar plant. I worked with the evaporator, and I was hired without documents. I worked there for a season and learned all about evaporation, and my other friend worked in the machine department. When we came back, the contracting started, and people were enlisted to work in the Donbas. There were not enough workers there at the time, so I went. When I came, I had two karbovantsi and a piece

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of bread; I was hungry. Some guys came up to me, “Miss, do our laundry.” I washed and pressed their clothes and got paid three karbovantsi. Then I was hired as a motorist to work the ventilator; then I was sent to a children’s playground for a season. Then I worked as a motorist at the grinder in Krasny Luch. Finally, I was sent to work in the mine. Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid per workday? andrii hryhorovych: 1.5 kopeks per day, you can throw them where you will. – Is this what people used to say? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, there was also a saying: “That would buy you powder, soap, and something for the girls.” [Na pudru, na mylo, i shche shchob dlia dievochok khvatilo.] – Was this a humorous song? andrii hryhorovych: We used to get about 300 grams of second-rate wheat or grain per workday. First-rate grain was sent to the warehouse. If you had 300 workdays, you had 48–80 kilograms. Live with that as you will. – Was it hard? andrii hryhorovych: Yes. – What year did you join the kolhosp? andrii hryhorovych: Right away in 1929. … andrii hryhorovych: Everything was from the vegetable garden: potatoes, greens – this and that. They charged high taxes and loan (oblihatsiia) payments. – Did you have to work the whole day in the kolhosp to earn a workday mark? andrii hryhorovych: Of course. – They didn’t give you any money per workday, or did you say they paid 0.5 kopeks? andrii hryhorovych: There was no money, you know. If you earned money, they would deduct the loans and you were always in the red. … – What did you get for your work in the 1930s? andrii hryhorovych: Back then, I made a living. I got married in 1938, and before then I used to drive a tractor and a harvester. Back then, I had the money. When I drove the harvester, I earned 3,500 and 400 kilograms of premium class wheat in a month because I worked in the radhosp. … – How could people make a living?

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andrii hryhorovych: You have to make a living with your honest labor: raise a piglet or a calf or grow vegetables for sale. I used to plant tobacco on 0.15 hectares and that was how I made a living. – You would sell the tobacco and that was enough to make a living? andrii hryhorovych: I processed it and took it to Kyiv for sale, you know. I sold it in bulk – three hundred glasses at a time – and charged six hundred rubles: two rubles per glass. The reseller would charge more. – Was this in the 1930s? andrii hryhorovych: No, this was after the war. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – What happened to your orchard after the 1930s? maria vasylivna: Nothing, we didn’t cut it; we kept it because we’d always have fresh apples in the winter. When the children came to sing carols, we’d give them nuts and apples. We would eat those apples all winter long. We didn’t sell them as much as we ate them for vitamins or give them to people as treats and gifts. – Were there any orchard taxes? maria vasylivna: No, none. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region)

varvara ihorivna: I remember for Women’s Day on 8 March they dressed me up (I was little) into an embroidered shirt, a red corset, an apron, ribbons, and a wreath. I went on stage to recite a poem: “It’s the holiday and one hears songs and factory whistles. From the smoky outskirts we are going to work. Red poppies bloom. It’s our women’s holiday today. The 8th of March is our day. We will show you the dedication with which a woman will carry on Lenin’s cause. All through the Soviet state, powerful factories are being built. The high-capacity machines are put to work on the kolhosp land.” This was the poem I recited. People also sang the revolutionary songs. I don’t remember them. I was forced to pay the childless tax. I said to them, “Where would I get a child? Should I go to the streets, so I wouldn’t have to pay the childless tax?” So, I ran away from there. “Let the others sing those songs about Lenin and Stalin. It’s good what Stalin did, but it’s not good that we have to pay the childless tax.” Next day, the police came and arrested me. Good thing the head of the village council and the head of the kolhosp put in a word for me; otherwise, I’d probably go to prison for fifteen years for what I said. Someone from our group reported me. Since then, I never said anything about Lenin or Stalin, God forbid. And I don’t want to hear anything about them either.

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Nykyfir Maksymovych Poberezhnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did you have any seasonal earnings? nykyfir maksymovych: Yes, we used to go to the radhosp in Kalytynka. – How much were you paid there? nykyfir maksymovych: When I was a little boy, I was paid twenty kopeks for a row of sugar beets. … – How much did you get in the kolhosp? nykyfir maksymovych: Four to five kilograms per workday. Our kolhosp was richer, and we earned 300–350 workdays. – If the kolhosp didn’t pay any money, where did the people get the money for clothes and boots? nykyfir maksymovych: The kolhosp paid us: twenty kopeks each. – Could you buy boots with this money? nykyfir maksymovych: Sure thing. … – Did people support collective property? nykyfir maksymovych: Of course, they did. If there was no collective property, there’d be no income in the kolhosp. … – Where was the market fair held? nykyfir maksymovych: In Zhuryn. – How much did a coat cost? nykyfir maksymovych: I didn’t see any yard coats at the time. – What did people wear at the time? nykyfir maksymovych: They made their own coats from cloth. – Were there any professional shoemakers? nykyfir maksymovych: There were cobblers who mended shoes, not the ones who made shoes. I don’t know of any who made shoes. – Did people exchange clothes for produce? nykyfir maksymovych: No. Hanna Zakharivna Podzhara (Cherkasy region) – Was your father a blacksmith?

hanna zakharivna: We had a smithy at home before the kolhosp.

– Did your father own the land? hanna zakharivna: My father had three hectares of land. He worked in the smithy in the summer and winter. His name was Zakhar Ivanovych Pysarenko.

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– When the kolhosp was set up, did your father continue working in the smithy? hanna zakharivna: His sons took it apart. This was during the kolhosp time, and my father died. – Did your father join the kolhosp? hanna zakharivna: They took everything: the horse and the cart. – Was it forbidden to work in the smithy? hanna zakharivna: He was old at the time. – Was he paid? hanna zakharivna: I don’t know what he charged. – Did you take any products to the market? hanna zakharivna: No, if someone came and asked for something, my father would make it for them, but I don’t know how much he charged. – When did your father die? hanna zakharivna: During the famine. Anastasia Tymofiivna Poludenko (Cherkasy region) – Where did you get the clay for pots? anastasia tymofiivna: In two places: the well was dug in the steppe, and the clay was loaded on to a cart or into a large bag that was carried on the shoulders and taken to the markets in Medvedivka or Sahunivka. This was after the war. – How much did the clay cost? anastasia tymofiivna: At the time, it was either one ruble or twenty kopeks. – Did you exchange the pots for something else? anastasia tymofiivna: Yes, a pot of grain for a pot. – Did people come from other villages? anastasia tymofiivna: I haven’t noticed. There were many potters, and everyone was a potter in Vovkohonivka. … – When did you have the time to make pots when you worked in the kolhosp? anastasia tymofiivna: My husband made pots at night. He would sheave during the day in the harvesting season and make pots at night. … – Were you taxed? anastasia tymofiivna: Licensing was imposed. There was a potter’s workshop in the kolhosp before the war. The kolhosp would mark the workdays and give 100 or 200 grams of bread per day and pay two or three kopeks per day.

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Yevtykhii Havrylovych Poluden and Oleksandra Vasylivna Poluden (Cherkasy region)

oleksandra vasylivna: He would have continued working, my dear, but it was forbidden, and his furnace was taken apart.

yevtykhii havrylovych: The immediate tax was thirty rubles, and then

it kept growing up to 300 karbovantsi. I worked in the smithy, and in the evening, they would show me their calculations, so I said, “Now you do the work.” Then they took apart the furnace and I stopped the work. They would come from the financial department in Chyhyryn, “Where is your furnace?” They came looking for it because they had a paper saying that I was making pots, so they made me take the furnace apart. This was in 1938–40, before 1950. – What kinds of pots did you use to make? yevtykhii havrylovych: Pots, jars, bowls, lids, and pumpkin-shaped jars. – How did the people in your village use bowls [makitra]? yevtykhii havrylovych: They would use them to grind poppy seeds and make the dough. There were also small, 1.5-liter pots called kashnyky. People made pots the size of two buckets, but I didn’t. – Did you make pots with handles? yevtykhii havrylovych: If someone wanted to have handles, I could add them. I made pumpkin-shaped jars because people had to go to the steppes, and such jars were good for preserving water. oleksandra vasylivna: At the time, we’d spend a long time on the market and sell nothing. There were some superstitions. A lid cost ten kopeks, and we didn’t even sell one lid. Everyone tried to sell something. There was an old man who would always be the first and only one to sell his pots, and others could sell only after he was done. – What was this man’s name? oleksandra vasylivna: Radchenko. He is dead. oleksandra vasylivna: “God, help me” and he would cross himself. He would come home from work and sit down to make pots at night. – Where did you make the pots? oleksandra vasylivna: In the house. – Did you dig the clay by yourselves? oleksandra vasylivna: We brought it home on our back. Yevtykhii Havrylovych: The one from the forest was not too deep, but if you had to go into the well and pull the clay out with baskets, the water would make it slippery. It was hard. – What did you use to pull the clay out? yevtykhii havrylovych: One person would stay in the well, and the other would pull the basket.

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– You made pots at night. When did you dig the clay? yevtykhii havrylovych: The clay was prepared in advance and wedged on a weekend. Then you’d wet and spread it. oleksandra vasylivna: We didn’t work on Sundays and on holidays even though we were scolded for this. Still, it’s a sin to work on those days. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – How much did you get in the kolhosp?

motria tymofiivna: I don’t remember how much they were giving us at

first, but later on it was one hundred grams of bread. – Per day? motria tymofiivna: No. After a while, they would calculate a kopek per shift worked and deduct the loans (oblihatsiia). We didn’t get any money; they would deduct the loan from your earnings, similar to the present-day lotteries. They would also impose a tax of 150 Easter eggs, and there was a tax for childless people. I didn’t have children, so I paid that tax. They used to force loans onto people because no one wanted to take a loan. They would harass you until you signed the loan papers. Then they would deduct the money from your earnings. … – Did you support the kolhosp? motria tymofiivna: We didn’t worry about it at the time. We just lived, that’s it. – Did you continue thinking about the field you owned? motria tymofiivna: Yes, they took such good land from us, and we worked for free for them. They took a lot of sugar beets and potatoes from us. … – Where did the people get the money for food and clothes? motria tymofiivna: The clothes would be mended, and the food was whatever we produced on our own. We had a market and would sell fermented milk there. Others sold the boots they made at home. – Did you make shirts for yourself during collectivization? motria tymofiivna: Yes, I used to weave cloth and make skirts and shorts from the cloth. We’d make men’s pants and shawls. We used to wear what we made. – Did you sell any of the clothes you made on the market? motria tymofiivna: Yes. – Did you exchange the clothes for food? motria tymofiivna: I don’t remember because I was little at the time. …

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– How much land did you have left after collectivization? motria tymofiivna: I don’t remember how much land they left us, but they left some. They would take the land that was most suitable for the kolhosp; if the land didn’t fit, people continued using it privately. Then the process was mechanized, and land was taken away. Olha Mytrofanivna Reuta (Sumy region) – Did people judge those who worked much in the kolhosp or did not work at all? olha mytrofanivna: Not in our family. People thought that others lived as they worked; it was their business. There used to be a rule in the kolhosp before the war that a person who didn’t fulfill their work goals was put on trial and sent to do timber logging work. … olha mytrofanivna: We used to raise and sell the piglets. We had a good cow and sold butter and cottage cheese. After the war, we would plant onions and tomatoes and sell them at the station. We had grain from the kolhosp; before the kolhosp, we used to sell grain and cattle. Everyone worked in our family. My mother said that my father’s sisters worked as tailors during the cold season and on rainy days. They were young girls full of energy: they worked both in the kolhosp and as tailors at home. This was how the people used to make it. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp? halyna ilarionivna: They paid us with flour, and they also marked the days worked. There was no money until 1941. In 1941, the war began, so we didn’t see any money either. They started paying us money in 1955 or 1965. … – Did you care whether there would be a good crop in the kolhosp? halyna ilarionivna: Yes, of course! We survived the famine, so we cared about the crops. … – Is it fair to say that the longer you worked in the kolhosp the more you were paid? halyna ilarionivna: Yes, we worked to earn more workday marks. I used to log 700 workdays per year, and we had more grain. We used to grow flax and linen at home and weave cloth. We used to soak the hemp in the rivers, break it, remove the husks, and weave in winter when we didn’t have to

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go to work in the kolhosp. We would prepare the slivers, spin yarn on a swift, warp it, and weave. – How much land did you have? halyna ilarionivna: We had 0.5 hectares each. – Did you call the kolhosp land your land? halyna ilarionivna: The plots were ours, so we called the land ours. … – Where did you get the money for daily expenses? halyna ilarionivna: We sold hens and Easter eggs. I would make starch from potatoes, sell it on the market, and buy millet. This scarf cost me 230 rubles. I bought it and went back home. – Did you make clothing yourself or did you buy it? halyna ilarionivna: We used to break the flax, spin yarn, weave, and sew the skirts and shirts. We’d buy the dyes and dye the fabrics. – Did you make clothes for an exchange? halyna ilarionivna: We would weave the cloth, sell it, and buy something else that we needed. – Did you exchange produce for clothes? halyna ilarionivna: No, we only sold the produce. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp? natalia hryhorivna: At first, nothing. We had enough if we planted our garden; we’d also bring our own produce to the kolhosp. We used to get 200 grams. We would grind the corn and make maize porridge. It would get solid as jelly, and you could cut it into pieces and treat your children. … – Were there no seredniaky anymore? natalia hryhorivna: Not anymore. – How did people treat those who were dispossessed? natalia hryhorivna: Everyone was different. My husband came back to the village and was a brigade leader in the kolhosp. He got his documents. There was construction in the radhosp in Medovyk at the time. He used to make the feeders, and the head of the radhosp was his acquaintance and a good manager. … – Where did people get the money for clothes and shoes? natalia hryhorivna: They used to weave cloth and make the linen clothes by themselves. People would plant hemp and flax. The fabric made of hemp was good; people used it for embroidery, too. These paupers took everything people had, but they, too, died from famine in 1933.

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… – Did you sell the produce on the market? natalia hryhorivna: Yes, whatever was bountiful that year. – And after the 1933 famine? natalia hryhorivna: We sold products on the market, too. – What about after the war? natalia hryhorivna: Same. We sold products on the market. We had a cow after the war, so I tried to make fermented milk, cheese, butter, and eggs and take them to the market in Khodorov. I had two sons– Vania and Misha– who were students. They used to wear a yard coat (kufaika) to school because I couldn’t afford to buy them better clothes. Yevhenia Dmytrivna Smola (Poltava region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp? yevhenia dmytrivna: Twenty or fifty kopeks per workday, so you’d end up with ten to twelve rubles. Then you’d pay off your oblihatsiia (“loan”). You wouldn’t get work until you signed the loan papers. These loans were so high you wouldn’t be able to pay them off with two years’ work. They started paying us more in 1948, and life was getting better; we already had cattle at the time. Hanna Yakivna Snurikova (Kharkiv region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp?

hanna yakivna: They used to mark the days worked. If the harvest was

better, they would give more. Some people would tell stories about how they worked all summer long and got only two bags; the pay was poor. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko (Cherkasy region) – Was the pay equal?

mykola Ppnteleimonovych: No, they got paid much less. People

would get something like 200 grams of bread per workday. If a worker did a workday, they would just record one mark for him. They gave us 200 grams per workday, and one would earn a bag of wheat in a year; that was it– go try to live off that.

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Oleksii Ivanovych Strilkov (Poltava region) – What did you get from the kolhosp? oleksii ivanovych: Ten kopeks and 200 grams of grain. Those who did not join the kolhosp died. Those who joined got one small halushka each. If you went to work in the field, you’d get one halushka, and in May you’d get two. Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – What did you do in the kolhosp? andrii fedorovych: I worked in the field. Some took care of the horses, some worked in the field, and others looked after the cattle; people were assigned to different roles. – What did you get for your work? andrii fedorovych: At first we received nothing, and later on we stopped receiving anything, if you know what I mean. When we threshed the first crop of grain, we were given 500 grams; then they recalculated and took 300 grams away and left us only 200 grams. That’s it. … – How did you buy the clothes? andrii fedorovych: People did what they could: some had a cow or a pig; some would get paid or steal something. – Could one steal from the kolhosp? andrii fedorovych: Some could, I guess. Pylyp Kuzmovych Kharchenko (Sumy region) – Was life in the kolhosp better? pylyp kuzmovych: At the time, life was better. I lived well and got a good deal of grain. I would sell sixteen kilograms of grain and have money. I used to get three kilograms per each day worked, and others didn’t get much. As tractor drivers, we got three kilograms and 3.5 rubles while others would get fifteen kopeks. – Why were you assigned as a tractor driver? pylyp kuzmovych: One man was assigned first, but he didn’t want to do this work. My brother was an activist, and he recommended me. I studied in Khotyn, so they fed me. Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Where did you get the money to buy clothes? fedora oksentiivna: Tell me about money! They gave us bread, but

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when it came to money, they made us pay taxes and loans (oblihatsiia). If I managed to buy a sweater, it was the only one I had, and I used it with care. There were no rubber or tarpaulin boots, nothing. … fedora oksentiivna: My father was a tailor; he used to make clothes for the people on a sewing machine, and my mother would weave and take care of the children. My father learned to sew from the Jewish people somewhere in Cherkasy. He also had apprentices while he worked as a tailor; they would study with him in the winter and work at their farmsteads in the summer. They would sew and we would weave in our house. … – Did your father continue sewing after the kolhosp was set up? fedora oksentiivna: Barely. He had to go to work. He used to make hay and stack it in the winter. They stacked hay in a particular way, and the stacks would stay like that for ten years without ever getting wet. Grandfather Arsentii was the best at this; no one can do it anymore like he did. – Were they forced to pay taxes? fedora oksentiivna: When the kolhosp was set up, they didn’t sew much anymore because they had to work in the kolhosp and there was nothing to sew at the time. My father would transport the coal to the kolhosp and take me with him to help. We’d burn the coal and give the larger ones to the kolhosp and the smaller ones to the pigs. We also made ropes that were used to spin the mill. … – Did you go to the market after the famine? fedora oksentiivna: What could you buy after the 1933 famine? People would go and buy some kerosene to mend the clothes in the evenings. – Did you have an orchard in the 1930s? fedora oksentiivna: Yes, but we chopped it all after they started imposing high taxes per each tree they’d record. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – How much were you paid by the kolhosp?

varvara denysivna: Oh, lord! What payment are you talking about? We used to sheave and weed, but when it came to paying us, they would deduct this and deduct that. It was very hard. … – Did people have enough money to buy the clothes? varvara denysivna: Of course not. They would weave and make their clothes by themselves.

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– Where did they buy the cloth? varvara denysivna: Some bought the cloth, but it was very rare. – Did people exchange the goods they produced? varvara denysivna: Not in our village. Everyone made things for their own use. – When your field was taken away from you, how much land did they leave you? varvara denysivna: Only the vegetable garden. Why would we need the field? We didn’t work in the field anymore since they took our horse, too, and all the other tools. Dmytro Mykhailovych Chuchupak (Cherkasy region)

dmytro mykhailovych: Four or five years after Lenin died, Stalin came to power in 1928 or 1929, and the exiles to Siberia began. At the time, they were after the supporters of the past policies, and lots of nep supporters who had their private trade were arrested. Perhaps my father was in commerce of some kind, I don’t know. Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko (Cherkasy region) – Did the people support the kolhosp?

iryna yakivna: Maybe its administrators supported the kolhosp. All

people were forced to work, and the workers worked. The official would give orders, so of course you would do the work. They would also come to check the quality of work. Anastasia Varfolomiivna Shpak-Smolinska (Cherkasy region) – Did the kolhosp pay you anything? anastasia varfolomiivna: They only marked the workdays (we called them “fool-days”). While marking those days, they tried to write down fewer days than we worked to save themselves some money. Vasyl Arsenovych Yavdoshenko (Poltava region) – Who was the activist in the village?

vasyl arsenovych: Kravchenko for the most part. I saw his tombstone in

the 1941 marble monument to the revolutionaries in Pyriatyn and Berhamyn. Our activists– Vertytvoroh, Kravchenko, and Prokop Dmytrovych Hohol– were intense and conducted the dispossessions. We had twenty-four mills,

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and they piled up stones around them and broke down the mills. They did the wrong things. Let the new happen and the old stay, but they destroyed the old and didn’t create the new. People still used quern-stones to grind the grain.

th i ev e ry i n t he kolhosp An oral history can provide details as well as interpretations of events that are not possible in a compilation of statistics or in a study that relies on official documents, especially in the case of the Soviet Union where newspaper and journal articles reflected “official” views approved by state censors. The kolhospnyk’s attitude toward thievery is one example. Soviet statistics and documents on thievery in the village in the 1930s cannot be considered reliable. The heads of kolhospy could not admit that there was widespread thievery on their domain without admitting to failure on their part and thus putting their own necks on the block. Although the interviews cannot provide accurate statistics as to the amount of kolhosp produce or materials stolen, they vividly portray the fear of kolhospnyky as well as the reasons for the thievery and the attitudes of those who were either engaged in the action or witnessed it. Most participants responded that thievery from the collective and state farms certainly occurred in the 1930s, but that it was exceedingly dangerous. One could be sentenced to hard labor for years for stealing a handful of grain. While a few respondents said that thievery from the kolhosp did not exist at all in the 1930s (e.g., Halyna Riasna), many described the awful risks people took in stealing from the kolhosp to feed their families. In many locales, kolhosp guards stood watch over the fields, and laborers were stopped and searched on their way home after work (Ivan Mushynsky, Varvara Chukhlib). Pockets had to be emptied and jackets were searched for a potato, a beet, or a handful of grain – as if they were emerging from a gold or diamond mine. There appear to have been many desperate attempts to bring food home from the fields. When a person was caught “stealing” from the kolhosp fields, the prison sentences were long, as described by several interviewees. Sofia Hrushivska recounts a seven-year prison sentence for stealing a bit of wheat; Varvara Chukhlib recalls a four-year sentence for stealing an armful of wheat shafts; and Hanna VyklenkoPohrebniak ten years for two or three beets. Paraska Bezkorovaina notes two years for two beets; Trokhym Kozub three years for two beets; and Arkhyp Dzhyrma five years for five kilograms of grain. Despite the awful risks involved, the kolhospnyky without a doubt stole, perhaps an indication of the desperation of the time when they earned so little and had such a limited supply of food. They would risk so much to steal so little.

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Yevhenia Smola – Did people steal in the kolhosp? yevhenia dmytrivna: Yes, a lot, including the sheaves. You’d work in the kolhosp during the day, and in the evening, you’d take a bag and go to the steppes. The guards were there doing their work, and people still managed to steal. We’d steal some, carry it home, and grind it at night. Such was life. A glass of corn cost ten rubles; you’d sell some and have money to buy a hat you needed. Mykhailo Ihnatenko described an extreme situation which illustrated the savage nature of Soviet power’s legalistic restraints against theft from the kolhosp. As a group of kolhospnyky were building stacks of straw left after taking grain from wheat stalks, a man found a stalk with grain left on it. He put it into his bag to take home. Someone informed on him that same day, reporting the “crime” to local party officials. While the man and the others were still in the fields working, the officials came for him. He saw them coming and tried to run, but they caught him and beat him so badly that he could not stand up for several hours, sprawled on the ground immobile and everyone too scared to help him or get involved. Sometime that evening he was finally able to stand, and he got home somehow. Several respondents note that the thievery on the kolhosp had not existed before collectivization when farms were private and a respect for neighbors’ labor and property usually prevailed (e.g., Natalia Kravchenko). The exception to this was the occasional theft of large animals such as horses, pigs, and cattle in the years before collectivization, usually by bands of professional thieves. However, thievery among peasants was not tolerated in the close-knit atmosphere of peasant society before collectivization. Breaking the rules against thievery was severely punished, often by villagers who did not wait for official retribution. Andrii Pavlichenko described the fate of a man who stole a boar in 1927 and was beaten to death by villagers for his crime. Ivan Panych described a similar situation from 1917 or 1919, where a band of men, apparently professional thieves, who were stealing horses were caught by villagers and beaten to death. Many respondents said that the pre-collectivization norm of no theft by peasant from peasant continued in the 1930s and 1940s (Hanna Zamohylna, Kost Kryvonis, Ivan Shamrai, Yevhenia Smola). It can be fairly safely stated that thievery among villagers, one villager stealing from another, rarely existed probably up to the Brezhnev period.2 Ivan Panych noted that in the 1920s, it wasn’t usually 2 Based on my travels and experiences in villages, I can state that a villager stealing from another villager was uncommon in most regions still in the 1990s, and likely well into the twenty-first century. If one excludes incidents related to alcohol abuse, it was exceedingly rare. In many villages

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necessary to steal from a neighbor, because if you asked him for an item or service he would give it to you, loan it to you, or barter for it: “People didn’t steal from one another. You were much better off simply asking them if you needed something; you could get it or exchange it for something else.” The theft of kolhosp products in the 1930s existed, and the propensity for theft was to grow and the act become more frequent through the years. It rarely was theft from neighbors, but instead from the kolhosp or radhosp. Petty thievery of agricultural produce, tools, and other materials from the state occurred usually to help feed a hungry family or to help buy clothes for them. The punishments for thievery from before collectivization and after collectivization were equally severe. However, before collectivization, punishment can be seen to have been to discourage a threat to the social order, while after collectivization it was most often to punish a person trying to feed a starving family. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha – Did people steal before the kolhosp was set up? ustyna yukhymivna: There was no theft before the kolhosp, and no one ever locked their doors. This started happening during the famine when people worked in the kolhosp and got 200 grams of food per workday. If they gave you soup once a day, they would subtract it from your earnings in the fall and you ended up owing them money. Someone who stole something [before collectivization] would be judged harshly. As noted above, petty thievery was ruthlessly punished, but a few respondents complained that the large-scale thievery of kolhosp officials often remained unpunished, as noted here by Frosyna Bojko: – Were people put on trial for stealing from the kolhosp? frosyna okhrymivna: Yes. Mostly those were the people who stole smaller portions, large enough to fit into a pocket. Those who stole more with their vehicles were not put on trial. Also, Maria Nekhai remarked:

maria maksymivna: You know what? We worked in the fields, and

besides marking the workdays, they paid us nothing. You’d walk across the

most incidents of theft in the 1920s involved roving bands of youth who came from outside that locale. Larger villages, on the other hand, had some of the problems of any urban area where youth unemployment is high.

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field and take five cucumbers and five tomatoes; you’d take whatever was at hand. We didn’t steal potatoes because we had our own. We’d only take five cucumbers and five tomatoes for dinner. There are numerous conflicting responses as to when petty theft of agricultural produce and kolhosp materials began, with many saying it began during the famine (Mykhailo Diachenko). Others responded that it began during the war when the occupying powers corrupted the villagers into stealing (Maria Dudnyk). A few claimed that it began after the war (Olha Reuta), or that it began in the Brezhnev era, or even that it started only recently, after Brezhnev (Andrii Pavlichenko). All of this can be seen as true of course, depending upon the person responding, their circumstances and their individual perceptions. At any rate, second-guessing the interviewees on this subject is not constructive. Also, realities vary by locale. There is no doubt that thievery by peasants of most goods rarely existed in the pre-collectivization village. It was not common for one peasant to steal from another. However, it appears that attitudes toward thievery changed in the socialist period when the theft was not from a neighbor but from the state. Most people became increasingly tolerant of the practice as time went on, and they appear not to have internalized a feeling of guilt for theft from the kolhosp or radhosp. When asked if they were ashamed of stealing or if a person became an outcast for stealing from the kolhosp, the answer from most respondents is unambiguously no. Wide-scale thievery was a product of life on the kolhosp. As in other sectors of the economy, thievery in a socialist agricultural context came to be seen as normal. Interviewees claimed that it was part of the “right” of every citizen, or they were “forced” into it. This created a moral ambiguity that plagued the Ukrainian ssr as well as all socialist states virtually from their inception:

in te rv i ew e xce rp ts : thef t in the kolhosp Trokhym Kozub – Did they say, “If it’s ours, it’s ok to steal it”? trokhym savovych: They would say: “If it’s ours, we should all take

some.”

Ivan Mushynsky Stealing is when you break into someone’s property; if it’s in the kolhosp, it’s not theft.

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Oleksandra Poluden – Did people say that it was a sin to steal in the kolhosp? oleksandra vasylivna: No, they were innocent. Ivan Panych If they don’t pay me, I will go stealing, so I’m considered a thief now. In 1947, I went stealing sugar beets because I was dying. Otherwise, I didn’t touch anything and lived off my own work. The ones who stole lived much better than I did. Kost Kryvonis – Wasn’t it considered a moral crime [to steal from the kolhosp]? kost hryhorovych: No, it was a self-evident fact. Motria Hrytsyna

motria fedorivna: People used to steal; they had no choice. in te rv i ew e xce rp ts : thef t in the kolhosp Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Did people use to steal back in the day? paraska mytrofanivna: Sure thing! Someone poisoned the cows, and people used to say it was done by the sons of the kurkuli. – Did the gangs attack people? paraska mytrofanivna: No. – Did people steal from the kolhosp after the famine? paraska mytrofanivna: They would take grain. Everyone wanted to survive. [I] stole two sugar beets and was sentenced to two years. But no neighbor would steal from a neighbor. – Did people lock their houses? paraska mytrofanivna: They did, but what was there to steal? They may have only had a little something in a bundle. There was nothing to steal.

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Frosyna Okhrymivna Boiko (Kharkiv region) – Were people put on trial for stealing from the kolhosp? frosyna okhrymivna: Yes. Mostly those were the people who stole smaller portions, large enough to fit into a pocket. Those who stole more with their vehicles were not on trial. – How much did the kolhosp pay people for their work? frosyna okhrymivna: They marked the number of days worked. – How did the people survive in this case? frosyna okhrymivna: They worked at home. They had to work in the kolhosp and then also worked in their own gardens. If they didn’t go to work in the kolhosp, they’d be on trial. Hanna Herasymivna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak (Vinnytsia region) – Were people punished by the kolhosp for stealing spikelets?

hanna herasymivna: For ages, poor people had the right to collect the

spikelets. It was forbidden during the kolhosp times, but we gathered them anyway. – Were some people sentenced in 1937 in your village? hanna herasymivna: Someone who stole two or three sugar beets would go to jail for ten years. There were many people in our village who gathered crops like that. They smuggled it to the other side where there was one Romanian. From there, they’d bring some goods – sheepskin to make fabrics and scarves to resell here. Some were reported to the nkvd and exiled. Some died, and some came back. Hryhorii Kyrylovych Vovkohon (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp? hryhorii kyrylovych: What else could one do? If someone got caught, they would be on trial, even for one spikelet. One of them came to collect taxes after my girl gathered some spikelets: “Pay the tax or I will search your house.” I went looking to borrow some money. They did what they could; they tortured us. Motria Fedorivna Hrytsyna (Sumy region)

motria fedorivna: People used to steal; they had no choice.

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Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp at the time? sofia tymofiivna: They would take some, but not as much as they do now. – Did they fear punishments? sofia tymofiivna: Of course. Our neighbor Motria had four children; she went to sheave wheat, took some home, and was caught. She was sentenced to something like seven years, I think. Then she came back, and her children were still living here. – When Motria stole that wheat, did people disapprove? sofia tymofiivna: No, not the people, but she was caught by the head of the kolhosp. His name was Zahoruiko or something like that. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp at the time? arkhyp yakovych: If someone worked by the harvester and stole five kilograms, they’d be sentenced to five years. If they stole six kilograms of wheat, that would be six years. How could one work near the harvester and not take something home so his wife or mother would grind the grain and bake a biscuit for him to take to work as lunch? They put people on trial. God help you if they got to you! Domna Fedorivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp at the time?

domna fedorivna: Not as much as they do now, no. If they went to

harvest peas, they could take a little home to make a soup or a pie; that was all. People were afraid. Later on, during the Romanian occupation during the war, it got worse. Truth be told, they gave people good bread, but there was no money. By then, I had worked in the kolhosp for two years with my mother, and those people gave me skirts and jackets because I grew out of the clothes I had. I left the sugar beets field and saw that people were changing shifts. I said I would do two or three shifts back-to-back because I had no one else who could earn anything; I had to earn more. Maria Omelianivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp at the time? maria omelianivna : During the first few years, no one was stealing anything. They started stealing during the war – the occupation.

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– Were people afraid?

maria omelianivna : They just didn’t understand how one could steal from one’s own field. Later on, they started stealing. – Was there a punishment for stealing? maria omelianivna : Yes, during the Romanian occupation. People would get sentenced to three or even five years. Mykhailo Antonovych Diachenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people start stealing more after the war? mykhailo antonovych: Theft increased during the famine. People were hungry, and there were robberies and attacks, but no one killed anyone. Somehow people were more united. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – Could people steal something from the kolhosp? mykhailo yevdokymovych: No, they would search and check. If someone put a potato in their pocket, they would check, summon that person, and fine them. – Was the present-day head of the kolhosp its administrator at the time, too? Mykhailo Yevdokymovych and others were party members. People worked in the field and sheaved crops. They were persecuted a great deal. One man had a small basket and put spikelets into it. His peer helped him out a bit. I was in the steppes near the well, watering a herd of horses, when I saw several drunken people in the priest’s road cart going toward the haystacks. The man who gathered the spikelets had already been warned, and he was on his way. They asked, “Where is such and such?” “He’s not here.” That man was running away, but their horses caught up with him and they gave him a brutal beating. Then they threw him into the cart; I saw him there. One man went to take a look at what they did to him: they took him to a dugout in the steppe and left him under the hangar where the kitchen was. I went to take a look at him after work, and he was still there, not saying a word. I got so scared. Sons of bitches, they gave a hardworking man such a bad beating. In the evening, he got up and went home little by little. Olha Mykhailivna Harashchenko (Cherkasy region)

olha mykhailivna: If you went to gather the spikelets, they’d go after

you. One woman was beaten to death. The man who beat her is still alive; he was the head of the kolhosp and was paid a special pension.

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Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp at the beginning? andrii solomonovych: It would happen. Especially during the famine. Good Lord! A person would get into the rich men’s barn from beneath the floor and make a hole in the bin to steal some grain. Then he’d bring it home, grind it, and make pancakes. People also ate beets, dried pears, weeds – whatever they could get because they were swollen from famine. We had thirty households in Zaikivka, and fifty-eight people died of famine in 1933. During the war, eighteen – only eighteen – people were killed from our khutir. That famine was the internal war; they set up the famine and fifty-eight people died. One young man came to my house and took some sauerkraut from my cellar to eat. I followed him and saw that he had a family of seven, his wife was blind, and the man was old. Would I take the sauerkraut back? I thought I still had some left and I had only one child and two of us in the family. I ate some, and the rest could go bad. I thought to myself, “I’m alive today and will live another day.” Hanna Vasylivna Zamohylna (Poltava region) – Were people ashamed of stealing? hanna vasylivna: No, not ashamed. We didn’t take anything during the day but went at night, so no one could see. Sometimes, the guard would chase us. If he caught us, he could whip us or report us to the police. – Did people steal from each other? hanna vasylivna: No! Yevhenia Oleksandrivna Klishchuk (Vinnytsia region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp? yevhenia oleksandrivna: Oh, they wouldn’t let you steal anything back then. The head of our kolhosp was very vigilant. He wouldn’t allow this to happen in a million years. His name was Sakii Tsmokaliuk. – When did people start stealing from the kolhosp? yevhenia oleksandrivna: I don’t know how to answer because I haven’t been in the kolhosp in a long time. I think it might have been during the Romanian occupation because [the Romanians] tortured people a great deal. People were hungry, so they had to steal.

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Trokhym Savovych Kozub (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp? trokhym savovych: A great deal! – What was the attitude like toward stealing? Trokhym Savovych: People were put on trial for stealing sugar beets and sentenced to three years. If you took one or two beets home, you’d get three years. – Did some people say that one had to steal from the kolhosp? trokhym savovych: Some said so. – Did they say, “If it’s ours, it’s ok to steal it”? trokhym savovych: They would say: “If it’s ours, we must all take some.” Natalia Stepanivna Kravchenko (Sumy region) – Prior to the kolhosp, did people steal from one another? natalia stepanivna: No, not at the time. They may have been more God-abiding before the kolhosp. Only the cows and horses would get stolen. Later on, horses had to be registered, and a card was set up for each horse with information about its distinguishing features and color. You could not sell a horse without this card, and theft stopped. We had five such people that stole horses in Bobryk. – When did the theft begin? natalia stepanivna: It would happen before, too, but to a small extent. There were two brothers who got into the cellar and from there into the house. Just as they got in, a housemaid brought something in and saw them. One of them took an ax and went after her. She said, “Oh, uncle Hrysha, I won’t tell. Don’t kill me.” But he killed the old woman and the old man, and they took all their possessions: a lot of things and dishes. They were looking for gold but didn’t find it. The gold was hidden someplace else. Their son came, took the gold (he knew where it was stored), and never came back. Kost Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – Did people steal?

kost hryhorovych: Of course they did.

– From one another?

kost hryhorovych: No, but they stole from the kolhosp. – Wasn’t it considered a moral crime? kost hryhorovych: No, it was a self-evident fact.

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Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal from the kolhosp? ivan serhiiovych: They cut the spikelets during the famine, and they were sentenced to three years. Otherwise, they didn’t steal – they took some food. Stealing is when you break into someone’s property. If it’s in the kolhosp, it’s not theft. The person works there, and he takes some. When they started putting people on trial, the guard started checking people’s pockets and bags. Everyone would be checked to make sure they didn’t have a single grain on them. Maria Maksymivna Nekhai (Cherkasy region) – Was theft a normal occurrence in the kolhosp?

maria maksymivna: You know what? We worked in the fields, and

besides marking the workdays they paid us nothing. You’d walk across the field and take five cucumbers and five tomatoes; you’d take whatever was at hand. We didn’t steal potatoes because we had our own. We’d only take five cucumbers and five tomatoes for dinner. – Did your neighbors do the same? maria maksymivna: Yes. – Was this frowned upon? maria maksymivna: No, no. – What about the administration? maria maksymivna: They took produce the same way. You’d put some into your clothes and leave when they weren’t looking. … – What was the attitude like toward the concepts of “yours” and “mine”? Did people steal from each other? maria maksymivna: No, there was no theft. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal before the kolhosp was set up? ustyna yukhymivna: There was no theft before the kolhosp, and no one ever locked the doors. This started happening during the famine when people worked in the kolhosp and got two hundred grams of food per workday. If they gave you soup once a day, they would subtract it from your earnings in the fall and you ended up owing them money. Someone who stole something would be judged harshly.

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Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal from one another before the collectivization? andrii hryhorovych: No, God forbid! It was a great shame, you know. Sometimes it would happen that someone stole a pig from someone in the village. That person would be caught; they’d hang a piece of meat and a piece of lard to his back and take him around the village until he died. One person in our village stole a pig; the whole village gave him a beating, brought him to his house, killed him by his house, and buried him there. At the time, it was the lynch law. Back then, there was no such concept that you had no right to beat someone. … – When the kolhospy were set up, did people stop stealing? andrii hryhorovych: One woman stole three sheaves of wheat and was sentenced to three years of prison. It was harsh. If people worked on the sugar beets fields and took one home, they’d be very nervous about getting caught. If they got caught, that was it. It was very strict, so no one stole anything. Ivan Vasylovych Panych (Sumy region) – When your father managed his farmstead, did people use to steal a lot? ivan vasylovych: They would only steal the good horses, nothing else. In 1917 and 1918 there were men who went around stealing, so people would beat and kill them. One used to steal barley, so he was tied to a three-meter wooden plank and tortured. People didn’t steal from one another. You were much better off asking if you needed something; you could get it or exchange it for something else. Theft began when the kolhosp began. If they don’t pay me, I will go stealing, so I’m considered a thief now. In 1947, I went stealing sugar beets because I was dying; otherwise, I didn’t touch anything and lived off my own work. The ones that did steal lived much better than I did. Oleksandra Vasylivna Poluden (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal in the kolhosp?

oleksandra vasylivna: Everything used to happen. People had to steal

because they were hungry. I couldn’t take anything because I was a guard, and not just I. – Did people say that it was a sin to steal in the kolhosp? oleksandra vasylivna: No, they were innocent.

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Olha Mytrofanivna Reuta (Sumy region) – When did theft begin?

olha mytrofanivna: After the war. Back then, they would dig the potatoes and women would go there with empty baskets.

Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal in the kolhosp?

halyna ilarionivna: There was no theft at the time, God forbid! You

were not allowed to do so, and people were put on trial. Now, people take whatever they wish. – What if someone stole something back in the day? halyna ilarionivna: They’d be on trial. Yevhenia Dmytrivna Smola (Poltava region) – Did people steal in the kolhosp?

yevhenia dmytrivna: Yes, a lot, including the sheaves. You’d work in

the kolhosp during the day, and in the evening, you’d take a bag and go to the steppes. The guards were there doing their work, and still people managed to steal. We’d steal some, carry it home, and grind it at night. Such was life. A glass of corn cost ten rubles; you’d sell some and have money to buy what you needed. – Was it difficult to pay for clothing? yevhenia dmytrivna: Yes. We would walk after the tractor that was sheaving, and [whatever we picked] was for us to get cotton for a dress. – Were people judged for stealing from the kolhosp? yevhenia dmytrivna: Yes. We used to crush some grain in a sock and put it under our shirt; [the administration] would find it even there and pass judgment on us. When in 1948 the head of the kolhosp gave us [object of the verb is unclear], we would walk past the corncobs and not take any because we were not hungry. – Did people steal from one another? yevhenia dmytrivna: Eh, no! They didn’t steal from people like they do now. No one stole from their neighbors. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal in the kolhosp? varvara denysivna: No, it was very strict at the time: it was forbidden

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and there were guards who watched over. The guards were locals, and they were mean; they would denounce people. – Was theft punished? varvara denysivna: My cousin-sister took a handful [of grain] and spent four years in prison. This was during the famine. – What was her last name? varvara denysivna: Odarka Ivanenko. She came back to the village later on. – How did people treat her? varvara denysivna: Don’t we know how hard life was? You had to eat, and we had some people who gathered the spikelets and were sentenced. – Did many people die in your village during the famine? varvara denysivna: Many, many. There were many swollen people, and many died. Ivan Ivanovych Shamrai (Poltava region) – Did people steal in the kolhosp?

ivan ivanovych: Yes. Not from one another, no. This was very rare. Now it’s

happening more often. Back in the day, the laws were stricter. In 1933, one could get sentenced and locked up for taking seven spikelets. But not in later years. Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people steal from one another in the village? iryna yakivna: Why not, they did, but not a lot. They steal more often nowadays. Anastasia Varfolomiivna Shpak-Smolinska (Cherkasy region)

anastasia varfolomiivna: I remember they would seed the hemp and

we would soak it in the waters late in the fall. There was already ice on the river, and we continued working barefoot, taking the hemp out and processing it; then we would render fiber at the end of the day and they would mark a workday for us. People used to say that the brigade chief and the head of the kolhosp were paid and kept the money. They saved on us and were rewarded with bonus payments. We lived off that small plot of land and lived in fear that they would come and take the land away. It happened several times to people. They would give the land back, but they instilled so much fear into the people to make them work for free. This is why people moved to the cities because here [the administration] did whatever it wished. Those lived well

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who had the rights and knew how to steal. I remember Oliana who was a single mother of three; she lived in Mytnivka. She was sent to prison for three years because of ten potatoes. God forbid you stole anything. When we went to work in the cornfield, they would hand us papers saying that we would not steal. We were poor and did all the work without the tools, with our own hands. All day long we would carry wheat into the barn on our shoulders. The shirts would get torn, and the skin would come off.

t h e structure of v i l l age p olitic al p ower a f te r c ol l e ctiviz ation So-called “gatherings” (zbory) were a feature in most villages in the 1930s. These were not elections to select officials (who were rather appointed), although these gatherings were often referred to as “elections.” Those who were appointed then selected those who worked under them. The pretense of elections that was to increasingly become a feature of Soviet life after the Second World War was not yet fully put into place (Halyna Riasna, Sofia Hrushivska). In the 1930s the zbory were rather gatherings where speeches were made by local political bosses (the head of the kolhosp, his assistants, head of the village council, Komsomol activists, other local and regional party officials) and/or visitors from afar, all of whom praised socialist ideals, the leaders of the state, the “heros” of agriculture and industry, etc. Often a choral ensemble performed, and in some locales an instrumental ensemble might as well (see chapter 7, the section on village kluby). Poetry readings and skits were also performed. The zbory were in many locales also places where people were allowed to voice minor complaints against one another or against a policy, the latter as long as the complaint was not a serious one and not aimed directly at the Soviet state. The discussions could become quite heated when concerning minor points of kolhosp policy. Both men and women could take part in these arguments, a departure from pre-collectivization skhodky, which only men attended (Yakiv Zborovsky). Those who were labeled “enemies of the people/state” (those evicted, families whose head of household was in prison or in exile, others) were not allowed to attend the zbory (Natalia Semeniaka). In many locales, the “elections” didn’t start until after the Second World War (Sofia Hrushivska). Where they existed in the 1930s, attendance to the zbory was mandatory. Several interviewees noted that the failure of a kolhospnyk to attend when ordered to do so could mean a visit soon afterwards of the party bosses and possible punishment, including a reduced number of workdays, the search of your house for unauthorized foodstuffs, or the threat of imprisonment (Ivan Bibik, Oleksandra Marchenko, Maria Bondarenko, Mykhailo Maslo). Some interviewees said reprisals for non-attendance were not common in her/his locale

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(Paraska Bezkorovaina, Petro Kushnir). The latter, an activist from the time, said that it was in people’s interest to attend as various questions were addressed. The gatherings in some locales were regular events (e.g., weekly, Halyna Riasna) while in others they were occasional and announced just prior to the convening (Maria Nekhai). Petro Kushnir said that there were two kinds of zbory: the dilovi (here, “action required”) kind when people came together to decide important issues, which occurred as needed, perhaps three times a year; and the usual kind, which occurred on Soviet holidays such as 1 May, 8 March, 7 November, and the New Year. The zbory took place in one of several possible locations: the local club, the village school, the village council hall, or even outside in a clearing next to a kolhosp building (Natalia Semeniaka, Maria Nekhai). Before collectivization the highest village authority was the skhodky, which were gatherings of village men who elected representatives for periods of time that ranged from a few months to one or two years. Only one interviewee claimed that the 1930s zbory were the highest village authority (Natalia Semeniaka). Others named the head of the kolhosp or the head of the village council as the highest authority. Herein lies a fundamental shift in the structure of village power from the 1920s to the 1930s. The skhodky of the 1920s were composed entirely of locals. By the time of the zbory of the 1930s, the highest authority was the head of the kolhosp and/or the head of the village council, people who were, more often than not, brought in from outside of the village, even from hundreds of miles away. Sometimes they had little knowledge of village life and were urban born and bred (Petro Kushnir). Most important, they were appointed by officials in urban areas far removed from the village and the kolhosp. What had been local control in the 1920s exercised by neighbors had become in the 1930s part of the political machine of the state. The very function of government had changed. Before collectivization the authority of the skhodky was tied to helping insure the proper functioning of a civil society and the maintenance of order. In the socialist period of collectivization, another structure was specifically instituted in order to obliterate a civil society of long standing and to bring it under the control of government officials, to restructure the agricultural sector, and then to maintain it for a higher centralized authority. The restructuring was accomplished by the confiscation of property, instituting a form of labor resembling slavery, deporting and/or killing a large percentage of the population, and instilling a fear of the state into the rest. Mykhailo Ivanchenko described a political structure in flux, but where local decisions still predominated in the late 1920s. He posited the notion of hromada (“community,” but here meaning “Ukrainian community”) and its continuing role, lasting even to some extent to the Second World War. According to this view, the civil society of the 1920s had a continuing influence even after the tragedies of the early 1930s drastically changed both the structure of local government and the

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aims of the centralized government vis-a-vis the agricultural sector in general. His view was apparently not widely shared among other interviewees. Few (if any) respondents saw a continuing role of the hromada of the pre-collectivization peasant society into the mid-1930s. Neither those opposed to collectivization nor those activists of the time which supported it spoke in such terms. Only Ivanchenko mentioned this: – How did the popular government function in the village during the Soviet regime? mykhailo hryhorovych: The Soviet authorities consisted of Komnezamy, the Committees of Poor Peasants. They were the people who came from poverty, some were drunks that did not have a farmstead. They were given authority by the Soviet government, but the community [hromada] was held together by its own laws and its morals, you understand? The community. For example, a road had to be fixed. The community would gather for a skhodka [apparently secretly] and make decisions. The official Soviet government and the village community government from the old times existed side by side. The community was an important player. Everyone had the right to vote, and all the community issues were resolved during the community gatherings that didn’t have any Soviet tendencies. This is how it seems to me, how I remember it. [It is unclear from his interview how long this dual power structure remained in place in his locale or how widely dispersed it was. No other interviewee spoke in these terms].

inte rv i ew e xce rp ts : the stru c tu re of vill age g ov e rn me n t a f te r c ollec tiviz ation Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – Was there a club before the war? ivan ivanovych: Yes. – Were people told to vote in the elections? ivan ivanovych: Yes, it was mandatory. If you were ill, they’d come to your house with a ballot box. One man didn’t want to vote and nearly went on trial. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Was it mandatory to vote in the zbory/elections? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, but they didn’t punish those who didn’t go. The head of the village council was appointed and served twenty-five years.

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Maria Oleksandrivna Bondarenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people come to your house to invite your parents to vote? maria oleksandrivna: Yes, but my parents didn’t go. When those people used to come to our house, my parents were away. I remember when my mother came to Troiakovychi, she was asked why she came there. “Because my child is here,” she said. He said, “It’s the zbory/election day; you must go there.” His name was Yakovych, and he was a teacher. My mother was poor; all people were going from place to place at the time. – Did people in the village support or condemn your mother? maria oleksandrivna: There was no support at all! They all shouted and offended her; they had councils that sent her away. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – Did you enlist in the kolhosp?

fedora yukhymivna: No. I was walking down the street when I met the

head of the kolhosp who said, “Go to work.” So, I went; my sister was ill with malaria, and the younger one was nine years old. Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – During the kolhosp time, did you go to vote? sofia tymofiivna: You know, there were no elections before the war. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region)

arkhyp yakovych: When I was healthy, when my wife and I were fifty

years old, they confiscated my farmstead. The head of the council, this guy named Hudii, would come and measure my land to take it away. I used to say, “But I have children.” Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region)

– Were the kurkuli exiled from the village? andrii solomonovych: Well, the head of the village council came, “Yosyp Stefanovych, I know you. I’ll evict you from your house tomorrow.” This was how they dispossessed and arrested people. – This man didn’t want to join the kolhosp, did he? andrii solomonovych: No, he didn’t want to, “I won’t go. That’s all.”

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Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – Who had the authority in the village during kolhosp times? yakiv mykhailovych: The head of the village council, the head of the kolhosp, and the head of the khutir. If one of them said to evict Ivan or Yashka, it would be done. – How did people start treating the priests? yakiv mykhailovych: The church was demolished, and the club was set up. – Who was considered the highest authority in the village during the kolhosp time? yakiv mykhailovych: The head of the village council and his representatives. In the kolhosp, they would gather in each khutir, and later on only during the kolhosp meetings. – Did women go to these meetings? yakiv mykhailovych: No one understood [women’s] words; later on, a woman and a man were considered equal in the kolhosp time. Women were in charge of the kolhosp and were present in the village council. Before that, a woman did not have the right to vote. She was busy in the household and with her family. – Were people from other towns in charge of the kolhosp? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, yes. The head of our kolhosp was not a local. Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region) – How did the popular government function in the village during the Soviet regime? mykhailo hryhorovych: The Soviet authorities consisted of Komnezamy, the Committees of the Poor Peasants. They were the people who had formerly come from poverty [before collectivization], some were drunks that did not have a farmstead. They were given authority by the Soviet government, but the community [hromada] was held together by its own laws and its morals, you understand? The community. For example, a road had to be fixed. The community would gather for a skhodka and make decisions. The official Soviet government and the village, community government from the old times existed side by side. The community was an important player. Everyone had the right to vote, and all the community issues were resolved during the community gatherings that didn’t have any Soviet tendencies. This is how it seems to me, how I remember it. – Whom did the village community elect? mykhailo hryhorovych: The head of the village council, but he was

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elected by the Soviet government. The community was a big influence even in his case; even the Komnezam leaders considered to some extent what the community was saying. There was no dictatorship yet. – So, the village council and the community continued working side by side? mykhailo hryhorovych: Yes, the community still existed spontaneously. It was in people’s hearts and people paid attention to its decisions. If it was about doing some kind of common, community work, people would discuss it during the gatherings. This was before the kolhosp, you know; people owned the land individually and worked on their land. For example, if someone’s house burned down, the community decided to help that person. My grandfather’s house burned down before the Revolution. The people had previously collected the materials to build a priest’s house but gave it to us, so we could build our house. I should say that he paid for it because he was rich, but the community had the final say. It would also make decisions about the lynch law regarding horse thieves after the Revolution. I remember there were two drunks in the village before the war, and now we have thirty-two. – Who elected the representatives of the Soviet government? mykhailo hryhorovych: They were not necessarily elected – no rank, no position, no higher authority; they just had the right to vote. We had two brothers by the name of Holoveshko here in the village. People would listen to their opinion; they were the elders. The Komnezamy used to listen to them because the elders had the authority, not these newly appointed folks – even though they were the representatives of the official government, and they executed the orders imposed from those above them. Nonetheless, they listened to the older people; such was the custom. If something happened, the community would decide whether to let someone new live in the village or if someone wanted to get married. … – How did people treat the Komsomoltsi? mykhailo hryhorovych: They were laughed at, especially in 1932. There were many humorous anti-Soviet and anti-kolhosp songs. The village itself did not accept them, but there was pressure from the government. They would give us a good deal of Soviet propaganda in school, but we understood it very well because our parents laughed at it all. Collective farming does not give the same results as when you own the land. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko (Kharkiv region) – Was Kalaida the head of the soz or the kolhosp? fedir yosypovych : It was called a soz at the time.

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– Who was Pasiuk?

fedir yosypovych: He was an accountant. He was knowledgeable and could make ovens well. My father was sowing wheat once, when Pasiuk came, “What are you sowing, Yosyp Sergeiovych?” My father answered randomly, “Beans.” Pasiuk sent a document to the regional administrative center saying that we sowed five hectares of beans, and they got back: what kind of beans? Where? It wasn’t the season for beans yet. So, my father was questioned, but it calmed down later on. – What did Pasiuk say? fedir yosypovych: He said that my father lied to him. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – After collectivization, who was the highest authority in the village? petro ivanovych: The head of the village council. After the kolhosp was introduced, we had workers’ representatives for three or four years. The heads of the kolhospy were appointed right away. At first, we had a local head of the kolhosp when our kolhosp was small, for just about twenty-five households. When the full-on collectivization began, they sent us Kumeiko as the head of the kolhosp. He was smart, I must say. He was from the working class and came here with his family. … – Was there any punishment for people who didn’t come to the meetings? petro ivanovych: Nothing at all. The people knew when the meetings were announced, and we lived in harmony. The kolhosp workers were on good terms with the kolhosp administration. – So, there was no punishment for people who didn’t attend the meetings? Petro Ivanovych: No. Those who were interested went to the meetings, and the old folks didn’t. Some would go to meetings if they fell on a holiday. Decisions about various issues were made during these meetings. – Were the meetings held often? petro ivanovych: No, as needed. The general meeting was held three times a year. Some other ones were held to discuss administrative issues. There were also meetings on 1 May, 8 March, the October holidays, and the New Year. This is when the best workers got awards and the bad ones were mentioned. – Did this start from the first days of the kolhosp? petro ivanovych: Yes, yes.

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Oleksandra Fedotivna Marchenko (Cherkasy region) – When did you start voting: before or after the war? oleksandra fedotivna: I think it was after the war. I didn’t go to vote. – Do you vote now? Oleksandra Fedotivna: No. – How was voting back in the day? oleksandra fedotivna: We didn’t vote because there were no good candidates. I remember during the first elections there was a strict order for everyone to stay home and wait for the representatives to come and take their vote. I hid in the house. A teacher came and asked the neighbors where I was. They said, “She’s not there because the door is closed.” I was standing in the house all this time. He went looking for me and then left. They told me they would evict me, but I went to the village council and said I wasn’t home at the time. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – When did people start forgetting the fact that they used to own land? mykhailo pavlovych: They started forgetting this after the war because they were still hoping that things would go back to the way they were. During the war, there were many promises: that there wouldn’t be any kolhospy and there would be a national army. Those were lies to keep the soldiers motivated, and then everything got back to how it was. – Did the people remember land ownership in the 1930s? mykhailo pavlovych: Of course they did. They were especially forced to remember their own land by the famine. When they had their own land, there was income and no famine. … – What changed after the arrival of the kolhospy? mykhailo pavlovych: The kolhospy were established as an order. The skhodky didn’t take place, and the dictatorship was set up. People were taught to raise their hands during those meetings (zbory) because if they didn’t and this was noticed, they would be summoned for a disciplinary action and accused of something they didn’t do, and things would go down hill from there. – Those administrators were not the wise farmstead owners of the past? mykhailo pavlovych: They were drunks. Maybe in some villages there were respectable administrators, but in our village the head of the village council and the head of the kolhosp were illiterate.

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Maria Maksymivna Nekhai (Cherkasy region) – Who was the main authority in the village before collectivization? maria maksymivna: A starosta before the kolhosp, and the head of the kolhosp after. There was a starosta in the church; they governed the people. – A priest and a church starosta in the church? maria maksymivna: Yes. – Was the village starosta a leader? maria maksymivna: I don’t remember if he was. – How were the general matters decided in the village before the kolhosp? maria maksymivna: There were meetings [zbory]. – Were they called zbory? maria maksymivna: Yes. “Are you going to the zbory?” “Let’s go to the zbory.” – Where did the people get together: in a designated building or outside? maria maksymivna: I don’t remember. – Did you go to such meetings? maria maksymivna: No. I was very young at the time. – Perhaps your mother used to go? Were women invited to such meetings? maria maksymivna: My mother didn’t go either. My parents went to some meetings, but which kind? I don’t remember. … – Who was the main figure in the village after the collectivization? maria maksymivna: The head of the kolhosp was the main figure in the kolhosp. – What about the head of the village council? maria maksymivna: That was one, too. – Were they the top officials? maria maksymivna: Yes, true. – What happened to the priest and the church starosta after collectivization? maria maksymivna: When the church was closed down, they moved to different cities. – Was the church starosta a local? maria maksymivna: He was a local, a bell ringer. He died here. – Were people called to meetings during the kolhosp time, too? What were those meetings called? maria maksymivna: There were meetings to call people to work and tell them what kind of work to do. – How were people called to such meetings: did the government representatives go from house to house or put an announcement in a public location? maria maksymivna: They went from house to house.

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– Where did people gather? maria maksymivna: In the kolhosp yard [baza] or the club. Andrii Ivanovych Ovcharenko and Maria Yakivna Ovcharenko (Cherkasy region) – Who was in charge of the kolhosp?

maria yakivna : The poor people, like the one named Telepenko from our village.

andrii ivanovych: No, the ones who were at least a bit literate. Was

Roda, the first head of the kolhosp, a pauper? He was in charge of the cooperative before the collectivization. He was known around a bit and he was literate; he read. – Maria Yakivna, do you remember the trial? maria yakivna : I went to the trial once. I accompanied my father to the village council with all of those executioners. The secretary of the village council said, “Don’t cry, daughter, they will let your father go. He’ll come back.” Next day they exiled him to Smila, on foot. He came home to say goodbye and I walked with him up to the khutir. – Could you be present in the trial room? maria yakivna : Yes, I was there. I sat on the benches, and the judges were sitting on the stage. – Who were the judges? maria yakivna : They are all dead now: the head of the village council Kharko and the secretary of the village council. I know that Pavlo Slidchenko, Victor’s father, was the witness in the horse case. He got up, a lousy man, and said, “He owns a horse and is probably hiding it.” My father said, “Bring the witnesses. The whole village knows that I don’t have a horse. I borrow one from my brother Danylo to carry the grain for packing.” andrii ivanovych: At the time, there was a rule to divide the overall tax between all residents. So, they went to our neighbor Kikot who was poor and didn’t have anything to pay the tax with. They came to our house from there (my mother was weaving to make the clothes for the family), cut the band of the spinning wheel, and took it away, “Pay us because such and such has nothing to pay with, and you have the spinning wheel, so pay us.” This was all arbitrary; there were no rights and no place to complain because I had already paid my tax. Then the people would say, “What are you doing? He has paid his taxes. If the other man doesn’t have the money to pay taxes, maybe this one doesn’t either.” maria yakivna : My father was arrested. They imposed a tax, but we had nothing left, just an empty house and a chest. I used to sew items for export. We had a brigade in Smila that sewed the shirts and dresses for export; this

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is how I earned the money to be able to send my father parcels. They came in winter to log the property and found nothing except the export linens in the chest. They had no right to take it away, so they went into the cellar and took the barrels. We – our old grandmother, two children, and my mother – were left without borshch. andrii ivanovych: Such was this Holodomor. maria yakivna : This was not Holodomor; this was 1940. – Were they from the village council? maria yakivna : Yes. They came from Pleskachiv. – Why do you think that man testified against your father? maria yakivna : He was such a dirtbag. He didn’t know my father but wanted to suck up to the authorities. – So, all the heads of the kolhosp were locals? andrii ivanovych: Yes, locals. It’s the same thing in the village now: they will appoint someone who seems to be a good manager, but he’s only good at talking and will take everything apart. Andrii Platonovych Oklei (Kharkiv region) – Was [the man who set your house on fire] a member of the party? andrii platonovych: A minor bastard. When my mother and sister got out of the burning house, they couldn’t do much to save it. Later, the main bandit from the regional administrative center came from Balaklei region where we belonged at the time. The Communists were in power at the time. The head of the village council came, too, to look at the house that burned down to the ground. The property of my brother and two sisters – overcoats and clothes – was stored in the attic at my mother’s house. They were evicted from their houses, and they said, “Mother, you won’t be evicted; we’ll keep our things in your house.” Everything burned down there. I came home wearing my last pair of… I had nothing to change into and nothing to eat. I brought eight kilograms of flour and eight kilograms of wheat. The two of us were in the house. My mother was cooking. Here come the administrators Shapovalov and Mandenko, “Why are you home?” – “Where else would I be? I just got home. Don’t you see I’m still wearing my long underwear?” After they left, I took a fishing rod and was on my way to try to catch some fish. They met me on the way, “Where are you heading?” – “I’ll go fishing.” – “Go stack the hay.” Where we now have the bridges, was a field of hay, already mowed. “How will I go to stack the hay if I have such misery at home?” – “We don’t care about your misery. Go stack the hay.” – So, they told you to go to work? andrii platonovych: Yes, they would force us to go to work at the time.

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It was a famine at the time, and people would flee to save their lives because they didn’t give us anything to eat here. I tried to run away, but he caught me in the yard and kicked me in the back. He arrested me and took me to a cellar. They also caught Musiivna and Kholodniak, so the two of us spent the night in the cellar. In the morning, my mother came and brought me some food to eat; then they sent us to stack the hay. We spent the day stacking the hay; I must say they gave us broth to eat there. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – Who gave orders to the people who conducted the dispossessions? maria vasylivna: The head of the village council and his representatives, who else? They would come and say, “Go around the village searching for grain.” They took metal rods and went searching. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region)

varvara ihorivna: I was thirteen when my father died, and they made me sign (oblihatsiia) loan papers. I said, “What kind of loan is it?” They said, “We’ll give you something for a skirt and a shirt.” And so, I signed up for 150 rubles of the loan. Then came the head of the village council: – Go to the village council. – Why should I? – When will you pay the loan back? – Where would I get the money? We didn’t have a market in our village, and you had to go to town on foot. Besides, what would I take to the market to sell? Then he came from Vorzhytsia (?) and they summoned me. He asked: – Girl, who do you live with? – With my sister. – How old is your sister? – Five. – And yourself? – I’m thirteen. – What about your father? – I don’t have one. It’s just my sister and me. – Did you sign these loan papers? – They told me they’d give me a shirt and a skirt. – Leave. You don’t have to pay the loan. And so, he crossed me off the list.

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Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Was it mandatory to go to the zbory/elections? halyna ilarionivna: There were no elections at the time. They would call a meeting and elect the heads of the kolhosp, the village council, and the administration. They elected them on their own. – When were the members of parliament elected? halyna ilarionivna: There were no members of parliament before the war. … halyna ilarionivna: Yes, every day. They would tell everyone at work to come to the meeting. – Where were the meetings held? halyna ilarionivna: In the club. – Were there any women there? halyna ilarionivna: Sure thing, there were women, and we girls used to go, too. But we didn’t listen to them, we were focused on what we liked. – Did you vote? halyna ilarionivna: No, we didn’t. – Did men and women have equal rights? halyna ilarionivna: Men and women had one right. If they wanted to shout, they could. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Who was the highest authority in the village after the kolhospy were set up? natalia hryhorivna: The head of the village council. They gathered the poor people around the administration and organized the kolhosp. – What was the role of the village priest at the time? natalia hryhorivna: He didn’t play a major role. The head of the kolhosp was in charge of everything. – What was the highest body of authority in the village at the time? natalia hryhorivna: The assembly [zbory]. – Who made the decisions: the head of the kolhosp or the assembly? natalia hryhorivna: The head of the kolhosp. – Was he a local or a newcomer? natalia hryhorivna: I don’t know, I don’t remember. The head of the village council was from another village, from Romashky. He was a cadet who threw us out of our house, a very bad man. – Describe the assembly. natalia hryhorivna: The people would go there because they were told to. They would raise hands to vote.

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– Where was the assembly held? natalia hryhorivna: In the village council. Women took part, too. We had women activists Olena Sadivska and Hontsia. They were the first activists. – Did everyone who attended the assembly have equal rights? natalia hryhorivna: They did. Those who were dispossessed could not vote; they were labeled public enemies. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – When the kolhospy were organized, who was in charge in the village? anastasia yukhymivna: The head of the village council and the brigade chief were elected. – How were they elected? anastasia yukhymivna: At the assembly. A skhodka would take place. There were several brigades; the population was large in Ivkivtsi at the time. – What were the neighborhoods in your village? anastasia yukhymivna: Kerekivka, Kotsarivka, Bondarivka (my village now), Shlioncharivka, Varchankivka, Shpakivka, Tymoshivka, Koshovivka, and Buriachkivka. People’s last names were different. – During the kolhosp times, were those neighborhoods called brigades? anastasia yukhymivna: No, our brigade No. 1 was here: Korobkivka, Zozulivka, and Kerekivka. We had a mighty brigade. – How many neighborhoods (kutky) were in one brigade: three, four, or five? anastasia yukhymivna: I don’t know, more than that. There was a garden brigade and a field brigade. The garden one used to plant vegetables and fruit, and the field one would take care of the wheat, corn, and potatoes. We had three or four brigades, I don’t remember, but we had many women workers. Harvest time was great: the haymakers would come with the reapers; we’d come to the kolhosp and then go to the steppes, each with their brigade. There were the haymakers and the women who sheaved. The children would walk around gathering the spikelets. Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko (Chernihiv region) – Did everyone have to go to the assembly and the elections? iryna yakivna: Well, people were told to go. They gathered whomever they could find. – Did people come because they considered it their obligation? iryna yakivna: No. They wanted to elect a better representative to replace the one they didn’t like.

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fa m i ly structure a f ter c ollec tiviz ation Changes in family life and structure in the 1930s were related to, or a direct result of, the changes in work patterns and social organization resulting from collectivization and the famine. Regarding work patterns performed by various family members, the most obvious change was that before collectivization most work for the large majority of villagers was on family land. A typical family farm of two or three hectares required, or could absorb, the labor of at least two adults and several children. Each family member was usually engaged in several activities, and no one did only one job. The descriptions in chapter 2 of the multiple-source income of peasant families amply bear this out. Labor after collectivization was far different. Families did retain some small plots of land, but for most it was only one-fourth or even one tenth or less of that which they had before collectivization. They had far fewer animals, especially those on the hoof, as nearly all draft animals were confiscated by the kolhosp. Finally, most of their working day was absorbed by routine labor in kolhosp fields. A family had only a fraction of their former land holdings, they had far fewer animals, in many cases just one cow and a few chickens, and most of their labor time was spent off their family holdings in kolhosp fields, in compensation for which they received little more than a pittance. The multiple-source income of peasant society was gone for most families or was greatly reduced for those who were fortunate enough to be able to continue a semblance of the multiple-source income of the peasant past. Before collectivization, babies, toddlers, and other small children were cared for at home by mothers, grandmothers, aunts, neighbors, and older children. After collectivization, when women were forced away from their holdings to work in brigades on kolhosp lands, public childcare immediately became a necessity. Public care centers were established in most villages in the early 1930s. Colloquially they were called in many regions yasla.3 In 1932–33 they were closed because they were unable to feed the children under their care; famine was ravaging the land. Between 1934 and 1936 they had reopened in most locales. Generally, there was an “elder nanny” as well as one or two assistants to look after the children and to feed them (Motria Rohova). After giving birth, a woman could stay at home and care for her child for various time periods, depending upon the locale, before returning to work. This could last from six weeks (most common), or more rarely up to a year (compare Motria Rohova and Hanna Buhaiova). Before collectivization, children began to work in fields at a younger age than after collectivization. This was in part due to the nature of the holdings: earlier 3 Day care centers were technically known as sadochky, with only the centers for the very young, from a few months to two years old, called yasly (s. yasla). In practice, however, in many villages all day care centers were called yasly.

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they were part of a family enterprise, and this necessitated intensive and inexpensive labor. Alternately, in those families with many children and less land (more child labor than was needed to work the family holdings), children were hired out as casual labor, especially to families with few or no children (Mykola Medvedenko). After collectivization, it appears that children began working on the kolhosp between the ages of twelve and sixteen (Mykola Sokyrko, Mykhailo Diachenko, Motria Potapenko, Pavlo Andriienko). Two interviewees described their first days in the kolhosp fields of beets (buriaky) (Natalia Kravchenko, Domna Dudnyk). Varvara Chukhlib noted that parents brought teenage children to the kolhosp fields with them. These were assigned a given number of workdays by kolhosp officials, usually about half of that assigned an adult. In this way, the family was able to increase the total number of workdays due them and thus augment the family income of grain paid per working day. Paraska Liubychanivska noted that there was little division of labor on the kolhosp. You did what you were told: “There was no division of labor during the harvest. Whoever could work went to the field ... In the kolhosp, all people did whatever they were told.” There does, however, appear to have been a generational division of labor on the kolhosp. Maria Palahniuk noted a general, but by no means exclusive, division of labor among girls and women: teenage girls’ primary responsibility was to water plants; older girls and young women worked the beet fields, hoeing, weeding, and digging, etc.; and older women gathered and bundled straw and hay. A division of labor between men and women continued to exist for work on the family holdings. Paraska Liubychanisvka noted that, as before collectivization, there were specific jobs for specific people around the house and on the family holdings. Women did the washing, cooking, cleaning, and looked after the children (when home), while men worked outside doing carpentry, looking after the animals, maintaining the barn, and taking care of the haystacks. In those areas of life where the state had not intruded, older work patterns remained more or less intact. In those areas taken over by the kolhosp, work patterns of the past were altered, and in most cases became routine, with most labor time spent in kolhosp fields of sugar beets. Mykhailo Maslo and others described changes in the ethical and moral teachings of the time, a reaction to the life that was forced upon the kolhospnyky. Furthermore, instruction in Soviet mores and manners was received at schools and through state organizations such as the Pioneers and Komsomol. The confiscation of their property and the starvation wages paid them seem to have resulted in a loss of self-confidence and a truncated sense of responsibility. They became thieves who had to steal to stay alive, while the former moral fabric inculcated through church teachings was no longer possible in the anti-religious atmosphere of the time. What they passed on to their children was a lack of responsibility and a tolerance for theft, corruption, and lying.

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Family relations changed, for the most part in not-so-subtle ways. Natalia Semeniaka noted that her father had in his youth been a poor boy who was hired out to work other’s holdings. He managed over the years to acquire nine hectares and, in the peasant context of the late 1920s, considerable wealth. He was a selfmade man and proud. The interviewee says that her father was reduced to being a beggar through collectivization, his pride and drive gone. He died of dysentery during the famine. A peasant father before collectivization had special responsibilities for building the future of his sons and daughters. It was imperative that he acquire extra land in cases of multiple sons, so each would have an inheritance, and it was necessary that he provide his daughter with a suitable marriage dowry. All of this took hard work and a great deal of time over a period of some twenty years. With collectivization, all of these life goals became obsolete. A man could not acquire more land for his sons as each family could only have so much and no more. He could help his daughters only to a limited extent for he no longer had the means to purchase the materials for her dowry (which she would create), nor did he have the livestock to give his sons and his daughters when they married. The father’s role in family life changed. Ivan Panych noted a father may have retained some part of his authority, but he lost many of the responsibilities he formerly had to his children. While responsibility for acquiring land and draft animals and providing a dowry had declined, the responsibility for keeping the family alive had remained, at least for many men. Mykhailo Ivanchenko described a father’s different kind of responsibility to provide for his family in the early 1930s. His father was working in a factory in southeastern Ukraine, while his family remained behind, tied to the kolhosp. The interviewee says that they would not have survived the Holodomor were it not for his father’s trips home every one or two weeks to bring food and money to them. This trip was long, and at the time required about twenty-four hours one way. Before collectivization, fathers abandoning families was rare. After collectivization it was more common, yet another example of the decline in a father’s sense of responsibility. In addition, many thousands of men were fugitives, running and hiding from state authorities. Some men formed temporary families, then abandoned them in turn in their flight to stay out of prison – usually the consequence for their failure to pay the oblihatsiia and or other infractions of the legalistic control mechanisms of Soviet power. Another change in family relations resulting from collectivization was discussed by interviewees. The family splintered, at least in part. Thousands of families had at least one member who left for regions far removed in order to find work, and whom the family seldom saw again. In other cases, entire families were widely scattered. Dmytro Chuchupak left the village and moved to Kyiv where he

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eventually became a stage and movie actor, although his career on stage eventually declined. His brother moved to Cherkasy to work in a factory. One family responsibility that did not change greatly in the 1930s was the care of the elderly. For generations, the elderly in Ukrainian villages have been the responsibility of the youngest born child or children. This did not change significantly in the 1930s. It was described briefly by Yakiv Zborovsky.4

i n te rv i ew e xce rp ts : family stru c tu re a f te r c ol l e ctiviz ation Pavlo Yevtukhovych Andriienko (Kharkiv region) – At what age did you start working? pavlo yevtukhovych: In 1934 I went to work at the factory even though my father sent me to graze the pigs and I grazed them in the sovhosp [the interviewee was born in 1918; he was sixteen when he started working]. – How did you help your parents around the house? Pavlo Yevtukhovych: I helped around before the war. – What kind of work did you do as a child? pavlo yevtukhovych: I grazed a cow. Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiova (Kharkiv region)

hanna yukhymivna: Six weeks after giving birth, women had to go back to work and work in the garden. Ivan Pantileiovych would come and say, “Yukhymivna, it’s been six weeks. Time to go.” And so, I went. – This must be difficult. hanna yukhymivna: Yes, it is. Of course, it is. You need to bathe a newborn; how can you find time to cook and take care of the child if you’re at work? We used to have a nursery far away, over there. Oh, I hope that that time never returns.

4 The practice of the youngest child having the responsibility of looking after the parents in their old age remained quite common in villages still in the early twenty-first century. For those without children, or for those whose children have died or abandoned them, they are usually cared for by neighbors who get the use of the elderly person’s plot and whatever else they might have. Upon their death, all or part of this then goes to those who looked after them. After the Second World War, some villages had “veterans’ houses” where the elderly received at least rudimentary housing and care.

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Pavlo Illich Vovchenko (Sumy region) – Did you have a large family? pavlo illich: Eight children, father, mother, uncle, aunt, grandfather, and grandmother. My father owned half a plot of land, and the other half belonged to Uncle Stepan. The community used to hire a brigade of firefighters. They were four guys and four girls. … – Did a family live in one house? pavlo illich: Yes. Our house was divided into two parts. In the middle, we had the hallway and a pantry. The hallway had a ceiling. One entrance to the house was from the street and the other one – from the garden. The garden part was clean, and the street part had an oven and a kitchen. – Did you live in peace? pavlo illich: We didn’t have any fights. We had friendly relations. My uncle’s sons lived not far away from us. He went to live at the rich man’s house [pryimy]. His mother-in-law lived in this house. His first wife had died. Domna Fedorivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – When your brothers grazed the cows, how were they paid for their work? domna fedorivna: Money was tight at the time, so people worked for thirty-two kilograms of grain that would last until the fall. And in the kolhosp, you got whatever you earned. At the time, my mother took me back from naimy (hired out). I was twelve. She would take a portion of beets for herself, and half a portion for me; we were working in the kolhosp. You know, in those years it was so difficult to work, but what can you do. Mykhailo Antonovych Diachenko (Cherkasy region) – At what age were children taught to work? mykhailo antonovych: As soon as you turned twelve, you’d graze the cattle in the kolhosp. At home, they would take care of the chores when they were older. I started grazing the cow before I went to school. At 6 o’clock in the morning, I’d take the cow for grazing. If the calf sucked out the cow’s milk, I’d be punished. Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – When did the kindergartens appear? yakiv mykhailovych: The nurseries appeared along with the kolhosp

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and the policy for mothers to return to work soon after childbirth. Where would they take their children? So, they set up the nurseries. – Who looked after the old parents? yakiv mykhailovych: The youngest sons and daughters. And the father’s property would go to them because they took care of him. A father would be buried at the cemetery. Sometimes, the grave would be made in the gardens near the house and a cross would be used to mark the grave, but this was not common. Natalia Stepanivna Kravchenko (Sumy region)

natalia stepanivna: In the evening, we would dig the beets with spades.

When I was a young girl, I didn’t dig the fields with other people yet. My mother said, “Take Natashka, too. Let’s see if she works well, and if so, let her earn half a workday and get used to work.” We came, and I was given fifteen rows of beets. I tired myself out making sure I didn’t lag behind – and I dug everything. They had baskets that you had to fill full of beets and lift using the handles. They taught me how to do this. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Poltava region) – When did a nursery appear in your village?

odarka yakivna: When the kolhospy were set up. I can’t remember

exactly when. It was a long time ago. – Did the children look after their parents? odarka yakivna: They did. Not anymore. Back then, the sons took care of the parents, and now some daughters do, but not many. Paraska Ivanivna Liubychankivska (Vinnytsia region) – How was work distributed in the kolhosp? paraska ivanivna: There was no work distribution during the harvest. Whoever could work went to the field. They would harvest the winter crops with sickles, and the spring crops were mowed and gathered. Other than that, the work inside the house was for women, and the work outside the house was done by men. In the kolhosp, all people did whatever they were told. There were, I think, three “collectives” in the village. – Is “collective” another word for a kolhosp? paraska ivanivna: Yes. We joined because we were told to. We didn’t want to join for a long time and joined only in the end. I think about forty people joined in total. Those who joined first got better land, and we got ours

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as far as the border Roznativske [likely a kutok]. We had average land. We used to walk over ten kilometers to that land to harvest and sheave the crops. – Could a woman do men’s work and vice versa? paraska ivanivna: It would happen, but most of the time a woman knew her work: doing laundry, cooking, whitewashing the house, and looking after the children. A man took care of the tasks in the yard, the barn, and the shed. A man took care of the cattle, threshed, and harvested the grain. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – What was the role of a woman? Did women have any rights? mykola ivanovych: They would weed the crops, weave, spin yarn, and look after the children. – Why do you think that families today have fewer children? mykola ivanovych: Back in the day people had more children so they could do the work. – What if they didn’t have much land? mykola ivanovych: Before the kolhosp, there were rich people, and some villagers lived with and worked for them. Some couldn’t have children because they plowed and sowed all the time, and others were sitting around having children. Olha Vasylivna Odnoroh (Cherkasy region) – At what age were children taught to work?

olha vasylivna: At the age of five or six children grazed pigs. The pigs

would be taken to the field to eat spikelets and then locked up in a pigsty for the feeding after the Intercession of the Theotokos [14 October]. A six-yearold child would drive other people’s cattle [zaimanok] through the woods into the fields to graze. Kids didn’t have time to play. Once they learned to walk at the age of three, they would follow their grandmother into the garden. At the age of five or six, they would graze ducks and geese. – Was there division of labor? olha vasylivna: Yes. The older ones worked in the field and had to graze the bulls in the evening and sleep overnight in the field next to the bulls. Early in the morning, bulls had to be brought home and harnessed for the fieldwork. Neighbor boys and our girls would graze the cattle on the island.

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Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – How did the status of a woman change after the Soviet government was established? maria vasylivna: Nothing has changed in peasant families. – Tell us about the rights and obligations of a village woman: the young, the older, and the elderly. maria vasylivna: Girls would work in the kolhosp starting at age ten or twelve. They watered the vegetable gardens. The older girls had a required work quota to do in the sugar beet fields. The women would sheave in the fields. Ivan Vasylovych Panych (Sumy region) – What was your mother’s name? ivan vasylovych: Paraskovia Maksymivna; she was a local. – Did your family live together in one house? ivan vasylovych: In one house, and everyone ate from the same plate. Now we have sons, and it feels like we don’t have sons; back then, the children lived with their parents. A father would try to buy them land or something. A clay bowl and wooden spoons. The father would sit down and recite a prayer if this was a holiday dinner. We would all stand around the table and sit down when the prayer was over. Our father would say, “Take the food that is closest to you; don’t reach across the table.” And if you tried to reach for the food there, you’d be slapped on the head. It was an established order at the time, and we obeyed and understood our father. Back in the day, if I were a child who didn’t listen to another adult, I’d get a beating from my father. If I got into trouble and a man there pulled me by the ear, my father would punish me. You couldn’t trespass onto other people’s property. … – Who looked after the small children before collectivization? ivan vasylovych: They looked after each other. While the mother was alive, she looked after the children, and after her death they were on their own. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – At what age did you start working in the kolhosp?

motria tymofiivna: I was sixteen. I finished the seventh grade and went to learn to work on a tractor trailer [prytsep]. – What is a tractor trailer? motria tymofiivna: I would hook up the plows or bring the water. Now

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they can turn it off, but back in the day when the tractor stopped, I would clean with it a washcloth. – What year was this? motria tymofiivna: Probably 1936. I worked as a milk registrar near the school. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Was there a nursery during the famine?

motria hryhorivna: Yes.

– Were the children fed better there? motria hryhorivna: What could they be fed? They had some flour to make halushky. Then the nursery was closed down because there was nothing to eat. – How was life for the head and the secretary of the kolhosp? motria hryhorivna: They lived. What could the head of the kolhosp do? – Did they suffer from the famine, too? motria hryhorivna: No, people like them did not die; the simple folks did. – Was there a nursery after collectivization? motria hryhorivna: Yes. After the famine, the kolhosp gave a lot of grain – three kilograms per person. I worked as a milkmaid and earned a good deal of grain. Those who worked were able to survive and got a lot of grain. The nursery was opened for the children, and the children were fed. – Who looked after the children there? Motria Hryhorivna: Whoever was appointed: there were nannies, a team leader, and some people who just looked after the children. – At what age were the children sent to the nursery? motria hryhorivna: Starting at the age of one. – Before the child turned one, could a woman stay at home? motria hryhorivna: Yes, for a year. – Did the women go to work up until labor? motria hryhorivna: Yes, they did. There was no maternity leave. – Did women sometimes give birth while working in the field? Motria Hryhorivna: I’m not sure. My mother-in-law gave birth to my husband while working in her field. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Did you have a large family? natalia hryhorivna: At home? Yes, large: my mother had fourteen children. Many of them died of smallpox. Seven of my brothers were buried in

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one grave after they died of smallpox. I know that Yukhym was the one who survived, but he died in the war. – Can you remember the names of your brothers and sisters? natalia hryhorivna: With difficulty. Radion was the oldest, and he lived until the age of eighty-two. He was a tractor driver all this time; he was extremely hardworking. He dug in the tractor before the war and dug it out after. Prokip was the younger one, and I had one sister Maria; she was younger. There were also Silvester, Ananii, and Hrysha. The priest gave them their names based on the church calendar. My husband’s name was Terenty Stepanovych. My mother-in-law used to say the priest named him Tereshko, but they didn’t like it and called him Terenty instead. – How many daughters were there in the family? natalia hryhorivna: Two daughters died when they were little. Oryshka. Maria was in Kyiv; she was older than me. She was born in 1906. … – Did your family live in one house? natalia hryhorivna: Yes. My father built a large house because he was hard-working. He said, “Children, I served [in the navy?] for fifteen years, worked as a day laborer, and went to sea. I’ve been so many places and earned the money to buy land.” We had over twenty-four acres, and we lived so well that people envied us. My father became an orphan when he was five. His sister was alive, too, and she died at age 96. My father died in 1933 of dysentery. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko (Cherkasy region) – At what age did someone start working in the kolhosp? mykola panteleimonovych: At the time, both the adults and the little ones worked in the kolhosp. The little ones grazed the cattle, and we the adolescents aged fifteen or so used to weed the crops using hoes. No one had time to play. Maryna Levkivna Tsap (Cherkasy region) – Did the relationships in the family change during the kolhosp time?

maryna levkivna: Why would they? A father understood his son, and

the reverse. Nowadays no one pays attention to anyone. People are so vexed now, and no one needs anyone.

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Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – At what age did people take their children to work in the kolhosp? varvara denysivna: It depends on the family. If a mother was going to work, her daughter would follow. The daughter must be twelve or thirteen years old. – Were these children paid any money? varvara denysivna: Little by little because my mother would get a plot for herself and for me, 0.7 hectares each at the time, and we used hoes to dig the soil. – At what age were you taught to work at home? varvara denysivna: When I was six, I grazed the cow and the calf. My friend used to drive the bulls and the cow for grazing, and I would follow her. My mother also made me wash the spoons. Dmytro Mykhailovych Chuchupak (Cherkasy region) – What were relationships like in the family before the kolhosp and how did they change after? dmytro mykhailovych: Well, how did they change? We got separated, for instance. I went to Kyiv. My brother Ivan left the village. At the time, there was no right to leave, and we didn’t have any passports, so my mother looked for ways to get a certificate through her connections, so we could leave the village. Ivan went to work at the factory in Cherkasy and he helped our mother out. Marika and Vasia stayed at home. I took Valia to Kyiv; she graduated from the technical college and stayed in Kyiv, sometimes visiting home. I studied in a college in Kyiv at the time and went to work when I was twenty-five. In 1937, during the Great Purge, I enrolled in the academic studio at the Franko Theater. I graduated with good results and acted in cinema. I did one episode that was banned by Stalin. When the Franko Theater was on tour in Moscow, I was a third-year student. Velychko was the People’s Artist of the Soviet Union, there was also Panasiv, and Olia, the lead broadcaster. They were my friends, and I was going to get married. The film called Flowering Ukraine was being shot, and I played a small role in it – a character who is in love with a girl. It was a very nice episode. It was shown to Stalin in Moscow and banned right away. It’s lying somewhere on the shelves, this film. I also auditioned for the main role in Boryslav Laughs. I did a good job, but an actor from Saint-Petersburg got the part. I had been shooting for a month at the Dovzhenko Studio in Kyiv, but it didn’t work out. I earned good money though; it was nice there.

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Maryna Leontiivna Sheiko-Ivanyshyna (Sumy region) – What was your father’s name? maryna leontiivna: Leontii Vasylovych Sheiko, and my mother’s name was Olha Maksymovna. – Were there many children in your family? maryna leontiivna:: There were three of us: an older brother, a younger sister, and I. – What did your father do? maryna leontiivna:: Our family had twelve people: brothers, father, grandfather, and grandmother. One uncle worked at the sugar plant where Duke Shcherbatov lived; I saw him. It was a nice house in the forest with good gardens. The duke’s kitchen is still standing there. The day laborers worked there. … – Who was in charge of the family? maryna leontiivna:: Hryhorii Vasylovych, our grandfather. We lived well and in harmony. We had a nice house and lived together. My brother who worked at the factory got an apartment, and my third brother studied in Kyiv.

pa rt t w o

Cultural Life and Destruction in the 1920s and 1930s

Pavlo Yevtukhovych Andriienko with his wife Ahafiya Illivna Riabukha. Photo by William Noll.

Mykola Panteleimonovch Sokyrko and William Noll. Photo by Lidia Lykhach.

Ivan Veremiiovch Demianenko. Archive of the Center for the Study of Oral History and Culture in Ukraine (csohc ).

Andrii Fedorovych Filatov. Photo by William Noll.

Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko. Photo by William Noll.

Hanna Petrivna Honcharenko. Photo by William Noll.

Mykhailo Ievdokymovch Ihnatenko. Photo by William Noll.

Semen Harytonovch Yonenko. Photo from the archive csohc .

Fedir Yosypoch Kravchenko. Photo by William Noll.

Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko. Photo by William Noll.

Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha. Photo by William Noll.

Oleksandra Fedotivna Marchenko. Photo by William Noll.

Oleksandra Sydorivna Perepelytsia. Photo by William Noll.

Vira Polischuk. Photo by William Noll.

Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova. Photo by William Noll.

Trokhym Stepanovych Romanchuk. Photo by William Noll.

Yevdokia Petrivna Severyn. Photo by William Noll.

Tetyana Panasivna Salienko. Photo by William Noll.

Ivan Kyrylovych Solohub and William Noll. Photo by Lidia Lykhach.

Vira Oleksandrivna Starikova. Photo by William Noll.

Ivan Kalistratovych Udovychenko. Photo by William Noll.

Sofia Ivanivna Voropai with Ivan Mykhailyovych Ihnatiuk. Photo by William Noll.

Natalia Hryhoryvna Zaichenko. Photo by William Noll.

Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets. Photo by William Noll.

Hanna Yukhymivna Bukhaiova. Photo by William Noll.

Sofia Tymofiiyvna Hrushivska. Photo by William Noll.

Andrii Platonovych Oklei with wife Marfa Illivna. Photo by William Noll.

Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna and William Noll. Photo by Lidia Lykhach.

Church choir from village Krutky, Cherkasy region. Photo by William Noll.

Natalia Mytrofanivna Spivakina with daughter. Photo by William Noll.

Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko and Lidia Lykhach. Photo by William Noll.

Maria Semenivka Zatyrka with mother-in-law and sons, 1930s (an interviewee). Archive of the csohc .

Maria Semenivna Zatyrka. Photo Antonina Palahniuk.

Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko. Photo by William Noll.

Activists from village Burty, Cherkasy region. Archive of the csohc .

Besarab family evicted from their home. Archive of the csohc .

Starchykhy from the book by P. Bezsonov (published in 1861).

Church choir from village Popivka, Zvenyhorodka rayon. Archive of the csohc .

Construction of kolhosp Zhovtnevy Promin (October Sun Ray), Cherkasy region. Archive of the csohc .

Full-on collectivization, 1929–30. Archive of the csohc .

Instructors and students of the narkomos course that trained village directors of clubs, July–October 1936. Archive of the csohc .

Transforming a church into a klub, village Chapaiiyvka, Zolotonosha rayon, Cherkasy region. Archive of the csohc .

Wedding of Ivan Trokhymovch Okhrimenko (an interviewee), 1950s. Archive of the csohc .

Two lirnyky and their guide. Copy of a postcard.

Funeral for the daughter of a priest, village Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn rayon. Archive of the csohc .

A lirnyk and his guide. Copy of a postcard.

Two kobzari and their guide. Archive of the csohc .

String ensemble from village Moshny, Cherkasy region. Archive of the csohc .

Middle school choir from the village Shevchenkove, Zvenyhorodka rayon, Cherkasy region, 1967, Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko, Director (an interviewee). Gifted by Sokyrko to the archive of the csohc .

A potter working at his wheel, Smila, Cherkasy region. Archive of the csohc .

Potters from the village Tymoshivka, Mankivka rayon, Cherkasy region, on-their-way to a market center, 1950s. Archive of the csohc .

Street clothing 1920s. On the right Fedora Terentiiyvna Karakai (an interviewee). Gifted by Karakai to the archive of csohc .

First sowing of the year (1930s). First seeding brigade in a practice parade of the kolhosp Bilshovyk, village Tovsta, Horodyshche rayon, Cherkasy region. Archive of the csohc .

Three-month course for organizers of collective farms at Cherkasy Agro-Economy, 1931. Archive of the csohc .

6 Religious Organizations and Culture before and after Collectivization

The repression of religious organizations and religious culture in the village was directly related to building a socialist society, one in which state authority and control superseded that of all other institutions, such as those of religious organizations. Religious repression was an integral element of the years of terror during the 1930s and in particular, the collectivization process. This process saw the drastic amplification of state control over the economy, culture, and society of villagers. Any non-state authority was seen as a threat to the expansion and maintenance of state control. One of the main aims of terror in village Ukraine was to break the civil society of peasant culture of longstanding and to replace it with a newly invented Soviet culture. Religion played a primary role in peasant culture and its repression can be seen as one of the foremost goals of the Soviet state.1 Although religious repression was a continuous feature of Bolshevik policy from the inception of the ussr to the collapse of the Soviet state in 1991, the grand campaign of religious repression and many of its most brutal moments in the countryside occurred in the 1930s. The repression of religious organizations and religion-related folk culture in the village through a process of terror was all of a part of the attempt to remake rural society into a vision developed by a handful of urban-born and educated elites then in control of the Soviet state, most of whom were hostile to and prejudiced against peasant cultures and societies of longstanding that still existed in the ussr .

For the reader’s convenience, in the first section of this chapter the interview excerpts are separated into religious organizations before collectivization and religious organizations after collectivization. The text below contains material derived from both. 1 The repression of religion obviously applied across all sectors of society, not only to peasants. Jews, Muslims, Catholics, Protestants, and Orthodox as well as urban dwellers of all faiths experienced systematic repression of religion, a topic that lies outside the boundaries of this study.

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The elitist and urban-derived vision of what collectivization was supposed to accomplish included a rural population completely disenfranchised, not only from their property but from their spiritual needs, as well as from their cultural norms of longstanding. Religious belief and religious-based ritual were primary components in the constellation of traditional peasant culture. In other words, much of the religious life of the village was imbedded in peasant cultural norms and rituals. The repression of religious institutions was synonymous with repressing peasant culture. Repressing peasant culture was synonymous with repressing much of the structure of religious ritual, particularly those religious rituals marking and informing life cycle events such as birth, baptism, weddings, and funerals, as well as the calendric rituals and events such as Sunday services, feast days, fast days, the Christmas/winter cycle, the Easter/spring cycle, the village khram [the local church’s saint’s name day– ed.], as well as others. Through repression of such a structure, the state effectively destroyed a large part, possibly the most vital part, of ritual life in peasant culture. This was illustrated in miniature by the brief remarks of Halyna Riasna. She noted that both religious ritual and belief were under attack by the state. In the schools, she was told that koliadky (Christmas carols) would no longer be allowed. The children were told not to believe as their parents said or did. Those Christian elements in the peasant wedding sequence, quite apart from the actual church ceremony, were likewise forbidden. Finally, they were told by authorities that religion was bad in general and that they would eventually stop believing in the future Christian order. The interviewee noted that she did not stop believing. Oleksandra Omelchenko described a similar situation, also noting that koliadky were forbidden, as was the baptism of children. Pupils could be expelled from school for taking part in Christian rituals while their parents could be dismissed from their jobs. Maria Voitenkova said that village activists went through the village house by house asking if people believed in God. They marked down the answers. The implication here is that they were attempting to intimidate people for their religious beliefs. Religious culture in the village can be discussed in terms of institutional and “non-institutional” elements. The culture of institutional elements of the Orthodox Church in Soviet Ukraine included canonical rituals connected to the life cycle and some of the calendric rituals noted above. This included, as well, the social structure inherent in the church’s important role in village society. In this category arise issues concerning the size of the priest’s landholdings as well as other church property, and the priest’s role in village culture and politics. The “non-institutional religious culture” that existed within the context of civil society included those rituals and practices that were religion-based but which were outside the domain of church control. These included the religious (but non-canonical) koliadky and shchedrivky [ancient songs associated with the

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Feast of the Epiphany or Theophany– ed.] of the Christmas season, the practices of peasant icon painters, known as bohomazy, and the funerary practices of the 1930s in those locales where the church was closed or destroyed, and the priest had been repressed. The repression of institutional religious culture can be viewed in terms of three broad categories: the destruction or appropriation of property belonging to religious organizations, the physical repression of personnel who worked for and/ or represented religious organizations, and the suppression of rituals tied to religious practice and belief directly organized by the church.

th e de structi on of propert y b e l on g i n g to re l i g i ou s organiz ations The destruction or debasement of houses of worship – tserkvy (Orthodox and Eastern Rite Catholic), kostely (Roman Catholic and Protestant), synahohy (Jewish) – was a primary goal in the campaign to repress religion. It is obvious why the Soviet state wanted to remove and debase these physical manifestations of religion. The building of a socialist state required that all authority be vested in state-approved institutions. Those institutions lying outside of state control and/ or teaching a moral vision that differed from state tenets had to be destroyed. This applied to virtually all segments of civil society but was particularly targeted at religious organizations. Houses of worship were eliminated in order to eradicate their former place as a focal point of a non-state-controlled culture that was tied to village civil society. A very large percentage of the destruction of churches took place in the early 1930s with the onset of collectivization. Far and away the majority of interviewees said that their churches were destroyed precisely then. The debasement of religious property was carried out by either physical destruction or leaving the property partially intact but appropriating the building and changing its function (i.e., to a grain storage, the village club, cow barn, pigsty, etc.). One of the themes in Soviet Ukrainian propaganda films and newsreels from the early 1930s showed angry villagers dismantling their church and hurling the church bells to the ground where they were smashed into pieces, as well as burning the crosses, icons, and other contents of the church. These were supposedly large crowds of people who, in justified anger, were freeing themselves from the yoke of religion. Information derived from the interviews in this survey presented a very different picture of the destruction of the time. Not a single interviewee expressed a positive evaluation of the destruction of houses of worship. Several interviewees described the destruction of churches in considerable detail. Although either or both locals and non-locals were cited as responsible for church destruction, those interviewees who discussed this point said that

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churches were dismantled mostly by local activists (e.g., Sofia Hrushivska, Andrii Filatov, Mykyta Nadezha). On the other hand, Anastasia Kalashnyk said that outsiders came to do the work. They were unknown to her, and she described them simply as Communists. She noted that no one else wanted the church destroyed, only the Communists. Paraska Bezkorovaina described a similar situation where outsiders had to be brought in to tear down the church. Of interest here is Kalshnyk’s and Bezkorovaina’s belief that there were not enough locals interested in destroying the local church and therefore outsiders had to be recruited to do the job. Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniuk noted that it was local Komsomol activists who destroyed the church in her village. Varvara Pyvovar said the same when describing events in her locale. Paraska Liubychanivska said that the bell on her church was destroyed by the Komsomol; it was they who wanted it thrown down and broken, and it was they who climbed the church bell tower to do the deed. In other cases, the interviewees identified more closely those performing and directing the destruction. Andrii Filatov named the person who ordered the burning of the wooden church in his locale: the local first party secretary. Motria Potalenko said that the head of the kolhosp ordered and directed the destruction of the church bells in her locale. Ilyna Poberezhnyk, an activist in the 1930s, said that the head of the kolhosp directed the partial destruction and confiscation of church property. Not a single interviewee described angry crowds of villagers, those depicted in the propaganda newsreels of the 1930s. On the contrary, all but a few interviewees lamented the destruction of houses of worship and blamed only local activists, usually describing this destruction in general terms as a travesty foisted on the many by the very few. So, who destroyed church property? If there were local activists available and willing to tear down a church or synagogue, or burn its contents and destroy its bell, they were responsible. If there were no or too few local activists to get the job done, then the local activists brought in agitators from outside to accomplish, or to assist with, the task. It seems likely that local activists received orders from higher up the party chain of command to destroy certain property. In some cases, it is possible that local activists took the initiative and destroyed church property on their own. Whether churches were destroyed or left partially intact, the contents of most churches were burned, as described by several interviewees. They especially remembered the burning of the icons taken from the church, as recalled by Sofia Hrushivska, Vira Oliinyk, and others. Olena Sinkevych noted that all of the church’s icons were brought outside, placed into one large pile, and set aflame into a great fire. The family of Varvara Pyvovar somehow rescued and kept one church icon. Nastia Tkachenko said that when she was still a girl she rescued two church icons, pulling them away from the flames and taking them home. Olena Sinkevych noted that in her locale they destroyed the church bell by hurling it to the ground from the tower, breaking it into pieces. Mykyta Nadezha

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said that the metal from the destroyed bell and other metal parts of the church was gathered up by local activists and hauled by wagon to Kharkiv and apparently sold there. Wagons were available only from the kolhosp, on a rental basis. Therefore, anyone renting a wagon to transport and sell the metal from destroyed church bells would owe kolhosp officials not only the rent for the wagon, but probably a share of the amount received from the sale. Fedora Hatsko noted that when local activists took apart the wooden church in her locale, the lumber was sold to construct a ferm in a neighboring village (a farm, meaning here kolhosp property, was usually that section of the kolhosp that encompassed fields for raising and keeping cattle, pens and/or a corral, horses, and oxen, as well as the requisite buildings for storing hay and other items). There was a widespread myth about those who destroyed the churches, or who pulled down the church bells, or who desecrated the ikonostas [the iconostasis – the wall of icons separating the nave from the sanctuary in an Orthodox or Eastern Catholic church– ed.]. In this myth, those who took part in this destruction were soon thereafter afflicted with a fatal disease or they met with an untimely accident. In either case, they suffered as a direct result of their participation in the destruction of church property. Several interviewees claimed that the activists who pulled down their church or church bells were themselves destroyed in retribution for their act.2 Varvara Pyvovar Those who destroyed the churches are not alive anymore, not one of them. All died in one way or the other. Motrona Lomynoha There was one man named Prokhvatylo. When they wanted to destroy the church and remove the cross (the cross was made of gold), he went up and cut the cross. He lived another month after this and then died. Motria Potapenko – Was there another church? motria tymofiivna: The other one was destroyed before the war. The bells were made of gold, so they were demolished.

2 Readers should note that I have made no attempt to verify whether these claims are true. Skepticism seems the best course at the present time.

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– Who demolished the bells? motria tymofiivna: One man from the village. One day he was cutting metal at work and was hit by a metal rod. People say this was a punishment for the bells. Tetiana Poliesha-Novak God punished those who destroyed the church. Yaryna Kravchenko The Communists destroyed the church. One man told me that all those who destroyed the church died of cancer. On the other hand, Mykyta Nadezha provided a different description, noting that his uncle, a local activist who directed the destruction of the village church, lived quite well and apparently suffered no harm from his participation in this act. Mykyta Nadezha – Who was in charge of destroying the church?

mykyta mykolaiovych: Komnezam [Committee of Poor Peasants]. – Was your uncle the head of this committee? mykyta mykolaiovych: My uncle, and the poor peasants. – Did he worry afterwards about committing a sin? mykyta mykolaiovych: Why would he? He lived well.

In hundreds of villages, the church or synagogue was not destroyed but appropriated by local activists and then converted to other uses. The uses to which local activists put the church building included: a grain storage facility, a klub (club), and occasionally a school. More rarely the church was left unused entirely after being appropriated. More often the building served some other purpose. Yevdokia Dyshliuk said that in her locale there were three churches. All three were closed at the time of collectivization. One was used for grain storage, the second was turned into the village club, and the third became the village school. The most common usage that local activists found for the former church was as a grain storage facility, as described by several interviewees (e.g., Mykhailo Ihnatenko, Motria Potapenko, Halyna Bezrodnia, Varvara Myshko). In many cases the former church building served multiple purposes, with its function changing over time. For example, according to Fedora Chub, the church in her locale was at first turned into a club, and later it became a grain storage facility.

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According to Halyna Kramarchuk it was the opposite in her village: at first the church was used for grain storage and later was turned into a club. Several interviewees noted that churches which had been turned into grain storage facilities in the 1930s were reopened as houses of worship by the German occupation administration during the Second World War, and that large numbers of people once again began to attend services (Yaryna Kravchenko). Many of these churches were subsequently destroyed after the war by the Soviet government (Halyna Bezrodnia), while others were left intact but closed yet again (Varvara Myshko). There were other less common uses for church buildings. According to Mykhailo Maslo, the church in his village was closed and left empty and unused entirely from the early 1930s until the end of the Soviet state. Varvara Pyvovar noted that one of the churches in her locale was used as a barn for keeping sheep. Nastia Tkachenko noted that in her locale the church was turned into a school. As noted above, several interviewees said that the church building in their respective villages was turned into a club (Halyna Kramarchuk, Fedora Chub, and Nadia Onufriichuk). Other church property was also confiscated and turned into uses as needed by local activists. This was especially true of the priest’s residence. Mykyta Nadezha said that the priest’s home in his locale was appropriated by local activists and turned into the offices of the village council. Paraska Bezkorovaina and Pavlo Vovchenko both said that in their respective (and widely separated) locales the priest’s home was converted into the village club. In this survey, there were only a few brief descriptions of the destruction of synagogues and non-Orthodox churches. Few village synagogues were left standing by the end of the 1930s. Many were destroyed already in the 1920s, while most others were ruined in the 1930s. Halyna Bezrodnia noted that in her village the synagogue was destroyed in the early 1920s and on its site local officials constructed a club. Tetiana Poliesha-Novak said in her village there were three houses of worship: an Orthodox sobor [cathedral], a Catholic church, and a synagogue. All three were destroyed in the early 1930s. Finally, in a very few villages the church was neither destroyed nor closed in the early 1930s but remained open and functioning. In some cases, these churches were closed or destroyed after the Second World War. In a very few cases, village churches were left intact and functioning throughout the Soviet period. These were exceptional instances and were but a small fraction of the total number that existed before the 1920s. In small towns, most commonly one church was left open, with the rest of the churches destroyed or appropriated as in the village. In this more common scenario, villagers who required the services of a priest traveled to the small town to seek this service if they were able to do so. Fedir Kravchenko noted that in the years just after the war, one church in his locale was still open and functioning. He sometimes worked in the kolhosp fields

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that were next to the church stacking hay. One Sunday in warm weather when services were in progress and all the doors to the church were open, he and those with whom he worked could plainly hear the service. Their grim little joke, told by the interviewee, was that it would now be necessary to arrest half the village for attending the service.

the re pre s si on of chu rc h personnel Anyone connected with the administration or functioning of the village Orthodox church was liable to be repressed during collectivization. This was especially true for priests and their families, but frequently included also diaky (deacons) as well as participants in lay institutions within the church such as the tserkovna starosta (church elder) and in some locales even church choir members. Several interviewees described the repression of church personnel. Village social life in the period before collectivization included a large number of educated people. The social and intellectual life of most villages was extremely diverse, with a large variety of different kinds of people and levels of education. Village intellectuals probably numbered in the thousands throughout Ukraine. One of the aims of collectivization was to eliminate, or at least to neutralize, the educated people of the village. This was not accomplished overnight but required most of the decade to complete. That is, the “purges” in the second half of the 1930s, when placed in a village context, can be seen as a logical extension of the collectivization process to destroy all authority other than that which was housed in the kolhosp and the party-controlled village council as well as the Komsomol. This included destroying the moral authority – through humiliation, arrest, exile, and execution – of those who potentially had a wider knowledge of the world than the average kolhospnyk and who usually had political views and carried a culture which differed greatly from those which the Soviet state was foisting upon its population. The establishment of a new social and cultural order would not be possible without the destruction of the civil society of the village, and the destruction of this civil society would not be complete without the destruction of the educated population in the village. Several interviewees remembered the arrest of the educated people in their village. Church personnel figured prominently among the ranks of the village educated. They were repressed in great numbers. The sons especially, and sometimes the daughters, of priests were well educated in the 1920s, which meant that they were exposed to the ebb and flow of political life of the time. Many chose to identify with the prominent Ukrainian patriotic national movement of the time. Mykhailo Ihnatenko remembered the two sons of the priest in her village who had been “revolutionaries” in the 1920s and sang patriotic Ukrainian songs. The term “revolutionaries” in this context meant that they were Ukrainian patriots.

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These sons were arrested in the early 1930s, komunisty zabraly – “Communists took them” – and they disappeared. Halyna Bezrodnia described the arrests of the choir director and the head of the local drama circle, both of whom were arrested in 1937. Their families were not arrested, but the two men were never heard from again. She also described the arrest of another music director, apparently of the local club, who was sentenced to prison for ten years. He was released early. They began to see each other again. She was arrested for this and was in prison for two months. The “crime” about which she was most closely questioned had to do with a rushnyk (ceremonial towel) that the activists had found into which was sewn a plea to God to protect Ukraine, as she explained:

halyna zakharivna: Priests who supported the Ukrainian cause would

come here. I had a relationship with a choirmaster, and he was sentenced to ten years. He did not serve the whole sentence and was released, and I was sentenced to two months because we were dating. – What did they ask you about? halyna zakharivna: There were many questions. While searching his house, they found a poem that he wrote. A rushnyk above the altar said, “God almighty save Ukraine.” I was asked who ordered the rushnyk. I was imprisoned for two months. The interviews contained several brief descriptions of the repression of priests and other church personnel. Varvara Pyvovar noted that the priest in her locale was evicted from his home and all his possessions confiscated. He went to another village to live. Tetiana Poliesha-Novak said that the priest in her locale was evicted and went into hiding. In the village of Bila Marfa the priest was evicted and sent into exile, where he died. Paraska Liubychankivska noted that the priest in her locale was arrested and never returned. She had no idea of his fate. Mykyta Nadezha said that the priest in his village was evicted and forbidden to enter his church. The order came from the village council. Both the priest and the church starosta were arrested and imprisoned. The priest’s wife brought food to him in prison, but he nevertheless died in 1933, apparently from starvation. Natalia Semeniaka noted that the priest in her locale was executed in 1930 and the church destroyed shortly after that. Ivan Mushynsky said his church was closed in 1929 and the priest evicted. The church choir included girls and married women and married men, but no boys. It ceased to function with the closing of the church. Maria Bulakh said that in her church choir there were women, men, and boys and girls of various ages. In the interviews, the word most often used for a member of the church choir was pievcha. Vira Oliinyk and her family were closely associated with the church before collectivization. She remembered well the repression of religious organization in her

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village. She described the fate of a succession of three priests in her locale. The first priest was forced by local activists to publicly renounce the Christian religion as well as any claim on church property he had as a church representative. He had to publicly announce that religion was nonsense. The interviewee’s mother took him home to live with their family. He was apparently a broken man, and the interviewee does not mention him again. On Easter Sunday, the people of the village gathered in the now otherwise empty and leaderless church and just sat there, crying, not knowing what to do, and not able to participate in the service on the holiest of days. Sometime after that, another priest came. He lived with the interviewee’s grandfather (the priest’s home had evidently already been confiscated). The grandfather was apparently too scared to have him living there and asked him to leave, which he did. He got married in a neighboring village and did not return. After this yet another priest came, but he was in fact a committed Communist. Someone shot and killed him, but it is unclear from the interview who performed the deed. A similar description of the fate of her priest was told by Paraska Bezkorovaina. The priest was evicted, and all his lands and livestock confiscated by the kolhosp. He was apparently without a family. He went to live with two elderly spinsters who had long looked after him. He was forced to publicly renounce the Christian religion and any claim on the church. Shortly after this, outsiders were brought into the village in order to pull the church down. There had not been enough local villagers willing to do the job. The priest’s home was made into the village club. Oleksandra Poluden explained that her father had been a priest. In contrast to practices in most other villages where the priest’s land was worked by hired labor, the interviewee said that her family worked their land themselves. All their possessions were confiscated at the time of collectivization – all their livestock and land, as was all furniture and personal belongings such as photographs and mementos. Activists did not confiscate their clothing. Her father was shortly afterwards arrested and was imprisoned for five years. After his release, he returned home for a year and a half, then was arrested once more, and was never heard from again. She and the rest of the family members were long unable to find work, either on the kolhosp or the radhosp, being labeled popivska [related to the priest] and therefore unfit to work in the socialist structure. She kept an orchard from which she and her family survived for several years. Dmytro Chuchupak said that in his village the priest was cowed into silence when the church was destroyed. He was apparently threatened and stayed out of sight while the church was pulled down. The person who directed the church’s destruction was the former diak of the church. The interviewee noted that the former diak seemed to want to prove what a good Bolshevik he was. It was he who climbed to the church roof and removed the cross, throwing it down. Virtually all religious institutions of all faiths were repressed to one degree or another during collectivization. Catholics and Protestants were harshly repressed

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across the board in all regions. However, the questionnaire did not deal directly with the problem of their repression, and very few project interviewees belonged to these confessions. There were no Jews interviewed, not from lack of effort, but few remained in village Ukraine of the 1990s, except in specific regions. Consequently, there was only a limited amount of material on this subject that derived from the project. For the most part, there are statements as to the fact of their existence or repression, without detailed elaboration. For example, Mykhailo Maslo noted that in his locale in the early 1920s nearly half of the practicing Christians were Baptists. Dmytro Lisachenko noted that his father had been a Baptist, and for this reason his family was evicted from their home. Halyna Lazarenko said that the Baptists in her village were good, upstanding people and that the state destroyed them because of their religion.

the re pre s si on of religiou s rituals Of the many religious rituals, great and small, that were part of village life before collectivization, only a few were touched on in the survey questionnaire regarding their repression in the 1930s. These included the sacraments, such as baptism, and the wedding sequence ceremonies. Also repressed were many other rituals, such as funerals, the village khram, outside processions, spring cycle (especially Easter) rituals, and the winter cycle (especially Christmas and New Year rituals, notably koliadky and shchedrivky). The Sacraments The sacraments were perhaps the most heavily repressed of the many religious rituals. Baptisms conducted in church and church weddings (vinchannia) conducted by a priest were some of those rituals that virtually ceased to exist in the 1930s. Baptism in general was forbidden in most locales with serious consequences for those who did not obey. Nevertheless, thousands of people went to great lengths to baptize their children. Several interviewees described the suppression of this sacrament, and its survival underground. There was some disagreement among the interviewees as to the kind and degree of suppression as well as the kind and degree of underground survival. Oleksii Syniuk for example, claimed that no one from the government forbade people to baptize, simply that it was no longer in fashion to do so, and therefore people ceased performing the ritual. He said that people would laugh at you if you baptized your children and for this reason most people did not do so. He was discussing the year 1937 when his son was born. Motria Rohova also said that those who wished to, could baptize; that it was not forbidden. Varvara Myshko provided a completely different response, saying that people were specifically forbidden to attend church for any reason whatsoever.

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Those who did were not allowed to work on the kolhosp. No work meant no food, which meant starvation for your family. The choice then, was between risking starvation for yourself and your family and ceasing to be active Christians. This was an extremely effective means for the suppression of religious ritual. Nevertheless, she noted, some people baptized their children secretly. Dmytro Tkach said the same as did Ivan Bibik: “If someone needed to baptize a child, it was done in secret; parents would go to the priest at night with their child.” Olha Bychenko provided still another variant, saying that baptism was forbidden to all except rank-and-file kolhospnyky. Olena Sinkevych related the problems that a person in the armed forces had regarding baptism. A man in military service baptized his child, but someone from the village informed on him. He was called to account and questioned. He said that it was not he who did it but his teshcha [mother-in-law]. The officer (or official) questioning him apparently did not accept this explanation. What happened to this man is not stated, but he did not baptize his two other children. Varvara Chukhlib and Maria Nekhai claimed that baptisms were forbidden already in the 1920s, although it was not clear if they were confused as to when this repression began. Virtually everyone else indicated that they baptized their children right up to the beginning of collectivization or the famine, as Ivan Shamrai noted when asked if people baptized their children in the 1920s: “God forbid. If you’re not baptized, you’re an antichrist.” He said that during nep (the 1920s) in his locale there was never a question about religion or work. You did as you pleased in these matters. For the overwhelming majority of people, that meant being active as a Christian by keeping feast and fast days as well as the Sabbath and performing the sacraments. Before collectivization, there were specific ritual moments in a baptism which took place in a village. Some of these moments differed from urban norms. Some of these rituals occurred in the church, some occurred in the procession on the road from the church back home, and some occurred in the home. For example, there were special songs heard only during baptism rituals. Olena Ponomarenko remembered some of these, noting what was sung in which context, by whom, and in what manner. She also described the participants in a baptism ceremony: in addition to the child and the priest there were the child’s parents, grandparents, a godfather, a godmother, and the village midwife (povytukha). She was usually untrained as a midwife but was widely regarded as essential for a safe birthing and often held a high social status in the village. The midwife would remain an invited guest to various family gatherings for many years, often until her death or that of the person she helped deliver. Varvara Pyvovar described how people continued to baptize their children even after the local church had been razed to the ground. The parents would find a priest, say from a neighboring village or small town, or even from farther away,

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and find some way to drive him to their home. The sacrament would take place at home and in secret. Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniuk also confirmed this procedure. Andrii Filatov provided a variant on this. He knew people who traveled long distances to a city in order to find a church where the sacrament could be delivered. The farther the better, in terms of secrecy. Olena Ponomarenko described a similar situation. She knew families who also traveled far to a city, but the baptism was conducted at the priest’s home, not in church. There were both short-term and long-term reasons for not wanting anyone to know that you were baptizing your children. The main short-term reason was that you could lose your job. A kolhospnyk could be denied trudodni (workdays), while others could be fired outright. For others, the penalties were more severe. One could not be both a teacher and engage in any kind of religious ritual. A teacher would be fired immediately if the authorities knew she or he had baptized their children. Ivan Shamrai related how two teachers (a married couple) approached him for help in baptizing their children. The two teachers came to him for help to find a priest for them. Their last name was never mentioned in the process, even to the priest. They eventually had the baptism in their home, to which the priest came, and there was music and feasting after the ceremony. There were also long-term considerations in the decision to baptize, particularly for your children. Lidia Hrabovska noted that all those who baptized their children in the 1930s and 1940s did so secretly not only to protect themselves, but also the very children they were having baptized. If a parent wanted his child to have a non-labor-intensive job, or any kind of higher education, including technical schools and high school (lyceum), then the parent could not baptize the child with any record of it. Children baptized from the 1930s onward were blackballed from both higher education and better jobs. Priests were supposed to write a record of the baptism in the child’s documents. They often did so over the objections of the parents. The interviewee knew a woman who purposely destroyed her child’s documents after having the child baptized. She requested new documents, saying the old ones were lost. Her child was baptized but there was no written record of it anywhere. Church wedding ceremonies (vinchannia) virtually ceased to exist in most locales after collectivization started (among many others see Hanna VyklenkoPohrebniak) and were finished virtually everywhere from the beginning of the famine. Obviously if the church was closed and/or the priest either exiled or forbidden to practice his calling, ceremonies such as church weddings were not possible unless the villagers traveled to find a church and priest elsewhere to perform the ceremony. This ceremony was apparently not considered of equal importance to baptisms as far fewer people risked the wrath of local activists and the state police structure to have a church wedding. Almost none of the project interviewees who married after collectivization had a church wedding, only a civil

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ceremony and the signing of documents. Olena Ponomarenko said she did not have one because her husband did not want it. Natalia Semeniaka said that hers was the last church wedding (vinchannia) in her village; after her, no one wanted or tried to have one for many years. The implication here is that having this sacrament performed may not have been regarded by most villagers as essential. Most of the other sacraments that pertain to lay members of the church were effectively suppressed when the church was closed or destroyed. Communion and repentance were not frequently performed, because there was no priest available, and few villagers risked the wrath of the activists to seek a priest out in a small town or another village. These sacraments virtually ceased being a part of village life for many years. Other Rituals (Khram, Processions, Easter, Koliadky) Before collectivization the village khram, a village Saint’s name day, was one of the important feast days. Each church was named for a patron saint and on the name day of that saint, the village khram took place. There was a fair, where booths sold food and religious trinkets, and in some locales, musicians performed on corners and squares. Hundreds, even thousands of people gathered for the one or two days of celebrations. With the closing or destruction of the village church, the khram ceased to exist. Even in locales where a church was left functioning, the khram eventually was forbidden, either in the 1930s, or after the Second World War, by which time the khram no longer existed in most locales (Paraska Smola). This was but one of many holidays tied to the church, or based on religious motives, banned by the authorities at the time of collectivization. During and after the famine it all but disappeared (Natalia Semeniaka). The khram included outdoor processions led by the priest. There were other occasions for outdoor processions as well, including certain feast days as well as special supplications, for example prayers for rain to end a drought, or to end an epidemic. A village procession was widely known as the khresny khid (the procession behind the cross), which began at the church. There was usually a fixed site not far from the church to which the procession walked. Hundreds of people could participate, with the priest leading the crowd and dozens of icons and banners carried along as well as the cross. Most often the destination site featured a body of water (a lake, or a river or stream) and a service would be held there next to the cross, with the church choir participating. After the service, the procession flowed back to the church (see descriptions by Mykola Sokyrko, Fedora Hatsko, and Motria Potapenko; Olena Ponomarenko described a khresnyi khid during a khram). Ivan Mushynsky noted that people diligently cleaned their houses and themselves for the khram and for any khresny khid. He also said that with collectivization the khram and all processions were forbidden. Maria Yeschenko

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confirmed this, noting that instead of attending a khram, people were required to work on the kolhosp. Time off for religious observance was unheard of. Ivan Bibik described the banning of processions in the early 1930s. Activists would announce that an upcoming procession was forbidden. On the day of the procession, police stood guard in front of the church and physically blocked its entrance. In addition, they formed roadblocks at the edges of the village to prevent the movement of pedestrian and road traffic. Nadia Onufriichuk also explained how Easter rituals were suppressed. In her village, the church had been pulled down and no longer existed. Therefore, she and her family and others from her village had to travel to a neighboring village to receive the ritual blessings of their Easter bread (paska) on Easter morning when the priest came out of the church and people were gathered in the church yard with their food baskets, which the priest sprinkled with holy water. Local Komsomol activists and even Pioneers (child activists) were present to identify those who had gone to the neighboring village church and participate in the Easter ritual. As a result of this exercise, the interviewee commented that she was identified, and local authorities yelled at her and the others (“Potim svaryly na nas.”). The point of course was to intimidate and threaten people to stop them from practicing Christian rituals. Paraska Bezkorovaina noted that singing Christian songs was forbidden. Even saying Khrystos voskres (“Christ is Risen” – a common public greeting) on Easter day and the several days after was forbidden. Varvara Chukhlib noted that if you knew the person you met on the street you could say it. If not, or especially if the person was not elderly, then you used another greeting. She said it was dangerous to do otherwise, and she was afraid to use the Christian greeting in any case.

int e rv i ew e xce rp ts : churc h, priests, and c hu rc h structure b e f ore c ollec tiviz ation Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina – Who was the main figure in the village before collectivization?

paraska mytrofanivna: There was a church starosta. Otherwise, I don’t

remember. There was also a village starosta; there were punishments. When there was a skhodka, they would toll the bells. All the men would come, sit down, and talk – and not a single woman. – Was the priest the main figure? paraska mytrofanivna: He was the one in charge and well respected. The starosta was local [while the priest usually was assigned a parish and was not local]. – What fell under his authority?

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paraska mytrofanivna: I remember the priest very well. He owned a lot of land and naimyty [hired hands]: one to take care of the horses, one for the cattle, one for the pigs, and one for the house. I guess orphans would become naimyty, but I don’t know how he treated them. – Did naimyty have their farms? paraska mytrofanivna: They would later leave. If this was an orphan girl, she would serve five years and leave; he paid them something. He had a nice garden behind the fence with nice flowers, but we couldn’t steal any because there was a dog. Pavlo Illich Vovchenko – What was the priest’s role? pavlo illich: The highest village official. The starosta and prystavy would follow the priest’s orders. He had a reputation and morals. Where now in Loknya we have a dom kultury [house of culture, a club] there used to be the priest’s house. Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky – Was the priest obeyed in the village?

yakiv mykhailovych: I was a shtykhar – this involved the procession

around the church. I didn’t have any relatives available, but I had a friend from Penki – Fedka. So, we’re standing there, comes the mailman: “Guys, come stand here. We’ll dress you as priests, and you’ll walk with the crosses and the flowers, and the priests will walk too – circumambulation.” Everyone obeyed and respected the priest. As he said, so it would be. – What fell under the priest’s authority? yakiv mykhailovych: The divine matters. There is a correct priest and an incorrect priest, and a sinner too. The greatest authority was the skhodka. We would gather near the church; the skhodka would also take place in various homesteads, and before that near the volost (village council). In the villages, you had, buk haziaiinty they were exiled, the unfortunate. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko – Was there a priest in the village?

mykhailo yevdokimovych: Yes. – What was his name?

mykhailo yevdokimovych: Hrytsko Shakhnovsky. Back then the village was under the priest’s authority.

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– Did he have a lot of authority?

mykhailo yevdokimovych: The highest authority. He baptized people

and had the metryka [birth records]. If anyone needed a passport, they would go to the priest. – Would the priest always name the child? mykhailo yevdokimovych: Yes, he would record the birth in the registrar; then he would report to the raion [district] on how many were born and how many died. – Did the priest own land? mykhailo yevdokimovych: He had land and a lot of cattle. – Who worked for him? mykhailo yevdokimovych: He didn’t work himself. Back in the times of Zolotonosha (older name of this village), he married a woman whose dowry was either ninety or a hundred hectares. He had a khutir (an outlying grouping of households) there, which he rented out. He was probably paid in gold. – Did he have land in the village? mykhailo yevdokimovych: Yes. – Who worked on this land? mykhailo yevdokimovych: Naimyty (hired help). – Do you know how much he paid them? mykhailo yevdokimovych: I don’t know for sure, but they worked almost for free. He had many cows. He was rich. – Was he kind to people? mykhailo yevdokimovych: Oh, no! Not good. He would take God knows how much bread from memorial services – he did many of them – and would send it home, and the eggs kept coming all the time. He’d dump them in the ravine, and they’d rot and reek there. – Did his wife do something in the church, too? mykhailo yevdokimovych: No, she was farming at home. – How did she treat people? mykhailo yevdokimovych: She was a housewife. Halyna Ivanivna Klymenko – Were there church services in your village? halyna ivanivna: There was no church in our village. Our village belonged to Shevchenkovo, and I used to go there to confess when I was little; my father would send me. – Do you remember the priest? halyna ivanivna: He was respected. The people obeyed and feared him.

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He made them pray to God. We didn’t have a church, but we had a chapel in the cemetery, and my father was a starosta there. Once, during Zelenyi Sviatky (the Green Week, a spring season ritual), we were there walking and cleaning up, and my brother Petro – he was sent to clean, too – found priest’s robes, put one on, took the censer, and began to “officiate.” Baba Fanasia heard it and wondered what was going on. She peeked into the church, and there he is – my brother playing around in the robe. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko – Did you go to church with your mother, or how did it usually go? fedir yosypovych : When I was little, I used to go. I loved the church choir. That’s my life’s love, my destiny. I would stand near the choir gawking as they sang. – How was that church closed down? When did you stop going? fedir yosypovych : I stopped going as soon as collectivization began. That’s when they closed it down, and the people stopped going. But I continued going to my priest, the one from Oksenivka (Oksenivka is my territory, and my grandfather was a church starosta there) until I built a house here in 1940. That priest of ours was very skillful. At the time, he could do any kind of carpentry; he made good carts, good cabinets, and wardrobes. All this he could do very well. He made window frames for me. Somehow the authorities did not touch him. The other two, Dovhalivsky and Zamoshnynsky –who knows where they went–but this one continued living in his house. He was a slender, agreeable person. – Was he local or out-of-town? fedir yosypovych : Seems like he was local; he lived there and had a house. I used to go even as a child. During communion in church, I would not have time to say my name, but he would be the first to call me – Yosypovych – as all were addressed by their patronymic: “The servant of God Fyodor Yosypovych partakes of the precious and holy Body and Blood of our Lord.” – Did he officiate in Ukrainian or Russian? fedir yosypovych : This I don’t remember. In church … they seem to be … I don’t … They may have been using the Old [Church] Slavonic language. I guess it sounded like Russian. – Your grandfather was a church starosta. What did he do as a starosta? fedir yosypovych : He helped the priest with groundskeeping, maintained order, and bought what was necessary. – Did he cooperate with the deacon?

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fedir yosypovych: No, no! He had nothing to do with that. He was just listed as a starosta, similar to how right now they have a chairman in the raion, or whatever it is called, so he was a starosta in the church. Kostiantyn Hryhorovych Kryvonis – What role did the priest play before the collectivization? kostiantyn hryhorovych: Priests were respected. A priest was considered the most literate person. He could explain and clarify everything. And he was considered the main figure in the village. The church was in Pysarivka, and I used to go there. The priest’s sons were my friends; one was a musician, and the other was a painter. We would go to church together. The Church of the Intercession of the Holy Virgin – Pokrovska Church. – Were those people at the center of authority? kostiantyn hryhorovych: What the priest said, so it would be. They had the authority. The starosta was in charge of property. If someone’s house would fall in, he could help, and he would order bricks. All houses had thatch roofs and would last long – around fifty years – because people used clay in roofing; they’d soak the sheaves and put one on top of the other. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo – What role did the priest play in civil life? mykhailo pavlovych: The priest was second in line after the volost starosta, if not more important. The priest’s orders were the law. People were not as spoiled as they are now to the point of not understanding anything. If anyone did not obey, the priest would say, “What have you done, Yefrem? What did I tell you? It’s a sin.” – Did the priest own land? mykhailo pavlovych: Yes, he did. The church owned forty desiatyny, and the priest had ten. It was the priest’s field, and the rest belonged to the church. He always had ten naimyty (hired labor). Perhaps he himself would sometimes go to plow the field. He was not a local. Generally speaking, there were no village priests in Kvitky. First, we had one by the name of Koshets, then – Kostetsky, and this one – Shernyavsk – was repressed. People would turn to him for advice if something was going wrong in their family. Sometimes he would summon people and reform them. People used to go to church back then. Perhaps they would not go every Sunday, but they certainly went on major holidays such as Christmas and Easter. Everybody would go and take part in the sacrament. I was not given food before the church

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because the priest would treat us to honey. He would scoop some honey with a spoon and give it to us. I was eight years old and lived with my grandfather, and he was very religious. He taught me “Our Father” and told me to recite it ten times before going to bed. Grandfather was simple: he didn’t use any featherbeds or mattresses – he would just spread his sackcloth on the floor. I would always sleep on the stove, and he – on the stove ledge. It was warm. The food was simple: potatoes, cabbage, cucumbers, and cheese. On Sundays we had meat in our borshch or we had a meat stew and kasha, especially millet porridge. Mykhailo Ivanovych Medvedenko – What role did the priest play in the village? mykhailo ivanovych: The priest was the political leader in the village. If he noticed that you were not coming to church, he would send for you: “Why aren’t you coming to church?” There are so many of them now. – How did people treat the priest? Were they afraid of him? mykhailo ivanovych: All women of course were the priest’s supporters. There were different attitudes. – Was the priest fair? mykhailo ivanovych: Tell me about it. – Did the priest own land? mykhailo ivanovych: The best land, the best meadow, and the best earnings in addition to what the churchgoers would contribute. There was a bay with an island in the middle, around a thousand hectares. Great hay grew there. We would mow the sedge; the sedge was for the people, but the better fields that had better land belonged to the priest. – Did the priest keep birth and death records? mykhailo ivanovych: Yes, they did. – Did the people tell any interesting stories about the priests? mykhailo ivanovych: I know one priest better than I know the others. He came to school and punished me by making me kneel because I did not know the scriptures. This was under the Soviet regime. During the New Economic Policy there were priests. I did not learn the scriptures at all, but I used to go to church to sing in the choir because they paid. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky – How was the power distributed between the priest and the church starosta? ivan serhiiovych: They had the church council. They had sisters and brothers – elderly people. The sisters were the women who could no longer

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give birth. The men were elderly, too. And they were the ones that selected a starosta because the priest was like a naimyt, and the church starosta was the owner. The church council was running things. They would decide when to make repairs and such. But back then the priests had a major role to play. They recorded deaths and births and gave documents for military service. There was no Civil Registry Office. The priest took care of everything. Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko – What authority did the priest have in the village? andrii hryhorovych: Oh! The priest had a lot of power. That’s why he was a priest. He had more power than the president has today. Yes. People would turn to the priest for any kind of advice; he was literate and levelheaded. He could read everything. Some would go to him to ask if they could get married. And he would say (there were such widows), “Don’t marry that one, he’s no good.” – Was he a local? What was his name? andrii hryhorovych: Roman Diakovsky. I don’t know where he was from. Just a priest. – Did he own a house and land? andrii hryhorovych: Yes! A house. A nice house. The priest was not questioned. His word was law. He had a nice house and three desiatyny as well as three more desiatyny in the meadows. – Did he plow the land himself? andrii hryhorovych: He drank wine and ate sausage and eggs. My mother lived across the river. Our garden faced the river, and so did his. Tetiana Yakivna Poliesha-Novak – Did the priest have authority? tetiana yakivna: Of course, he did. He also had a field. – Who plowed the priest’s field? tetiana yakivna: He let people plow it in exchange for hay. All was done by the people, and both the people and the priest profited. When I was a schoolgirl, Father Fedir was the priest; he was very good. We were brought to church every week. When we were preparing for Holy Communion, he would give all the schoolchildren in our class communion bread. – Did the priest counsel people? tetiana yakivna: In all matters. If someone was born, people would always turn to the priest. – Was the priest’s word the law?

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tetiana yakivna: Our priest was very good, and both of his daughters were teachers, so nothing bad happened. … – Did you sing the church songs? tetiana yakivna: I know and sing the church songs. – Did people know the church songs? tetiana yakivna: Those who went to school knew, but in our village many people didn’t go to school. We went because our father was literate. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko – What was the priest’s role in the village? motria tymofiivna: The priest’s role was major. He had a lot of land, and the best land was his. Most people’s land was hilly, with sand and clay, but the priest’s land was in the valley that stretched out toward the woods. This land is still called “the priest’s land” and land of lower quality is called “the peasants’ land.” On Sundays, people would pray, and once they were finished, they would go to work. – How were they paid for their work? motria tymofiivna: The priest didn’t pay them anything. It was their duty because he was the priest. If you didn’t bring him a chicken when you went to him to name your child, he’d pick an odd name for a newborn like Okakii. We had one Okakii in the village because his father didn’t give the priest a chicken. – Was the priest the only one with the authority to name newborns? motria tymofiivna: He was the one. – If someone didn’t want to work for the priest, what was the consequence? Motria Tymofiivna: No consequences. The priest had women naimyty as well as a stableman, and an oxman. He owned horses and a large farm. We had two churches. One was Horianska, near to Horiansk [likely a local kutok]. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka – What was the priest’s role in the village?

natalia hryhorivna: A major role, certainly. Our priest lived in the vil-

lage. I loved going to the choir. We would go up to the choir balcony and sing. – What was the priest’s name? natalia hryhorivna: Karp Vynohradtsev. He baptized me and performed the marriage ceremony. – What was the priest like as a person? natalia hryhorivna: He’s a priest – enough said. People used to say that

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priests have the best lifestyle. He belonged to himself and lived well because priests got everything. He had his own land. He was killed in the 1930s in Troshchyn. Priests were persecuted. He wasn’t a good priest. – Was there a church starosta? natalia hryhorivna: Yes. People obeyed him. He was in charge of all church matters and the choir. We also used to have another man who would direct the choir. In the reading house, he would teach us the revolutionary (patriotic Ukrainian) songs, and then as we would walk to church, we would learn to sing the prayers. It was so joyful. Such a good time. – Who had the authority – the church starosta or the priest? natalia hryhorivna: No, no. He didn’t give orders. But without the priest one couldn’t register a newborn or register a death. The same way as these days – when a baby is born, it must be baptized, and the priest baptized the child. The parents chose the godparents right away, and the baby was placed into the cold water for baptism. – Did the people respect the church starosta and the priest? natalia hryhorivna: Some people did. Not everyone. Dmytro Mykhailovych Chuchupak – How much authority did the priest have in the village? dmytro mykhalovych: The priest was strongly tied to the haidamaky (a local partisan group). The priest’s name back then was Lebedovych. – Did he hold church services in Motronynske? dmytro mykhalovych: There was also a church in Melnyky, so he held church services in Melnyky, too. I remember this Lebedovych. He baptized all my family. – What was his name? dmytro mykhalovych: I don’t remember. We were always baptized by the priests. We had three to four priests during each baptism. The godparents came, too. – Did he have authority? Did people listen to him? dmytro mykhalovych: He was a major authority. Then he moved. Our kum (Godfather) was Ivan Petrovych. I remember that as we were transporting apple carts to Cherkasy using our cows, we would stop by his place, and he lived in Chervona Sloboda at the time. The house where he lived is still there today. I don’t know who lives there now. The priest had the whole parish, and my father would always visit him on the way. The priest had a lot of authority and was clearly connected with the haidamaky. He couldn’t do without this.

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Maria Leontiivna Sheiko-Ivanishyna – What was the priest’s role in the village? maria leontiivna: I am not sure. I used to go to church, and the priest held services there. The priest was very good and had two daughters and a son. – Did he have his own land? maria leontiivna: He had a good house and a good garden. Father Vasylii was his name; he used to visit our grandfather. His son died of typhus, and the daughters participated in the revolution. At that time people started saying that the church would be closed. Back then, people would spin yarn in every household, and he would come back from the church and get the spinning wheel ready, then bless the spinning. He left the village. The other was Father Nikolai – oh, he was loathsome and didn’t have any children. One couldn’t approach him – he was so mean. – Were there cases when priests would spite someone and give bad names to their children? maria leontiivna: The mean one was arrested. He didn’t have land, and people kept coming to church. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar Those who destroyed the churches are not alive anymore, not one of them. All died in one way or the other. Motrona Ivanivna Lomynoha There was one man named Prokhvatylo. When they wanted to destroy the church and remove the cross (the cross was made of gold), he went up and cut the cross. He lived another month after it and then died. Potapenko Motria Tymofiivna – Was there another church?

motria tymofiivna: The other one was destroyed before the war. The

bells were made of gold, so they were demolished. – Who demolished the bells? motria tymofiivna: One man from the village. One day he was cutting metal at work and was hit by a metal rod. People say that this was punishment [for his treatment] of the bells.

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Tetiana Yakivna Poliesha-Novak God punished those who destroyed the church. Yaryna Maksymivna Kravchenko The Communists destroyed the church. One man told me that all those who destroyed the church died of cancer. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha – Who was in charge of destroying the church? mykyta mykolaiovych: Komnezam [Committee of Poor Peasants]. – Was your uncle the head of this committee? mykyta mykolaiovych: My uncle, and the poor peasants. – Did he worry afterwards about committing a sin? mykyta mykolaiovych: Why would he? He lived well.

int e rv i ew e xce rp ts : re l i g i on af ter c ollec tiviz ation Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina

paraska mytrofanivna: Then the priest was dispossessed and expelled

from his house. For two weeks, they had been moving grain from his house to the kolhosp. They took the cows, the horses, everything, and the priest was expelled. He asked to live with two spinsters who used to work for him, and he soon died. They took care of him until his death. He was told, “Renounce the church.” For a long time, he did not want to renounce it, but eventually he did. Soon after, the church was demolished. They came from Tomashivka, hooked the crosses to a tow car (the plates were rattling in our home from the pull), and then the church fell with a great thud. None of the village people wanted to destroy the church. The man who did it was hired from somewhere else. All the people were hiding in their houses. The church was expensive, but it was razed to the ground. The priest’s house was used to set up a club. We were there. Halyna Zakharivna Bezrodnia – How many churches did you have? halyna zakharivna: Four churches. – What were they called?

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halyna zakharivna: One was named after St Gregory; another beautiful stone church – in Ukrainian Triitsia (the Trinity). Where the current church stands we used to have one named The Intercession, and down below – one named after (in Ukrainian) Mykola (St Nicholas). We have two clubs. Where one of the clubs stands used to be a synagogue. – When was the synagogue destroyed? halyna zakharivna: Some time after the Revolution, in 1921-22. This club was rebuilt several times. – When did they start demolishing churches? halyna zakharivna: During the Second World War. – Were they destroyed by the Germans or the locals? halyna zakharivna: Both. During the German occupation, we still had Troiitsia and Mykola churches. – Were there services in these churches before the war? halyna zakharivna: Before the war, services were held in the Church of Mykola, and Troiistka was used for grain storage. I used to sing in this church, so it pained me very much to see it close down. During the German occupation, there was no singing, and after the war the church was destroyed. – Did you see how it was destroyed? halyna zakharivna: I did not. Pokrova was destroyed earlier by the locals. They set up a school there or something. The Germans would force people into that building. – Was the church choir big? halyna zakharivna: Yes, it was big, and every church had its choir. In 1937, the choir director was exiled. – What was he exiled for? halyna zakharivna: It’s not known. The leader of the amateur theater was exiled, too. His last name was Konstantynovych. – Did either of them come back? halyna zakharivna: No. Their families lived here. – Were their families persecuted? halyna zakharivna: No, but the learned people were exiled. … halyna zakharivna: Priests who supported the Ukrainian cause would come here. I had a relationship with a choirmaster, and he was sentenced to ten years. He did not serve the whole sentence and was released, and I was sentenced to two months because we were dating. – What did they ask you about? halyna zakharivna: There were many questions. While searching his house, they found a poem that he wrote. A rushnyk above the altar said, “God

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almighty save Ukraine.” I was asked who ordered the rushnyk. I was imprisoned for two months. – Did the choirmaster return? halyna zakharivna: Yes. He lived with a woman in civil union and had two children. I don’t know where he learned it, but he could read music. He had a neighbor who also read music well, and he would go to this neighbor to sing and probably learned to read music from him. He could also play the fiddle and loved it very much. We would often go to the park, and they would play the fiddle. Olha Andriivna Bychenko – Did you baptize the children?

olha andriivna: Children were still baptized in the 1920s. When the

churches were closed down during collectivization, there were no priests left and nowhere to baptize the children. People tried to baptize their children whenever they could. All my children are baptized. I took them to a priest’s house. Baptism was forbidden. So, what? They didn’t pick on peasants so much, but they did watch the working people. Ivan Ivanovych Bibik – Do you remember khresni khody [processions]? ivan ivanovych: My mother used to say that before the Revolution and after the Revolution there were processions with icons. They would go around the village, make a star, and carry an icon on Christmas Eve. – How did the Soviet state persecute the priests? ivan ivanovych: I don’t remember. As for the priests, there was no work because churches were closed. If someone needed to baptize a child, it was done in secret. Parents would go to the priest at night with their child. – What was the reason for khresni khody? ivan ivanovych: When the government banned it, all religious ceremonies stopped. Church holidays were abolished; the militia would come. People were not allowed to go to the neighboring village. Marfa Oleksiivna Bila – Was there a priest in the village? marfa oleksiivna: There was Priest Zholudkevych, but then he was taken somewhere. People used to say that he was chained to a cart, and he would load sand until his death. This was somewhere far away.

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– Were people sorry to see him gone? marfa oleksiivna: What would it change? He was a good priest for the people. Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiova – Did you baptize children in the 1930s? hanna yukhymivna: I did. I took them as far as Kharkiv because our church was dismantled. So, I took them to Kharkiv. Maria Andriivna Bulakh – Was there a church in the village? maria andriivna: There was a wooden church, then it was replaced by another church which was quickly set up in Matskivtsi. The old church had a service for the Dormition of the Mother of God, on 15 August, according to the Gregorian calendar. When the kolhosp started, the demolition of the churches began. The locals demolished them. Perhaps some came from other villages. We didn’t go to this battle. This could have been Komsomol members, I’m not sure. The young people dismantled the churches, not the old folk. I don’t know where the icons from the church went. In recent years some have reappeared. Maybe they took the icons to Lubny or to their homes, I don’t know. – Was it forbidden to sing koliadky after the war? maria andriivna: No. It was forbidden to go to church. Teachers told students not to go, and the head of the village council forbade going to church. Baptism was forbidden too, but who saw if the child was baptized or not? Father and mother would take their child and have it baptized. It was unacceptable not to baptize a child. This was a sin for the parents. Hanna Herasymivna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak – When the kolhosp was established, was the church closed?

hanna herasymivna: They closed it, but I don’t know what year it was.

When kolhospy appeared, the church was closed and destroyed. – Was it done by the locals or the newcomers? hanna herasymivna: The local Komsomol activists. – Who joined Komsomol? hanna herasymivna: They were mostly poor: the committee of poor peasants. …

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– Were children baptized at the church? hanna herasymivna: Of course. When a child was born, it was baptized. Six weeks after the delivery, the mother had to go to church for vyvid [also known as votserkvlinnia in Ukrainian]; then she would have the right to attend church services and go to the well. In the first six weeks she had no right to leave the house. – Who was chosen to be godparents? hanna herasymivna: Those two that attended the wedding ceremony as witnesses and two more. – Who were nanashky? hanna herasymivna: It’s those who attended the wedding ceremony of the couple as witnesses. – Do these have to be husband and wife or strangers? hanna herasymivna: In our village, the bride invited them from her family, and the groom – from his family. In the village where my daughter lived, they would invite such people from the same household. – How many of them could there be? hanna herasymivna: As many as people wanted. – What did people bring for baptism? hanna herasymivna: Whatever they had – money, scarves, suits, or bread. – What did they use to carry the child to the cross? hanna herasymivna: Cloth. – What is it called? hanna herasymivna: Kryzhma. – When did they stop baptizing children? hanna herasymivna: In the village, no one stopped baptizing children. They would go to the priest as far as Mohylov. Those who wanted, found a priest and baptized their children. Pavel Illich Vovchenko – What role did the priest play [before collectivization]? pavel illich: He was the highest leader in the village. His word was obeyed by starosta and prystavy. He had the reputation and morals. Where we now have a dom kultury in Loknya, there used to be the priest’s house. Maria Petrivna Voitenkova – Were the local authorities opposed to people having icons? maria petrivna: Some icons were thrown away or hidden away, some

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were kept. They couldn’t make people throw away everything. We didn’t throw anything away. – Did you hide them? maria petrivna: No, we did not. – Did they come to you asking why you kept the icons? maria petrivna: No, they did not come on purpose. Sometimes a guest would come and see the icons, but a guest had no right to make me throw anything away. The authorities would go around asking whether people acknowledge God or not and they would take notes. My husband and I said, “We acknowledge God.” They made a note. Some people would say, “We do not acknowledge.” They would again make a record of that. – Was this before the war? maria petrivna: Yes, before the war, when the times were turbulent. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko – Were there khresni khody in the fields in order to summon rain? fedora yukhymivna: People would come from the church, take icons and crosses, light a candle, and they would carry the icons. And it used to happen that during a drought – after they prayed to God, the priest read the prayers, and they were coming back – the rain would pour, you understand? This used to happen. Lidia Serhiivna Hrabovska

lidia serhiivna: I would baptize children in secret.

– When was this?

lidia serhiivna: This was when they were in school. Why was I hiding? The priest would write on the back of the document that the child was baptized. If the admissions committee saw this when the child went to the university or elsewhere, that would be it. – Where would the priest note that the child was baptized? lidia serhiivna: On the back of the public register. I did not baptize my children, but I would send them for baptism with other women. I wasn’t there. Two of our children died, and someone told my mother that we had to baptize the child. They took the child and baptized it in my absence. The public register said that the child was baptized, so I had to replace the register. I said he had lost it. – Baptism was forbidden? lidia serhiivna: Yes, forbidden to us. I was a teacher. Also, we didn’t have a priest in our village Kurylytsi.

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Sofia Tumofiivna Hushivska – Did people burn anything? sofia tumofiivna: The people took and then burned everything from the church. We had two good churches: Bohoslovska and Prechysta. Our side of the village went to Prechysta, and the other side – to Bohoslovska. Those were lovely churches, and now we have nothing. – Did the locals demolish the church? sofia tumofiivna: Yes, the locals. Those who were not lazy, could come to loot and take a whole cart of anything. – Were both churches demolished in the same year? sofia tumofiivna: No. One was demolished first and then the other; they took it apart piece by piece as if it were the parents’ mill. Now they would like to try to put them up again, but there are no resources. … – After the churches were demolished, where would the people baptize their children? sofia tumofiivna: If only they were baptized. When my boy was born, and the priest was still alive, my husband went to his house but didn’t find him there. The priest’s wife said he was in another house. My husband went there, “I need to baptize my son.” The priest said, “I don’t have scissors; do you?” My husband had them, so the priest baptized our child in his house. – Why did he need the scissors? sofia tumofiivna: To cut the cross on the head. – What did the priest do since there was no church? sofia tumofiivna: Nothing. He played cards. He baptized our child because we gave him the scissors. We closed the windows because baptism was forbidden. We had dinner with closed windows and went home. – Whom did you ask to be godparents? sofia tumofiivna: A husband and wife. – Your relatives? sofia tumofiivna: Acquaintances of friends. – Were they afraid to come? sofia tumofiivna: No. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk – Did the authorities build a club?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: There used to be a church; then it was dis-

mantled–the cross and the domes. Someone went up to get the cross because it was made of gold or silver, I am not sure; it was yellow. After this, the large

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building was used for grain storage and then a club. When they were building a school there, I used to go to help – I carried bricks and clay. Maria Opanasivna Yeshchenko – Was there a time when khresni khody were forbidden? maria opanasivna: I don’t know. Yes, probably, since the churches were closed, yes. After the kolhosp there were no khresni khody. They existed only before the kolhosp. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko – When the kolhospy began, were the churches closed down? mykhailo yevdokymovych: The Germans did not burn the church, but the locals set up grain storage there. – When was the grain storage set up – before the war or after? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Before the war. When the Germans came, the church was still there. After the war they started restoring the church, hired workers, and brought back the service. The priests would change. Our priest from Zolotonosha was thrown out before the war. He died of hunger; he was a beggar. – When was the church restored? mykhailo yevdokymovych: After the war. In the 1960s the service was performed in people’s houses. The priests would come and stay three months. – Did the authorities protest? mykhailo yevdokymovych: No. … – Does the priest have children? mykhailo yevdokymovych: He has one son who has a disability in one leg. The priest’s sons were [Ukrainian patriotic] revolutionaries. In Soviet times, one would sing Ukrainian songs and play the fiddle very nicely. One son was exiled. – In 1937? mykhailo yevdokymovych: No, before. One was named George, and the exiled one was Mykola. He sang revolutionary [Ukrainian patriotic] songs, so the Communists came for him. Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk – What was the name of your church?

anastasia trokhymivna: Troitsia.

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– Where was it located?

anastasia trokhymivna: Near the square.

– What happened to it?

anastasia trokhymivna: It was demolished, and the bells removed (they were made of copper). There was one person who built his house out of it; I don’t know where he is now. – He built his house out of the wood from the church? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes. – Who was he? anastasia trokhymivna: A Communist. – Did the village locals remove the bells? anastasia trokhymivna: No, strangers came from somewhere, removed them, loaded them, and left. – What was done to the icons? anastasia trokhymivna: Maybe the people took them; I don’t know. – When was this? anastasia trokhymivna: In 1929, in 1930, when the kolhosp began. – Why did they do it? anastasia trokhymivna : It was in somebody’s way. In the Communists’ way, who else? – Why? anastasia trokhymivna: I don’t know why they ruined it. – Did Communists go around the village telling people to remove their icons from the walls? anastasia trokhymivna: No, they didn’t say anything about the icons, but they went around confiscating grain in 1932, taking whatever people had, checking attics. What can you say? No one said anything. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko – Was there a church in the village? paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes. It was dismantled when the kolhospy were set up and the dispossessions began. Our church was good – it was large and made of stone. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko – Do you remember if church services went on during the German occupation? fedir yosypovych: I don’t remember; our church was there, still standing. Somehow things began to settle at the time. I was helping in the kolhosp when I had free time. The pit and silage were near the church. We

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used to make silage there. There were people who’d go to church, and we would joke that they would gossip about everyone in Zolochiv. Those who were in church were listening to the priest’s prayer, and those working on the silage were talking their business; then they would switch. This made us laugh. Yaryna Maksymivna Kravchenko – Did you go to church?

yaryna maksymivna: The church opened during the German occupation, and many young people like us who were wearing corsets and embroidered shirts would go to church. These last days I haven’t even been to church on Easter. Before the war people didn’t go to church in Matskivtsi. The belfry was destroyed by the Communists, but the church was there. There was also a hliubinka (a small structure constructed next to the church) where bread was accepted; it’s still there. We started going to church during the German occupation. When it was closed down again, the Communists ruined it. One man told me that all those that demolished it died of cancer. The one that was head of the village council and later superintendent died too. I remember I was walking from school. It was a dry, sunny day in the fall, and the sun was setting. We saw how the cross was being sawed off of the belfry. The girls and I stopped; our hearts sank. We waited to see the cross removed. Was it necessary to remove it? Such were the times; people were forced to do this. Halyna Mykolaivna Kramarchuk – What role did the priest or the starosta play in village life? halyna mykolaĭvna: We didn’t have a priest at the time; he was exiled. The church was used for grain storage, then a club, and then a club was in the church. In 1938-39 there was a club, and in 1940 was wartime. After the war people were poor and the priest had no income. What could people give the church? The churches were mostly closed. There was no one to look after them. Halyna Dmytrivna Lazarenko – Were there religious sects in the village? halyna dmytrivna: There were Baptists – very decent people. Then the Soviets destroyed them. Everything was forbidden.

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Dmytro Danylovych Lisachenko – Was the Baptist or Christian faith banned? dmytro danylovych: We were expelled because my father was a Baptist. All faiths were banned. They persecuted my father because he was a Baptist, but they didn’t say this was the reason. Everything was done without disclosure. Motrona Ivanivna Lomynoha – Where did you use to go to church? motrona ivanivna: To Zolochiv. – When was it closed? motrona ivanivna: When the kolhosp began, there used to be a church called The Dormition – a good one. Then the cross was removed from it; this I remember well. They wanted to destroy it, and the cross was removed. One of the village residents – his name was Prokhvatylo – went up and cut the golden cross. Afterwards, he lived around one month and died. – Why? motrona ivanivna: Who knows? – Why did he take down the cross? motrona ivanivna: Who knows? – Did you know him? motrona ivanivna: Yes. – Where was he from? motrona ivanivna: From Novostroika nearby. – Was he a Komsomol member? motrona ivanivna: He was just a hothead as they say now. There were such hotheads back in the day, too. – You said he got very scared; he climbed high, got scared, and this was why he died? motrona ivanivna: Yes, so they said. – Why was the church destroyed? motrona ivanivna: Who knows? Paraska Ivanivna Liubychankivska – When was the church banned?

paraska ivanivna: I don’t know what year it was. I know they would go

up to remove the bells. – Were these locals or newcomers?

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paraska ivanivna: The locals: Andrii and Yustyn Liubychankivsky. They are both dead. – Were they Komsomol members? paraska ivanivna: Yes. Everything was destroyed, dismantled. Now that the church was reopened, people flock there like bees to honey. It’s nice in the church now; time will tell. – Were the priests persecuted at the time? What was the village priest like? paraska ivanivna: Zholudkevych. He was expelled. – Was he a local? paraska ivanivna: No. – What was his name? paraska ivanivna: I know his last name was Zholudkevych; I don’t know his first name. The girl’s name was Klara. They were expelled, and God knows where he is now. He left, and who knows, maybe they were killed. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo – Was there a church in the village? mykhailo pavlovych: Yes, and it was beautiful. There was a khram to honor the autumn Mykolai [Saint Nicholas Day celebrated on 19 December]. The church was made of wood in 1857. This was the third church in Kvitky. – How many were there? mykhailo pavlovych: Three. The Cossack church was in the center of the village. It fell apart by itself. Our village is very old, dating to the fifteenth century. There are many ponds, five water mills, and sixteen windmills. The other church was old, from 1857. Everything here used to be covered with woods with a few clearings here and there. – Any kurhany (tumuli)? mykhailo pavlovych: There’s one near the quarry; it’s marked with a cross. – Is there no church now? mykhailo pavlovych: The building exists, but it’s not set up as a church, and there’s no cross. The head physician built his house there. Then they wanted to turn it into a local history museum – the area with a Haidamaky oak tree [a local name the meaning of which is unknown to me] and other oaks; artists from Kyiv came. Our community wrote a letter to Kyiv, and the decree was to allocate this land to a church [recent history]. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko – What was the priest’s role under Soviet power? mykola ivanovych: He was expelled. The church was separated from the state. The government did not pay him, but the churchgoers did.

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– When did the priest disappear from the village? mykola ivanovych: He left on his own because nobody would come to church. The old folk died, and the young ones went to the club. Varvara Andriivna Myshko – Was there a church?

varvara andriivna: It still is there, but there is no priest and no church starosta. It’s called Povstynska Church. The khram was Mykhaila [St. Michael’s Day on 21 November]. The church was made of wood. My husband’s brother was a church starosta, so he repaired and painted it. The church was closed down during collectivization. When the war was over and the Germans kicked out, the church was reopened and some religious objects that were preserved returned. The bells were put back up. If there were no large bells, the belfry was pieced together from small bells. The winnowing machine worked; there was a shop in the belfry. The church was like a barn. Now the church is equipped, but there’s no one to run it. The people are gone, and there’s no one to maintain the church because people are taxed, but they have no money to pay taxes. – Were children baptized? varvara andriivna: Yes, when we had a priest. When he was gone, no one baptized children anymore. After collectivization, baptism and churchgoing were banned. The activists would not allow churchgoers to work in the kolhosp. Children were baptized in secret. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky – Was there a church choir in the village? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. There was one woman who was a good singer and a few others who organized the choir, but our priest was a drunk. Krupsky was the choirmaster. Girls and men would sing, not boys. – How many voices were in the choir? ivan serhiiovych: I don’t know. – Was the choir gone during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: In 1929, the priest was expelled, and church services stopped. – Did the people sing at home? ivan serhiiovych: No. If there was a khram, then they would come to sing. In our village, khram was on the spring Mykolai [St. Nicholas Day] until 1929 [Saint Nicholas Day on 22 May]. There was Mykolaiivska Church [St. Nicholas’ Church], and we belonged to its parish, but we didn’t go frequently. In our village Vilshany, the khram was not celebrated so much.

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Other villages – Zhurovka, Petryky, and Medyntsi – used to laugh at our village because our people would buy all the locks from the shop to lock their houses during khram. We used to celebrate the holiday, but not frequently. Sometimes, our neighbors would come to our village for the holiday. We also had relatives: my aunt, my father’s sister. She would also come to St Nicholas’ Church for the spring holiday. My father’s aunt’s village had a khram every year on Varvara [St Barbara] Day [17 December]. My father goes there. – What was the language of church services? ivan serhiiovych: The priest read from a book in Old Slavic, and the sermon was in Ukrainian. They lived here, so they were Ukrainians. The priest was important. People would remove their hats to greet him. The priest of the Uspenska Church was a carpenter, too. When I was a schoolboy, I came home and said to my mother, “I saw the priest wearing trousers.” She slapped me on the face, “You, troublemaker! What are you saying?” I started crying, and when my father asked what happened, I told the story. My father was not very religious, but my mother was. My father used to go to church on Christmas and Easter to fast and attend the service before taking communion. – Were there khresni khody under Soviet power? ivan serhiiovych: No. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha – Did you wed in church?

mykyta mykolaiovych: No, I hate them all.

– How was the church closed down in your village?

mykyta mykolaiovych: I remember this. It was closed down, the priest

was expelled, and his house was confiscated. – What was the house used for? mykyta mykolaiovych: The village council. The priest was resettled. Each church had a lodge (a small storage space, a shed) where possessions were kept and where the custodian lived. They resettled the priest into that lodge. – Did he have a family? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, a mother and a daughter. He died in 1933; life was hard. The old women would bring him food. – In what year was the church closed down? mykyta mykolaiovych: 1933. – What was done to the building? mykyta mykolaiovych: It was dismantled, pulled apart. The cross was thrown off; the metal and the bells were collected and sent to Kharkiv. The icons were looted, many of them not destroyed but taken home. Some women

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who understood the theology behind them took them. There used to be old people who knew that theology. – Who was in charge of this? mykyta mykolaiovych: The Komnezam [Committee of Poor Peasants]. – Was your uncle the head of the Komnezam? mykyta mykolaiovych: My uncle and the poor peasants. – Did he worry afterwards that this was a sin? mykyta mykolaiovych: Why would he worry? Maria Maksymivna Nekhai – In the 1920s, could one baptize a child or was it banned? maria maksymivna: It was banned. – Were children baptized in secret? maria maksymivna: Yes, in secret. – Who were chosen as godparents? maria maksymivna: Relatives or friends. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk – What was the priest’s role?

vira trokhymivna : It was important. He was considered an educator in

the village. We had two seminaries in the village. My grandfather used to have tenants from Mokrivka who came here to study at the seminary. There were many priests here because we had two churches: Prechyshchanska [Church of the Most Immaculate Virgin] and Ivano-Bohoslovska [Church of St John the Theologian]. Not many people would go to Prechyshchanska Church; it was closer to Budyshcha. Almost all people from the village, the whole khutir, and the village of Borovykiv went to the Ivano-Bohoslovska Church. The service was in Ukrainian at all times. When Koshets was priest, his son studied somewhere and preached in Russian-Slavonic. For this he was reproached. My grandfather’s brother Stepan went to some official in Kyiv seven times to request that the priests be dismissed or preach in Ukrainian. – Why didn’t he preach in Ukrainian? vira trokhymivna : He didn’t want to. He said, “I learned this way.” So later on he was dismissed, and Kozitsky became the priest. Afterwards, there were many priests. I even have the book of hours that was left behind by Myrhorodsky. I don’t remember what year it was when he was forced to renounce the priesthood and religion because it was “the opium.” He threw the book of hours away, and my mother picked it up and brought it home. – How did he renounce religion?

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vira trokhymivna : He said that religion was propaganda and that we

were forced to believe. On the first day of Easter I went to the first grade; it was in 1929. A “Khorzon” came from the co-op in Demkivka. – What is a “Khorzon”? vira trokhymivna : A type of tractor. It ploughed the ravines. We would go after it planting acacias, and the people were coming back from the church and crying because the priest renounced it. – Who ordered that he renounce the church? vira trokhymivna : The government, the Communist Party. I know that it was Baraniuk back then. When he was sent here, he wanted to be a tenant at my grandfather’s, but my grandfather said he had no room. Then he went to Usachka and got married there. – Where was he from? vira trokhymivna : From Russia. Later on, there was someone Vorobiov who was shot. I don’t know who shot him. People made the funeral wreath for him at my grandfather’s house. – What was he shot for? vira trokhymivna : I don’t know. He was an inveterate Communist. This was not in my time. … – Was the church closed down? vira trokhymivna : The churches were closed down, the crosses removed, and the icons burned. Where we have a fountain now near the community college that’s where they burned the icons. Some were burned, and some were kept. There was also a black and a red board. The red one was for those who went to work in the kolhosp early in the morning and worked well; on the black one people were marked as turtles [probably meaning “late” or “slow”]. Oleksandra Yukhymivna Omelchenko – Did people sing koliadky in the 1930s? oleksandra yukhymivna: I wish! Back then you couldn’t even think of it. If they found out, they’d expel you from school. You could not have faith at the time. If someone found out that the child took Christmas dinner to their godmother, next day the child would be expelled from school and the parents – from the kolhosp. I went to church, and I was expelled from the radhosp, so I had to ask to join again. Children were not baptized. If someone wanted to baptize a child, they went in secret, at night. There was a priest in Kremenchuk.

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Nadia Yakivna Onufriichuk – Did you baptize your children? nadia yakivna: It was forbidden to baptize children, especially if the parents were government servants or teachers, but we would gather a few families in one house, invite a priest, and baptize the children. The older ones were baptized in the church in 1928, but after this it was forbidden. – Where did you work that made it a taboo to baptize children? nadia yakivna: In the kolhosp. It was forbidden to all, not just me. One man from our village took his mother to another village to consecrate Easter bread, and then his party membership card was taken away from him and he was laid off. – What did he do for work? nadia yakivna: He worked for the government. It was not allowed. The Komsomol members would walk back from the raikom [district government office], and since we did not have a church in our village but used to go to the one in the neighboring village to consecrate Easter bread, the Komsomol and the Pioneers would see who consecrated the bread and then would berate those people. … – Did you have one church in Kurylivka? nadia yakivna: Yes, one. It was transformed into a club and later a bakery. Recently it has been reconstructed. There was one Khrushch here who went everywhere to obtain permission to rebuild the church, and it was still forbidden at the time. Then he mobilized the people and carried all the materials by hand, so now we have a very nice church. – What year was this? nadia yakivna: I don’t remember. Perhaps two years ago. – Was there a synagogue in the village? nadia yakivna: Yes, there was. I barely remember it. We barely have any Jews left. Many of them died during the war. There’s one cemetery here near Rozrodivka where they were executed. The Germans forced us to reap in the fields; I once saw a cart full of Jews when I was walking back from the fields. An old man was sitting at the rear end of the cart, and when it rattled, he shouted. Then they were driving the people down the road, and saw nothing. – Is someone taking care of the cemetery? nadia yakivna: Yes, an organization is looking after it; there are headstones. The Jews come from all over the world, and they make donations so the cemetery could be looked after.

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Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar – Did you baptize children? varvara ihorivna: Yes, until the moment when churches were closed down. Afterwards, people would find some priest and bring him from five to ten kilometers away, and baptism was done in homes. Grown children were baptized. People would ask to borrow a cart from the kolhosp to bring the priest into the village. … – Were the priests persecuted? varvara ihorivna: Yes, they were dispossessed and expelled from their houses – all kinds of things were done. Our priest left for other villages to live, and when peace was re-established and the church was reopened, he went to work there. Sometimes a church would be turned into a club or grain storage; ours was used for grain storage. Everything was taken out of the church, and it was turned into a pavilion. When they were throwing the bell from the tower, it fell a meter deep into the earth and made such a roaring sound, like cattle bellowing. Everyone who destroyed it died in one way or the other. These were locals – both the Komsomol and those not belonging to organizations. … varvara ihorivna: In 1929, the church was closed down. When they introduced the cinema, the first one was set up in our house and they were showing silent films in the church. They would roll a handle, and since there were no hangers on stage, they would project the film to the stage. Old women would come and pray and cross themselves, “We haven’t seen anything like it. Satan has come to our village.” First, this was taking place at our house, and later the club moved to the church. The icons were burned down; we have one left from that church. My father was a stableman; there were oats in the church, and once he came there to take oats. Korban was the head of the village council, and he was taking the icons out to burn them in the fire they were using to make dinner for International Youth Day. My father saved one. He said, “You can kill me, but I won’t let you burn this one.” He brought it home and put it there (we didn’t know how he rescued it), and it would radiate so much light – it was scary. Now it’s dark, but back then it was like fire. My mother said, “Go get the pot so I can put out the embers.” I went, and then I shouted, “Mom, our house is on fire.” My mother poured a bucket of water there, but it was the same thing; then we opened the door and saw the icon. Where did it come from? Father came home and said, “I brought it from the church.” Many people came asking for it, but I would not give it to anyone. I kept it; let it be here while I’m alive. They asked to take it back to

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the church, but I wouldn’ give it: today you have the church, and tomorrow you won’t, but at my house it is safe. During the famine, I was swollen; one old man came from Seredka and gave me sixteen kilograms of rye. I said, “I’ll eat the rye and won’t survive anyway, but the icon will.” Perhaps it saved my life. It depicts the “Beheading of St John the Baptist,” that dark icon. The other one shows Anna the Prophetess and Symeon the God-receiver. She gave birth to a son, and God said to Symeon, the God-receiver, “You will die when you baptize a child to replace you.” The icon shows him taking a child to Anna the Prophetess to baptize it; in a week, he was dead. Nykyfir Maksymovych Poberezhnyk – Who had authority in the village? nykyfir maksymovych: Everyone would go to a priest. – Was the church closed down in your village? Were the priests persecuted? nykyfir maksymovych: About 1930, 1931, churches were being dismantled and destroyed. – Was there a priest in the village? nykyfir maksymovych: Yes. I don’t know where he went. I’d heard that his descendants had come to Shargorod, but he lived in our village. – Were the people sorry that he was gone? nykyfir maksymovych: I don’t know. He wasn’t expelled; he left on his own. – Who had authority in the village? nykyfir maksymovych: Everyone would go to a priest. – What happened to the church? nykyfir maksymovych: There were times when services were held and times when they were not. The bells were removed; various things happened. – Were the bells removed by the locals? nykyfir maksymovych: Yes, directed by Lustyn. He was the head of the kolhosp at the time. During the occupation people were forced to build [the church]. Tetiana Yakivna Poliesha-Novak – Was there a priest in the village?

tetiana yakivna: Yes.

– Was there a church in the village? tetiana yakivna: Yes, there was a church, a large sobor, Uspenska Church, a kostiol [Roman Catholic church], and a synagogue. Everything was destroyed. When they started climbing up to destroy the church, there was a

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whole fight. People didn’t want it to be ruined. … – Was there a priest here during the kolhosp time? nykyfir maksymovych: How could he be here? He was in hiding. We would invite him to baptize the children nonetheless. All of the priest’s possessions were confiscated. People cried so much when the church was being dismantled. God punished those who ruined the church. The bells were very beautiful. They were thrown down. Oleksandra Vasylivna Poluden-Chub (Cherkasy region) – What did your father [Vasyl Leontiiovych Chub] do?

oleksandra vasylivna: He was a priest in Poludnivtsi. He served as

a priest for five years. He was elected by the community, and he ministered here. He was a good priest and a good man – he had never offended or humiliated anyone; he’d never hurt a fly. … – Was there a garden near your house? oleksandra vasylivna: Yes, his father planted plum trees near the mountain. My grandfather owned land, but the soil is not as fertile anymore. – What happened to this garden after the collectivization? oleksandra vasylivna: I guess we had five hundred square meters because we used to pay taxes at the time. – Did you not cut the garden to avoid paying taxes? oleksandra vasylivna: God forbid. I’d watch over the trees because they want to live just like we do. You have to pay taxes because whatever the authorities are you have to obey them – the authorities that exist have been established by God. We gave everything as required: the taxes, krashanky [Easter eggs], and the head tax. – When your father was a landowner, did you have naimyty? oleksandra vasylivna: No. We did everything on our own. … – Did everyone go to the kolhosp? oleksandra vasylivna: Each and everyone. At first, we were not accepted to the kolhosp, because we were the priest’s daughters. A group of ten kolhosp members was hired to harass people who were outside of the kolhosp [known locally as desiatky, desiat means ten; in some locales such groups were known as troiky, from try, which means “three”]. – Was your father repressed? oleksandra vasylivna: Yes. For the first time in 1934. He came back in five years and spent one and a half years at home.

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…

oleksandra vasylivna: They took a long time to accept us into the kol-

hosp. We would submit the application several times, but they kicked us out of the radhosp and threw away our hoe. “You’re a priest’s snout,” they used to say during the administrative meetings. Soon groups of ten (desiatky) were formed, and my older brother was in one desiatka. We used to do work for peasants because we were not accepted into the kolhosp. We’d do some work for one person and earn sixteen kg of grain, work for another one and earn some flour. If I went to a village, people would point a finger at me because I was a priest’s daughter. Now they are returning to God, but how can you return to God if you stomped out the priesthood? – What was confiscated from you? oleksandra vasylivna: They didn’t take the linens because they weren’t valuable since we made them by ourselves. They didn’t take the clothes either, but they took the spiritual objects – the priest’s photo – because we were hiding it in the chimney. They rummaged a great deal and took the land, the sheep and pigs, the horse, tables, and chairs – everything. We were the only ones that were left. We were told that it’s a law, that we’d need three witnesses and there’d be a reimbursement. Olena Klymentiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region) – Were children baptized during collectivization? olena klymentiivna: We didn’t have a priest. Those who could, would take the baby to a priest in another village. They looked for a priest nearby and baptized their children with that priest. I took my children to Chapaivka and Zolotonosha – to two priests’ homes. My husband did not want to marry in church. … – When were the children usually baptized? olena klymentiivna: If they saw that a child was weak, they’d baptize it right away. If the child was healthy, one could wait five to ten days. Then they would make a record of baptism in a month or two, sometimes in a year. – Were many people invited to the baptism day? olena klymentiivna: Those who had more relatives would invite more people; those who had smaller families would invite fewer people. – How many were invited to be a kum [godparent]? olena klymentiivna: One kuma [godmother] and one kum [godfather]. – Who administered the baptism? olena klymentiivna: A midwife had to be there. The mother and the father listened to what the grandparents had to say. They would all sit down

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at the table and pray to God. All the kumy [godparents] and all those at the dinner table would wish all the best and pray. – Would people make ornaments out of flowers? olena klymentiivna: During the wedding, they’d put ornaments around the chest area, but I don’t know about baptism. We used cranberrybush for baptism, weddings, and parties. – How was it used on baptism day? olena klymentiivna: On baptism day, we’d tie cranberrybush into bunches and hang them from a shelf. There was also bread hanging from a shelf. – Did you give cranberrybush bunches to people? olena klymentiivna: It was customary to taste cranberrybush berries so the baby would be lively and had rosy cheeks. – Did you put cranberrybush berries into alcohol drinks? olena klymentiivna: That I don’t know. We didn’t do that. – Did you sing songs for the kuma and kum? olena klymentiivna: I don’t know about the baptism day. My husband and I usually sang “While I had my freedom, I was a kum to the whole village.” – Can you sing this song? olena klymentiivna: My husband and I were often called to sing at baptism or other gatherings. We sang very well together; we’d harmonize well. Sometimes he would lead, and sometimes I would. O, while I had my freedom I was a kum to the whole village. Eh, in the whole village I was a kum. Kum offers a drink, kum acknowledges us. Kum offers a drink, kum passes us by. My wife, take the necklace and let’s go to town (x2). We’ll sell the necklace (x2) And we’ll buy a hundred oxen. He hasn’t sold the necklace, but he’s already haggled over the oxen. I started selling the necklace, Kumy started to [omission in the original – trans.] Where did you, kum, get the money to haggle over the oxen? My wife was digging in the garden and found a pot of money (x2). … – You were saying something about the khresnyi khid [procession]. olena klymentiivna: We had the khresnyi khid either before or after the Pentecost – I forget when. People would often come from the nearby villages

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for khresnyi khid. We also had a large khram, a major holiday. People would walk in the grass and remove their shoes. We used to have two moats that led all the way to the Dnipro where there was a cross and a priest. We had a church in Lypivske where the service was. Lots of people were walking in the grass, along the road. The priest ministered, and nearby the choir was singing. The cross was decorated with a rushnyk [ceremonial cloth]. People would bring whatever they cooked at home and would sit down to dinner. It was a good time. Then we’d walk back home, singing along the way. – What was your church called? olena klymentiivna: Our khram was the autumn Mykola [Saint Nicholas Day celebrated on 19 December – trans.]. – What village was this in? olena klymentiivna: The church was in Lypivske. That was our parish. – Did you not have a church in your village? olena klymentiivna: No, there was no church in Zhelizky. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – What was the priest’s role during the kolhosp time? Or did you prefer the church? motria tymofiivna: At first, we had a priest, and then he was sent into exile, the same way as the kurkuli were. – Was the church empty at the time? motria tymofiivna: The church was empty, and there was no service. Everything was looted and thrown away; nothing was left. The building was used as a wheat barn. – Was there another church? motria tymofiivna: That one was destroyed before the war. The golden church bells were dismantled. – Who dismantled the bells? motria tymofiivna: One man from the village. He was struck by a metal construction when he was cutting something at the base. People say this was a punishment for the bells. The head of the kolhosp oversaw the demolition. … – What do you remember of the khresnyi khid? Was there a procession with a priest to summon the rain? motria tymofiivna: Yes, I remember we used to walk praying for the rain to come. The priest had a thermometer that identified where the rain was likely to start. He’d say, “People, let’s go toward the steppe.” People would follow in the direction of the steppe where the rain was, so the priest was right because he had a barometer; he didn’t want to go there but since the

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barometer showed the direction, he followed. The people returned all soaking wet; the priest knows what he says. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Are your children baptized? motria hryhorivna: My daughter is baptized. We didn’t have a priest at the time, but there was one in Zhovnen, so we took her there. – Was it forbidden to baptize children after the collectivization? motria hryhorivna: No. Those who wanted to baptize children took them to the priests. Zhovnen still had church services and the priest. If the weather was cold, he would baptize children in his apartment. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Were children in schools told to stop caroling?

halyna ilarionivna: They used to say: “Don’t listen to anything because

it’s not true and don’t believe in God.” – Did the wedding songs include songs about Christ? halyna ilarionivna: When our parents had parties, they’d sing “Christ Has Risen,” but not anymore. – Then the authorities said… halyna ilarionivna: They said not to practice religion. But I have been saying as long as I can remember that we don’t see God, but he exists; there is someone there who governs us. Old people used to say: “The time will come that God will refuse to be our master, and the Devil will rule. When the Devil rules, there will be no churches, nothing.” People used to say so back in the day, and so it became. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Was the priest expelled during the kolhosp time? natalia hryhorivna: No, he stayed. – When was the church destroyed? Natalia Hryhorivna: I don’t remember what year it was. A man from the villages went up and dismantled the bells; he was paid to do so. I don’t know where the bells were taken. It used to be when someone died, they’d ring the bells, just as they would for a holiday, and on Easter the bells would be heard from dawn until dusk, and the day after as well. People would come to the church; there was joy and celebrations. It was nice. Then when the kolhosp came, people stopped going to church, and the church was gone, destroyed.

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…

natalia hryhorivna: People no longer had church weddings; I was the

last one who did.

Oleksii Ivanovych Syniuk (Poltava region) – Did your father read the Bible? oleksii ivanovych: My father was not a believer and did not go to church. – How were you baptized? oleksii ivanovych: Five of us were born and we used to live with our grandparents. It was customary to take children to a priest for baptism. – What was it like during the kolhosp? oleksii ivanovych: Most people didn’t baptize their children. My two children were not baptized. I invited kumy later. – Was it forbidden? oleksii ivanovych: Nobody said it was forbidden, but it was awkward. People could laugh at you if you went to a priest; there was no such custom. My son was born in 1937. There was no church, nor priest. Why would I go looking for a priest, so people would deride me? I made an entry in the village council’s registrar that my son was born, and that’s it. Olena Volodymyrivna Sinkevych (Vinnytsia region) – How did the authorities oppose and dispossess the church? olena volodymyrivna: This was after 1933, and after 1952 they started dismantling the bells. We had lovely bells. My grandfather gave his life protecting the bells; we wanted to keep them so much. So, the bells were gone, but the church remained. Then before the war, it was turned into a club. They burned all that was in the church, including the iconostasis. The head of the village council was in charge of the burning. – Do you remember him? olena volodymyrivna: Yes, Demian Mykhailovych. – Was he forced to do this or was it of his own accord? Olena Volodymyrivna: Of course, it was forced. Then during the war, the Germans kept their horses in the church. They set up a stable in the church and tied the horses there. Say, our atheists dismantled the church, but the Germans were believers – and they, too, did the same. They removed the icons.

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Paraska Fedotivna Smola (Poltava region) – How was the khram celebrated? paraska fedotivna: People would drink, sing if there was music, and dance; if there was no music, they’d drink, eat, and go home. Khram was celebrated for a day. There was a church in Borysy, an expensive church with a bunker. It was dismantled after the war. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko (Cherkasy region) – Were there cases of an icon restoring on its own? mykola panteleimonovych: Not in our village. I haven’t head of this. I know that if it hadn’t rained for a long time, the priest would organize a khresny khid to the lake of Mohorychiv that [Taras] Shevchenko wrote about, near Budyshche. There’s a well there called Svizha Balka. They would consecrate that well and walk back. And then near the village it would rain in torrents, such heavy rain! This I remember. I was twenty-two when I became a choirmaster; I had a small choir of up to thirty people, but there were older singers and the base was there; it was easy to work with them. One tenor (now deceased), Ivan Andriiv, was in Tiutiunnyk’s army belonging to Petliura [Symon Petliura, president of the Directory of the Ukrainian National Republic – ed.]. This man had bad luck ever since he came back from the war. He ended up getting arrested. People used to say he lost his mind in prison; he was tortured. He had a great tenor voice. I wanted to have him in the choir no matter what; he was so poor and used to wear old rags. I had a new coat and told my wife that I’d give him my old one. He wore that coat for five years. He sang in the choir, and then he was arrested. Dmytro Pylypovych Tkach (Vinnytsia region) – Were the children baptized during the kolhosp era? dmytro pylypovych: This was done in secret. People used to baptize children at home. They’d also go to the priest’s house. – When was the church demolished? dmytro pylypovych: I couldn’t say. Some time in the 1930s. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – Was there a church before the collectivization? anastasia yukhymivna: There was, and a famous one! It was made of wood and known to have the best garments.

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– What was it called?

anastasia yukhymivna: Pokrova.

– Who was the priest?

anastasia yukhymivna: Yavorsky. I can’t remember his first name. His son Kostantin Yavorsky goes by Yavorovsky now. He also had daughters Lisa and Ira. Lisa and I were the same age. – What role did the priest play in the village? Did he have authority? Did he own land in the fields? anastasia yukhymivna: He didn’t have much land. I know he used to administer services in the apartments. They lived near the school; this garden used to be theirs. People call it “the priest’s garden.” – After the kolhosp started, what did he do? anastasia yukhymivna: At the time, the church was closed and dismantled, and they built a school. – Who dismantled the church? anastasia yukhymivna: I don’t know. It was a monastery, and in 1935 it was dismantled, probably. – What about the church – was it dismantled in 1930 or 1932? anastasia yukhymivna: In 1930, but I can’t say for sure. I was little. We’d run around there. I kept an altar lamp from the church. – How did you get it? anastasia yukhymivna: Well, they broke everything, and we were running around. There were icons, too. I had one of Serafym Sarovsky. It was damaged by the clothing moth, and I was told to burn it. Now I’m so sorry I did. – What did you do with the ashes? anastasia yukhymivna: I took them to the field; that’s it. Andrii Fedorovych Filatov and Maria Mykolaivna Starikova (Kharkiv region) – When was the church closed down in your village? andrii fedorovych: Most likely in 1930. It was a wooden church, and it was burned down. – Who burned it? andrii fedorovych: A heavy tax was imposed on it, and the secretary himself burned it down. – Is that how they said it happened? andrii fedorovych: No, I knew this myself. I knew they were going to burn it down. – Did the secretary tell you about this? andrii fedorovych: Well, we were playing cards. Everyone used to gather

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to play cards back in the day, and he said, “I’ll burn the church soon.” I said, “Why?” He said, “There’s no way we can pay the tax.” And then it was set on fire. – In the morning or at night? andrii fedorovych: It burned down to the ground. – What happened to the icons and the bells? andrii fedorovych: Everything burned up, and the bells melted and fell down from the belfry. – Were the people sorry? andrii fedorovych: No one said anything. This is how it was at the time. – Maria Mykolaivna, what about your village? maria mykolaivna: Our church was dismantled as well. – When? maria mykolaivna: The same year [1930 – trans.]. – Did the locals do it? maria mykolaivna: Yes, the locals dismantled it and removed the bells and the icons. They took the objects from the church to their houses. – Did the people rebuild a church or sell the objects? maria mykolaivna: No, it was made of brick. Even the foundation was looted. – Did the party members plunder? maria mykolaivna: Who knows. andrii fedorovych: Right. Who knows? Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – In what year was the church closed down? fedora oksentiivna: It was during the collectivization. It was dismantled and turned into a village club. They would dance and party in that church, and afterwards they used it for grain storage. Then they closed it permanently, and so it stood. Later on, they reopened it. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did you baptize your children in the 1920s?

varvara denysivna: Secretly. – Who baptized them?

varvara denysivna: Some people would go to Horodyshche. For

instance, my sister baptized her child, but my niece didn’t baptize either of her two children. When her son got married, he was also baptized. Her daughter was baptized recently. Back in the day, people would baptize children wherever they could.

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– Did it happen that the kumy would attend the baptism and no one else? varvara denysivna: This was the case everywhere. Dmytro Mykhailovych Chuchupak (Cherkasy region) – Did the priest help the people with a supportive word or good deeds?

dmytro mykhailovych: His authority was in the framework of the

religious program: weddings, some other occasions, and births. The churches existed before the kolhosp. Starting in 1928, after New Economic Policy or toward its end, there was a transition. When the starosta and volosti were abolished, all the registrar functions were assumed by the village council. But of course the village council used the documents and notes made by the priest; he kept all of the records. – What was the priest’s authority during the collectivization? dmytro mykhailovych: He was as quiet as a rabbit. They are smart people, so he preached what he was told to. This was how it went. – In what year was the church destroyed? dmytro mykhailovych: I don’t remember, but it was destroyed by the diak himself. His son was among the partisans on the German side. – What was his last name? dmytro mykhailovych: Zinchenko, and his first name was Stepan. – When was this, approximately? dmytro mykhailovych: In the 1930s. I think, it was after the hunger. He was talking about how he was a Bolshevik, and he went up to remove the cross and tossed it away. – When was khram held in the village? dmytro mykhailovych: For Pokrova [The Intercession of the Theotokos – trans.]. The Pokrova Church. After the church was destroyed, my mother would take me to the monastery. When the church was open, we would go there for Easter to consecrate the Easter bread. – Did many people come? dmytro mykhailovych: Yes. You wouldn’t be able to squeeze through the crowd. At midnight, to mark Christ’s resurrection, the choir and the priest would sing. I forgot who directed the choir. The old men must know who it was. We had a large choir; there were choir galleries upstairs. The people would stand in the church and those upstairs in the choir gallery would sing. – Did the people sing church songs? dmytro mykhailovych: Yes, they did, and they knew the songs. They were cultured. Hnat, I remember, organized a drama club. There were exhibitions. Stepan was the youngest. He knows who the choirmaster was.

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Ivan Ivanovych Shamrai (Poltava region) – Were the children baptized in the 1920s? ivan ivanovych: God forbid. If you’re not baptized, you’re an Antichrist. Nowadays, the old people are getting baptized. I have in-laws and a daughterin-law; one of their children is not baptized. The priest said, “First, you need to get baptized because if you’re not, I have no right to baptize your children.” There was a time when it was forbidden. There was a time when I baptized a child in secret. Her sister in Chernihiv had a son, but baptism was forbidden because both of them were teachers, so she brought him here. [Pronoun antecedent of “her” is unclear in the original – trans.] We had a priest here in Lukomnia. I knew some people, so I put in a word and made the arrangements. The priest came to our house and baptized that child. We treated him to a glass of vodka and then we had the usual baptism celebration with the music, the party, what have you. The priest (most of them were in exile, but some found their way around it) lived in his own house, so he, too, baptized children in secret. Sometimes people would make arrangements to come quietly, in the evening, for baptism to his house. But it was forbidden. During the New Economic Policy life was good. Everyone could do as they pleased. If you wanted to get baptized, you got baptized; if you wanted to pray, you prayed. No one was forcing you. If you were lazy, you could do nothing until you died. If you wanted to work, you could work until you died. No one gave orders. My father would leave for work, saying, “Woman, I’m off to the fields. I’ll do this and that.” He’d yoke a horse and go, do his work, have a smoke break with a neighbor, and go home.

f un e r als Several rituals were connected to funerals, some of which were canonical, often (but not always) realized in the church (before the closings); others that were non-canonical were realized outside of the church. The canonical church-based rituals included readings from the canonical text and vocal responses from the church choir. Non-canonical rituals included the plach (an emotional cry of grief) of relatives mourning their dead, most often heard in the cemetery at graveside. The plach was a half-sung, half-spoken lament for the deceased. The crier asked why the relative had to depart, leaving the crier bereft, etc. Oleksandra Omelchenko provided several examples of the plach. The interviewee noted that these were usually rendered by a relative. Most often the crier was female. When there was no one who could render the plach, a person was hired to do so. The practice of the plach was not common everywhere in Ukraine. In some locales where it existed, there was no practice of hiring someone to render the

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plach when a living relative was not present or could not perform the plach. Ivan Bibik, for example, noted that it did not exist in his locale in the Chernihiv region. On the other hand, in another locale in the Chernihiv region, Iryna Shevchenko noted that it did. Regarding Soviet Ukraine of the 1930s, it was probably most common in the Poltava region (Oleksandra Omelchenko, Motria Rohova, Varvara Pyvovar) and was common over much of the Cherkasy region as well (Varvara Chukhlib). This practice contained little if any religious connotation and was not repressed in most locales in the 1930s–40s. It did not die out, and still was on occasion rendered in the 1990s (when the interviews were conducted) in the Poltava region, and in scattered locales in central regions. Before collectivization, the psaltyr (funerary canonical readings) was conducted by the priest with vocal responses by the church choir. Some of this could be inside the church and much of it was rendered at graveside in the cemetery. In addition, there was almost always a procession to the cemetery, and on the road songs and psalmy (psalms) were sung. With collectivization, many of the religious funerary rituals were suppressed. In those locales where the church was destroyed, and/or the priest was either exiled or forbidden to offer the sacraments and the church choir disbanded, all funerary church-based canonical readings ceased to exist. In a few locales, there was a traveling priest who came periodically to a village to conduct various sacraments as well as funerary rituals at the home of the deceased. Far more common, however, were funerary rituals that were conducted by lay villagers, also rendered in the home of the deceased. Villagers themselves began to render funerary rituals in the early 1930s immediately after the destruction of large numbers of village churches and the exile of the priest. Without the intervention of these lay villagers these rituals might have otherwise ceased to exist in specific locales. In fact, the funerary rituals in many instances disappeared from customary practice altogether in those locales with no priest and where local villagers did not learn them. The village practice of the 1930s (no church, no priest) included someone (a villager) reading the psaltyr, and a group of villagers organized into a (largely “underground”) choir singing the vocal responses. Villagers usually learned to do this without support from former church personnel (the repressed priest, diak, starosta, etc.) or from members of the church choir (Fedora Hatsko). In a few cases, someone from the former (and now defunct) church choir helped organize villagers into a choir (Varvara Chukhlib). The vocal funerary music included the responses to the canonical readings as well as funerary psalmy (texts to two funerary psalmy were sung by Marta Zubaly; another was sung by Halyna Tarasenko). Women usually far outnumbered men, by a factor of even three or four to one, in these choirs. Varvara Myshko described a rarer occurrence. She noted that in her locale the church choir of pre-collectivization times continued as a unit for many years after collectivization, largely to sing during funerals.

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In any case, where funerary activities took place in the period after collectivization in locales without a priest or church, someone from the village took on the role of the priest and the newly formed or the previous choir sang some of the vocal music of the funerary rituals. Thus, villagers continued the canonical funerary readings and vocal music of the church, regardless of whatever sanction by the church such practices might have entailed. In some locales, the readings took place without vocal music (Vira Oliinyk). Here no choir was formed, and the only funerary practice was someone reading part of the psaltyr over the body as it lay in the deceased’s home before burial. The suppression of funerary rituals did not end with the destruction of churches and the physical repression of priests. Those villagers who continued the practice on their own were also subject to police scrutiny and were closely monitored. In most locales, they were forbidden by activists and government officials from singing and conducting funerary readings in public; that is, on the streets when in procession from the deceased’s home to the cemetery, or in the cemetery at graveside. Before collectivization, both of these were performance contexts for vocal funerary music, including the plach. After collectivization, villagers were allowed to conduct funerary readings and to sing only in the deceased’s home, but never in a public place (Nastia Tkachenko). According to Halyna Kramarchuk, Communist Party members in her locale in the 1930s could not set foot in a cemetery. The interviewee related that when her mother died, her father, a party member, could not accompany the body to the cemetery or visit the grave. This was not allowed by local officials, although the interviewee provided the comment that it was due to the fact that Stalin taku dystsyplinu davav (“Stalin enforced such discipline”).

i n te rv i ew e xce rp ts: f u nerals Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – Did people keen for a dead person at the funeral? ivan ivanovych: Not in our village. We had people who wailed, but only for their own relatives; it was very interesting. A woman from the choir would come to sing at the funerals. At present, we don’t have a church, but the choir singers carry on. They teach each other. Maria Andriivna Bulakh (Poltava region) – Were people buried in the gardens? maria andriivna: During the hunger, people were buried in the gardens or wherever the person died. They’d dig a grave there and put the body in.

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One person in our village died in the woods, so the burial place was right there in the woods. If the bodies surfaced after the hunger was over, people would unearth them and take them to the cemetery to bury them there. – How was it before the hunger? maria andriivna: People were buried only at the cemetery. People would bury the children who were not baptized in the gardens, if a body was found. Maria Petrivna Voitenkova (Kharkiv region) – When you were young, what were the singing voices called?

maria petrivna: I have forgotten most of it by now. Some led, some were

the first voice. I wanted to read the prayers, so I started reading them at home and understood the customs more. I know the prayers well. – Did you go to funerals to read the prayers? maria petrivna: No, but my grandfather did. – During the times when there were no churches, was there a group of people that would sing the psalms during the funerals? maria petrivna: Back in the day, yes. There were a couple of old men who did this. One died; the other started reading the prayers, but no one sang. He could not sing alone. When my grandfather started going to funerals, someone said to him, “Once this old man dies, you’ll be the one reading prayers at funerals.” It was as if he appointed my grandfather, so he started going. People would invite him, and he had a book of prayers that was sent to him by a woman from Kyiv. He buried many people, and the village women would accompany him. I was invited to join them if the funeral was nearby, and I went. I was a good singer. – Did the women that accompany him sing as well? maria petrivna: Yes, they did. They are all dead now. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – What were the funerals like during the times when there were no churches? fedora yukhymivna: Funerals took different forms, whatever people could organize. – Were there women who sang? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, the women who sang in church choir galleries would come. They were good. When my husband died, the women came to sing and stayed overnight in the house, all twenty-three of them. I gave kerchiefs to all of them; it was customary at the time. … – During your husband’s burial, did the women sing at the cemetery?

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fedora yukhymivna: At the cemetery and in the house. They sang all night long and they had dinner with us in the house. There was a great deal of food and meat. Nowadays, people prepare many dishes for the funerals, too. – Did the women sing outside? fedora yukhymivna: No, at the table. I was there and sang with them. We’d bring food there. Each of them brought a bag with cookies and candy to the wake. – Is this the group of the women who used to sing? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. But those that sang in the church choir are all dead. – Did the younger ones continue the tradition? fedora yukhymivna: No, the younger ones are us and we go to funerals. I’m the older one, and the leading younger women sing. They wrote down the songs into their notebooks. Someone starts reading, and then we sing. – Is there no priest now? fedora yukhymivna: Not in our village. There’s a priest in Lyman and Hres, everywhere in other villages, but not here and not in Bishkini. – Do you invite a priest? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. When there’s a funeral, people go to get him. Three old women and a priest. – Do the old women come with a priest? fedora yukhymivna: Yes. The locals go to pick them up. – Do the local women sing with them? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, our women sing with them. We had a funeral on Easter, and we sang “Christ Has Risen.” The priest came, if I remember correctly, from Vasoshcheva, and the singers did a good job. The priest asked us to sing because it was Easter and their voices were already strained by the Easter rituals. Marfa Kindrativna Zubaly (Cherkasy region)

marfa kindrativna: I know the church and the other songs because I

sing now. But I have forgotten some. I know everything that we sing during the fasting. I know all the funeral songs and the troparia [short hymns in Eastern Christian religious music–Ed.]. I would also sometimes read the Acts of the Apostles. We don’t have a priest in our village. There’s one in Erkliiev and one in Vasiutinky, so they bring a priest from there for the funerals. – Is there no church here? marfa kindrativna: No. Erkliiev is nearby; people go there. I don’t go because I’m too old. – Do people sing the psalms in your village during funerals? marfa kindrativna : Yes. I know two good ones.

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My brothers and sisters, You are all friends in spirit. Come and look, My life is over. Come and look, God has created a soul. An angel came down from the mountain in the sky And separated the soul from the body. The breathless body is lying there And cannot speak. Come, brothers and sisters, To bury my body And take it to the grave with a holy prayer. Put it quietly and calmly Into the grave. And sing over me A parting prayer. Wrap me in damp soil, In damp soil wrap me. Where your tears fall, The grass shall grow. I will rest there Until the Judgment Day. O, my brothers and sisters, Don’t forget me. Come to my grave And remember me. – When did you sing it?

marfa kindrativna : When someone would die, before the body is

carried for the farewell ceremony. And then after the dinner, we’d sing the following: O God, O God, From the sky high above Hear my prayer Accept my soul To the luminous paradise And my body Into the damp soil. Put up my grave

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Let the grass grow over it. Plant cranberrybush on the grave, It will bloom in the spring. The birds will flock to it And the birds will chirp. But I won’t hear them, I won’t see them, lying in my grave. Once my legs went far, O God, such were the times. Once my hands did much, Now they are folded over my chest. Goodbye, brothers, goodbye, relatives, Because I am leaving you. There’ll come a time When I’ll see you again. – When did you start singing this psalm?

marfa kindrativna : Not long ago. And the previous one – we’ve been

singing it a long time. People say that the latter is a Shtundist (here, “Baptist”) psalm, but our priest makes us sing it. Shtundists started coming to our village a couple of months ago. One woman bought a house, and she’s said to be a Shtundist, so other Shtundists come to visit her from Cherkasy. Our people gather there to hear what they sing, and one person has already joined the Shtundists. – How do the people treat them? marfa kindrativna: So, I thought I’d go and listen, too. I know all the laws. I came. They were already seated and singing. They gave me a seat in front and invited me to sign up. One man there gave me a good deal of information. I told them, “You’re very good people, you explain everything very well, but I don’t like your song.” I went once and never again. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko (Kharkiv region) – Was there a church in the village? paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes, but it was dismantled during collectivization. Our church was large and made of stone. – Who used to sing during the funerals? paraskeva trokhymivna: There was a woman from the choir. The women would gather, and they knew how to sing.

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Varvara Andriivna Myshko (Poltava region) – In your village, did the women specifically trained to sing at funerals come to keen? varvara andriivna: Yes, there was one called pivcha. There were many of them; our street was long and there were many of them. … – Who sang at the funerals after the collectivization, once the churches were closed down? varvara andriivna : A pivcha would sing. And afterwards, we would sing by ourselves. When one woman’s daughter died, they called for a pivcha, and she sang by herself, without a priest, because pivchi knew the church songs. Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Cherkasy region) – During the time when churches were open, did the priests come to funerals? maria serhiivna: Of course they did. People used to bring them to funerals back in the day just as they do now. – After the church was closed down, what were the funerals like? maria serhiivna: Without the priests. – Did someone read the prayers during the funerals in the village? maria serhiivna: Those read who knew how to do it. – Were the funeral singers paid? maria serhiivna: What would they pay with? Sometimes, they might get a kerchief. People gave what they could. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – After the churches were destroyed, what were the funerals like? Who read the prayers during the funerals before the war? vira trokhymivna : My grandfather would read before the war. – Did ordinary people read the prayers as well? vira trokhymivna : Yes. Baba [granny] Kateryna and did [grandpa] Stepan used to read, and then the younger people started reading. – Did the pivcha sing the psalms? vira trokhymivna : No. My grandfather was buried in 1941; baba Kateryna read the prayers, and no one sang. – Is baba Kateryna his wife? vira trokhymivna : No, just a village woman, a relative on the side of the Malomuzhi. They had a big family. – Why were there no singers? vira trokhymivna : Because this was not allowed, even despised. Both

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of my parents sang very well, and they went to the church all the time to sing. After the churches were closed down, they started going to the church choir and organized village choirs. We had a club and a theater in the village. Where we now have the boarding school used to be the theater. Oleksandra Yukhymivna Omelchenko (Poltava region) – Did the people hire someone to keen at funerals? oleksandra yukhymivna: Yes. – What would these people say during the funeral? oleksandra yukhymivna: “Poor you, where did your daughter go? Why did you leave me and why did you make me an orphan? You left me so young, for my whole life to go on in grief. Where will I see you again; where should I wait for you? Will I see you coming from a steep ravine or from a far-away country?” If someone lost a mother, they would say, “My dear mother, why did you leave me? Where should I look for you?” If a mother was survived by her children, “Why did you leave them? Why did you make them orphans? Who needs them now? Who will take care of them now? Who will look after them now?” This is how they would keen. If there were no relatives to keen at the funeral, then people would be hired to do this. – Can you give examples of the keening for a husband or a brother? oleksandra yukhymivna: “My husband, my protector, and my truth. Where should I look for you? Where should I wait for you? Where will I lay my head? With whom can I share my troubles now? Who can I lean on? I would lean on a wall, but it doesn’t lean back; I would lean on my brother, but he doesn’t look my way; I would lean on my sister, but she has her own little children. Mother, I am an orphan now and no one needs me. I’m an orphan now and a widow in my old age.” I mourned my husband, too. It was a very difficult time. This is the keening for a child, “My sister, my sister, my dear one. Why didn’t you live? Why did you have to go so early?” They must harmonize when they do this; not everyone can. oleksandra yukhymivna: We make them up. I say the words based on my personal experience of grief. – You didn’t have to learn? oleksandra yukhymivna: No. I had enough in my own experience to make people cry. We don’t have such women anymore, but back in the day people would pay them to cry at funerals. “Go cry at her funeral because she was your relative.” In a city called Jerusalem, Princes would gather,

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Princes and generals. They would torment Jesus Christ, They would torment Jesus Christ, And crucify him on the cross. They put nails into his arms and legs, They put nails into his arms and legs. They wouldn’t let blood fall on the soil, They wouldn’t let blood fall on the soil. They put the golden cups, They put the golden cups. Rivers flow where they took the cups, Rivers of blood, O, the wax candles burned. They took Jesus off the cross And put him in the coffin. They put him in the coffin, O, the coffin, And rolled a stone over, Rolled a stone over. They put a guard at the stone, When the guard fell asleep, Virgin Mary came: “Oh, my son, Oh, my God, Oh, why do you have to die? Oh, why do you have to shed your blood?” You took the torment and the punishment For all the sinners, the Christian souls. And for Pentecost, we would sing the following: Rivers started flowing for Easter, Gardens started blooming for Trinity Sunday. Animals, birds, and the young children are happy That various trees and flowers are blooming. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Were there women who would come to the funerals to keen? varvara ihorivna: There were mourners. Not the hired ones, but the family and neighbors. My mother died, so I know how to keen. I would stand near the body and say, “Uncle or father, please give my regards to my sister,

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brother, and mother.” This used to happen. Sometimes I would be hired to keen for an hour for a bowl of pears, or for two hours – for two bowls. At times, the hired ones would say something like, “I lost a rattle, a clacker, and my other leg, and I still have no letter from my dead man.” And the people would look perplexed, “What are they talking about?” This is from the old days; I heard this saying from the old women when we were picking the mint. I normally don’t go to funerals; I may pass one by, take a look, and go home, but the old women go to funerals. They say, sometimes this or that keener would come and start saying things that make other people tell her to stop, “Ok, Hanna – or whatever her name was – that’s enough.” [Sings:] “Oh, mother, come to me. Give me some orders, mother. I looked after you. My dear mother, the grass grows now where your feet used to walk.” “Oh, my dear brother, I didn’t mortify you; I took care of you. Who will give me orders now? Oh, my dear father, come to us because I’m grieving. I only have a mother left, and this didn’t do me good.” Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – After the church was closed and the village didn’t have a priest anymore, did the people sing at the funerals? motria tymofiivna: I don’t know. – Do the old people sing psalms at the funerals now? motria tymofiivna: Yes, they do. Now we have a priest. If they can’t bring a priest, there are four women in the village who come to sing either with the priest or without. – Do you know these women? motria tymofiivna: They live in the center of the village: Lida Shuliakova, Galia Revachka, and Parasia Kotsurenko. One household wanted to hire all four of them, and they charged ten thousand karbovantsi each. People scolded them a great deal for this, so they didn’t take the money. – How many years have they been singing? motria tymofiivna: Perhaps two years. They’ve had some practice by now. Motria Hryhorivna Rohova (Poltava region) – Were the keeners hired for funerals?

motria hryhorivna: No. There were some people who would come to cry, if they were asked to. – Did people pay money for this? motria hryhorivna: No.

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– Did people recite something when they cried? motria hryhorivna: They would say words of grief, and grieve, and speak of grief again. – Were there such women in the village? motria hryhorivna: Yes, there were. We, too, have such women, both younger and older. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Was there a church in your village?

halyna ilarionivna: Yes.

– When was it destroyed?

halyna ilarionivna: In 1943, after the teacher hanged himself. – Did the older people sing psalms at the funerals? halyna ilarionivna: Not in our village back in the day, but they started singing just recently. They hadn’t even read the Book of Psalms. When someone died, they would just do a simple burial. – Did the priest sing before the war? halyna ilarionivna: When we had a church, the priest would be there at the funeral. After the church was burned, there was no longer a priest in the village, so the burial was without a priest. – What happened to the priest? halyna ilarionivna: He left somewhere to do his own things. There was no place to minister. I don’t know where he went. – Who sings now? halyna ilarionivna: Well, if I came to a funeral, that would be you, and me, and another woman. One reads, the other says, “Let’s sing.” – Do you know a few psalms? halyna ilarionivna: I have forgotten many. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – When there was a priest, the funeral was held with a priest and a keener. What were the funerals like after the churches were closed down? anastasia yukhymivna: They were the same funerals. People would invite a keener; the women would come to keen. – Did the women sing and read the psalms? anastasia yukhymivna: Yes. – Did they read the psalms inside or outside? anastasia yukhymivna: Inside, near the body. I’m thinking of my sister’s and my uncle’s wife’s funerals. A woman would come and read the

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Book of Psalms all day and all night, until the end of the book. Then a pivcha would come. If there weren’t any pivchi, women who could sing would come by themselves and sing in the house. – Was the singing allowed on the way to the cemetery? anastasia yukhymivna: No. – Was it forbidden by the members of the party? anastasia yukhymivna: I don’t know who forbade it, but people said it was not allowed. – Were the women singers paid? anastasia yukhymivna : No, why? Back in the day, people didn’t pay, but now it’s all on a case-by-case basis. People would prepare a dinner back in the day, and then later on dinners got more abundant, with fish and meat. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Was there religious singing during the funerals?

varvara denysivna: We didn’t have a priest in our village. About five of

us would go to the funerals to sing: old women Priska and Yulia and one old man Stepan Karpenko. – Did they go to the church choir? varvara denysivna: Yulia went because her husband was in the church choir. I went, too. Then the old women died, and Mariana and Stepan would go to read the psalms. Sometimes I would go with another old woman. We would also go to sing at funerals. – Did you sing the psalms during the funerals? varvara denysivna: In Old Church Slavonic language. – Did you sing any in Ukrainian? varvara denysivna: There may have been some, but I don’t know any. – Did the women keen for a dead person? varvara denysivna: Each in her own way. – Did people say words of grief? varvara denysivna: They used to, but not anymore. – Do you recall what they used to say? varvara denysivna: “My dear mother, who will meet me now, who will see me off? Whom can I tell about my grief?” I can’t recall. – Were certain women invited specifically to keen? varvara denysivna: Yes. When Kateryna died in our village, her daughter hired the keeners, because she couldn’t do it herself. She hired a neighbor, “I’ll pay you to cry over my mother.” – Is the woman who keened alive? varvara denysivna: No, it was a long time ago.

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Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko (Chernihiv region) – Were there women in the village who would be invited to funerals to keen? iryna yakivna: No, whoever attended the funeral would walk and cry. – What was the keening called? iryna yakivna: What was it called? Well, they would cry– I guess you’d call it “provody” [the wake]. – Was there such a word as “prychytuvannia” [lament]? iryna yakivna: Yes, there was. – When someone cries after the dead and lays them to rest, is this called “prychytuvannia”? iryna yakivna: They would cry and say words of grief, over and over. – Would a pivcha from the church come to the funerals? iryna yakivna: Yes, they did come and still do. – How many were there, four to five? iryna yakivna: One died, and the others probably died too. I don’t remember. – How did the people pay them? iryna yakivna: They would give them kerchiefs. – Just as they would give kerchiefs to all others who came to the funeral? Iryna Yakivna: Yes. Maybe they gave them money, too. Yes, money.

kol ia dk y There were two main song cycles in ritual context in village life before collectivization centering on the Christian feast and fast days. One was the winter cycle of rituals, which had the Christmas season as its main feature. The second was the spring cycle of rituals, which had the Easter season as its principal component. The Christmas season koliadky (Christmas carols) and shchedrivky (carols associated with the New Year celebrations) were rendered by groups of people moving from house to house, usually within a given kutok (corner, i.e., neighborhood) of the village. Several interviewees provided descriptions of these ritual songs before collectivization, their performance contexts, and those who participated in the rituals (see Motria Buslyk, Paraska Liubychanivska, Oleksandra Marchenko, Danylo Kuzmenko, Pavlo Andriienko, Hanna Buhaiova, Paraska Smola, and especially Arkhyp Dzhyrma). Suffice it say here, that koliadky and shchedrivky were two separate repertories. Paraskeva Kindratenko provides a succinct description of the constituent rituals of the winter cycle: – Do you remember the religious holidays? paraskeva trokhymivna: People would sing koliadky and shchedrivky.

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Boys would go for Christmas, and girls sang koliadky on Christmas day in the afternoon. – What was the difference between koliadky and shchedrivky? paraskeva trokhymivna: Koliadky were performed for the head of the household or their daughter. I don’t remember any koliadky. We had shchedrivky. We would go with Malanka from house to house and we carried special holiday bread (Vasylky). We sang them on New Year’s Eve, on Malanka [A Ukrainian folk holiday celebrated on 13 January, which is New Year’s Eve according to the Julian calendar. Malanka commemorates the feast day of St Melania. Carolers traditionally dress in festive costumes and roam from house to house performing music, skits, and pranks. – ed.]. – Did you carry the star around? [Carolers traditionally carried a colorful, twirling star – ed.] paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, and the masked goat. A man was dressed as Malanka. The adults did this; we were children at the time. This was before the kolhosp. During kolhosp times, none of this was happening and there were no shchedrivky. – Did you go to visit your relatives for the holidays? paraskeva trokhymivna: Of course, and we brought the holiday dinner. The elements of the winter ritual cycle thus included: the koliadky and shchedrivky songs; processions that included carrying the cross; baking a holiday bread; the Malanka (New Year’s Eve) celebrations; and cooking a holiday dinner. Descriptions of these festivities are available in the excerpts of interviews. See especially the excerpt by Varvara Pyvovar in the koliadky section of this chapter. In most locales, boys and girls koliaduvaly (sang Christmas carols) in separate groups. In some villages, men and women also koliaduvaly, but separate from the boys and girls. Mykhailo Ustymenko noted that the church choir in his village koliaduvav apart from all others. They sang a variety of songs in four-part (satb ) harmony, or in three-part, or sometimes even two-part. Although the spring (Easter) cycle of rituals included ritual songs rendered outside the church, most of these did not contain religious texts, e.g., songs sung during Annunciation and the spring songs (pisni do blahovishchennia, vesnianky). Nevertheless, in many locales they were suppressed, likely due to their association with Easter. These are discussed in the next chapter. Most of the songs of the Easter season that had a religious text were sung within the context of the church service, inside the church building itself. As the church was closed and its organizations were repressed, these rituals and songs ceased to exist in the lives of most villagers.

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The winter cycle songs were a different matter. Although some of the koliadky and shchedrivky texts were religious, they had nothing directly to do with the church; that is, their performance context was outside of the official organization of the church. They were usually rendered by groups of people moving from house to house in the village, or in their kutok of the village. These activities existed within the sphere of civil society – outside the structures of church or state – and therefore were more difficult for the Soviet authorities to control. The village church could be closed entirely, and the winter cycle songs could still be continued by villagers. Since this was apparently unacceptable to the state, a specific formula seems to have been devised to attempt to suppress these rituals and songs and drive them from village life. Since these rituals and songs were practiced primarily by young people, the state focused its repression on this age group. School teachers in particular were assigned the task of instilling a sense of contempt for all things religious. One of the main accents of this repression was on the Christmas season rituals and songs. School teachers were assisted by the school director, the head of the kolhosp, and youth organizations such as the Pioneers and the Komsomol. Teachers taught children that they (the children) did not (could not) believe in God, therefore there was no reason to take part in the old-fashioned antics of their parents and grandparents. They were also threatened with punishment if they did choose to participate in these rituals. The head of the kolhosp could threaten a child’s parents, telling them that if they did not prevent their child from taking part in these rituals the parents could lose their jobs. Pioneer and Komsomol groups applied peer pressure on children, laughing at them and telling them how silly and unfashionable it was to take part in these rituals of Christian sentiment. The range of responses from interviewees shows that the degree of success or failure in suppressing the winter cycle rituals and songs varied from locale to locale. In some villages, the rituals and songs were nearly completely wiped out, leaving virtually no trace whatsoever. In other villages, they declined gradually, over a period of one or two decades. In still other villages, they were partially suppressed and only a few people continued to practice them in the post-Second World War period. In some villages, they were only minimally suppressed, and a few people still practiced them in the 1990s. Several interviewees described a nearly complete vacuum in winter cycle rituals in their village, beginning usually from the point of collectivization. Oleksandra Omelchenko said that on her radhosp the rituals and singing stopped entirely. Here local activists were particularly malevolent, even going from house to house to take down icons from the walls and destroy them. The interviewee said that because she continued to go to church, she was thrown out of the radhosp. She later relented and ceased to take part in all Christian public rituals, including the koliadky. Several others provided succinct descriptions of the end of Christmas rituals in their locales:

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Hanna Yakivna Snurinkova – Did you go singing koliadky and shchedrivky? hanna yakivna: Yes, back in the day. – When did you stop going? hanna yakivna: When the persecutions began; it was considered shameful, but the children continued caroling. Then they grew up, and the new generation was not taught. – Until what year was this? hanna yakivna: They stopped going in the 1930s, when collectivization started. There were persecutions; the authorities kept saying that there was no God. Maria Yeshchenko – Do you remember when this ban was put into effect? Somewhere in the 1930s when the church was closed? maria opanasivna: Churches were closed down and baptism forbidden. Koliadky were also forbidden. – What about shchedrivky? maria opanasivna: Forbidden too! No way you could do this. Paraska Bezkorovaina People would go singing koliadky prior to collectivization. Afterwards, it was forbidden. The teacher would tell the children that it was forbidden. Oleksii Syniuk – What about during collectivization? oleksii ivanovych: Nothing like this (koliadky) was organized, and the adults didn’t go either. – Was it forbidden? oleksii ivanovych: Religion was forbidden. These conversations would happen: “Are you a Komsomolets?”– “Yes, I am.”– “Are there any icons in your house?”– “Yes.”– “You must remove them.” Chub Fedora – Did you go singing koliadky during the kolhosp times? fedora oksentiivna: We used to sing koliadky and shchedrivky before the kolhosp was setup. Afterwards it was not allowed.

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Maria Nekhai – Did people sing koliadky in your church? maria maksymivna: Back in the day they did, but not anymore after kolhospy. And the church was closed down. Ivan Mushynsky – Did people sing koliadky in your village during collectivization?

ivan serhiiovych: No, they didn’t. Somehow it was out of fashion.

Children would do posypannia (a ritual blessing by throwing grain into the corners of the house on New Year’s day), but no one went singing koliadky. It all ended in 1929. Paraska Kindratenko This was before the kolhosp. During the kolhosp time, none of this was happening and there were no shchedrivky.

Ivan Shamrai provided an overview of the role of schoolteachers in this repression as well as the role of the Pioneers and Komsomol. Teachers threatened their pupils with dismissal from school for participation. Youth groups ridiculed the practice and tried to make it seem an absurd relic of the past: There was a time when this was forbidden, and children were expelled from school. Children were eager to sing carols or do posypannia to get a few coins, but they were reported to the teachers right away, “So … Ivan went to do posypannia.” Then he’d be called to the teachers’ lounge and scolded. Sometimes his father would be called. It was forbidden to celebrate religious holidays, especially after the war. On the other hand, there were apparently teachers who did not enforce the dictates of the state and did not try to repress the Christmas season rituals and songs. Pavlo Khudyk described one such person. For this teacher’s efforts, he was arrested. He died from a self-imposed hunger strike fifteen days after he began it: It wasn’t banned in our village. We had good teachers and they didn’t forbid this; they didn’t say anything. One of our teachers was taken away as a public enemy. People would go to visit him; he went on a hunger strike. He lived fifteen days and died. He was a very good teacher.

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Several interviewees said that winter cycle rituals and songs continued for a few years after collectivization, only to eventually disappear. Two said that they disappeared on their own, without suppression (Mykhailo Ihnatenko and Varvara Chukhlib). Most, however, said that the suppression was strong and was the direct reason the rituals and songs declined and disappeared. Hanna VyklenkoPohrebniak noted that they declined as a result of teachers forbidding pupils from taking part in the activity. Continual negative assessments and constant harping took effect over several years. Odarka Kryvchenko said that for several years there were furtive gestures by boys to sing the koliadky. They would sneak up at night and sing a koliadka under the window of the hut, then quickly vanish into the night. This soon, however, stopped and the winter rituals and songs ceased entirely to exist in this interviewee’s locale (see also Oleksandra Poluden). Two others who described a subtle and gradual decline in these rituals was Dmytro Chuchupak and Stefania Snikhovska. Several interviewees noted that, although the koliadky were forbidden by activists, teachers and the like, people continued to practice these ritual songs. Varvara Pyvovar said that they stopped entirely during the famine, then began again by the mid-1930s, even though children were told in school not to participate in these rituals. Hanna Konovalchuk and Maria Nychyporenko both said that villagers continued to sing koliadky, but only at home; going from house to house was no longer practiced. Motria Potapenko said about the same; children went only to immediate family and godparents to sing. Varvara Chukhlib noted that they were forbidden to practice the Christmas rituals and songs. They had to work on Christmas regardless of the day of the week. They did so, then went home to celebrate the holidays and observe the rituals. Olena Sinkevych said that it was forbidden, but the children did it anyway. The suppression was only partial. Here only children took part, while adults apparently were too intimidated to continue the practice. Maria Nekhai noted that the practice continued, but secretly. Ivan Shamrai described the various methods used to suppress the Christmas rituals and songs. He noted that the Christmas rituals continued in his village but were practiced by very few after the Second World War. Varvara Myshko said that the koliadky continued into the post-war period, noting that mothers taught their children who then later taught their children in the postwar period. Only one interviewee categorically stated that there was never any suppression of the winter cycle songs. Iryna Shevchenko said that there was no suppression of koliadky in her village, and people were not forbidden to take part in the winter cycle if they so wished, which many did throughout the Soviet period.

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i n te rv i ew e xce rp ts: kol iadk y Pavlo Yevtukhovych Andriienko and Ahafiia Illivna Riabukha (Kharkiv region) – Did you go singing koliadky?

pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes.

– Did you go separately or together with the girls? pavlo yevtukhovych: Separately. – What did the people give you? pavlo yevtukhovych: A few pennies to buy candy, that’s all. – And did you go singing shchedrivky, too? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes. – What was your group like? pavlo yevtukhovych: If there were many children in the village, then it would be a large group; if fewer children, then whoever could come. – Would brothers and sisters go singing shchedrivky on their own? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes. – Would boys and girls go singing together? pavlo yevtukhovych: No. ahafiia illivna: They would go singing shchedrivky together, but when it came to zasivannia [a blessing ritual, throwing grain into the corners of a house], it was done by the boys only. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region)

paraska mytrofanivna: People would go singing koliadky prior to col-

lectivization; afterwards, it was forbidden. The teacher would tell the children that it was forbidden. – Did the people prepare a holiday dinner? paraska mytrofanivna: Of course, everyone prepared dinner in their house and painted the holiday eggs. … – Did someone sing koliadky at your house when the family would gather? paraska mytrofanivna: My father would perform zasivannia, and the children at school were reproached. – Did people sing songs on Saint Nicholas’ Day [19 December] in your village? paraska mytrofanivna: It depends. On the first day, children would go around singing, and older boys would go singing on the second day. They would carry a star around and bring the goat mask. – Was there a horse mask? paraska mytrofanivna: I didn’t see any.

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– Did the people dress up for Malanka? paraska mytrofanivna: Of course. A boy would dress as Malanka. We had a handsome guy named Semen; he would always dress as Malanka. You couldn’t tell it was a guy when he was all dressed up [traditionally, a man would dress as a woman for Malanka and wear make-up and jewelry characteristic of women]. The other guy would dress as Vasyl. The old men would come; there was a goat covered with cloth. The children would not be allowed there. Anyone could come, but the children were chased away. Malanka would walk around the houses carrying a brush and a cup of diluted clay and would whitewash anyone she could find. She would come into a house, saying, “Your house is not whitewashed” and start whitewashing. [The ritual involved a parody of household tasks. Malanka would do everything backwards: sweep the floor from the middle of the room toward the walls, throw the pillows around while making a bed, and whitewash the benches instead of the oven.] – What did people give those who dressed up? paraska mytrofanivna: Half a liter of alcohol. Then they would get drunk. – Did the women sing together with the men? paraska mytrofanivna: The younger people would sing outside. The older ones, mostly inside. Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiova (Kharkiv region) – Did the women go singing shchedrivky? hanna yukhymivna: Yes. We started singing shchedrivky after we came back to life a bit, not when life was very difficult. Not just women, but the married people would also go singing shchedrivky. People would give them meat, lard, and bread. They would slaughter pigs and share the meat. – Who went singing koliadky? hanna yukhymivna: People like you and I would gather, along with the kumy (godparents), the married people, and the children– all kinds of people. This was when we had some bread and came back to life. Life blooms in the spring. Maria Andriivna Bulakh (Poltava region) – Was it forbidden to sing koliadky after the war? maria andriivna: No, it wasn’t. It was forbidden to go to church. Teachers would tell children not to, and the head of the village council forbade koliadky. Baptism was also forbidden.

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Motria Hryhorivna Buslyk (Poltava region)

motria hryhorivna: People went singing koliadky. They would make

a star and light candles; both young and old women went singing koliadky and shchedrivky. It used to be great. Then this happened, and they stopped singing. Back in the day, people like me and the younger ones would gather and go singing. We’d come to your place, my place, someone else’s, and keep moving on. Some would say, “Come to my place to sing carols.” And so, we’d go; people would give us bread and money. Hanna Herasymivna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak (Vinnytsia region) – Did you go singing koliadky when you were a young girl?

hanna herasymivna: I never went, but my younger brothers and sisters

did. People would go from one house to another to sing and get a handful of nuts in return. – Did the people go singing koliadky after the arrival of the kolhosp? hanna herasymivna: At first, yes. Then little by little they stopped and to this day no one goes singing koliadky. Teachers used to forbid it. If someone went singing, it would be reported to the teachers and there would be punishments. Lidia Serhiivna Hrabovska (Vinnytsia region) – When you were a student, was it allowed to go singing koliadky? lidia serhiivna: People would do it, but it was forbidden. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma and Ulyta Kharlivna Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region)

– Back in the day, did boys and girls go singing koliadky together or separately? ulyta kharlivna: Separately. – How many people would gather to sing koliadky? ulyta kharlivna: Well, few. At some point, there were fifteen of us girls singing koliadky. We went to the priest and asked for this blessing. Then we’d go around the village carrying a star. I was with them only two days and didn’t go on the third day. Everything that we got – be it money or bread – we gave to the church. – Did you go singing koliadky on the second day of Christmas? ulyta kharlivna: Both the first and the second day. People would sing koliadky during the first three days of Christmas. Then for Malanka you’d have shchedrivky – on New Year’s Eve. If today is Malanka, and tomorrow

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New Year’s Day, that was the time for shchedrivky. And after or on the New Year’s Day some would perform posypannia. – Was posypannia done by the boys only? ulyta kharlivna: Just boys. – Did the children go singing koliadky during the day or in the evening? ulyta kharlivna: During the day. At night, they only come for posypannia. – What did people give to those who sang koliadky? ulyta kharlivna: Some would give money, some – apples. People gave what they could. They used to give treats. The singers would get loads of sweets, much more than they needed, so they would separate the better ones from the ones they liked less and give away a lot of sweets. We didn’t have a church in our village, but there was one in Vedmedivka. I remember I would be walking back from the church in Vedmedivka, and there would be lots of sweets thrown around. They discarded the ones they didn’t like. People used to sing shchedrivky and koliadky, but it’s been many years now that they don’t sing anymore. – On what day would they bring the holiday dinner? ulyta kharlivna: On Christmas Eve. – Did people bring the dinner to their godparents’ place? ulyta kharlivna: They would go to their godparents, aunts, and other relatives. I had a godmother, and we would dress up and go to my father’s mother. She would ask, “What’s your shirt and threadwork like?” She’d then remove our coats to see the shirt and give us five kopeks. Recently they paid us more, but we also were happy with five kopeks back then. It was a good time. – What did people take to their godparents’ house? ulyta kharlivna: A knish and pyrizhky (fruit-stuffed pastry). We would go to my aunt’s house across the street by cart. We’d take a horse and a sledge and carry the dinner around to one aunt, to another, to grandmother, to godmother; godchildren would bring food to our house, too. We’re old now and don’t have any godchildren. This year, no one came to my house. They grew up and got married. We’re old now. Maria Opanasivna Yeshchenko (Chernihiv region) – Was there a tradition to sing koliadky in the church?

maria opanasivna: Yes, when there was religion, there was a church and

everything. After the service, people would sing koliadky. – Who sang koliadky? maria opanasivna: Women and men. – Was this a church choir?

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maria opanasivna: Whoever could sing sang. – Do you remember these koliadky? maria opanasivna: People would go from house to house on Christmas. They come in and ask, “May we come in?” “Yes.” They sang koliadky and people gave them vodka and invited them in. – Did both boys and girls go caroling? maria opanasivna: Boys, girls, and the married people went. – Did they all go together? maria opanasivna: No, no. Boys on their own, and girls – separately. We, the married people, would gather and say, “Let’s go to this or that.” “Let’s go!” We chose whose house to go to. – Do you remember the words of koliadky? maria opanasivna: I (?) went to a well, His wife went to a well To get some water and found a golden cross. All the saints lost the golden cross there. Three services will take place on Jesus’ Baptism (?): The first service on Christmas, The second service on Saint Basil the Great, The third service on Jesus’ Baptism. Good night! People would say, “Come, good people, into the house!” Vodka and dinner are served. Afterwards we decided where to go, “Let’s go to that one?” We went to people’s houses selectively. – Did the authorities forbid any songs? maria opanasivna: They would say, “You can’t sing koliadky.” Children were not allowed to go caroling. Schoolchildren had no right to go caroling. But now they go to every house and sing carols. The difference is that back in the day we had treats to give them, and now – what can you give if a candy costs two hundred rubles? What can one buy? We have kupony [“coupons,” a temporary Ukrainian currency introduced in the early 1990s – ed.] – I don’t understand how they work. – Do you remember when this ban was put into effect? Somewhere in the 1930s when the church was closed down? maria opanasivna: Churches were closed down and baptism forbidden. Koliadky were also forbidden. – What about shchedrivky? maria opanasivna: Forbidden too! No way you could do this. But the

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children would still run around, “May we? May we?” Then the people would open the door a little bit. Inside one would say, “Let’s also go to Valia’s.” People went nonetheless; they went! Just the same as today you have the addicts: they are forbidden to use drugs, but they still do. – Before the ban, did men and women go singing koliadky together or separately? maria opanasivna: Together. And they carried a star around and a goat mask and everything. – Did the people in the village sing the Cossack or chumak songs? maria opanasivna: I don’t know. Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – Did you go singing koliadky?

yakiv mykhailovych: We had koliadky and they are back again.

There was a time when the authorities banned them. The activists did not allow the songs. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – How old were you when you sang koliadky?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: I have been singing koliadky ever since I

was a child, until I got married. Young men go singing, too. – Did you dress up and make a star? mykhailo yevdokymovych: No, we didn’t. We went around the streets of our kutok (neighborhood). – Did boys and girls go singing together? mykhailo yevdokymovych: We went together with the girls and also took dukhy with us. – What is “dukhy”? mykhailo yevdokymovych: When people sing koliadky at someone’s place, the hosts give them a loaf of bread, a piece of lard. The singers would get loads of food and then have a party. – Did people stop singing koliadky later on? mykhailo yevdokymovych: It somehow stopped on its own. We continued singing koliadky during Soviet times. We would go from house to house in a sledge. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko (Kharkiv region) – Do you remember the religious holidays?

paraskeva trokhymivna: People would sing koliadky and shchedrivky.

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Boys would go for Christmas, and girls sang koliadky on Christmas day in the afternoon. – What was the difference between koliadky and shchedrivky? paraskeva trokhymivna: Koliadky were performed for the head of the household or their daughter; I don’t remember any koliadky. We had shchedrivky. We would go with Malanka from house to house and carried special holiday bread (Vasylky). We sang them on New Year’s Eve, on Malanka [13 January]. – Did you carry the star around? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, and the goat mask. A man was dressed as Malanka. The adults did this; we were children at the time. This was before the kolhosp. During the kolhosp time, none of this was happening and there were no shchedrivky. – Did you go to visit your relatives for the holidays? paraskeva trokhymivna: Of course, and we brought the holiday dinner. … – When the carol singers came to your house, did you give them treats? paraskeva trokhymivna: If they were adults, we’d give them a piece of lard and bread. Then they would have a party with the food they were given. – Did mikhonosha carry a bag around to collect the gifts? paraskeva trokhymivna: A person from the group would carry a bag. – And Jesus’s Baptism [19 January]? paraskeva trokhymivna: A hole in the shape of the cross was cut out in the pond, and the people would come to take the holy water. … – Were children forbidden from singing carols by the schools? paraskeva trokhymivna: No. – Did people give money to carol singers? paraskeva trokhymivna: If older fellows came, they would be given money. Girls would get lard and bread. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – What did you sing for the holidays? maria pylypivna: We would go to congratulate people on Christmas, and on New Year’s Day [14 January] people would go singing koliadky and shchedrivky. For Christmas, they go around carrying a star and sing spiritual songs. I didn’t go, but I saw how people did it. Later on, this stopped; they would continue going, but in secret. It was forbidden to bring the holiday dinner, but people still did it.

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– Did you celebrate Kupala Night [a Slavic midsummer celebration of ancient pagan origin marked by courtship rituals among young people – ed.]? maria pylypivna: We used to get ready for it: we would make a Marynka and jump across cirsium growths. We would dress a girl, walk down the street, and sing. – Did the adults participate in Kupala Night? maria pylypivna: No, but they sang koliadky. – Did they sing koliadky separately? maria pylypivna: Why separately? People gave whatever treats they had. Then the carol singers would put all the treats together. There was no goat mask. – How did the people dress Maryna? maria pylypivna: Into clean clothes and a wreath. – Did you practice fortune-telling using water? maria pylypivna: We practiced fortune-telling only for New Year’s to see where we would get married. For this, we’d throw a boot outside the fence. Or someone would make a kutia [a traditional Ukrainian Christmas Eve dish made of wheat berries, poppy seeds, nuts, raisins, and honey – ed.], stir it with a spoon, and take it outside – where the dog barks would indicate the household into which the young woman would get married. This was done on the eve of Jesus’s Baptism or on its second day. … – Why was it forbidden to sing koliadky? maria pylypivna: It was considered a religious practice. – Do you remember any koliadky or shchedrivky? maria pylypivna: No, I don’t; I was little at the time, and later on they were banned. Hanna Fedorivna Konovalchuk (Vinnytsia region) – Did you go singing koliadky? hanna fedorivna: It was not allowed. When I was little, I couldn’t go because I didn’t know any koliadky. Children would go caroling in secret. This was in 1938 and 1939. The authorities gave orders to the teachers to forbid caroling, and the teachers told the students. Nothing was allowed. … – Did you sing koliadky in your house? hanna fedorivna: Yes. Our mother and father used to sing koliadky for us.

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Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Poltava region) – Did the people go singing koliadky after the kolhosp was established? odarka yakivna: The adults didn’t go. Little children passed by the window, perhaps, but not a lot. Nowadays, they don’t go at all. – Why didn’t they go singing? odarka yakivna: Who knows? No one kept them from doing so. They used to do posypannia. – Did people sing koliadky at home? odarka yakivna: No, no one said anything about it. – Did people make kutia? odarka yakivna: Every year. – Did men and women go caroling separately? odarka yakivna: They would go singing koliadky separately, but they went together to sing shchedrivky. – Did they dress someone up as Malanka? odarka yakivna: Yes. Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – Did you sing koliadky as a young man? danylo yosypovych: Yes, I did. – Did you carry a star around? danylo yosypovych: Yes, we did. Five or six of us would go in a group, carrying a star. On New Year’s we did posypannia, and celebrated Christmas with carols. We also celebrated Easter. – Did men and women go caroling separately? danylo yosypovych: Yes, separately. – Did older men and women go singing koliadky? danylo yosypovych: Mostly the younger ones went. Some married men would also join. Kateryna Dmytrivna Kurasa (Cherkasy region) – Was it forbidden to sing koliadky in the 1960s? kateryna dmytrivna: Yes, koliadky, shchedrivky, and posypannia were forbidden. We would sometimes in secret. We’d go singing all night until our voices would get hoarse. We sang koliadky and shchedrivky separately. – Which koliadky did you sing? kateryna dmytrivna: “The Holy Virgin lived in the world and had Jesus Christ in her heart.”

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– If a teacher found out that you sang koliadky, were you or your parents punished? kateryna dmytrivna: We were shamed. Paraska Ivanivna Liubychankivska (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember how you used to sing koliadky? paraska ivanivna: Older guys from the church used to go. They would take a donation box with them and go from house to house. House owners would put money in the donation box for church needs, and the singers would get bread and stuffed pastry. – How much did people give for the church needs? paraska ivanivna: Twenty or thirty kopeks. The money in the box was considered church money. – Did only men sing koliadky or did women sing, too? paraska ivanivna: At the time, it was men only. They didn’t take women with them. Now people from the church go singing again, so there are more women. Nowadays everything is different. What can you say? Oleksandra Fedotivna Marchenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people sing koliadky before or during collectivization? oleksandra fedotivna: People sang koliadky in the evening. We loved to do it. – Did you dress up? Did you go with the guys or separately? oleksandra fedotivna: Girls went on their own, without the guys, because if they went together, there’d be a lot of laughter and they’d mix up the words. My mother used to say that boys did posypannia, and girls were not supposed to. If boys went to a house to do posypannia, the first one would get more money. The ones from the West did a very good job. – Did people sing koliadky after the war? oleksandra fedotivna: Yes, they did. People will go caroling as long as they remember how their ancestors did it. Oh, on Christmas Eve Jesus walked around the house, Collecting the dew from the sky, saying: “Oh, give me, girl, some water to drink.” God walked down the road, And met a girl who carried the water. “Oh, girl, give me some water to drink.” (But she was a sinner.)

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She says, “I won’t give you this water because it is impure: The sand from the mountain and the leaves from the trees got into it.” God says, “You’re impure, girl, Because you gave birth to a child, And drowned it in this water.” The girl dropped the bucket in surprise. God said, “Don’t be afraid, girl. Go to the church for confession. Confess your sins.” Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – Did you go singing shchedrivky and koliadky before collectivization? mykhailo pavlovych: Saint Andrew’s Day [13 December], Malanka, shchedrivky, and koliadky – the boys would go singing and the adults carried a star around. They would walk into houses and get treats. – Was this after the 1930s? mykhailo pavlovych: When the kolhosp began, all this was persecuted, erased, and banned. Atheist propaganda was strong. You know, people learned to be bootlickers and didn’t protest. People were scared and did what they were told to avoid persecution. Varvara Andriivna Myshko (Poltava region) – Did people go singing koliadky in your village? varvara andriivna: Yes, they did and still do. Adults get together and go singing, and the younger ones do posypannia on New Year’s. After the famine and the war people would go caroling, too. They went all the time. They sang, “Shchedryk, vedryk” in groups. Their mothers taught them, and they went around singing. My niece went, too. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Did people sing koliadky in your village during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: No, they didn’t. Somehow it was out of fashion. Children would do posypannia, but no one went singing koliadky. It all ended in 1929. The priest was driven out of his house, and the church was closed. The church was turned into a barn to store grain. The priest’s children were of

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school age, but no school would take them, so they left the village. Few men would study because you had to pay for school and rent an apartment. They only had three years of schooling and some education at the parochial school. It was different at the time: there were schools with one and two classes. If there were five groups, and the program was divided into six, it was considered a school with two classes. But there were three groups. – Did you go to school? ivan serhiiovych: I completed three groups. Parochial school was the highest degree of education. … – Did people in your family sing koliadky? ivan serhiiovych: No. Boys and girls from the church did. Boys would carry a star around, sometimes for two days. Girls would get together separately and go singing koliadky. Those from the church would go around carrying a star and a mug – people would put money into it. All of the donations were for the church. – Did men go singing koliadky? ivan serhiiovych: Not the married ones. Neither men, nor women. Boys would not go caroling on their own; only if they were from the church. Maria Maksymivna Nekhai (Chernihiv region) – Did people sing koliadky in your church? maria maksymivna: Back in the day they did, but not anymore after the kolhospy. And the church was closed down. … – Did the authorities forbid some holidays, koliadky for instance? maria maksymivna: Yes, it was forbidden, but the people would go singing nonetheless. Yes, they did – quietly and also in other people’s houses. – Did people sing in families or was it just boys and girls who went singing? maria maksymivna: No. Girls and young women would go from house to house singing. – When you were a young girl, did only girls sing shchedrivky or both girls and boys? maria maksymivna: Both boys and girls went singing shchedrivky. They would come into people’s houses and sing. – Did boys and men sing together with the girls? maria maksymivna: I don’t know. – What about when people had company over? maria maksymivna: Yes, they sang. Both men and women.

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Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people sing koliadky and shchedrivky? maria serhiivna: Yes, they sang both. Boys and girls went separately. – After the kolhospy, did people continue singing shchedrivky? maria serhiivna: Yes, they did. – Did the schoolteachers scold you for caroling? maria serhiivna: We would gather at home to do it. Oleksandra Yukhymivna Omelchenko (Poltava region)

oleksandra yukhymivna: In our village, girls used to go singing koli-

adky. Back in the day, both girls and boys would go. The person who couldn’t sing would carry a bag to collect the treats. We’d go from house to house. – Did you carry a star? oleksandra yukhymivna: I’ve forgotten. It’s been so many years. When the radhosp was established, people stopped singing koliadky. Komsomol members from the party would go from house to house and remove the icons. I used to go to church, so I was banned from working in the radhosp. I nearly died of hunger; it was the hardest time. I begged to be taken back to work. It ruined my life. It wasn’t living; it was suffering. … – Did you go singing koliadky in the 1930s? oleksandra yukhymivna: You couldn’t even think about it back then. If someone found out, you’d be expelled from school. You could not be religious back then. If they found out that a child brought Christmas dinner to his or her godmother, that child would be expelled from school the next day, and his or her parents would be expelled from the kolhosp. I went to church, and so I was expelled from the radhosp and had to ask to be taken back. Children were not baptized. If someone wanted to baptize their child, they had to go at night, in secret. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did you go singing koliadky? varvara ihorivna: We went from house to house carrying bags and singing “Your Nativity, Christ, our Lord.” This was before and after collectivization. Some time in 1933 this was gone. When the people got grain from the kolhosp and came back to life, they started singing koliadky again and men did posypannia. Women went singing shchedrivky. I remember some came to our house and sang, “Vasyl’s mother went to sing shchedrivky but instead

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she stood at the table holding a cross. Take a bow, people, to Christ. Light a candle in the name of the Lord and give us a dukhyk (?).” (Sings). People would give them bread and lard, whatever they had. Then they would put all the treats together and have a party. No one said anything because this was a day off. After the famine, we didn’t have any grain for posypannia, so we didn’t go until better times; then we started doing it again. At the time, it was forbidden by schools; children were prevented from caroling, but they would still come in secret at night, stand by the window, and ask, “Aunt, may I sing koliadky?” – “Go ahead.” “Koliad, koliad, koliadnytsia / A nice bread loaf with honey, it doesn’t taste that good without honey. / Aunt, give me five kopeks. / The coin is for Maria. / Give me a golden ruble.” Sometimes the older ones would come, “Koliad, koliad, koliada. / An old man is looking at his wife: ‘Give me kovbasa (sausage), wife, lest I destroy the house.” [The Ukrainian verb for “destroy” rhymes humorously with the word “kovbasa.” – trans.] This was one, and the other one goes, “They hit me with a red beating stick. / Good people have protected me and gave me kovbasa.” Some would sing, “Shchedryk-vedryk, give me a varenyk, some kasha, a roll of kovbasa. / That’s not enough, give me some lard. / Give me kovbasa; I’ll take it home. / Give me some black pudding; do you think I’ll hide it in a hole in the ground? I’ll eat it!” Those were the children’s koliadky, and the adults would sing, “In the river, the Jordan river, the Holy Virgin was washing the robes and swaddling her son. / Out of nowhere appeared three angels and carried him away to the sky. / Sky above, open up. Saints, take a bow. Good evening. Let’s (?).” Sometimes they would go caroling together; sometimes separately. If they rehearsed, they would sing all together. If they didn’t rehearse, boys would go on their own and girls on their own. They didn’t carry a star. Oleksandra Vasylivna Poluden-Chub (Cherkasy region) – Did you go singing koliadky before the war?

oleksandra vasylivna: We sang both koliadky and shchedrivky. – Was it not forbidden?

oleksandra vasylivna: It was forbidden, but we did it in such a way

that no one could find out. People would do posypannia, sing koliadky, sing shchedrivky, and run away so they could not be seen. Olena Klymentiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region)

– Did you teach your children to sing koliadky? olena klymentiivna: Yes, I did, and I went singing koliadky myself. – Did boys and girls go singing separately?

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olena klymentiivna: We used to go together, but this was when we were growing up. – Did someone carry a star in your village? olena klymentiivna: No. Neither a star, nor a cross. – Did you have a goat mask or a horse in your caroling group? olena klymentiivna: No. – Did people sing songs for Malanka in your village? olena klymentiivna: Vasyl’s mother went to sing shchedrivky. She stood at the table holding a cross And a golden thimble. Here, people, Here is Christ for you. Light a candle for the Lord, And give us donations. Girls would stand by the window and sing, A calf ran from a birch growth Into the uncle’s backyard: ‘Give me a stuffed pastry, uncle. If you don’t give me one, I will take a bull by the horns.’” Ta povedu na marih, Siudy rih, tudy rih. (rih, plural rohy – horns of a bull – trans.) These were the koliadky. My stepmother did not forbid them. The adults would say this, (?) Nativity. God’s power is coming. The Holy Virgin gave birth to God’s son. Jesus Christ is born. All the Christ’s angels learned the news. Only two angels knew, They wanted to keep a newborn secret And cover him with air. Gabriel’s gardens bloomed. The whole Earth and the children are joyful. Take a bow, people, to the Lord. Take a bow to this altar.

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– Did you go singing for Malanka? olena klymentiivna: This we did not do. – Did you do any fortune-telling for Malanka? olena klymentiivna: Yes, we did. I was fifteen years old. Girls would come to my house; each would put a plate on the table and a pancake on the plate. Then we would let a dog in to tell which one of us would get married sooner. A dog came in, took its time, and then ate my pancake. And indeed, I was the first one to get married. I married a military man when I was very young. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – Did you go singing koliadky when you were sixteen?

motria tymofiivna: People used to go singing koliadky and shchedrivky,

but I didn’t. – After the kolhospy were introduced, did children go singing koliadky? motria tymofiivna: Yes, they did, and they brought holiday dinner to their godparents, too. I brought dinner, too, because we lived in poverty. When I was in school, we were strongly criticized for doing so. I was marked on public boards as a figure carrying a bundle. – Were you worried then? motria tymofiivna: No, I wasn’t. I didn’t know at the time that you had to be worried. I would eat a candy and get a few coins. – Were you told at school to stop caroling? motria tymofiivna: The teacher told all the children to stop going, but I kept going to my godmother and my godfather. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – When koliadky were forbidden in public, did the people continue singing them at home with their children? halyna ilarionivna: Not in our house. … – Were the children in schools told to stop singing shchedrivky? halyna ilarionivna: They would say, “Don’t listen to any of that because it’s not true; do not believe in God.” Oleksii Ivanovych Syniuk (Poltava region) – Did the people in your village go singing koliadky? oleksii ivanovych: You know, it’s been gradually disappearing, but I remember when I was a young boy, it was like a profession:

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“Shchedryk-vedryk, give me a varenyk and a roll of kovbasa. / If that’s not enough, give me some lard. / If I can carry more, give me kovbasa. / If you don’t, I’ll destroy the house.” – What about during collectivization? oleksii ivanovych: Nothing like this was organized, and the adults didn’t go either. – Was it forbidden? oleksii ivanovych: Religion was forbidden. These conversations would happen: “Are you a Komsomolets?” “Yes, I am.” – “Are there any icons in your house?” – “Yes.” – “You must remove them.” Olena Volodymyrivna Sinkevych (Vinnytsia region) – Did you go singing koliadky as a child? olena volodymyrivna: I know some koliadky. Children would go caroling, even though they were forbidden. Still, they went. In the evening, they would go to all houses singing shchedrivky and koliadky and doing posivannia. – In your village, did only the children sing koliadky or the adults as well? olena volodymyrivna: In our village, it was just the children. – Did the people from the church go singing koliadky? olena volodymyrivna: They did this on their own. They’d come into houses to paint crosses. Paraska Fedotivna Smola (Poltava region) – What did people cook for Christmas? paraska fedotivna: They’d make uzvar (dried apples and dried plums boiled into a compote), fried fish, wheat kutia, and pastries with solanum, zucchini, or cabbage filling – all fasting food. On Christmas day people would go to church. My father would go to church, and my mother would prepare sauerkraut and meat or potatoes and meat, but for Christmas we’d have a meatless dinner. We’d light an icon-lamp, and the whole family would be home. The godchildren would bring the dinner. – Did you perform the ritual of calling Moroz (frost) for dinner? paraska fedotivna: Yes. – Could you describe it? paraska fedotivna: First, there’d be one dinner, and the second one after Jesus’s Baptism in January. We’d sit down to eat, and my father’d say, “Moroze, moroze [“Oh frost, oh frost”], come to our house for dinner. If you don’t come, then don’t come to freeze our lambs and our buckwheat.” We would

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put a plate on the table and sit around the table. Then my father would call Moroz. It was cold after Christmas in January. – In your village, did the adults or the children go singing koliadky? paraska fedotivna: Sometimes the adults would go, too. Stefaniia Demianivna Snikhovska (Vinnytsia region) – Did people in your village go singing koliadky? stefaniia demianivna: Yes, they did. – Was it forbidden to sing koliadky? Stefaniia Demianivna: Later on, it was. Back in the day, people would go from house to house, some goat was being led around; people would sing shchedrivky and do posivannia. Hanna Yakivna Snurinkova (Kharkiv region) – Did you go singing koliadky and shchedrivky? hanna yakivna: Yes, back in the day. – When did you stop going? hanna yakivna: When the persecutions began; it was considered shameful, but the children continued caroling. Then they grew up, and the new generation was not taught. – Until what year was this? hanna yakivna: They stopped going in the 1930s, when collectivization started. There were persecutions. The authorities kept saying that there was no God. Dmytro Pylypovych Tkach (Vinnytsia region) – Did you go singing koliadky?

dmytro pylypovych: Yes. We were five guys. One week, we’d gather at

one guy’s place and drink some vodka; next week, we’d go to another guy and so on. – Was there an older one among the guys? dmytro pylypovych: There was no leader among us. – Do you know some koliadky? dmytro pylypovych: I know some short and long ones. “The news spread across the whole world” goes like this: The news spread across the whole world. The Virgin Mary gave birth to a baby.

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She put some hay on the baby And put God’s son in the crib. The Virgin Mary asked God: “What can I use to swaddle my son? Dear Lord, send me a gift from above.” (x2) Angels came down to the earth And brought the Virgin Mary the gifts – Three wax candles and the silk robes For Jesus Christ. (x2) A star lit the earth from the sky. Angels came to the Virgin Mary, Singing God’s songs for his bride, Bringing joy. (x2) Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – Did the pivcha go singing koliadky? mykhailo antonovych: Yes, she did. Girls and boys used to go together. On Christmas, they would harmonize and sing Christmas songs. On New Year’s Eve, they sang “A new joy has come / That never has been before. / A bright star shines above the crèche / Shines on the whole world.” We used to sing the old koliadky from the book and harmonize. I was a bass; there was a tenor, an alto, a treble – the first treble and the second treble. We all had different voices. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Did you go singing koliadky for Christmas? petro vasylovych: Yes, we did go singing koliadky. – Did you carry a star around? petro vasylovych: Yes. – Did you choose who would be a mikhonosha or a masked goat? petro vasylovych: The girls would pick the goat. – When did the ban begin? petro vasylovych: It wasn’t banned in our village. We had good teachers and they didn’t forbid this; they didn’t say anything. One of our teachers was taken away as a public enemy. People would go to visit him; he went on a hunger strike. He lived fifteen days and died. He was a very good teacher. – Were the teachers local or from elsewhere?

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petro vasylovych: They were sent here from elsewhere. They were treated well by the people. We had some foolish Komsomol. Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Did you go singing koliadky during the kolhosp times?

fedora oksentiivna: We used to sing koliadky and shchedrivky before

the kolhosp was set up; afterwards it was not allowed. – Did you carry a star? fedora oksentiivna: No, we didn’t. Neither did we have a masked goat. – Who went singing koliadky? fedora oksentiivna: When it was permitted, both the children and the adults went. In our corner (kutok) of the village, they would come to sing the carols in secret and quickly because they could be chased away. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did people go singing koliadky during collectivization?

varvara denysivna: Yes, and I went, too, when I was a young girl. – Which koliadky did you sing?

varvara denysivna: “A Miraculous Star Has Risen.” I have forgotten

many. – Did boys and girls go singing together? varvara denysivna: No, four or five of us would go separately, and the boys would go on their own. – Did you go around carrying a star? varvara denysivna: I don’t remember a single time that we carried a star. – Did you go caroling before the Revolution? varvara denysivna: Yes. – Was it forbidden to carry a star? varvara denysivna: Yes. – Was it forbidden to sing koliadky, too? varvara denysivna Yes, but some people would say to the carol singers, “Come to my house, too.” – Did you make kutia at home and celebrate the holiday? varvara denysivna: Everyone celebrated as they wished. – Did you go to work in the kolhosp? varvara denysivna: We went to work in the kolhosp but celebrated the holidays at home. …

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– Did you go singing shchedrivky for New Year’s? varvara denysivna: Yes. – Was it not forbidden? varvara denysivna: No, it wasn’t, but it’s been many years since anyone came to sing shchedrivky. Dmytro Mykhailovych Chuchupak (Cherkasy region) – Did you celebrate religious holidays during the kolhosp times?

dmytro mykhailovych: Of course. But we didn’t sing koliadky because

they were forbidden at the time. – What about prior to collectivization? dmytro mykhailovych: Before collectivization we used to sing koliadky big time! I used to carry a star and my kum [godparent] went with us. All of us guys would come back tipsy with bags full of treats. It was a great time. We would bring the holiday dinner to our relatives’ homes; we had many kumy – three or four pairs of kumy. You had to bring dinner to each of them, sing carols, and so on. We used to do this. In the 1930s, after Stalin came to power, all of this was despised; revolutionary [here Communist] songs were introduced in the village clubs, and little by little the carols were forgotten. They stayed deep in our souls to some extent, but they were no longer public. Ivan Ivanovych Shamrai (Poltava region) – Did you go singing koliadky?

ivan ivanovych: Yes, even after collectivization. The church was already

gone, but the people still knew all the rituals and had the calendars. They knew when to celebrate. After the war, the children would do posypannia, and we, the adult men, would also join them – to be treated to a drink. The married ones would go specifically to participate in the celebrations. I know this. My brother took part in the Malanka celebration. It’s a holiday. He was dressed up as a woman; then they’d take a star and carry it around like some carry a flag now. Young guys and girls would go. They would sing songs near one’s house, and people would give them five kopeks, a loaf of bread, or some lard. Then they would have a party with all these treats; in the evening they would cook the food for the party. The gathering was called a skladka. They still sing koliadky; they never stopped. We, the older ones, would come to people’s houses to do posypannia as a joke, but the children would go around asking if they could come into the house for posypannia. When they were done, the woman would give them treats and apples, and that’s it. There was a time when this was forbidden, and children were expelled from school for

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practicing posypannia. Children were eager to sing carols or do posypannia to get a few coins, but they were reported to the teachers right away, “So … Ivan went to do posypannia.” Then he’d be called to the teachers’ lounge and scolded; sometimes his father would be called. It was forbidden to celebrate religious holidays, especially after the war. Before the war, I enrolled in the Little Octobrists (Communist children’s organization) when I started school, and then into the Pioneers. This wasn’t optional; everyone joined and laughed at the ones who didn’t. I didn’t join for some time and was derided. No matter if you wanted it or not, the teachers demanded that you join, and the parents kept saying no. When I was older, later on I joined the Komsomol. My grandpa called it komzlydni [a wordplay on the Ukrainian word “zlydni” meaning either 1) small, mythological creatures, usually thought of as living in houses behind the stove and inflicting misfortune and poverty upon a family or 2) poverty]. Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko (Chernihiv region) – Did you go singing koliadky in the 1930s in the village?

iryna yakivna: At some point, we did go caroling.

– Was it forbidden by the authorities? iryna yakivna: No, no one said anything. – How did you sing koliadky? iryna yakivna: Very well. – On Christmas Eve? iryna yakivna: Yes. – Did boys and girls go singing together? iryna yakivna: It depends. Sometimes together, sometimes – just the girls. – Did they sing outside the house or come inside? iryna yakivna: They would start outside one’s window, and if they were invited in, then they’d come in. – What did they do inside? iryna yakivna: Have dinner, tell jokes, and sing. – Did they paint crosses on the walls? iryna yakivna: No. Bohomazy and Icon Production Halyna Lazarenko described a bohomaz in her locale who had at least three sources of income: he painted and sold icons, had paying pupils, and had land that he worked. This bohomaz painted both for the church and for other villagers. Halyna Sholudko described her father, a bohomaz, in similar terms. She said that he was

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always in his two-room studio working. One was for making the wooden planks (doshky) upon which most of his icons were painted, as well as for producing frames for pictures. The second room was for painting. His pupils executed most of the wooden planks and frames, but under his supervision. He created not only icons, but also paintings – both landscapes and portraits. He also painted decorations on dowry chests. His daughter said that he would paint literally anything that people ordered and paid for. Some bohomazy were also engaged in activities other than painting and farming. For example, the bohomaz described by Andrii Oklei was engaged in farming, icon painting, and regular fishing. A few villages had several bohomazy, usually either related to one another or who were former pupils of one of them (e.g., Halyna Lazarenko). The pupil-teacher relationship was important to the development of bohomazy before collectivization. Halyna Sholudko described her father’s boyhood and his time as a pupil, first with one bohomaz then with a second. A good master bohomaz needed pupils to help with the work as there was often more to be done than one person could accomplish. Different people had various names for icons: ikon (icon), obraz (picture), or bohy (gods). Certain icons were essential for specific occasions. For example, several interviewees remarked that when a couple was to be married, two icons depicting the Mother of God and Christ the Savior were the most commonly presented to them as gifts before the wedding ceremony. Icons were hung in a corner of a room in a person’s house. The corner was known as pokut. Not found in the interviews but based on my experiences in village Ukraine, that corner was sometimes known as chervony kutok, here not meaning the color “red,” but “beautiful.” Andrii Oklei noted that in his locale, if a person wanted to attend a church service, it was necessary to pay the authorities five rubles. Obviously, this would preclude regular attendance, and meant that a person could only attend from time to time, which was the likely intent. This was apparently a “fine” for breaking the law. In some housholds, icons were hung in a special order, usually with the Mother of God and Jesus Christ in the place of honor. The creation, sale, and purchase of icons was a business with many nuances that varied from locale to locale. Many bohomazy painted only for those who provided a commission – people traveled in person to their homes and ordered a particular icon directly from them. They did not keep examples of icons at home for sale and painted a work only after it had been ordered. Halyna Sholudko, the daughter of one bohomaz, confirmed these working methods of her father, as did Andrii Oklei, Ivan Bibik, and Nastia Tkachenko of other bohomazy. Some evidently hauled their products to the bazaar and sold them there (Marfa Bila and Ivan Bibik). On the other hand, most villages did not have a resident bohomaz; he was rather a rarity. For villages without a native bohomaz, icons were sometimes brought in by a middleman for sale (Priska Reva). Alternately, villagers could go to a bazaar to choose and purchase icons from the available selection (Marfa Bila).

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The middlemen who specialized in transporting and selling icons traveled from village to village, and from bazaar to bazaar, selling their wares. They purchased icons in one locale, sometimes quite distant, and traveled widely, even hundreds of kilometers, stopping along the way in dozens of villages. Although several interviewees described these middlemen and their methods of salesmanship, only one had a special name for them. Hanna Konovalchuk said that a traveling salesman of icons was known as a bambon [obviously not a Ukrainian word]. Priska Reva and Maria Boitenkova described the sales methods of middlemen who came to their respective locales (both in the Kharkiv region). A completed purchase required two visits by the middleman to the village – the first time for the villagers to choose an icon they wanted to order from numerous photographs, the second time to deliver the finished product. Ivan Mushynsky, who lived in the Cherkasy region, said that he remembered most of the itinerant salesmen to have been Russians, and Fedora Hatsko noted the same for the Kharkiv region, although this was not confirmed by other interviewees. In a few locales, certain icons were purchased in icon shops, located either in scattered villages or, more commonly, in small towns. These shops carried the most widely found genre types (siudzety) especially those that were used in the church wedding ceremony and the blahoslovennia (parents’ blessings) (Maria Voitenkova). These were the most commonly sold and therefore commercially the most viable. The cost of icons varied not only from one bohomaz to another, but also certain genre types cost more than others. Antonina Firman noted that an icon of the triitsia [the Trinity] cost a great deal. Marfa Bila said that icons cost from one to five karbovantsi. Halyna Kramarchuk said they cost about three. Mykola Sokyrko said they cost three or four (in older currency reckoning thirty or forty), while Tetiana Saliienko noted that they cost four. In the 1930s, icons were bartered for food. Antonina Firman and Ivan Bibik remarked that this transaction took place especially during times of scarcity or famine (the First World War, 1921–23, 1932– 33, the Second World War, 1947–48). Icons had an important role in village culture. When a villager died, his relatives took one of his icons to the church he had attended, presenting it as a gift to the church. Village churches were full of hundreds of such icons (Motria Potapenko). There were many ritual associations concerning icons. In some villager’s homes, icons were placed in a special sequence, while in others, icons were hung on the wall according to personal preference. Halyna Kramarchuk noted that certain iconographic genres had to be hung on the wall above others. The highest row included Maty Bozha (Mother of God) and Isus Khrystos (Jesus Christ) while the next row included the Spasytel (the Savior) icon. When boys went off to the army, there was a procession for them, and they were presented small icons (Ivan Bibik). When people got married the young couple’s entourage necessarily

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included the parents’ blessings (blahoslovennia), which included gifts of icons to the young couple. Icons were essential to funeral rituals (Tetiana Saliienko) and small icons were often placed into the coffin of the deceased. In church processions of all kinds, including the khresny khid, icons were prominently displayed (Antonina Firman).

t h e re pre s si on of th e b oh omaz y and ic on-rel ated ri tua l s duri n g c ollec tiviz ation With the advent of collectivization, the village bohomazy were physically repressed. In addition, many of the rituals related to icons were banned. Halyna Sholudko said that her father, a bohomaz, was forced to sign a document in the early 1930s which stated that he agreed to cease painting icons. She did not specify who – whether it was the nkvd , local activists, or a third party – drew up the document or forced him to sign it. It is clear only that it was a state agency. Mykhailo Ivanchenko said that he was told to stop painting by the nkvd . Andrii Oklei described the repression of a bohomaz in his village. This bohomaz was told to stop painting, although he apparently continued on a limited basis in secret. He had formerly transported his icons to sell at the bazaar but was no longer allowed to do so after collectivization. Those who repressed him he said were komunisty (Communists). Halyna Kramarchuk noted how as a pupil in school she was told that it was forbidden to take part in the religious processions of the village. The repression of the bohomazy probably had a far-ranging impact with regard to the form and content of many rituals which formerly included icons, although this was not a part of the questionnaire and consequently the survey produced little information on this subject. If a bohomaz was not allowed to paint and sell icons, then those icons that were needed in ritual contexts would eventually be difficult or impossible to purchase after a few years. Through the repression of the painter, the state was able to simultaneously suppress aspects of the public rituals in which icons formerly prominently figured. In other words, by repressing important village figures, fundamental aspects of village culture were repressed simultaneously. Cultural norms lived through the people that practiced them, not through static objects. This example is a reminder of what was discussed in chapter 1. A civil society is a long-standing congregation of people who act in voluntary agreement. If the people who practice these cultural or ritual norms are repressed, the culture itself is suppressed, with its norms and institutions declining and eventually disappearing. This was accomplished in the Ukrainian village through collectivization, followed by famine. Ivan Roman said that in his locale when a family was evicted from their home activists came in and took all the icons from the walls and destroyed them.

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Whatever else might have been left, displays of religious belief were destroyed outright. Yevdokia Severyn said that local activists ordered people to take icons off their walls. Apparently, people did not comply, leaving at least one or a few icons on the walls. Activists did not force everyone to take every icon down, but they did forcibly enter the homes of selected villagers and destroyed all of their icons. Nadia Onufriichuk also confirmed that villagers were told by local activists to take their icons off the walls of their homes.

i n te rv i ew exc erp ts: b oh om a zy a n d th e produ c tion of ic ons Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – Were there any people who painted icons? ivan ivanovych: Denysenko’s grandfather was a bohomaz. He was from Baturyn and lived and painted in the village called Drazdavytsia. There’s still one icon by him in the village. He worked at home. Some people would go to learn how to paint from him. He painted for people if they commissioned icons and also took his icons to a bazaar in Chernihiv and Homel. – Did this bohomaz exchange icons for goods? ivan ivanovych: Back in the day, everything was exchanged for bread because one had to eat something. The Revolution was a hard time, and people exchanged goods. – Did he use gold in painting? ivan ivanovych: He painted with oil on a wooden plate; there were no flowers. – Did he have a farm? ivan ivanovych: He had a wife. They had cattle. – How many icons should there be in a house? ivan ivanovych: In a richer house there used to be five to six icons; sometimes one or two. If one had a wedding in a church, two or more icons were used. – Who were the saints? ivan ivanovych: The Mother of God and Jesus Christ; and St Nicholas. In the icon corner of the room (pokut) one had to put rushnyky and an altar lamp. An icon alone did not look good. – Why were the icons placed in a coffin? ivan ivanovych: I suppose they thought that God would forgive their sins. A mother would bring an icon while seeing her son off to the army, to bless him. They would give the person who left small icons. – Did the people pray to a particulat icon? ivan ivanovych: No, they prayed to all the icons.

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Marfa Oleksiivna Bila (Vinnytsia region) – What were the icons like? marfa oleksiivna: St Nicholas, St Barbara, Christ the Savior, and other saints. – Did it matter where each icon was placed? marfa oleksiivna: No, it didn’t. There were many icons. – How much did one have to pay for an icon? marfa oleksiivna: First of all, icons were not expensive – not more than one to three rubles. – Where did people buy them? marfa oleksiivna: People would go to the bazaar in Shaihorod or Bar. – Did the people go around the village selling the icons? marfa oleksiivna: No. They would take them to a bazaar where the buyer would buy them. – Did the painters sell the icons they made? marfa oleksiivna: The painters also sold their icons. – Were there any icon painters in your village? marfa oleksiivna: No. People say there were bohomazy in Stepanky. There was an old man and an old woman who painted on canvas while the church was being built. When it was finished, people bought the icons everywhere – white and yellow icons, very beautiful. – Did people exchange icons for some goods? marfa oleksiivna: When people from Pysarivka used to come, they would bring goods for an exchange. I didn’t have to exchange anything. – Did you put rushnyky on the icons? marfa oleksiivna: At first, no. We’d put green twigs and flowers around the icons, but not rushnyky. Some people would put an altar lamp in front of the icons, in the corner. People would buy some things for the church. – Did people put icons in a coffin? marfa oleksiivna: Small icons would go in the coffin. – Which saint did they put in a coffin? marfa oleksiivna: Any saint they had at hand. – Did it happen that people prayed to one particular icon in the house? Marfa Oleksiivna: Maybe some people did, but when I prayed, I just prayed. That’s it. Yevdokia Petrivna Bondarenko (Kharkiv region) – Was there an icon painter in the village? yevdokia petrivna: No.

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– Where did people buy the icons? yevdokia petrivna: My mother and grandmother bought these icons; these are old icons. – Were they painted on wood? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, covered with glass. – Are your icons covered with glass, too? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, both Christ the Savior and the Mother of God. I also have the Rosary there. I still have two of those. Maria Petrivna Voitenkova (Kharkiv region) – Were there bohomazy in your village? maria petrivna: No. Some would come from other villages or perhaps from the town. – Did people commission icons? maria petrivna: They didn’t commission icons, but donated materials, portraits. Painters would take the materials, make icons, and give them back. – Where did people buy icons? maria petrivna: In the stores. – If a young woman was getting married, where did her parents buy the Blessing? maria petrivna: In the stores. I had a few icons when I was getting married; they were broken during the war, but the plates remained of Christ the Savior and the Holy Virgin Mary. I put an icon into my husband’s coffin. It’s recommended to put the icons used during the wedding into the coffin when one of the couple dies. His icon was well preserved; I put white paper around its edges. Mine was damaged by woodworms. Someone stole my icon when I moved out. There’s a plate and a cross there. I pray to them. … – What word did people use in your village: “ikony” or “obrazy”? maria petrivna: Both words were in use. – Or did the people say “bohy” [Gods] for icons? maria petrivna: They used that word, too, when they were talking to children: “Don’t do this, this is Bozia.” … – Were the local authorities against the icons? maria petrivna: Sometimes the icons would be thrown away or hidden; some people kept them. We did not throw ours away. – Did you hide them? maria petrivna: No, we didn’t. – Did the authorities come to your house and ask why you kept the icons?

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maria petrivna: The authorities didn’t come. Sometimes a visitor would

come and see the icons, but he had no right to make me throw them away. The authorities went around asking who recognized God and who didn’t, and they took notes. My husband and I said, “We recognize God.” They wrote it down. Some people would say, “We do not recognize God.” They wrote it down, too. – Was it before the war? maria petrivna: This was before the war. The times were hard. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – Were there bohomazy in the village? fedora yukhymivna: No, not in our village. The icons would be brought from elsewhere. – Were these men or women, or someone who’d come by cart? fedora yukhymivna: I don’t know. – Were these Russians or Ukrainians? fedora yukhymivna: Probably Russians. Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region) – Were there painters-bohomazy? mykhailo hryhorovych: Painters-bohomazy? Yes, I’ve heard of them. More often, those were professional painters. For example, during the difficult 1920s, there was a painter Diachenko, a relative of Shevchenko. He died of hunger in Kyrylivka. He painted icons. There was also Makushenko in Lysianka. He studied in the Academy of the Arts and painted icons. There were more bohomazy whose names I have forgotten. There was one in Stepne. I have notes on their names somewhere. When I came back from the concentration camp in the Far North, I no longer painted; just made a couple of icons. The village people asked me to. – Did the people bring you the reproductions? mykhailo hryhorovych: No, no. I had my own. I started working in Talne. First, they didn’t want to give me work, but later accepted me into the dom kultury [Building of Culture]. I was allowed to live one hundred km. away from Kyiv. One photographer in Talne started taking photos of the icons. At the time, I was making oklad, the shiny gold plating. I was cutting out the flowers for it. This was our enterprise with the photographer until I was called by the authorities and told to stop doing it. – Who called you? mykhailo hryhorovych: The authorities in the Department of Culture.

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The kgb established strict surveillance on me – both disclosed and undercover surveillance. I also had so-called ‘friends.’ They did their job well, but I knew what was going on. I had intuition. I had seen everything in the concentration camp. Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk (Kharkiv region) – Did the Communists go from house to house telling people to remove the icons? anastasia trokhymivna: No, they didn’t say anything about the icons, but they went around confiscating grain in 1932. They would check everywhere and take everything. What could you say? Nobody said anything. Hanna Fedorivna Konovalchuk (Vinnytsia region) – Were there any icon painters? hanna fedorivna: Yes, but they are now dead. I used to buy icons, but not in our village. There was an icon salesman in Rozhniativka. Such people were called bambon. They were not painters, but resellers. – How many icons did you have in the house? hanna fedorivna: The icons cost ten to thirty rubles. – Did you put rushnyky on the icons? hanna fedorivna: Not back in the day, but now people do. – Did you pray to one specific icon? hanna fedorivna: No. There’s only one God. The church says the same. – What did you do with old icons? hanna fedorivna: They were thrown into the river. Halyna Mykolaivna Kramarchuk (Vinnytsia region)

halyna mykolaivna: We used to buy icons at the bazaar. We have a

minor holiday in the fall because our church was opened on this holiday. On this day, we have a vidpust (indulgence), and people come from far away bringing icons for sale. – Did you buy any icons? halyna mykolaivna: Yes, but the prices were different at the time. You could buy an icon for three rubles. – How many icons did you have in the house? halyna mykolaivna: One could come into a house and lose count of them; there were so many: the Holy Virgin, Christ the Savior, and I don’t know which other ones.

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– Was there an order in which the icons had to be displayed? halyna mykolaivna: Of course. First, one would put the Mother of God and Jesus Christ; the rest would follow. In the middle, one would have either the Holy Virgin or Jesus Christ. We had a tradition: if a young woman was getting married, she would take the Holy Virgin and Christ the Savior. The groom would hold Christ the Savior, and the bride – the Holy Virgin. They would be the first to walk. If someone did not have icons to use at a wedding, they could borrow them from other people. The best ones were used for such occasions. – Did you pray to one specific icon? halyna mykolaivna: I don’t know. No, we prayed to all the icons. – What did you do with the old icons? halyna mykolaivna: Sometimes people would whitewash them. Sometimes people would restore them. No one destroyed icons. – Did you hear that a saint can punish a person of their choice? halyna mykolaivna: This used to happen, so I would wonder who punished me and why? Then you would ask God or the saint, but I cannot say more. I wasn’t raised with this mindset. Even though I am old, I grew up in times when this was not common. – Do you remember khresni khody with the icons? halyna mykolaivna: No, this didn’t happen during my time. We were told in schools that all this was not true. A history or geography teacher would come and say, “The saints get renewed and cry? [A reference to miraculous, self-induced renewal of the image in the old, darkened icons and the phenomenon of myrrh-streaming icons. – trans.] This is all a hoax. None of this is real. How can a saint cry if it’s just a painting?” Halyna Dmytrivna Lazarenko (Poltava region) – Were there bohomazy in your village? halyna dmytrivna: Yes, there were, but I don’t remember their names. They painted the Mother of God, Jesus Christ, the Lord, and the apostles in the church, and then the icons got renewed. The bells would toll, and people would come for prayer. – Did bohomazy have students? halyna dmytrivna: Yes. – Were they peasants? halyna dmytrivna: Yes, they were peasants who worked the land. – Whom did they make icons for? halyna dmytrivna: For the church and the people. They could give one for free to a poor person.

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– Were icons sold at market fairs? halyna dmytrivna: I know they used to be sold at market fairs, but I don’t know at what cost. A couple would come to a fair to buy icons for their wedding. – Which icons were more common? halyna dmytrivna: The ones painted on wood. – Were icons exchanged for other goods? halyna dmytrivna: Those who did not have money would exchange goods for icons. – What paints were used to make icons? halyna dmytrivna: Various paints, including gilding. – Did a painter have a farm? halyna dmytrivna: Yes, they lived well. – How many painters were there in the village? halyna dmytrivna: Five or more. – How many icons did you have in your house? halyna dmytrivna: The icon corner was full of them, and there was also an altar lamp that was lit at all times. It would be lit on Sundays and holidays. – Did you pray to Zastupnytsia [the Panagia Agiosoritissa – an icon of the Virgin Mary depicted alone, in profile, facing towards her left with her hands raised in supplication – ed.]? halyna dmytrivna: I don’t remember this. – Is it believed that the spirit of the dead lives on behind the iconostasis? halyna dmytrivna: Yes. – What did you do with the old icons? halyna dmytrivna: We kept them. Sometimes the Poles would come to buy them. – Did you cover the icons during Lent? halyna dmytrivna: No. We would bring hay to the icon corner and have uzvar, kutia, pea bread, and bean pies. – To whom does one pray to have their wish fulfilled? halyna dmytrivna: The Mother of God and St Nicholas. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Where did you buy icons? ivan serhiiovych: We used to say “obrazy” for icons. They were commissioned through the church, and the Russians would bring them to the bazaar. We would buy them there. – Were there icon painters in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Not in our village. Back in the day, there were no paintings or photos. They started appearing after the Revolution, in 1926.

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– Did you have any icons in your house? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. We had some here, too, but they were old and damaged. I took them home. – Were they painted on wood? ivan serhiiovych: They had wooden frames. – Did you put an altar lamp near an icon? ivan serhiiovych: At the time, it was mandatory to put an altar lamp where the icon was. – When did you light the altar lamp? ivan serhiiovych: Saturday evening and Sunday morning; the lamp was on while the church service was in progress until 12 o’clock. We would also light a lamp on all the major holidays: Easter, Christmas, and Pentecost. – Did you put rushnyky on the icons? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Woven or embroidered ones? ivan serhiiovych: We called them “ruski” – long, red ones. We didn’t use the woven ones because they were short. Andrii Platonovych Oklei and Marfa Illivna Oklei (Kharkiv region) – Were there bohomazy in your village?

andrii platonovych: Yes.

– Who were they?

andrii platonovych: One of them was my friend Stepan Volosianka. He worked near Lyman and painted icons, too. – Did he live in Lyman? andrii platonovych: Yes. His wife is still alive, and they have a daughter. He made many icons at the time when it was forbidden to make icons or have them at home. They forbade, but he kept making them in secret, and those who knew would come to buy them from him. – What material did he paint on? andrii platonovych: On wood. I used to make wooden plates myself. I would saw as many as I needed. Then I would put them on glass using a specific tool (odbolnyk), measure them up, and put a gold leaf (shumykha) from the old icons around. marfa illivna: It was an old icon, and he just worked on the edges. It was the Mother of God, and he made St Nicholas. – Whom did Stepan make icons for? andrii platonovych: He made icons just like that. Whoever wanted to buy would buy them later. – Were you and Stepan the same age?

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andrii platonovych: Yes, we went to war together. – When did he make icons? andrii platonovych: Before the war. He lost one arm during the war. – Could he sell icons at the bazaar? andrii platonovych: It was forbidden at the time, but people would come to his house to buy icons. I don’t know if he continued making them after the war. – Did he make some money from the icons? andrii platonovych: I don’t know; I never asked how much he earned. – Did he only sell the icons, or did he sometimes exchange them for other goods? andrii platonovych: I don’t know. He was also a fisherman. – Did he gild the icons or just paint them? andrii platonovych: No, he painted the silver ones; they are called shumykha [gold leaf; also called sukhozlitka]. I don’t know where he got it from; someone must have brought it from elsewhere. – Did he paint on canvas, too? andrii platonovych: No, only on wood. – Which tree did he use? andrii platonovych: Any tree; pines for instance. He used to come to our house, and my wife went to theirs. We were friends. – Did he have a farm? andrii platonovych: He had everything. – What was his wife’s name? andrii platonovych: Uliashka. She lives on Hlynychka Street. – Who forbade him to paint and sell icons? andrii platonovych: The Communists. My wife used to go to church nearby; she had to pay five rubles to go. – Five rubles as a ticket or as a fine? andrii platonovych: If you were a believer, you had to pay to go to pray. – When did people commission icons: for the benediction or just like that? andrii platonovych: He would make them just like that. I’m the unskillful one. If I could make icons, I would – instead of sitting around. I can neither draw nor paint. … – Who painted the icons in the church? andrii platonovych: I don’t know about that. – Were there other bohomazy? andrii platonovych: There were some more in Lyman, but I didn’t know them.

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Nadia Yakivna Onufriichuk (Vinnytsia region) – Were icons sold at the bazaar? nadia yakivna: Yes. – Do you know any icon painters? nadia yakivna: I forgot that I wrote down the name of the painter who painted the icons in our old church. – Were there icons in houses? nadia yakivna: Yes, I had icons in my house all the time. – Were you ever forced to remove the icons? nadia yakivna: This used to happen, but I kept my icons at all times. I worked in the kolhosp, and they could not be too strict with those who worked in the kolhosp. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – Were there painters-bohomazy who made icons in your village?

motria tymofiivna: Not in our village. The icons would come from

elsewhere. – Did people with the icons come when the church was being built? motria tymofiivna: They’ve come recently to paint the saints on the walls. Back in the day, there were only icons in the church. If someone died, the family would donate an icon to the church. Both churches in the village were full of icons. – If your mother wanted to have icons in the house, where would she buy them? motria tymofiivna: Icons were sold at the bazaar. – Do you remember how much they cost? motria tymofiivna: I would buy the ones I liked. – What word did you use for icons? motria tymofiivna: Some people call them “obrazy” and others “ikony.” – Did you use the word “bohy”? motria tymofiivna: Yes. People used different words for icons. – Which icons were most frequently used in houses? motria tymofiivna: Christ the Savior was the law. – What was the name of the place where icons were hung at home? motria tymofiivna: You must have the Mother of God in the pokut (the corner in which icons were hung in the house). – Is the icon of St Nicholas mandatory? motria tymofiivna: We didn’t have one; maybe other people did. – Why did people sometimes use an altar lamp? motria tymofiivna: Perhaps for decoration or when someone died. I

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have one here for the deceased. It was customary to light one when someone died, and if you didn’t have a lamp, you would borrow one. – Did people put an icon near the head of the deceased? motria tymofiivna: Yes, and they still do. – Why is it done? motria tymofiivna: Who knows? When I die, they won’t put an icon into my coffin because I don’t know how to pray. I just live, so I guess no one will put an icon into my coffin. I have read all the books from the library and remember them all. There isn’t a single book in the library that I haven’t read, but when it comes to a song or something churchy, I can’t remember a thing. – Was there an icon in the church that one prayed to before leaving the village? Motria Tymofiivna: Yes, there’s one icon like that. Priska Fedorivna Reva (Kharkiv region) – Were there any potters in your village?

priska fedorivna: No.

– What about bohomazy? priska fedorivna: They used to come from elsewhere; there were no local ones. – Did they sell icons? priska fedorivna: They used to come and take pictures of what we needed. Then they’d use the photographs to paint. They used to bring many icons to sell. – Where did people buy icons? priska fedorivna: In the church and at the market. – Where at the bazaar were they placed? Priska Fedorivna: There was a special store for icons. They also sold them in churches. I only have the icons that were for sale. I don’t know who made them; the women used to sell them. – How many icons did your parents have? priska fedorivna: Our house burned down. There were about four icons. – Were the icons decorated with rushnyky? priska fedorivna: No, they would just hang on the wall. Roman Ivan Samsonovych (Poltava region)

ivan samsonovych: My mother was religious and pious. Our generation grew up without religion because we were taught differently in schools and religion was persecuted in many ways. There were no churches at the time; they were all demolished, but we had icons at home. My wife’s grandfather

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had a house full of icons, but when they went through rozkurkulennia [“dekulakization” – eviction and and banishment] (they only had two hectares of land, but owned a steam mill), they were chased out of their house and their icons were destroyed. Tetiana Panasivna Saliienko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any bohomazy in your village? tetiana panasivna: I haven’t seen any. My parents bought ready-made icons. There was a store that sold them. When a couple was getting married, they had to have two icons for the wedding: Christ the Savior and the Mother of God. When we were chased out, I lost track of who kept the icons. Later on, I found one at my in-laws, but the icons that were for sale were expensive. – How many icons did your parents have? tetiana panasivna: They had icons in each corner; for example, that one is theirs. They didn’t have more icons than that. I have seen many more icons at some acquaintances’ houses. One woman invited me for her grandfather’s funeral, and I saw so many icons at her place. Her room was smaller than this corridor, but the icons were of all sizes. She said she used to pay four hundred rubles for each at the time. – How many icons did you have when you started living here during the kolhosp era? tetiana panasivna: Just my benediction. I gave icons to those who didn’t have them; they were learning. Her mother died long ago. [Pronoun antecedent of “her” is unclear in the original. – trans.] – When the kolhospy started, could you keep the icons in the house or did you have to hide them? tetiana panasivna: No, I never hid them, and no one asked me about them. Not even during the German occupation. The Germans were not against icons; they even liked them. No one reproached me or threw away the icons. The foreigners were nasty in so many ways, but they didn’t throw away the icons. Olena Volodymyrivna Sinkevych (Vinnytsia region) – How many icons did you have in the house? Were teachers forbidden to have them? olena volodymyrivna: Yes, the teachers were forbidden to have icons, but until recently I had the icon that my parents used during their wedding. Not long ago, my son gave it to someone in the village; I was angry he did this. I only had two icons, but they were not on the

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walls of course. Other people had several icons hanging throughout the room, and they still have them. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko (Cherkasy region) – Do you remember any bohomazy? mykola panteleimonovych: We had one painter: Lukian Hryhorovych Horsky. He graduated from the Kyiv Orthodox Christian Art School named after Murashkin; before that he worked as a self-taught painter in Pochaiivska Church. When he graduated from art school, he came to our village to teach and paint icons. I saw them. – Did people come to him to commission icons? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes. I must add that he was a very good icon painter. It was not craft, but art. – Were the icons painted on wood? mykola panteleimonovych: He painted both on wood and on canvas. He was the only painter in our village; I don’t know any other ones. – How much did he charge for a commission of two icons? mykola panteleimonovych: At the time, it was around thirty to forty karbovantsi. … – When you were little, how many icons were there in your house? mykola panteleimonovych: At times we had two, and at times – ten. They were placed in both directions from the corner of the room; we had many of them. I used to organize koliadky and shchedrivky; I was the second voice, and my friend was the first voice, a treble. We used to sing together. One time – I still remember this – we came to the house of Ivan Kyrychenko. He was a respected and religious man, and his house was like the one described in Taras Bulba, I promise. In the middle there was a large painted beam, no hallway, just one spacious room, not fewer than ten icons, and an entryway with pottery, bread, and the burning candles. We sang one song, but he wouldn’t let us go, so we sang about five songs; he loved them so much. Then he treated us to stuffed pastries and kovbasa. We were barely able to leave. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – Where did you buy the icons for your wedding day?

anastasia yukhymivna: We already had them.

– What were they called?

anastasia yukhymivna: Mother’s Benediction. – Where did your mother get them?

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anastasia yukhymivna: She bought them. – Was there an icon painter in your village? anastasia yukhymivna: Yes; he was called a bohomaz. – Does he have a son or a daughter? anastasia yukhymivna: He has a son, but he lives somewhere far. The bohomaz’s name was Yakiv. – Did he paint for the church? anastasia yukhymivna: Both for the church and for individuals, if they commissioned icons. The icons were treated as the old ones. – Where did he sell the icons: did the people go to his place to buy them or did he take them to a bazaar? anastasia yukhymivna: No, someone else would take them to the bazaar. – How was he paid? anastasia yukhymivna: With money. – How many icons did your parents usually have in the house? Anastasia Yukhymivna: As many as they wanted. Andrii Fedorovych Filatov and Maria Mykolaiivna Starikova (Kharkiv region) – What was the name of the corner where people put the icons? andrii fedorovych: The holy corner. – [addressed to Maria Mykolaiivna: What was it called in your house?] maria mykolaiivna: Back in the day, when people built a house, they would not start living in it until it was consecrated. A priest was called to consecrate the house. Then they would move in and live in it. – What was the name of the shelf where the icons were placed? andrii fedorovych: Bozhnychka. maria mykolaiivna: We called it vuholnychok. Antonina Sevastiianivna Firman (Vinnytsia region) – Did you put an altar lamp next to the icon?

antonina sevastiianivna: Yes. We would light it up for Christmas Eve, Christmas holidays, and Easter. – How much did one have to pay for an icon? antonina sevastiianivna: Three rubles. It was a lot of money; you could buy a beautiful icon with that. – Could you exchange an icon for other goods? antonina sevastiianivna: Yes. People would bring icons to our village from Pysarivka and exchanged them for produce; this was in 1933 and 1947

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because those were difficult times [i.e., famine], deaths, and desperation. I didn’t get any icons because I had no produce to give in return. I would have liked to; those icons were beautiful, but I had nothing to give for them. Halyna Ivanivna Sholudko (Kyiv region)

halyna ivanivna: He [father] painted the iconostases in church, and the

church commissioned works from him. He worked at home. … halyna ivanivna: He was born in the village called Kalne of Rzhyshchenskiy raion. He was gifted. He’d take the calves to graze and then sit down on the grass and draw on wooden plates. My father went to a painter in another village – Staky of Rzhyshchenskiy raion. That painter said, “Bring me that guy.” And so, my father stayed with him as an apprentice. He would ask my father to copy something and liked his work. He said, “I’ll keep this guy as an apprentice; he’ll be a good painter.” My father agreed and kept working for him for over a year. The painter liked him. My father’s work was clean and beautiful. The painter would say, “I have a lot of work. Stay and work with me.” My father would finish the painter’s work if he had to leave for some time. – Do you know what kind of work they did? halyna ivanivna: They did everything. My father did all kinds of jobs in the church: the kind of drawers called kiioty [etchings on copper], carpentry, gilding, and carving flowers on gold leaves. – In which villages did your father work in churches? halyna ivanivna: He did a lot of work for our church, but it doesn’t exist anymore. I met a woman once near the icon of Mykolai and she said, “Your father made this one.” There’s one more icon in our small church that he made, in the kutok (neighborhood) of Mykolaiin. All the other icons were made by other people. My father died before he turned sixty. He became ill after the famine. There was a huge epidemic of dysentery and not a doctor in the village, and he died [from dysentery]. This chest is also his work. He also used to paint chests. One woman commissioned a special chest as she was getting married. She wanted my father to paint – on the top of the chest – Petro and Natalka sitting on a tree stub, which he did. He painted a circle in cerulean color and the woods on each side, the trees, and Petro and Natalka on the stump, talking. Petro has his hand on his bag. I don’t know where this chest is now. This couple lived long together, but then he left her for another woman. Perhaps they gave the chest to their relatives. Their parents died, so no one knows where the chest is. I didn’t ask him. – Did people come to him asking to paint Jesus Christ or the Mother of God? halyna ivanivna: He painted for people across the whole spectrum.

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People knew him. He’d especially paint a couple of icons if a young woman was getting married: Christ the Savior and the Mother of God. Once he finished these, he would start another pair of icons. He also did the gilding; he did everything himself. – What kind of wood did he use? halyna ivanivna: Mostly willow and alder. He made the plates himself. He didn’t use pine tree and bought the paints in Kyiv. – Why did he move from Kalne? halyna ivanivna: He got married. In my mother’s family there were four children. My mother was taken in as a servant by one man (he’s long dead), and then things turned around – he treated her as his own daughter. He was rich, and she was a tidy and beautiful woman. She could do any kind of work, and he bought her clothes and took her to her wedding. My father knew her well and married her. He made some money and bought a house in Stare, so they lived here. – Was it here that he became such a master? halyna ivanivna: He was a good painter back in Kalne. I don’t know if he studied or not, but no one could write better than him. He was good at reading and writing. He read the psalms and Kobzar [by Taras Shevchenko]. He was self-taught and also had apprentices who lived with us. My mother used to say that she was tired of cooking for such a large family. The last apprentice came from Rohozov; he was an orphan and his foster family learned that there was a painter in Stare. They came to my father and said, “Take this guy and teach him because he is an orphan.” This guy studied and learned to paint. He later married my mother’s relative. He lived in Rohoziv and had a daughter. Shavronchyk was either his last name or a nickname. No one from Stare studied with my father. The apprentices he had would help him prepare the wooden plates. He would give them the materials and show how to make a plate; then the plate had to be coated. The coating was made of yolk, egg white, and chalk. Egg white had to rot a little to be whipped easily. Then my father would add chalk to it until the texture was that of sour cream. He used a special brush to coat the wooden plates. After the coating had dried, he used a special cutting tool to even out the surface until it was as clean and shiny as glass. Only then would he paint. At times he would paint from memory if he knew the icon well. At other times, he used materials from a drawer with photos of icons – both local and from elsewhere. He had a magnifying glass in that drawer. Then he would draw and paint the edges of the plate. Sometimes, I would be there, watching him work. If you came and paid a commission, he would start painting right away. – Did people come to commission portraits? halyna ivanivna: Back then, no one had time. You would have to sit for

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a portrait, but girls your age went to work. He painted portraits of military commanders from their photos, if they brought some. This was before the war, after the Revolution. – Was one afraid to paint icons after the Revolution? halyna ivanivna: It was not forbidden after the Revolution. It was during collectivization that they started dismantling churches, chasing people out, and banning people from going to church. My father was summoned by the authorities and told to stop painting icons or else they would send him to prison. He was summoned to Kyiv, I’m not sure where exactly, perhaps to the nkvd. He told them he would stop painting. – He earned his living painting, didn’t he? Or did he also do something else? halyna ivanivna: He had a garden and some land. He had four sons and three daughters. I was the youngest; one of my brothers still lives in Kyiv. – Did he have much land? halyna ivanivna: No. Land was available for sale at the time. He bought 0.3 hectares when the boys grew up a little. During the day, he would paint. He also had horses; we, the older girls, and our mother would go to work in the field. He wasn’t rich because he had many children. Everything he earned was spent on us and to buy land. At the time, there was also a big fire in the village that took forty houses. The local guys took the cows to graze nearby and cut some twigs to make kovinky (a Ukrainian game for boys that resembles hockey and golf). They hid in the barn and made a fire, but apparently, they didn’t put it out and the barn burned down. Everyone was away in the fields harvesting. – You said he made brushes himself? halyna ivanivna: Yes, if he didn’t have any, he’d make new ones from a tail of a horse or pig hair. Back in the day, they did not burn pig skins, but just plucked out the hair. More often than not, he bought brushes and cutting tools in Kyiv. He had a very good tool for gilding. It looked like bronze powder. He also had a small book of gold leaves, thin as cigarette paper or cobweb. He had a lot of painting materials. He made this, for example – painted an icon on the plate without a frame, and then made a frame separately. He used the same coating to even out the frame as he did for the wooden plates. When he did the gilding work, we were not allowed to enter the room because if you breathe or let the air in, you could scatter the gold powder. He used pure alcohol and oil. He had a very delicate brush made of the thinnest hair for this [known as “gilder’s mop”]. To apply the gold powder, he’d wipe the frame with pure alcohol and have oil on his hand; then he’d swipe the brush across the oil on his hand and pick up a piece of gold leaf with that brush. He’d see what size he needed and cut it with a thin, thin knife. It was a beautiful knife; he’d hide it from the boys, so they wouldn’t take it. Then he’d put it on a small

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cushion, something soft as a cushion. The gold leaves were 10 x 10 cm, but he needed various smaller sizes, so he would cut them with that knife, pick up a piece with the brush, and place it on the frame where it was supposed to go. Then he would even it out with a transparent hook [agate stone burnisher]. Then he would take another piece, and so it goes until he covers all the carved area with gold. It’s very hard to make sure that all the surfaces are even, but he was good at it. And it didn’t go bad because it was gold; it was expensive back then. Gold was glued on pure alcohol. It took a long time to describe the process, but he did it very quickly. – Did you try to learn from him? halyna ivanivna: No. This was at the time when he was forbidden to do this work. One time twelve people from the Tambov province [in Russia] came on foot to honor God and asked my father to paint an icon based on the drawing they brought. It showed some boys grazing livestock, a cloud above them, and the Savior on this cloud with a rainbow around him and the singing angels around the rainbow. After this icon, my father was forbidden to paint icons. That icon was the size of a chest of drawers, a bit lower. He painted it and sent it to them. It took him a long time to finish it because he had to make the plates and the carvings. He sent it to them and got paid, I don’t know how much. Then he also made an icon for Soshnyki and one for the church; the people raised the funds and commissioned it. I don’t know where that icon is. It was the same composition as the one for the people from Tambov. Then he signed some document as proof that he would no longer make any icons. After that, he worked the land. His icons are in many houses in Stare, but I don’t remember who exactly has them. He made too many. He only worked on commission. If he had a commission for icons, he’d make icons. If no one asked for an icon, he made windows, cupboards, or tables. He could make anything. – When people asked him to paint the icons for a wedding, who came to ask – the bride or the parents? halyna ivanivna: The parents commissioned icons in advance. They knew that the girl had reached marriage age, and they came to order an icon. He also made chests, but he didn’t paint anything decorative on them; he just painted them in one color. No one asked for decorative paintings on chests. They paid with money; it was rubles at the time, and the materials were expensive. He also had orders for small icons that were placed in the coffin. He painted everything in the church, including the images of the Savior on the ceilings. Our church had beautiful kiioty (etchings on copper) and iconostasis. It was a wooden church, but not very old. I remember people would go to the rye fields to consecrate the rye on Hryhorii’s (St. Gregory’s) Day; they would carry the crosses and the icons. The priest would minister, and

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people would sit down in circles in the field or the meadow and have dinner. The priest would carry a censer, and one man would carry an icon in front of him; the rest of the people carried crosses. The priest would sometimes sit down with the people for dinner. Not anymore. They also used to consecrate the water in the well as if it appeared there on its own. Again, they would have a procession with icons and crosses. Now we only have one cross left in the church. They use it when consecrating Easter bread. The priest would walk ahead and the people behind him would carry the icon. But I didn’t go there much because I went to work. … I used to watch my father work until he’d tell me to leave. He had his workshop in a separate room. We had a large house, but it burned down. … My mother used to say that there were three painters in Rudiakiv and I know one in Rohoziv; I don’t know any other painters that my father taught. – What types of icons did he prefer to paint? halyna ivanivna: Whatever people commissioned. If you ordered your portrait, he’d do it. He had many pictures of icons – the local ones and from elsewhere. He would give the customer many images to choose from. He also went to church and sang as a tenor there. My mother went, too, but we, the children, didn’t go often. We also have our father’s chest left.

7 Entertainment and Secular Rituals in the 1920s and Their Near Destruction in the 1930s

Collectivization followed by famine brought to an end many of the longstanding patterns of celebrating holidays as well as the public gatherings that were some of the primary sources of ritual (both secular and religious), entertainment, and relaxation for villagers. The cultural practices of peasant society were greatly truncated or obliterated altogether. This signaled the end of certain groups of performers of especially religious vocal genres. The peasant norms of entertainment and ritual were “replaced” by Soviet power with patterns of celebration and forms of entertainment that were similar to or derived from urban norms of the time, such as stage presentations and activities with an official organization as well as a clear vertical line of control, at the top of which were local activists and kolhosp and state officials. Prior to collectivization, entertainment and ritual were elements of a civil society. Villagers celebrated and conducted rituals according to patterns that were part of a traditional cultural fabric of long standing. These patterns did not require control or supervision from outside their cultural or social milieu. Collectivization and famine effectively destroyed the peasant norms in entertainment and ritual of civil society and the state became the primary organizer in this sphere. The structure of pre-collectivization peasant norms of entertainment and ritual was far different from that developed during collectivization. In addition, the content of the pre- and post-collectivization types of entertainment differed greatly. This chapter discusses seven topics pertaining to entertainment and ritual that were important to villagers of the 1920s or 1930s and on which collectivization and famine had a major impact: the kutok (literally “corner”) of a village (here meaning “neighborhood”), dosvitky/vechornytsi (evening gatherings of young people), the village club and its construction, the village instrumental musician and his performance contexts, the wedding sequence, seasonal ritual events and songs, and the startsi and starchykhy (blind quasi-itinerant street performers).

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1 Before collectivization, the kutok (“corner,” i.e., neighborhood) (pl. kutky) of the village in which a person lived was the primary focal point of her or his social life, especially but not only for young people. With few exceptions, social gatherings were of people of a given neighborhood, a kutok, not the village as a whole. There could be several kutky in a village. Before collectivization the social and cultural life of the neighborhood was entirely controlled by those few families that lived in that specific kutok. It is interesting to note that boys freely wandered among the various kutky, but girls, as a rule, did not venture forth from their neighborhood. As the civil society of the village was replaced by the centralized order of socialism, the selfcontrolled social life of the kutok decreased in importance, in some locales virtually ceasing to exist during and in the years immediately following the Holodomor. The pre-collectivization social patterns of the village were quite different from those that developed after collectivization. 2 Before collectivization, young people in the village had their own gatherings, organized by the participants themselves, most of which took place in a given kutok. Some were highly structured and involved definite patterns of work and play. Others were more spontaneous, unstructured events. One of the most important of these structured gatherings were the dosvitky (the word used in central Ukraine) or vechornytsi (the word used in much of eastern Ukraine). Girls and boys came together for purposes of work and play – or rather where girls gathered to work during the day – and boys gathered in the evening to play, with the two groups coming together in the evening. In all locales, such gatherings were organized by the participants themselves – primarily the girls. They came to an end in many locales in the early 1930s and ended definitively nearly everywhere else at the time of the famine. These gatherings lasted in only a few villages until the Second World War. They were ostensibly replaced by activities organized in the village club under the auspices of Soviet power. 3 The village club (klub) was organized by local activists and the village council, who needed to institute some kind of substitute structure for the feast and fast days as well as the dosvitky/vechornytsi and other structured events, rituals, and entertainment of peasant society before collectivization. The club in any given locale was part of a vast network of such entities not only in Soviet Ukraine but encompassing most of the ussr .1 The structure and content of entertainment passed into the hands of state officials, who exploited this power to attempt (and to a large extent succeeding) to truncate the civil 1 After the Second World War, this network was to expand into Eastern Europe and would have an impact on rural society and culture in distant lands such as Cuba, Southeast Asia, and elsewhere.

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society of the village, transforming village cultural norms into an image developed in distant urban areas by a handful of elite commissars. Village instrumental musicians, the muzykanty [sing. muzykant], who before collectivization performed in a variety of contexts, found their performances restricted with collectivization. Baptism ceremonies, dosvitky, and street gatherings mostly disappeared. Weddings did not take place during the famine at all. For years afterwards very few occurred, but they returned by the onset of the Second World War, although they were shorter and less elaborate. The wedding (vesillia, pl. vesil) in peasant society consisted of an intricate sequence of events lasting over several days. During collectivization, the wedding sequence was truncated, in some locales drastically, in others not as much. Weddings also formerly contained moments of religious piety and devotion, including performing the sacrament in church (vinchannia). These religious events in the wedding sequence, as well as songs and proclamations of religious content that were formerly common in village weddings, were banned by the authorities in the 1930s. There were several seasonal rituals that were to a greater or lesser extent suppressed in many (but not all) locales in the 1930s. Most were associated with a Christian feast or fast day that before collectivization were most often rendered by young people of a kutok. These included: blahovishchennia, vesnianky, petrivky, and Kupalo. Each ritual had a special and separate song repertory associated with it. There were other songs that were also suppressed in the 1930s. Kolhospnyky retaliated in a way by inventing countless songs with an anti-Soviet content. The (usually) blind itinerant singers known widely as startsi (m.) and starchykhy (f.) were among the important figures in the music culture of the village before collectivization. They performed a varied repertory, the most important part of which were the religious songs known as psalmy (psalms). In this group can be included the kobzari and lirnyky, the renowned blind peasant minstrels of Ukraine, who performed on instruments in accompaniment to their singing. They were severely repressed by Soviet power in the 1930s. The startsi and starchykhy who were vocalists only (no instruments) were also severly repressed in the 1930s. Their main performance contexts were virtually identical to those of the blind minstrels – singing at the bazaar, moving from house to house in the village, and next to the village church – and these were abolished by officials of the state. Many performers were apparently physically repressed. There was supposedly a gathering of blind minstrels in Kharkiv in 1933 in which all participants were murdered by state authorities. The composer Dmitri Shostakovich discusses this in one version of his autobiography. I have searched for independant documentation of this event but have been unable to locate any corroborating evidence.

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e x pre s si v e culture a nd c ivil so c iet y Some readers might be confused why elements of so-called “folklore” are included here as institutions of civil society. However, seen in a historical perspective, these are institutions of the civil society par excellence. Before collectivization in any given village, hundreds of people would take part in these activities, which were part of a long-standing cultural fabric that everyone in the village knew. These activities were realized only at certain ritual moments when people voluntarily came together on an equal basis to participate. The spring songs are a good example. Girls of a given neighborhood of the village gathered on Easter day and the next day and sang specific songs that were heard only at this time and no other. They did so because they wanted to take part in the ceremony. They knew the repertory, and no one had to direct them. This was an institution as old as anything that existed in the village. Girls from throughout the village participated – in a large village there were a hundred or more girls roaming the streets of their neighborhood and singing in groups of three or five or ten. The result was a cacophony of great complexity – a cloud of sound constantly moving and changing. This occurred simultaneously with the ringing of the church bells on Easter day and the following day. In addition, village boys, blowing on animal horns, each a different pitch, walked along and behind the bands of girls. One can only dream of the stupendous aural effect that all of this together must have produced. If this is contrasted with a typical Soviet folkloric ensemble from the 1930s or later, the significance of placing an analysis of pre-collectivization activities within the civil society rather than as folklore becomes clearer. A Soviet folkloric ensemble was directed by someone, usually not an individual chosen by the ensemble, but one who was assigned to the village as a music director trained by agencies of the state. The repertory and style of singing he brought was not tied to long-standing peasant rituals such as the spring songs, wedding songs, and the like, but consisted mostly of generic folk songs that could be sung anytime anywhere by anyone. Finally, and most significantly, few people took part in this activity in any given village, where there might be one or at most two such vocal ensembles with a total of ten to twenty people. For some of the differences between viewing these rituals as part of a civil society or as simply folklore, see table 7.1. There is one more important difference between these two approaches. The analysis of civil society can only be historical, while that of folklore can be (and usually is) unhistorical. This civil society can only be considered in situ, as part of peasant culture. Once the fabric of that culture was torn apart by collectivization and all but obliterated by famine, peasant civil society was largely destroyed. This included the spring songs and the other rituals mentioned above. Once they

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Table 7.1 Civil society of the 1920s

Folklore ensembles of the 1930s and afterwards

Hundreds participate

A few take part

Activities are at specific moments

Activities occur randomly

Participants congregate voluntarily

Participants congregate as part of an official group

It is a gathering of equals

A director leads the ensemble

ceased to exist as voluntary institutions as described above, they became nothing more than a folkloric element, rendered by no more than a handful of people – a pale imitation of a once vibrant culture.

k u t ok ( a v i l l ag e neighb orho od) The social organization inherent to the kutky [sing. kutok] was an important feature of village life before collectivization but has been discussed rarely in the ethnographic and folkloric literature, and virtually never by historians. A discussion of social gatherings such as dosvitky and weddings as well as of people who gathered to sing ritual songs is barely comprehensible without an understanding of the village kutky. Prior to collectivization most social life in the village did not take place village-wide; that is, it was rare for all villagers to come together at one time and in one place. The skhodky (elections) certainly were a village-wide occasion, although it was primarily for males of a certain age, while women and all children were excluded. Attendance at the village church in some locales was virtually village-wide, although many villages had two Orthodox churches, and some had a Catholic church as well. A few had a synagogue. Most social life of especially young, unmarried people was centered on the kutok of the village in which a person lived, not in village-wide gatherings. Most villages had several neighborhoods. This was not true for all villages. However, this residential pattern characterized the large majority of villages represented in the project survey. Only two interviewees in this project, Ivan Shamrai and Lykera Pasichnyk, said that there

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was no division of kutky in their respective natal villages, just one village. A kutok could have five or twenty or thirty houses (or khaziaii), as Barbaziuk says below. There was no average standard. Tetiana Barbaziuk – What was the name of the village neighborhood [kutok] where you lived? tetiana vasylivna: Prychepylivka. We had various neighborhoods: Berezivka, Trypalivka, Svytivka, Kohutivka, Skaly, and Voloshchyna. – How many houses were there at the time? tetiana vasylivna: Nobody counted the houses back then; we only counted farmstead owners [khaziaii]. A village with five or ten or even more kutky was usual. Even a small village could have two kutky. In addition, many villages included houses grouped in an outlying area set apart from the village proper, even a kilometer or so distant. Such an outlying grouping of houses was commonly known as a khutir [pl. khutory]. In terms of its social organization, it functioned like a kutok. Many khutory came into existence after the Stolypin reforms of the early twentieth century. Nevertheless, by the late 1920s they were a feature of many villages and their age (relative to that of the village itself) is irrelevant for the purposes of this project. Most interviewees could still name the kutky of their youth, even in villages where those names were no longer in use and in many instances, little known to today’s village youth. Neighborhoods (kutky) were often named after a family who lived there, usually for generations. It was customary to use the name of the kutok when addressing someone. It was not deemed offensive in the least. For example, if a family named Opanas had long lived on a given street, the people living in that neighborhood could all be called Opanasenky (Olha Bychenko). Alternatively, a neighborhood could be named after a physical characteristic. Varvara Chukhlib points out that a physical characteristic could be the name of a neighborhood, such as one called Natiahalivka (the verb tiahty means “to stretch”) because it was so spread out. Petro Kushnir mentions one called Husarka (husa means “goose”) because formerly many people there raised geese; or another called Verbovka (verba means “willow tree”) because it was lined with willow trees. Anastasia Tkachenko notes that sometimes a kutok became so large that it was redesignated a village in itself. In their youth, girls were deeply aware of which neighborhood had the best singers. There was no actual competition among them, it was simply an acquired knowledge (Odarka Kryvachenko, Marfa Zubaly). Even a cursory glance at the interview excerpts for the kutok / neighborhood shows that a single village could have a dozen or more neighborhoods. However,

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with the imposition of the kolhospy, these names were replaced. Two, three, or even seven or eight kutky were combined into one unit called “a region” or “a brigade” (Arkhyp Dzhyrma, Petro Kushnir, Anastasia Tkachenko). Petro Kushnir – Did the brigade-based names exist alongside or were they introduced after the kolhospy? petro ivanovych: The “brigades” appeared after the kolhosp. They split the village into ten parts – ten brigades. From here to there was one brigade. This, for example, was the fourth brigade. It was densely populated. The fourth brigade was from here to the store in Horobia including Tylhonova street. – Does this mean that the people worked in the same brigade or was this a tentative division? petro ivanovych: This was how it was divided. Land was divided into fields and then into brigades. Each brigade had a plan of what to sow – the amount of tobacco, for example – and the brigade would work in that field together. There were ten brigades and ten brigade leaders. Toward the end, this number decreased to three brigades, and now we have just one brigade [due to de-population of the village over time]. Returning to the period of the 1920s, when villagers gathered together for ritual or entertainment purposes, it was primarily and usually with those of their kutok, especially for girls, more rarely with people from other parts of the village, and virtually never with all villagers. This is an important fact to note for several reasons. There is a stereotypical conception of the village before collectivization which assumes that village social and ritual life was one big happy collective. In fact, most social gatherings were not only limited as to participants, but some were even restricted, most often to people of the same kutok, while many others were composed primarily of relatives and close neighbors from the kutok, while still others were also restricted to a specific gender and age group. A large part of an individual’s social intercourse was restricted not merely to others of the same kutok, but with those of the same gender and of approximately the same age. These gender and age group specifications are common in most parts of the world. The kutok was, in effect, a neighborhood, and functioned like neighborhoods in most other parts of the world.2

2 For a more detailed discussion of the significance of the gender and age group gatherings in village life both before and after collectivization, see Noll 1994b.

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Girls gathered at the dosvitky/vechornytsi to spin, weave, sew, and embroider. The participants were strictly regulated. Such gatherings could only be with girls of their own kutok, virtually never with girls from other kutky (described below in the Dosvitky section). Weddings were normally lavish affairs lasting several days. The main participants (bride and groom, bridesmaids, groomsmen, etc.) were usually only from the ranks of either relatives or friends from the same kutok (described below in the Weddings section). Many kutky were composed of people loosely related, which was especially the case with male descendants inheriting land from their father, who tended to live next to each other, thus over time creating a kutok of people of distant relations. Gatherings on the street to sing and dance were primarily with others from the same kutok (described below in the Muzykanty section). Boys and girls playing games were from the same kutok as were the girls who gathered to sing ritual seasonal songs such as the vesnianky, petrivky, kupalsky (described below in the Seasonal Rituals section), as were those who sang the koliadky (Christmas carols). As previously noted, with collectivization, the division of the village into kutky was superseded by a division into kolhosp brigades, with one brigade composed usually of the inhabitants of several kutky. In addition, the new, Soviet-built centralized village cultural center, the club (klub), took on many of the social contexts that had formerly been a feature of the neighborhood (kutok) and village civil society. The kutky were the basis of forming the brigades in most locales. Where before a street was known by the name of the kutok, in the 1930s it was often named, or in other cases renamed, with the names of Soviet heroes (a military leader of the past, later a cosmonaut, etc.). In most villages, the former names of the kutky were used less frequently after 1930. The village norm of designating an area by its neighborhood (kutok) name declined as the urban norm of using street names was increasingly put into place. The division of the village changed not only in terms of names (from kutky to brigade numbers), but in terms of function. The older division of kutky was based on the social order and geographic plan of the village and reflected long-standing elements of civil society: each neighborhood (kutok) was a self-organized social unit requiring no political hierarchy and no control from outside of its social milieu or geographic location, a part of the civil society. On the other hand, the division by brigade was based on the state organization of labor and reflected the priorities of the Soviet state, devoid of a relationship to the civil society. Each brigade was strictly controlled by village activists and kolhosp officials who fulfilled the demands of a vertical political hierarchy through a social organization that originated outside the social milieu of the kolhospnyky and in a distant geographic location.

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int erv i ew e xce rp ts : k u t ok ( a vill age neighb orho od) Tetiana Vasylivna Barbaziuk (Vinnytsia region) – What was the name of the village neighborhood [kutok] where you lived?

tetiana vasylivna: Prychepylivka. We had various neighborhoods:

Berezivka, Trypalivka, Svytivka, Kohutivka, Skaly, and Voloshchyna. – How many houses were there at the time? tetiana vasylivna: Nobody counted the houses back then; we only counted farmstead owners [khaziaii]. – How many khaziaii were there? tetiana vasylivna: Shtyfurak, Rizhok, Hordy, Sava Rudy – many. – Were there any large families? tetiana vasylivna: Yes, yes. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – What were the names of the neighborhoods in your village? paraska mytrofanivna: I no longer remember. Olha Andriivna Bychenko (Poltava region)

– What were the names of the neighborhoods [kutky] in your village? olha andriivna: My mother was born in Lysenkiv, and I was born in Lakeiiv. I don’t know how it was back then. We didn’t use to get offended if they called us by our street names. Some were Kiptsi, others Opanasenki. If the old man’s name was Opanas, so all the others would be called Opanasenky. There was also a kutok called Kvachi – after the last name. We had various neighborhoods. People use to say: this is Lysenkiv neighborhood, and that – Makeshyn or Ovramenkiv. Neighborhoods / kutky were named after the people who lived there. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – What was the name of the neighborhood [kutok] where you were born? varvara denysivna: Druha Zahreblia. – What other neighborhoods were there in your village? varvara denysivna: The other Zahreblia, Valiava, Nanovoselytsia, and Natiahalivka. Where I live now is called Pronivka. – Why was it called Natiahalivka?

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varvara denysivna: Because it stretched far [the verb tiahty in

Ukrainian means “to stretch”]. – In what neighborhood did your family live? varvara denysivna: Batkivska in Druha Zahreblia. I don’t know why it was called that way; it had its name for ages. Then we had three kolhospy in the village. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – What was the name of the neighborhood [kutok] where you were born?

arkhyp yakovych: Poselianivka.

– What other neighborhoods where there in your village? Arkhyp Yakovych: In my village? Volosna, Tserkovna, Lukiivka, Sopliakivka, Bukhtiivka, Druha Poselianivka, Sybirivka, and Khudiivka. I know them. I worked after the war. I had stomach surgery, and I was disabled. I was taken to the village council to work and spent sixteen years as a cashier there. That’s why I know the regions and villages. I knew the books of the village council very well. We [later] would call these neighborhoods the Third Region, the Second Region – and starting at the pond the Fifth Region, the Sixth Region, etc. Up the hill, you have Tytarivka (the Seventh Region) and down the hill – Bashlyk (the Eighth Region). We also had a Ninth Region. There were seventy-two houses in Skelky. All but two of them are gone now. – When did people start calling neighborhoods “regions”? arkhyp yakovych: Right away, as far as I remember being here. There were no “kutky.” – There used to be “kutky,” and then they were called “regions”? arkhyp yakovych: Later on, there were “regions”. It was good. If I wanted to look someone up, I’d go, “Where does Burman live? Aha, in the Third Region.” This was noted in the third book. When we had “kutky,” you couldn’t figure out who lived where. We had two hundred regions in the village and around 1300 houses. There were 71 houses in Skelka, and about 435 houses here. Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region) – What was the name of your neighborhood [kutok]? andrii hryhorovych: I was born in Bolikurivshchyna. Other neighborhoods were called Kozivshchyna, Luzhok (it’s called Shevchenko Street now), Zarechna, Pochtova, Serednia, Tsentralna, and Sralivshchyna (it’s called Polova street now). Sralivshchyna [the name refers to waste or excrement in Ukrainian] was so called because – I can’t say for sure, but I’ve heard stories – people used to clean the wells once a year, and nobody wanted to do this

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work. One old man did his business into the well, and this was what got the street its name. He did this to make people want to clean the well because it was the only one on the street. Such baloney. Hanna Petrivna Honcharenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any neighborhoods [kutky] in your village? hanna petrivna: Yes. Our village was very big. – What was the name of the neighborhood where you were born? hanna petrivna: Shliakh. We also had such neighborhoods as Yakry and Velykovykivka. The village was called Ohultsy. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko (Kharkiv region) – When did you sing?

paraskeva trokhymivna : You could sing whenever you wanted. If I wanted to sing at work, I would. My girlfriends and I would sing while peeling the sugar beets. There used to be some holidays in the kolhosp. If it was a Soviet holiday, they would organize performances. I was in charge of the kolhosp land plot [lankova], so they would give me the produce and tell me to gather the team for a party. We would gather one or two plot teams and celebrate. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Poltava region) – What were the names of the neighborhoods in your village? odarka yakivna: I was born in Toloka and moved here to Lysukha. Behind the church, we had Derkachivka – these were all neighborhoods – and there was also Bilach. – Why did people use that word? odarka yakivna: There used to be a forest there. Then people built houses and called the neighborhood Kabluchka because it would stretch on. They still call it that, but few people are left there. – What were the street names? odarka yakivna: We were called Diadiury. There were also Maksymenky, Sruli, Kyrylenky, Borshchi, Kazbany (this was our neighborhood), Kryvonosy, Moskovchenky, and Fershaly. … – When you were young, which neighborhood had the best singers? odarka yakivna: They say it was Toloka. – Would people invite a person with a good voice to move from one neighborhood to another?

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odarka yakivna: No. – Did neighborhoods use to complete? odarka yakivna: No, but boys used to gather and sing at one party and then go to another one. Girls would stay in one place and sing. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – When you lived in this neighborhood [kutok], what was it called? petro ivanovych: Sira. – Is it still called that? petro ivanovych: Yes. – Did the names like “the first brigade” or “the second brigade” appear after the kolhospy? petro ivanovych: The streets got their names long ago. When you enter the village, you have Reshetylovka. Further on was a store and then Nyzhcha. The street with the willow trees was called Zhabokriukovka; the one that leads here was called Husarka (people used to raise geese here). Our neighborhood was called Sira, meaning that “siriaky” [likely name of a family, Siriak] lived here. The neighborhood close to the village was called Selo, and the part at the edge of the village was called Verbovka. – Why Verbovka? Is this because of the willow trees? petro ivanovych: Yes, willow trees grew there. – Did the brigade-based names exist alongside or were they introduced after the kolhospy? petro ivanovych: The “brigades” appeared after the kolhosp. They split the village into ten parts – ten brigades. From here to there was one brigade. This, for example, was the fourth brigade. It was densely populated. The fourth brigade was from here to the store in Horobia including Tylhonova street. – Does this mean that the people worked in the same brigade or was this a tentative division? petro ivanovych: This was how it was divided. Land was divided into fields and then into brigades. Each brigade had a plan of what to sow – the amount of tobacco, for example – and the brigade would work in that field together. There were ten brigades and ten brigade leaders. Toward the end, this number decreased to three brigades, and now we have just one brigade. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – What were the names of the neighborhoods [kutky] in your village? mykola ivanovych: We had five: Lysivka, Pidhora, Klymivka, Kovryhy, and I forgot the fifth one.

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Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – What neighborhood [kutok] were you born in? ivan serhiiovych: Pronivka. – What other neighborhoods were there? ivan serhiiovych: Persha Zahreblia, Druha Zahreblia, Novoselytsia, Tuptyn Khutir, Persha Valiava, Druha Valiava, Persha Natiahalivka, and Druha Natiahalivka. Lykera Andriivna Pasichnyk (Poltava region) – Were there any neighborhoods in your village?

lykera andriivna: No, Bubnov was the only place. It was small and located near the Orikhovka River.

Olena Klymentiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region) – What were the names of the neighborhoods [kutky] in your village?

olena klymentiivna: We lived in Kyslovka. There were also Khutor,

Zelenukha, and Prychepylivka with three houses. Khutor was a very long street. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – What was the name of the neighborhood [kutok] where your family lived?

motria tymofiivna: Kuksivka. We lived near the market in the center of

the village. – What were the names of the neighborhoods in your village? motria tymofiivna: The village was large, and we had many neighborhoods: Svyniachy, Kuksivka, Dovhalivka, Zarichechka, Shutivka, Hryshkivka, and Zarichka. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – What was the name of the neighborhood [kutok] where you were born?

natalia hryhorivna: Kuchansky neighborhood was in the lower

part of the village. Others were Vyshchy, Shevchenkivsky, Yasynkivsky, Chernyshishivsky, and Kolesoshcha a bit farther away.

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Ivan Ivanovych Shamrai (Poltava region) – Were you born here [in Chyrkivka]? ivan ivanovych: I was born in Lykun, and I’ve lived here since 1946. – What were the names of the neighborhoods [kutky] in Lykun? ivan ivanovych: There were no neighborhoods at the time; it was one village. … – What were the names of the neighborhoods here? ivan ivanovych: Kolysnykivshchyna, Khoroshkivka, Dydenkivshchyna, Konoskivshchyna and Selo. Maryna Leontiivna Sheiko-Ivanyshyna (Sumy region) – Was your village divided into streets? maryna leontiivna: We had Matviievka, Podil, Zahiria, Chornivka, Syriakivka, Maznivka, Pidkuznivka. We had many streets. The ones that led to the center were called Shubivka and Pavlivka. I forgot some by now; the village was large. My street was called Maznivka because Mazno lived there. Yevhenia Dmytrivna Smola (Poltava region) – What were the names of the neighborhoods [kutky] in Kotliarevshchyna? yevhenia dmytrivna: Dyzderivka (because Mr. Dyzder lived there and built it on his land). People used to go to church in Ustymivka and later on to town – whichever was closer. … – What neighborhood had the best singers in your village? yevhenia dmytrivna: We had good singers here, and the girls in Dyzderivka sang very well, too. – Did singers use to move from neighborhood to neighborhood? yevhenia dmytrivna: Sometimes. – Was there any competition between the neighborhoods? Yevhenia Dmytrivna: No, nothing of this kind. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – What were the names of the neighborhoods [kutky] in your village? anastasia yukhymivna: Kerekivka, Kotsarivka, and Bondarivka. Bondarivka now is a village and my neighborhood. Others were

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Shlionchakivka, Varchankivka, Shpakivka, Tymoshivka, Koshovivka, and Buriachkivka. The last names were different. – After the kolhospy were set up, did these names change to brigades? anastasia yukhymivna: No, our first brigade was here: Korobivka, Zozulivka, and Kerekivka. We had a strong brigade. – How many neighborhoods were in one brigade: three, four, or five? anastasia yukhymivna: I don’t know, more than that. There was a garden brigade and a field brigade. The garden one used to plant vegetables and fruit, and the field one would take care of the wheat, corn, and potatoes. We had three or four brigades, I don’t remember, but we had many women workers. The harvest time was great: the haymakers would bring their scythes. We’d come to the kolhosp and then go to the steppes, each with its brigade. There were the haymakers and the women who sheaved. The children would walk around gathering the spikelets. Maryna Levkivna Tsap (Cherkasy region) – What was the name of the neighborhood [kutok] where you were born? maryna levkivna: This was considered Zabaryshchyna, and I was born in Berehovshchyna [bereh in Ukrainian translates as “the bank” (of a river)]. My mother lived near the shore. – What other neighborhoods were there in your village? maryna levkivna: Zabarivshchyna, Shutodolyna, Boikovshchyna, and Paikovshchyna. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – Was there a neighborhood in your village that had the best singers?

mykhailo antonovych: Yes, it was called Lysukh. Both girls and boys

used to sing. We had many singers in our village, and they were good. Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region)

– What was the name of your neighborhood? yakiv mykhailovych: Khrapaliv khutir. … – What were the other neighborhoods called? yakiv mykhailovych: There were many: Zahrebellia, Vysoka Street, Nyzka Street, Penky, Khomenky, Komarivka, Halyna, Lytmyk, Didiurivka, Seredyn Yar, and Tsehelnia.

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Marfa Kindrativna Zubaly (Cherkasy region) – When you were a young girl, what neighborhood [kutok] was considered the best? marfa kindrativna : People used to sing best where I lived. – What was your neighborhood called? marfa kindrativna: Tsaryna. – Why was it called that? marfa kindrativna: Because we lived near the church; we lived on this side, and the church was on the other side. That side was called Zhytska and there was also Koniushivka; Koniushi was the last name. People named Skyby lived in Skybyntsi, and at the foot of the mountain there was Khutir. That side of the village in Demky was called khutoriany. The volost was called Mosinska, and our village was big. When the churches were still standing, no one sang better than the people of Demky. There was a choir in the church, and nowhere did the girls sing better in the streets than in Demky. – Could women singers go from one neighborhood to another to sing? marfa kindrativna: No, this wasn’t customary. Each neighborhood had its own singers. We used to be able to hear when Olena sang on Zhytska street. – Did neighborhoods use to complete? marfa kindrativna: No.

d o s v i t k y / v echorn y tsi Before collectivization much of the social life of the young people of the village centered on gatherings which occurred from late autumn to Lent. Many of these gatherings were primarily for work, but they had an important social function as well. Girls and young women gathered in groups to work on the spinning, weaving, sewing, and embroidering that went into the accumulation of their dowry of clothing and linens and textiles in general. Some of these gatherings often and purposely became occasions for entertainment where unmarried boys and girls (usually from about twelve or fourteen years old to late adolescence) could freely mix among themselves, usually with a minimum of (or even with no) adult supervision. These gatherings differed to a certain extent from locale to locale and had regional names. The most important gatherings were those that took place in the evenings when the girls of a given kutok came together in a home in order to spin and weave material and embroider shirts, skirts, and blouses. The number of girls ranged from three or four to about ten or twelve. Boys from that neighborhood (kutok) as well as some from other kutky, and sometimes even from neighboring villages, arrived a few hours later. The boys played cards, joked with the girls, and

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engaged in rough house among themselves. Eventually the girls would cease their work and a full-fledged social gathering would take place, always with singing and sometimes with dancing. Around midnight some of the girls and boys went home, while others spent the night at the site of the gathering, with boys and girls even on occasion sleeping next to one another. Sexual intercourse between them was extremely rare and would have been considered a great insult to a girl if a boy actually tried. Once a boy and a girl had become engaged, they sometimes began sleeping together on a more regular and intimate basis. In the Cherkasy region and most of central Ukraine these social gatherings were called dosvitky while in the Kharkiv region and most of eastern Ukraine they were most commonly called vechornytsi. There were other regional names as well, e.g., vechorki in the Chernihiv region (Maria Nekhai). There were additional regional nuances. In some locales, there existed both terms, dosvitky and vechornytsi, and in such cases, they were two different types of gatherings. Sofia Hrushivska says that in her locale in the Cherkasy region dosvitky were gatherings of girls to work (embroidery, sewing, spinning), while vechornytsi were gatherings primarily to sing and dance and included both boys and girls. In still other locales, when girls came together to work in daylight hours – not a common occurrence because of the girls’ other work-related responsibilities – (when only work was tolerated, and no boys were allowed) – the gathering was called shvachky, and when they came together in the evenings (to which boys arrived later) the gathering was called dosvitky (Sofia Voropai). Regardless of the regionalization or the confusion over the terms, however, the purposes and activities of the gatherings were similar from region to region. For brevity’s sake, I use the word dosvitky as a generic term for these gatherings, and the word vechornytsi only when in specific references to gatherings in eastern Ukraine. The survey contains several substantial descriptions of dosvitky from before collectivization. A few of these interviewees include Halyna Hatko, Andrii Zaiets, and Pavlo Andriienko from the Kharkiv region; Hanna Zamohylna from the Poltava region; and Sofia Voropai and Sofia Hrushivska from the Cherkasy region.3 In all regions, dosvitky were organized by girls. It was their domain and they controlled where it was to be held and when. Usually, separate dosvitky took place in each kutok, and only girls from that particular neighborhood usually took part – the girls virtually never went to each others’ dosvitky. Boys, on the other hand, could be from any kutok in the village, even from neighboring villages, and they sometimes wandered from one dosvitky to another over the course of an evening. Andrii

3 There are several sources from the late nineteenth and early twentieth century ethnographic literature that pertain to dosvitky. These include Kolomiychenko (1918) and Repets'kyi (1918). For another discussion see Noll 1994b. The essay herein is based on material from the interviews and corresponds to the material from the ethnographic literature in most ways.

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Filatov said that he met his future wife at a dosvitka. He remarked that he and other boys purposely went to the dosvitky to meet and get to know girls. It was in this context, perhaps more than any other, that village boys and girls chose their future spouse. The dosvitky were not just for work but were venues for courtship. Dmytro Chuchupak, however, provides an entirely different view of this event. In most locales, the girls organized the dosvitky in a private home. Usually this was in the home of a widow or a childless couple (e.g., Halyna Hatko) or any woman or girl living alone (Pavlo Andriienko). In fewer locales the dosvitky were organized in the home of one of the girls of the kutok (Sofia Voropai, Maria Nekhai). In the former circumstance, the widow was paid by the girls in kerosene for her lamp and/or logs to burn in the home’s wood-burning stove. Hanna Zamohylna noted that they might pay the woman also with a bucket of potatoes, or a bundle of straw, or bread, salt pork, cooking oil, or milk. During dosvitky the girls worked by the light of a kerosene lamp, or in some cases by the light of a torch. Dosvitky were convened only in cold weather months, roughly from Pokrova (Feast of the Intercession) in November to Lent. Up to Christmas, dosvitky were held nearly every evening. Sometimes local instrumental musicians were hired to play for an evening at the dosvitky, with the boys paying the musicians. Alternatively, instrumental dance music could be provided by one or two of the boys who could play an instrument (in this case any instrument was possible). One interviewee (Sofia Voropai) claimed that there was only vocal music, never instrumental music, but this seems to have been an anomaly, and most other interviewees note the presence of instrumental music in the evenings after work at least part of the time. The girls sang most or much of the time while they worked. Once the dancing began, they would sing between dance pieces or off on the side of the room or even outside, usually in groups, but during dosvitky rarely as a solo. In most locales, the boys seem to have sung little or not at all, preferring to play cards. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko – Were there any musicians at the dosvitky? odarka yakivna: They were local guys who partied with the girls. – What instruments did they play? odarka yakivna: Bubon, harmonia, and balalaika. Anyone who could dance would come out to dance when they played. Mykhailo Ustymenko – When you got together for the vechornytsi, did the guys pay the muzykanty? mykhailo antonovych: Yes, it was mandatory. We mostly had

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harmonia and bubon. There were fiddles, too, but we preferred to hire a harmonia player. Although dosvitky were declining in some locales already before the 1920s (Hanna Honcharenko), they seem to have still existed in most locales of central and eastern Ukraine up to collectivization. One interviewee (Kateryna Zoria) claimed that there were no dosvitky in her locale even before collectivization, with girls doing their spinning, weaving, and embroidering at home and apart from each other. Whether this was or was not true in her village, it was certainly not the case in most other villages. Collectivization, famine, and the accompanying regimentation of social life meant the termination of dosvitky in most locales. In a few locales, they continued another few years. The why and how of the decline and termination of the gatherings varied to some extent from region to region and from locale to locale, but the end result was much the same everywhere. Some interviewees noted that dosvitky ended with collectivization. Oleksandra Poluden-Chub – Were there any dosvitky in your village? oleksandra vasylivna: Yes, people went there to spin yarn, sew, and embroider things. – Where did they gather for dosvitky? oleksandra vasylivna: In every neighborhood [kutok]. If a person – man or woman – was living alone in a house, they would have the party over at their place. – When did this stop? oleksandra vasylivna: When collectivization began. There were no young people left in our village because they had left for the cities. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko – Did you get together to go to dosvitky during the time of the kolhosp?

odarka yakivna: No, there were no more dosvitky then.

– Was it forbidden?

odarka yakivna: No one forbade them, but somehow people stopped going. They spun yarn at home. Other interviewees said that the dosvitky were banned by kolhosp officials and activists, who purposely discouraged attendance, claiming the gatherings were for the lazy, drunk, and incompetent. Vira Oliinyk noted that with collectivization,

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the dosvitky were held in secret because officials did not approve of them. Instead, they demanded that villagers work more on the kolhosp and spend less time on entertainment (Iryna Shevchenko). Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk – When collectivization began, did dosvitky or vechornytsi continue? vira trokhymivna : Yes, but in secret. They used to call them debauchery and say that only the lazy people came to those parties. – Who said that? vira trokhymivna : The leaders: the head of the village council and the party organizers. Not the party organizers. They were called something else at the time. Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko – Were the vechornytsi banned during collectivization?

iryna yakivna: No, people stopped going on their own. Whatever people

say, when it came to that, you had to stop going. – When did this happen? iryna yakivna: Well, you had to do this and that. There was no time to go to the vechornytsi. Oleksandra Marchenko, Varvara Chukhlib, and especially Ivan Panych said that with collectivization they no longer had time to attend events such as dosvitky; they were kept working on the kolhosp almost all the time. Before collectivization people worked hard, then took time off on holidays and church feast or fast days. Collectivization changed the schedule by which people lived – the entire cycle of feast days, fast days, holidays, and the like had been altered. Their work schedule was altered as a result. They were forced to work long hours on the kolhosp. Then they would go home and have to work their family’s private holdings as well. As a result of collectivization – especially in the 1930s – villagers had to work more hours and they had less free time for entertainment: Oleksandra Fedotivna Marchenko – When the kolhospy began, did the vechornytsi continue? oleksandra fedotivna: When the kolhospy began, they started forcing people to work, so there were no more vechornytsi.

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Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib – Were there any vechornytsi after collectivization? varvara denysivna: In some places. They stopped in some places. It was the time when various things happened. – What was the attitude of the authorities toward dosvitky or vechornytsi? varvara denysivna: They said nothing about them. Ivan Vasylovych Panych – What are dosvitky?

ivan vasylovych: People used to be more joyful at the time. Back in the day, when they finished work or if there was a holiday in the summer, they would stop work and celebrate the Nativity of Mary, Christmas, the festival of the Savior, and Savior of the Honey feast. During the harvesting season, they would go to work. Otherwise, they managed to work and celebrate holidays … People took care to preserve the holidays and not work on Sundays, but in the kolhosp they forgot everything. People were trained to work and work all the time, without holidays.

Andrii Oklei witnessed a hostile act by a group of activist hoodlums, apparently led by the head of the village council. They broke into an unsanctioned youth gathering [it’s unclear what it was] and held the boys down, tearing the buttons off their pants and otherwise harassing them; all in an effort to discourage the gatherings. Andrii Platonovych Oklei – How old were you when you started going to vechornytsi? andrii platonovych: [When] I was around twenty-five years old, I was going to get married. There were no vechornytsi at the time. We had collectivization and people were persecuted to make sure they stopped going to vechornytsi, to prevent groups from forming. – Who persecuted people? andrii platonovych: The head of the village council and his administration, the activists. – Did they come to you to tell you that you were not allowed to go to the vechornytsi? andrii platonovych: No, it was just not allowed. There was a house of a dispossessed man, over that fence. They came and caught us in that house, pulled the buttons from our pants and chased us out with our pants unbuttoned.

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In many locales, village leaders and Communist activists were afraid of any social gatherings outside of their control and so repressed them, both through threats to adults and indoctrination of children in schools. The ill effects of collectivization and of the social regimentation in schools were followed by the famine catastrophe, which finished off many of the rituals of the civil society: Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha – Did you go to dosvitky?

ustyna yukhymivna: I was ten, and when I turned fifteen, collectivization began. The children who were born after me don’t remember this [i.e., dosvitky]. – What did those children do? ustyna yukhymivna: At school, they were taught to sing “The Internationale.” When I was in first grade, we had a good teacher, Ivan Stepanovych, so we learned “The Internationale” in German. We sang revolutionary songs [“revolutionary” here meaning “Communist”]. Folk songs started disappearing. – Did people sing in the streets after collectivization? ustyna yukhymivna: Oh, no. Especially not during the famine. I came to the village on Christmas. It was dead quiet as if a great tragedy had happened. Before this, there used to be a Christmas tree in every house. The guests would be at the dinner table, and you’d be invited to eat. Everything ended after the famine. There was nothing left. One of the major reasons for the almost immediate decline in dosvitky with collectivization and famine was that the village clubs being built by the state became a substitution for the social function of the dosvitky. The activists who established the clubs initiated a variety of social gatherings there, including dances and concerts and, after the war, movies. In the early 1930s, the clubs were intended, and largely functioned, as a form of competition for dosvitky, decreasing the need for them in social life. Both Mykyta Nadezha and Mykola Medvydenko implied that the dosvitky declined as a result of the clubs, and that it was a natural process in which outright repression was not needed. According to them, villagers did not need the dosvitky any longer when they could congregate in the clubs. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha – What dances did they dance at the vechornytsi? mykyta mykolaiovych: Oh! Mostly polka and hopak. – Was there music in the reading house [khata chytalnia, which here functioned like a club]?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they started buying sheet music. During

the Soviet regime, the vechornytsi stopped, and the reading house took over. – Did all the girls who used to go to the vechornytsi go to the club? mykyta mykolaiovych: Girls used to come, too. – Could they spin yarn there? mykyta mykolaiovych: The cultural activities at the reading house were more developed at the time. The church stopped working, and the people who sang in the church choir got together in the club, too. The church starosta chose the singers for the choir. … – When the kolhosp began and the girls continued going to vechornytsi, did someone forbid them from going there? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, the vechornytsi stopped on their own. That lifestyle and that reading house took over everything else. There was nothing to do at the vechornytsi. No one was spinning yarn or sewing anymore. Mykola Ivanovych Medvydenko – Did people stop partying in the streets with the advent of the kolhospy? mykola ivanovych: Yes, for a long time, and then it dwindled. They built the clubs, so most people went to the club. They showed silent films there. Teachers would often stage plays. A similar point was made regarding the other, and primary function of dosvitky, the home manufacture of clothing and other objects intended for a girl’s dowry. This was an example of village entrepreneurship and the creation of wealth. Once factorymade clothing became more accessible to villagers, there was less reason for girls to spend the long hours it took to spin, weave, sew, and embroider a chest full of clothes to use as part of a dowry. Either used or new factory-made clothing purchased at the bazaar or, after the war, in stores, became the norm for many villagers in the years after the famine. Up to that time, women had retained traditional homemade village fashions more than men, who already twenty years before collectivization had begun to use factory-made fashions on a regular basis in most regions. Once women also began to wear factory-made fashions, most also stopped, or at least greatly decreased home manufacture of clothing – not just that which had formerly been made at the dosvitky, but most clothing made at home in general. Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko – When did people stop going to these events?

andrii hryhorovych: When collectivization began, people stopped

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spinning yarn. The manufactured clothes were on the market already. You could buy a pair of pants for three rubles. We had cooperatives at the time.

in te rv i ew e xce rp ts : d osv i tk y/ v e chorn y tsi Pavlo Yevtukhovych Andriienko and Ahafia Illivna Riabukha (Kharkiv region) – Pavlo Yevtukhovych, did you use to go to vechornytsi?

pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes. – Where was this?

pavlo yevtukhovych: In the house of Manka (Okymyrenko); she was young at the time. – Did she live alone?

pavlo yevtukhovych: She lived alone and there was another girl. The

girl is still alive though she’s not a girl anymore, but the old woman is gone. – Was this before the war? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes. – What did you do at the vechornytsi? ahafia illivna: Girls would go there to spin yarn and sew. pavlo yevtukhovych: Girls would sing and joke around. They wouldn’t joke on their own, only with the guys. ahafia illivna: Girls would do their work, and guys used to interrupt them and prevent them from working. – Did the girls spin yarn on Fridays? pavlo yevtukhovych: Sometimes. – Did the guys bring a musician in the evening for the party? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes. pavlo yevtukhovych: Balalaika, guitar, bubon, and harmonia. … – What was the difference between dosvitky and vechornytsi? pavlo yevtukhovych: Who knows? Dosvitky is where they spin yarn, sew, and have sleepovers. They were the same thing. – Did vechornytsi take place in the evening? pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes. – And dosvitky took place during the day? pavlo yevtukhovych: No, people didn’t have time to go to parties during the day; it was all done in the evening. Girls would take a spinning wheel and a comb and go to spin yarn at dosvitky.

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Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Were there dosvitky in your village? fedora oksentiivna: Yes, people would go there to sew, embroider, and knit. – Were there dosvitky during the kolhosp time? fedora oksentiivna: Yes, not so much in our village, but more often in the village of Tryshevski where my sister lived. Every evening, I used to go to her place. She didn’t have any children, so the folks gathered at her place for vechornytsi. They would bring an oil lamp and their sewing utensils and sew and embroider – some did their own sewing, and some worked on state orders to send back to Chyhyryn. This would go on until midnight or after midnight. Most girls made men’s shirts and were paid something for their work. Dmytro Mykhailovych Chuchupak (Cherkasy region) – Did you go to dosvitky?

dmytro mykhailovych: No, I was too young, and then I left for Kyiv.

– Were there no dosvitky in Kyiv? dmytro mykhailovych: Everything was civilized. Olesia was the only one I dated. – Dosvitky is socializing, isn’t it? dmytro mykhailovych: Dosvitky is when a young man visits his lover, walks with her to her house, and stays with her for the night in a barn. – Before the wedding? dmytro mykhailovych: Before the wedding. – Was this allowed? dmytro mykhailovych: Yes. The parents sometimes knew. This was considered an engagement. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did people in your village hire musicians for vechornytsi? varvara denysivna: No. If one of the guys knew how to play the balalaika or the guitar, this was a big deal – he would come to play, and we would sing. – Was this before collectivization? varvara denysivna: Yes. – Were there any vechornytsi after collectivization? varvara denysivna: In some places. They stopped in some places. It was the time when various things happened.

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– What was the attitude of the authorities toward dosvitky or vechornytsi? varvara denysivna: They said nothing about them. As for signing up for a loan [here oblihatsiia, the “obligation”], they would chase after people until midnight – all kinds of things happened. What haven’t I been through? Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – When you wanted to choose a girl you liked, did you go to the vechornytsi?

andrii fedorovych: Yes. A guy would go to the vechornytsi when he

already knew the girl. Or sometimes they would meet for the first time at the vechornytsi. Halyna Ivanivna Hatko (Kharkiv region) – Where did the girls gather for the vechorky? halyna ivanivna: They used to go to one woman’s house for vechornytsi. That woman isn’t here anymore. She disappeared somewhere during the famine. – Why did the people gather at her house? halyna ivanivna: She was a widow and had nothing. She liked having people over. Girls used to bring her wood for the oven. – Did they also bring kerosene? halyna ivanivna: Yes, for the lamps. – Did they also pay her something? halyna ivanivna: Well, they brought her the wood. – How many girls would come in one evening? halyna ivanivna: About ten. – Did guys use to come when you were spinning yarn? halyna ivanivna: The house was full of boys. We were spinning yarn, and they were sitting around, distracting us from work all the time. – How did they distract you? halyna ivanivna: They’d sit around and judge us: which girls were good-looking, and which were not. Such were those guys. – Did boys and girls sleep in one house during these gatherings? halyna ivanivna: Yes. – Did the parents scold them? halyna ivanivna: It didn’t change anything if they scolded them or not. – Did the girls sleep with their boyfriends? halyna ivanivna: Yes, with their boyfriends. – Would boys sometimes have a fight because of a girl? halyna ivanivna: Yes, they used to. I’ll tell you that I was a bad girl and

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a good singer. Well, all the boys liked me, and they would all pay attention to me when they came to the party. Girls used to get angry because of this. … – When would vechornytsi normally start? halyna ivanivna: In the fall, after the Intercession of the Theotokos. People would start gathering for vechornytsi in October, and after the Intercession of the Theotokos they would spin yarn. – What if you’d go to a party during a religious holiday? Would God punish the person for doing so? halyna ivanivna: This wasn’t a custom at the time. People celebrated various holidays back then. If we were tired of spinning yarn, and vechornytsi fell on one of the many holidays during Lent, we were glad to take a break from spinning. – How did people tell someone’s fortune on St Andrew’s Day? halyna ivanivna: I don’t know. There was no fortune-telling in our village on this day. – Were there any vechornytsi in the summer? halyna ivanivna: No. – Were there any vechornytsi after Easter? halyna ivanivna: No, before Easter people would get hired for work. After Easter, girls would go to work in the sugar beet fields, earn money, have nice skirts made for them, [in order to look nice when they went] to vechornytsi. Hanna Petrivna Honcharenko (Kharkiv region) – Did young people gather for vechornytsi? hanna petrivna: The older ones used to go to vechornytsi, not we. We used to gather just like that, like before, to spin yarn. – Did you spin yarn? hanna petrivna: My mother did, but not my generation. We used to just spin yarn for the rough, simple things. Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – Did young people gather for vechornytsi or dosvitky?

sofia tymofiivna: They used to go to both.

– What is the difference between vechornytsi or dosvitky? sofia tymofiivna: Dosvitky is where the girls used to gather in a house and spin yarn in the evening. Vechornytsi was when girls used to gather in the grazing field and sing.

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– Where did dosvitky take place? sofia tymofiivna: In the house of a single mother or an orphan. – When people went to dosvitky, did they bring kerosene, or did they pay the house owner? sofia tymofiivna: No, they brought a large oil lamp to put in the middle of the house. They would put chairs around it and sit down to spin yarn. Guys would play cards behind the girls’ chairs. Yaryna Maksymivna Kravchenko (Poltava region) – Did you go to dosvitky?

yaryna maksymivna: Yes, even during the German occupation. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Polatava region)

– Did you get together to go to dosvitky during the time of the kolhosp? odarka yakivna: No, there were no more dosvitky then. – Was it forbidden? odarka yakivna: No one forbade them, but somehow people stopped going. They spun yarn at home. … – When the clubs appeared, did you go to dosvitky there? odarka yakivna: No. I didn’t go to the club because I was busy with my children. Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – Did the guys bring musicians when they partied with the girls? danylo yosypovych: Yes, sure thing. We had such good fiddle players. One was very poor but played the fiddle so beautifully. – Was this a young man or an older man? danylo yosypovych: A young guy, younger than me. Some were older. – Is he still alive? danylo yosypovych: No. He died of famine or something like that. Oleksandra Fedotivna Marchenko (Cherkasy region) – How did you party when you were young? oleksandra fedotivna: We used to gather and party outside with the girls. – Did you have any vechornytsi?

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oleksandra fedotivna: Yes, we’d gather there in the evenings to sew and spin yarn. … – When the kolhospy began, did the vechornytsi continue? oleksandra fedotivna: When the kolhospy began, they started forcing people to work, so there were no more vechornytsi. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – Did guys sometimes hire musicians? mykyta mykolaiovych: Most of the musicians played the harmonia. – Did they hire an older man to play or was the musician young? mykyta mykolaiovych: A guy the same age as everyone else. If one harmonia player got married, he was no longer available, so someone younger would come to replace him. – When that harmonia player played, did everyone dance? mykyta mykolaiovych: People danced. – What dances did they dance at the vechornytsi? mykyta mykolaiovych: Oh! Mostly polka and hopak. – Was there music in the reading house [khata chytalnia]? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they started buying sheet music. During the Soviet regime, the vechornytsi stopped, and the reading house took over. – Did all the girls who used to go to the vechornytsi go to the club? mykyta mykolaiovych: Girls used to come, too. – Could they spin yarn there? mykyta mykolaiovych: The cultural activities at the reading house were more developed at the time. The church stopped working, and the people who sang in the church choir got together in the club, too. The church starosta chose the singers for the choir. … – When the kolhosp began and the girls continued going to vechornytsi, did someone forbid them to go there? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, the vechornytsi stopped on their own. That lifestyle and that reading house took over everything else. There was nothing to do at the vechornytsi. No one was spinning yarn or sewing anymore. – In [the reading house] one could rest, and at [the vechornytsi] one had to work? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they were spinning yarn at the vechornytsi, so it stopped on its own.

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Maria Maksymivna Nekhai (Cherkasy region) – Were there vechornytsi or parties in your village? What were they called? maria maksymivna: Vechorki. – What were they like? maria maksymivna: Girls would gather to spin yarn and sew. – Did they gather at some woman’s house? maria maksymivna: At a woman’s or a girlfriend’s house. We’d go to a girlfriend’s house and sew and embroider the rushnyky and the shirts. – Did guys come, too? maria maksymivna: Yes. – What did they do there? maria maksymivna: They would sit around, playing games and looking at us. – Did they sing with you? maria maksymivna: No, they couldn’t sing. – Guys didn’t know how to sing? maria maksymivna: No. … – Did the authorities ban these parties? maria maksymivna: No, no. – If you gathered for holidays like Christmas, did you rent a house? maria maksymivna: Yes, or a friend would just say, “Come to my house, and we’ll party there.” We didn’t pay for it with money but came just like that. We used to go caroling at the time. Andrii Platonovych Oklei (Kharkiv region) – How old were you when you started going to vechornytsi?

andrii platonovych: [When] I was around twenty-five years old, I was

going to get married. There were no vechornytsi at the time. We had collectivization and people were persecuted to make sure they stopped going to vechornytsi, to prevent groups from forming. – Who persecuted people? andrii platonovych: The head of the village council and his administration, the activists. – Did they come to you to tell you that you were not allowed to go to the vechornytsi? andrii platonovych: No, it was just not allowed. There was a house of a dispossessed man over that fence. They came and caught us in that house, pulled the buttons from our pants, and chased us out with our pants unbuttoned. You couldn’t run far with your pants unbuttoned. Some did anyway.

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– What did they do to the girls? andrii platonovych: We don’t know what they did to the girls. It was long ago. Then the famine began, so I was not getting married. I was going to Kolachi and Komaryshche on my own to exchange [clothes] for grain and flour. You’d take shirts and cloth to Kuban because they didn’t have any there. We used to wear linen shirts, and they had rough shirts called riadno. They made pants and shirts out of this rough fabric. They had a good deal of quality grain. People used to grind the grain on a roller. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – When collectivization began, did dosvitky or vechornytsi continue? vira trokhymivna : Yes, but in secret. The authorities used to call them debauchery and say that only the lazy people went to those parties. – Who said that? vira trokhymivna : The leaders: the head of the village council and the party organizers. Not the party organizers. They were called something else at the time. – What was the difference between dosvitky and vechornytsi? vira trokhymivna : Vechornytsi were held in the evening. They would work until midnight or 2:00 a.m. and go home. Dosvitky was when the girls stayed overnight. They’d sleep an hour or so and get up very early in the morning at 3:00 a.m. or 4:00 a.m. and start their work – spinning yarn or what have you. … – When the girls gathered for dosvitky, did they have to pay the house owner? vira trokhymivna : What did they pay? They would bring dinner to eat with the owner of the house. They would sing and play. Of course, if they gathered at some widow’s house, they would pay her. Guys used to hire musicians and bought the owner of the house a nice scarf or something. If they came to our house (my mother’s brother and his friend used to come), they did not pay us anything. – Did people come from the neighborhood [kutok] or from the whole village? vira trokhymivna : It depends. Some came from the neighborhood. Some people came from far away in the village to see their relatives. Parents wouldn’t readily let their children go to dosvitky so nothing bad would happen, but if they were going to their relatives, then the parents would let them go. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region) – Did you go to dosvitky?

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ustyna yukhymivna: I was ten, and when I turned fifteen, collectivization began. The children who were born after me don’t remember this. – What did those children do? ustyna yukhymivna: At school, they were taught to sing “The Internationale.” When I was in first grade, we had a good teacher Ivan Stepanovych, so we learned “The Internationale” in German. We sang revolutionary songs. Folk songs started disappearing. – Did people sing in the streets after collectivization? ustyna yukhymivna: Oh, no. Especially not during the famine. I came to the village on Christmas. It was dead quiet as if a great tragedy had happened. Before this, there used to be a Christmas tree in every house. The guests would be at the dinner table, and you’d be invited to eat. Everything ended with the famine. There was nothing left. Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – Was there a difference between dosvitky and vechornytsi? andrii hryhorovych: They are the same thing. – When did people stop going to these events? andrii hryhorovych: When collectivization began, people stopped spinning yarn. The manufactured clothes were on the market already. You could buy a pair of pants for three rubles. We had cooperatives at the time. – Did people miss dosvitky? andrii hryhorovych: Not really. They gathered in the streets you know. They sang and danced without any problems, you see. There was no interruption. Ivan Vasylovych Panych (Sumy region) – What are dosvitky?

ivan vasylovych: People used to be more joyful at the time. Back in the

day, when they finished work or if there was a holiday in the summer, they would stop work and celebrate Nativity of Mary, Christmas, the festival of the Savior, and Savior of the Honey feast. During the harvesting season, they would go to work. Otherwise, they managed to work and celebrate holidays. Easter was during the sowing season, but people would celebrate for three days and then go into the fields to sow on the fourth day, and they would be done in two days, sowing by hand. People took care to preserve the holidays and not work on Sundays, but in the kolhosp they forgot everything. People were trained to work and work all the time, without holidays.

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Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did the authorities prohibit the dosvitky? varvara ihorivna: During the German occupation they were prohibited because people were taken to Germany, and they didn’t want people to run away. A policeman would come to my house and make me sign an affidavit that there were no parties at my house in the evenings. Priska Fedorivna Reva (Kharkiv region) – Did you go to the club? priska fedorivna: No, there was no club, only the vechornytsi. Guys from faraway villages used to come. People in other villages could hear people singing here. Now they don’t sing anymore. Back in the day, if they started singing in the streets, the echo could be heard far away, in other villages. Guys would bring musical instruments. There’d be about seven girls and many guys. The guys from our village went either to that village or the other one, and folks from there would come here. The girls were only local. … – Did the guys bring musicians? priska fedorivna: The musicians would come, too. You could hear them everywhere. – What kind of musicians were they? priska fedorivna: Fiddle and harmonia players. – Was it a fiddle alone or a fiddle and a harmonia? priska fedorivna: It depends. Usually just one instrument, not two at once. There’d be a fiddle at the vechornytsi. Or a balalaika, or a harmonia. One instrument. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Did you have dosvitky or vechornytsi? halyna ilarionivna: Yes, people used to go to those. – What word did people use in your village: dosvitky or vechornytsi? halyna ilarionivna: Dosvitky. – Who organized them? halyna ilarionivna: We would get together, and someone would say, “Let’s get together to spin yarn or embroider things.” I used to emroider all the time, and we would go home to sleep because it was close by. We used to gather in the neighborhood [kutok]. – Did every neighborhood [kutok] have its own dosvitky?

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halyna ilarionivna: Yes, yes. The parents would go somewhere, and we would gather to spin yarn or embroider things. The guys would come to join us. – Where did you use to gather? halyna ilarionivna: In houses. – Whose houses? halyna ilarionivna: They could come to my house, for instance, if I didn’t have a mother. – Did people rent a house from a widow or someone else? halyna ilarionivna: We didn’t rent a house. … – What happened to dosvitky later? halyna ilarionivna: There were no dosvitky after the war. – And during the war? halyna ilarionivna: There were none because people were afraid to leave their house at the time. – Why did they stop? halyna ilarionivna: I don’t know. This was when I got married. – Were the authorities against dosvitky? halyna ilarionivna: No. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Did you go to dosvitky after collectivization? natalia hryhorivna: No, the sewing and yarn spinning had stopped. Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko (Cherkasy region) – Were the vechornytsi banned during collectivization? iryna yakivna: No, people stopped going on their own. Whatever people say, when it came to that, you had to stop going. – When did this happen? iryna yakivna: Well, you had to do this and that. There was no time to go to the vechornytsi. Yevhenia Dmytrivna Smola (Poltava region) – Was there a club in your village? yevhenia dmytrivna: There was one when we joined the kolhosp. I went there two or three times with my children. Before I got married, there were no clubs. I used to go to dosvitky. – What did you do at the dosvitky?

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yevhenia dmytrivna: When I was young, we didn’t spin yarn, but my mother used to tell me that they went to spin yarn and embroider things. They would get together on the weekend, party, dance if there was music, sing, and play cards. Ivan Kyrylovych Solohub (Kharkiv region) – Did you go to the vechornytsi?

ivan kyrylovych: Yes, I liked going there. I was a dancer.

– Where did you use to go? ivan kyrylovych: To the clubs. – Were there clubs already? ivan kyrylovych: Yes, we rented a private corner in a person’s house. We paid them. – How did you pay them? ivan kyrylovych: I don’t know. There were some houses that remained after the owners were dispossessed, so there would be a private space. There was a public club, too, but we mostly gathered to dance in the private spaces. – What kind of music was there? ivan kyrylovych: A balalaika, a guitar, and a harmonia. If today I had to walk three kilometers to a dance, I would still go. I loved to dance. – What kind of dances were they? ivan kyrylovych: All kinds: kozachok, yabluchko, and krakowiak – oneman dances. You could also do a partner dance with the girls. I danced a great deal with the girls, but never anything else, by no means. I would dance to my heart’s content and go home. Sofia Ivanivna Voropai and Ivan Mykhailovych Ihnatiuk (Cherkasy region) – Where in your village did people gather for dosvitky? sofia ivanivna: I used to invite the girls to my house. – Did you pay for the house where you used to gather? ivan mykhailovych: No. – Did you have to bring something to eat? ivan mykhailovych: There was one girl to whose house boys and girls used to go for dosvitky. Five or six girls would be there sewing the state orders. – Did the girls use to gather to work during the day? sofia ivanivna: Yes, some used to come to our house. My mother didn’t like when the girls gathered in the evening. She used to give us half a liter of kerosene and send us off to my grandmother. During the day, girls would

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gather in the garden of our house. Our house stood apart from the village, near the swamp and the woods. – What was the party called when the girls gathered during the day? sofia ivanivna: Shvachky [sewing]. – Did dosvitky take place throughout the year? sofia ivanivna: They were held in the winter. – When would dosvitky start? sofia ivanivna: They would start with the first frosts, after the Intercession of the Theotokos. – When would dosvitky normally end? sofia ivanivna: Around a week before Lent because it was considered sinful to sing during this time and dosvitky were ending. – What musicians took part in dosvitky? sofia ivanivna: There were no musicians. Pavlo Illich Vovchenko (Sumy region) – Did the young people gather in the neighborhoods? pavlo illich: In the summer, they would gather in the streets, and in winter they’d go to dosvitky. In the summer, they’d party outside in groups. They would sleep with girls during dosvitky, like the family did [presumambly prone next to one another, everyone together in one room, like the family slept]. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Tell us about your entertainment when you were a young man. andrii solomonovych: In the summer, girls and boys used to gather in the grazing field and sing. In the winter, we’d gather for the vechornytsi. Girls would sew and embroider, except on Fridays. They didn’t spin yarn on Fridays. We used to pay for kerosene for the vechornytsi. Each of us fifteen guys would contribute one kopek, so we had enough kerosene. A liter of it cost three kopeks at the time. – Who collected the money? andrii solomonovych: Well, suppose I’m hosting the vechornytsi, so I’ll collect the money, buy the kerosene, and let people into my house. – What did boys do at the vechornytsi? andrii solomonovych: Nothing. They would just play cards. – Did they stay to sleep with the girls? andrii solomonovych: Yes, sometimes. – Did the guys go to other villages? andrii solomonovych: Yes, to Kobzarivka.

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– What about the girls?

andrii solomonovych: No, they didn’t.

– Why?

andrii solomonovych: Well, you know, this wasn’t customary. Guys would go and have fights there. Hanna Vasylivna Zamohylna (Poltava region)

hanna vasylivna: Before the kolhospy, we used to have vechornytsi in

the evenings. We would rent a house from poor people for the whole winter. In the autumn, when it was too cold to party outside, we’d go to the house. We partied on Saturdays and Sundays because on weekdays we would spin yarn and have a lot of work. On holidays, we’d go to parties in the evenings. During the Christmas season, we gathered every evening in that house. – Did you pay the owner of the house? hanna vasylivna: Yes. We’d bring her some hay, half a liter of kerosene, a bucket of potatoes, a loaf of bread, some lard, some oil, or some milk – girls would bring it from their homes. We partied until the beginning of Lent. When Lent began, no one left their house. Our parents used to say, “It’s sinful to party and sing during Lent.” For Easter, we would come out to play outside again. We only rented a house before Lent, and girls paid for it, not guys. – Did you bring any food with you to these parties? hanna vasylivna: No. Neither did we bring work because it was the weekend. Back in the day, girls used to embroider shirts and rushnyky and spin yarn on a spinning wheel. If there was a poor woman, she would say, “Come to my house on a weekday, girls, and have a party.” Her husband only came home on Saturdays, and she was home alone with the children all the time, so she was bored, “Girls, come to my house to embroider or spin yarn.” We would come. Guys would come, too, stay a while, and leave. We would stay until 11:00 p.m. or midnight, and those who wanted to sleep over could stay at her place. – Would girls stay to sleep with the guys sometimes? hanna vasylivna: God forbid. Back in the day, they would come to us to party, but we didn’t even know whose guy it was. When the kolhospy were set up and we all started working in the same kolhosp, only then did we meet all the people. In the summer or on Sundays, guys would come to party with us. They would sing and play musical instruments outside. We would get together, but we didn’t know each other because everyone lived at home with their parents at the time. One girl used to go out with a guy who came on Sundays. Girls would stand together, and guys would be in a circle farther apart, playing the violin or the balalaika. Back in the day, men and women

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used to gather outside every house every Sunday to play cards or other games. God forbid a guy would come up to me on that day in front of all the people. At the time, guys and girls were separate because men and women were around and saw everything. The houses had two benches, a floor, ledges, and a bag of hay near the oven. Guys would lie down on the hay and not one of them smoked inside, only outside. Guys smoked tobacco at the time. – Sing when they gathered in the house? hanna vasylivna: No, they didn’t. If one of them brought musicians, he would sing along, and so would the girls. Back in the day, guys and girls would date for three years, and he would not touch her and not mention anything of that kind. Guys and girls were honest because such was the upbringing at the time. Kateryna Kostiantynivna Zoria (Kharkiv region) – When you were young, how did you party? Did you go to vechornytsi? kateryna kostiantynivna: When I was young, we partied outside and didn’t have any vechornytsi inside. We didn’t rent a house for that. – Did girls get together to spin yarn? kateryna kostiantynivna: No, each did that in her own house. Everyone took care of their own business. – What kind of clothes did you use to make? kateryna kostiantynivna: Clothes for everyone: a skirt, a blouse, and some linen. When I grew up, I had a jacket. We also made suede jackets and men’s and women’s coats – well, we made our own clothes.

k lu b y (c lu bs) From approximately the late 1920s to the late 1940s a system of community centers was constructed in Soviet Ukraine. They effectively replaced in most locales the dosvitky as the primary focus of social life for village young people. However, their programs targeted not only the young. Programs controlled by activists consisted largely of new Soviet cultural models that were intended to replace older cultural norms of peasant society.4 Although some village reading rooms existed before the First World War, the community centers of the Soviet period were far more extensive and numerous. In most regions, these centers were known as “clubs” (kluby) in the 1930s, although by the 1960s they increasingly came to be called domy kultury (houses of culture). They featured a variety of activities. As

4 In other publications I have called these new Soviet cultural norms “the parallel culture.” See Noll (1993a).

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noted earlier, kolhospnyky were told by officials to gather there in order to take part in the zbory of the time – for the most part on Soviet holidays such as 1 May or 7 November. Varvara Pyvovar – Were people forced to go to the zbory? varvara ihorivna: A cart would go around with the bells ringing. It would pick people up and take them to vote. I said I would not go, so the cart came to take me there. Once we voted, they would take us back from the town committee. The zbory often featured concerts of music – usually local ensembles – and later in the evening, dancing and singing (Paraska Bezkorovaina, Danylo Kuzmenko, Olha Odnoroh). In addition, the zbory featured special “prizes” given to those kolhospnyky who were deemed to have worked the hardest over the last few months or year (udarnyky). The clubs also were the place where villagers gathered for weekend dances as well as for concerts of various kinds (Halyna Makiiva). Furthermore, they served as a place to lecture kolhospnyky on the supposed benefits of socialism (Mykyta Nadezha, Vira Oliinyk, Olena Ponomarenko). In many locales, an entirely new club was built in the 1960s-80s, often on the site of the older club. These new buildings housed a variety of activities, the most popular of which was the screening of films. The older buildings and the activities of the 1930s were quite different. These older clubs, most of which were established approximately between 1926 and 1940, were usually in buildings that already existed and that were appropriated by village authorities: either a church, synagogue, the priest’s former home, or the home of an evicted (usually deported) village family. Many interviewees discussed the origins of the village club, most of them noting that it was established with collectivization or shortly thereafter (among others: Danylo Kuzmenko, Fedora Hatsko, Mykhailo Ivanchenko, Nykyfir Poberezhnyk, and Halyna Tarasenko). Halyna Riasna noted that the location of the club in her village was a house taken over from a family that had been evicted and deported. Later that building was demolished, and a new club erected on the site. Much the same was described by Nykyfir Poberezhnyk and Nykyfir Klymenko. One interviewee (Danylo Kuzmenko) said that the club was established in the building of the former shynok (tavern). Three interviewees noted that the local synagogue became the site of the village club (Halyna Bezrodnia, Varvara Chukhlib, and Ivan Mushynsky). The latter noted that the club was established in his locale already in 1926. The site of the club often moved from one building to another as the local activists evicted more people and the choice of emptied buildings became larger.

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Mykyta Nadezha said that the first club in his locale was established in 1928 in the home of an evicted family. A few years later, the priest was evicted, and his former residence – a desirable building because it had six rooms – was turned into the club. Halyna Tarasenko said that in the 1930s the club was established in the priest’s former residence. After the war, it was moved into a former church. In the 1960s, an entirely new building was erected. Ivan Udovychenko, Paraska Bezkorovaina, Arkhyp Dzhyrma, and Mykhailo Ivanchenko said that the first club was in the priest’s former residence, and a new one was built after the war. Oleksandra Poluden-Chub admitted that she went to the village club only once in her life. It was established in what had been the village church. She could not abide seeing the desecration of the church and so never returned. She was the daughter of the village’s already repressed priest. Olena Ponomarenko said that the plays in the club in her village took place in the house from which they had evicted my father. It was a large building. It was first used as a club, then as a barn, and finally as a pigsty. Then that house was dismantled for the recognized-as-best (shock) workers [udarnyky] to build their houses. The original organizers of the clubs – the head of the kolhosp, the village council, and Komsomol activists – were activist partisans of the state. They alone had the authority to confiscate a family’s home, a priest’s residence, a church, or a synagogue, and turn it into a village club. Only a few interviewees knew enough about the people who organized the clubs of the pre-war period to be able to discuss them. Mykyta Nadezha said local Komsomol members organized and directed the village club in his locale. Andrii Filatov, on the other hand, said that in his locale people from outside the village came to organize the club and its activities. Most stayed only from one to three months and were subsequently replaced by others of the same type. He thought they all came from a factory in Kharkiv. Halyna Makiiva also claimed her club’s organizers were from outside her village. She added that they brought their own music with them, performing on harmonia or balalaika for the most part. The director (kerivnyk) of village clubs was usually called the zaviduiuchyi or zavklub for short. This person was, in the 1930s, usually, but not always, male and was usually someone from outside the village and posted there, although there were many instances of local villagers working, or even directing the club. The zavklub was often not the only “culture worker” in the village club. Frequently there was also a music director. As described by Mykola Sokyrko, all prominent “culture workers” were trained in special classes of the narkomos (Narodny Komisariiat Osvity – People’s Commissariat of Education). This was the training facility organized by Soviet power to churn out, among others, music teachers for

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villages. Their mandate was to transform village music practice, or better put, to replace traditional local music practice with styles of performance and repertory that were pan-national in origin, i.e., a Soviet music culture. They learned there the pedagogical methods of teaching villagers how to stage theatrical events as well as to perform from notated music, how to teach kolhospnyky to sing and play music by rote, and how to teach them to read music notation. Before collectivization the people in the village who were most likely to read music notation were church choir members. This varied by locale, and in some choirs, members learned largely by rote, and in others they were taught to read music notation. With collectivization and the destruction or closing of the church, and with the development of the village club, the teaching of music notation shifted to the club, which signified great changes.5 The music learned was not religious, but neither was it local. It was instead of national or international origin: generic folk songs arranged by urban composers, Russian songs of various kinds; popular urban ditties; or songs glorifying the Soviet state and its heros.6 Halyna Bezrodnia briefly described the process of teaching notated music to kolhospnyky. Club directors and/or club music directors also learned what could be called “repertory lists”: what was permissible to teach and use and what was forbidden – prescriptive and proscriptive repertory. Halyna Bezrodnia was active in the club of the time. Her husband was the zavklub in their village. She described that part of the repertory that was obligatory for the choir to sing (songs praising Lenin, Stalin, etc.) and the part of it that was forbidden to perform – in her remarks because it was “Ukrainian.” She noted that the selections chosen for a given concert of the village choir were scrutinized by officials, both local and those from the regional center:

5 There were a significant number of locales in central and eastern Ukraine in which self-help societies (Prosvita, etc.) had been active in the early twentieth century. The activities in these societies often included choir music, less often instrumental music. In some of these locales, a national repertory, notated and widely distributed, already existed before collectivization (Noll 1994a). In other locales the local church choir carried a national repertory. Markiian Kutsevol said that in his locale the church choir was active in the 1920s in propagating national (Ukrainian) patriotic songs, in some locales even Shche ne vmerla Ukraiiny (generally known as Shche ne vmerla Ukraina). 6 A printed repertory, one derived from music notation, is different from an oral practice which is learned from childhood. Among other things, a notated repertory can come from anywhere and can be transplanted at will virtually anywhere. A local repertory of oral practice, however, is usually not possible to transfer to another region. The exception to this is when that oral practice is placed into music notation, necessarily first altering it to conform to the limitations of the notation. Once it has been thus transformed, it can be transferred to other regions. Obviously, it is then no longer the music of an oral practice, and it may be barely recognizable to the inhabitants of the region from which it originally came.

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– Was it mandatory to sing songs about Lenin or Stalin for the October holidays? halyna zakharivna: People sang those songs. – Was your song repertoire checked? halyna zakharivna: Yes, it was mandatory. You could not proceed without the check. They mostly staged Ukrainian plays. Everything was checked. – Who ran the checks? halyna zakharivna: Regional authorities. … – Your husband was the club director. Was he the one compiling the repertoire? halyna zakharivna: He was the one approving it. The repertoire was suggested by activists. – Was he given any instructions about what was prohibited? halyna zakharivna: He knew himself what was prohibited and what was allowed. We used to sing a [folk] song “A cuckoo was singing” [Zakuvala ta syva zozulia] which was later forbidden. – Why? halyna zakharivna: Because it was a Ukrainian song. – Can you sing a bit of this song? halyna zakharivna: A grey cuckoo sang its song Early in the morning. Young men cried Eh-h-h, in the foreign country. There were many songs that were forbidden. Petro Khudyk also was a zavklub in the 1930s. He said that songs about Lenin were obligatory, but that no one checked on him to make sure he was following the prescribed repertory. He gave the impression that the repertory was somehow a fixture of the village with no outside intervention: – Did you sing about Lenin?

petro vasylovych: Songs about Lenin were mandatory, at the top of the list [i.e., the repertory list].

Vira Oliinyk, on the other hand, provided a completely different view. As a girl, she became close to a director of the village club. He was from a neighboring village. He was repressed in the early 1930s because he did not adhere to the prescribed repertory list. Among other songs, he supposedly taught his choir to

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sing (it is not clear in what context) Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina for which he was arrested and not heard from again. The overt political nature of these performances and the fear that they generated in those who performed them are illustrated in this excerpt from Vira Oliinyk: – Were the three of you singing [she and her two parents]? vira trokhymivna : Yes, they gave us cloth for costumes and a record player with records, but the records contained only Stalin’s speeches. – How were these gifts presented to you? vira trokhymivna : We performed at the final concert, and they presented the gifts at the gala. My father didn’t want to go to this concert because the cow was about to calve, and I was in school. He said, “We won’t go.” Then Ivan Hryhorovych Diachkov came from the political department. – From Zvenyhorodka? vira trokhymivna : No, we were in Vilshansky district. He came with some other activist as well as the head of the village council, telling us that we had to go. The head of the village council asked us to go because we were the only ones from our village who were invited; the choir wasn’t. Diachkov sent a car for us from Vilshana, and we went. It was free of charge for us. We took our Ukrainian costumes and went. We came to the station, and as we were getting out of the train, we heard, “The family of the kolhospnyk Trokhym Mykytovych Oliinyk that will perform Ukrainian folk songs has arrived in Kyiv.” My father said, “Let’s run away. Someone here knows me.” Semen Skliarenko got in our way, “Trokhym Mykytovych, where are you going? We came specifically for you.” He picked us up. Mykhailo Sokyrko – When you were taking the course in 1936 [from narkomos ], did you feel any danger at the time? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, each of us thought at the time that someone could come to arrest us. We had some fear, but we were very much taken by our work. Later I found out that most of the [narkomos ] teachers were shot [largely in 1938]. The club choir was the vanguard of socialist culture in those villages where it existed. According to several interviewees (a small number of the over four hundred people interviewed), there was no choir in their locale in the 1930s (Varvara Pyvovar, Maria Nekhai, Motrona Lomynoha). Fedir Kravchenko said that in his village there was no club at all until after the war. Choir members led high profile lives and were an important feature of the zbory and virtually every gathering

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called by kolhosp and village officials. They helped propagate the new Soviet music culture and were an integral part of the transformation of the villagers’ regional culture into a pan-national Soviet culture. 38 The club choir was usually mixed – male and female, although in most locales there were more women than men participating. Many arrangements were satb (soprano, alto, tenor, bass), but there were also three-part and two-part arrangements. It was directed either by the zavklub himself, or by a music director posted to that village club. Halyna Tarasenko, when describing her participation in the club choir, took great pride in the fact that she learned music notation and that she was able to perform a type of music that was available only to those who could read music notation. In terms of performing this music (not in terms of passively consuming it), this was an elite music for an elite group. In most locales, there were only a few people, perhaps twenty or fewer, who actively took part in club performances (choir, wind music ensembles, theatrical presentations). Markian Kutsevol said that the same people took part in the choir and the dramas. The rest of the village population came to the club when they were ordered to the zbory, or they came on their own to the popular evening dances, or to concerts or plays and often with great enthusiasm (as described by Mykhailo Ivanchenko). However, with the exception of the evening dances, they came as passive observers, not active performers, to all of these events. From the early 1930s there was little flexibility in the types of repertory allowed to club choirs by officials in most locales. Mykola Sokyrko – Did the organization of music by narkomos start during collectivization? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes. We had culture in the village earlier, too: the choir, amateur performances, theater, and wind ensembles. All of this was before collectivization. It all started during Lenin’s time. People took an interest in it. There was a good deal of enthusiasm. Everywhere in the village, you could hear songs. Then all of this other [i.e., Stalinism] began sometime during collectivization, and everything disappeared. Life got harder. Enthusiasm disappeared. There seem, however, to have been local exceptions to this pattern. For example, Halyna Bezrodnia noted that in her village the official club choir, that which was used to propagate the new Soviet music, at Christmas went through the village singing koliadky (this was probably in 1930–31 before the famine, or in 1934–35 after the famine, likely the former). Shortly afterward, certainly by the late 1930s, this practice had ended entirely, and the club choir no longer sang the koliadky anywhere:

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– Was caroling prohibited later? halyna zakharivna: It dwindled on its own because people no longer respected it as before, and the authorities started arresting people, so the people gave up on it. The fact that it had been tolerated even for a few years in the early 1930s was unusual. Markian Kutsevol described the fairly common occurrence of the church choir of the 1920s becoming the club choir of the 1930s after the local church was destroyed or closed. He noted that the choirs of the 1930s had a varied repertory. Mykyta Nadezha said much the same. Here however, there was no question of performing anything but the songs on the prescribed repertory lists; in addition to standardized folk songs, they sang pro Lenina. Iak Lenin rodyvsia, iak zhyv, iaku zhyzn dav (“about Lenin. How Lenin was born, how he lived, the kind of life he gave” [to the people]). The director of the village club was responsible for several activities besides overseeing if not directing the club choir. These included organizing theatrical events (the play most often mentioned by the interviewees is Natalka Poltavka), and teaching or overseeing the teaching of musical instruments, most often families of string ensembles (several sizes of mandolins, balalaikas, guitars, far more rarely the bandura, or mixed string ensembles with one, two, or three each of mandolin, guitar, balalaika, and perhaps with a fiddle). Also common were wind ensembles (Antonina Firman). These various kinds of ensembles, especially the string ensembles, were described by many interviewees (among others: Halyna Riasna, Anastasia Tkachenko, Andrii Ovcharenko, Vasyl Yavdoshenko, Oleksandra Poluden-Chub, Olha Odnoroh, Vasyl Barbaziuk, Danylo Kuzmenko, and Varvara Chukhlib). Arkhyp Dzhyrma took part in such ensembles as a guitarist. The ensemble in his locale had three fiddles, three mandolins, three guitars, and one bandura. It was organized and directed by the zavklub, and the ensemble toured the clubs of neighboring villages. Far more rarely found were ensembles of bandura. Halyna Riasna described a touring bandura ensemble from a neighboring small town that gave concerts in her village club. Oleksandra Posobilova said that in her locale the director organized several ensembles: one of guitars, one of balalaikas, and one of mandolins, although this was probably in the 1940s.7 Performances of both vocal and instrumental ensembles associated with the village club occurred in quite different contexts than the peasant music practices which had existed before collectivization. In addition to performances in the local club (the most common performance context), some ensembles toured neighboring village clubs, or even the clubs of their region. A few were invited to

7 cf. Rekomendovanny (1934) and Kronika (1934).

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participate in the Olympiady (“olympics,” here meaning musical competitions), in which virtuosic performances were rated by a panel of judges, known as the jury (dzury). The jury awarded prizes to ensembles of various categories and the winners had their photos published in newspapers with short articles about the ensembles and their (usually) activist directors and regional (activist) promoters. The aesthetic used for judging was purely of urban origin: the more virtuosic and even bombastic the performance, the higher the rating. Thus, a fiddler who could perform at extremely fast tempos, or a vocalist who could approximate a bel canto style and had an expansive range, were the most likely winners. Vira Oliinyk described her experience as a performing participant in one of these Olympiady, in her case in 1936. She, her father, and mother formed a trio that was enthusiastically received by local officials. They were taken to Kyiv to perform and compete in an Olympiada. They sang generic folk songs and were awarded top prizes in their category. They were asked to make recordings while they were in Kyiv, which they did. However, they were allowed only to record one song praising Stalin, Rech Stalina. Some time later, after their return home, local officials wanted them to travel to another city to repeat their concert performance in another competition, but the father refused as there was too much work at home to leave just at that time. To convince them to go, they were visited by high local and regional officials. A car was provided and – whether they wanted to go or not – they had to participate in the performance, an event described earlier. Several interviewees made special mention of the fact that the village club replaced the dosvitky and the street as a context for social interaction among village young people. Mykyta Nadezha said that the vechornytsi declined after the local club (here called the “house of reading,” khata chytalnia, or library) – a carry-over from before the rise of Soviet power – opened its doors in the late 1920s. Halyna Hatko said that the club replaced the dosvitky, even though there were no concerts there as frequent evening gatherings of young people were held at the club for dancing and listening to music. Maria Yeshchenko also noted the frequency of evening gatherings for dancing at the club, saying that earlier when boys and girls wanted to talk and dance, they simply met on the street. Vasyl Barbaziuk described such pre-collectivization street gatherings, noting that they sang and danced and joked around. Yakiv Zborovsky noted that before collectivization: We would gather in the streets and have fun. When the streets were shut down so to speak and the kolhospy began, they set up the clubs and made us go to the club. The street parties were even [forcibly] dispersed. – Who did this? yakiv mykhailovych: The village council. The club as meeting place for young people was described by several interviewees. Maria Nekhai noted that

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local muzykanty – those who performed for money or food – were brought in for these dances. It was rare that the club ensembles of strings or winds played at such gatherings. The dance music included the polka, krakowiak, hopak, korobeiniki, etc. (Anastasia Tkachenko) and was of village origin, or at least performed in a village style, and those ensembles that performed from music notation were unsuited to play for dancing – especially the brisk, even wild, dancing of the village. Several interviewees described the ensembles, commonly harmonia and bubon [a small one-sided drum struck with a small mallet] used for these dances, usually the same as that heard during weddings in their respective locales (Maria Yeshchenko, Halyna Bezrodnia, and Halyna Riasna). There were several other miscellaneous functions of the club as well, described by various interviewees. Halyna Tarasenko said that club workers or members (she was unclear on this point) sometimes hired (or somehow engaged) a harmonia performer, who was driven around the kolhosp fields in the back of a flatbed truck, stopping in each field for a few minutes to perform miniature concerts for the kolhospnyky working in the fields. A quite separate function was the use of the club to disseminate socialist ideology, including anti-religious propaganda. Kateryna Zoria illustrated this with a description of special “educational” meetings held in the club. Local Komsomol activists placed icons on tables in front of the assembly. They lectured that there was no need for religion (the interviewee is vague on what was said), then destroyed the icons while the assembly watched. Another illustration of a similar use of the club was provided by Yevdokia Bondarenko. She described a woman who came to her village in the 1930s, married, and stayed on to work at the club. Her job was to go from house to house, or from kolhosp field to field, and read the newspapers to the kolhospnyky, most of whom could not read, or at best could read only with difficulty and very slowly. In this manner, socialist ideology was provided the residents on a nearly daily basis. When asked about the possible activities of Prosvita [“Enlightenment” in Ukrainian, a Ukrainian educational and cultural organization founded in Lviv in 1868] in his locale, one interviewee provided a unique account of several people who were associated with the club in the 1940s during and after the German occupation. Mykhailo Ivanchenko described activities of a group that called itself Prosvita but had little or no evident connection to the widespread Prosvita network from before the advent of Soviet power, and that was still a vibrant movement among Ukrainians in eastern Poland of the inter-war period. Ivanchenko noted that they were most active in trying to organize the oun [Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists] in their locale. Most of them died during or just after the war. Several were arrested by the Soviet state and either executed or sent to prison for a long period.

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th e pe r s ona l hi story of a vill age club musi c direc tor One interviewee, Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko, was a music director in a village club over the course of several decades (except for the five years he spent in prison for “anti-Soviet” activities, described below) from the 1930s to the 1970s. He provided certain details in his account of club life in the 1930s that illustrated many of the points discussed earlier: namely, that club organizers and directors were political activists; that the repertory of club ensembles – both vocal and instrumental – was closely controlled by activist officials; that most of the Ukrainian element in that repertory was effectively suppressed by those officials; that the club instrumental ensemble music was different than that which had existed in the village up to collectivization; and that the training for club music directors was provided in special courses in the Kyiv Conservatory under the auspices of narkomos , organized by the National Commissariat for Education. He provided other details as well that were part of his personal history, and which are illustrative of the general climate of the 1930s. Sokyrko attended the course for club music directors in Kyiv in 1936. The instructors were among the leading folklorists and musicologists of the time (e.g., Borys Hrinchenko, I.N. Kavun, and Andrii Khvylia), several of whom were shot in subsequent years. He had to pay for his room and board himself, but the actual course was free. He believed that it was a great honor to be able to attend this course. Few would be able to do so (the first class in 1936 consisted of 120 people, only ten of whom were women). However, as a result of his musical activities, he wondered every day if he would be arrested (as he was). Working as a club music director was a risky business, and apparently several of his classmates were imprisoned. At the beginning of the occupation during the war, the village church was reopened. People sang patriotic Ukrainian songs, among others Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. After the war, Sokyrko was accused by Soviet power of singing this, and he was arrested and was imprisoned in a Siberian labor camp for five years. The “crime” was of course singing the song, but a part of the “crime” was the very mention of Ukraine. He noted that in the 1930s and 1940s (after the occupation) it was forbidden to sing this song or even mention anything about Ukraine in public. It was not until much later that activist officials relaxed their controls on the mention of the word Ukraine. You were not allowed to say the word “Ukraine” at the time. You had to say, “Ukrainian Soviet Republic.” If you ever said the word “motherland,” just give up all hope. You could not show [Ukrainian] patriotic national feelings even though everyone had them.

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He was later rehabilitated and resumed his work as a music director at the club. He would eventually become the club director, after the activist directors of the recent past had retired or died.

i n te rv i ew e xc erp ts: c lu bs Vasyl Savovych Barbaziuk (Vinnytsia region) – What did you do for entertainment when you were young? vasyl savovych: I went to a club. – Did people sing any songs at the time? vasyl savovych: Oh, all kinds of songs. – What kind of music was there? vasyl savovych: Usually, a wind ensemble would play at weddings, and in the club, we had balalaika, mandolin, and guitar players. You could sometimes hear an harmonia. If so, those were big dances. – Who were the musicians? vasyl savovych: Ivan Kovelsny played the mandolin. Vasyl Denyziuk played the balalaika. You could see a great deal of dust kicked up in the street, the dances were so good. – Who was in charge of the club when you were young? vasyl savovych: Hryts Klishchiuk. – Did he have the appropriate education? vasyl savovych: No, he was a war veteran, so he was appointed, but he was a good specialist. Matsibon was a film mechanic. He was an artist, a harmonia player – an eccentric man. He would just come out on the stage, and the whole hall would be laughing. He didn’t even have to say anything to make people laugh. He was born in 1925 or 1926 and is still alive. – Where did the young people gather when you were young? vasyl savovych: On the street. They would sing, tell jokes, and play around. At the time, all of this happened outside. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Was there a club in the 1920s or 1930s? paraska mytrofanivna: There was a club in 1930, after the priest was chased away. – Did the musicians play in the village? paraska mytrofanivna: Guys played balalaika and guitar. – What kind of music did they play?

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paraska mytrofanivna: Dance music like the polka and krakowiak, and I don’t remember the songs. That was the guys’ entertainment. – Did someone teach them? paraska mytrofanivna: They made their own guitars and balalaikas. They didn’t play every day, only on holidays and Sundays, sometimes Saturdays, too. – Did you go to the club to sing? paraska mytrofanivna: I didn’t want to, and our relatives didn’t go either. – During elections, was music played all the time? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, there was music. We had a cooperative. Things were cheap. This was during the first elections. … – Did people celebrate weddings in the club? paraska mytrofanivna: I don’t remember any weddings in the club. Now they celebrate weddings there. Halyna Zakharivna Bezrodnia (Poltava region)

halyna zakharivna: Young guys played various instruments. We had a string orchestra. – What year was this?

halyna zakharivna: 1935. We had very good ensembles in the club. – In the synagogue?

halyna zakharivna: Yes, the stage was very good. – Did people go there right away?

halyna zakharivna: Everyone went. The Jews left. There were fewer

of them. Their religion was not the only one persecuted. So was ours. Our religion fell apart, too. – Were there any bandura players? halyna zakharivna: In the drama group. – Where did they get the bandury? halyna zakharivna: They bought them. A guy was friends with Korohid who was a village starosta and a bandura player. That guy made a bandura for himself and went to Kyiv. … – When you sang in a group, were there songs that were mandatory to sing? halyna zakharivna: Yes, they would select holiday songs, but mostly we sang Ukrainian songs. We staged Nazar Stodolia with the vechornytsi participants. – Was it mandatory to sing songs about Lenin or Stalin for the October holidays?

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halyna zakharivna: People sang those songs. – Was your song repertoire checked?

halyna zakharivna: Yes, it was mandatory. You could not proceed without the check. They mostly staged Ukrainian plays. Everything was checked. – Who ran the checks? halyna zakharivna: Regional authorities. – What instruments did people play during these shows? halyna zakharivna: There was a harmonia, but the fiddle was gone by then. – Did anyone play a keyboard? halyna zakharivna: No. We had a string orchestra. – Your husband was the club director. Was he the one compiling the repertoire? halyna zakharivna: He was the one approving it. The repertoire was suggested by activists. – Was he given any instructions about what was prohibited? halyna zakharivna: He knew himself what was prohibited and what was allowed. We used to sing a [folk] song “A cuckoo was singing” [“Zakuvala ta syva zozulia”] which was later forbidden. – Why? halyna zakharivna: Because it was a Ukrainian song. – Can you sing a bit of this song? halyna zakharivna: A grey cuckoo sang its song Early in the morning. Young men cried Eh-h-h, in the foreign country. There were many songs that were forbidden. – Did you sing the song “O, an eagle is flying from the mountain tops” [“Oi, z-za hir vysokhyh syzokrylyi orel letyt”]? halyna zakharivna: We sang many songs. I have forgotten many by now. – Do you remember any folk songs? halyna zakharivna: Yes, of course. – Did you sing any Russian songs? halyna zakharivna: Russian and Ukrainian. Nobody forced anyone. If the song was good, we would sing it. – How many people were there in the choir? halyna zakharivna: Not fewer than twenty. – Did the church choir [pivcha] gather if there was a funeral?

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halyna zakharivna: Not at the time, but when I was a young girl

[before collectivization], I sang in the church choir. It was a good one, and we sang at funerals, too. – Were you taught to read music in the church? halyna zakharivna: Yes, it was mandatory. – Who taught you? halyna zakharivna: The choirmaster. – What kind of voice did you have? halyna zakharivna: An alto. – Were there many altos? halyna zakharivna: You have to have more altos than sopranos. – When you were in the church choir, did you go caroling? halyna zakharivna: When we were in the club’s group, some people would invite us caroling, and we would go. – What about when you went to church? halyna zakharivna: Not at the time, but we went caroling in the first years of our club membership. – Was caroling prohibited later on? halyna zakharivna: It dwindled on its own because people no longer respected it as before, and the authorities began arresting people, so the – Did people sing in the streets? halyna zakharivna: After the war, people gathered in the streets, sang, and partied until midnight. – Did people sing in the streets before the collectivization? halyna zakharivna: Yes, but when it was time to harvest the grain, there was no time for singing. Yevdokia Petrivna Bondarenko (Kharkiv region) – When you worked in the field, did concert tours come to your village?

yevdokia petrivna: No. There was a club. A woman from the club came

and read the newspaper to us. – Did you go to the club to read? yevdokia petrivna: No, she came to the field where we worked and read us the paper during our breaks. – What was in the papers? yevdokia petrivna: It was so long ago I don’t remember. – Did she read you any books? yevdokia petrivna: There were books in the club. – Was she a local woman? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, from our village.

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– Where did she work?

yevdokia petrivna: She was a newcomer who married a man from our village, and she worked in the club. She’s not here anymore. – Was she a member of the party or Komsomol? yevdokia petrivna: I don’t know. She was there in the field with the haymakers and those who sheaved. – Did she come every day? yevdokia petrivna: She would come to our plot today and to the next plot on the next day. – Where did you have the kolhosp meetings? yevdokia petrivna: At the school. We had a school in the village and we went there. – Was this before the war? yevdokia petrivna: Yes. Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Did you go to the club?

fedora oksentiivna: I used to go to one in the kolhosp. Sometimes I

would not go because it was so far. They had music, dances, shows, and plays in the club. Then they started showing movies. – What songs did people sing in the club? fedora oksentiivna: I knew many songs but have forgotten them. We mostly sang Ukrainian songs. No one sang in Russian. There were many songs. Musicians used to play in the club when they got together. – Did they play from sheet music? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. – Did people play music in the club on holidays? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. On October holidays, for instance, if they got together. … – Were there any bandura players? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. We had some in our village. There was a very good player who didn’t come back from the war. – Where did they play and sing? fedora oksentiivna: Wherever they were invited and in the clubs. – Where did they get their instruments? fedora oksentiivna: Their self-made bandury were excellent. They knew which wood to use and how to make the instrument. They sang great songs.

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Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did someone play in the club in the 1920s or 1930s? varvara denysivna: Yes. – What was your club called at the time? varvara denysivna: Club. – Was it set up in someone’s house? varvara denysivna: In the Jew’s house. There used to be a Jewish synagogue. All people went to that club. They didn’t sing, but they played music and danced. There was also a counter where they could buy candy and lemonade. – Who was selling drinks and sweets? varvara denysivna: People from the cooperative. – Was there a choir in the village? varvara denysivna: Yes, people sang and danced. – Did they stage any plays? varvara denysivna: Yes. I know this because my husband was a great dancer. No one in Vilshana danced like he did. We weren’t married at the time, and when he would come out to dance the hopak or barynia, it was quite a sight. – Did you go dancing? varvara denysivna: I didn’t when I was young, but when I was a woman, I danced well. Maybe that’s why I have so much pain in my legs now. – What kinds of dances were common in your village? varvara denysivna: Mostly polka. [My husband] was born in 1910, and I was born in 1915. They were five siblings: four girls and one boy. He traveled everywhere he wanted, “And you, mother, look after the girls.” … – What instruments did people play in the club? varvara denysivna: Mandolin, balalaika, and guitar. – Was there a bubon? varvara denysivna: Yes, but not in the club. Yana’s husband had one. Pavlo would go to play and take his boy. Oh no, that was my husband Petro who played the bubon. – Was there a fiddle in the village? varvara denysivna: I don’t know. – What about wind instruments? varvara denysivna: I don’t remember. – Was there a director in the club? varvara denysivna: He’s no longer alive, but yes, he was a director, but not for long. I don’t remember the others.

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– What happened to the church choirmaster? varvara denysivna: One became an accountant, and the other was in charge of the barn. – Were they ousted from the village? varvara denysivna: No. – What holidays were celebrated in the club? varvara denysivna: 1 May. – Was Shevchenko’s birthday celebrated? varvara denysivna: No. – Are there any concerts in the club now? varvara denysivna: I don’t go there, so I don’t know. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – When was the club set up in your village? arkhyp yakovych: The club? Ah. This was the priest’s house. Where we now have the hospital used to be the church. The priest’s house was nearby. – What kinds of songs did they sing back then? arkhyp yakovych: All kinds of songs. Musii Tykhonovych organized a singing group: three guitars, three fiddles, and three mandolins. I played the guitar, and he played the bandura. He also staged performances in Ikivka. The whole village would go to see one. With the money earned, we’d buy a guitar or something for the club. This was our entertainment when we were young. – What year was this? arkhyp yakovych: 1937–39, 1935. – After the famine? arkhyp yakovych: Yes, yes, yes, yes. – What songs did you learn in the club? arkhyp yakovych: What were they called? Well, I know some good songs. Oh, whose grain did the oxen trample? Oh, the grain of the Cossack that the three of us loved. Oh, whose field is that, stretching far? Oh, the field of the Cossack with the black eyebrows. Our souls would soar when we sang. “A small bird was flying across the fields, turning the grass” [“Ptychka-nevelychka po poliu litala, travku rozhortala”] … There were many songs. Many were forgotten. – Did you sing in Russian? arkhyp yakovych: Russian? No. Everything was in Ukrainian.

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Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – When the early collective farms were set up, did you have a reading house in the village? andrii fedorovych: Yes, in 1931 there was a club with a library. They started showing silent films. – Who organized the club? andrii fedorovych: The activists. – Were they locals or newcomers? andrii fedorovych: Activists were sent from other places, and someone local was in charge. – Were the activists called stotysiachnyky [Hundred Thousanders]? andrii fedorovych: No, just activists. They were sent from the factory. – Did an activist [from afar] come with his family or alone? andrii fedorovych: No, he came just for a season – from one to three months maximum. Antonina Sevastiianivna Firman (Vinnytsia region) – Did you go to the vechornytsi?

antonina sevastiianivna: No, there were no vechornytsi at the time.

We used to go to the club when it appeared after the Revolution. I was a performer, too. I played the Jewish woman Rukhlia in Natalka Poltavka. – Who was in charge of your amateur theater? antonina sevastiianivna: Havrylyshyn, a man from Dzuryn. – Was there sheet music? antonina sevastiianivna: Makar Konovalchuk was in charge of everything here. – Who was the musician? antonina sevastiianivna: We had many musicians in the club: Mykolaichyk, Myfodii, Nykolai, Shtefan, and Andrei Kazmyryn. I think there were seven of them. – What instruments did they play? antonina sevastiianivna: Trumpets. They were good musicians. Halyna Ivanivna Hatko (Kharkiv region) – When did the club start working in the village?

halyna ivanivna: Long ago, after 1933. – Was there no club before the kolhospy?

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halyna ivanivna: No.

– Did you go to the concerts?

halyna ivanivna: There were no concerts at the time, only vechornytsi. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – When did the people in your village start setting up a club? fedora yukhymivna: With the beginning of the kolhosp. Vasyl Arsenovych Yavdoshenko (Poltava region) – When you gathered in the streets for fun, did you have any musicians? vasyl arsenovych: Yes. We had billiards in the club in 1937. People played the balalaika, the mandolin, the guitar, and one man played the harmonia. This was for the parties outside. We used to rent a house for Christmas, and they played in the house. After the war, we no longer rented the house. Only the amateurs played. Then the parties started in the club even though it was cold inside. They staged plays there, too: Natalka Poltavka and Nazar Stodolia. I took part in them. Maria Opanasivna Yeshchenko (Chernihiv region) – Did you go to a club or was there a house where the young people would gather? maria opanasivna: At the time, we already had a club. – Did someone play harmonia and bubon there, too? maria opanasivna: Yes. – What songs and dances did people perform there? maria opanasivna: Various kinds. – In Ukrainian? maria opanasivna: I don’t know. – Were there amateur performances or did they have a concertmaster? maria opanasivna: There were concerts, but I don’t know who their director was. – Did you take part in the concerts? maria opanasivna: No, no. – Did the harmonia player perform on Soviet holidays, too? maria opanasivna: Yes. We had meetings, too, where men and women were awarded bonuses for good work.

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Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region) – Do you remember how the club was set up in your village? mykhailo hryhorovych: Yes, the club was called the village house at the time. It used to be the priest Pidhursky’s house. His house was about twenty meters farther down than the current club. I remember how the old staff of Prosvita staged performances in school. When I was still too young to go to school, they would take me to these shows. I don’t remember the story, but I remember the stage, the artists, and the swords. The amateur theater was very good. It was made up of haymakers who would make hay barefoot in the summer and then come to rehearsals in the club wearing their linen work pants, barefoot. Everything I know about the classical plays – and, in essence, our Ukrainian mentality – is from our village and those performances. Let me tell you what went on there. We were schoolboys, and under the stage there was a plank that could be removed. The three Bondarenko brothers and I would get in through that opening when the guard wasn’t there, and we’d wait. The audience would come. A prompter would light up a candle in his booth. Then we’d come out and find a seat in the hall. The fiddle would start playing. They were mostly trios. People didn’t chase us away, so we the young schoolchildren watched those performances. All the classics – and not in some large theater, but in Husakove. The shows had a big impact on me, on the development of my personality. You understand? I don’t mean just a national feeling, but my spiritual world. Major excitement. – Who went to these shows? mykhailo hryhorovych: Absolutely everyone. A ticket cost five or ten kopeks. It was a full house, and some people stood in the hallway. The hall was small. People took a great interest in this and respected the artists. – Was Prosvita popular? mykhailo hryhorovych: This was their work. We had a teacher named Kateryna Safonivna. She was a long-time member of Prosvita, and so was her husband. They were all educated there. The same goes for the choir members. We had a very strong choir singing culture. When Prosvita was banned before the Revolution, their choir merged with the church choir. People gathered for small parties. In the garden that belonged to my parents, the kolhosp set up a bee garden, and Yosyp Yosypovych was its guard. He was such a romantic person. He was a good singer and wrote poems – simple poems, of course. He was also very strong physically. … – Were there any fiddle players in the club? mykhailo hryhorovych: Yes. There was also a large double bass in the club. We would be sitting under the stage, and the fiddles would start tuning

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in. Then they would turn the lights down. We had kerosene lamps and the stage was small. – Did bandura players come to the concerts? mykhailo hryhorovych: Outsiders didn’t come, but locals did play. Filimon Oksemenko and Faust Seredenko were the local men who played the Cossack dumy and the classics. This was in our village. Faust Yosypovych Seredenko was a teacher, and the other one was just a Prosvita member. He organized Prosvita activities here during the German occupation, too. When the Germans were leaving, they took him. Seredenko was the choirmaster during the German occupation. The girls from the tenth grade sang Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. No one reported on him, but I must say he moved to another village. He could have been sentenced to ten years. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko whom you interviewed earlier was sentenced to ten years for his work with Prosvita because he was also a choirmaster there. Petro Muzyka was in charge of Prosvita, and he was sentenced to ten years. – Did he get his ten-year sentence because he was a leader of Prosvita? mykhailo hryhorovych: He sang Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. It was considered anti-Soviet behavior at the time. – When did he sing it? mykhailo hryhorovych: In the fall of 1941. A group of the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (oun ) was being organized here. They were about two hundred people going to Poltava. They stopped in Zvenyhorodka and started organizing a network of oun here as well as starting Prosvita groups. Hryhorii Syvokin was the regional leader here. He was executed by a German firing squad. Mykhailo Omelchenko was the district leader. They were locals. Only one was from Halychyna [Polish Galicia], but he wasn’t arrested. He managed to flee. I remember how the Prosvita office was opened in Husakove. There were two halls in school separated by a wooden wall. One could remove it and have a large hall with a small stage. The representatives were sitting on the stage. There was a portrait of [Taras] Shevchenko that a teacher painted with my paints and printed portraits of [Symon] Petliura [supreme commander of the Army of the Ukrainian People’s Republic, 1918–20] and [Stepan] Bandera [oun leader] on either side of it. Mykhailo Omelchenko was the district leader of the oun , Hryhorii Syvokin was the regional leader, and Artem Tkachenko was another one. He was in prison in Solovky, but he ran away from there. Tkachenko recited a duma about the Solovky seagull from the stage, with feeling, and some men cried, you understand? Then he read the poems by Malaniuk. I remember this because this was how I learned about him. At the time, [Volodymyr] Sosiura wrote a letter to Malaniuk. The Germans allowed them to develop, like film negatives, and then they started arresting them in the spring of 1942.

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Artem Tkachenko resisted and killed a policeman. I saw Syvokin – he was all beat-up. He was not tall and had fair hair. He was shot in Kyiv because he had connections with the Kyiv office. Their representatives were beaten in Uman, and Yurko Omelchenko, the son of Mykhailo Omelchenko, disappeared. Yurko completed four years of university and ran away. Postolenko, who worked in the editorial department, only lost his teeth in the fight. He wasn’t shot because he had only worked here for one week. They let him go. Both of them were in the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (upa ) later. Postolenko came back and was sentenced to twenty-five years. He served his sentence in Vorkuta. Yurko was somewhere there, too, and he died. These guys organized Prosvita in our village. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Did you go to the club?

petro vasylovych: Yes, I was its director. We had a choir and the drama group. – Did the authorities check the song repertoire? petro vasylovych: No one checked it. – Did you sing Russian songs, too? petro vasylovych: All kinds of songs, but mostly Ukrainian ones. – Did you sing about Lenin? petro vasylovych: Songs about Lenin were mandatory, at the top of the list. Halyna Ivanivna Klymenko (Cherkasy region) – Did you go to the club for amateur performances? halyna ivanivna: I did; I joined the club when I was little. I started performing when I was little (Holiana Kurochyna was young, and I was even younger when I was her maid of honor). My older sister came to see me perform. She was wondering how I was doing there. I played two roles – a peasant and a landlady – I was about to go on stage when my older sister Maria shouted out that we were robbed. They took everything that we had in the wedding chest. – Were there performances and concerts in the club? halyna ivanivna: Yes, concerts and plays. The plays were bigger at the time for some reason. … – Did the blind men that sang in the club have their own ensemble? halyna ivanivna: We had an ensemble of blind singers from the Ukrainian Association of the Blind in Zvenyhorodka. They worked there.

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– Did the bandura players come to your village to play before collectivization? halyna ivanivna: No, there was no such club at the time. During collectivization, the village council was being built; then we had a club, and later on it moved to the house of a family of dispossessed people. There was no club before the kolhosp. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko (Kharkiv region) – Did you perform in the club?

fedir yosypovych: No, we didn’t have any clubs.

– What about the reading house? fedir yosypovych: There was a reading house here in the office. Meetings were held there, and people came to read, too. There were three rooms: the accountant’s desk was in the large one (they had a locker for the papers and such), Maria Hnatovna lived in the second room (she was poor), and the small hallway was for smoke breaks. … – When was the club built in Zolocheve? fedir yosypovych: This club was built after the war. The church was dismantled after the war and used as a warehouse. Little by little they took it apart completely and built a club here. I don’t remember what year it was. … – Did you go to the concerts in the club after the war? fedir yosypovych: Yes. – What concerts were there? fedir yosypovych: All kinds. People sang and danced. – Did the bandura ensembles come from Kyiv or Kharkiv? fedir yosypovych: Some would come from Kharkiv or other places. There were also local ensembles, many good ones. – Did you have bandura players in your village? fedir yosypovych: I don’t remember. Kostiantyn Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – Who taught you to sing?

kostiantyn hryhorovych: Probably the club. I used to go there since I was little. Back then, people would gather and exercise. The dosvitky also continued taking place, but then they disappeared after collectivization.

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Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – Was there a general assembly (zbory) in the kolhosp? petro ivanovych: Yes, it was mandatory. – Was everyone under obligation to attend it? Where was the assembly held? petro ivanovych: In the club. – Did everyone attend or were people forced to go? petro ivanovych: No. … – When was the church closed down? petro ivanovych: I think it was closed down in 1928–29, and then in 1934, right, 1935, 1936, and 1937 – they took it apart and made a club. In 1937, we already had a club. Markian Hryhorovych Kutsevol (Poltava region) – Was there a church choir [pivcha] in the village? markian hryhorovych: Oh, and a good one! During the Revolution, many guys came from Kyiv; we had a choirmaster and a good choir. There were many young people. The choirmaster Petro Mykhailovych Kotliarevsky was a local. The singers could read music and had great voices. The club was in the former military building. They would come out to sing by the river in the spring, and people in Deimanovka would hear them singing Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. The choirmaster wanted the choir to sing it in the church, too, but the priest heard them and said, “Stop! This is blasphemy.” Back in the day, the church service was in Slavonic, not in Ukrainian. The choirmaster was a teacher and could read music well. When I was young, we had four years of school education, and for the previous generation it was three years. … – Where was your club located? markian hryhorovych: Where the bank was, and later in the priest’s house. That large building used to be the house of the servants before the Revolution. In 1930, they started building a new club and logging wood; they finished it in 1938. We went to the club to see performances and participate in group activities. There was no tv at the time. They performed Nazar Stodolia and Natalka Poltavka. The actors had such good voices. Local people were elected as the club directors. We had a choir and an amateur theater. They used to sing “The Mighty Dnipro Roars and Bellows” [Reve ta stohne Dnipr shyrokyi] and “The Green Garden at the Foothill of a High Mountain” [Stoit hora vysoka, pid horoiu hai zeleny]. At first, they sang revolutionary songs like “The Internationale.” I was in the amateur theater and played Mykola …

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They would sing Russian ditties (chastushky) in Ukrainian but sometimes in Russian, to balalaika or harmonia accompaniment. Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – When was the club set up in your village? danylo yosypovych: The club? It was there from the start [of the kolhosp]. It used to be a tea house before it became the club. Vasyl Mynko, also known as Vasyl Prosvita, was the club leader; he staged various plays. – Did you go to see them? danylo yosypovych: Yes, and often. They would let you in if you had a ticket, but there were also some [events] for which you didn’t need a ticket. … – Did you go as a spectator, or did you also take part in the shows? danylo yosypovych: I performed once. – What did you do? danylo yosypovych: I forgot the name of the play, but I played the king’s fool. – Were there concerts in the club at the time? danylo yosypovych: Yes, the concerts and the plays. The plays were good. We had good actors in the village. I remember Kyrylo Mykytovych used to make everyone laugh hard. – Did the artists sing, dance, and play during the concerts? danylo yosypovych: Yes, Mykyta was friends with Vasyl Mynko, who was a good artist. Then Mykyta Kyrylovych joined the kolhosp and worked as a motorist. He went downhill, and Vasyl went to Kyiv. Things went up for him. He had refused to join the kolhosp. – What did he do in Kyiv? danylo yosypovych: He wrote some brochures there. – Is he still alive? danylo yosypovych: No. He lived to the age of ninety-two. – What instruments were played in the concerts? danylo yosypovych: People played the instruments. – Which ones? danylo yosypovych: A sopilka (end-blown flute), and more frequently – a mandolin, a guitar, and a balalaika. We had many string instrument players. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – Did you go to sing in the streets? yevdokia ivanivna: Not from the start. Around 1933 we didn’t go singing

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[on the streets] anymore. They established [on the kolhosp] “collective houses” [kolbud], and people started going there. The street [performances] had been better and merrier, even though we were poor. From 1933 the suffering began [Holodomor], and no one was in the mood to sing. Motrona Ivanivna Lomynoha (Kharkiv region) – Were there any girls who sang well? motrona ivanivna: Yes, and I was a good singer, too, when I was young. I acted in the plays when they started staging them. – What plays did they stage? motrona ivanivna: Natalka Poltavka. I forgot the others. – Was this in the club? motrona ivanivna: Yes. – Were you already married? motrona ivanivna: My husband was already dead at the time. He was killed in the war. – Was this before or after the war? motrona ivanivna: It was almost after the war. Halyna Illivna Makiiva (Kharkiv region) – Do you remember when the club was set up in your village? halyna illivna: We used to go there for dances. We had people from Western Ukraine here, and they would come with their music and danced in the club. – What kind of music did they play? halyna illivna: The harmonia and different balalaikas. They played and danced well. They were mischievous guys. – Did performers come to the club to give concerts? halyna illivna: Before the war, no one came to give concerts. Now they do. Back in the day, local people would gather, they’d dance, and maybe sit outside, and dance there, too. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region)

ivan serhiiovych: They set up the club in the former synagogue. The

Jews had been deported, and the club was set up in 1926. – What songs did they sing in the club? ivan serhiiovych: There was a play Natalka Poltavka and silent films. I didn’t go there often.

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Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – How old were you when you started meeting girls and guys outside? mykyta mykolaiovych: Around sixteen. – When you first went out, did the guys bully you or make you do something? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, I began my cultural life after 1917. It was a totally different life. We didn’t have a moment to breathe at the time. There was no culture. After 1917, they set up a reading house and showed some films – not often, about twice a month. We started getting people together. We started to get magazines in the reading house. Vechornytsi ceased. The reading house had newspapers and one pair of headphones. Then they started buying more, organizing the hobby groups, and staging plays and concerts. – What plays were staged? mykyta mykolaiovych: Plays about the bandura and the Cossacks. The first play was Natalka Poltavka. Then the hobby groups were organized, and the church was destroyed. Before, people used to sing in the church. When it was destroyed, the singers came to the club. In our village, we called it a reading house, not a club. – Did they sing religious songs? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, no. They sang old Ukrainian songs. – Did they sing songs about Lenin? mykyta mykolaiovych: Of course, about his childhood, his life, and the life he made for others. … – What did people do in the reading house? mykyta mykolaiovych: There were concerts and plays; people read. – Who was in charge? mykyta mykolaiovych: Komsomol members. Military leaders would come and often stage plays. The Soviet government gave us a totally different life. – You said there were plays about the bandura? mykyta mykolaiovych: The bandura players. Taras Shevchenko played the bandura, and so there were bandura players. … – Where was the reading house set up? mykyta mykolaiovych: In the former priest’s house. He had a good one. He was evicted. – The village council and the reading house were in the same building? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, the priest had six rooms in his house. – Was the reading house established before the village council was? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. A man was dispossessed and evicted, and

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his house was confiscated and used for the reading house. Then they took the priest’s house which had six rooms, and both the village council and the reading house moved there. – What year was the first reading house set up? mykyta mykolaiovych: Approximately 1928. – Not earlier in 1921, 1922? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, no. Maria Maksymivna Nekhai (Cherkasy region) – Do you remember if there was a club before the war? maria maksymivna: The club was made after they destroyed the church in our village. – Did someone play [instruments] in the club? maria maksymivna: Yes, local guys played harmonia. – Was there a choirmaster who taught the girls to sing? maria maksymivna: No. – Is there a club now? maria maksymivna: Yes, it still exists. – Are there any concerts there? maria maksymivna: Sometimes they have concerts and movies. Olha Vasylivna Odnoroh (Cherkasy region) – What musical instruments do you remember? olha vasylivna: A mandolin, a balalaika, a guitar, a bubon, and a harmonia. – Were there any bandura players? olha vasylivna: Not at the time. There was an ensemble at the club and all kinds of musicians. – What dances do you remember? olha vasylivna: Krakowiak, the polka called “In the Garden,” and hopak. We also sang various songs. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – Was Mykola Panteleimonovych in charge of the choir? vira trokhymivna : Yes, and before him there were others: Tylizhynsky and many others. I had been going there since first grade. I was invited by Artem Artemovych Danylchenko. He was [later] repressed. He used to come to our house to eat (my mother cooked) and he took me to the club.

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– Was he a newcomer?

vira trokhymivna : He was from Moryntsi. On Saturdays or when I

had time on any other day, I would daub the clay floor in the house. We lived far in the field, and he came with some artist from Kyiv. I think his name was Boichenko. I was washing the floor and singing. They came to eat, and they were sitting on the porch outside, listening to my songs. “Oh, Artem Artemovych, why aren’t you saying why you came here?” – “No reason.” – Boichenko said, “If such a child lived in Kyiv or in some other city, she could study and would have developed her voice. She had such a good voice.” Artem Artemovych said, “I’ll take her as a student when she goes to first grade.” – Why was he repressed? vira trokhymivna : He taught the songs that were forbidden, and someone reported that his choir sang Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. – Was he arrested in your village? vira trokhymivna : Yes. – How was he arrested? vira trokhymivna : I don’t know where he was taken. He didn’t come back. – Was he succeeded by Mykola Panteleimonovych [Sokyrko]? vira trokhymivna : Yes, Mykola Panteleimonovych was his student. Then Mykola Panteleimonovych went to study again, and the teacher was in charge again. Then Mykola Panteleimonovych returned and was in charge all the time. My parents and I went to sing in Kyiv in 1936; I was in ninth grade. Pavlo Usenko was the presenter, and in the administration box there were [Stanislav] Kosior, Liubchenko, [Pavlo] Postyshev, [Ukrainian Communist Party leaders – ed.] and someone else. This was my first time on such a large stage. We sang “Viburnum, raspberry” [Kalyno-malyno] and one other song we learned from our grandfather. It’s the song that Taras Shevchenko sang when he came to visit our aunt in 1859, “O, grief, my brothers, grief is upon us” [Oi, sudoma nam, brattia, sudoma]. My grandfather learned it and the song spread on. It’s printed now on music sheet. Postyshev stood up and said, “We kindly ask the family to sing any of the songs they sing at home for the holidays.” My father was agile, and he said to us, “On Kupala Night” [Na Ivana, na Kupala]. And we sang this song as an encore. – Were the three of you singing? vira trokhymivna : Yes, they gave us cloth for costumes and a record player with records, but the records contained only Stalin’s speeches. – How were these gifts presented to you? vira trokhymivna : We performed at the final concert, and they presented the gifts at the gala. My father didn’t want to go to this concert because the cow was about to calve, and I was in school. He said, “We won’t go.” Then Ivan Hryhorovych Diachkov came from the political department.

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– From Zvenyhorodka?

vira trokhymivna : No, we were in Vilshansky district. He came with

some other activist as well as the head of the village council, telling us that we had to go. The head of the village council asked us to go because we were the only ones from our village who were invited; the choir wasn’t. Diachkov sent a car for us from Vilshana, and we went. It was free of charge for us. We took our Ukrainian costumes and went. We came to the station, and as we were getting out of the train, we heard, “The family of the kolhospnyk Trokhym Mykytovych Oliinyk that will perform Ukrainian folk songs has arrived in Kyiv.” My father said, “Let’s run away. Someone here knows me.” Semen Skliarenko got in our way, “Trokhym Mykytovych, where are you going? We came specifically for you.” He picked us up. … – What holiday was this concert for? vira trokhymivna : This was the first Ukrainian Olympiad in 1936. Usually, we would perform on holidays in the region and in Vilshana. Andrii Ivanovych Ovcharenko (Cherkasy region) – Did you play in the club?

andrii ivanovych: I played the mandolin, and the guys and I used to

gather to play after school. – Did they also play mandolin? andrii ivanovych: They played balalaika. … – Were there any bandura players in the club? andrii ivanovych: No. We gathered on our own.

Nykyfir Maksymovych Poberezhnyk (Vinnytsia region) – When was the club organized? nykyfir maksymovych: We had a primitive club in the priest’s house. There was no club building at the time, and later they set up the present-day House of Culture. – What kind of music did they play in the club when you were young? nykyfir maksymovych: Waltz, polka, krakowiak, and some others. – Was there a club director? nykyfir maksymovych: Of course. I was club director for three years when the club was in the house. – What did you do as a director?

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nykyfir maksymovych: We staged plays. – What kinds of plays?

nykyfir maksymovych: All kinds. Natalka Poltavka was one of them. Oleksandra Vasylivna Poluden (Cherkasy region) – Were there any musicians in your village? oleksandra vasylivna: Yes. – What instruments did they play? oleksandra vasylivna: Guitar, mandolin, harmonia, balalaika, and fiddle. The club was set up in the church, and the rest of the space was used for grain storage. I went to that club once. I took a look and cried because of what was going on. Where the priest used to walk people were now dancing. – Did musicians play in the club? oleksandra vasylivna: Yes, they played every evening, and people danced a great deal. Olena Klymentiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region)

olena klymentiivna: I started performing when I already had two

children. My girlfriends would come to our house, “Andriusha, let her play sometime.” They staged plays like Matchmaking in Honcharivka [Svatannia na Honcharivtsi] and Martyn Borulia. The plays took place in the house from which they had evicted my father. It was a large building. It was first used as a club, then as a barn, and finally as a pigsty. Then that house was dismantled for the recognized-as-best (shock) workers [udarnyky] to build their houses. – Were you forced to sing songs about Stalin? olena klymentiivna: There was a train car near the train station in which they showed the movies. Chapaev’s girls sang there about Stalin. We used to go around the villages like Khresty and Lypivske performing our plays. A man from the railway station would bring me pasta or white bread. I gave it to my grandmother, so she could look after the children while I was performing. My husband wasn’t jealous. He loved the shows and allowed me to go. – Were your shows checked before you went on stage with them? olena klymentiivna: Not in our case, and the director of our group was down-to-earth. No one scolded or punished us. – Were you paid? olena klymentiivna: They would sometimes give us a kilogram of some produce from the kolhosp, never money.

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– Did you go to these shows eagerly? olena klymentiivna: Yes, many people would come to watch them. Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova (Cherkasy region) – Did you perform for holidays or during skhodky?

oleksandra ivanivna: We played in the club on Saturdays or holidays.

We were about fifteen musicians: four guitars, four balalaikas, four mandolins, and one fiddle. I learned all of them because I play all the instruments and the harmonia in addition. No one taught me. I learned on my own when my son brought me a harmonia three years ago. I was in the music school and elsewhere. We didn’t wait for Sunday. We played in the streets every night. The audience would come. People would sing and dance. One woman said, “When I die, I’d like you to play at my funeral all the way to the cemetery.” My second husband played harmonia. This was after the war because before the war my husband was a pilot; he died in 1941. He and I lived in Mongolia. When he died, I came to live here with my child. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did people celebrate weddings in the club? varvara ihorivna: No, not in the club, but they would sign the documents in the village council and go home. On the weekend they would party. – Was there a choir in the club? varvara ihorivna: There they only showed movies and played harmonia and bubon. There were holiday concerts. People sang various songs, whatever they could remember. There was a concert in the club for Shevchenko’s birthday on 9 March. I remember for Women’s Day on 8 March they dressed me up (I was little) into an embroidered shirt, a red corset, an apron, ribbons, and a wreath. I went on stage to recite this poem: “It’s the holiday and one hears songs and factory whistles. From the smoky outskirts we are going to work. Red poppies are blooming. It’s our women’s holiday today. The 8th of March is our day. We will show you the dedication with which a woman will carry on Lenin’s cause. All through the Soviet state powerful factories are being built. High-capacity machines are put to work on kolhosp land.” This was the poem I recited. People also sang the revolutionary songs. I don’t remember them. I was forced to pay the childless tax. I said to them, “Where would I get a child? Should I go to the streets, so I wouldn’t have to pay the childless tax?” So, I ran away from there. “Let the others sing those songs about Lenin and Stalin. It’s good what Stalin did, but it’s not good that we have to pay the childless tax.” Next day, the police came and arrested me. Good thing the head of the

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village council and the head of the kolhosp put in a word for me, otherwise, I’d probably have gone to prison for fifteen years for what I said. Someone from our group reported me. Since then, I’ve never said anything about Lenin or Stalin, God forbid. And I don’t want to hear anything about them either. – Was there a club director? varvara ihorivna: Yes, he is still alive. He was a director for a long time: Ivan Ivanovych Rud. During zbory, the music would play all the time. There was even a radio. – Were people forced to go to zbory? varvara ihorivna: A cart would go around with the bells ringing. It would pick people up and take them to vote. I said I would not go, so the cart came to take me there. Once we voted, they would take us back from the town committee. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Do you remember when the club was organized in the kolhosp? halyna ilarionivna: It was when they dispossessed people and took their houses (a rich man lived in the house that became the club; his house was nice). The kolhosp took the barn, and it’s still standing. – Did they rebuild it? halyna ilarionivna: It was a log house on a foundation. I don’t know if they took it apart and moved it. They took the house and made a club. Then they took it apart and made a new club on the same spot. – Was the house owner evicted? halyna ilarionivna: Yes. – He didn’t come back? halyna ilarionivna: He did, but he’s no longer alive. – What was his last name? halyna ilarionivna: Ivan Kryvenko. – Was he evicted with his family? halyna ilarionivna: Yes, with his family. He came back and built a house. … – When the clubs began, who played [instrumental music] in them? halyna ilarionivna: The same village guys and the ones from the nearby villages of Zamiatyn and Chubivka. They played harmonia and bubon. The weddings took place in the club. … – Do you remember the director of the club? halyna ilarionivna: There was one, sure thing.

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– What did he do?

halyna ilarionivna: He organized theater performances; we sang in the choir. I’ve forgotten some. Vira was in charge of everything here. She’d say, “Let’s go, girls, let’s organize the evening singing.” We sang on stage. … – Were there any bandura players in your village? halyna ilarionivna: No. During collectivization, some came from Chyhyryn. They would occasionally come to our house for a sleepover. They would leave their baskets in the house, and one time we got fleas from them. My mother had to treat the benches with steam. – How many of them were there? halyna ilarionivna: About fifteen. – Did you go to their concert? halyna ilarionivna: Yes, of course. – What did they sing? halyna ilarionivna: I don’t remember. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko (Cherkasy region)

mykola panteleimonovych: I loved to sing since I was little. In school,

we had a very good choirmaster from 1921 to 1930. I was a student in the art department, and we had a good director there, too. In the army, I was the choirmaster of the soldier choir, but I came back. When I was a student in the school choir, I was interested in the fiddle. The choirmaster played the fiddle, and I started learning from him. This was around 1925. Then I made fiddles and balalaikas. I started learning to play fiddle using sheet music. After the army, I became a teacher. I was the choirmaster in the school choir and later in the village choir. The fiddle helped me a great deal. In 1936, I went to the national course for choirmasters in the Kyiv Conservatory [narkomos , organized by the People’s Commissariat for Education]. There were 120 people there from all over Ukraine: ten women and the rest were men. Hryhorii Hryhorovych Viriovka was the course leader. They taught piano, fiddle, and folk instruments. I studied fiddle and learned much about music. The teachers were excellent: Hrinchenko, Kavun, and Khvylia. Later, most of them were executed. After the course, I continued to teach and lead the school choir. Three times we won the first place in the regional competition. I had a Pioneer choir and sometimes I worked with the older guys and girls. At another time, I was a choirmaster of the choir that took the first place in the national competition in 1956. – When you were taking the course in 1936, did you feel any danger at the time? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, each of us thought at the time that

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someone could come to arrest us. We had some fear, but we were very much taken by our work. Later, I found out that most of the teachers were shot … I often taught at the regional and district seminars for the music teachers. I taught the theory of music, singing, and teaching methods of choir singing. – Who paid for your course back in 1936? mykola panteleimonovych: I funded it. I didn’t pay for the course, but neither did I get any scholarship money. The course was organized by the People’s Commissariat of Education [narkomos ]. It had the department of amateur performances. – Did anyone from the National Commissariat or its department come here, to the village? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, [Hryhorii] Petrovsky did. He was the head of the Supreme Council of the republic, the Ukrainian starosta. – What did he say? mykola panteleimonovych: He came right when collectivization began, and they set up an example of what a kolhosp should be like in our village – the commune of a few hectares where people sowed and harvested crops. On that plot of land, several families demonstrated how farming could be done. Then they started engaging people in the kolhosp, mostly by force. Whether you wanted or not, it was Stalin’s order to join the kolhosp. Stalin rushed this because it was easy to confiscate the grain through the kolhospy. – Did the organization of music by the People’s Commissariat start during collectivization? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes. We had cultural activities in the village earlier: the choir, amateur performances, theater, and orchestras. All of this was before collectivization. It all started during Lenin’s time. People took an interest in it. There was a good deal of enthusiasm. Everywhere in the village, you could hear songs. Then all of this other began [Stalinism]sometime during collectivization, and everything disappeared. Life got harder. The enthusiasm disappeared somewhere. – Did all the concerts in the 1930s start with songs about the party? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, the first song had to be about the party. You could get punished for other songs … During collectivization, we sang the song from the play God Almighty, Watch over Ukraine [Bozhe velykyi, yedyny, nashu Vkrainu khrany] in the church. The Cossacks kneel when they sing it. We had an Orthodox autocephalous church. I was accused of singing Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. They needed to arrest the priest because the autocephalous church was prohibited. The accusations against him were fabricated. The deacon reported on him and said that the choir sang Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. I suffered because of this song. – How long were you sentenced for?

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mykola panteleimonovych: They gave me five years. I served my

sentence in Norilsk. The ensemble “Trembita” [a long wooden horn] from Lviv was there, too. I was a choirmaster there: twenty-six “Trembita” members, all different voices. During the war, they performed in the opera theater in Kazakhstan. Then a case was opened [Soviet power prosecuted them], and they were all sent to Norilsk. Today, all of them are exonerated. They are all retired. Back in the day, I sang with them. I organized a choir in another camp there, too. It was a very strong choir, great voices. – You said that musical life was different before collectivization? mykola panteleimonovych: There was more enthusiasm, liveliness, more interest, and joy. … – Why did you want to do the course from the People’s Commissariat if they didn’t pay you anything? mykola panteleimonovych: You know, first of all, I was selected after they heard my choir. I loved this work and wanted to learn more about it. – Were you the choirmaster at the time? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, since 1934 and I did that course in 1936. I started working as a choirmaster in 1921. The previous choirmaster left the village, and there was no one to lead the choir. The head of the village council summoned me and asked me to take over. At the time, I was a choirmaster in the school. – Did you rehearse in the House of Culture? mykola panteleimonovych: We had a very primitive club at the time with about 250 seats. The reading room was in the house that later became the priest’s house. There were various hobby groups, and we sang in the club. – Were you paid as a choirmaster? mykola panteleimonovych: No, I was not paid. I started getting paid in the last five years – fifty rubles from the kolhosp. I was in charge not only of the choir, but of the drama group. – Did you perform at your own cost? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, we borrowed the costumes from village residents. We could also find some costumes in the club. – Who is this man wearing the commissary uniform and sitting next to your first choir in the photo? mykola panteleimonovych: That is the director of the club. – Was he a commissar [a high-ranking activist]? Mykola Panteleimonovych: No, the club’s director, a party administrator who was responsible for everything. – Did you feel the pressure from the party or Komsomol activists in 1937, 1938, and 1939?

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mykola panteleimonovych: Before we could perform, we had to put

together the repertoire and show it to them for approval. – Where did you take the repertoire from? mykola panteleimonovych: Year after year, I collected various songs from different songbooks. I’d hear something on the radio and look for it in books. Our main task was to serve the revolutionary holidays: the October holidays, Lenin’s day, and 1 May. Outside of this, we performed in other villages. I led a choir of five hundred people in the village for Shevchenko’s 150th anniversary. There were four voices [i.e., satb ]. They sang so well, in harmony. – Is it true that there were more holidays after the war than before it? mykola panteleimonovych: No, it was the same. From border to border Over the mountain tops Where the eagle soars free The people sing A beautiful song About our wise, dear, and grand Stalin. Aleksandrov wrote this melody. … – Did you have to sing Russian songs? mykola panteleimonovych: No, no one gave us such orders. – Did the party leaders say anything to you after the concert, if it was good or bad? mykola panteleimonovych: You know, if you sing well, anyone will tell you that it was good. – Did you have an internal censor? Could you include a song about Doroshenko [a Cossack Hetman], for example? mykola panteleimonovych: No, we didn’t take this song. We sang it in the army. – Why wouldn’t you include it in the choir program? mykola panteleimonovych: You were not allowed to say the word “Ukraine” at the time. You had to say, “Ukrainian Soviet Republic.” If you ever said “motherland,” just give up all hope. You could not show [Ukrainian] patriotic national feelings even though everyone had them. When activists came from Kyiv, I always told them that we didn’t have enough songs about Lenin and the party: too many folk songs, too few contemporary songs. This was the order from the People’s Commissariat, but we still sang Ukrainian songs and staged Ukrainian plays although there were only a few Ukrainian songs at Shevchenko’s anniversary.

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Halyna Tymofiivna Tarasenko (Kharkiv region) – When did the club appear? halyna tymofiivna: In the 1930s, the church was closed, and grain was stored there before the war. During the war, the Germans kept their horses there. We have a new club. In the 1960s, we performed in the new club, while the old one had been in the church. We danced there in the church. The stage was set up on the spot of the former altar. The young people were very active and staged great plays. First, there were the plays, and later the folklore. In the 1930s, we performed in the priest’s house, not in the church. – Was there an instrumental ensemble? halyna tymofiivna: No. If it was some holiday, music would play from a car. People played harmoniia in the kolhosp. … – Did Steblianko come to your village? halyna tymofiivna: Yes, before the 300th anniversary of the union between Ukraine and Russia. Marchenko used to come, but he died. We practiced here in the house because it was cold in the club. After 1946, my husband was appointed the director of the club and we staged Matchmaking in Honcharivka, The Ill-Fated, and While the Grass Grows, the Steed Starves [Svatannia na Honcharivtsi, Beztalanna, and Poky sontse ziide, rosa ochi vyist]. – Did you sing without sheet music? halyna tymofiivna: Without sheet music. Later, we had to have someone who could read music. We had a national orchestra in our school before the war: thirty-seven people. They played without music notation. The local teacher led the orchestra, and it was all by ear. Then, in the 1970s, people came from music schools. I learned music notation because I was sent to take a course every Sunday. My grandfather was so glad that I could read music. I would play at home. Half a year later, I was taking my son with me to school. Both of my sons are harmoniia players. The three of us sang on stage. My sons can play guitar and read music. I finished a two-year course and became a voice coach. I was the only person in the district who could read music notation. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – When you were a young girl, did you sing in your neighborhood [kutok] or did you go to your neighbors [a neighboring kutok]? anastasia yukhymivna: Why would I go to the neighbors? I sang in my neighborhood [kutok]. – Did guys come from nearby neighborhoods [kutky]? anastasia yukhymivna: Yes, from Vedmedivka and elsewhere. I

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played and so did my brother and sister. We had a balalaika, a guitar, and a mandolin. I played bubon very well. – When did you play – at the vechornytsi? anastasia yukhymivna: We’d work all day long. In the evening we’d go to wash up in a pond, change, and go to the streets. People would gather in every street: Korobkivka, Kotsarivka, or Kerekivka and on they would go singing. Farther on, we had a small wooden club. People would come in and sing with great joy. We were hungry, but there was joy. – What did you play? anastasia yukhymivna: Krakowiak, polka, hopak, korobeiniki – everything, everything, everything. – You would play instruments and people would dance, right? anastasia yukhymivna: Right. – Did someone play the fiddle, too? anastasia yukhymivna: We had a teacher Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova. She is still alive. She played the fiddle. – When was she born? anastasia yukhymivna: She was born in 1917. Marko played, too, and he was also born in 1917. – Is Marko still alive? anastasia yukhymivna: Yes, both of them are. – How did you play? anastasia yukhymivna: We played in the club. We’d sit down near the stage and play. – How were you paid? anastasia yukhymivna: For what? We played for ourselves. When we sang in the club, we raised the roof. Each group sang their songs. Some singers competed to draw the guys closer to themselves. – Where did you buy your balalaika? anastasia yukhymivna: Balalaikas were sold in stores in Vedmedivka and Ivkivtsi. They also sold guitars and mandolins. – A balalaika, a guitar, and a mandolin? anastasia yukhymivna: And a bubon, too. This was before and after the war. – Was the bubon small? anastasia yukhymivna: It was round. … – Was there a tavern in your village? anastasia yukhymivna: There may have been one during my parents’ time, I don’t know. There was a store. – Was there a director in the club?

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Anastasia Yukhymivna: Yes, Posobilova. Then she left, and Myfodii Osypovych Fylonenko was the director. Ivan Kalistratovych Udovychenko (Cherkasy region) – When was the club built?

ivan kalistratovych: The old club was in the priest’s house after the 1920s. – Was the church completely destroyed?

ivan kalistratovych: Yes, it was wooden, so if someone had taken care

of it, it could still be here. It’s a pity they want to destroy the other one in the volost too, but the villagers are protesting there. They had Slupitsky in the village council, such a mean person. The village council would take apart the schools if they needed a piece of roof. Such thieves they are. – What kind of volost was this? ivan kalistratovych: Similar to the village council. They joined some villages to it. There was a landowner’s enterprise – your average agricultural technician. He worked for Pototsky. He was considered a landowner, but he didn’t have much land. – Did they show films in the priest’s house? ivan kalistratovych: Movies and plays. It was a good time. There was no library back then. – Was there Prosvita in your village? ivan kalistratovych: If there was no library, there was no Prosvita. When the library was organized, they also started setting up drama, singing, and music groups. – When was this? ivan kalistratovych: Starting with nep. After collectivization, we had a famine, and everything went downhill. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region)

– Was the club director a local? mykhailo antonovych: There were locals and newcomers. – Who performed music in the club? mykhailo antonovych: There was no regular ensemble, but musicians would come to parties. They would also show movies and plays. The Komsomol members did not take part in this; only those who understood the cultural activities did. The Komsomol members didn’t. – Was it mandatory to sing revolutionary songs at the time? mykhailo antonovych: They made people sing them. You had no choice. “Stalin, the will and the intellect of millions” [“Stalin – volia i um

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milionov”]. I don’t remember the other lines. This was sung in Russian. People sang often, regardless of the holiday schedule. There was more than one choir and they performed in the suburbs. Anton Mefodiiovych Vakulych (Vinnytsia region) – Why did you destroy your library? anton mefodiiovych : I was arrested in 1933. From February until September, I was in prison, and when I was released, I started destroying my library: songs and fiction. I burned everything, including Mykola Lysenko’s songs. I was afraid of being arrested. I could be accused of Ukrainization and [collecting] folk songs. When I was a bachelor and organized a choir in Kordelivka, we sang only folk songs. We would go to the nearby village to sing. Because we sang dumy, the party members started saying to me, “The choir is feeding us dead Cossacks.” I was offended by this, and the choir split. There was no way to maintain it. The administration of the factory started demanding a different repertoire, but I had nothing else. Yakiv Mykhailovych Zborovsky (Cherkasy region) – Did people sing in the village neighborhoods [kutky]? yakiv mykhailovych: Yes, people sang ancient songs back then, and now it’s different. – How many voice types were there in your singing group? yakiv mykhailovych: People sang different songs in various neighborhoods. We would gather in the streets and have fun. When the streets were shut down so to speak and the kolhospy began, they set up the clubs and made us go to the club. The street parties were even [forcibly] dispersed. – Who did this? yakiv mykhailovych: The village council. Kateryna Kostiantynivna Zoria (Kharkiv region) – When did the people start organizing a club in Pisky?

kateryna kostiantynivna: I went one time. My mother said, “What

kind of a show was there?” – “Quite a show. They were breaking an icon.” She said, “I don’t want to see you go there ever again.” – Were they showing people how to break an icon? kateryna kostiantynivna: I don’t know. They were saying something about God, breaking icons, and throwing them out; I don’t remember. My mother heard more details.

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– Was this done by Komsomol members? kateryna kostiantynivna: Yes. They were doing well, but my mother didn’t like it. – Were they locals or newcomers? kateryna kostiantynivna: Locals.

m u z y ka n t y: v i l l ag e i n strumental ensemble mu sic ians The collectivization and socialization of village cultural life contributed to sometimes drastic changes in village music practice. The Holodomor accelerated these changes. However, it should be noted that the cultural transformations discussed here did not take place, or did not occur uniformly, in all locales. Generalizations on this point, as on others concering cultural changes of the 1930s, have to be made carefully. Muzykanty in some locales continued to perform in ensembles in the 1930s that were more or less similar to those in the 1920s, while in other locales pre-collectivization musical practices were drastically reduced in quality and quantity or, due to the ravages of the famine, disappeared altogether. Changes in Instrumentarium during Collectivization and the Holodomor The Russian-derived balalaika was increasingly common in central and eastern Ukrainian villages from the early twentieth century, especially after the First World War. By the 1930s it was sold in stores not only in small towns but at the bazaars of many villages as well. Of interest here is that fiddles were not sold in village stores, nor were Ukrainian instruments per se (e.g., the bandura and tsymbaly). The russification/sovietization of village musical life was in part accomplished by the simple act of placing certain items for sale in the store, and holding back the sale of other items, described here by Olena Ponomarenko: There was a balalaika in every house. – Did people make or buy them? olena klymentiivna: They bought them in the store. – Were fiddles sold in stores back then? olena klymentiivna: No. Fedora Chub noted that several boys and young men in her village played bandura. All of them either made the instruments themselves or purchased them from one of their number in the village (see also Ivan Udovychenko). A bandura could not be purchased in this locale from a store or evidently at the bazaar. In contrast, balalaikas, mandolins, and guitars were readily available in this, as well as in most other locales (Anastasia Tkachenko).

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The end result of this was a rapid change in the preferred instruments and ensembles as well as repertory in the village. Collectivization brought about an almost overnight commercialization and sovietization of certain kinds of musical activity. This activity included the sale in stores of musical instruments and sheet music – stores which before collectivization almost did not exist, and in those few locales where they did exist, they seem to have carried a selection of musical instruments and sheet music quite different from that after collectivization. Since the state controlled the stores, it controlled that which was sold there. This meant that musical instruments which did not fit into the state plan for transforming village music culture could be withheld from store shelves, while those instruments and sheet music which fit into that plan were readily available to those who wanted to take part in the musical activities of the socialist state. The most common change in village instrumentarium due to collectivization and then famine was the decline of the fiddle in ensemble. This is often described by the project correspondents as occurring with a concomitant introduction, or at least the domination, of harmonia and/or baian. Mykola Sokyrko – What instruments were in the ensembles that played at the weddings? mykola panteleimonovych: A fiddle, a bass [?], a cello [?], and a bubon. – So, you had a bass in the 1920s? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes. – What kind of bubon was it? mykola panteleimonovych: The one with a lid on top, a long one. – Did you have a bubon with two heads [i.e., baraban] in the 1920s or later? mykola panteleimonovych: Later, we started getting baian and harmonia. Motria Buslyk – Were there any fiddle players in your village?

motria hryhorivna: Yes, but they disappeared during the war. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – What muzykanty were there in your village? maria pylypivna: They were called Shapari; they were the first musicians. They had two fiddles and a bas (a bass, but about the size of a violincello). The three of them played at weddings. Two of them were brothers, and the bas [player] was someone else.

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– Was there a bubon? maria pylypivna: No. Their last name was Shapy. They couldn’t play all the weddings, so some people hired the harmonia player. – What instrument was more respected: the harmonia or the fiddle? maria pylypivna: The fiddle. … – Did they continue playing at the weddings for a long time? maria pylypivna: No. When the kolhospy appeared, they repressed the people. One person would be the leader, and everyone else had to obey. Sava Ivanovych Chorny (Sumy region) – Did people play musical instruments in your village?

sava ivanovych: Yes, many people did in our village. During my time, there was no fiddle anymore, but we had harmonia. My wife’s grandfather played fiddle. I heard stories that he played at many weddings.

Both harmonia and balalaika did exist in many locales of central and eastern Ukraine long before collectivization, and no claim is being made here that collectivization led to the introduction of the harmoniia or even the baian to the Ukrainian village. On the contrary, the harmoniia, baian, and balalaika were fashionable among villagers in some locales already during the First World War. The point here is not that the harmoniia was introducted in the early 1930s, but that it became dominant nearly everywhere at that time, and that the fiddle, bas and tsymbaly all sharply declined with collectivization. Several interviewees refer to the presence of harmoniia in the 1920s and mixed ensembles with both harmoniia and fiddle. Several project interviewees refer to the presence of harmoniia in the 1920s and mixed esembles with both harmoniia and fiddle, or harmoniia and baraban [a medium-sized drum – a field drum – with two heads that was struck with a small mallet, both drum and mallet home made]. Some claimed, however, that harmoniia came to Ukraine from Russia: Danylo Kuzmenko – How many days did your wedding last? danylo yosypovych: About two days. – What kind of music did you have? danylo yosypovych: Harmoniia and violin – that was all. – Was there a bubon? danylo yosypovych: No. – What about bas?

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danylo yosypovych: Yes, there was one. – Did you call the drum bubon or baraban [a two-headed drum, struck with a mallet]? danylo yosypovych: Baraban. You could hear it at every wedding. Mykola Sokryko – Was there a harmoniia before collectivization? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, starting in 1927 or 1928. Someone brought it from his army service in Russia. In a few locales, it seems likely that harmonia was the dominant ensemble instrument already in the late 1920s. The description by Motrona Lomynoha would seem to indicate this, but she noted that her uncle had been a fiddler in the 1920s. What he did and with whom he played she could not remember. That life had forever “gone with the wind” (za vitrom ishlo): – Did you go to people’s weddings when you were young?

motrona ivanivna: Yes.

– What kind of music was played there?

motrona ivanivna: Harmoniia. – Was there a bubon?

motrona ivanivna: Not when I was getting married, but when the

younger ones were getting married, there was a good deal of clanking – a bubon and other instruments. – What was the bubon like? motrona ivanivna: Small, like a sieve. – What about the clanking? motrona ivanivna: There was a lot of it. – Were there any fiddles? motrona ivanivna: Yes, but no one played them in the village. The old people did, but the young ones didn’t learn. – Were there fiddles earlier? motrona ivanivna: Yes, my uncle was a fiddle player; he played very well. – Did he play in the villages? motrona ivanivna: He played at weddings, anywhere. – Whom did he play with? motrona ivanivna: I don’t know that. It’s history now. There was a variety of music ensembles in most locales before collectivization. Before 1930 the most common were a variety of string ensembles, for example,

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fiddle and bas (a bass, but about the size of a violincello) or two fiddles and a bubon. These ensembles nearly disappeared in the 1930s in many locales. In the 1920s they often existed in a locale concurrently with an ensemble of a different type, most commonly a wind ensemble (e.g., baritone horns, tuba, saxophones, clarinets). The performers in the one type of ensemble rarely or never performed with those of the other. In the 1920s the most common performance contexts for the string ensembles of fiddle and other instuments were weddings, baptisms, dosvitky, and Sunday dances. The most common performance context for the wind ensemble in most locales resembled a concert, informal Sunday and holiday gatherings, although most such ensembles played lively dance tunes as well. As described by Valentyna Ilchenko, these informal gatherings took place before collectivization in a meadow next to the village. With collectivization, such Sunday gatherings ceased, presumably forbidden by the authorities in this locale: – When did this ensemble use to play? valentyna ivanivna: On Sundays. – Where did they gather? valentyna ivanivna: We had a splendid meadow. We placed chairs for the musicians there. Guys and girls would gather. Women with their small children would come out. In the summer, the weather was excellent. People danced and sang a great deal. … When the kolhosp was set up, the musicians and the entertainment were gone. Nobody danced or partied anymore. The Effects of the Holodomor on Instrumental Music Practices in the Village Of the various calamities that affected the village and village music in the 1930s, the famine of 1932–33 produced what were probably the most drastic effects. The most obvious of these was the death of large numbers of musicians. As noted several times in this study, it is often difficult to separate changes in village culture resulting from collectivization and changes resulting from famine. The two events are closely related chronologically, occurring with just a one-or-two-year difference. Without a doubt, the famine’s ungodly effectiveness (seen from the state’s view) was hugely increased due to forced collectivization (as explained in detail in chapter 3), so separating the two events as causes of cultural change is problematic. In this chapter I have chosen to group famine-related results under a heading separate from that of collectivization, but only concerning one point: the death of musicians due to starvation or famine-related disease. There is evidence suggesting that in the early 1930s, village musicians and others who similarly were heavily dependent upon non-agricultural cash income died in

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greater numbers in some locales than many other groups of villagers, and second, that the famine had a severe negative effect on the musicians’ craft. Instrumental musicians depended for a large part of their livelihood on cash that they received for their services. Once the famine started and most of the performance contexts had ceased to exist (some temporarily, such as weddings, and others, such as baptisms, forever or at least up to 1991, after the ussr collapsed), these cash sources were cut off. It seems likely that their other sources of income would have been barely sufficient to see many of them through even non-famine years. Also, the elderly died in especially large numbers during the famine. The ranks of the older generation of instrumental music specialists were in many locales greatly reduced or even wiped out, thus creating a gap in the village’s performance practices – an older generation was not there to teach a younger generation. In this sense, as a direct result of the famine, the older music practice was reduced in both the quality and quantity of its practitioners. Most of those in the survey who commented on the effects of the famine on village instrumentalists note that the musicians they knew died in the famine; Ivan Ilchenko, for example: – Until when did they continue playing? ivan dmytrovych: They played before collectivization. Then there was the famine, and many of them died. The first point noted above is supported by the following account of a family who had little land and earned a large part of its income from music. Here, as in so many cases, most of the family died in the famine (Yevdokia Kyiko): – Were there any musicians? yevdokia ivanivna: Yes. There was one who made guitars, balalaikas, mandolins, and fiddles. There was no harmonia in our khutir. He would also play at weddings. He was not married and died in 1933. He was such a good craftsman. He also made spinning wheels. He didn’t have any land, and his vegetable garden was so small you couldn’t even plant an onion there. He made spinning wheels, tables, benches, and spools. He got paid. In 1933, it was clear that nothing would continue the way it had been. His parents lived in the city. They didn’t join the kolhosp. And so, they disappeared – the whole family. Two of their girls went to the radhosp and survived, but the guys didn’t make it, neither did their parents. Here, as in many other cases, those that joined the radhosp or kolhosp survived, and those who went their own way perished (see chapter 3, the “Holdouts from Collectivization” section).

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The ranks of fiddle players, often elderly musicians, were particularly hard hit, related to the first point above. Before collectivization – and in many locales long after it – fiddle players usually earned more cash than other musicians. In an ensemble of fiddle, bas and drum, or fiddle and drum, the fiddler earned more than the others. This was a village norm in most of Ukraine, Belarus, and much of Poland (see Noll 1991). Most fiddlers were thus probably more dependent upon cash income from music than other ensemble members. Ironically, this higher earning power seems likely to have contributed to their deaths as well as to a decline of the fiddle and all this entailed in ensemble music in the mid 1930s, and still further in the 1940s. This can be demonstrated by a change in repertory and performance context as well as in instrumentation. The following account describes the disappearance of the fiddle from local practice because of the famine. Note the differences in contexts: the older wedding music instrumentation (two fiddles and drum) was quite different than that of the village club music (wind instruments). This is a classic example of a generational difference, with the older musicians performing in the string ensemble, and younger musicians in the wind ensemble. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Were there muzykanty [ensemble musicians] in the village? paraska mytrofanivna: Two fiddles and a bubon [a small one-sided drum, struck with a small mallet]. There were wind instruments in the club. – Did they survive the famine? paraska mytrofanivna: After the famine, no one knew anything about anyone else. – When did people stop playing fiddle? paraska mytrofanivna: After the famine. A similar point is made concerning the domination of harmonia and the decline of the fiddle in the 1930s, here described by Anastasia Kalashnyk: – What kind of music did people play at weddings? anastasia trokhymivna: A harmoshka (harmoniia), and troiista muzyka (“trio”): a bas [“bass,” here about the size and shape of a violincello], a fiddle, and a larger fiddle. There were two fiddles: a tiny one and a large one. The third one was that bas. … – Was there still bas after collectivization? anastasia trokhymivna: After collectivization? No way! There was nothing.

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– No fiddle either?

anastasia trokhymivna: No, and weddings were not celebrated. There was only harmoniia, [while] the people who could play [the string instruments] died during the famine. Not only elderly musicians died. Here is a brief account of a young musician who performed at weddings and christenings, and who still lived with his parents up to 1932–33. He and it seems his entire family died in the famine (Olena Ponomarenko): – Did anyone play fiddle?

olena klymentiivna: Zakharko played the fiddle in our village. He

learned to play on his own and played very well. Everyone respected him. He died during the famine. He didn’t earn money anywhere and didn’t go anywhere. He only played at weddings and baptisms in his village. – Did he own a plot of land? olena klymentiivna: He and I were the same age. He lived with his mother and father at the time. They all died. The Decline of Music Performance Contexts Collectivization and famine forced not only agriculture into bureaucratic and state-controlled structures but also was specifically designed to force many aspects of the civil society of villagers into the same structures. Concerning music, several performance contexts were virtually eliminated by this process while others were created to take advantage of it. Many of the traditional performance contexts of peasant civil society were unsuitable to a centralized bureaucratic state structure. Among the performance contexts that declined or in some locales disappeared altogether in the 1930s were: the shynok (the village inn); informal street gatherings of boys and girls; baptisms; and dosvitky (the latter two discussed earlier). The main performance context for muzykanty was the wedding sequence (vesillia). This is discussed in the next section of this chapter. The village inn, known in most of central and eastern Ukraine as the shynok and in Western Ukraine and most of Podillia as the korchma, was usually run by a villager. Up to the late nineteenth century the local gentry usually had a monopoly on the sale of spirits and the innkeeper exercised that right for the gentry for a percentage. In some locales, village Jewry exercised the spirits monopoly for the gentry. From the 1860s enfranchisement to the early twentieth century, the spirits monopoly in some locales was gradually reduced or disappeared. In these instances, more villagers could own and operate an inn outright. In other locales, the state-owned monopoly was strictly maintained,

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and competition was little tolerated. In some locales, these inns ceased to exist in the early 1920s, and virtually all others disappeared with collectivization. By the early 1930s the inns in virtually all locales had disappeared. Private competition was not permitted in that decade at all. In addition, there was a lack of cash among the peasant population, exacerbated in the 1930s by collectivization, famine, and the confiscation of private wealth. Collective farm members, as described elsewhere in this study, received very little cash for their work. In general, collectivization brought about a decline in the amount of cash in villagers’ hands which meant that they had less or no money to spend in an inn for food and drink. The state was hostile and the villagers’ economic life in shambles. The inn could not survive. Formerly the village inn was an important music performance context, with ensembles hired and paid for by local young men on special occasions, usually holidays. In many locales, the inn was already gone by the early 1920s, as described by Antonina Firman: – Was there a tavern in your village? antonina sevastiianivna: Yes, there was one on the hill and we also had a liquor store [Tsentrospyrt in Soviet years]. You could buy vodka and grain alcohol, and people would drink it and party in the tavern. – Were there any muzykanty in the tavern? antonina sevastiianivna: They played sometimes. – Where did they play? antonina sevastiianivna: In the square. – On which days did they play? antonina sevastiianivna: On Christmas and Easter – holidays only. They didn’t play on other days. – Who hired them? antonina sevastiianivna: The guys paid them. – How much did they pay the muzykanty? antonina sevastiianivna: I don’t know because the guys were the ones who paid. – When did the tavern disappear? antonina sevastiianivna: After the Revolution. I don’t know what year it was, but they closed down the taverns and chased everyone out. This was before the war. In the summer months before collectivization, when there were no dosvitky, boys and girls still gathered, but more informally on the village street, or next to a meadow or pond. Here they joked, sang songs, and sometimes danced to music. In

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some locales, musicians were occasionally hired, but more often one of their own, one of the boys or girls, played an instrument to accompany the group’s singing. Hanna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak – Where did the girls and guys gather to dance? hanna herasymivna: The young people would gather by the river and also in the village square. – Who hired those muzykanty? hanna herasymivna: The guys did. Throughout the 1930s this context declined in almost all locales, primarily because there was less time available for these gatherings because kolhosp officials in most locales discouraged such activities and wanted kolhospnyky in the kolhosp fields.

i n te rv i ew e xce rp ts: mu zykant y – v i l l ag e i n strum ental mu sic ians Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Were there muzykanty in the village? paraska mytrofanivna: Two fiddles and a bubon [a small one-sided drum, struck with a small mallet]. There were wind instruments in the club. – Did they survive the famine? paraska mytrofanivna: After the famine, no one knew anything about anyone else. – When did people stop playing fiddle? paraska mytrofanivna: After the famine. … paraska mytrofanivna: The guys paid the muzykanty five or ten kopeks. Those who didn’t pay didn’t go dancing with a girl. Only boys paid for the music; this was outside. The rich guys would not even talk to the poor girls. They used to say, “Such and such is getting married. The girl is no good, all freckled, but her father has oxen and a plot of land.” Motria Hryhorivna Buslyk (Poltava region) – Were there any fiddle players in your village? motria hryhorivna: Yes, but they disappeared during the war.

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Sava Ivanovych Chorny (Sumy region) – Did people play musical instruments in your village? sava ivanovych: Yes, many people played in our village. During my time, there was no fiddle anymore, but we had harmoniia. My wife’s grandfather played fiddle. I heard stories that he played at many weddings. My fatherin-law used to tell me what his father told him: “When we got together, we’d drink a great deal of vodka. He had very fair skin and he used to sit in the sun near the barn. My mother-in-law would call him for breakfast; he would eat, thank them, and go sit in the sun again.” Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Did people play bandury in your village? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. One was a good player, but he didn’t return from the war. He sang very well, too. – Where did they sing and play? fedora oksentiivna: Wherever they were invited, and in the clubs, too. – Where did they get the instruments? fedora oksentiivna: They either made them themselves or bought them. The homemade bandury were great. The makers knew what wood to use and how to make them. They sang great songs. Domna Fedorivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – When you were young, what kind of music did people play?

domna fedorivna: The music was interesting; there were the wind

instruments. – Were there muzykanty from your village? domna fedorivna: Yes, they were all from the village. People would hire the musicians for the New Year. It was a custom for the guys to pay the musicians and invite a girl. If a girl was not invited, she could not go on her own. This was a hard and fast rule. Even though I was poor, I had a suitor – Hryhorii Antonovych. … The musicians in our village were great. When I was getting married, I said, “Even if I marry a widower, I’d like our muzykanty to play an hour of my favorite music.” – Where did you hire the muzykanty for your wedding? domna fedorivna: They were from Kalytynka. – How many of them?

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domna fedorivna: Seven or eight. They played so well. – What melodies did they play? domna fedorivna: Polka, bushanka, krakowiak, korobochka, “na rechenku” – these were all dances. Maria Omelianivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Tell us about weddings. What was the music like? maria omelianivna : At the time, there were wind instruments. The village guys played them. … – What kind of music did they play in the club? maria omelianivna : The same music they played at the weddings. – Did the club pay the musicians? maria omelianivna : The kolhosp paid them. – Did the musicians play often? maria omelianivna : Often. Back then, there was no radio or tv in the house, only the musicians, and everyone went to the club. At the time, everyone went to the kolhosp meetings – the young and the old. The young danced, and the old ones watched them. Antonina Sevastiianivna Firman (Vinnytsia region) – Was there a tavern in your village?

antonina sevastiianivna: Yes, there was one on the hill and we also

had a liquor store [Tsentrospyrt in Soviet years]. You could buy vodka and grain alcohol, and people would drink it and party in the tavern. – Were there any muzykanty in the tavern? antonina sevastiianivna: They played sometimes. – Where else did they play? antonina sevastiianivna: In the square. – On which days did they play? antonina sevastiianivna: On Christmas and Easter – holidays only. They didn’t play on other days. – Who hired them? antonina sevastiianivna: The guys paid them. – How much did they pay the muzykanty? antonina sevastiianivna: I don’t know because the guys were the ones who paid. – When did the tavern disappear? antonina sevastiianivna: After the revolution. I don’t know what year

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it was, but they closed the taverns and chased everyone out; this was before the war. … – What instruments were played at weddings? antonina sevastiianivna: These same musicians played at weddings, these trumpets. – What about your mother’s or your grandmother’s weddings? antonina sevastiianivna: There were three trumpets and tsymbaly [a struck zither, usually with strings in rows of three, and played with small wooden mallets]. No one in our village played tsymbaly, but someone in Khomenky did. If someone here was getting married, they would hire the muzykanty from Khomenky. Fiddle, tsymbaly, and bubon – you couldn’t stop dancing. The richer ones hired the trumpets, and the poorer ones would pay the tsymbaly players three rubles. Halyna Ivanivna Hatko (Kharkiv region) – What kind of music did people play at weddings?

halyna ivanivna: Two fiddles and a bas [bass, but here about the size and

shape of a violincello]. – How many strings did the bas have? halyna ivanivna: Do you think I counted them? Many strings. – Did girls like muzykanty? Were they the most popular guys at a wedding? halyna ivanivna: The older muzykanty would come. People liked how they played. – Did people request specific songs to dance to? halyna ivanivna: Yes. Girls would step up and sing and dance with the musicians at the wedding. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – Have you ever been a maid of honor?

fedora yukhymivna: Yes, of course. Back in the day, the maids of honor

sang very nicely at weddings. – What kind of music was played at weddings? fedora yukhymivna: Nothing besides harmonia. People would wear long shirts and dance to the music. – Were there fiddles and bas? fedora yukhymivna: At a rich person’s wedding, there would be fiddle, bas, and harmoniia. Not at a poor man’s wedding. …

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– Where did the old fiddle player perform? fedora yukhymivna: He was in Shliakhova. People would come to him in carts from Sholudkivka and Lyman. They would play and see them off. – See them off to work? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, they worked in the sugar beet fields, earning ten rubles here and there, not much. – Did he play alone or with someone? fedora yukhymivna: No, he was blind in one eye. There was some altercation. He was with Vitia Mur and got a beating, so he lost his eye. He was from Byshkyn and had an artificial eye. – Did anyone pay him for his music? fedora yukhymivna: No, he worked as a clerk in Shliakhova, so the landowner [owner of an ekonomiia] paid him there. There was a sugar factory in Shliakhova at the time. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – What instruments did muzykanty play at weddings? mykhailo yevdokymovych: The fiddle and harmoniia. – Was the harmonia always present or was it added later? mykhailo yevdokymovych: No, this was before the revolution. This was at the time when gypsies still lived in Melnyky; they had a fiddle and a bubon. – Did the gypsies play at weddings? mykhailo yevdokymovych: They were hired for weddings. – Did Jewish people play anything? mykhailo yevdokymovych: No. – Did German people play anything? mykhailo yevdokymovych: There were no Germans. – How did people pay the gypsies for weddings? mykhailo yevdokymovych: They gave them money. – Did the village people play the fiddle or bubon? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Yes. They played poorly. No one hired them; they came on their own. – When did the gypsies disappear? mykhailo yevdokymovych: I don’t remember when, but they were forbidden to move around. It was considered unacceptable for so many people to not work all summer long and not have anything done about this by the government. They disappeared not long ago. I think it was during Brezhnev’s term.

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Ivan Dmytrovych Ilchenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any muzykanty in the village? ivan dmytrovych: Not in our village. – Was there a harmonia? ivan dmytrovych: There were several harmoniia performers before the war. When I was little, one person made a balalaika. We also had fiddles and bas – they played at the weddings. – How were the musicians paid? ivan dmytrovych: I don’t know. Those were arragements that they made. People would give them money, rushnyky, and drinks. – Where did they learn to play? ivan dmytrovych: I don’t remember because they were older than me. – Until when did they continue playing? ivan dmytrovych: They played before collectivization. Then was the famine, and many of them died. Valentyna Ivanivna Ilchenko (Vinnytsia region) – Were there any musicians in the village? valentyna ivanivna: Of course. We had music and the local amateur musicians. I don’t know where they learned to play. There was a whole “orchestra.” – What did they play? valentyna ivanivna: A large trumpet, tsymbaly, and bubon. … – When did this ensemble use to play? valentyna ivanivna: On Sundays. – Where did they gather? valentyna ivanivna: We had a splendid meadow. We placed chairs for the musicians there. Guys and girls would gather. Women with their small children would come out. In the summer, the weather was excellent. People danced and sang a great deal. There was also an enormous willow tree. That place was called a barn [hamazei]. It was a kind of a store with grain. If someone lacked grain before the harvest, they could come and borrow some. Then they would give it back with some extra grain [before collectivization]. When the kolhosp was set up, the musicians and the entertainment were gone. Nobody danced or partied anymore.

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Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk (Kharkiv region) – What kind of music did people play at weddings? anastasia trokhymivna: A harmoshka [harmoniia], and troiista muzyka [trio]: a bas [bass, here about the size and shape of a violincello], a fiddle, and a larger fiddle. There were two fiddles: a tiny one and a large one. The third one was that bas. – How many strings did the bas have? anastasia trokhymivna: How would I know? – Was it played with a bow? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes. We had a joke: on the way to a celebration the bas says, “We’re going to eat and drink, eat and drink.” The fiddle says, “We’ll see what happens, we’ll see what happens.” On their way back, the bas says, “We didn’t eat, we didn’t drink. We didn’t eat, we didn’t drink.” The fiddle says, “I told you so. I told you so.” You see? If there was a trio, the wedding was a good one. – Was there still a bas after collectivization? anastasia trokhymivna: After collectivization? No way! There was nothing. – No fiddle either? anastasia trokhymivna: No, and weddings were not celebrated. There was only a harmoniia, [while] the people who could play [the string instruments] died during the famine. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – When did you get married? petro vasylovych: When I was thirty-two. We had a small wedding in the house. There was a party outside and a dinner inside. We had music, too. – What kind? petro vasylovych: Harmoniia. – Was there a fiddle? petro vasylovych: Yes, they played the fiddle and the guitar. We had many fiddle players. – Did the fiddle players also have their farmsteads? petro vasylovych: Yes, certainly. They owned land and lived in their houses. They would be hired for weddings and would get paid, but I don’t know how much. They were good people: they played and sang. … – When did you start playing the balalaika?

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petro vasylovych: After the war. We used to make our balalaikas by

ourselves. My father could make anything: balalaikas and guitars. – Did you sing Russian ditties (chastushky)? petro vasylovych: Yes, and more so after the war because we didn’t go out much before the war. – Did you sing in Russian? petro vasylovych: In Russian and in Ukrainian, but mostly in Ukrainian. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any musicians in your village?

paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, there was a wind orchestra at the land-

owner’s enterprise [ekonomiia]. – Were there any fiddle players? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, in the landowner’s enterprise. Girls would be taken there to work in the sugar beet fields, and the fiddle players would play. – Who played the fiddle? paraskeva trokhymivna: The local peasants from the neighboring village of Mykytivka. – Were there any harmoniias? paraskeva trokhymivna: Only the fiddle. – Did anyone play the sopilka [end-blown flute]? paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes. – When did the harmoniia appear? paraskeva trokhymivna : Later. I don’t remember exactly when. – Who played the wind instruments? paraskeva trokhymivna : There were copper [sic] trumpets. The young people from our village played them; this was not in the club, but in the landowner’s enterprise. I don’t remember what year this was. We had a club with a director before the kolhosp; they played using sheet music. – Did the fiddle players perform at the weddings? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, and they were paid. … – What did the musicians play? paraskeva trokhymivna: Harmoniia. – When did the fiddles disappear? paraskeva trokhymivna: Before the war. Harmonias were also in use before the war, but fiddles were more common. – Were the harmoniia players paid?

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paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes, they were hired and paid.

– Did anyone play balalaika?

paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes. People would have hired a fiddle player,

but there were none in our village. … – What were the street parties like? paraskeva trokhymivna : People would gather outside of someone’s house and make swings. – Did people have more leisure before the kolhospy? paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes, more leisure before the kolhospy, and after the kolhospy there was no leisure at all because we had to meet the production goals. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region)

– What muzykanty were there in your village? maria pylypivna: They were called Shapari; they were the first musicians. They had two fiddles and a bas. The three of them played at weddings. Two of them were brothers, and the bas [player] was someone else. – Was there a bubon? maria pylypivna: No. Their last name was Shapy. They couldn’t play all the weddings, so some people hired the harmoniia player. – What instrument was more respected: the harmoniia or the fiddle? maria pylypivna: The fiddle. – Were they paid? maria pylypivna: Yes, with money. – From whom did they learn to play the fiddle? maria pylypivna: From their father. They played vey well. – Did they continue playing at the weddings for a long time? maria pylypivna: No. When the kolhospy appeared, they repressed the people. One person would be the leader, and everyone else had to obey. Halyna Mykolaiivna Kramarchuk (Vinnytsia region) – What music ensembles were there in the village? halyna mykolaiivna: My husband was a musician; he played the clarinet. His name was Volodymyr Kramarchuk, and he was killed in a coal mine. His father played in our village neighborhood [kutok], and everyone in the village reacted. Our neighborhood was joyful and full of musicians, but they have all died. No one is left. – What instruments did your father-in-law play?

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halyna mykolaiivna: I don’t know what he played; there was no bass. I forgot the name of his instrument. No, Antoshka was a baritone… his brother played the clarinet. Our village knew our musicians. They started learning to play when they were little. I can’t remember; everyone died, and no one is left. – Were they invited to the weddings? halyna mykolaiivna: Of course! They would come and play. – How much were they paid? Halyna Mykolaiivna: At the time, the money had value. I don’t remember how much they were paid. People paid them with grain and money. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Poltava region) – Were there any musicians at the dosvitky? odarka yakivna: They were the local guys who partied with the girls. – What instruments did they play? odarka yakivna: Bubon, harmonia, and balalaika. Anyone who could dance would come out to dance when they played. – Were there any fiddles? odarka yakivna: Yes, but few. I only know the gypsy who played the fiddle. He was married and didn’t come to our dosvitky, but he did play at weddings. – Did he live in the village? odarka yakivna: Yes. He married a local girl and they had children. – Was he rich? odarka yakivna: No way! He was poor and didn’t even have a house. He lived in a dugout by the mountain. – Did he make a living playing at weddings? odarka yakivna: Yes, and he would also have dinner there. – When did he die? odarka yakivna: He survived the famine but died before the war, as did his wife and son. Only their daughter survived. – What instruments did the musicians play? odarka yakivna: Harmoniia and bubon. People would always sing the wedding songs. … – Were there any family ensembles in the village? odarka yakivna: I didn’t notice; I don’t think so. We had harmoniia and bubon. They were asked to play at weddings.

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Danylo Yosypovych Kuzmenko (Kharkiv region) – How many days did your wedding last? danylo yosypovych: About two days. – What kind of music did you have? danylo yosypovych: Harmonia and violin – that was all. – Was there a bubon? danylo yosypovych: No. – What about bas? danylo yosypovych: Yes, there was one. – Did you call the drum bubon or baraban [a two-headed drum, struck with a mallet]? danylo yosypovych: Baraban. You could hear it at every wedding. – Was there a drum at your wedding? danylo yosypovych: No. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – Were there any musicians? yevdokia ivanivna: Yes. There was one who made guitars, balalaikas, mandolins, and fiddles. There was no harmonia in our khutir. He would also play at weddings. He was not married and died in 1933. He was such a good craftsman. He also made spinning wheels. He didn’t have any land, and his vegetable garden was so small you couldn’t even plant an onion there. He made spinning wheels, tables, benches, and spools. He got paid. In 1933, it was clear that nothing would continue the way it had been. His parents lived in the city. They didn’t join the kolhosp. And so, they disappeared – the whole family. Two of their girls went to the radhosp and survived, but the guys didn’t make it, neither did their parents. He was such a good craftsman. People used to say that if he had gone to Olkhivka, he would have lived. His younger brother went there and survived, but this one said, “I won’t go anywhere.” – Were the musicians paid at the weddings? yevdokia ivanivna: Yes, they would arrange compensation for either one day or two. Usually, it took place over a Saturday and Sunday. If the musicians were asked to continue to play on Monday, too, the guests remaining would chip in. They would give the musicians gifts like kerchiefs or linen rushnyky. A harmoniia would play at weddings most of the time, but there were also fiddles. If rich people were getting married, there would also be a fiddle. They would ask Shcherbatenko to perform; he played the fiddle.

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Motrona Ivanivna Lomynoha (Kharkiv region) – Did you go to people’s weddings when you were young? motrona ivanivna: Yes. – What kind of music was played there? motrona ivanivna: Harmoniia. – Was there a bubon? motrona ivanivna: Not when I was getting married, but when the younger ones were getting married, there was a good deal of clanking – a bubon and other instruments. – What was the bubon like? motrona ivanivna: Small, like a sieve. – What about the clanking? motrona ivanivna: There was a lot of it. – Were there any fiddles? motrona ivanivna: Yes, but no one played them in the village. The old people did, but the young ones didn’t learn. – Were there fiddles earlier? motrona ivanivna: Yes, my uncle was a fiddle player; he played very well. – Did he play in the villages? motrona ivanivna: He played at weddings, anywhere. – Whom did he play with? motrona ivanivna: I don’t know that. It’s history now. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – Did people play musical instruments? mykhailo pavlovych: Harmoniia, bubon, and fiddle were the main instruments. They played at weddings. My father was a harmoniia player, and he used to earn over six hundred kilograms of grain. He was also invited to other villages. He played very well. Mykhailo Pavlovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Were there any musicians in the village? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Did they play fiddles? ivan serhiiovych: The harmoniia. – Did anyone play wind instruments? ivan serhiiovych: In the landowner’s enterprise [ekonomiia], the landowners would hire musicians among their people to play at dinners. They

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would play for an hour and get paid. The landowners would dance. – Was there a club in your village during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Did the musicians play there? ivan serhiiovych: Back then, we had silent films and harmoniia players. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – What was the music like at weddings before the Revolution?

mykyta mykolaiovych: Harmoniia and bubon. – Were there any fiddles?

mykyta mykolaiovych: No. We had two musicians: she played bubon, and he played harmoniia. They would get hired for weddings, play for three days, and be treated to a drink there. – Did they pay them anything? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. If there were any pastries left, they would take some. – Were they husband and wife? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Cherkasy region) – What dances did people dance at weddings? maria serhiivna: People danced whatever they played: polka, krakowiak, and hopak. – Did people dance barefoot? maria serhiivna: Yes. – What was the music like at the weddings? maria serhiivna: It was whoever they could hire. The richer people could hire better musicians. – What instruments? maria serhiivna: Harmoniia and bubon. – What musicians did the poor people hire? maria serhiivna: Perhaps their relatives played for them. – Were there any weddings without music? maria serhiivna: No, there’d always be some simple music and people would dance. – Who played? maria serhiivna: The guys did. – Did the girls play? maria serhiivna: No.

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Andrii Ivanovych Ovcharenko and Maria Yakivna Ovcharenko (Cherkasy region) – Before the war, what kinds of muzykanty played in the village?

maria yakivna : Harmoniia, fiddle and bubon. andrii ivanovych: I didn’t study fiddle anywhere. I only had my mother’s

father who was a musician and made fiddles. I learned somehow by myself. Then I played mandolin and balalaika. My father played balalaika well. When I took up the fiddle, I started playing as if someone was guiding me. I could play any song and any melody, but now I can’t even tune it. – How old were you when you played fiddle? andrii ivanovych: I was in school. – Did your grandfather play fiddle at weddings? andrii ivanovych: Yes. – Did he make any other instruments or just fiddles? andrii ivanovych: Just fiddles. – When he played at weddings, what other instruments did he have? andrii ivanovych: Fiddle and bubon. His friend played bubon; they were a duo. – Did you hear him play? andrii ivanovych: Yes, he came to our house. Our family was large, and he would come to play for his grandchildren. When I finished school, I took the mandolin and started playing it. Then I left the mandolin and started playing the fiddle that my father bought for me. – Why did you want to leave the mandolin and play fiddle? andrii ivanovych: I was drawn to the sound of fiddle. – Did you play with your grandfather? andrii ivanovych: No, just by myself. – When did he die? andrii ivanovych: I don’t know; I guess in 1934. There was an epidemic of typhus in 1933 which he survived, and then he died. All of his family had died of typhus: his wife and daughters. He was the only one who survived [for a short time]. … – When did people start playing balalaika in your village? Was it when your grandfather played fiddle at weddings? andrii ivanovych: Yes, there were balalaikas at the time.

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Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – How many days did a wedding last? maria vasylivna: In the 1930s with the Holodomor and more poverty, it would still start on a Saturday. It would take place on Saturday and Sunday, and on Monday they would take the bride to the groom’s home. Three days. – Was there music during all three days? maria vasylivna: There was no music on Saturday. The muzykanty would come on Sunday and stay on Monday because the custom was to take the bride to the groom’s home [when they played marches and promenades to accompany the wedding procession]. – What kind of music was there at the time? maria vasylivna: Wind instruments. The first ensemble was with Petia Husonka. – Do you remember the olden musical instuments? maria vasylivna: Yes, when Aunt Nastia was getting married, there was a fiddle and tsymbaly. – Was this considered the music for the poor? maria vasylivna: There was no other music at the time. – Where were the musicians hired from? maria vasylivna: I don’t know. My grandfather played tsymbaly, and the old men who are now in charge of amateur performances [in the club] used to play sopilka [in their youth]. There was no harmoniia, just tsymbaly and sopilka [sic]. Olena Klymentiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region) – Were there any fiddle players in your village?

olena klymentiivna: My brothers. They played at weddings and in

other villages. My brother Serafym, a good-looking man, would walk along the street in the middle of a group of eight guys and play [harmoniia] and lead the song. Then the guys would join in. – What did he play? olena klymentiivna: He played harmoniia, and his neighbor played bubon. – Did anyone play fiddle? olena klymentiivna: Zakharko played the fiddle in our village. He learned to play on his own and played very well. Everyone respected him. He died during the famine. He didn’t earn money anywhere and didn’t go anywhere. He only played at weddings and baptisms in his village. – Did he own a plot of land?

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olena klymentiivna: He and I were the same age. He lived with his

mother and father at the time; they all died. – What instruments were peformed at weddings? olena klymentiivna: He sang and played fiddle. The bubon was louder than him. The bubon was played with a harmoniia, and there was a balalaika in every house. – Did people make or buy them? olena klymentiivna: They bought them in the store. – Were fiddles sold in stores back then? olena klymentiivna: No. Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova (Cherkasy region) – What melodies did you play outside in the evenings?

oleksandra ivanivna: Ukrainian dances and songs: krakowiak [sic],

yabluchko, hopak, karapets, various polkas like “Marusia” and “Laughter.” I would say, “We’re going to play the polka ‘Marusia.’” They would all tune in, and I’d take my fiddle and we’d start playing. – When you played in the streets, did other musicians join you? oleksandra ivanivna: No, we already had everyone we needed. If someone played the guitar, we’d check to see if he was a good match for us. It’s important to be in tune in music, just like in singing. I would check the pitch, and we’d start playing. – Were you asked to play at weddings? oleksandra ivanivna: Rarely. When I was married, my husband played harmoniia, and I played fiddle. We did a good job together. We used to go to other villages to play. – Did you play in the clubs? oleksandra ivanivna: Yes, we gave paid concerts. – Did you get money for this? oleksandra ivanivna: Maybe they gave us money, but the guys would buy half a liter [of vodka] and drink it after the concert. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – Do you remember what music was played at weddings? motria tymofiivna: Polka, hopak, and krakowiak. – What instruments did they play? motria tymofiivna: Harmoniia, fiddle and bubon. The harmoniia and the bubon were the standard [instrumentation], and the fiddle would join in if there was a fiddle player in the village.

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…

motria tymofiivna: There was no harmoniia before the war, only fiddle and bubon. These guys played in people’s homes, not in the tavern. One played harmoniia, and the other – bubon. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did muzykanty play in your village?

varvara ihorivna: Yes, performers on harmoniia and bubon. There was

also a fiddle player. One man in our village played the fiddle. They don’t take the fiddle to play with harmoniia and bubon. A fiddle and a sopilka would only play if there were a concert in the club. – Were there families that made a living playing music? varvara ihorivna: Yes, but it was a rare case – a person who didn’t want to work and went around the villages making a living as a musician. This didn’t happen in our village, but there was a man named Bulhatsky who used to go to Hrytsanivka or Lyziurivka to play. He made a living playing harmoniia. Priska Fedorivna Reva (Kharkiv region) – Were there any muzykanty at the weddings? priska fedorivna: The harmoniia. Back in the day, we didn’t have the instruments we have now. There could be a balalaika and a harmonia, or a fiddle and harmoniia, nothing else. There was also a bubon, so a harmoniia could play with the bubon at weddings, too. – Was there also an ensemble of fiddle and bubon? priska fedorivna: Perhaps some had them. There were many weddings at the time; perhaps they had a fiddle and bubon – the louder instruments. – Was there a bas? priska fedorivna: No, not back then. – What about sopilka? priska fedorivna: No sopilka either. Farther away in another village there was a sopilka player. Mykola Panteleimonovych Sokyrko (Cherkasy region) – What instruments were in the ensembles that played at the weddings? mykola panteleimonovych: A fiddle, a bass [?], a cello [?], and a bubon. – So, you had a bass in the 1920s?

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mykola panteleimonovych: Yes. – What kind of bubon was it?

mykola panteleimonovych: The one with a lid on top, a long one.

– Did you have a bubon with two heads [i.e., baraban] in the 1920s or later?

mykola panteleimonovych: Later, we started getting baian and

harmonia. – This was in the 1930s. How many strings did the bass have? mykola panteleimonovych: Four strings. – Were they from stores? mykola panteleimonovych: No, I don’t know where they got the instruments. … – Did the muzykanty play in the tavern? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, there was music in the tavern, too. – Were those the same muzykanty that played at weddings? mykola panteleimonovych: Andrii was the same musician, and I don’t remember the others. – Did Andrii have students? mykola panteleimonovych: No, he was blind and made ropes; he had some kind of a tool for this. He got orders from people to make ropes. – Did people pay him? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, he made a living that way. … – Do you remember the village muzykanty? mykola panteleimonovych: I remember the blind Andrii Shevchenko who played the fiddle. Then we also had a bubon, a cello, and a bass. I don’t know where the players got their instruments from. – How did they call it? mykola panteleimonovych: Bas. It sounded so fine. When this old man got ill and couldn’t play anymore, a harmoniia player turned up. There was a lot of enthusiasm for music. Each house had a guitar or a balalaika. This was before collectivization. After it, people started fleeing the village to Donbas to earn some money. There was no time to play. … – Was there a harmoniia before collectivization? mykola panteleimonovych: Yes, starting in 1927 or 1928. Someone brought it from his army service in Russia.

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Natalia Mytrofanivna Spivakina (Kharkiv region) – What kind of music was there in the village? natalia mytrofanivna: A harmoniia. – What about bubon? natalia mytrofanivna: There were none. – How much did people pay the musicians? natalia mytrofanivna: I don’t know; the groom paid them. – What dances did people dance? natalia mytrofanivna: Polka and hopak, nothing else. – Was there a waltz? natalia mytrofanivna: Not at that time. – Was there a violin at the weddings in your village? natalia mytrofanivna: We didn’t have one, but other people did. … – Was there a blind musician in your village? natalia mytrofanivna: Yes, Fedia Mamin. – Did he go around asking for alms? natalia mytrofanivna: No, he was a good carpenter. He used to make fiddles and harmoniias. – Where did he sell them? natalia mytrofanivna: People would commission him to build for them. Anastasia Yukhymivna Tkachenko (Cherkasy region) – Where would you buy a balalaika? anastasia yukhymivna: They were sold in the stores in Vedmedivka and Ivkivtsi. There were also guitars and mandolins for sale. – A balalaika, a mandolin, and a guitar? anastasia yukhymivna: And bubon, too. This was before and after the war. – What was the bubon like? Was it small? anastasia yukhymivna: It was round. Ivan Kalistratovych Udovychenko (Cherkasy region) – Four men or four bandury? I don’t think I understand. ivan kalistratovych: Faust Yosypovych Seredenko was a village teacher who played the bandura. He liked to sing and play chess. He had a bandura, and he probably still has it. We would make our own instruments. I played

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the mandolin and used to accompany others on the guitar. I wanted to have a bandura, so we found a wide enough pear tree in the old gardens, and the kolhosp gave us permission to cut it. We cut it into four, and the four of us started making bandury. Filimon Oksemenko played, too. The bandura didn’t turn out well. When the wood got dry, it cracked. I, however, treated the wood in hot water, got its juice out, and then carved it little by little. That was the secret. You can’t tell the width of the instrument’s wall right away; it becomes apparent in the process as you carve, you feel it with your fingers from the bottom. I followed the drawing when I was making it, but it didn’t turn out the same way. – Where did you see the drawing? ivan kalistratovych: In the newspaper. Mine came out a bit different, but it played. Seredenko and Oksemenko were players, too. I only learned one duma, and then the war began. Seredenko went one way. The Germans took Filimon, and he died somewhere on the way. That was the end of our story. – What duma did you learn to play? ivan kalistratovych: Shevchenko’s “My thoughts, my thoughts.” – Why did you make the bandura out of a pear tree? ivan kalistratovych: There was no other wood at hand. The pear tree is thick and sounds as good as the maple. Back in the day, people used to make spoons out of pear and maple trees. I used them as examples. A teacher from Motriivka learned that I had a bandura and paid me three hundred rubles for it. He kept it. … – Do you remember the music that was played at weddings? ivan kalistratovych: Fiddle and bubon, or two or three fiddles. – Who was the musician? ivan kalistratovych: Ivan Dikhtiar, my uncle. He was also repressed and never came back. Every Sunday, there was music and singing in his backyard. It was fun. – Why was he repressed? ivan kalistratovych: His brother and he were repressed. He was a peasant. We didn’t have any professional musicians, just amateurs. – Did he have an ensemble? ivan kalistratovych: He just played. There was one man who made a double bass. He even lived in America. He came back here without any documents. He got here on a prison transport and walked three years to get here. He made a wooden bicycle; we didn’t have any at the time. He would be riding his bicycle, and a crowd of men would follow him. Then he made the double bass. Someone else had a bubon, so that was the music we had in the village. Today, it seems like everyone is doing well, but I feel morally stifled.

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No one wants to sing, no matter what. Back in the day, two or three people would get together: one small balalaika, and there you go – you had a dance. People would come barefoot, wearing their linen skirts. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – When you got together for the vechornytsi, did the guys pay the muzykanty? mykhailo antonovych: Yes, it was mandatory. We mostly had harmoniia and bubon. There were fiddles, too, but we preferred to hire a harmoniia player. People also played the balalaika; I did, too. A balalaika would not be hired for the weddings. For instance, I can play the balalaika, but for my wedding I would hire a harmoniia. With the balalaika, I would just come to the vechornytsi to play, that was all. – What muzykanty played at the weddings? mykhailo antonovych: A harmoniia and a bubon. They were paid based on the number of days they arranged – two or three. It would come to ten rubles or so. The groom or his father would hire the music ensemble, and the musicians would eat at the wedding. … mykhailo antonovych: There were no musicians who made a living playing music. Such a person would work in his farmstead, learn to play the harmoniia, and play it in the evenings. We used to have dosvitky back in the day, so some guys learned to play. No one was a professional musician as you’re saying. … – What dances were there at weddings? mykhailo antonovych: Polka, hopak, and barynia [Russian folk dance – ed.]. Hanna Herasymivna Vyklenko-Pohrebniak (Vinnytsia region) – Were there any muzykanty?

hanna herasymivna: We hired a fiddle and bas ensemble, or fiddle and

bubon. – Were there such musicians in the village? hanna herasymivna: Yes. – How much were they paid? hanna herasymivna: This was long ago. – Do you remember how they were compensated? hanna herasymivna: With money and food. They played outside people’s houses and asked them to give food. My father-in-law was a good musician.

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… – Where did the girls and guys gather to dance? hanna herasymivna: The young people would gather by the river as well as in the village square. – Who hired those muzykanty? hanna herasymivna: The guys did. Yelizaveta Fedorivna Zashalovs’ka (Kharkiv region) – What musicians were at your wedding? What instruments did they play? yelizaveta fedorivna: Harmoniia. – What about bubon? yelizaveta fedorivna: There was none. – Were there musicians among your relatives? yelizaveta fedorivna: Yes, my cousins played the harmoniia.

w e ddi n gs The impoverishment of the village through the collectivization process and the Holodomor led to the truncation or even the disappearance of certain rituals as a process apart from overt suppression of rituals by activist officials. This was especially true of the peasant wedding sequence, which before collectivization was an extremely elaborate event. At that time, it unfolded usually over three to seven days. Certain participants in the wedding sequence assumed roles that required them to take part in specified ritual events, sing specific songs in a particular sequence, accompany the bride or groom from one location to another, usually in procession, and even to dance certain ritual dances at specified times. Specific foods were prepared and then consumed in elaborate rituals. Instrumental musicians were hired to perform not only dance music (often for three days, virtually non-stop), but specific ritual marches or promenades during processions at specific moments in the wedding sequence. In some locales, they also accompanied many of the ritual songs. After collectivization and famine, the wedding sequence ceased to exist in most locales of central and eastern regions. Couples married simply by signing a marriage certificate. A truncated wedding sequence returned by the late 1930s, but the festivities usually lasted only one or two days. This sequence still existed in most locales in the late 1930s, with the above-mentioned provisos, and still exists today, in a simplified manner. Although a wedding could sometimes be an elaborate event after the famine, more often it was a pale version of that which had existed before collectivization. Several interviewees furnished information concerning certain aspects of the wedding sequence, providing a glimpse of changes in the rituals of the time.

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In comparing the wedding from before collectivization and famine with after, the interviewees were most concerned with the overall quality of the event, its length and complexity, as well as the size of the dowry. A few also commented on the loss of specific ritual events or songs due to proscriptions and deaths associated with collectivization and famine. Most interviewees noted that weddings before collectivization were far more elaborate and richer than those after collectivization. The khaziaii of the past (here meaning the family) that would have mounted an elaborate wedding sequence were no longer present in the village. They were either dead, in exile, or had been impoverished by the introduction of socialism to rural life and labor. Markian Kutsevol The best weddings were before 1930. That was a prosperous time. Olena Ponomarenko – Did people have weddings during collectivization? olena klymentiivna: The weddings at the time were not like they are now. When I was little, I saw what a wedding should be. Natalia Semeniaka – Was there a difference between weddings from before and after the famine?

natalia hryhorivna: Of course. People had changed.

One reason for the decline in the quality of the weddings was that the overall wealth of villagers had declined. They had far less money to spend in general, including on weddings. Before collectivization, there were both rich weddings and poorer weddings. Marfa Bila described the difference: – Did people invite specific guests to the wedding? marfa oleksiivna: People usually invited guests from three to five households. If this were someone better-off, they would invite guests from twelve households. The size and wealth of the wedding were measured in part by the number of people invited, which in turn was measured by the number of households invited. Weddings were greatly abridged in the 1930s (Sofia Hrushivska, Marfa Bila, Natalia Spivakina, Andrii Filatov). After collectivization, they usually lasted one to three days, although during the famine years and for some time after, there

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were no renderings of the wedding sequence at all. There was only the signing of documents. Yuhyna Klishchuk said her wedding lasted three days, the longest mentioned in the project after collectivization. For many there was no wedding sequence at all, only a civil ceremony with no celebration. Ivan Solohub, who was married in 1940, had only an abbreviated wedding day. He and his wife simply signed the register at the village council, as did Andrii Oklei and his wife. There was also no wedding sequence for Varvara Chukhlib, in her case because they were too poor to afford even a small celebration. They signed a civil register and went home: You know what weddings were like during collectivization? You and I, and that was all. I got married in 1939. My husband and I just signed the papers, and that was all. We didn’t have any money to have a wedding. Odardka Kryvchenko said that the wedding sequence in her locale did not take place after collectivization. The entire ritual structure was apparently in abeyance. During the famine years of 1932–33, weddings ceased altogether in many and perhaps most locales (e.g., Yuhyna Klishchuk). The topic concerning weddings that was perhaps most discussed by project interviewees was the bride’s dowry (posah) as well as the wedding gifts provided the bride and groom and their precipitous decline after collectivization. Before collectivization, the wealth that the bride and groom brought to the marriage union was of special concern not only to the young couple, but also to their respective families. A bride’s dowry was as substantial as possible. There were certain minimum standards that had to be met. She usually had a chest (skrynka) into which she and her mother over the years had placed items of clothing and linens such as skirts, blouses, vests, men’s shirts, tablecloths, rushnyky (here ceremonial towels), handkerchiefs, sheets, pillowcases, blankets, pillows, etc. (Maria Bulakh, Marfa Bila, Natalia Spivakina, Hanna Buhaiova). Before collectivization, most of these were items that the girl and her mother had made by hand, the girl often working at dosvitky to build up her dowry. Maria Bulakh commented on the minimum number of shirts (sorochky) that were required before collectivization, namely, about ten, although twenty or even forty was not uncommon. Other contributions from the bride’s dowry included farm animals (skotyna), land, and even cash. For example, Varvara Chukhlib noted that when her mother got married, she brought to the union not only the linen chest but also a cow and cash. Mykhailo Ustymenko said that before collectivization, the bride brought the linen chest plus a cow or oxen. The groom brought skotyna as well as land. He noted that both daughters and sons could be given land when they married. The daughter’s land, the materyzna zemlia (“mother’s land”) discussed earlier, was hers to do with as she pleased.

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The bride’s dowry declined in the 1930s not only in terms of quantity but in terms of importance. Varvara Chukhlib noted that the bride still had to bring a linen chest, but skotyna, land, and money were no longer a part of her dowry. They no longer existed as part of a family’s wealth. All but a minimum of animals had been confiscated by the kolhosp. If anything was left, it was usually just one cow and chickens. There was nothing left to give daughters and sons who married. All but a small amount of land had been confiscated. Usually, the family was left with only thirty sotok or so. Money was in extremely short supply for virtually all kolhospnyky, except for the activists who ran the kolhosp and the village council. In the first few years of collectivization, kolhospnyky were paid nothing or very little, and most of what they were supposed to have been paid was confiscated through the oblihatsiia. Ivan Shamrai noted the change in the bride’s dowry after collectivization: instead of bringing to a marriage union a team of oxen, a horse, a cow, or sheep, she was given a small amount of money. Motria Potapenko said that in the 1930s the bride’s dowry consisted of a few items such as podushky, pokryvaly ta riadna (“pillows, blankets and cloth”), none of which was handmade but purchased by the mother for the daughter. Paraska Bezkorovaina noted that in the 1930s in her locale, girls had no dowry at all, such was the poverty to which they had been reduced. Various ritual events in the wedding sequence ceased altogether in the early 1930s. Marfa Zubaly described a pre-collectivization elaborate ritual in which a procession of wedding participants rode through the village, some in specially decorated wagons, and others on horseback. Each participant had a particular place in the procession – a role in the ritual known to everyone in the village. There were a certain number of groomsmen, and a certain number of bridesmaids, each singing the ritual songs of the processional event. With collectivization and the confiscation of animals and wealth, this ritual was impossible to render. There were no horses to ride and no horses or oxen to pull the wagons. In most cases, there were no longer any wagons in private hands. All had been confiscated by the kolhosp during collectivization. As a result, the ritual ceased to exist, as did the songs that were associated with it. Melanka Novak and Stepan Tiutiunnyk described the loss of another ritual of the peasant wedding sequence due to the destruction of the local church. They remembered an event that had taken place next to the church during the wedding sequence. It had involved participants in the wedding who had to know certain songs that were performed only at that time and place. Once the church was closed and destroyed, the event passed from active practice in this locale, as did its associated repertory. The above-named interviewees remembered a fragment of one of the song texts. Halyna Riasna noted that people formerly had declared Khrystos voskres (“Christ is Risen,” everywhere in Ukraine an Easter greeting) at specific moments in the wedding sequence. She and others were ordered by officials to delete this from the wedding.

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i n te rv i ew e xce rp ts: weddings Pavlo Yevtukhovych Andriienko and Ahafiia Illivna Riabukha (Kharkiv region) – Were there any weddings after collectivization?

pavlo yevtukhovych: Yes.

– How many days did a wedding last before collectivization? pavlo yevtukhovych: They would start on Sunday and last about three days. – When did people get married in a church [vinchatysia]? pavlo yevtukhovych: On Sundays. – Was matchmaking [svatatysia] mandatory? ahafiia illivna: Yes. I was little, but I know this from my mother’s stories about how men sent matchmakers to women. Back then, a woman wouldn’t look at you if there was no matchmaking. – Who prepared the dowry? ahafiia illivna: Mother and father. – What was given as dowry? Did you have chests or coffers? ahafiia illivna: I had a coffer [sunduk], and my husband’s mother had a chest [skrynia]. Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Was a korovai [ceremonial wedding bread] made for your wedding?

paraska mytrofanivna: What korovai can we talk about? We lived in a

dormitory and got a piece of bread each day for our work. – Before collectivization, did the relatives use to come to a wedding? paraska mytrofanivna: Only relatives and neighbors would come. – Did people prepare the dowry for the wedding after collectivization? paraska mytrofanivna: What could one prepare? We were all so poor. – Was it mandatory for a woman to take the husband’s name? paraska mytrofanivna: A woman could keep her last name, but what name would their children have then? If there was a man in the family, but the marriage was not in the records, the children would be the mother’s responsibility. – Was it common to live as an unmarried couple? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, they lived like sheep. – Were there any divorces? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes. – Were there any divorces during your parents’ time? paraska mytrofanivna: They say divorces were not allowed at the time.

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Whatever happened, they had to live together. If a woman ran away to her mother and her husband came to get her, she had to go home with him. Halyna Zakharivna Bezrodnia (Poltava region) – Did you have a wedding ceremony when you were getting married? halyna zakharivna: It was in 1930, and there were no weddings at the time. It wasn’t common at the time. – What about prior to 1930? halyna zakharivna: They had weddings. When I was young, I was invited to a wedding. Later wedding parties were held at home. When my husband came for me, my mother cooked and invited the closest neighbors. We sat down and had dinner. Marfa Oleksiivna Bila (Vinnytsia region) – Did people invite specific guests to the wedding?

marfa oleksiivna: People usually invited guests from three to five house-

holds. If this was someone better-off, they would invite guests from twelve households. – How did people invite others? marfa oleksiivna: They brought the best men and muzykanty. The musicians would play in every house. They would play in the doorway, and in the house they would say, “Come to our wedding.” – What did people use to say? marfa oleksiivna: “Father, mother, and I are asking you to come to my wedding.” – Did these people exchange kisses with khaziaii? marfa oleksiivna: Of course. First, they would prostrate themselves and you had to kiss him and his wife on the foot so he could hear it. – How did people kiss the older people? marfa oleksiivna: On the face. They would hold hands, too. – What did the khaziaii say in response to the wedding invitation? marfa oleksiivna: “We’ll come to the wedding.” That’s it, and they came. – What did people give the musicians? marfa oleksiivna: Grain and money: twenty kopeks or one ruble. – How did people dress [for the wedding]? marfa oleksiivna: A scarf, a shirt, a head wreath, and braids if this was Saturday. If this was not Saturday, they would unbraid the hair. On Sunday, they would wear a wreath for the wedding. – Was this the same wreath that the girls made “at the wreath” on Friday?

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marfa oleksiivna: Yes. – How long did the wedding last? marfa oleksiivna: Friday–Monday. The gifts were like they are today, and the bride would be brought on Sunday or Monday. – What did people do on Monday? marfa oleksiivna: They would collect the gifts. People would bring a liter or a half a liter of vodka or cheap alcohol. – Where would they buy it? marfa oleksiivna: There was a store. – What would happen on Tuesday? marfa oleksiivna: If anything was left, they’d gather again and drink. Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiova (Kharkiv region) – How many days did a wedding last? hanna yukhymivna: Three days: Sunday through Tuesday. – On Sunday, did people gather at your place or at your parents’? hanna yukhymivna: Both. We were both locals, so we held the wedding in both places. – Did you get married in a church? hanna yukhymivna: Of course. – Did you make a korovai? hanna yukhymivna: It was made a few days ahead, on Friday or Saturday. The wedding was on Sunday. They would cut the korovai on Sunday and give everyone a piece. The same goes for shyshky [pinecone–shaped wedding buns]. The buns were given on the second day with a drink; now they give the buns on the first day. – What about Tuesday? hanna yukhymivna: On Tuesday, they would cut the chickens, dress up, have a party, and fool around. As they do today, people used to sing a great deal until some cried. … – When you were getting married, did your mother prepare the dowry for you? hanna yukhymivna: Who else? My mother prepared the dowry, not much of it: a sheep wool coat, a kozhukh – that was all. If someone was betteroff, they’d add ten shirts. – What about scarves? hanna yukhymivna: You couldn’t buy one anywhere. – What about boots? hanna yukhymivna: My father used to make shoes for me. – And the necklace?

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hanna yukhymivna: He made one, too. When I was getting married, I collected some items from here from there, from several people. This was how a necklace was made. Maria Andriivna Bulakh (Poltava region) – Did the whole family come to a wedding? maria andriivna: Of course. Everyone would come and party. People invited the neighbors and the relatives. – When did people stop having nice weddings? maria andriivna: The weddings were always there. If people had money, they would organize a wedding; if they didn’t, the husband would just take the wife home. If their parents had the money, they would celebrate for three days. – What did people give as dowry? maria andriivna: Whatever they had. Sometimes they would give a cow and oxen or something else. Into the dowry chest people would put shirts, towels, skirts, scarves, everything. Whatever people could buy [in the 1930s]. Some rich people had ten or twenty shirts. They also had tablecloths and blankets. Those who could weave would make a thick blanket. Some had ten or twenty blankets. Some had just five. Everyone was different: some were poor, others were rich. … – Did young men send matchmakers? maria andriivna: Yes. If a girl’s father was rich and owned land, five or six guys would send matchmakers. One group would come on one day, and the father would say, “I’m not giving her in marriage yet.” The next day, the other group would come. The matchmaking would usually happen after Christmas and Easter. Sava Ivanovych Chornyi (Sumy region) – Were weddings of those times different from the present-day ones?

sava ivanovych: It was more complex at the time: the couple would go

to the church in a cart with good horses, bells, and musicians. A harmonia would play and people would sing. Parents would be invited to a dinner in the house and the girls would sing. The father would make decisions at the time. He would say, “We’ll take such and such girl, and you’ll get used to each other.” Sometimes it was a girl whom the groom had never even seen, but if the parents made the arrangements, they would get married.

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Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Are weddings shorter now than they were before the kolhosp? fedora oksentiivna: There are fewer weddings now. They are shorter, and the parties smaller. After the famine and the forced labor in the kolhosp, people would just sign the papers quietly and that was all for the marriage. – Before the kolhosp, did all the relatives come to the wedding? fedora oksentiivna: Yes, including those from far away. – Was matchmaking mandatory before the wedding? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. – Who were the matchmakers? fedora oksentiivna: They would come beforehand and discuss the arrangements. This continued a bit into the kolhosp and pre-war time, and then it ended. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – How many days did the muzykanty play?

varvara denysivna: Saturday and Sunday or as long as they were hired

for. If they were hired for three days, they would play three days. If a musician was a friend or a relative, they could play the whole week. Back in the day, the wedding would go on from Sunday to Sunday. – Were the weddings shorter after collectivization? varvara denysivna: Some were large. – What was the Monday custom called? varvara denysivna: The korovai was split at the groom’s on Monday and at the bride’s on Sunday. … – Before the Revolution, did all the relatives come to a wedding? varvara denysivna: People would invite their relatives, but they came if they were able to because they had to bring gifts. – Was matchmaking mandatory? varvara denysivna: Yes. – How did people prepare the dowry? varvara denysivna: When my mother was getting married, she put men’s and women’s coats and blankets into the dowry chest, also a cow was given as dowry – or one hundred rubles. … – Did the weddings take place during collectivization? varvara denysivna: Before collectivization, only the relatives would come. – Did the custom stay the same?

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varvara denysivna: Yes, but I forgot what it was like during collectiv-

ization. You know what weddings were like during collectivization? You and I, and that was all. I got married in 1939. My husband and I just signed the papers, and that was all. We didn’t have any money to have a wedding. A cart came and took my dowry chest. – What was in your dowry chest? varvara denysivna: Men’s and women’s coats, a comforter, a blanket, a tablecloth, and two skirts – all the possessions. – Did you have any cattle? varvara denysivna: No. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – How many days did your wedding last?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: It started on Saturday night (this was called

holovytsia). The wedding was on Sunday. On Monday they take half a liter of alcohol and go to eat and drink. Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – Who did you send as matchmakers to your wife?

andrii fedorovych: My father and mother.

– How many days did the wedding last? andrii fedorovych: Back in the day, the weddings were long. People were independent at the time, not dependent on work. On the first day, they would get married at the church and party at the bride’s home. On the second and third day, they’d party at the groom’s home. On the fourth day, they would say, “Let’s go back to where we first gathered.” So, they’d go to the bride’s place. Then one of the guests would invite everyone to their place. It could be that they would go from house to house celebrating for two weeks. Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – When you were young, how long did the wedding last? sofia tymofiivna: Back in the day, they would start partying on Saturday and it would go on for a week. – What was the Saturday or Sunday before the wedding called? sofia tymofiivna: Saturday was called divych-vechir [“girl’s night”]. The bride would gather her maids of honor and go to the groom’s house to play and sing. On Sunday, he would come to get her for the marriage in the church. Then they would go back to the bride’s place.

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Yuhyna Oleksandrivna Klishchuk (Vinnytsia region) – How many days did a wedding last in the 1930s? yuhyna oleksandrivna: Saturday and Sunday, that’s all. On Monday, people had a potluck [skladchyna] – the guests would bring vodka. This was it for the wedding. – What were weddings like during the famine? yuhyna oleksandrivna: Oh, God. Who could afford to think about weddings back then? All people could think of was survival. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Poltava region) – Was matchmaking [svatannia] mandatory before the wedding? odarka yakivna: Yes. – Did matchmaking take place during the kolhosp time? odarka yakivna: There was then no matchmaking. After collectivization, there were no weddings either. The matchmakers would just come in advance to talk. Markian Hryhorovych Kutsevol (Poltava region) – What were the weddings like? markiian hryhorovych: The richer folks had larger weddings. The rich used to marry the rich. Some girls would blow their horn if they were an only child. The rich people could choose the poorer ones to be their kumy. The best weddings were before 1930. That was a prosperous time. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – When were the weddings shorter?

yevdokia ivanivna: We had good weddings before collectivization.

There used to be weddings with a flag, but not many. People would invite the relatives – kumy and svaty [matchmakers]. – Was it mandatory to send matchmakers to a woman before marriage? yevdokia ivanivna: Of course. The matchmakers were older men. After collectivization, people didn’t put any dowry into a girl’s wedding chest. They only had whatever was given to them for the wedding: a cow, all the farmstead, whatever people had. Other people would give gifts such as money, bed linens, and blankets. There was such poverty that there was nothing, and the weddings were very modest. Women used whatever they had left from their mothers because you couldn’t get anything anywhere.

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Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – Have you seen an ancient wedding? mykola ivanovych: Back in the day, people used to take a week to prepare for the wedding. There could be no wedding during Lent. Other than the days of Lent, there were weddings in spring and winter, especially after Lent when people would consecrate the water. They would bake the korovai, and on Friday they would distribute buns and invite people to the wedding. Nowadays, they do the same, but they use cars now and back in the day they used horses. A wedding would start on Sunday. The whole village would come together. The invitees would come in the evening, and the young would come during the day and party until the evening. There would be either a fiddle player or a harmonia player, and people would dance and sit down to dinner in the evening. They would celebrate all night long and have a few drinks again in the morning. This would go on until Wednesday. On Wednesday, they’d come and say, “We congratulate you on Wednesday and a young daughter-in-law.” This was the end of the wedding. Varvara Andriivna Myshko (Poltava region) – Were there any weddings in the 1930s?

varvara andriivna: During the famine, there was nothing. The village

was dead quiet. Many people died. Some families died out completely. In some families, only one or two people survived. There were five people in my family, and I was the only one who survived. The newcomers built their houses, but very few old people were alive. Weddings took place before and after the famine. There are no people who sing at the weddings anymore, but they used to sing before the famine. Melanka Yosypivna Novak and Stepan Dmytrovych Tiutiunnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did people in your village always bake a korovai for a wedding? melanka yosypivna: Yes, and they still do. – Did the family of the groom or the bride or both bake the korovai? melanka yosypivna: Both. – Do you remember how people dressed a man in green branches (shuma zaplitaly) for Kupala Night [midsummer ritual] near the church? melanka yosypivna: Yes. I was little at the time, but the older girls used to dress him up near the church and in the grazing field. – When did they stop doing this? melanka yosypivna: Long ago, before the war.

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stepan dmytrovych: They stopped when the church was closed.

– Do you remember the song they sang while dressing up the person for Kupala Night? stepan dmytrovych: I remember some lines: The girls dressed a man up for Kupala Night. They looked for cucumbers in the green branches. Come, lads, to court the girls. If you don’t send matchmakers to the girls, people will laugh at you. Rai, zhuchka, rai, rai, black rai.

stepan dmytrovych: When the church was closed, they stopped singing. This was before collectivization.

Andrii Platonovych Oklei (Kharkiv region) – Did you get married in a church?

andrii platonovych: No, we had a civil marriage. Just the two of us

went to the village council and signed the papers, that was all. – On what day would the weddings usually start? andrii platonovych: On Saturday. Lent was about to start when we had our wedding on Sunday, so our wedding was quick. – One could not have a wedding during Lent? andrii platonovych: Not back in the day. … – Did you have a wedding? andrii platonovych: Yes, four days. – What year was that? andrii platonovych: 1938. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – Did people invite your mother for weddings if she knew many songs? vira trokhymivna : They invited my mother and father to weddings and baptism days. They both were good singers, and my father had forty-three godsons and my mother thirteen. Wherever they sang, they were the center of attention. – Were there women who knew all the customs and thus were invited to weddings? vira trokhymivna : Yes. – Was your mother one of them?

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vira trokhymivna : Yes, she knew the wedding customs, songs, the order of events – she knew all this and was often invited. – Was she often a maid of honor at people’s weddings? vira trokhymivna : No, girls were maids of honor. Women were the matchmakers [svashky] during the custom of going to thank the maid’s parents [prydane]. She would go to weddings. – When they proposed to her to be a matchmaker, did they pay her anything? vira trokhymivna : No, this was all unpaid. The people just partied and had fun. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region) – What custom do you remember most from the ancient weddings?

ustyna Yykhymivna: The maids of honor would be the first to sit down

at the dinner table. In the old days, there was not so much vodka as now – only three liters. The young women would eat and sing. The meals were simpler than they are now (stew, sauerkraut, milk-based noodle soup, and cucumbers), but everyone had a good time. Then the guests would sit down. There weren’t enough cups and plates for everyone, so they took turns. Cups were small. Once the dinner was over, they would go out to dance. They danced beautifully. After the Revolution, dances were considered petty bourgeois, and we were forbidden to wear rings. Before the Revolution, the young people were such fine dancers. Olena Klymentiivna Ponomarenko (Cherkasy region) – Did people have weddings during collectivization? olena klymentiivna: The weddings at the time were not like they are now. When I was little, I saw what a wedding should be. – How many days would a wedding last? olena klymentiivna: The whole week. People would invite me to sing. The maid of honor would bring the [ceremonial] wedding tree [hiltse] on Saturday night. The singers were not paid. – Were the singers invited specifically for the wedding? olena klymentiivna: They were invited, or they could come of their own will. When the wedding party was in process, strangers could come to that house even if they were not invited. They would stand in the house and watch the groom being decorated with green boughs and viburnum berries.

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Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – How many days did a wedding last when you were a young girl? motria tymofiivna: Four days. When I was getting married, the wedding would last four days: Saturday–Tuesday. People drank and partied. They looked forward to drink for free, and the bride’s father would be glad to treat them to drinks because he gave his daughter in marriage. – In the 1930s with the advent of the kolhospy, did the weddings become shorter? motria tymofiivna: Depends on the family. – When you were getting married, did you have traditional matchmaking? How was it? motria tymofiivna: The matchmakers came and arranged everything, including the wedding date. – Who were the matchmakers? motria tymofiivna: The groom sent two people. Three of them came: an uncle, the groom, and his brother. – What did your mother give you as dowry? motria tymofiivna: My mother bought two pillows, four comforters, and six blankets in advance. – Did you embroider your own shirts? motria tymofiivna: I got married in an embroidered shirt that I made. – Was it mandatory for a woman to take her husband’s name? motria tymofiivna: Different people had different lives. One woman was visited by the matchmakers. She put a scarf on the groom and on herself and wore it for a week, but he left and gave back her scarf. He was from another village. He came with his uncles but later on understood that he didn’t need her. So, at the end of the week, she removed her scarf. – Did she get married later on? motria tymofiivna: Yes. … – Could husband and wife divorce before collectivization? motria tymofiivna: Yes. – Could they remarry after this? motria tymofiivna: Yes. – Who filed for divorce? motria tymofiivna: A person could just leave, that’s it. A friend of my mother’s married a person she didn’t want to marry; she was forced to. The groom was in the house. She went outside wearing the flower wreath and was taken away. He waited, but she didn’t come back. A month later, they found out that she was in Siberia in Norilsk. The man who loved her eloped with her. They lived there and used to come to our village to visit.

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Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – When were the weddings better: before or after collectivization? varvara ihorivna: Before collectivization, everyone had the weddings they liked. After collectivization, a wedding was one or two days, that’s it. [Before collectivization] the bride would go around the village wearing an embroidered shirt, corset, skirt, accessories, and a wreath with many ribbons. She would take her maids of honor to every house. She’d come in, put a bun on the table, bow, kiss everyone, and go to the next house. In this manner, she’d go around the whole village: her relatives and non-relatives. If her relatives were in another village, she would go there to invite them to her wedding. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – Did the weddings include songs about Jesus? halyna ilarionivna: Back in the day, our parents would sing “Christ Has Risen,” but not anymore. – Then the authorities said … halyna ilarionivna: They said not to practice religion. But I have been saying as long as I can remember that we don’t see God, still he exists. There is someone who governs us. Old people used to say: “The time will come when God will refuse to be our master, and the Devil will rule. When the Devil rules, there will be no churches, nothing.” People used to say so back in the day, and so it became. Ivan Ivanovych Shamrai (Poltava region) – Were weddings shorter after the famine? ivan ivanovych: A wedding back then is equivalent to ten weddings now. Back in the day, a wedding went on from Saturday to Saturday, and the parties were not like they are today. Men and women were stronger and would bring a good deal of homemade vodka. They would have a party for three days, and then they would start going from house to house. For example, they’d stop by at my place and if I didn’t keep track, they would catch a hen and demand that I give them eggs and lard. Then they would sell this food and buy more alcohol and continue partying. And after the korovai was presented, for almost a week the gathering dressed up in funny clothes and drank a great deal of alcohol. It stopped not too long ago. There was some damage to the food and to daily life, so the weddings got shorter. Some people would just sign the paper and that was all. The richer people and those who had more relatives used to have longer weddings.

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… – Was there matchmaking before the wedding? ivan ivanovych: Of course. It was called “negotiations” [domovyny]. For example, you and I were friends and were going to get married, so I’d say to my father, “I’d like to marry Petro’s Halka.” They’d say, “We agree.” – “Then, mom and dad, go to her parents for negotiations.” They would arrange the wedding. If one of them was rich, he’d give them something as a dowry. After the arrangements were made, they would have to wait until the end of Lent because you could not have a wedding during Lent. They would prepare for the wedding in advance if the arrangements were made during Lent. People gave whatever they had as dowry. If they were rich, they’d give a plot of land, a couple of oxen, a cow, a horse, or a sheep. They gave whatever they could. After the famine, relatives would only give money. For example, guests at the wedding would be treated to a piece of korovai and a glass of vodka (they’d bring them on a plate). As a guest I would take the glass and give them three or five rubles. Sometimes they would put a plate in the middle of the table for everyone to put three rubles on it. The relatives would give twenty-five rubles each. Now they put money into envelopes. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – What were the weddings like?

natalia hryhorivna: They were nice. I was the last in my village to have

a church wedding. From then on, the people would just sign the documents in the village council. Church marriages were out of fashion. My wedding was fun. The whole village was there and people from another village came, too. They had many relatives and they came by train. – Was there a difference between weddings from before and after the famine? natalia hryhorivna: Of course. The people had changed. Ivan Kyrylovych Solohub (Kharkiv region) – Did you send matchmakers? ivan kyrylovych: My father went by himself. On 10 October 1940 we signed the papers and that was it. – Did you sign the papers in the village council? ivan kyrylovych: Yes. – And there was no wedding? ivan kyrylovych: No, there was a separate large house for the young people, and for that [unclear] there was a smaller house.

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Natalia Mytrofanivna Spivakina (Kharkiv region) – Describe how the matchmakers came to your house. natalia mytrofanivna: I was spinning yarn at home. I had a long braid. His uncles came to my place: “Natashka, would you like to get married?” – “To whom?” – “To Myshko.” – “I would.” I left the spinning wheel and got married. – When the matchmakers came, did your father give them vodka and food? natalia mytrofanivna: Of course. – What did the matchmakers bring? natalia mytrofanivna: With a loaf of bread: cut the loaf and eat some to show your consent. – How many days did your wedding last? natalia mytrofanivna: I don’t know. Back in the day, the wedding would last one week. – When was the korovai served? natalia mytrofanivna: On the third day. For three days, people would party and drink vodka, and then they would split the korovai. – At whose place was the party held: the groom’s or the bride’s? natalia mytrofanivna: After the church ceremony, they took me home. We partied at our place and then went to my husband’s home. At his place, we split the korovai. – What did you take with you? natalia mytrofanivna: My mother was a weaver for many years. She made good cloth for me. – What types of rushnyky did you have? natalia mytrofanivna: Towels, white cloth, and linen shirts. I was good at embroidery. – Did you have a coffer? natalia mytrofanivna: Yes, I got a large dresser. – Did they take you to your groom on a horse or on the oxen? natalia mytrofanivna: My father had horses. – Did you get married in the church on Sunday? natalia mytrofanivna: No, back then there were no church weddings. Oleksii Ivanovych Strilkov (Poltava region) – Were all the relatives invited when you were getting married? oleksii ivanovych: I didn’t invite anyone. The train had twelve cars. I took a woman, we got onto a train, and left. I got married in Kharkiv. We got onto a train and went to her parents’ place, that’s all.

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– Was matchmaking common? oleksii ivanovych: Yes. Once a guy met a girl, he’d take his uncle or someone to go to talk to her. They’d bring a loaf of ceremonial bread. If the girl’s family accepts their loaf and gives them one in return, there would be a wedding. There was a dowry, too. Back in the day, they would give a cow, a stallion, or oxen. They would put some rags in the coffer. I didn’t look into it. They would bring the coffer and the oxen, or a cow would follow. This was back in the day. Before the war, people used to give whatever they had. – Was it mandatory for a woman to take her husband’s last name? oleksii ivanovych: They could keep their last names, but usually a woman would take her husband’s last name. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – Did you invite all the relatives to a wedding? mykhailo antonovych: It depends. Perhaps some people didn’t have relatives or had just a few. – What did people bring as gifts? mykhailo antonovych: The bride would get the gifts. People would drink some vodka and come up to her giving her money, cloth, shirts, pants, and such. The couple would gather two or three hundred that way. If the parents were poor, there’d be no dowry. Usually, people would put the wedding chest into the cart and give a cow with it. This was not a small gift. They would prepare the things for the wedding chest in advance: cloth, corsets, and shirts. This was to make sure she had enough clothes to wear and that the husband’s family would not need to buy her clothes at the start of their marriage. Not all sons would get land. When my father got married, his wife had her own land. I don’t know how much land there was (a hectare or half a hectare), but it was considered “mother’s land” and passed on to the daughter. Not all people gave their children land; many didn’t. – Did you have a wedding? mykhailo antonovych: Yes. On Saturday people would bake buns. On Sunday, they’d invite their godparents, and the couple would be in the wedding house along with the best man and the maid of honor. Everyone that was invited partied there. Marfa Kindrativna Zubaly (Cherkasy region) – Were there any weddings before the famine? marfa kindrativna : The weddings were nice. When I was getting married, I had a fine wedding. There were three weddings [simultaneously],

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and all the people came to ours. A clarinet player came from Moskalenky. There was also an ensemble of bubon and harmonia. There was a lot of snow when I was getting married, and many people came, including eight best men. My husband was the ninth because you could not have an even number. They were nice guys – and the dances! It was a fine wedding. – When were the weddings better: before or after the famine? marfa kindrativna : Before, when I was a young girl. The weddings were very nice at the time, not like now. The form is not the same. Back in the day, there used to be maids of honor, and they would tie red rushnyky around themselves. There used to be flowers and red holiday boots [sapiantsi]. The whole village would go around singing. They’d come to the groom’s house or to his relatives. When I was getting married, they would go around in sleds. A pair of horses and a sled. There were seven sleds and ours went in front of the others: my husband and I, and the best man and the maid of honor that held my wreath – four people in a sled. – What year did you get married? marfa kindrativna: 1926.

se as ona l ri tuals and songs In peasant society in Ukraine before collectivization, a large number of ritual events occurred seasonally in an annual cycle. Each ritual had specific songs that were performed only on that occasion and were unlike other songs in terms of text and melody. These rituals were not a priority in the questionnaire, and a limited amount of information was provided about them. Ukrainian patriotic songs and anti-Soviet songs were also not specifically tracked in the questionnaire although they were discussed by a few interviewees. The rituals discussed in most detail by project interviewees included blahovishchennia (25 March); vesnianky (sung on Easter Sunday and the following Monday); and Kupalo (7 July). Women and girls were the main participants in these rituals. Other rituals mentioned in passing were triitsia (“green week,” Maria Bulakh), also known as zelene sviato (Maria Kozar); Andriia (“St. Andrews Day,” Antonina Firman); and Petrivka (Yevdokia Kyiko, Varvara Pyvovar, and Odarka Kryvchenko). Because of the paucity of data derived from the project about the rituals associated with these days, they are not considered further here. Blahovishchennia (the Annunciation) is an official religious holiday celebrated before 1930 in church. It commemorates the appearance of Gabriel before Mary, and his announcement of the coming child. However, blahovishchennia also had another element, a peasant ritual which would seem not to be linked to the official church celebration. The main part of the peasant ritual (as opposed to the church ritual) was for girls to lead a goat through their village to a body of water,

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usually a river or stream. They were singing virtually all the way, songs that were heard only on this day, and performed a ritual dance, the “goat dance.” This ritual was usually observed only by girls, while the boys lingered, for the most part watching and sometimes following the girls from a distance. Andrii Oklei – When did they do the goat dance? andrii platonovych: For the Annunciation. And on the radio, they would announce the day to do the goat dance. – What does this mean? andrii platonovych: It was a custom. They would start from Zamok kutok. Our neighborhood is called Berezivka. They would walk in a line, lifting their hands for those who were behind them to pass. Then they would do another round of this dance and sing. – Was this all done by the girls? andrii platonovych: Yes, all the girls. – What about the guys? andrii platonovych: Guys would follow them, but they didn’t join hands. Halyna Hatko – Who was dressed as this “goat”? halyna ivanivna: The goat would be in front, and one girl would walk in front. The others would join hands and a line of people would come through. – Did the guys participate? halyna ivanivna: No, just the girls. – And where did they go? halyna ivanivna: Up to the end of the village. From the river to the end of the village. – What did they sing near the river? Did they do a circle dance there? halyna ivanivna: Yes, they did a circle dance and sang. – What songs did they sing? halyna ivanivna: I don’t remember all of them. Blahovishchennia occurred on 25 March – that is, during Lent. As a rule, Orthodox Christians are not supposed to sing during Lent. This was an exception to that rule, as noted by Maria Bulakh:

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No one sang during Lent; singing was forbidden before the Annunciation. The Annunciation was as important as Easter. We’d go out to sing in the streets by day and by night. If we were on our way to dinner, we didn’t eat meat or dairy products during Lent, we could hum a bit at home after dinner, but you could not sing outside. All singing was supposed to cease that night and not begin again until Easter Sunday. Vesnianky were rituals and songs rendered on and immediately after Easter, and only on those days. As described earlier, in most locales, the girls of a kutok walked through their part of the village singing the vesnianky, with boys following and blowing on animal horns. The practice varied somewhat by region. On Easter Sunday morning after the night-long service, people often went to the cemetery to visit the graves of family. Afterward, girls and boys returned to the churchyard. There they chose a girl and put a wreath on her head. Boys and girls joined hands and lifted the girl and carried her around the church (she was known as “Marena,” as described by Kateryna Kurasa). Performance contexts varied. The girls could go to a stream or river to sing (Fedora Hatsko), in some locales seeking birch trees along the riverbank (Varvara Pyvovar). Three interviewees provided a different description, saying that the girls and boys of the village gathered in the church yard and that it was there that they enacted the spring rituals and songs (Nadia Onufriichuk, Kateryna Kurasa, and Nykyfor Poberezhnyk). In some locales, the girls gathered and chose a boy as a joker figure (Sofia Hrushivska). Boys shook people’s hands, as described by Paraskeva Kindratenko. Kupalo was celebrated the evening and night of July 6–7. Several interviewees provided descriptions of this ritual, especially Sofia Hrushivska and Maria Bulakh (see also Anastasia Kalashnyk, Yevdokia Kyiko, Paraskeva Kindratenko, Andrii Pavlichenko, Melanka Novak and Stepan Tiutiunnyk, Maria Nychyporenko, Fedora Hatsko, Ivan Mushynsky, and Paraska Bezkorovaina). This was a largely secular holiday, although in some locales there was a procession that left the church and went to a nearby stream or river where vinky (floral wreaths) were floated on the water; in some locales blessed by the priest, in others not. Later that evening girls and boys gathered around a fire to sing songs specific to this day. Several interviewees claimed that one or more of these rituals (the peasant ritual on blahovishchennia as well as vesnianky and Kupalo) did not exist in their village in their youth, which meant in the 1920s or before. If the information from their interviews is accurate, these rituals in some locales were in decline before collectivization.

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Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky – Did people sing spring songs in your village? ivan serhiiovych: No. Girls would only gather for Kupala Night and put the wreaths on the water. Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko – Did you do the goat dance [“kozla vodyly”]?

maria serhiivna: We didn’t have such songs. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko – Were there circle dances in the spring?

paraskeva trokhymivna : No, we didn’t sing about the goat.

– Did the girls sing spring songs? paraskeva trokhymivna: No.

Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko – Did people observe spring rituals in your village? andrii hryhorovych: I haven’t noticed. Yelyzaveta Zashalovs’ka – Did girls sing spring songs after Easter? yelyzaveta fedorivna: No. – What about Kupala Night? yelyzaveta fedorivna: We didn’t celebrate it as a big holiday. – Did people sing and build a fire? yelyzaveta fedorivna: No, I don’t think we did this. Far more common was for interviewees to say that these rituals declined or did not exist in the 1930s. A few simply stated the fact (Halyna Riasna and Maria Kozar), while many others noted that these rituals were actively suppressed at that time. Many noted that they ceased to be performed either during the collectivization process, or that they ceased during the famine and did not revive afterward because of official policy. Paraska Bezkorovaina claimed the latter: – Was it forbidden to celebrate holidays and sing songs? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, after the famine.

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… – Until when did people sing songs in your village? paraska mytrofanivna: People sang nicely before the famine. They’d sing on the way to and from the fields. Then we had the famine and the war. It all went quiet. … – What was the authorities’ attitude to the songs? paraska mytrofanivna: They prohibited the songs, including those about God. They were forbidden after the war, too. Some noted that these rituals declined when the kolhosp was functioning and that kolhosp officials suppressed the rituals because they wanted people in the fields working, not on the streets singing. Iryna Yakivna Shevchenko – When were the parties better: before or after the kolhospy? iryna yakivna: Before the kolhospy. Back then people thought the best of each other, and after the kolhospy, they’d snipe at each other. Such and such is not going to work; such and such is going to work – they would shout in that manner. Maria Andriivna Bulakh When the kolhosp was set up before the war, the girls stopped gathering. [Before the kolhosp] every neighborhood celebrated Kupala Night – the older folks and the younger ones partied separately. Some provided a general description of the malaise among the villagers that prevented them from performing these rituals, presumably a result of the decline in their fortunes and their culture under the kolhosp system. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar When people had the opportunity [before collectivization], they celebrated all these holidays. When the quality of life declined, they didn’t need Kupala Night or anything else. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko – Did people sing spring songs in the 1930s?

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odarka yakivna: Oh, they sang no more. No one sang anything anywhere. Perhaps someone would still sing a bit in their house, but never on the streets. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko – Did the older girls participate in the Kupala celebration? paraskeva trokhymivna : We were little, and when we grew up, it was no longer celebrated. When we started working in the kolhosp, we had no time for holidays, and the weddings were not the same as before. There were no longer any maids of honor, and all the customs were gone. This does not mean, however, that these rituals disappeared in all villages in the 1930s. Far from it. They seem to have not been actively suppressed in all locales in the 1930s and they continued in some villages. Mykhailo Ivanchenko described the overall music culture of the 1930s in his locale: People in the village have always sung songs, even after the famine of 1933. When people were walking home from the village hall after a play or a film screening, each street [kutok] would carry a song along. Folks from one street would sing one song. The other street would sing another one, and so on. The whole village sang [each person in their kutok]. Then they would stop somewhere at the pasture, at the crossroads, [only] for half an hour because they had to go to work the next day. Each street had its so-called lead singers. Right now, we don’t have this tradition because the young people don’t know how to sing. Kateryna Kurasa provided a description from thirty years later, in the 1960s, which shows in detail the vesnianky and Kupalo songs still extant and being performed in her locale. These rituals were at that time and place not only still functioning, but indeed flourishing. This was true of many villages in Ukraine, although it seems likely from the interviews, already a minority of villages. Based on the results of this project, however, it is not possible to estimate where such practices continued, where they were suppressed, and where they might have died out for reasons other than suppression by the authorities. Nonetheless, thirty years later, in the 1990s, these rituals were still observed in only a few villages – although in many cases this was part of a self-conscious revival by a small number of people in the village, a form of folklore event, often based on and imitating the actual peasant practices of old, while most of the village youth did not participate. By the second decade of the twenty-first century, the revivals had become more commonplace. Before collectivization, nearly everyone in the village took

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some part in a ritual, especially Kupalo, and most, if not all girls took part in the vesnianky as a matter of course. Earlier it was simply part of the village civil society. However, by the 1930s in many of the locales where these rituals still existed, they were observed only by a small number of people – in many cases small children – and were beginning to decline (cf. Paraskeva Kindratenko immediately above):8 Maria Pylypivna Kozar – Did you celebrate Kupalo Night after the kolhospy were set up? maria pylypivna: Just the children continued to celebrate. The suppression of music, ritual, and songs included Ukrainian songs of many kinds, especially patriotic ones. Although it is outside of the time frame of this study, it is worth pointing out the description by Vasyl Yavdoshenko of a group of older men who sang Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina (see Appendix 4) in the bazaar near his Poltava region village in the late 1960s. When the militsiia (police) threatened to arrest them, they shouted: My kozaky! (“We are Cossacks!”), apparently daring the militsiia to try to stop them. Such open scenes of defiance of authority were probably not common: – Were some songs forbidden?

vasyl arsenovych: Sure thing. Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina was forbidden.

Many songs were sung one day and forbidden the next. I don’t know who prohibited them. In the village, the prohibition didn’t work so easily. The Cossacks [in our locale] would sing Shche ne vmerla Ukraiiny – ni slava ni volia in Pyriatyn on the market. The militia would assault them, but they sang it nonetheless. This was in 1965–70. Old man Hrysha sang it, too. Old man Mykola Kruchansky would go around the market followed by the militsiia, but they would say, “We are Cossacks!” They were sturdy old men, and they would belt out Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina at the top of their lungs.

8 In the 1990s and even today folklore students from a university, conservatory, or institute of culture who conduct fieldwork in villages can find examples of these rituals in a few locales. They often then pronounce the rituals as living folklore. The problem with this observation is that in all but a very few cases, the people practicing these rituals are a tiny percentage, a small fraction, of the village population – certainly less than one per cent, while in the 1920s, everyone in the village participated. In most cases they continue these rituals – or revive them (it is sometimes difficult to tell which) – as part of an organized group; perhaps a vocal ensemble organized through the auspices of the local budynok kul'tury (house of culture). In the 1990s, in such instances, the presence of these rituals can be seen not as having being a part of a living culture, but as a memory of the peasant culture of the past; a culture that was nearly dead at that time, except for the memories of it that continue among a few elderly people.

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Although the questionnaire did not request descriptions of anti-Soviet songs of the 1920s and 1930s, some of the fieldworkers asked about them. Two interviewees provided such. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo – Did anyone sing anti-Soviet songs at the time? mykhailo pavlovych: There were some like “Comrade Voroshylov, the war is coming, but Budionny’s horses were turned into sausage” [rhymes in the Ukrainian: Tovarishch Voroshylov, voina ved na nosu, a konnitsa Budionnoho pishla na kolbasu”]. Or “There’s no bread and no lard – agricultural procurement contracts took everything” [rhymes in the Ukrainian: Nema khliba, nema sala: kontraktatsia zabrala]. There was another song: “Here we are: no cow, no pig, but we have Stalin’s portrait on the wall” [rhymes in a grimly humorous manner in the Ukrainian: Dozhylysia yakos my: ni korovy, ni svyni, tilky Stalin na stini]. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk “Oh, thank Stalin for selling Ukraine. Oh, thank Illich [Lenin] that I no longer bake bread. Ask Stalin so you don’t have to heat the house.” [rhymes in this mixture of Ukrainian and Russian: Oi, spasibo Stalinu, chto prodal Ukrainu. Oi, spasibo Illichu, chto vzhe khliba ne pechu. She Stalina poprositi, shob u khati ne topiti].

int erv i ew e xce rp ts : se as onal rituals and songs Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Where did you learn to sing? paraska mytrofanivna: People sang on the streets, and we learned from them. – When did people sing more: before or after the kolhosp? paraska mytrofanivna: Before. – Did various villages have similar songs? paraska mytrofanivna: Songs were a bit different. – Did people sing spring songs (vesnianky)? paraska mytrofanivna: Girls used to sing “Lord” (“Volodar”), and when I grew up, they didn’t sing it anymore. – Did they sing during Lent? paraska mytrofanivna: No.

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– When did they start singing? paraska mytrofanivna: After Easter. – Did they sing mermaid songs [rusalni pisni]? paraska mytrofanivna: No. – Did people decorate the well with green leaves? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes. We used green branches to decorate everything for Pentecost; maple tree leaves were the best for this. – Did you make a swing [this was literally a single-seat swing constructed on a temporary basis]? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, for Easter. We would swing a great deal. There was no swinging on Pentecost. – What kinds of songs did you sing on Pentecost? paraska mytrofanivna: All kinds. – What did you use to decorate Kupalo? paraska mytrofanivna: Berries and whatever people could find. We had one large Kupalo in the steppe. – Did you sing songs for Kupalo? paraska mytrofanivna: We had many songs; I forget them by now. – Did you jump across the fire? paraska mytrofanivna: We would make wreaths and put them on the water. We’d have dinner in the steppe and then go to the pond. – Was it forbidden to celebrate holidays and sing songs? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, after the famine. – Did the older people celebrate with the young? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, they would sit down and listen. Old men and women would come out and sit around. – Until when did people sing songs in your village? paraska mytrofanivna: People sang nicely before the famine. They’d sing on the way to and from the fields. Then we had the famine and the war. It all went quiet. – Did you have circle dances? paraska mytrofanivna: I’ve forgotten everything. – What did men do on Easter? paraska mytrofanivna: They’d sit around and drink. – Did they play games? paraska mytrofanivna: Some did, and some went to the steppe to join the young people. – What was the authorities’ attitude to the songs? paraska mytrofanivna: They prohibited the songs, including those about God. They were forbidden after the war, too. …

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– Did people get together for Khram [the name day for the saint after which the church was named]? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, and they sang all kinds of songs. The first song would be a religious one; they would sit around the cross singing it. Afterward, they would sing all kinds of songs. – Did they sing the psalms? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes. Men would have a drink and sing any song, including the chumak songs. I’ve forgotten many. A chumak got ill on the road. He’s ill and lying down. No one will ask him about his pain. He has pain in his arms, legs, and head. He’s in a foreign land. The oxen are bawling and not drinking the water. Don’t go to the Crimea, grey oxen. I am young and so gravely sad. I used to know many songs – Cossack and chumak songs. – Did you sing Russian ditties [chastushky] in the 1920s? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, in Ukrainian. – Where did you hear them? paraska mytrofanivna: In the village. Some people who traveled would bring the songs from far away or make them up themselves. Maria Andriivna Bulakh (Poltava region) – Which neighborhood (kutok) sang best? maria andriivna: The guys from Polhaliv and the girls from Toloka were the best singers. We would go, “Tiu-iu-iu-iu!” This was a call for people to come out and party. – What songs did you sing? maria andriivna: All kinds. I’ve forgotten them by now. – Did you sing songs about the Cossacks? maria andriivna: Yes, “While the cuckoo was singing in the garden, a Cossack was on his way to see a girl” (“Yak kuvala zozulia v sadu na pomosti, ishov do divchyny toi kozak v hosti”). Oh, it was a nice song sung by the guys. Girls used to sing the wedding songs. When a girl was getting married, she would invite the singers and the maids of honor. No one sang during Lent; singing was forbidden before the Annunciation. The Annunciation was as important as Easter. We’d go out to sing in the streets by day and by night. If we were on our way to dinner, we didn’t eat meat or milk products during

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Lent, we could hum a bit at home after dinner, but you could not sing outside. – Did you sing any spring songs? maria andriivna: Yes, various spring songs. – What did you do during Lent? maria andriivna: During Lent, we would finish weaving cloth and spinning yarn at home. We didn’t go to dosvitky much. Some people may have gone, but not everyone. We used to party on Sundays, but we didn’t go to dosvitky. Guys would play cards, and girls would talk. … – How did people celebrate Kupala Night in your village? maria andriivna: Girls would come out and sing, “Today is Kupala, tomorrow – Ivana, and the day after tomorrow – St Peter and Paul’s Day” (Siohodnia Kupala, a zavtra Ivana, a pisliazavtra Petra i Pavla”). When we were little, we’d put a pile of sand on the road and jump across it. We’d also make kupailo out of grass, wear the wreaths on our heads, and jump. Then we’d go home and keep the wreaths in the house. Guys and girls would build a fire somewhere by the river in the ravine. We had a ravine in Oleksandrivka, and the guys would find a wheel somewhere, put hay around it, set it on fire, and send it down the hill. The fire would get extinguished by the time the wheel got to the bottom of the hill. We’d sing and go home. We didn’t put the wreaths in the river [as was the custom in other locales]. We took them home and put them on the cabbage heads there. When the kolhosp was set up before the war, the girls stopped gathering. Every neighborhood celebrated Kupala Night – the older folks and the younger ones partied separately. … – Back in the day, did you sing songs while harvesting the crops? maria andriivna: People don’t sing when they do the harvesting work. We always did the work in the hot sun. When the harvesting was over, we would tie the last grain heads with a red ribbon and say, “The field, the field, give us back the strength.” My father would tie the ribbon and say those words. When we lived in the kolhosp, we’d tie a sheaf together, and when we lived alone we didn’t do this. Before starting to sheave, we’d say, “God help us.” That was all. … – Did you decorate the house for Pentecost? maria andriivna: Yes: we used maple, linden, and aspen. We used to put aspen leaves around the tie beam, and maple leaves were left around just like that. We used linden and maple most of all. When cleaning up, people would say, “The aspen leaves turned black – someone will die.” Sometimes they would not turn black. Sometimes people would leave a large maple branch by the door. In the evening, we’d come out to the yard to have dinner and put

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sweet flag leaves and grass on the alley outside the house. We’d have a holiday dinner; people cooked whatever they had. We’d make borshch and sit down to eat. It was warm and nice, and our family would sit on the porch for a while and then go to bed. It was a family holiday. Girls would not go out to a party afterward. My mother used to say, “It’s a holiday; don’t go out.” Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did the church choir exist a long time in your village? varvara denysivna: It was there before the war and for some time during the war, but not after it. Maria Omelianivna Dudnyk (Vinnytsia region) – When you were young, was there a neighborhood (kutok) in the village where girls sang the best? maria omelianivna: It was our neighborhood. I had seven girlfriends, and we sang very well. I don’t know if anyone in the village sang better than we did. – Where did you gather? maria omelianivna : In the warm season, we would gather on the streets, by the river, and sing. They could hear us as far away as Sadkivtsi [a neighboring village]. We also used to gather at Maria Filimonova’s in the valley. She lived with her sister. Their parents had died, and we often gathered at her house for vechornytsi. … – Can you name some of the best singers? maria omelianivna : In my group? That was me (laughs); I was the leader. My friends Horpyna, Paraska, and Tosia were good singers, but Maria Filimonova didn’t have good taste in songs. She couldn’t sing on her own, but she would join in when we sang. The same goes for Hania Kurchukha. She would sing out of tune, but if we sang together, it was okay. Ulyta Kharlivna Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – When did you bake Easter bread (Paska)? ulyta kharlivna: On Saturday. Some did this on Saturday, and others on Friday. – Did people in your village paint Easter eggs? ulyta kharlivna: Yes, my sister lives three houses away from here. She had an oven. On Friday, we would bake Easter bread, and on Saturday we’d make pastries (pirohy) and paint the eggs.

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– Did you take them to church for consecration [blessings from the priest]? ulyta kharlivna: Yes, every year we took them to church. We didn’t have a church in our village, so we took them to Vedmedivka. We’d go there on foot or by car. My nephews have a car, so they used to take me there. Antonina Sevastiianivna Firman (Vinnytsia region) – Were there spring songs (vesnianky) or mermaid songs (rusalni), or Kupala customs in your village? antonina sevastiianivna: Back in the day, the girls used to sing by the river and put the wreaths on the water. Both girls and guys would sing songs. – How did people celebrate St Andrew’s Day? antonina sevastiianivna: Oh, St Andrew’s Day! People would bake rolls [bohonchyky] and would let the dog in so it would eat those rolls. The rolls would be marked with the names of the girls. That girl would get married first whose roll the dog would eat first. I don’t know if this was true, but this is how it was done. Then there was a game where everyone had to pretend that they were riding a fire poker, and a dry shortcake [kalyta] was hanging from a rod [kalyta, a round dry cake decorated with viburnum berries, cherries, or nuts was part of this game. Young people had to approach it and take a bite without touching it with their hands]. One had to pretend to ride a fire poker. If that person laughed, they would be hit. Such were the jokes on St Andrew’s Day. Guys would break the gates and the doors in the houses where there was a girl [if her parents didn’t let her go out]. This year, they removed a fanlight window in our house. – When did people party according to the customs more: before or after the kolhospy? antonina sevastiianivna: Life was better before the kolhospy. It was fun. When Brezhnev was in office, it was fun, not like now [1990s]. – What were the most common spring songs? antonina sevastiianivna: After Easter, girls would sing “Green cucumbers, gather in groups” [“Zeleni ohirochky, zbyraitesia do kupochky”] or “Green cucumbers, hurry up, guys” [“Zeleni ohirky, zhenit zhe sia, parubky”]. – Did people sing Russian ditties (chastushky) in the 1930s? antonina sevastiianivna: No. People sang them in the club when there was instrumental music. We had some years when no one went to the church or to the club – people didn’t go anywhere. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatsko (Kharkiv region) – When you were young, did the girls go to the river in the spring to sing spring songs?

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fedora yukhymivna: Girls would wear crosses and necklaces and go to the large bridge. In 1933, golden crosses were taken to Turchyn. There used to be two rows of crosses. The girls were sturdy, not like now. In spring, the ice would break and move around the icebreakers on the river. Our girls would come wearing white fleece coats with folds, and the Russians [katsapy] wearing white fur coats and straw shoes. Girls would put on large shawls and on top of these white headscarves – they had heads this big. So, there would be our girls and their girls standing on the bridge. Theirs would play and ours would sing “The Danube is overflowing, you cannot cross it” [“Rozlyv Dunai vodu, nema perekhodu”]. It was a song. – What kind of a game was this? fedora yukhymivna: They sang that way in spring when the ice broke. – Could you sing “Rozlyv Dunai vodu”? Fedora Yukhymivna: “The Danube is overflowing; you cannot cross it.” And then they would go, “Ee-hoo-hoo.” The echo would go across the river from mountain to mountain. – Did you join hands and do a circle dance? fedora yukhymivna: No, there were rails, and the singer would be standing facing the water. When the ice moved along the river, they would sing, “The Danube is overflowing; you cannot cross it, ee-hoo-hoo.” – What did the Russians sing? fedora yukhymivna: Oh-lio-lio, when the girl went to her grandmother… [“Oh-lio-lio, yak khodyla dievka do babky…”]. … – Did people do the goat dance around the village [vodyly kozla]? fedora yukhymivna: Yes, throughout the whole village. They would all hold their kerchiefs and their neighbors on both sides did the same, joining hands in this way, forming a long chain, and singing: When the goat jumped into the garden, He stomped out the onions, the garlic, the onions, the garlic. Holy night, holy night. They would go singing from the church to the end of the village where they would part. This would go on for half a day. – Whom did they dress as a goat? fedora yukhymivna: No one. The girls were all dressed in a similar fashion. – When did they do the goat dance around the village? fedora yukhymivna: For the Annunciation in the spring. – What about Kupala?

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fedora yukhymivna: This year was the only time I didn’t make any wreaths. I made them in all other years. This year my flowers didn’t bloom. Before, I would set up the Kupalo, and the parents sang to their children and the neighbors: Grow, goosefeet, higher than the house, Grow, the green one, taller than a tree. Ivan went swimming and fell into the water. Go call Halia and tell her: “Haliusia, run across the pits.” And then: Borys went swimming and got stuck. Go call Marfushka. Marfushka is coming, running across the pits. Fedora Yukhymivna Hatko (Kharkiv region) – Did people do the goat dance around the village for the Annunciation? halyna ivanivna: Yes. – Could you describe it? halyna ivanivna: Girls would get together for the Annunciation. They would line up from over there to that house. They would all be so nicely dressed, wearing holiday boots. They go along the street and sing: A goat jumped into the garden, He stomped out the onions, the garlic, the garlic. (?) Who cleaned it up? Who cleaned it up? Vaniushka cleaned it up. – Who was dressed as this “goat”?

halyna ivanivna: The goat would be in front, and one girl would walk in front. The others would join hands and a line of people would come through. – Did the guys participate? halyna ivanivna: No, just the girls. – And where did they go? halyna ivanivna: Up to the end of the village. From the river to the end of the village. – What did they sing near the river? Did they do a circle dance there?

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halyna ivanivna: Yes, they did a circle dance and sang. – What songs did they sing?

halyna ivanivna: I don’t remember all of them. I was a good singer, like no other. – What about Kupala Night? halyna ivanivna: “Oh, Ivan went swimming and fell into the water. He went swimming and got stuck on the quay” (“Oi, kupavsia Ivan ta i u vodu upav. Ta i kupavsia, buryv ta i na kladtsi zavys”). Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (Cherkasy region) – Did people use to sing a great deal at the time?

sofia tymofiivna: Oh, yes, people sang a great deal at the time. Everyone

walking home from the sugar beet fields in Budyshchi during Green Week [late spring] would sing songs. And the main holiday was Kupala Night [6 July]. People sang all kinds of songs if they knew how to sing. Those who could not sing did not, just like today. – Did you build a fire on Kupala Night? sofia tymofiivna: Back then? I can’t say. I hadn’t noticed. – Did the ladies go to the river? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, they would float the wreaths on the water. People would walk from the church carrying flags [korohvy]. They went to the lake and consecrated the wreaths there. – When you were a young girl, did you sing the spring songs [vesnianky] in the spring? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, I did. – Did you do the circle dance? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. Do you know the Easter holiday? The bells would ring a great deal in the church, and the boys would wear the embroidered shirts and make a circle dance [shuma zaplitaly] around a man dressed in green boughs. This man was Hantypenko Khrystoforovych. They would do that dance, people would sing songs, and the bells in the church would ring. – How did they do the circle dance? sofia tymofiivna: They would walk around [the dressed-up person was “shum”]. – Was “shum” in the middle? sofia tymofiivna: I’ve forgotten some. I know they used to dress him up and they would sing on the way.

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Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – Where did you learn to sing?

mykhailo yevdokymovych: My sisters were in the church choir with a

priest that sang Shche ne vmerla Ukraiina. They learned from him. – Did people do a circle dance in the spring and sing spring songs? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Back in the day, before the kolhospy, the girls used to sing the spring songs so well. They don’t do this anymore. – Did they sing somewhere by the water? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Near the pasture here and in their neighborhoods. – Why did they stop? mykhailo yevdokymovych: They all went to different places. Husband and wife no longer work at the same place, and the children are on their own. – When people started going to the kolhosp to work, why didn’t they sing spring songs or dance anymore? mykhailo yevdokymovych: They stopped. – When the girls did a circle dance, could guys participate? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Yes. – Did you celebrate Kupala Night [6 July]? mykhailo yevdokymovych: There was no such holiday in our village. – Did you have the goat dance [vodyty kozla]? mykhailo yevdokymovych: Yes, I know it. Mykhailo Hryhorovych Ivanchenko (Cherkasy region)

mykhailo hryhorovych: People in the village have always sung songs,

even after the famine of 1933. When people were walking home from the village hall after a play or a film screening, each street would carry a song along. Folks from one street would sing one song. The other street would sing another one, and so on. The whole village sang. Then they would stop somewhere at the pasture, at the crossroads, for half an hour because they had to go to work the next day. Each street had its so-called lead singers. Right now, we don’t have this tradition because the young people don’t know how to sing. They know absolutely no folk songs. The songs were very sad and jolly, but very long also, picturesque, vivid. They would recreate images, the state of mind, the landscape, and the people – those were very nice songs. – Did the girls still sing the spring songs? mykhailo hryhorovych: They used to go to vesnianky. These are spring songs. Later they sang songs for Kupala Night and St Peter’s Day. When I was a shepherd, we also had folk games. We don’t have them any longer. For

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example, there was one called “the baker” where they would put a stick and you had to knock it off. We had all kinds of games. – Did the girls do a zigzag dance [kryvy tanets] in the spring? mykhailo hryhorovych: A zigzag dance? I remember something like this; it was before the war. Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk (Kharkiv region) – Did the girls go to the river for Kupala Night?

anastasia trokhymivna: Yes, the younger ones did, and the older

didn’t. – What did they do there?

anastasia trokhymivna: They put up the Kupalo [often a straw man or object made of straw] and carried it to the water along with the wreaths. I didn’t go. – Did they build a fire? anastasia trokhymivna: No. – After Easter, did the girls go to sing spring songs by the river? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes. – Did you go? anastasia trokhymivna: No. – Did they do circle dances? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes, for the Annunciation. They would go around [kizla vodyly]. They would gather on this side of the village and go singing. They would get in line one after another and walk along, singing. – Is “kizel” the same as “kozel”? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes, people used to say kozla vodiat – once they gathered here, they would walk through the whole of Bishkin [street] and then along another street where they would part: When the goat jumped into the garden, into the garden, He stomped out the onions, the garlic, the garlic. Some of them would start the song, and the others would finish it. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko (Kharkiv region) – Was there Kupala Night in your village? paraskeva trokhymivna: We would dig up the weeds in the summer and jump across them. – Did you dress Marena up?

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paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes.

– How?

paraskeva trokhymivna : With flowers. We’d dress up one of the girls

[everywhere known as “Marena”] and take her around the field and the village, singing songs, although I don’t remember the songs anymore. We would jump across the weeds, not a fire. – Did you sit across the circle? paraskeva trokhymivna : No, there was no such custom in our village. – Did the older girls participate in the Kupala celebration? paraskeva trokhymivna: We were little, and when we grew up, it was no longer celebrated. When we started working in the kolhosp, we had no time for holidays, and the weddings were not the same as before. There were no longer any maids of honor, and all the customs were gone. – Did you put a carved pumpkin on a rod? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, we did this and we put a candle inside. This was from the olden days. I can’t remember much. – Were there circle dances in the spring? paraskeva trokhymivna: No, we didn’t sing about the goat. – Did the girls sing spring songs? paraskeva trokhymivna: No. … – What did people sing on Easter? paraskeva trokhymivna: Guys would run around in the morning congratulating people – only guys. – Did you swing on swings? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, on Easter. – Was there a farewell ceremony [provody]? paraskeva trokhymivna : Yes, on Monday of the second week. – What was it like? paraskeva trokhymivna: The church choir would sing next to the grave, and people rolled Easter eggs on the graves. – Did they leave some food at the grave? paraskeva trokhymivna : Of course. The church choir would finish singing, and we would get in groups and eat. – What was Christmas Eve like? paraskeva trokhymivna: People would gather and bring to their relatives the holiday ritual food [kutia]. I had godparents, so I would take this dinner to their place. – What did you make kutia with? paraskeva trokhymivna: With barley. Compote [uzvar] came with it, too.

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– Did you put hay under the tablecloth? paraskeva trokhymivna : People would put some hay in the icon corner and leave the compote and the kutia there. We didn’t put the dinner on the windowsill. – Did people burn trash before Christmas? paraskeva trokhymivna: No. … – Did the girls perform fortune-telling? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, on Christmas Eve. Girls would gather at a house and make dumplings. Then we’d put them on a sieve and let a dog into the house. The girl whose dumpling the dog ate first would get married the soonest. – Did you make dumplings for Crepe Week? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, cheese dumplings. – Did you tie a block of wood to the feet of unmarried people during Crepe Week? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes, and then they would pay a ransom. – Did you put a wooden block by the unmarried people’s doorway? paraskeva trokhymivna: No. – Did you bake skylark-shaped buns? paraskeva trokhymivna: We baked cross-shaped cookies on Wednesday, and skylark-shaped buns – for the feast of the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste. [There was a custom of baking pastries shaped like skylarks on this day because birds sing at this time, announcing the arrival of spring – ed.] – Did you celebrate Pentecost? paraskeva trokhymivna: We were little, so we used flower decorations and sang in the fields. We called the girl chosen to be dressed up “a poplar.” – What songs did you sing? paraskeva trokhymivna: I don’t remember. – What was the week called? paraskeva trokhymivna : Pentecost and the Green Week [Triitsia and Klechalna nedilia]. A girl would be dressed in flowers and taken to the field [she was virtually everywhere known as “Marena”], and Marena was also taken around the village. – Did you call the poplar-girl a “bush”? paraskeva trokhymivna: No. – Did you tell people’s fortune using the wreaths? Paraskeva Trokhymivna: I don’t remember this happening. We had a landowner’s enterprise [ekonomiia], and they were considered very cultured.

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Halyna Ivanivna Klymenko (Cherkasy region) – When the kolhospy began, did the girls continue singing in the village neighborhoods (kutky)? halyna ivanivna: Yes. On our way to work in the sugar beet fields, we would line up and sing. We also made dinner in one pot for all to eat. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Did you celebrate Kupala Night after the kolhospy were set up?

maria pylypivna: Just the children continued to celebrate. – Did you make a tree for Kupala Night?

maria pylypivna: We would dress Marena up and make a fruit starch

drink. – On what day did you celebrate it? maria pylypivna: 7 July. – Did you go looking for fern in the woods? maria pylypivna: The forest was too far from our village. – What other holidays did you have? maria pylypivna: The Green Week was a major holiday. People would drink vodka if they had any. – What did they sing? maria pylypivna: Any song. I’ve never heard one about the mermaids. – Did people decorate their houses with green leaves? maria pylypivna: Yes, the yard and the gates. – Has this custom been alive a long time? maria pylypivna: It is still in use [1990s]. We decorate the walls, corners, and gates with green leaves. – Did you make skylark-shaped buns in the spring? maria pylypivna: Of course. We decorated the skylark-shaped buns with buckwheat seeds to mark the bird’s eyes. During Lent, we baked cross-shaped buns. – Did you have spring circle dances? maria pylypivna: No. … – Did you sing Russian ditties (chastushky) with harmonia accompaniment? maria pylypivna: Perhaps at weddings, but not on the streets.

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Trokhym Savovych Kozub (Cherkasy region) – Did some neighborhoods (kutky) have better singers? trokhym savovych: Everywhere in the village we had good singers. – Was there any competition? trokhym savovych: Yes, they used to critique each other. … – Did this change during collectivization? trokhym savovych: Back then, people were swollen from famine. The whole body was swollen, and water would dribble from one’s legs because there was nothing to eat. Natalia Stepanivna Kravchenko (Sumy region) – Was the village split into parts? natalia stepanivna: Pyrohovo, Yaremy, and Hruzia – those were the names of neighborhoods (kutky) back then. – Did the singers compete among themselves? natalia stepanivna: Everyone sang their songs. In the evening, the village would party, and when the kolhosp began, they built a park with a large square. People would play the harmonia and the balalaika there, sing, and dance – and then it all vanished. The head of the kolhosp died; let him stay down in that grave, damn him. Odarka Yakivna Kryvchenko (Poltava region) – Did you sing spring songs? odarka yakivna: Yes, the petrivky like “The night is young and it’s the Apostles Fast” [“Mala nichka i Petrivochka”]. We also sang the Kupala songs like this one: I walked on the mountain, I bleached the white yarn And spoke to that yarn, “When will you be white, thin yarn?” “When you get married, young lady, I will be white.” I won’t get married Because my mother won’t let me. She locks me up in a new barn. …

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– Did people sing spring songs in the 1930s? odarka yakivna: Oh, they sang no more. Nobody sang anything anywhere. Perhaps someone would still sing a bit in their house, but never on the streets. … – Did people sing the chumak and the Cossack songs? odarka yakivna: In the evenings, the activists would sing in the village, “The sun is rising in Siberia, the guys are not tarrying” [Za Sybirom sontse skhodyt, khloptsi ne zivaiut]. – Did anyone sing Russian ditties (chastushky)? odarka yakivna: Yes, with or without music. Kateryna Dmytrivna Kurasa (Cherkasy region) – Did your peers gather on the streets to sing? kateryna dmytrivna: About six souls. I knew all the customs and holidays from the time I was little. I knew when to sing specific songs, when the spring songs began, and when we had Kupala Night. … – When did people start singing the spring songs? kateryna dmytrivna: The first day of Easter was the church service. People would go to the cemetery and from there to the church, and the young people would have a party near the church. They walked on the willow quay. They obeyed the older people and didn’t go to the club or have weddings during Lent. It was so beautiful outside the church on Easter: all the people would greet one another and bow. Guys and girls would join hands and do a circle dance around a girl wearing a wreath and then take her for a walk around the church. During Lent, each Saturday was a memorial day, and Friday was Lent. The priest said so and everyone knew this. People didn’t wear red scarves until Easter. Then they would consecrate the willow twigs in the church, and children would pat each other with the willow twigs, saying, “It’s not me who’s patting you; it’s the willow. Easter is coming in a week. There’ll soon be a painted Easter egg.” People would feel joy because Easter was approaching. Every Monday people would put one log in the attic. They said that if you put all these logs collected over time into an oven, the spirits would bring to your house the person who did something bad to you – and, indeed, on Saturday that woman came. On Easter Saturday, you were not allowed to borrow or give anything – to make sure the dough would turn out well for the holiday bread (paska). … – When the spring songs began at Easter, did people dance around the church?

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kateryna dmytrivna: Yes, they did a zigzag dance, played a game of

jumping across each other’s backs [dovha loza], and dressed someone up in green leaves [shuma zaplitaly]. – How did you dance “shum”? kateryna dmytrivna: We’d stand in a circle, and one girl would go through the first line and put her hand on the shoulder, “Girls, let’s twine the “shum!” “Shum” is walking in the woods, and his wife is fishing. She bought drinks with all the fish she caught and didn’t buy a coat for her daughter. Either you give me a coat or find me a husband. Find me a Tatar husband so I don’t have to cook borshch or porridge. Find me a coachman for a husband so I don’t have to work for other people” (“Shum khodyt po dibrovi, a shumykha rybu lovyt. Shcho zlovyla to i propyla, divtsi shuby ne spravyla, abo meni shubu spravte, abo mene zamizh oddaite. Oddaite mene za Tataryna, shchob ya borshchu, kashi ne kaparyla. Daite mene za kuchera, shchob meni panshchyna ne dokuchyla”). Then they do the reverse movement and untwine this line in the same way. They would also sing, “Girls, jump like goats – on the mountain, in the valley. Our guys are not manly, and the girls are all good ladies” (“Divky dovhoi lozy, shchob skakaly yak ti kozly, to po hori, to po dolyni nashi khloptsi yak ti svyni, a divchata hospodyni”). Guys and girls would go out together if they liked each other. In our village, there’s still no such thing as guys playing cards. We’d all gather here; men would always step aside, and the women would be standing here. In our village, a man would never leave the table, the circle, or the party. Our guys would always stand with us, walk in the garden with us, and dance the “shum” dance together with the girls. – How was the zigzag dance done? kateryna dmytrivna: We’d put three bricks in a triangle shape and run fast, singing: We’re doing the zigzag dance, A dance with no end in sight. One can suddenly fall out of step, And my beloved would laugh. My mother called for me From the house window. Come, child, come home And make a bed for your loved one. So, I came and made the bed: Four rows of stones And some more For that son of a gun. …

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– How many voices sang the spring songs? kateryna dmytrivna: One girl would always lead, and all of the girls would repeat two refrains together. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – Did the girls sing vesnianky? yevdokia ivanivna: The young sang “Willows” [“Verby”]: “Oh, willow, willow, where did you grow?” (“Oi, verbo, verbo, de ty zrosla?”) They would also sing songs for St Peter’s Feast [Petrivka]: “It’s St Peter’s Feast and Malanka. Our girl hasn’t had enough sleep” (“Vzhe Petrivochka ta Malaniechka, ta ne vyspalas nasha divochka”). [This reference is unclear because St Peter’s feast is in the spring and Malanka is sung on New Years Eve]. For Kupala Night, people would sing, “Today is Kupala, tomorrow Ivana, and the day after tomorrow – St Peter and Paul’s Day. Ivan’s mother stole a piglet and hid it in the corner of the oven” (“Siohodni Kupaila, a zavtra Ivana, a pisliazavtroho Petra i Pavla. Sho Ivanova maty porosia vkrala, na pechi v kutku zakhovala”). Who made up these songs? They sang them with all their might. “Oh you, Peter and Ivan, half of the summer is gone” (“Oi, ty Petre, Petre, shche i Ivane, polovyny zh litechka nemaie vzhe”) – meaning that the summer is passing by. They would build a fire and add the nettle and thorns and jump across all this. We didn’t dress the tree up. I like Shevchenko’s songs more: “When I am dead, bury me [in my beloved Ukraine]” (“Yak umru, to pokhovaite”). There are plenty of them. I had Kobzar and learned the songs at home. Back in the day, it was not forbidden to sing them. – Did you sing Russian ditties (chastushky)? yevdokia ivanivna: Yes, in Ukrainian, accompanied by harmonia, not fiddle. We didn’t have a harmonia player. He’d come from another village and the girls would be happy. If we were spinning yarn when he came, we’d drop the work and go singing and dancing polka and hopak. Oleksandra Fedotivna Marchenko (Cherkasy region)

oleksandra fedotivna: We sang the revolutionary songs [here meaning patriotic Ukrainian songs]. One time, I sang Shche ne vmerla Ukraiiny, ni slava ni volia (“Ukraine has not yet perished, neither glory nor freedom”). Next day, they came to my house, “What song did you sing?” – “I didn’t sing anything.” – “Did you sing ‘Ukraine has not yet perished?’” They interrogated me, but I didn’t say anything. Then they said, “If you sing this song again, you won’t be able to sing anything anymore.” I was scared. – Who were these people that threatened you?

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oleksandra fedotivna: I don’t know where they were from. I guess they were from the regional administration. – When was this? oleksandra fedotivna: I sang that song when I was a child. Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – Did anyone sing anti-Soviet songs at the time? mykhailo pavlovych: There were some like “Comrade Voroshylov, the war is coming, but Budionnyi’s horses were turned into sausage” (this rhymes in Ukrainian: “Tovarishch Voroshylov, voina ved na nosu, a konnitsa Budionnoho pishla na kolbasu”); or “There’s no bread and no lard – agricultural procurement contracts took everything” (“Nema khliba, nema sala: kontraktatsia zabrala”). There was another song: “Here we are: no cow, no pig, but we have Stalin’s portrait on the wall” (this rhymes nicely in Ukrainian: “Dozhylysia yakos my: ni korovy, ni svyni, tilky Stalin na stini”). There were many jokes about Stalin. If I knew someone well, I’d tell them such a joke; if not, I wouldn’t. In 1934, the workers were in the field: “Did you guys hear the news? Kirov was killed.” – Makar Shevchenko said, “Only Kirov?” That’s all he said, and to this day no one can find him. Back then, there were many policemen. They divided the people. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynsky (Cherkasy region) – Did people sing spring songs in your village? ivan serhiiovych: No. Girls would only gather for Kupala Night and put the wreaths on the water. – During collectivization, was it forbidden for the girls to gather for Kupala Night? ivan serhiiovych: No, not forbidden. The kolhosp also had celebrations by the pond. – Did people in your village celebrate the mermaid (rusalky) week around Pentecost? ivan serhiiovych: The women celebrated it. – What about the girls? ivan serhiiovych: No. The women under forty would gather to celebrate. – Where did they go? ivan serhiiovych: They would just gather and have a drink. They didn’t go anywhere. There was no place to go in our village; we had no pond. – Did they go to the fields to have dinner? ivan serhiiovych: They would go to the house of one of the women, but even that was very rare. Our life was more urban.

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Melanka Yosypivna Novak (Vinnytsia region) – What about Kupala Night? melanka yosypivna: Yes, we dressed the Kupailo in flowers and berries. – What was it made of? melanka yosypivna: A log was cut out of a cherry tree or a willow tree. One Kupailo was decorated with flowers, and the other with nettles and weeds. The guys would bring the nettles, and have it sting their skin. Then guys would break the Kupailo down, carry it to their garden, and put it on the cucumbers so they would grow well – life was interesting. Maria Serhiivna Nychyporenko (Cherkasy region) – Did you celebrate Kupala Night? maria serhiivna: Ivana Kupala? Back in the day, people jumped across the fire. – Did you make wreaths? maria serhiivna: Yes, and we’d float them on the water. We also put them on cabbage heads in the garden, so the cabbage would grow as nice as the wreaths were. – What songs did you sing for Kupala? maria serhiivna: What songs did we have at the time? Anything people knew. Now they celebrate Kupala Night, too. – Did you do the goat dance [kozla vodyly]? maria serhiivna: We didn’t have such songs. Andrii Platonovych Oklei (Kharkiv region) – Do you remember if the girls did circle dances by the river?

andrii platonovych: They did the goat dance on holidays.

– Did they go to the river when the ice broke? andrii platonovych: I don’t know. Back in the day, the river was near the present-day store. We had a wooden bridge that was forty-four meters long. I was a shepherd and measured it with my feet. Back in the day we had large lakes everywhere; now we have none. Back then, the ice moved fast and took down the whole bridge. The ice broke the bridge in two. – When did they do the goat dance? andrii platonovych: For the Annunciation. And on the radio, they would announce the day to do the goat dance. – What does this mean? andrii platonovych: It was a custom. They would start from kutok

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Zamok (our neighborhood is called Berezivka) and go in line, lifting their hands for those in the back to pass. Then they would do another round of this dance and sing. – Was this all done by the girls? andrii platonovych: Yes, all the girls. – What about the guys? andrii platonovych: Guys would follow them, but they didn’t join hands. Nadia Yakivna Onufriichuk (Vinnytsia region) – Where did you gather when you were young? nadia yakivna: When I was young, we used to go to the church. My grandfather was strict, so when the music played somewhere, he wouldn’t let me go. If girls came to ask me out, I could go. – Were there any games by the church? nadia yakivna: Yes, they were good games: spring songs and rituals; guys, girls, and children all had fun. – Did you play those games, too? nadia yakivna: Yes, I played with the girls. – Did you sing spring songs? nadia yakivna: Yes. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region)

ustyna yukhymivna: I’ll tell you about our family tradition. The agrotechnician didn’t drink, but he always had a bottle of wine in his drawer. He would come home, and the whole family and the neighbors would gather. They would have dinner and take the musical instruments to play. My father played the violin very well and all the other instruments, too, and my aunt played the guitar. They played and learned all the songs: “The cranes came flying and sat down on the plowland” [“Naletily zhuravli, sily-vpaly na rilli”] and after [Taras] Shevchenko “Peaceful land, beloved country, O my dear Ukraine! Why, my mother, have they robbed you?” [“The Plundered Grave,” as translated by Vera Rich]. The next day, my uncle would gather us children and start teaching us how to sing, and we sang. If they sang it to me once, I would remember the melody and the words. I had a very good voice. … – What kind of voice did you have? ustyna yukhymivna: I was a lead voice [soprano], and now I’m the second voice [alto] because I can sing the lower notes. I like Ukrainian songs

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very much. I liked “The mountains and the waves are roaring, moaning” [“Revut, stohnut hory, khvyli”] very much, and we sang it in the village. It’s a folk song. – What neighborhood (kutok) were you born in? ustyna yukhymivna: Perehonivka. Other neighborhoods were Bohomoltsi, Kryvolapivka, and Hrynivka. – Did both guys and girls sing? ustyna yukhymivna: What a great time it was. We had many neighborhoods in the village, and each neighborhood had its groups of guys and girls and the harmonia; the girls sang. If you came out in the evening, the whole village was singing. People used to compete in singing. I was the youngest in our neighborhood. I was twelve, and the other girls were older. Our uncle taught us, and we sang well. … – Did each holiday have its specific songs? ustyna yukhymivna: Carols for Malanka and Christmas; spring songs in the spring: “Oh, spring, spring, the beauty that you are, what did you bring us? I brought you the summer, the fragrant greens, and the periwinkle for the wreath” [“Oi, vesna-vesna, dnem krasna, shcho ty nam vesna prynesla? Prynesla vam litechko, shche i pakhuche zilliachko, shche i khreshchatenky barvinok na vinok”] and “Oh, let’s go on the mountain where the nightingale made its nest. Come with me, birdie, and be my wife” [“Oi, na hori podym, de soloveiko hnizdo zviv, idy, ptashechko, zo mnoiiu ta budesh meni zhonoiiu”]. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – What about Russian ditties (chastushky)? maria vasylivna: Oh, thank Stalin for selling Ukraine. Oh, thank Lenin that I no longer bake bread. Ask Stalin so you don’t have to heat the house. – How did these ditties appear in the village? maria vasylivna: They were common in Russia, and in our villages, people read them in the magazines. Don’t try to woo me and don’t treat me with nuts, Your land and your love are not right.

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– Did you sing these ditties in Russian or Ukrainian? maria vasylivna: In Russian for the most part. Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – Was there competition between the neighborhoods (kutky)? andrii hryhorovych: Of course, some sang better than others. – Which ones were better? andrii hryhorovych: The ones that had a better voice. – Were there singers with a better voice? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, the guys would come out if the girls were going to party. The girls would start singing when there were no guys, and then the guys would join in and they would sing together. We were little children running around. … – Was there courtship? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, the guys came with a harmonia. There was a wooden plank here where we would eat [pumpkin or sunflower] seeds. When the harmonia player came, people would dance barefoot. You’d hear the sound of their feet. … – Did people observe spring rituals in your village? andrii hryhorovych: I haven’t noticed. – What about Kupala Night? andrii hryhorovych: Oh! That was mandatory. – Was it a major holiday? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, yes. The guys would cut a cherry tree because they had to put it in a pasture where there was more space. They would dig it in and put candles and sing. Then in the evening the girls would come to the pond, bring the wreaths, and put them on the water. The direction where the wreath flowed indicated the location where the girl would get married. This is how it was in our village. – Did you play any games with the guys? andrii hryhorovych: We’d have some vodka and play “v churky” or “v klioka,” you know? This is where you had to score the ball into a hole. There was another ball game (“u hylky”): one person would hit the ball, and the other would go after it to catch it. – Were there any games or circle dances related to the songs? andrii hryhorovych: I didn’t pay attention at the time; I think there were none. For Christmas, they would pick a big hill, fifteen or twenty people

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would get in a sled and go down the hill. Then the horse would take the sled up the hill again. – Did people sing all the time? andrii hryhorovych: There was no day or night without a song. – Did people sing Russian songs, the ditties (chastushky)? andrii hryhorovych: No, no. This would happen if some troops, especially Russian troops, would come. Then you could hear the ditties. Nykyfir Maksymovych Poberezhnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Did you sing when you were young? nykyfir maksymovych: Yes. – Where did the young people gather? nykyfir maksymovych: In the club and when we didn’t have a club yet, they would gather near the church on Easter and Christmas. They’d go around the church singing. – Can you remember some songs? nykyfir maksymovych: I don’t sing. Guys took part in this, but girls were the ones who sang. … – Did the guys sing revolutionary songs when you were young? nykyfir maksymovych: There were no such songs before the war. They sang just the Ukrainian songs. Varvara Ihorivna Pyvovar (Poltava region) – Did people sing spring songs in your village? varvara ihorivna: We had one that goes, “She is running somewhere down the wide road. Three willows have bent by the river” [“Dorohoiu shyrokoiu bizhyt kudys vona. Try verby skhylylysia nad richkoiu”]. The brooks would be rushing into the river, and the girls would come outside to sing. The water was flowing in the direction where we lived, and we had many willow trees here. I don’t know any more about this. – Were the songs different? varvara ihorivna: Yes, our people used simple language, and theirs had a different accent [demonstrates the accent on a few lines from a song]. The melody was the same, but the pronunciation was different. – Did you sing petrivky? varvara ihorivna: Yes, “The Apostles’ Fast and a swallow” [“Petrivochka, lastivochka”]. There was a song that went, “Haven’t had enough sleep during

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the Fast of the Holy Apostles and haven’t worked enough” [“U Petrivochku ne vyspalasia, a todi shche ne narobylasia”] – I don’t remember the words exactly [Petrivka, the Feast of the Holy Apostles, begins on the second Monday after Pentecost]. For Kupala Night, they would sing and jump across the fire; that was mandatory. Guys and girls would float the wreaths on the water and watch them drift. The direction where the wreath flowed indicated the location where the girl would get married. It would float a bit further, get stuck in the branches, and that was it. Back in the day, they would chop some twigs and put them in a pile. Now they only burn tires, but back then they would bring all kinds of weeds and thorns to prick the girls’ asses. Guys would get stuck in those thorns, too. They would make such a big pile, and the girls would pick up their dresses and jump. I don’t remember the songs they sang. When people had the opportunity, they celebrated all these holidays. When the quality of life declined, they didn’t need Kupala Night or anything else. … varvara ihorivna: We started singing the ditties (chastushky) when life got better. We had them before and after the war. They’d be sung to balalaika accompaniment, not the violin. We had one violin player who also worked as an accountant. He didn’t have time to go around playing, but the balalaika was there all the time to play the ditties. … – Did neighborhoods (kutky) compete in singing? varvara ihorivna: No, some partied in the middle of the village, and others – here. One group would start one song, and the other group – the other song, whoever lasted longer. They didn’t say that such and such was a better singer; it was just about who could sing longer. Some people would say, “Eh, we heard you sing. You didn’t sustain a note long enough. We have a singer that you can hear in the village of Yarky when she sings.” To call the folks for competition, we’d go, “Tiu-iu-iu-iu!” on this side, and they’d do the same on their end. We’d come, and they’d say, “Who’s there in the hills? Are they partying or not? Tiu-iu-iu-iu!” If there was someone there, they’d go, “Tiu-iu-iu-iu!” This was our call. – Did people try to invite good singers from one neighborhood (kutok) to the other? varvara ihorivna: Eh, they wouldn’t go. God forbid. One sings in that part of the village, and the other person – here. The girls wouldn’t go on their own because if they did, the guys in that neighborhood would chase them away with nettle. They’d pull up the girls’ skirts and sting them with nettle. You could sing only in your neighborhood. A girl from another village, my acquaintance, came to visit me and said, “I’ll go over there to party.” – “Go ahead.” She went, partied there one or two nights, and then some suitor

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brought her back to me. The third night, she was going there again, and then changed her mind and wanted to stay here, but the guys told her to go where she partied the first night. … – When you were young, were there older musicians on the streets? varvara ihorivna: Some musicians would take their harmonia and go to party not too far from their house after their wives went to bed. He would play and sing ditties and the young people would sing with him. Sometimes the girls would sing, and he’d play the same song on the harmonia. This was if he lived nearby – and he didn’t stay out long. Halyna Ilarionivna Riasna (Cherkasy region) – What neighborhood (kutok) in your village had the best singers? halyna ilarionivna: Rizanovo. – Was it because they had a good lead singer? halyna ilarionivna: Well, yes. They would come to the club and say, “Let’s sing, girls.” We’d stand in a circle and sing. – Was there any competition between the neighborhoods? halyna ilarionivna: Of course. – Was this in the evenings? halyna ilarionivna: Sure thing. By day, we had no time. Back then, we worked even on Sundays. When it was time to harvest the crops, the brigade leader would tell everyone to come to work on Sunday. My mother would not let me go, but my sister would say, “Let’s go. There’s no one else there who can reap the crops.” I would be crying on the way because I wanted to rest a little. … – Did you have Women’s Day? halyna ilarionivna: That was 9 May, for St Nicholas Day [sic]. People would go collecting some medicinal weeds. Then they would go swimming in the water for Kupala Night. – Why did they do this? halyna ilarionivna: They made it up back in the day; that’s all. … – Who taught you to sing? halyna ilarionivna: I learned on the streets, but I have forgotten everything. We gathered on the streets and sang more before the kolhospy began. – Did you go to a nearby village? halyna ilarionivna: No, I didn’t go, but maybe others did. – Did people in the neighboring village sing the same as people in your village did or were there differences?

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halyna ilarionivna: They sang the same way as we did. When they broadcast songs on the radio now, the villages in Poltava have totally different songs. – Were there spring songs in your village? halyna ilarionivna: No. – What about Kupala Night? halyna ilarionivna: There was no Kupala Night in our village. Perhaps we didn’t have enough young people for that celebration; all of them were in Cherkasy. Oleksii Ivanovych Strilkov (Poltava region) – Did people sing the spring songs? oleksii ivanovych: Yes, before the war. We used to sing near the green hills; guys and girls would come together and the harmonia would play. They also teased each other; some were from Musiivka, and others from Horby. They would call each other “sissy.” When they sang in Musiivka, we could hear them here in our village. When they sang in Chyrkivtsi, we heard them, too. Halyna Tymofiivna Tarasenko (Kharkiv region)

halyna tymofiivna: We have many psalms, and we sing them at funerals. People ask us to come, and if the place is far away, they can bring us there by car. On the second day of the funeral, there sometimes is no priest or musicians, so we help them out. In the funeral scenario, there are prayers. Blessed art Thou, O Lord; teach me Thy laws. Blessed art Thou, O Lord; teach me Thy laws. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah Glory to Thee, O Lord. This is a spiritual song; it is sung three or more times. Psalms are sung in the church. – What other songs are there? halyna tymofiivna: There are many psalms. O Lord, O Lord, In the sky high above Hear my prayer Take my soul To the luminous paradise And my body

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Into the damp soil. They will put up my grave. Let the grass grow over it. They will plant viburnum on my grave, It will bloom in the spring. The birds will flock to my grave And sing me their songs. But I won’t hear them, For I will be lying in my grave, Resting in the damp soil. I won’t hear them, For I will be lying in my grave, Resting in the damp soil. Once my legs went far, O Lord, my Lord, it was a good time. Once my hands did much, Now they are folded over my chest. Once my hands did much, Now they are folded over my chest. My coffin, my small house, Has no window. I will be lying here, resting, As a lone blade of grass in the field. I will be lying here, resting, As a lone blade of grass in the field. … – When did the ditties appear? halyna tymofiivna: After the war. We’d go to play outside: a guitar, a balalaika, and a mandolin. – Did your parents sing ditties (chastushky)? halyna tymofiivna: No, we don’t speak Ukrainian properly. – Were these songs called “trandychky”? halyna tymofiivna: They were called refrains with the harmonia. My sister would put a piece of paper [with the texts?] on a comb, and we’d sing the ditties. This was after the war. Sofia Ivanivna Voropai (Cherkasy region) – When you sang on the streets, who would lead? sofia ivanivna: The girl that had a higher voice [soprano]. – What neighborhood [kutok] had the best singers in your village?

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sofia ivanivna: Dibrova. – What were the names of the other neighborhoods? sofia ivanivna: Stryzhena, Shchipakivka, and Pidhora. – Did girls and guys come from other neighborhoods? sofia ivanivna: Guys used to come to see the girls. Yelizaveta Fedorivna Zashalovska (Kharkiv region) – Did girls sing spring songs after Easter? yelizaveta fedorivna: No. – What about Kupala Night? yelizaveta fedorivna: We didn’t celebrate it as a big holiday. – Did people sing and build a fire? yelizaveta fedorivna: No, I don’t think we did this.

kob z a ri , l i rn yk y, sta rt si , an d starchyk hy b e f ore c ol l e ctiviz ation The blind peasant minstrels known as the kobzari (kobza performers), and lirnyky (lira performers) have been probably the most researched historical group of musicians in Ukraine (for a bibliography of sources on the subject see Noll 1993b). A blind peasant minstrel performed on one of two instruments, the lira or kobza. The lira was the standard European hurdy-gurdy and did not vary greatly from the models known over much of Europe. The kobza (from the early twentieth century, and in some regions earlier, today widely and mistakenly called bandura, although in fact a true bandura is quite different from a true kobza), was a small, plucked bowl lute, with from about eight to some twenty strings tuned differently by various people and for various songs, but in many cases diatonically. Larger varieties of a true bandura also had dozens of sympathetically sounding strings, while on the true nineteenthcentury kobza there were no or only a few sympathetic strings. Because each kobza was hand made by a village craftsman, each was a unique instrument with its own shape, measurements, sound, and to a certain extent, technique. A kobzar (performer of kobza) purchased his instrument from a village master, and a given minstrel might own several instruments over the course of his lifetime, sometimes wearing one out, or losing it or having one stolen, or preferring the instrument of a particular master and purposely changing. Both kobza and lira were usually performed solo, i.e., not in ensembles. Performance practices varied. In one possible style a performer sang and played simultaneously, while in another style a performer sang unaccompanied, sounding the instrument only during interludes between sections of the text. The very word kobzar [sing. of kobzari] carries a number of connotations important in Ukrainian history and literature. Taras Shevcheno’s book of verse,

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Kobzar, is one of, if not the, most important in Ukrainian literature from the nineteenth century. The image of the kobzar as a Ukrainian patriot is an ingrained feature of national identity. More important, an enormous ethnographic literature, written variously in Ukrainian, Russian, and Polish, provides a fairly conclusive picture of the life, music, and performance practices of the blind peasant minstrels and contains information pertaining to their social role from the mid-nineteenth century until their demise, largely in the 1930s. However, there are widespread misconceptions about these performers, partly a result of the image of the kobzar as a national symbol – a symbol that was emerging already in the late nineteenth century – and as a result of efforts by Soviet period researchers who falsified their data to conform to the ideological precepts of their time. Consequently, I find it necessary to provide here some background material and refer to a few written sources. This section provides only a thumbnail description of these performers as they existed before collectivization. This profile is based on material from the interviews as well as from the ethnographic literature of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. One of the main misconceptions about these performers concerns their repertory. Most people, Ukrainians and others, believe that the kobzari especially, and to a far lesser extent, the lirnyky, performed primarily the heroic epics widely known in literary circles since the mid-nineteenth century as dumy. Although they did perform dumy (especially the kobzari), the overwhelming majority performed mostly songs with a religious text, in most regions known as psalmy. In other words, they presented primarily Christian songs, not Cossack songs. Few minstrels knew more than two or three dumy, but they generally knew twelve, twenty, or more psalmy, as conclusively indicated in the ethnographic literature from the time (Speranskii 1904, Kulish 1856, and Maslov 1902 among many others; see Noll 1994c for a more complete list of sources). This was true of both kobzari and lirnyky from at least the mid-nineteenth century, that is, from the time when reliable ethnographic literature began to appear. The nature of their repertory before this time is largely guesswork. There is little that is reliable in either the ethnographic or historical literature from before approximately the 1850s and the beginning of professional ethnographic research.9 Some Soviet period scholars tried to find links into the distant past to show a pedigree for kobza. Yashchenko (1970, 5) notes a fresco in the Kyiivsky Sofiisky Sobor (Cathedral of St Sofia) from the eleventh century showing someone playing a plucked lute, saying that it is similar to “kobza-like instruments.” 9 There is no reliable ethnographic literature from before approximately the 1850s. That which was published before this time about the blind minstrels was only partial and fragmentary, historical snippets usually written by people who had never spoken with a blind minstrel in their lives.

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This is unclear at best. He goes on to posit the existence of kobzari in the sixteenth century based on a citation of a duma in the sixteenth century. The blind minstrels also routinely performed satirical songs as well as dances. More often they recited prayers and had begging recitations in which they asked for alms. The song Syrotyna (“The Orphan”) was very widely known and performed by probably nearly all minstrels, each performing their variation of the text and melody. Based on information from the ethnographic literature, up to collectivization minstrels apparently were most often requested to perform, and earned the most money from, the religious songs. In other words, the psalmy were the most popular part of their repertory among the village population. Those interviewees who spoke about their repertory provided mixed information. One interviewee said that a lirnyk in her locale sang pro Morozenka, pro zaporozhtsiv (Ivan Ilchenko, in other words a heroic duma “about Morozenko”). Others said that, among others, they sang songs on texts by Shevchenko (Ustyna Osadcha, Vira Oliinyk). Tetiana Poliesha-Novak remembered bandurists who sang Vziav by ia banduru (“I would take my bandura”), and Moroze Morozenku (“About Morozenko”).10 Ivan Roman remembered those who “sang songs about freedom, and the militsiia would often take them somewhere. The authorities persecuted them.” Again, concerning repertory: Maria Yeshchenko

maria opanasivna: He could see poorly, but he knew the location with

his feet. – What instrument did he play? maria opanasivna: I saw it, so I know. He played lira (hurdy-gurdy) and sang beautifully – all kinds of songs and refrains. When Vasyl was coming, the whole village was glad to see him. He sang Shevchenko’s songs, like Prymak and people would always give him something. He also sang various ditties (chastushky), like “Father is on the collective farm, mother is on the collective farm, and the children are in the streets” [rhymes in the quasi-Ukrainian Batka v soz i, matka v soz i, dity laziat pa darozi]. Sava Chorny noted that lirnyky sang both bozhestvene (religious songs, here the Christian psalmy) and kozatski (Cossack songs, here dumy). However, most noted that lirnyky and kobzari/bandurysty performed primarily religious (Christian) songs and prayers. 10 There exist sources discussing the presence of peasant minstrels (likely Ukrainians) in the homes of the Polish szlachta (gentry) before the eighteenth century, but this discussion is irrelevant to this study.

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This information about their repertory is important for several reasons, as it places most of the repertory of the kobzari and lirnyky in the same overall category as that of other blind intinerant peasant performers, those who did not play an instrument, but who sang the same psalmy, performed similar begging recitations, and recited the same prayers as the kobzari and lirnyky (Vira Polishchuk, Oleksandra Omelchenko, Fedora Chub, Sava Chorny, Antonina Firman, Ivan Bibik, Dmytro Tkach, Mykyta Nadezha, Vira Oliinyk). Vocal-Only Street Performers: Startsi and Starchykhy These other performers were widely known as startsi (men) and starchykhy (women) (s.m. starets and s.f. starchykha). This group of performers was not researched after collectivization, likely due to the fact that their repertory was mostly religious in nature (and therefore subject to complete censure) as well as due to their demise during or immediately following the famine, as discussed later. They were heavily repressed by the militsiia in the 1930s. Like the kobzari and lirnyky, they were usually blind, although some were sighted but crippled in the arms or legs. They wandered village roads performing vocally in regional bazaars, next to churches and monasteries, or among village cottages in a manner similar to the kobzari and lirnyky. Their repertory was similar, or in some cases nearly identical to that of the blind minstrels, with the exception of the dumy, which startsi did not perform (Luhovs'kyi 1926 and Luhovs'kyi 1993; Noll 1994c). The startsi / starchykhy were known over a wide part of eastern Europe, especially southern Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, and eastern Poland (see Bezsonov 1861-1864 and Nyrkowski 1977). There was yet another category of people that villagers referred to as startsi. These were itinerant beggars who did not sing, but only asked for alms, and blessed those who provided them, usually with prayers recited quickly. These were mentioned by several interviewees (Anastasia Kalashnyk, Fedir Kravchenko, Yevdokia Kyiko, Varvara Chukhlib, Arkhyp Dzhyrma). Most villagers used the word starets (m.) or starchykha (f.) for all intinerant performers and beggars, including the kobzari and lirnyky. Petro Kushnir described three types of startsi using the word in its broadest sense, and in the sense that most villagers used it: 1. the blind minstrels, kobzari and lirnyky; 2. performing (singing) startsi and starchykhy; and 3. non-performing startsi and starchykhy who might have recited a prayer but did not sing. He noted that the first type was by far the rarest; that is, minstrels rarely came to his village. The second type he described as greater in number than the first and they appeared in his village more frequently. The third category was the largest in number and appeared in his village the most often. The survey contains descriptions of all three types of semi-intinerant performers or beggars. The word starets (from stary, or “old”) carries multiple meanings. It can mean the non-specific “old man,” but it can mean as well a specific street performer.

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In the latter case, starets has nothing to do with chronological age. A boy fifteen years old performing on the street could be known as a starets. The same applies to the word starchykha, which defines not only an “old woman,” but in the proper context can mean a female street performer or beggar who could be of any age, young or old. A girl of twelve singing or even just begging on the street could be called a starchykha. The terms starets/starchykha carry yet another meaning, “someone who is poor.” In this case the word does not pertain to the street performers described above, but to the state of poverty of the person referred to. This can be illustrated by a claim of Natalia Semeniaka, who said that Lenin wanted to bring socialism to the countryside so that there would no longer be any startsi there, by which she meant “the poor” in general. This is further illustrated by a quote from Ustyna Osadcha describing the effects of collectivization. When asked if there were many startsi in the pre-collectivization period, she answered: Ne bahato. A potim vsi staly starchamy (“Few. Later, [with collectivization], all of us became startsi” (here, “paupers”). Another misconception about all quasi-mendicant performers, the kobzari and lirnyky as well as the startsi and starchykhy, concerns their means of livelihood and lifestyle. They have typically been depicted as vagabonds without home or family (e.g., Shevchenko’s elderly kobzar in his poem Perebendia). This is based on myth. Most of them had families and homes. Perhaps they are better thought of as traveling performers who worked on the road for part of the year and spent other times at home with their families performing agricultural labor. When working as roving performers in the 1920s and before, they traveled through villages and small towns, stopping and performing near bazaars, market fairs, churches, and monasteries as well as among village cottages. An especially lucrative performance context was the village khram. From plying their craft at a khram, they earned cash and foodstuffs, with most of the former taken home and pooled with other family income. The blind minstrels and blind startsi were not idle in the off months spent at home. They, like other blind villagers, most often utilized labor time making rope by twisting hemp, or other tasks that could be carried out while stationary. In fact, nearly all the village blind in apparently all regions twisted hemp into rope as one of their main income-producing activities. Only blind village males were commonly kobzari and lirnyky. They studied with a master performer (pan otets) for periods ranging from a few days to eight years, with most studying one or two years. They usually lived with the master, providing him with manual labor as well as turning over all their earnings for the period of their apprenticeship. Some of the startsi and starchykhy (non-instrumental performers) also studied and lived with someone to learn the repertory in identical or similar conditions. The project survey contains several useful descriptions of the life of the blind minstrels and other startsi before collectivization as well as information about

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their repertory. Maria Kozar noted that a blind lirnyk in her village by the name of Aksenty had a wife and children. He and his family had a small farm as well as a horse and a cow. When he was home – that is, when he was not working on the road as a traveling performer – he most often made hemp rope (verovky). The interviewee said that the entire village brought Aksenty their hemp for him to work. This information conforms to what is known about the startsi from the ethnographic literature of the second half of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Bezsonov 1861-1863; Kharkiv 1932; Luhovskii 1926; Luhovskii 1993). Tymofy Sozansky said that a blind starets in his locale had fields and four oxen to work them, although who drove and took care of his team is not clear. It was obviously not him. Concerning work patterns when on the road, Andrii Dotsenko said that a starets he spoke with in the late 1920s told him that when he was begging from house to house and was given bread, he would go to the next house and try to sell the bread to them. In other words, a starets was a kind of entrepreneur who was always seeking a way to profit from whatever came his way through his begging. Mykhailo Diachenko noted that startsi often worked as a family unit, with two or more family members traveling and working together. Arkhyp Dzhyrma said married couples often worked together; the one who was sighted would lead the one who was blind. Maria Yevshchenko described an unusual situation: He [a lirnyk whom she knew] used to go around with his wife or without her. His wife was a skillful woman. She was blind but made such great clothes – a woman who could see could not have done a better job. When she weeded plants, she could tell by touch which plant was a weed, and which was a crop. I don’t know where she was from, but she was beautiful. Girls used to lead the way for them, but I don’t know who their guides were. At first, Marusia would walk with them, then Tania took over; and then they [the lirnyk and his wife] were given a pension [in the 1930s and they ceased traveling]. Interviewees provided information regarding the performance contexts of minstrels and startsi. Much of this information is contradictory and reflects, most likely, varying patterns in the performance practices of minstrels and startsi of different locales. These local differences are so great that they are unlikely due to faulty memory on the part of the interviewee. Yevdokia Dyshliuk, Hanna Zamohylna, Varvara Chukhlib, and Yevdokia Kyiko all stated that the lirnyky who came to their respective locales performed only at the bazaar; they did not go through the village moving from house to house. They remarked that only non-instrumentalist startsi and starchykhy did that. Ivan Ilchenko and Dmytro Tkach, on the other hand, noted that both minstrels (instrumentalists) and startsi

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(non-instrumentalists) begged in the village from house to house and performed at the bazaar. Priska Reva said that one of the major performance contexts was next to the village church. Dmytro Tkach, on the other hand, claimed that neither minstrels nor startsi gathered and performed by the village church, only at the bazaar and among village houses. Finally, Arkhyp Dzhyrma claimed that minstrels as well as those startsi who sang psalmy performed only at the bazaar and next to the church. According to him, they did not perform in the village moving from house to house. Only those startsi who simply begged and did not sing were found among the houses. The kobzari and lirnyky were not the only instrumentalists performing as startsi. There were several references to performers of instruments other than kobza and lira at the bazaars of villages and small towns. Fedir Kravchenko said that he often saw a fiddle and drum ensemble. Oleksandra Omelchenko noted the presence of solo fiddlers. Many interviewees noted that harmonia players were prevalent, although this was probably more common during and especially after the Second World War (Oleksandra Posobilova, Vira Polishchuk, Marko Demchenko, Nadia Onufriichuk, Yevdokia Bondarenko, Hanna Honcharenko, Trohym Kozub, Petro Kushnir). There was considerable confusion among villagers of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, reflected in the historical ethnographic literature (ca. 1850– 1930), regarding the names used by peasants for the musical instruments kobza and lira and for the performers of these instruments. Often villagers did not distinguish between the two instruments of the blind minstrels, and they sometimes used the same word, kobza, to describe both lira and kobza, as related by Kvitka (1928). In other cases, villagers used the word kobzar to refer to all blind minstrels, both kobzari and lirnyky. In virtually all regions, the blind minstrels and all other wandering blind street performers (and sometimes simple beggars) were collectively called by villagers startsi. Some of the interviewees in the survey confusingly used the word bandura when referring to the instrument lira (Andrii Zaiets, Priska Reva).

sta rt si i n th e 1920s–40s By the early twentieth century, kobzari and lirnyky seem to have been in decline as chosen professions for blind village youth. By the late 1920s there were especially few kobzari still performing. There also seem to have been fewer lirnyky than twenty years before. There were still thousands of blind or otherwise handicapped street performers in village Ukraine, but most of them were vocalists, startsi and starchykhy. Thousands more simply asked for alms with no performance medium attempted. Petro Kushnir noted that even before collectivization there were few kobzari and lirnyky coming to his village, but many performing

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and non-performing startsi. With collectivization, all itinerant performers as a group were repressed in most regions. Material derived from the project provides the views of villagers who directly witnessed this repression. Extrapolating from this material, it can be said that there were two basic reasons for the decline, then disappearance, of the blind minstrels and all startsi after collectivization and the Holodomor: a general economic decline among villagers meant that they had little to donate to itinerant performers and beggars as the limited amount of food available was utilized by the kolhosp/radhosp or at home; and direct repression by the state, largely through police agencies. Concerning the first reason, the expansion of kolhosp property and the socialist agrarian structure brought about a decline in the personal wealth of villagers and a general impoverishment of the village. Soviet power’s confiscation of personal wealth was the means by which the kolhosp was created. These were tandem aspects of the same process: the enrichment of the collective was not possible without the impoverishment of family wealth through the cruel exploitation of labor time, as well as the confiscation of land and personal property. This is how the kolhosp was created. Before collectivization, when startsi came to the doors of villagers, the latter gave something when they had it. After collectivization, people had far less surplus bread, grain, flour, or money (or they had none at all) to provide to itinerant performers or beggars. During the famine, virtually no one could afford to share anything with anyone. Most villagers were themselves greatly impoverished. Furthermore, only a minimum of food and cash was provided by the kolhosp/radhosp for several years after the famine. Yevdokia Kyiko offered this as the reason why the lirnyky, kobzari, startsi, and starchykhy all but disappeared from the village in the 1930s. Some claimed that a few startsi still came to their village after the famine, but that by the end of the 1930s or near the beginning of the Second World War they had disappeared completely (Ivan Ilchenko, Paraskeva Kindratenko, Mykhailo Diachenko). More interviewees said that startsi stopped coming to their village during the Holodomor and that they did not reappear after that (Petro Khudyk, Maria Kozar, Hanna Snurinkova, Varvara Chukhlib). The implication here is that most of them perished in the famine, plainly stated by Marko Demchenko: – When did the startsi disappear? marko mykolaiovych: They died out during the famine (or as the interviewee put it, Vymerly. Holodovka vydushyla; “They died. The famine choked them out”). Even more claimed that startsi declined in large numbers or even disappeared with the beginning of the kolhosp (Fedora Chub, Konstiantyn Kryvonos, Sava

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Chorny, Hanna Konovalchuk, Yevdokia Kyiko). They imply that the state deliberately singled these blind performers out for repression. Tetiana PolieshaNovak noted: – When did the startsi disappear? tetiana yakivna: When Soviet power came and started dispersing them and sending them to shelters. The startsi were gone already during collectivization. What these “shelters” were is unclear from the interview. I doubt if the interviewee knew. It is possible that they did not exist and that this interviewee simply supposed that they did. After all, virtually all blind performers had homesteads and most had families to which they could return, so why go to a shelter? [cf. Vira Polishchuk]. Another possibility is that if such shelters existed at all (and I am dubious about this), the shelters into which they were supposedly confined were, in fact, death chambers where they were executed en masse. Readers should note that I do not believe this to be so, that this is pure speculation on my part and does not derive at all from direct statements in the interviews or from any published source of which I am aware. Nevertheless, the comments from Tetiana Poliesha-Novak and Vira Polishchuk about people disappearing from the local bazaar sound very strange, if not ominous, as does Ivan Roman’s statement that the militsiia took them somewhere and they disappeared (see below). A few offered other reasons for their decline, such as a loss of performance contexts when the churches were closed (Iryna Lotosh-Diatlenko, Tymofiy Sozansky). Several interviewees said that blind and crippled itinerant performers and beggars as a group ceased to travel when they were provided food by the kolhosp, implying that when they no longer had to work as itinerant performers, they did not do so. There is also the other possibility for their decline: they no longer worked on the road because this was banned by police agencies (Yevdokia Dyshliuk, Andrii Pavlichenko, Antonina Firman, Olena Sinkevych, Hanna Honcharenko, Anastasia Kalashnyk). In a similar vein, Kateryna Zoria claimed that they stopped traveling when they began receiving a pension from the kolhosp. On the other hand, Kateryna Yaremaka said that they disappeared when they were forced to work on the kolhosp and stop their travels. Paraska Bezkorovaina offered two reasons why they disappeared. In the first place, she said, they stopped coming to her village because they were being given a pension by their local kolhosp and no longer needed to travel. She added (a bit illogically, given her first reason) that in the second place, they stopped performing because the militsiia did not allow them to perform on the road. This second reason was described by several interviewees, but in more detail. Apparently in most locales the kobzari, lirnyky, startsi, and starchykhy were not

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welcome after collectivization by Soviet power. There were probably several reasons for this. First of all, they performed primarily religious songs and recited prayers, and were thus immediate targets for censure and repression by Soviet power. Secondly, all villagers were being decisively tied to kolhosps/radhosps in a manner that resembled feudalism. Free movement was restricted and was ostensibly possible only with special papers documenting permission to travel had been granted by state officials. However, it should be noted that tens of thousands of villagers found a way to travel without these papers, usually seeking work away from the agrarian system. The blind and crippled itinerant perfomers lacked such documents. They were seen by state officials as shirkers, and people who were attempting to stay outside of the system of socialist agriculture. They therefore came to be seen by Soviet power – absurd as it sounds – as enemies, even as a threat to the state. Ivan Roman noted: “These startsi also sang songs about freedom, and the militsiia would often take them somewhere. The authorities persecuted them.” The repression of these performers was described by several interviewees. Vira Polishchuk described their repression as “liquidation,” while Hanna Zmohylna said they were threatened and ejected from the bazaar by the police. Vira Polishchuk – Why were they cleared away? vira: They were liquidated. The authorities were ashamed that they were beggars. They were, I can’t say for sure, sent somewhere [unclear to where]. Hanna Zamohylna – What songs did they play? hanna vasylivna: All kinds of songs, except the dance ones. This would be on Sundays or at the market fairs before the kolhospy were set up. One blind man sang a song about the kolhospy once [this in the 1930s, apparently with a negative connotation], and they came to him and said, “Make sure we don’t see you here again – or else, we’ll send you to prison.” He left and since that time, there have been no more startsi. Several others also noted that startsi were not allowed at the bazaar after collectivization (Petro Khudyk, Fedora Chub, Trohym Kozub). Others simply noted that they were repressed, but without providing specific details (Andrii Zaiets, Motria Potalenko). There is a long excerpt provided by Yevdokia Severyn, who had been the wife

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of a performing (here, a vocalist) starets. A summary of this interview excerpt is provided below. However, readers are encouraged to read this long fragment in its entirety, as it provides the most detailed description in the survey of the life of a family living from proceeds derived from itinerant performance contexts. Whatever the form of repression of the time, the economic base of the startsi was effectively destroyed and made their continued presence as public performers all but impossible for most of them. By the Second World War the blind and crippled startsi of the past, including the blind minstrels, had all but disappeared as traveling performers and beggars. They never returned. Several interviewees noted the presence during and after the Second World War of a different kind of starets: invalids from the war, most of them veterans, who were apparently not receiving pensions sufficient for them to live on, so they took to begging to supplement their livelihood. Some of them sang the psalmy, Syrotyna, and other aspects of the repertory of the pre-war startsi (by the 1940s nearly defunct), while others simply asked for alms or sang songs popular during the war (Olha Chub, Hanna Konovalchuk, Maria Yeshchenko, Ivan Bibik, Nadia Onufriichuk). Yevdokia Bondarenko and Hanna Honcharenko noted what was perhaps the most common performance context for these performers after the war, most of whom played harmonia. The preferred performance context for these post-war beggars was on moving trains. As they rode the trains, they moved from one train car to the next, performing for a few minutes in each in order to work the crowd and receive alms. Yevdokia Bondarenko noted that these musicians did not perform at the bazaars because they were not allowed to do so by the militsiia. Regardless of certain similarities to the startsi of the past, that is, of the pre-collectivization period, the veteran startsi of the 1940s were quite a different group, coming to their begging activities only as adults. Finally, Vira Oliinyk said that startsi were prevalent during the famine of 1947, although she seems to have meant here starving people trying to find a scrap of food to stay alive, and neither the itinerant performers of the past nor the veteran startsi. From the Oral History of a Wife of a Starets The long fragment below is from an interview conducted with Yevdokia Petrivna Severyn (born Hnyda), from the village of Bishkin in the Kharkiv region. She was born in 1909, and in 1929 married a blind starets. She provided information on several topics: her childhood; his childhood; their marriage and the problems that the young couple had as startsi trying to earn a living in the late 1920s; and the problems they had in earning a living after collectivization and throughout the 1930s. She did not speak in a chronological order, and frequently jumped back and forth between the 1920s and 1930s in her account. I have provided a summary of her interview that is more or less chronological, from her younger years to 1939.

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Her childhood was not especially typical. Her father died during one of the wars between 1914 and 1921 – she did not remember which war – and her mother remarried. There were three daughters from the first marriage and the stepfather put all three out to work as servants for wealthier village families. She lived with these families, at first returning home only in the winter. Later she did not return home at all and lived with one family for three years. Her earnings varied. The first year she earned a new set of clothing as well as twenty-five rubles. When she lived with the khaziaiin all year round she earned forty rubles per year. Most of this money went to her stepfather. Although she said she was well treated, she soon had enough of this life. She was as poor as anyone could be, so her prospects for finding a good match were not optimal. She married a blind starets in 1929, which she said was not what she had wanted, but she felt that she had little choice. It was a hard life with her husband. She was his guide (povodyrka) when they were on the road and working. They worked for the most part only in the city of Kharkiv at the bazaars there. She said that she was too ashamed of her lifestyle (and perhaps of her husband) to go with him through the villages. This was an interesting statement, because it indicated that the anonymity of the urban performance context was not as troubling to her as the more intimate as well as familiar surroundings of villages and their markets and bazaars. Her husband was born (probably) in 1897 in the same village his wife would later be born in. Although he was twelve years older, they knew each other from a young age. He was born sighted but lost his vision at age six. His mother died when he was young, and his father would not allow him to be trained as a starets and would not allow him to take up an itinerant’s life, apparently because he felt it would shame him and his son. Upon his father’s death, he travelled frequently to Kharkiv to acquaintances he had there (apparently blind startsi) who taught him the prayers and songs of the starets repertory. He also learned the psaltry used during funerals and was thereafter engaged to recite the psaltry and sing psalmy during funerals in villages. His main work patterns and performance contexts were therefore in villages reciting the funerary psaltry and in the city of Kharkiv performing psalmy and reciting prayers. When he married in 1929, he had only recently started to work and perform as a starets. The interviewee described the performance context of the bazaar and some of the other startsi, including lirnyky, who were working there at the time, as well as the male and female singers and beggars. She described where she and her husband slept at night when on the road, how much they earned, and how her husband paid for the nauka – the lessons in the prayers and songs of startsi. However, perhaps of most interest in her description was her account of the repression of the startsi beginning in 1929, which evidently increased in intensity over the next two years. She noted that the militsiia arrested the startsi en masse, literally scooping up all of them on a given street. They would evidently

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raid the street on a moment’s notice and arrested men and women as well as child startsi. In some cases, those detained were simply threatened and told not to continue or not to come back. In other cases, they were beaten, and in still others they disappeared. The interviewee said that her husband ceased performing at the bazaars of Kharkiv with the onset of the famine, the severity of which precluded all performances as well as taking part in funerary rituals. After the famine, he no longer performed at the bazaars, but he did begin once again to recite the funerary psaltry and continued to do so up to the Second World War. The interviewee’s husband acquired land upon the death of his father. Due to his blindness, he did not farm it himself but rented it out to another khaziaiin. The two divided the product from the land equally. With collectivization, the land was lost. The interviewee noted that grain they had stored from their harvested fields was confiscated by activists during collectivization, who left the family (two adults and two children) with nothing. They were obliged to pay the oblihatsiia but had no means to do this, not even with eggs because they did not keep chickens. When asked if there were people in her village who did not join the kolhosp, she answered: “I don’t think so because everyone wanted to eat. They would work in the kolhosp and at least they got something to eat there, so they were content.” In other words, if a family did not join the kolhosp, they would likely die from hunger. As startsi, they were on the margins of the social order, and they engaged in numerous practices that were deemed criminal by the state, but which can be seen today as ethically tolerable, especially given their circumstances. For example, they survived part of the holodovka (famine) by the good graces of a woman in Kharkiv who worked in a bread store. She would weigh each customer’s bread a bit heavier than it was, and in this way over the course of a day she accumulated surplus weight (which was turned into bread), and thus provided them with bread to keep them and their children alive. By the late 1930s they derived an income largely from making charcoal (derevne vuhillia), which the interviewee carried in buckets to Kharkiv where she exchanged it on the black market for food, which according to the interviewee was at some location where bread was sold in large quantities, a kind of blackmarket wholesaler. In addition, many people in Kharkiv at that time often did not have enough bread to eat and came to the villages to barter their clothing for the bread that the interviewee and her family provided. In summary, the income-producing activities of her family changed greatly in the decade from 1929 to 1939. In the earlier year, they derived most of their income from the private agricultural sector and from performances as startsi. By the latter date, most of their income was derived from technically illegal but ethically tolerable commercial practices, and from the wife’s field work on the kolhosp.

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i n te rv i ew e xcerp ts: startsi Paraska Mytrofanivna Bezkorovaina (Cherkasy region) – Do you remember any startsi? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, yes, I remember them. I sang various songs, but I don’t remember which exactly. People used to give me rides in their carts, saying, “Don’t walk around because there’s a woman who catches children and eats them.” They came to sell the watermelons, and I was sitting in the cart. … – Did you see any people playing the lira? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes, our neighbor was a hurdy-gurdy player. His name was Yosyp. He said he ate some undercooked fish and went blind. – How did he start playing the hurdy-gurdy? paraska mytrofanivna: I don’t know this. An orphan used to accompany him. He had a cow and a horse and got married even though he was blind. This orphan boy lived with him like he was his own son. He also had children of his own, but they didn’t go with him. He did everything well – threshed the grain and spun yarn. – When did he go to the market? paraska mytrofanivna: He went there from time to time. He’d take that boy and they would go together to the villages [to perform next to the cottages]. – How was he paid? paraska mytrofanivna: People gave him whatever they had: flour or a small bag of food. He played the hurdy-gurdy very well. – Did he play on the streets? paraska mytrofanivna: Yes. One time, the women were celebrating the Crepe Week [Masliana], and spinning yarn was not allowed. They would invite him to play harmonia and hurdy-gurdy, and his neighbor, who was a potter, would be there making pots. … – Did anyone play bandura at the bazaar? paraska mytrofanivna: I’m sorry I don’t remember this well enough. On some days, the bandura players would go around the village. The players didn’t stop by at our house, but the beggars did. We lived close to the church. On Saturday, they would come, “Grandma, may I leave my bag at your place while I go to evening service at the church?” He would leave his bag, and our parents would tell us that if we misbehaved, he would put us into that bag and take us away. So, our grandfather went to church, and our grandmother went

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somewhere else, and my sister and I were left there staring at that bag and wondering what was in it. Little by little, we untied it and saw an egg and a piece of bread. Then we tied it back up. – Did the startsi ever sleep in your house? paraska mytrofanivna: Not in our house, but they did spend the night in some other people’s house in our village. Their group stayed there overnight. – Did startsi pay those people? paraska mytrofanivna: I don’t know. Perhaps those people and the startsi were friends. Some startsi [singers] lived in the village, but most others were just beggars. – Was it considered sinful to offend a starets? paraska mytrofanivna: No one offended them. We were taught that they were disabled. They would go around asking for alms, and whatever they got they would take to their friends. – Were there any startsi during collectivization? paraska mytrofanivna: Back in the day [here, collectivization and famine], we all were startsi [here, “poor”]. There was a major famine, and we didn’t have anything to give a starets nor was there anything for us to eat. People left the village. They went wherever they could find better life conditions for themselves. – Were there any startsi after the famine? paraska mytrofanivna: They didn’t go around asking for alms because the government paid people a pension. – What about after the war? paraska mytrofanivna: Maybe there were startsi in some other place, but not in our village. – What happened to them? paraska mytrofanivna: I think they were given money, and the militia started dispersing them. – What happened to the hurdy-gurdy players during collectivization? paraska mytrofanivna: I don’t know because the famine began, and we all went our separate ways. Many people died. Nobody knew what happened to other residents. Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – Did you see any startsi? ivan ivanovych: Yes, one such man would walk about seventy kilometers to get here from Lemeshovka with his guide. He was completely blind and played lira (hurdy-gurdy). His guide was a young boy. [The lirnyk] sang and played.

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– What did he sing?

ivan ivanovych: All the songs he could sing. I don’t remember their names. Such startsi were the men who sang church songs a capella [likely a reference to psalmy]. I also saw some women among them. We had one woman named Anysia Chubova. She would go into every house. She didn’t sing much, but she would cross herself at the doorway. – Were there any startsi who were husband and wife? ivan ivanovych: Yes. They were from Horodnianshchyna and passed Oleshnia on their way. He was completely blind, and she was blind in one eye. – How did people treat the startsi? ivan ivanovych: Anysia used to come to our house, and my mother would give her a whole pot of boiled beans, and she ate them. We didn’t want to eat beans every day, but she would gladly eat them and leave. If people had any extra food, they’d give her a potato or a piece of bread. – Was it considered sinful to offend a starets? ivan ivanovych: People used to say that if you had nothing to give them, God would give them something. – How did the authorities treat startsi during collectivization? ivan ivanovych: There were no problems. They could go where they wanted. – When did the startsi disappear? ivan ivanovych: After the war two orphan boys would go around the village. Their father died in the war. There were no blind startsi anymore. They were old people by then. – Did the bandura players perform in the village? ivan ivanovych: We didn’t have any. Yevdokia Petrivna Bondarenko (Kharkiv region) – Did you go to the market fair? yevdokia petrivna: Back then, Sunday was considered a holiday, and people would go to the market fair where they were selling sheep and cows. – Were there any startsi at the fair? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, the blind ones and the paupers. – Did they play at the fair? yevdokia petrivna: No. After the war, they would sing in the train cars. These blind people would play the bandura or the harmonia, and they were accompanied by a boy or a girl. People gave them money. – How did he play the bandura? yevdokia petrivna: The strings were up here and at the top. When he sang, all the people in the train car cried. – What did he sing?

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yevdokia petrivna: It was a long time ago. I no longer remember.

– Where was this?

yevdokia petrivna: This was on our way home from Kharkiv. We would

get off at Zolochiv and walk eight kilometers. – What did people give him? yevdokia petrivna: People in the train car would give the singer money and the child got buns, gingerbread, or candy – whatever people had. Sava Ivanovych Chorny (Sumy region)

– Did you see any startsi? sava ivanovych: There were some unfortunate blind people who played lira (hurdy-gurdy) and went to people’s houses with their guides. – What did they sing? sava ivanovych: The religious and the Cossack songs. They sang in the streets. – Did they play the bandura? sava ivanovych: I haven’t seen this. – Were there many hurdy-gurdy players? sava ivanovych: There were many blind people who would play outside each house [unclear if this is still in reference to lirnyky]. People would come out and give them something – money or a piece of bread, and they would say a prayer. – Did people treat them well? sava ivanovych: There was a legend about these blind people, a song: “The wind is strong in the fields, and a kobzar is sitting on a grave, helping people with their grief. He himself is without a home, sleeping outside the fence” [“Viter viie, povyvaie po poliu huliaie, a na mohyli kobzar sydyt i na kobzu hraie. Liudiam tuhu rozhaniaie, a sam svitom nudyt, popid tynom siromakha dniuie i nochuie”]. – What other songs were there? sava ivanovych: I don’t remember. – Did people ask the startsi to play a specific song? sava ivanovych: Some cunning rascals would say, “Play me this or that.” He would play, and that person would give him a quarter or ten kopeks. – Do you think these lirnyky (hurdy-gurdy players) knew each other? sava ivanovych: Yes, they did. – When were they most numerous? sava ivanovych: In the summer. There was one from our village, but he didn’t live in the village. He was blind, too. – Were they decent people?

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sava ivanovych: Of course, they were just blind.

– Did they have a beard or a moustache? sava ivanovych: Some did. – In your village, did the people prefer a beard or a moustache? sava ivanovych: A beard. My father had a wide one, and my grandfather’s beard was white as milk. – When did the startsi disappear? sava ivanovych: When the odnoosibnyky were gone and the kolhosp was set up. In 1933, they were already gone. – Could these people be called sages? sava ivanovych: What could you call a blind man? Now, the blind are taught some trade, but back in the day there was no such thing. One guy in our village worked in a smithy and lost his eye in an accident. After about four years, he went to work on a construction site and lost his remaining eye. He learned to make string bags in Sumy – the ones used for carrying bread. We called them bezstydnytsia [“the shameless one”]. He studied this for three years. This was fifteen years ago. Fedora Oksentiivna Chub (Cherkasy region) – Have you seen any startsi? fedora oksentiivna: I was a starchykha myself at this time. We had some and people would give them food. During the kolhosp time, there were fewer of them. – Did some of them play musical instruments? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. One blind man would often come to the market where he played harmonia and sang. Others played tsymbaly and sang. People would give them whatever they could. These musicians didn’t go around our village. – When they came, what songs did they sing? fedora oksentiivna: They were in Vedmedivka, not here. – What songs did they sing? fedora oksentiivna: Back in the day [1930s], they didn’t sing any religious songs because it was forbidden. In the olden days, they sang religious songs. There was one old man dressed in rags and carrying bundles of stuff around. His grave said “Father Varfolomei” and the year. His family found out where he was buried, and they came here to install a cross on his grave. He came to our neighborhood and told one pious man who didn’t join the kolhosp that there would be a war. He listened to him and promised him that he would give him a burial, but he was the first to die. He was buried at night when no one could see. Some important people came over.

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– What were you saying about the bundles that he carried? fedora oksentiivna: There was a good monastery. He came to an altar there and took off his pants. A monk kicked him out of the monastery. He was telling parables. [The monk?] told this man what to do, so he went to Trushivtsi where he lived with two women: one was blind and the other one – disabled. This man would make flowers there, and during the war he and the girls went to the village council where they got some documents and went to Kyiv on foot. He brought a bag of money from there, gave some to the head of the village council, kept some for himself, and he got another document from the head of the village council. This is what he did throughout the entire war. – Was it considered sinful to offend a starets? fedora oksentiivna: No. – Did the startsi have a family? fedora oksentiivna: Yes. – When did the startsi stop coming? fedora oksentiivna: There were more of them during the war and fewer after. They were despised after the war and forced into a home. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Did the startsi come to your village in the 1920s–30s?

varvara denysivna: Yes. Some people would give them potatoes.

– Were the startsi men or women? varvara denysivna: Men, women, old men – everyone. – Did they play anything? varvara denysivna: No, they just went around asking for alms. – Did people give them money? varvara denysivna: No one gave them money because back then no one had any. – Where did they sleep? varvara denysivna: I don’t know. I have no idea where they used to come from and who they were. – Do you remember if some of them played the lira (hurdy-gurdy)? varvara denysivna: Yes, some did, but not in our village. – Did they come to the market? varvara denysivna: Yes, the blind men would sing and play the hurdy-gurdy. – Do you remember any of their songs? varvara denysivna: I was indifferent at the time. – What did people give them?

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varvara denysivna: People would throw some coins into their hats. – Did you see any of them play harmonia after the war?

varvara denysivna: No.

– Did they go from house to house?

varvara denysivna: I don’t know this. – How did the village people treat them?

varvara denysivna: People differ in their attitudes. Some people gave

them alms. – Did people consider giving alms an act of faith? varvara denysivna: It depends. Some gave and thought about the rewards, and some were silent. – Did people offend or beat the startsi? varvara denysivna: I don’t remember such instances. – Was this considered sinful? varvara denysivna: What sin are you talking about? Such were the circumstances, so the person went asking for alms. If anyone had anything to give, they would; if not, they didn’t give. – Did the startsi have their own families? varvara denysivna: Who knows? Sometimes children went around asking for alms, and people called those children startsi, too. – Did any startsi sit by the church in your village? varvara denysivna: Yes. – What did people give them? varvara denysivna: Who knows? – How did the local authorities treat them after the Revolution? varvara denysivna: They despised them a bit, but I don’t remember if they chased them away. – When did the startsi disappear? varvara denysivna: They stopped going door-to-door during the famine because no one had anything to give. – Were there any startsi left after the war? varvara denysivna: There were some right after the war, but not anymore. All worked and made a living, and there were no startsi. – How did they ask for alms? varvara denysivna: “Please give me anything in the name of God.” Marko Mykolaiovych Demchenko (Sumy region) – Did you see any startsi?

marko mykolaiovych: A starets is a pauper who could not work.

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– Did they go around playing the lira (hurdy-gurdy)? marko mykolaiovych: Yes, they would go around with their instruments and harmonia. – What did these people sing about? marko mykolaiovych: About the olden times. Some were blind and disabled. – Did people mistreat them? marko mykolaiovych: People would give them a piece of bread or some flour. – When did the startsi disappear? marko mykolaiovych: They died out during the famine. Mykhailo Antonovych Diachenko (Cherkasy region) – Did you see any startsi?

mykhailo antonovych: There were many of them, and they were the people who simply didn’t want to work – simply didn’t want to work. People used to say, “Why is he poor? Because he’s a fool. Why is he a fool? Because he’s poor.” The gypsies [in the Ukrainian-language interviews, the Ukrainian word for “gypsies” (tsyhany) is consistently used in referring to the Roma] would go around asking for alms, too. – Did any startsi go around playing musical instruments? mykhailo antonovych: I don’t remember this. They mostly went from house to house asking for food, “Please, give us anything you can.” – When did they disappear? mykhailo antonovych: During collectivization. Only a few of them would go around the village on holidays [after this], but mostly they were gone. They also came back after the war, “Please give us anything. Even fish bones will do.” Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region)

andrii hryhorovych: There were too many startsi. My mother would say, “Go shut the window because we already gave bread to three startsi and more are coming. I don’t have this much food to give away.” This was before collectivization. Some went around playing music. … andrii hryhorovych: This was somewhere in 1926–27. The startsi at the time would even sell the bread that people gave them as alms. He’d walk two hundred meters farther down the street to another house and say, “Will you buy some bread from me?” He knew he would be given more bread later.

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Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – Did startsi go around your village? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes, I remember because our mother used to say, “Lock the door; the startsi are coming.” A blind man would come with his guide, carrying three bags: one for flour, another for millet, and the third for a piece of bread if people had any. He didn’t demand anything. He would come, cross himself, and pray to God, “Please give me anything you can.” People would give alms. – Who carried the bags: the blind man or the guide? yevdokia mytrofanivna: The blind man carried them around his neck. – Did he play anything? yevdokia mytrofanivna: No. On the market, we had one man who played and sang songs about the famine. – What did he play? yevdokia mytrofanivna: They said some kind of a lira (hurdy-gurdy); I didn’t see it. – Did he sing about the famine? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes. – Did he sit at the market near the church? yevdokia mytrofanivna: At the market. They also went door-to-door, but those people didn’t have a lira. – Why did your mother tell you to lock the door when they were coming? yevdokia mytrofanivna: I guess they didn’t take anything from the people. They could just come in and leave if the parents were not there, but they said to lock the doors. – Were you afraid that they would want to steal something? yevdokia mytrofanivna: I haven’t heard anything about stealing, nonetheless. – Did your mother tell you that they could kidnap the children? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes. – Did she always give them something or did she sometimes say that she didn’t have anything to give? yevdokia mytrofanivna: People gave if they had anything to spare. Those who didn’t have enough to eat did not give anything, “We don’t have anything.” – Was it not considered shameful not to give them anything? yevdokia mytrofanivna: Yes [answer not clear in the Ukrainian]. – Were the startsi men only or women, too? yevdokia mytrofanivna: I don’t know. – Did they come after the war?

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yevdokia mytrofanivna: No, not after the war.

– Did they come during the war, during collectivization, or after the collectivization? yevdokia mytrofanivna: After collectivization, they went to the kolhosp administration asking for some food to make a soup. People had vegetable gardens, but if they didn’t have any potatoes to plant, the kolhosp would give them two or three kilograms of grain. You’d get some, grind the grain, and make some food. They didn’t go around the houses asking for alms. Arkhyp Yakovych Dzhyrma and Ulyta Kharlivna Dzhyrma (Cherkasy region) – Did startsi go around the village back in the day?

arkhyp yakovych: Oh, oh! There used to be so many of them going

around with bags. And the gypsies, too. Not anymore. – Were they locals or from other villages? ulyta kharlivna: Both locals and newcomers. All kinds of people. – Were they men or women? ulyta kharlivna: Both men and women, more women. – Would a man and a woman go around as a couple? ulyta kharlivna: Yes. Yes, yes, yes. – Did some of them sing and play instruments? ulyta kharlivna: No, not at the time. Some kind of music was played: the harmonia or the balalaika and such. Not anything like we have today. Most of all, they sang during collectivization. … ulyta kharlivna: There was a man who sang. – What did he sing? ulyta kharlivna: “Christ has risen, Christ has risen. The men from Judaea were jolly people. They led Jesus to his grave. The Mother of God stood under the cross and spoke God’s words, ‘Cry, people, weep, buy my son out of captivity. My son has risen. He brought to you the cross. I wish you health on Easter Sunday.’” This man [husband] went around singing. Her [sic] father was dispossessed because he didn’t want to join the kolhosp. – Did the blind people go around the village? ulyta kharlivna: There were some, not many. – Did they play lira (hurdy-gurdy) or other instruments? ulyta kharlivna: No, no, no. A woman used to sit under a birch tree on the way from the market to the church and sing, “Thank God for peace on Earth.” She had such a fine voice. People gave her money, and she spent it on drinks at the time. …

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– Did startsi continue going around villages after collectivization began? ulyta kharlivna: There were many of them – many, many. – Did the village council try to disperse them? ulyta kharlivna: No, no, no one said anything to them. They just went around asking for bread. We had a man named Kyrylo Sakhnovsky and he had a son named Vasyl. Their entire family went door-to-door asking for food. Antonina Sevastiianivna Firman (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember the startsi?

antonina sevastiianivna: Yes, they would go door-to-door with their lira (hurdy-gurdy). – Were they blind?

antonina sevastiianivna: Blind or disabled – various kinds of people.

They sang religious and church songs. – Where did they come from? antonina sevastiianivna: We had a blind man named Volodymyr. He died in 1947. People would come from Tulchyn to join him, and together they went door-to-door. People gave them alms. – What did they play? antonina sevastiianivna: Some kind of lira. – What was the name of that man? antonina sevastiianivna: Volodymyr Slipy. He didn’t have any relatives besides his children Tetiana and Palahna. – How did people treat the startsi? antonina sevastiianivna: People gave them alms when they asked. If he came to your house, wouldn’t you give him a few cents or some bread? – When did they disappear? antonina sevastiianivna: Before collectivization. During collectivization, they were given a bit [of food and/or shelter]. – How did the authorities treat them? antonina sevastiianivna: No one prohibited them from going around until after the war. The war veterans were receiving pensions but went asking for alms as well, which was forbidden. People said it was shameful to get the pension and the alms together. Hanna Petrivna Honcharenko (Kharkiv region) – Did the startsi play lira (hurdy-gurdy)? hanna petrivna: It was long ago. Perhaps there was one man or one woman. They would come to the train cars also, telling stories about the war

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and the great misfortune. People sat there and cried listening to him [this person is discussing the post-Second World War period]. – Where in the train cars did you see them? hanna petrivna: On a train to Kharkiv twelve to thirteen kilometers away from here. Valky, the regional [administrative] center, was five kilometers away from here. – What did the startsi play? hanna petrivna: Many sad songs about the war like “Aliosha.” People cried and gave them money or whatever food they had. – Did the startsi go around with a harmonia? hanna petrivna: No, a harmonia cost a lot of money. They would just pass by, and some people would let them in for the night. – Did startsi have guides? hanna petrivna: Yes, a woman or a child. One man in our village lost his sight during the war, and his daughter would bring him here to Valky. People would pay attention. – Did he go around the villages asking for alms? hanna petrivna: His daughter didn’t take him around the villages when she was little. When she was a bit older, she would bring him to Valky. He would spread a bag on the snow or ice, kneel on it, and people would give him some food or money. – Were there any startsi in the village where you were born? hanna petrivna: They were everywhere, but in our village, they were not the war veterans. – When did they stop coming? hanna petrivna: Not long ago, when the kolhospy spread and the administration changed. They started helping them. Kateryna Kupriianivna Yaremaka (Cherkasy region) – Were there any startsi who played musical instruments? kateryna kupriianivna: We had the ones who only sang. They didn’t play instruments. They were mostly men. Talented people sang at the market in Tinky. There was a man named Fedot. He performed at the market and made up lyrics as he went. If he had played and sung about the Soviet regime, he would have prospered, but he was against it. People didn’t want the Soviet regime at the time. They feared the government would take their land. If there was no land, a man could not survive. He sang antiSoviet songs. – Were there any startsi who played other instruments?

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kateryna kupriianivna: Occasionally they would play harmonia. Some people would let their dog loose on the startsi. We had one neighbor who did this (no one visited him). – When did the startsi disappear? kateryna kupriianivna: The authorities started making them work during collectivization. Maria Opanasivna Yeshchenko (Chernihiv region)

maria opanasivna: He could see poorly, but he knew the location with his feet. – What instrument did he play? maria opanasivna: I saw it, so I know. He played lira (hurdy-gurdy) and sang beautifully – all kinds of songs and refrains. When Vasyl was coming, the whole village was glad to see him. He sang Shevchenko’s songs, like “Prymak” and people would always give him something. He also sang various ditties (chastushky), like “Father is on the collective farm, mother is on the collective farm, and the children are in the streets” [“Batka v soz i, matka v sozi, dity laziat pa darozi”]. He used to go around with his wife or without her. His wife was a skillful woman. She was blind but made such great clothes – a woman who could see could not have done a better job. When she weeded plants, she could tell by the touch which plant was a weed and which was a crop. I don’t know where she was from, but she was beautiful. Girls used to lead the way for them, but I don’t know who their guides were. At first, Marusia would walk with them. Then Tania took over; and then they [the lirnyk and his wife] were given a pension [in the 1930s]. – Did other startsi come to visit them? maria opanasivna: Maybe they did, but I don’t know anything about this. – Were there any other startsi? maria opanasivna: Many people used to go around asking for alms. People would give them something, and they would leave. There used to be a disabled girl Melashka from the village of Kazel. She would come alone and sing beautiful folk songs. Makar was another one who would come, but I don’t know where he was from. They would go around asking for alms. Pavel was another young boy; people called him Chypir. He asked for alms his whole life and lived in various people’s homes in our village. He didn’t have a home. – When did the startsi disappear? maria opanasivna: Maybe some died or moved. There were still some after the war. They would go around asking for alms as long as they wished until they were given the pension allowance. The militia would disperse

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them. When the government started paying them pensions, they stopped panhandling, but after the war, people used to go asking for alms with their children, and others would give them potatoes, bread, or lard. – Did they go around as families? maria opanasivna: There were dwarfs in Kiianka, and there was also one old man from Slavin. Many beggars used to come from Kiianka. Just as soon as one left, the next one would knock on the door. This was especially true on Khram for Pentecost. A woman from Kiianka would come along with many others. – There was a lira (hurdy-gurdy) player Ostap in Kiianka after the war. Have you met him? maria opanasivna: I don’t know. Ivan Dmytrovych Ilchenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any startsi in your village in the 1920s? ivan dmytrovych: Yes, they would come. Some of them sang. Some just begged. There was one blind bandura player with a guide. – How did people treat them? ivan dmytrovych: They treated them well. People gave them what they had. – Where did this bandura player play? ivan dmytrovych: He sang in every yard. He sang about the Cossacks and Morozenko. Girls and guys used to sing the Cossack songs. – Were there any lira (hurdy-gurdy) players? ivan dmytrovych: Yes, one starets had a lira and sang. – When did they come? ivan dmytrovych: We had them before 1928, and they were completely gone after 1944. – Were there any women among them? ivan dmytrovych: I don’t remember this. – Did any startsi live in your village? ivan dmytrovych: No. Anastasia Trokhymivna Kalashnyk (Kharkiv region) – When you were little, did the startsi come to your village? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes. – Were they blind? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes, but their guides could see.

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– Among the blind people, were there men and women? anastasia trokhymivna: Mostly men, but there were women, too. – Who were the guides? anastasia trokhymivna: Boys, about ten years old, or some people that the blind married, or their own children. Before collectivization, everyone had some flour at home, and the startsi would come with their bags and get some food. – Did they play any instruments? anastasia trokhymivna: People used to say that they played the bandury. I haven’t seen this myself. – Did they come into the house? anastasia trokhymivna: They would come into the yard. People would open the door, and they would come inside. – Did they sing in the house? anastasia trokhymivna: No, they asked for alms. – Did they sing any religious songs? anastasia trokhymivna: No. – Have you seen any startsi outside the church? anastasia trokhymivna: There were some outside the church. – Did they play outside the church? anastasia trokhymivna: No, no. – Was there a church in your village? anastasia trokhymivna: Yes. – Were there any startsi in your village? anastasia trokhymivna: The ones that lived in our village? No. – Were there any startsi after the war? anastasia trokhymivna: No. – What about during collectivization? anastasia trokhymivna: None. – Why? anastasia trokhymivna: They started paying the disabled people ten rubles or something like that. – Were people afraid that the startsi would come and steal something? anastasia trokhymivna: No. The gypsies would steal. – Would it happen that people had nothing to give the startsi? anastasia trokhymivna: Perhaps, some didn’t give them anything because they didn’t have anything to give, but back in the day everyone had their plot of land and their grain. They would grind the grain and have flour to bake bread with. They had some flour to give to the blind.

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Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Did you see any startsi on the market? petro vasylovych: Yes, many. – Did they play the lira (hurdy-gurdy)? petro vasylovych: They played various instruments, including the bandura and the balalaika. – Were they paid? petro vasylovych: Of course. They sang very well. – Do you remember the songs they sang? petro vasylovych: Various songs. Shevchenko’s “Testament” [Zapovit] was one. – Did the startsi go around during the famine? petro vasylovych: No. There were very few of them back then. – When did they stop coming? petro vasylovych: They would still come after the famine, but then they stopped. They were not allowed on the market. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko (Kharkiv region) – Were there any startsi in your village?

paraskeva trokhymivna: Not in our village. They would come from

the neighboring villages. – Did they beg or sing?

paraskeva trokhymivna: They played bandura and sang. – Did they play the lira (hurdy-gurdy)? paraskeva trokhymivna: No. They were all blind or otherwise disabled and had their guides. – When did they stop coming? paraskeva trokhymivna: They continued coming during the kolhosp time, but not as much. – Were there some who just begged? paraskeva trokhymivna: Yes. People gave them alms and respected them. … – What did people give the startsi? paraskeva trokhymivna : Whatever they could. The startsi went around carrying their bags. People would put flour into one bag and bread, pastries (pyrizhok), or eggs into the other.

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Hanna Fedorivna Konovalchuk (Vinnytsia region) – Have you seen any startsi? hanna fedorivna: They were still coming in 1931, but then they stopped. There were many disabled veterans after the war, and many people would come to sing religious songs and ask for alms. They didn’t play any instruments; they just sang. – Where would they gather most often? hanna fedorivna: Outside the church. People gave them what they could. People had mercy because they were disabled. – Did these startsi have families? hanna fedorivna: There were some people with them. He would come in a wheelchair, and people gave him coins or whatever they had. Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Were there any startsi in your village? maria pylypivna: Yes, they would come carrying their bags. One was blind in both eyes. – Did they beg or play? maria pylypivna: Some begged, and some played. They played bandura when I was little. They stopped coming after 1933. – Did a blind starets have his own farmstead? maria pylypivna: Sometimes, and children, too. His name was Aksentii, and he made ropes. The whole village would commission ropes to him. He had a wife, a horse, and a cow. He was also paid a pension. – Did you only see startsi who played bandura? maria pylypivna: Some played the lira (hurdy-gurdy), too. – Did the blind ones play bandura? maria pylypivna: Yes. They would go everywhere, and then they disappeared. Trokhym Savovych Kozub (Cherkasy region) – Were there any startsi who sang outside people’s houses? trokhym savovych: There was one during the Revolution. His name was Radion and he sang revolutionary [here patriotic Ukrainian] songs. – Did he sing any religious songs? trokhym savovych: He could sing anything. – Did he play? trokhym savovych: No.

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– Were there any startsi who played? trokhym savovych: Some played the lira (hurdy-gurdy) and sang various songs. – Did women sing? trokhym savovych: No. – Where did the lira players sing? trokhym savovych: He would play in the house, on the bench. People would give him coins, lard, or bread. – Was there bandura? trokhym savovych: Yes, many. Our village had craftsmen who could make them. Bandury were made in Chernihiv. – Were there any startsi from your village? trokhym savovych: Yes. – How did people treat them? trokhym savovych: People treated them well. They gave them what they could, and the startsi would say a prayer. – How did people treat them during collectivization? trokhym savovych: They were forced to work. They’d send them to a hospital for a checkup, and if a person could work, they’d be sent to the kolhosp to work. – When did they disappear? trokhym savovych: After 1920, but they started coming again after the war. Fedir Yosypovych Kravchenko (Kharkiv region) – When you were little, did startsi come to your village?

fedir yosypovych: Yes, they did, and they would continue to come for

a long time, even when I was married. Some just pretended to be a startsi. I remember one who was almost an adult man who used to tie his hand like this and put on a coat in winter. One time, he came to my neighbor’s house while I was there. She gave him something, and when he set out to go to my house, I said, “Don’t go there. No one is home in that house.” He said, “I’m not asking you.” I said, “I’m telling you because I am the owner of that house. There’s no one there, and I won’t go with you there now.” He said again, “I won’t ask you.” I grabbed him by the shoulders, “Walk the other way.” He left, but I saw that he went in the direction of my house, so I followed him because my house was not locked. Just as soon as he entered my house, I took him outside, and the blood was bright red on the snow for a long time. I didn’t hit him right away. I said, “Take off your coat.” – “I won’t be able to put it back on.” – “I will help you put it on.” I was told that he had both arms, but he was telling people that he didn’t have one of them. My mother would always

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give alms. It was not acceptable in our family not to help someone in need. I undressed him and saw his hand. He said, “People would not give me anything [if they saw that I am not disabled].” Then I gave him a good beating. – Was he from your village? fedir yosypovych: No, he was from somewhere else. – Were there any startsi in your village? fedir yosypovych: No. – The ones that you remember: were they men or women, the blind or the disabled? fedir yosypovych: They were various people, and there were many of them. There were good people and old people among them. One would often come to our house. Well, he went to those who were richer. He would continue going to the people who had given him something before. He wouldn’t come again to those who didn’t give him anything. – Did they play any musical instruments? fedir yosypovych: No. – Did they sing? fedir yosypovych: No, they would just come and ask for alms. They would apologize and sometimes ask to spend the night if it was late. Our people didn’t mind. – Was it considered a sin not to give alms to a starets? fedir yosypovych: Yes. – Did your mother tell you to give a starets alms if she was away and a starets came asking for alms? fedir yosypovych: Yes. My parents were performers, and people often invited them to parties. I lived my life that way, too. If someone was having a party somewhere, they would call me. – Did you sing? fedir yosypovych: I sang well, and I would take those who did not behave well at the parties to the garden and I’d punch them, saying, “People invite you to their party to have a good time, not to give orders. You get it?” When a fight was starting at my wedding, I said, “I made a bed in the barn. Go there and sleep. When you wake up, you can come back to the table. If you don’t do this, you will never again come near my door.” They feared me. – Did you see any startsi who played musical instruments at the market? fedir yosypovych: I saw some. One wore a bubon across his shoulder. He’d pull a string and the bubon would sound while he was playing the fiddle. – How did the fiddle look? fedir yosypovych: The same as now. – When was this? fedir yosypovych: Before collectivization.

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– Did the startsi come after the war? fedir yosypovych: Yes. Many of the dispossessed people would come asking for alms. The young ones were not given any work, and the old ones were not good for work, so they would go around asking for alms. Natalia Stepanivna Kravchenko (Sumy region) – Have you seen any startsi? natalia stepanivna: We had some blind people; they were a couple. His name was Andrii, and hers was Khrystia. An adult younger man used to come with them – their son or a stranger. The old man played lira (hurdygurdy), and the guy accompanied them on the streets. There was another lira player, and a girl was his guide. I don’t know if she was his daughter or someone he hired. – Did they often come to your village? natalia stepanivna: They lived here and went door-to-door. People gave them what they had, like lard. – Did you hear them sing? natalia stepanivna: I don’t remember anymore. They would stand outside the church. – Did you get to see bandura players? natalia stepanivna: I don’t remember this. Maybe some villages had them, but not ours. At the time, people treated them well. People had morals back then; now they can offend them in all kinds of ways. Kostiantyn Hryhorovych Kryvonis (Sumy region) – Did you happen to see any startsi?

kostiantyn hryhorovych: Yes. Some were disabled and could not

work, and others were lazy and didn’t want to work. – What did these people do? kostiantyn hryhorovych: They asked for alms. Some played the lira (hurdy-gurdy). I’ve seen them myself. – Where did they come from? kostiantyn hryhorovych: They would come from some village near Sumy. – What did they play? kostiantyn hryhorovych: On Christmas, they would come carrying the star with a candle lit inside it. There were three or four of them. – Were they friends?

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kostiantyn hryhorovych: I guess so. They had difficult lives: some

were disabled and had guides, and others were on their own. – When did they disappear? kostiantyn hryhorovych: After collectivization. … I remember the lira players would come in the evening, around 6:00 p.m. We’d see them coming out of the woods with a star lit up, and they would start caroling and singing. One of them played the lira, and the rest sang. – Which carols did they sing? kostiantyn hryhorovych: “God Save the Tsar” [Bozhe, tsaria khrani]. Petro Ivanovych Kushnir (Chernihiv region) – You said the startsi used to come to your village. Do you remember what year it was? petro ivanovych: I remember this was between the 1920s and the 1930s. – Where did they come from? petro ivanovych: They were often asked this question. Some were from Salne. It’s a very poor, wretched village nearby. Then there was Petrivka – a landowner’s village [ekonomia], also poor. Some people lived like this just to survive. They’d get a piece of bread or some flour from people. – Did some startsi play musical instruments or sing? petro ivanovych: Yes. There were some disabled folks or the blind ones. They would go around with their harmonia or the barrel organ. Some would come into a house to sing. – Did they sing without instrumental accompaniment? petro ivanovych: Yes, without. The poor ones would cross themselves and ask for alms or say a prayer. Most would just come in and say, “Please give me anything you can.” – Did the blind people come? petro ivanovych: Yes, they would go around with the blind. – Did some of them sing? petro ivanovych: Yes. – Was there anyone who played the bandura or the lira (hurdy-gurdy)? petro ivanovych: Rarely. Most of the startsi at the time were the ones that sang or played harmonia like the blind ones did on the trains. He would go through the train cars or sit in a train car and play; people gave him money. The ones that came to villages were the ones who had their legs or the blind with their guides. – Who were the guides: children, women, or men? petro ivanovych: Mostly boys, but I don’t know if they were their children or not.

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– Were there such startsi in your village? petro ivanovych: Startsi? No, there were none in our village. There were poor people who went around asking for alms, for example – but you don’t know them – Halia Sukhenko and Olia Sukhenko. They lived at Vdovenkova’s. Their father died in the war. Their mother was old with three children and a small plot of land. They didn’t have any horses or cows and were poor. They used to wear rags. The boy and the girl (siblings) came to the meadow here when I was grazing the cow. We made a fire. Then they brought a few potatoes and put them in the fire. When the potatoes were ready, they ate them with such appetite that they smeared their faces. They were dressed in rags and had these smeared faces – poor people. They didn’t go home, so I took them to our place where we had a warm cellar with hay inside. I went to our house and asked my mother for some milk and bread. I came out and fed them and let them stay in the cellar. These were the little startsi of the village, and the conditions they lived in. – How did village residents treat these people back then? petro ivanovych: Some who were poor themselves gave them something, and some rich ones – like the one who lived here … I told you about the relatives of the old woman Domakha – would tell the starets, “Go ask the Committee of Poor Peasants!” Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – Did startsi come to your village? yevdokia ivanivna: Some would come asking for alms from neighboring villages. There was one starets in Trybok; he lived close to us. He wasn’t married, and he had a father, a mother, and siblings. He would go around asking for alms and would bring home whatever he got. He was the oldest; no, his sister was. He was fine except the blindness. He knew in which house a cock crowed if he heard one. He wasn’t born blind, but back in the day it was hard to get coal to heat the house. Life was hard. The rich people had land, coal, firewood, and the reeds. The poor ones had to earn their firewood. He was born in winter. His mother bathed him often, and his eyes started failing and he couldn’t see anymore. He didn’t play a musical instrument, but he was a good singer. He would go to villages and sing street songs. He didn’t sing in our village. When he left to go to villages, he could be gone for a week. … yevdokia ivanivna: I saw a bandura [sic] player in Lubny. He would play the lira (hurdy-gurdy), and a crowd would gather to listen. People would give him money. I saw one woman who was a guide for an old man. She wasn’t blind, but he was. They stopped going around after the kolhosp was set up.

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People had nothing to give. While they owned land [before collectivization], they had some flour, bread, or lard to give. Nobody offended these people. Some people would give them dinner. Maybe they stayed for the night at someone’s place. Iryna Vasylivna Lotosh-Diatlenko (Sumy region) – Have you seen any startsi? iryna vasylivna: We had many. They didn’t have relatives. One woman had a house and pigs, but she would take her bag and go asking for alms and she stood outside the church, too. People would give her food for the pigs. – Did they play bandura or the lira (hurdy-gurdy)? iryna vasylivna: They even had a parrot with them. The blind man played bandura, and a boy was his guide. – What did they sing? iryna vasylivna: People listened and gave what they had. – Did people treat them well? iryna vasylivna: Not back in the day. People gave them money at the time. – When did the startsi disappear? iryna vasylivna: When the church was closed. A man without legs would sit outside, and no one would give him anything. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (Kharkiv region) – When you were little, did the blind startsi come to your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they were not startsi but narodnyky. – Who were the narodnyky? mykyta mykolaiovych: Startsi were the ones who asked for alms if there was some kind of a misfortune, for example, if their house had burned down. These people who went around asking for alms that people called startsi were actually narodnyky. – What would a narodnyk say when he came to someone’s house? mykyta mykolaiovych: He would talk about his difficult life. We had one in our village. His name was Fedko Burta. He was very poor, and his house was all overgrown with weeds. He used to go around asking for alms. Once a year, he would come to his house where he had some hay on the floor. Back then, the newspaper Iskra came out. The church did it [sic], the priests did it [sic], the administrator did it [sic], and there were also the police. The neighbors would say, “Fedka came.” They would run to him, and he would read the newspaper.

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– When did the newspaper come out? In 1905? mykyta mykolaiovych: Oh, right, in 1905. So, he would pull out the newspaper and read it. The old women would go to the priest, “Father, Fedka Burta came and pulled out the newspaper. He read that there would be no gods, no church.” The priest said, “Where’s that man Fedka?” – “He’s home.” Fedka was no fool. He took his bags in the morning and left. When the priest came, he was no longer there. The priest said, “Ladies, when he comes back, let me know.” Fedka came back in a year, and the ideas were different at the time. He gave out the brochures. The priest came with the police, “Stop!” And they took Fedka, and to this day he’s not been found. That was a narodnyk. – Were there any blind people? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. They would mostly take coins or pirozhky (a pastry bun), but most people gave money because it was what people needed to live. – Did people always give them something? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, yes, people helped them – no question about it. – What did they sing? mykyta mykolaiovych: “Our father who art in heaven” and the religious songs. – Did they play any instruments? mykyta mykolaiovych: They played the bandura. Vira Trokhymivna Oliinyk (Cherkasy region) – When you were a little girl, did you see any startsi? vira trokhymivna : Yes, I did. – Were they men or women? vira trokhymivna : They were men, women, and children. – Did they play any instruments? vira trokhymivna : I didn’t see any that played musical instruments. They just came asking for alms. – Did they only ask for alms, or did they sing, too? vira trokhymivna : Some sang. We had a Russian who stayed somewhere in Borovykove. He came to my grandfather’s home and told him that his family died of typhus, and he was the only survivor, “I can’t go back to my village in Russia where everyone died. I’d rather die here.” He sang sad, sad songs. – Was he blind? vira trokhymivna : No, he could see, but he was old and infirm. I remember well that he sang “O, when I die and am buried, no one will know where my grave is” [“Oi, umru ia, umru ia, pokhoroniat menia, i nikto ne

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uznaiet gde mogila moia”]. He sang and cried, and the people pitied him and gave him alms. He stayed with an old woman who lived alone in Borobykove, and he fed her with what people would give him as alms. – Do you remember any couples that went asking for alms together? vira trokhymivna : There was a couple (husband and wife), but I don’t remember where they were from. They were both blind and sang. – Did they have a guide? vira trokhymivna : A child used to go with them. – Did the child sing something, too? vira trokhymivna : No, the child didn’t; the child got tired. They would sing if a group of people got together, and the child was there just napping. – What did they sing? vira trokhymivna : They sang sad songs, and some folks here always sang Shevchenko’s “The Poplar” [Topolia]. – Did this couple sing it? vira trokhymivna : Well, yes, people said they were husband and wife, but maybe they were brother and sister, who knows. – Did they sing any religious songs? vira trokhymivna : Later they sang religious songs, but I don’t remember them. – Were there any startsi after the war? vira trokhymivna : After the war, those were not startsi but the people who were hungry [likely the 1947 famine]. Oleksandra Yukhymivna Omelchenko (Poltava region) – Were the startsi disabled or blind? oleksandra yukhymivna: At the end of Lent, we had Saturday of Souls. My mother would bake knishes and give them to the poor people. I used to take about a dozen of them to various people. The startsi would come, “Please, give us something.” People would give them pirozhky (pastry) or anything else. – Were there such people in your village? oleksandra yukhymivna: Yes, and they had families, and their family members would come, too. Old man Mytrofan had two grandsons. If a boy came to his house asking for bread, he would give it to him. … – Did the startsi play on the market? oleksandra yukhymivna: They were not startsi, but the blind. They played bandura and fiddle. The guides would go with them. They played the lira (hurdy-gurdy) and sang, “A young fisherman was sitting by the river”

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[Rybalka molodesenky nad richkoiu sydiv]. They sang religious songs. On St Michael’s Days, we used to go to the monastery to get the water that helped people. There was also a cemetery there; everything was flooded. At one point, we were on a steamboat and there was a large snake in the water. Nadia Yakivna Onufriichuk (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember any blind lira players? nadia yakivna: I remember the pre-war blind singers, and after the war, the veterans would go around playing harmonia. – What songs did they sing? nadia yakivna: War songs and laments. … – Did you have any bandura or lira players? nadia yakivna: I didn’t see any bandura players, but I did see lira players. – Did the lira player come from elsewhere? nadia yakivna: Yes, not a local. Ustyna Yukhymivna Osadcha (Cherkasy region) – Were there any startsi in your village? ustyna yukhymivna: Yes, they would go around carrying their bags. – Were there any who carried a musical instrument? ustyna yukhymivna: I remember some. They would go from house to house with their lira (hurdy-gurdy), and I saw a bandura, too. They sang Shevchenko’s dumy. Then they also sang “The wind on the Dnipro” [Po Dnipru viter viie], but I don’t remember more. They didn’t come often to the villages. – How did people treat them? ustyna yukhymivna: People respected them. – Were there few startsi? ustyna yukhymivna: Few. Later [with collectivization], all of us became startsi (here, “paupers”). Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – When did the startsi disappear? andrii hryhorovych: When collectivization came, everyone started working. They started getting allowances and food from the kolhosp. If they had a bad house, the administration would renovate it. And so, the startsi disappeared soon after that.

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Tetiana Yakivna Poliesha-Novak (Cherkasy region) – Did the startsi play the bandura? tetiana yakivna: Yes, some did. – What kinds of songs did they sing? tetiana yakivna: I’ve forgotten them by now. There were all kinds of songs. He would stand and play the bandura, and the people would dance and give him whatever they had. – Where did the starets play? tetiana yakivna: He picked a spot on the street. We knew where he was and would come there to listen to him. – Did the startsi have their social circles? tetiana yakivna: I guess so, why not? I don’t know though where they gathered. There were more lira (hurdy-gurdy) players and I saw a turban, too (a large lute with multiple strings tuned in various fashions, and with multiple sympathetically sounding strings, tuned variously, not plucked but often strummed. Very rarely seen in a village context and nearly defunct.). There were such songs as “I would take a bandura” (Vziav by ia banduru) and Moroze Morozenku. – Which is your favorite song? tetiana yakivna: I knew many songs, but I’ve forgotten much. – When did the startsi disappear? tetiana yakivna: When Soviet power came and started dispersing them and sending them to shelters. The startsi were gone already during collectivization. Vira Polishchuk [patronymic absent in the original] (Kharkiv region) – When you were a little girl, did the startsi come to your village? vira: I know they used to come. Our neighbors were such a family. There was a blind woman in their family, and she went out asking for alms. She got married at some point, but something happened. Around 1947 she was in prison in Kharkiv. He put her in prison, and he himself…, no, he was with her. I don’t know who he was. He disappeared when he was taken away from her, and she came here and told her story. Someone picked her up. She was a blind woman sitting outside. She had a sister here, and she [the blind woman] had a dream. She said in the dream she was sitting outside and saw Maria sweeping the snow. Maria left, and the blind woman remained, sitting there. Then Maria came up to her, told her that she was her sister Maria, and took her home. They lived here. The startsi would come here from Vodolaha. They were blind. They didn’t do anything but ask for alms outside the church on

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Easter when people would go to ask for blessings on the holiday bread. People would give them something. – Did they sing songs when asking for alms? vira: Yes, and if you gave her something, she would say or sing a prayer. She was a good woman. Her name was Fedosia, and she lived close to our house. She died. Her niece sent her to the nursing home, and she died there. – Was Fedosia older than you? vira: Of course. Fedosia Oleksiienko was a starchykha. – Was her husband blind, too? vira: No, he could see and was her guide. Then he was taken away from her and he was no longer here. – Did the police take him away? vira: Who knows. Someone on the market took him away. Then she found an old man who was a little wacky. You know, not everyone would be a guide to a blind person, but he did. Then he died. And then later, the startsi were cleared away, gone, so they went door-to-door. – Why were they cleared away? vira: They were liquidated. The authorities were ashamed that they were beggars. They were, I can’t say for sure, sent somewhere. [The authorities] would find out their information if they had no family, and so they somehow… they were gone. Now we live in fear because you don’t know who the person is [with whom you are talking]. Nowadays [1990s], there are many people who steal. It is frightening. – Did the person who was arrested sing with her on the market? vira: I don’t know. – When they came to visit her here, what did they do? vira: They had a friendship. I know there was a blind man from Vodolazy whose wife used to bring him everywhere. He and Fedosia’s man would get together, have a drink, and sing religious and non-religious songs. – Do you remember any? vira: No. – Have you ever seen them play musical instruments? vira: No. No. This blind man from Vodolaha played harmonia. – Did he go door-to-door in the villages? vira: Perhaps he did, close to where he lived. He used to come here just as a friend. – Were there any bandura players before the war, perhaps at concerts? vira: No.

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Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova (Cherkasy region) – Were there any startsi who played the lira (hurdy-gurdy)? oleksandra ivanivna: Not in our village. I’ve heard that there were some at the markets. – If they were at the market, what melodies would they usually play? oleksandra ivanivna: The beggars played on the market, earning their living. They played sad songs, mostly Ukrainian, but at the time they would play both Ukrainian and Russian songs. Of course, they played the folk songs. I lived in Kazakhstan during the war, and one day I went to the market where a starchykha played and sang “In the garden by the valley” [V sadu pry dolyni]. – What did she play? oleksandra ivanivna: Harmonia. – Was she blind? oleksandra ivanivna: I think so. – Where was this? oleksandra ivanivna: In Semipalatinsk. My husband left the military town called Sokondok. Sokondok station was about three kilometers away. When he left for war, I flew to his sister in Omsk, and then my aunt flew from Dnipropetrovsk to Kazakhstan. Her husband worked in the nkvd . Women were evacuated, and she ended up in Semipalatinsk. She invited me to come there, and I left on 17 November. Motria Tymofiivna Potapenko (Cherkasy region) – Did the startsi go door-to-door in your village? motria tymofiivna: Yes. I don’t know if they were blind or pretended to be blind. Mostly, they were the blind or amputees. – Did any children come with them? motria tymofiivna: No children. – Did they have any guides? motria tymofiivna: A wife would be the guide to her blind husband. There was one man who lost both of his hands because he used to steal. His healthy wife used to accompany him. If a wife was blind but she had a healthy husband, he would go with her. Some people gave them a piece of bread, and others gave nothing. – Where were they from? motria tymofiivna: They were locals from Shutivka. – Did they sing anything? motria tymofiivna: The man who had no hands used to sing.

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– What did he sing?

motria tymofiivna: I don’t know. The woman who sat near me used to

say that he sang about the Altai Mountains. – Do you remember any startsi who played lira near the church? motria tymofiivna: I haven’t seen any in our village. There was one man dressed in rags. His name was Varfalomei. He didn’t play but he used to say that this church would be gone. He went around it and made the sign of the cross. – Do you remember if any startsi played musical instruments during the market fairs? motria tymofiivna: I didn’t go to market fairs. – Did the startsi go door-to-door after the kolhospy were set up? motria tymofiivna:: Yes, they continued coming for a long time until they were dispersed. – What about after the war? motria tymofiivna: There were none after the war. They were all annihilated. – Do you know how this was done? motria tymofiivna: I don’t know how this was done, but they were gone. They were not arrested, just warned not to go around. – Were there any bandura players in your village? motria tymofiivna: Not in our village. Priska Fedorivna Reva (Kharkiv region) – When you were a young girl, did the startsi use to come?

priska fedorivna: Yes, many.

– Men or women?

priska fedorivna: Various people. They were various people. – Were there any blind women among them? priska fedorivna: If this was a blind man, he would come with a boy, his guide. The boy would lead the way, and the blind man would play the bandura. The bandura was a long one [she is describing here a hurdy-gurdy and is confused as to its name]. They were not playing, but the instrument would play, and they would ask for the alms. He would move his fingers somehow and the wheel would turn. He would roll it; the instrument was lying on his hand, and he would turn the buttons on its handle. – Have you heard the word lira (hurdy-gurdy)? priska fedorivna: I don’t know this. People used to say, “A starets with a bandura.” He played sad songs and asked for alms. If he could see, he would come on his own with the bandura [that is, lira]. People used to give them a piece of bread or an egg or a piece of lard.

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– Did they give him any money? priska fedorivna: Maybe some did, but they didn’t ask for money. – What did they sing? priska fedorivna: Well, who knows. They sang to the music. He would sing, and the music would play so people would give alms. – Did they sing about the Cossacks? priska fedorivna: Guys used to sing those songs, not girls. I knew a lot of them. – Were there any kobzari? priska fedorivna: Kobzari was a common last name here. – Were there other musical instruments? priska fedorivna: No, I don’t remember this. – Did you go to the market fairs at times? priska fedorivna: Rarely, but I did go. – Did the startsi come to the market fairs? priska fedorivna: Oh, there were so many of them sitting outside the church. I went to a church in Mynkivka. There were so many of them there. – Did the startsi that sat outside the church play musical instruments? priska fedorivna: No. It’s not allowed to play outside the church. – Why? priska fedorivna: Because it’s not done. They can just put a place in front of them for alms and sit there. – Where would the bandura be? priska fedorivna: He would come to the church without a bandura [that is, without a lira]. He’d take it with him if he was going door-to-door, but not to the church. – Did the priest say that it was not allowed to play outside the church? priska fedorivna: Not really. You see, back in the day, people didn’t drink vodka at the funerals. They would just make halushky and prepare the potatoes and the pickles. Now, they have a lot of vodka. – Did the startsi sit in groups outside the church? priska fedorivna: No, one by one. One would sit by the window, and the other by the church. – Were there any blind women? priska fedorivna: Who knows? People didn’t have money at the time because coins were expensive. Ivan Samsonovych Roman (Poltava region) – Did the startsi go asking for alms in your village? ivan samsonovych: Yes. At first, there were many of them after 1933

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[after the Holodomor]. People gave them what they could. My mother would not leave a single one without something; she said, “God gave it to you. Share it with the other person.” She taught us to never say no to startsi. My mother was religious and thought that it was the right thing to do. We grew up without religion because we were taught differently in school and religion was persecuted in various ways. Also, there were no churches at the time. All of them had been destroyed… But we had icons at home [khatni ikony]. My wife’s grandfather had many icons in his house, and when they were dispossessed – even though they only had two hectares of land and a steam mill – they were evicted from their house and their icons were destroyed. … ivan samsonovych: There was a starets who played the fiddle. He used to come to the Vyshnevyi radhosp. People gave him money and food. He played very well, and many people would gather to hear him. These startsi also sang songs about freedom, and the militsiia would often take them somewhere. The authorities persecuted them. Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region)

natalia hryhorivna: The better land plots were given to the kolhosp, and people lived well. Lenin showed the way and said to stop poverty. Yevdokia Petrivna Severyn (Kharkiv region) – Where were you born?

yevdokia petrivna: Here where I live now. – How did you meet your husband? Did you know him before? yevdokia petrivna: I knew him from childhood. – Was he from your village? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, my family lived on one street [kutok], and his family lived on another. So, we knew each other as children, and then when it was time for him to get married, he would come to me. Then I had a turn of fate where no one needed me anymore, and the people at whose place we lived were chased away. So, I married him, and we lived in an apartment. Then his father bought a small barn, and they made us a little house. We lived there until the war. No, first there was the famine, and then the war. The house on that site burned down twice, and this is my third house. … – When did you get married? yevdokia petrivna: Halka got married in 1930, and we – in 1929. My first daughter was born in 1930.

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– You didn’t get married in the church because there was no church at the time, right? yevdokia petrivna: There was no church. We went to a club in Andriivka to sign the papers. – How did your husband lose his eyesight? yevdokia petrivna: Who knows? He had pain in his eyes, and he was taken to a hospital. He was five at the time and went to a watermelon field with his father. He said, “Oh, Tato (“Dad”)! The watermelons are so big!” The next time his father took him to the field, he said, “Tato, I no longer see where the watermelons are.” He was crawling around and saying, “I don’t see anymore.” So, he went blind when he was five. – When was he born? yevdokia petrivna: 1900 or 1907 or 1908, something like this. He was twelve years older than me. – Did his parents send him to school? yevdokia petrivna: No, at the time the blind were not accepted into schools. So, we got together and had our first child. – When you started living together, did you accompany him to the villages? yevdokia petrivna: No, I only went with him to Kharkiv, but not to the villages. I was ashamed. I did take him to Kharkiv. – To the market? yevdokia petrivna: Sometimes to the market or near the market. I’d leave him where there was a crowd. – Did you leave him alone there because you were ashamed? yevdokia petrivna: Well, no. I didn’t stand next to him. I’d go for a walk somewhere. – What did he do there? yevdokia petrivna: He prayed as people do now and sang psalms (psalmy). – What did he sing? yevdokia petrivna: What was that one song he always sang? I’ve forgotten how it starts. Lord, my savior, I beseech you, Hear my prayer. I’m at your holy feet. To you I bring my need and my sadness. Love came to me and said, “Go.” It lit up the light of holy joy in my heart. – What about Saint Lazarus? yevdokia petrivna: I’ve forgotten those songs.

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– What about Saint Barbara? yevdokia petrivna: I’ve forgotten it. He sang that one, too. – Did he sing or just recite it? yevdokia petrivna: It depends. Sometimes he recited, and sometimes he sang. He learned them all by heart as soon as he heard one. He recited many of them to me. – Did he go to funerals to recite prayers? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, he would stand in front of the table reciting them. People would give him a book of psalms, but he would say, “I can’t see.” He would just hold it in his hands and recite from memory. – Did you read any to him? yevdokia petrivna: No, I’m illiterate. – During funerals, did he read the Psalter or recite the psalms? yevdokia petrivna: I don’t know. He recited what he had to. – Where did he learn the psalms? yevdokia petrivna: He went to other people to learn. – Where did those people live? yevdokia petrivna: He had acquaintances in Kharkiv who invited him, and he spoke with them. – Did he have any acquaintances in the neighboring villages? yevdokia petrivna: No, not at the time. Most of the people he knew were in Kharkiv. He would be invited, and they would talk and read there. They would say, “Come to my place. I will serve dinner.” – Did he have to pay to learn the psalms? yevdokia petrivna: No. He didn’t pay anything. He would give them some food to eat. – Did your children wait for your return from the market because you would bring the bread [kalach, a highly decorated ceremonial bread eaten at Christmas and Easter]? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, sure thing. People would give us kalachi and … – Were there any startsi who played the lira (hurdy-gurdy) in Kharkiv? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, on the market in Blahoveshchensk. There were many of them at the time. They would sit down in two rows, and people would come to listen. This was before the famine. Oh, it was peaceful at the time. He used to go door-to-door back then. He’d sit near some people, and then they [the authorities] started chasing them away and the musicians disappeared. I don’t know where they were from. – When did they start dispersing them? yevdokia petrivna: How shall I put it? After 1933 or in 1940. yevdokia petrivna’s daughter: No, not in 1940. This was before 1933, perhaps in 1928.

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yevdokia petrivna: I got married in 1929, so I guess it was 1929. – Did you sometimes come up to them? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, we went to listen to them. We wanted to listen, too. – Did you go with your girlfriends or with your husband, too? yevdokia petrivna: No, I only went with him. I lived in Hod and didn’t go anywhere. I didn’t have any friends there. – Did you only listen to those musicians, or did you speak with them, too? yevdokia petrivna: If he made the acquaintance of someone, they would talk about music and songs, and I stood nearby. – Did you sometimes stay in Kharkiv overnight? yevdokia petrivna: We stayed at one woman’s place, in her basement. She said if we didn’t have anywhere to sleep, we could stay there. – How many times did you stay there? yevdokia petrivna: Many times. – Was it the two of you or others, too? yevdokia petrivna: Just the two of us and our child. – Did you go to other startsi at times? yevdokia petrivna: No, I don’t know where they went when they were dispersed. Some of them were old, some were young. – Were there any women who sang? yevdokia petrivna: There were both men and women. I haven’t heard such musicians anywhere else. They were so good. – Did they play the lira? yevdokia petrivna: They played all kids of instruments. – How did the instrument they played look? yevdokia petrivna: Those instruments had different names. I don’t know them. There was a guitar, a mandolin, a bandura, and something else. You would look and leave. – Did your husband sing with another starets? yevdokia petrivna: If he made someone’s acquaintance, they would learn the psalms together. – Did they stand and sing together? yevdokia petrivna: They would sit and sing together, and the people would come and give them some coins. Then they would split what they made. – Did he have several acquaintances with whom he performed regularly? yevdokia petrivna: No. – Did the militia come up to you and prohibit performances? yevdokia petrivna: The militia would come. “What do you want?” – “We want you to stop coming here.” – We would respond, “How would we

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survive then?” Later, they would say, “Go gather the ears of grain.” So, we stopped going to Kharkiv and went to gather the spikelets [on a kolhosp]. We would grind the grain and make some soup. If he ever occasionally went to Kharkiv again, the militia would come to disperse them again. – Did you fear that he could get arrested? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, of course. They would get arrested and thrown into cars. I don’t know how many of them were arrested that way. They would also arrest the children. I’ve never been arrested. One woman told me to avoid that street. – Who was arrested and put into those cars? yevdokia petrivna: Those who sat on the streets or the homeless. It was a famine. What do you want? They gave people a bit of bread at the time, two or three pieces. At least it was something. – On the market, did the militia speak with you once or several times? yevdokia petrivna: Twice: on the market in Blahoveshchensk and on the Konny market. – Were you the only ones arrested or did other people get arrested, too? yevdokia petrivna: There were others, too. They’d ask, “Why are you here?” – “Don’t you know? Because of our unfortunate situation. We’ve never come here before and never known this Kharkiv, but now we have to. You have bread, at least, you get a little to eat. We get nothing.” – Did the militiia men speak Ukrainian with you? yevdokia petrivna: They spoke like I do [Ukrainian]. – Did some startsi just disappear without a trace? yevdokia petrivna: It could have been. – Did you go around the villages? yevdokia petrivna: He didn’t go far and was ashamed of going door-todoor in the nearby villages. I said, “I won’t go. I’d better go to Kharkiv where I don’t know anyone, and no one knows me.” – Before you married him, with whom did he use to go? yevdokia petrivna: He didn’t go anywhere at the time. He had a father and five brothers; they worked their farm. Then when he got married, his father built him a house. We lived in it until the war. It burned down during the war. – Did other blind people visit you? yevdokia petrivna: Three people from Bishkin used to come. They would sit around and talk. – What did they do? yevdokia petrivna: Sometimes they sang, and sometimes they would just sit around. – Who were they?

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yevdokia petrivna: One was named Kostiovych, another was one Khabai [?]. There was also Khoma, and there was another musician named Avram. – What did he play? yevdokia petrivna: He played the fiddle. There was another man who played bas (a bass, but here the size and shape of a violincello). He moved to Heievka. – Was he blind, too? yevdokia petrivna: He had poor eyesight. He used to say, “I see some flashes.” – Could Avram see anything? yevdokia petrivna: He could see a little. – Did he come to you with a fiddle? yevdokia petrivna: Sometimes he would come with a fiddle to play, and sometimes he would just come to talk. There was a man named Vereshchiaka who played bas. Vereshchiaka and Avram were good friends. – How many strings did the bas have? yevdokia petrivna: I don’t know. This was not my business. – Did you own any land when you were getting married? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, I did, and we planted crops at the time. Then the kolhosp took our land and there was nothing left for us. We harvested the crops: eighteen bags of grain. We hired a man to help us harvest the crops and grind the grain. – How did you pay him? yevdokia petrivna: With money. No. We had two plots of land, and he said, “The crop from one plot is yours, and from the other one is mine.” He threshed, winnowed, and ground all the grain and took it to the attic, too. Then came the time when they would come to everyone’s house and search the attics. At first, they didn’t come to our house. My husband Pavlo said, “Let the grain stay in the attic. I will take two bags of it to Heievka [?] to grind. The neighbors will give me a ride.” Then the local activists, together with one newcomer, came to our house, “You have a lot of grain.” – “How do you know? Can you prove we do?” – “We’ll find the grain in your house.” They went to the attic and opened the bags with barley and took it all. Since then, we have been panhandling and suffering. – Did you tell them anything when they were taking your grain? yevdokia petrivna: Could you tell them anything? I tried to close the door, but he kicked the door with his foot, the lock fell off, and they came in and went up to the attic. You just stood there, shaking, that was all. They used to arrest and deport people at night back then. – Why did they inspire so much fear? They were people from your own village, weren’t they?

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yevdokia petrivna: Some were from our village. They had – how can I put it? – an order in that village of Heievka. – Who gave the order? yevdokia petrivna: Those people are dead now. – Was it the head of the village council? yevdokia petrivna: No, just a man they chose. They are all dead now except one: Diachenko. He was a deacon and would come to just stand around [while others were dispossessing people]. Chervonetsky was his last name, and his father was a deacon, too. – Was he a member of the Komsomol, too? yevdokia petrivna: He was a member of some organization, I guess. He was an agent, a tax collector. The taxes were paid in eggs or other produce. Where would we get eggs if we didn’t have any hens and didn’t have any money to buy them. This is why, supposedly, they were taking everyone’s grain away. – How many years did you go to Kharkiv? About two years? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, I guess it was about two years. – How much did he earn there? yevdokia petrivna: People would give him money, and we would buy some food to take home. Bread loaves were sold in halves, so we would buy ten halves and bring them home. We had a lot of problems with lice at the time. – Did people give you money? yevdokia petrivna: They gave only money. Rarely would anyone give food, but everyone gave money, as much as they could: a ruble or 1.5 rubles or some coins. – Did other blind people from your village go to Kharkiv, too? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, but they didn’t go very far. They got ill early, and their wives died. No one took care of them, and they died of hunger. – So Vereshchiaka was the only one who played the bas? Did he move on later? yevdokia petrivna: He moved to Heievka and died there. – What was Avram’s last name? yevdokia petrivna: He lived in Zamok; his name was Avram Fedotovych, and I don’t know his last name. – What about the third musician? yevdokia petrivna: Mytro Fanasievych Kostevych, I think. – Did other blind men that lived in Kharkiv go around the villages? yevdokia petrivna: Who knows? What was the point of going around the villages if people there had nothing to give? It was the famine. In Kharkiv they got some bread and had to sign to confirm receipt. You could ask the administrator for some bread, and she would say, “I will give a little less to that man and give the rest to you. Wait here.” Then she would bring me half a

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kilogram of bread. My husband and I would eat it and be on our way. – Was this in 1932? yevdokia petrivna: 1933 was the year of great grief and 1932 was the same. We survived it. – You didn’t go asking for food before the war? yevdokia petrivna: After the war, people had bread, but they went to other villages and to the steppe with wheel-barrows and said, “You used to come to us, and now we have no life. Now we are the ones who must go to other villages, exchanging goods.” – Where was this? yevdokia petrivna: In Kharkiv. I don’t know why this was happening, but there were many people like this. – During the time your husband used to go to Kharkiv, did the local administration prohibit him from coming? yevdokia petrivna: No. – When you stopped going to Kharkiv and the famine ended, where did your husband work? yevdokia petrivna: No, no. We took care of everything ourselves. We burned the coal ourselves. I used to carry it in a bag to Kharkiv to sell it by the bucket. Then I would buy bread for us to eat. People sold bread at the time. We had two children back then. – When did your husband die? yevdokia petrivna: In 1958, I think. – We have a magazine with names of psalms that the startsi sang. Could you take a look and tell us which ones your husband sang? yevdokia petrivna: I can’t tell you anything. I’ve forgotten it all. He died twenty years ago. – Did he sing about Saint Lazarus? yevdokia petrivna: Maybe he did. I would have known more if I had sat near him and learned, but he just hummed to himself. – Did he sing “God Eternal” or “Prodigal Son”? yevdokia petrivna: Maybe. I don’t remember. – At the funerals, did he sing or recite the psalms? Did the people pay him? yevdokia petrivna: Why, yes. They would invite him and give him some cloth (a meter or two) or a kerchief. – Did he go to funerals after the war? yevdokia petrivna: No. He did this before the war. – How many children did your mother have? yevdokia petrivna: Four: three with her first husband and one boy with her second husband. He lives in Kyiv now. – Did your father die early?

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yevdokia petrivna: He was taken to war, and the three of us were left: one was six months old, the other was three years old, and I was the oldest. He never came back. My mother got a letter. – Which war was that? yevdokia petrivna: I can’t say for sure. – When your mother married your stepfather, was he a widower? yevdokia petrivna: He had three children, too. My mother had three of her own, and they had one more child together. – Did she go to live in his house? yevdokia petrivna: Yes. We didn’t have a house. My mother was living by the Black Sea. We moved there when I was six months old. They spent six years there earning the money to build a house, but they never made enough. My mother came to Bishkin with her three children and started living here. She lived as a widow and married this man in 1944, somewhere around that time. He died in 1967. She married him when I was fifteen and my sisters were younger. They were babysitters for other people, but his sons lived with him. He didn’t send them to work anywhere. We were the ones who worked as day laborers. I lived at one person’s place for two years and at another person’s place for three years as a day laborer. – Where was this? yevdokia petrivna: Eight kilometers away from Krasnopalyvka. We used to go to the market there. – Was the man you worked for a landowner? yevdokia petrivna: No, he just hired people to work for him. He had four children and hired a babysitter, and I helped his wives feed the pigs and such. – How did they pay you? yevdokia petrivna: In the first year, they gave me clothes (skirts, a jacket, and boots) and twenty-five rubles. I brought the money home and gave it to my stepfather because he said, “You came home for the winter” (I came after three years). Then I got hired as a day laborer again and lived where I worked. I got forty rubles per year. Where they registered me, they paid me forty rubles. – Did you sign a work contract? yevdokia petrivna: Yes, they [the government?] called him asking why I live with him. They asked him to show the contract. They called me and the man I worked for, “Are they treating you well?” – “Yes.” – “Do they give you food?” – “Yes. I’ll find another job myself if I want to.” I milked the cows and put the milk through the separator. I wasn’t hungry. – Did you come home every winter? yevdokia petrivna: No, I lived where I worked for three years. – What about the money?

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yevdokia petrivna: I gave the money to my mother and father. One time he came and collected the money himself. The other time he came and said, “Give me nine pudy [ca. 144 kilograms] of grain.” The man I worked for weighed it and we loaded the grain he wanted on his cart. – Was the man you worked for kind? yevdokia petrivna: Why, he was good. If they had treated me poorly, I wouldn’t have lived there for three years or for 2.5 years at the other man’s place. I went to work for his brother, and they were even better. He, his wife, and the grandfather were all good to me. – What did these people do on Sundays? Did they have any concerts or dances? yevdokia petrivna: No, there were no dances at the time. There was no such thing at the time. People just plowed the land and planted crops. The people I worked for didn’t go anywhere. – When did you join the kolhosp, if you did? yevdokia petrivna: What year was it that they took my stepfather’s harrows, horse, cow, plows – everything? It was at that time [likely 1932 or 1933]. – Did he want to join the kolhosp? yevdokia petrivna: No, but you had to go. – Were there any people in the village who didn’t join the kolhosp? yevdokia petrivna: I don’t think so because everyone wanted to eat. They would work in the kolhosp and at least they got something to eat there, so they were content. – What did you do on Sundays or holidays at the house of the man you worked for? yevdokia petrivna: They didn’t celebrate holidays, so I would just stay home. They would go to visit people – neighbors if they invited them. We had khutory at the time, and houses were far from one another: one kilometer or 1.5. Some people would come saying, “Come to my place at such and such time.” They would go, and I would stay home as a laborer. I took care of the household chores, that’s it. – Was there a midwife in your village? yevdokia petrivna: There are no such women anymore. Children are born in hospitals now, but back in the day there were midwives. – When you were young, what kind of music was played at weddings? yevdokia petrivna: People hired musicians at the time. We had a neighbor who had a large harmonia, and there was another player, too. A group of about three musicians would get together, and people would hire them and pay them something. People would come to listen and crowd the yard. They would listen and dance. – Did they play harmonia? yevdokia petrivna: Yes. I don’t know what it’s called.

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– Was this before collectivization? yevdokia petrivna: Yes. – When you were coming to Kharkiv regularly, how did people treat you? yevdokia petrivna: All the people were hungry at the time [during the famine] and going around places to get food. They went where they could. I don’t know about other villages, but ours was empty at the time. All these houses were empty. – When you were little, did startsi come up to you asking for alms? yevdokia petrivna: One mute woman used to come, and my father would say, “Give her a pyrizhok (pastry).” If we baked anything, we would give it to her. – Did she stand outside or come into the house? yevdokia petrivna: She would stand in the yard outside the window, and we saw that she was bowing. – Were people kind to such people? yevdokia petrivna: Nowadays, too, you have good and bad people. – Was it the same back in the day? yevdokia petrivna: Yes. We are poor and don’t have a man in the house. We asked the people to help us build a house. There was one near the silage pit [silage is grass and other fodder, here mixed in a pit in the ground and left wet for winter animal consumption]. Some people gave us money to help us buy it, and we’ve been living in it for twenty years now. – Who helped you financially? yevdokia petrivna: The people who arrange things, the people from the village council. – Was the house sold to you because your husband was blind? yevdokia petrivna: No, he was dead by then. It was because I had three children. … – Was your husband married before your marriage? yevdokia petrivna: No. – Did he go asking for alms before he married you? yevdokia petrivna: No, his father didn’t let him go anywhere and said, “I don’t want people to laugh at me because you’re going around asking for alms.” – Why did he start asking for alms when he married you? yevdokia petrivna: His father had died, and his mother had died before that. Their house went to his brother and his wife, and we got a house built here. – Did people laugh at you when you asked for alms? yevdokia petrivna: They would have said, “Look, Fanasiy sent his son out to beg.”

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– Was his father well-off? yevdokia petrivna: He had a cow and a horse, and he plowed land for others. He didn’t ask for alms but worked for people who would hire him to plow or sow. Olena Volodymirivna Sinkevych (Vinnytsia region) – Did you see any startsi?

olena volodymirivna : No, not in our village. – Maybe you have seen some on the market?

olena volodymirivna : No. We had only one poor woman. She and her girl asked for alms. The kolhosp gave them a house, and so they lived. Some people used to go around the cemetery, collecting donations for the church. Hanna Yakivna Snurikova (Kharkiv region) – Were there any startsi in the olden days?

hanna yakivna: Some newcomers used to go knocking on doors. Such a

person had a messenger bag across their shoulders, and he would pray and cross himself. They would also bring scarves and cloth to sell. He’d take these things out of his backpack and let people choose. – Were there any who sang? hanna yakivna: The blind would sing. They were led around by a woman or a child. This was before collectivization, and then they disappeared. It was in 1933, I remember. You could not pass by – people were lying on the ground everywhere in the whole village because there was nothing to eat. Tumofiy Demydovych Sozansky (Vinnytsia region) – Did you see any startsi?

tymofiy demydovych : Yes.

– Did they play musical instruments?

tymofiy demydovych: They sang at market fairs and played the lira

(hurdy-gurdy). They were blind or disabled and would come to the markets. We didn’t have any beggars. In our village, these startsi would gather by the church belfry. There was one from Khomenky who even owned a plot of land and four oxen to plow it with, but he would come here and take the bread that people gave him. Then he would exchange it for drinks. There were such people, too. The singing ones didn’t come to the village. – Were there any women among these startsi? tymofiy demydovych: There were more women among them than men.

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– Were there any startsi from your village? tymofiy demydovych: There was a blind man named Volodymyr. Some people would bring food to his house. He could go to the well by himself and bring water to his house. – How did the village people treat the startsi? tymofiy demydovych: People saw who was disabled and who was a starets. – When did the startsi stop gathering outside the church? tymofiy demydovych: When the church was closed down. – When was this? tymofiy demydovych: Some time in … In 1926, we still had a priest in the village. He lived here. Then in 1932–33 he became a forest ranger. Dmytro Pylypovych Tkach (Vinnytsia region) – Do you remember if the blind musicians played near the church [before collectivization]? dmytro pylypovych: Nothing like this happened near the church in our village, but there were blind performers who played the lira (hurdy-gurdy). They mostly played on the market. I saw them in Vinnytsia and in the village. They went knocking on people’s doors. – What did they sing? dmytro pylypovych: Mostly religious songs. Pavlo Illich Vovchenko (Sumy region) – Did you see any startsi? pavlo illich: Oh, there were so many of them. Poor folks, they didn’t have a home anywhere. Some pretended to be poor and would stand near the church asking for alms. Then they would spend the money on drinks and come back to panhandle again. – Did you see any startsi who played musical instruments? pavlo illich: Yes, they would play the lira (hurdy-gurdy) and sing something. This was long ago, in 1913. – Were they decent people? pavlo illich: Out of a hundred, perhaps two or three were literate. Some were blind, some were good people. They would go with a boy-guide. [The blind man] would play, recite verses, and take the lira apart to oil it. They stayed overnight at my parents’ place. Our mother was very religious, and she would let them in. He would tell his story, how his family and his wife left him, his children forgot about him, and he went blind. I don’t know where he was from.

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– Did these startsi know each other? pavlo illich: Yes, they would get together in one place on a religious holiday where there was a market fair. They would play a great deal, then get drunk, and fight with their canes. One blind man had a large house, so he would let them sleep there. They would get drunk because everyone would give them a drink on a holiday. That man Mykhailo let everyone stay at his place. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Did any startsi come to your khutir? andrii solomonovych: No. Only the paupers used to come with their bags, asking for alms. – Did they come into the house or into the backyard? andrii solomonovych: There was another man with a bandura, a long one with a handle [he is describing a lira]. He would play, dance, and recite verses. – How did he play? andrii solomonovych: He would adjust something on the handle and pull the strings [of the lira] here. – Who did the dance? andrii solomonovych: This was not in our village. Those who would come could do a dance – the boys, I mean, the kids. – What did the old man sing? andrii solomonovych: Some songs. People gave him whatever they could – a piece of lard, eggs, or some flour, especially in the winter when people were celebrating the holidays. – Did your village Zaitsivka have its own blind starets? andrii solomonovych: No. – What about in Mynkivka? andrii solomonovych: I don’t know because I was very little at the time. – Were there any blind startsi near the church? andrii solomonovych: Who knows? It was long ago, and I’ve forgotten much. – Did they go around the villages during collectivization? andrii solomonovych: No. – Why? andrii solomonovych: For some reason they were forbidden to go door-to-door. – Why was this? andrii solomonovych: I don’t know. It was not my business. – Did you see a kobzar?

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andrii solomonovych: Taras Hryhorovych Shevchenko is a kobzar. – I mean kobzari-musicians.

andrii solomonovych: I haven’t seen any. Hanna Vasylivna Zamohylna (Poltava region) – Did the startsi go around your village? hanna vasylivna: No. They used to come before the kolhospy. When I was little, there were many startsi in Hradyzk. People would cut the holiday bread on Easter and wrap it in kerchiefs. They’d put the bread in one bundle and the Easter eggs – in the other. The startsi would be sitting on both sides of the road. There would also be many of them at the market fairs. They’d sit in rows all the way to the church, and people would give them alms: a piece of Easter bread, cookies, or eggs. The startsi would put their bags in front of them and collect a good deal of food. – Did some of the startsi play musical instruments? hanna vasylivna: Some did. They didn’t go around the villages, but they would come to the Sunday markets or the fairs. They played very well. They were blind and played bandura and lira and they sang, too. Oh, they were good. Most of them were blind men and boys were their guides. The whole market would gather to hear them on Sunday. – What songs did they play? hanna vasylivna: All kinds of songs, except the dance ones. This would be on Sundays or at the market fairs before the kolhospy were set up. One blind man sang a song about the kolhospy once [evidently derogatory], and they came to him and said, “Make sure we don’t see you here again – or else, we’ll send you to prison.” He left and since that time, there have been no more startsi. Kateryna Kostiantynivna Zoria (Kharkiv region) – When you lived with your parents, did the startsi go around your village asking for alms? kateryna kostiantynivna: Of course. – Were there any women among them? kateryna kostiantynivna: Sure thing. They were blind and had guides who could see. – Was the guide a boy or a woman? kateryna kostiantynivna: It varied. In our village, the son was a guide to his father. When they [the authorities] started paying him, he said, “I won’t go begging. I’ll survive without it.” – Was the blind man being paid?

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kateryna kostiantynivna: Yes. – What was his name?

kateryna kostiantynivna: Ivan Shchuryk. – Is his son still alive?

kateryna kostiantynivna: No. I don’t know where his son was when

I started coming over to see Ivan. He told us a story about how he heard his son’s voice when he was smoking. He quit smoking, he said, because he thought that this was his son’s spirit warning him, but he would sometimes go to stand where men were smoking on their way to the kolhosp. – Why was he not allowed to smoke? kateryna kostiantynivna: It’s forbidden. That’s what people say. – Was it because he sang the holy songs? kateryna kostiantynivna: God knows. He was blind, but the people used to say that he could see a little. “How can I see if I have a ceramic eye? How can I see with it?” But people used to say that he could see a little. – Was his name Ivan Shchur? kateryna kostiantynivna: Yes, this was his village nickname. I don’t know his last name. – Did he go asking for alms in his village? kateryna kostiantynivna: No. I guess he went to other places. – Do you know where he went? kateryna kostiantynivna: I don’t. – Did he play any instruments? kateryna kostiantynivna: No. I guess the startsi stopped going around when they started receiving a pension. – Did women get angry at him for asking for alms? kateryna kostiantynivna: Of course. People would give him more, and he would come to church and say, “I don’t want to stand there. Girls get angry when I stand there.” – When he stood there, was he asking for alms or fasting? kateryna kostiantynivna: He stood there before the service and came into the church for the service. – Did he recite anything as he was asking for alms? kateryna kostiantynivna: No, he was just standing there. – Did women shame him for receiving his pension and asking for alms? Kateryna Kostiantynivna: No, they were unhappy that people gave alms to the blind man and not to them. People would walk him to the church on their way there.

8 The Decline of Civil Society: A Summary Kateryna Yaremaka Vy znaiete, iak ia teper skazhu liudiam, shcho kolys’ bulo pohano zhyty, tak vony ne viriat’. Kazhut’ zaraz pohano, a kolys’ bulo dobre. To dobre bulo nedovho, otse nedavno, a to bulo nedobre. You know, when these days I tell people that the old days were a bad time to live, they don’t believe me. They say, ‘now [early 1990s] is the time when it is no good, but earlier everything was good.’ [My answer is] that those good times were brief, not long-lasting, and they were not so long ago, but the rest of it was not good. There is a demonstrable connection between the state of agriculture and the state of overall village culture from the 1920-30s. This connection in fact could probably be shown to exist in any time period. This was certainly evident in the interviews, both those that pertained to the nep period of the 1920s and those that pertained to the 1930s. A vibrant agricultural economy and a vibrant ritual life went hand in hand, just as the repression of the agricultural economy and the repression of village ritual life were linked. There are two separate problems regarding the manifestations of the decline of civil society that the survey can best address. The first regards the expressions by the elderly on the desirability to return to the peasant system of agriculture, that which existed before collectivization. This measures nothing except desire and is of interest primarily because of the attitudes it elicited about private land holdings. The second question regards the interviewees’ estimate of the peasant culture lost in the 1930s. Again, while nothing specific is measured, the interviewees register a regret for a world long lost and unrecoverable. The first was a direct query in the questionnaire, while for the second I have mostly abstracted excerpts from the interviews. The following discussion of these two problems can be seen as a summary of the main themes of this book.

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pri vate hol di n g s in the 1990s Interviewees were asked the question: “Today would you want to return to the farming system that existed before collectivization?” Responses varied to the question of the desirability of a return to a peasant agricultural system. Some were asked if they personally wanted to take up private farming again, others were asked if people in the interviewee’s village wanted to do so. Concerning the first, the personal choice, many categorically did not want to return to the system of private farms. For those responding negatively, they said either that they were too old to take care of a farm themselves, or that it would be too much work for them (Mykhailo Kravchenko, Olha Bychenko). Others just said life was better on the kolhosp or gave a negative appraisal of private agriculture (Hanna Buhaiova, Paraskeva Kindratenko, Sava Chorny). The position of activists, as might be expected, was negative with regard to the expansion of private farming. Mykola Medvedenko, for example, said: “Some people still say, ‘If only I were given land.’ I don’t want it. I’m eighty-seven, and I would go [to work in the kolhosp] even now.” This person, one of the activists from the 1930s, also stated: “Who set up the good life that we knew for some time? The Soviet authorities. We lived especially well when Brezhnev was in office. I sometimes say, ‘Don’t complain too much about Stalin.’” Another activist of the time, Nykyfor Poberezhnyk, when asked if he wanted to have his father’s land, replied: “Why would I need it?” The most detailed answer came from Mykyta Nadezha who claimed that “journalists” (presumably including the interviewer, here the author) and others were seeking ways to vilify the kolhosp system, which he defended. Andrii Zaiets did not speak about himself but gave his perception of what his neighbors thought. Here he was discussing not only the elderly, but all villagers: – Would people today want to live without the kolhosp? andrii solomonovych: No, they wouldn’t. It is necessary to work and take care of the land, but now they’ve become lazy, they don’t want to work. Now at 8 a.m. they are just arriving at work, the sun already up. By 9 a.m., there is still no tractor in the fields, none of the drivers have even left their households. When I went to work on the kolhosp, they marked when you arrived, the sun was not yet up. Today at 5 p.m., they are already leaving for home. Mykhailo Ustymenko said that most of the younger people in the village (presumably one or two generations younger than his then ninety years) did not really know much about agricultural production; they would not know what to do if they owned their own land. They were born and raised in a system in which agricultural laborers were told where to go each morning and what to do. They could not manage on their own:

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– Would you like to own land today? mykhailo antonovych: If I were healthy, certainly. I know the land; I used to plow it. Of course, I would work the land, but you have to have the tools to plow, sow, and transport the harvest. Why wouldn’t I? I’m used to the land, but the young people now don’t understand it. If you gave them land now, they wouldn’t be able to work it because of the kolhosp system. People were told what to do in the kolhosp. They were sent on assignments and the brigade chief and the head of the kolhosp were in charge. The worker knew that he would come to work and get an assignment. He wouldn’t be able to manage the land on his own. He must learn and get the tools. It’s a lot of hard work. This was echoed by Yevdokia Kyiko. When asked if she would want to have her own land, she replied: “My health is declining. I wouldn’t leave the kolhosp; it wasn’t bad. They would plow and sow. Now you don’t know where the grain is processed; everything is mechanized.” There were several interviewees who said that, yes, if given the chance they would like to return to the farming system as it existed before collectivization (Tetiana Poliesha-Novak, Mykhailo Diachenko, and others): Markian Kutsevol – Would you like to own land today? markian hryhorovych: If it were like before, then yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I work the land? Ivan Bibik said that he already had the same farm as his father had, but he measured the farm by the number of large animals he owned (a horse and two cows), not by the amount of land or what he took off the land or how he marketed his product. Andrii Pavlichenko said that if he were younger, yes, he would want his own land and so did Andrii Filatov: Andrii Filatov – Would you like to own land today?

andrii fedorovych: Me? I’m eighty-six; what would I do with it? Two

meters would be enough for me. – What if you were young and strong? andrii fedorovych: Oh! In that case, of course. – Would you leave the kolhosp and choose to live independently? andrii fedorovych: Of course!!! I would be independent, not following anyone’s orders, planting, selling, and raising what I want. Of course, I would.

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Mykhailo Maslo provided a succinct, even elegant, appraisal of the benefits of entrepreneurship, noting that after the First World War and the civil wars, the land was devastated. He said that in just three [sic] years of nep , the countryside was transformed; it was productive. Olha Reuta said that she would want to live in a system of private farms. She remembered what her father had earlier said to her. After working on the kolhosp for decades, he complained about the collective work, wishing he could have back his private land: “If I had worked for myself, I would have been a millionaire.” Petro Khudyk, one of the activists from the 1930s, said that if everyone switched over to the pre-collectivization system then he would also agree to this. However, he would reject this if he alone were engaged in private farming. Frosyna Boiko said that in a system of private farming, a khaziaiin had a full complement of domesticated animals, including those with which he took care of the land. Without widespread ownership of these animals and enough land and tools to properly feed and care for them, he said, it was pointless to speak of private farming.1 Mykhailo Ihnatenko was one of the most specific on recommendations for the privatization of land. He said that it was pointless to try to privatize land as long as the kolhosp bureaucracy and power structures existed. They would not let anyone live a normal life. He felt that they must be ousted and replaced if privatization were to be implemented successfully. Mykhailo Diachenko provided an example, saying that he had repeatedly tried to get the kolhosp to lease him land, but the officials refused. Maria Kozar and Ivan Shamrai provided chilling opinions on this subject. The former said that governments in Ukraine had changed so many times in her lifetime, that she was afraid to try private farming, fearing that she could be repressed. Ivan Shamrai went further, claiming that the entrepreneurs of the 1990s will, in their turn in the future, be repressed: Today’s renters and farmers are fools; they are driving themselves to death. These farmers will later be the same as kulaky, and they will be dispossessed. He will work day and night, trying hard to leave something for his children, and he will be dispossessed. Everything is as it was during nep [in the 1920s]; it will repeat itself. I tell the children that they will have to use a spade to dig the soil after all of this because everything will be taken away. You will spin yarn and weave again. All this will be destroyed.

1 This is an interesting point because the interviewee (and I suspect most kolhospnyky in Ukraine) had apparently not been provided information on the small (approximately one-to-two meters in height) and inexpensive tractors that were common in the 1990s in Poland, Austria, Switzerland, southern Germany, and elsewhere that holders of even small plots could usually afford to purchase on credit (which, unfortunately, did not exist for most in Ukraine of the 1990s).

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Note that he tells children not to be ambitious, for they will be brought down by the state for their trouble. How widespread such fears are cannot be estimated by means of the data gleaned in this survey, but I suspect that many share it, at least to some degree. It is a depressing appraisal of post-Soviet village life for it indicates that fear of the power of the state had left many bereft of enterprise or ambition and willing to do little or nothing to better their economic situation since they believe that to do so would mean risking the loss of what little they had. Thus, Soviet power managed to destroy the will and the character of millions of people. It is furthermore a reminder of the treacherous means by which they accomplished this. It is perhaps fitting to end a discussion on the question of private property in the 1990s by referring once again to that nearly mythological figure, the kurkul, a term assigned to hundreds of thousands of people in the late 1920s and the 1930s. At that time, the designation was often accompanied by dispossession, eviction, the total loss of earning power, and death. Andrii Dotsenko provides a more contemporary view of the word, one which is neither bitter nor resentful, but puts the accumulation of wealth into, I believe, a realistic perspective. The kurkul is anyone, he said, who acquires wealth. In villages of the Soviet period, in particular in the 1930s, he notes that this applied especially to the heads of kolhospy: Yes, only the bosses were rich. Kulaky have always been and will always be. A director is paid [1990s] five to seven hundred and would not wear out his pants, while a worker is paid a hundred and wears five shirts to rags over the summer. This is how it will be as long as the world turns. This view is echoed by Mykhailo Ihnatenko: If only there were fewer bosses per working person now. There are so many of them who don’t do any work. So many crooks come to work in offices.

int erv i ew e xce rp ts : pri vate enterprise in the 1990s Vasyl Savovych Barbaziuk (Vinnytsia region) – How many households were there? vasyl savovych: When I was a young boy, there probably were up to a thousand households. The recent population census counted five hundred. Today many houses are only visited by people on Sundays, you know. A person lives in the city, keeps the vegetable garden here, and comes to work in it.

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Olha Andriivna Bychenko (Poltava region) – Would you like to have your own land plot now? olha andriivna: Not anymore. Some people take the land and plow it – those who want or can do so. Not everyone is able to do this. People used to live off the land alone in the village, unlike in the city where they work in manufacturing. The land is our mother. If there is no land, nothing will survive; there won’t be any bread, or cattle, or production. The land is primary. Ivan Ivanovych Bibik (Chernihiv region) – Would you like to have your own farmstead, like your parents did? ivan ivanovych: I do have one, just like my father and grandfather did. Right now, I have a horse and two cows – I have everything. – What did the land mean for your parents and what does it mean for you? ivan ivanovych: The land feeds us. You could not live without the land; all hope was for the land. My father used to grow rye, buckwheat, and potatoes. Trades were an addition to the land. Frosyna Okhrymivna Boiko (Kharkiv region) – Would you like to have your own farmstead, as before? frosyna okhrymivna: All people would like to, but you can’t get it anywhere; everything was destroyed. Back in the day, every household had tools to work the land. People would own a horse and join forces to plow their respective land plots. Now, nothing will come out of it; it’ll only get worse. Hanna Yukhymivna Buhaiova (Kharkiv region) – Would you like to have your own farmstead, just like your father? hanna yukhymivna: Perhaps if I were younger. Now I don’t have the energy to work. – What would you like for your children: a farmstead like your father’s or the kolhosp? hanna yukhymivna: You know, the kolhosp is better, if only they paid the workers. – Why is the kolhosp better? hanna yukhymivna: The farmstead is hard to maintain; spinning yarn, weaving, and taking care of the cattle. With the kolhosp, I could have one cow; otherwise, I’d have to have bulls for plowing and sowing; I’d have to

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harvest and grind the grain, too. This is all hard work. I know it very well. I’d prefer the kolhosp, if only there were order there. Andrii Hryhorovych Dotsenko (Sumy region) – Before the kolhosp there were seredniaky and the poor, and then did everyone become equal? andrii hryhorovych: Yes, only the bosses were rich. Kulaky have always been and will always be. A director is paid five to seven hundred and would not wear out his pants, while a worker is paid a hundred and wears five shirts to rags over the summer. This is how it will be as long as the world turns. Mykhailo Antonovych Diachenko (Cherkasy region) – What if your father’s farmstead were given back to you? mykhailo antonovych: I would gladly take it. I am trying to buy 0.15 hectares now, but it’s impossible. Our regional administrators built threestory houses for themselves, and when I ask for some land, it’s not happening. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Would people like to live now without the kolhosp and have their own farmsteads? andrii solomonovych: No, they don’t want to. You have to work and take care of the land, and people are lazy now; they don’t want to work. They leave for work at 8 a.m. now, and the sun is already up. It’s 9 a.m. and the tractor hasn’t started working yet. When I worked in the kolhosp, I was in the field when the sun came up and when it went down. Now they work five hours and go back home. I remember one time when I worked in the kolhosp, four haymakers mowed a hectare of barley. I was sent to mow wheat and was assigned three people to help sheave; I alone mowed 1.1 hectares of wheat. The brigade leader said, “Guys, the four of you mowed one hectare, and this one mowed 1.1 hectares on his own in a day; I’ll pay him six rubles and seven rubles. Will you, girls, mow like this?” – “No way can we do this. He mows like this because he’s not from our village; he’s from Valky.” So, I was assigned to feed the pigs, from the sixth time. I didn’t want to do this work. The seventh time the head of the village council came up to me, “Do you like the Soviet regime or not?” I said, “Screw you, I went to war and fought for this Soviet regime, and I don’t know where the hell you were.” Then I reconsidered and accepted the assignment; I decided not to go against the authorities. So, I started feeding the old pigs; their tails were cut off and the ears and

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ribs damaged. I told the administration to repair the kitchen right away, and this was done. I fed the pigs for one winter and then left and came to live here. People used to come to me in Krasnohradsky region to see the pigs I raised. I got two boars; one was forty kg, and the other was thirty-eight kg. They used to ask me what I feed them with and how. When I went to the head of the kolhosp to collect my salary, he said, “Let’s go to Vkraivka. I will give you a farmstead in Shaiba. You can move into a farmstead that is already set up and live there.” I earned this kind of praise. Mykhailo Yevdokymovych Ihnatenko (Cherkasy region) – What do you think is better: the kolhosp or private farmsteads? mykhailo yevdokymovych: If only there were fewer bosses per working person now. There are so many of them who don’t do any work. So many crooks come to work in offices. If you need to get some document, you do several rounds and have to see three people for something simple that one person can do. And they only sit there and waste chairs. [Ivan] Pliushch [former chairman of the Ukrainian parliament in the 1990s – ed.] said, “For one person with a plow, there are ten with a spoon.” Some administrators need to be let go; instead, they only switch them around. They steal everything: things and food. Yevdokia Ivanivna Kyiko (Poltava region) – If you were younger, would you get some land?

yevdokia ivanivna: No, I worked in a kolhosp. You work and earn what

you earn, that’s it. In your own private farmstead, you had to have a horse and couldn’t do much without it. My health is declining. I wouldn’t leave the kolhosp; it wasn’t bad. They would plow and sow. Now you don’t know where the grain is processed; everything is mechanized. Still, when the kolhosp was set up, it was a difficult time and they didn’t pay well at the time. They didn’t give the workers any money. They would just put a mark for each day worked. Well, they’d give you bread – sometimes three kilograms per workday. Paraskeva Trokhymivna Kindratenko (Kharkiv region) – What do you think is better: the kolhosp or private farmsteads? paraskeva trokhymivna: I was better off in the kolhosp. You could make a living in the kolhosp, and the kolhospy are rich now. After 1993, the kolhospy paid well and the vegetable gardens were 0.5 hectares each.

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Maria Pylypivna Kozar (Kharkiv region) – Did the kolhosp create a feeling of collective property ownership? maria pylypivna: Everyone had their own land, and no one wanted to join the kolhosp. Back in the day, if a person was a good worker, he was dispossessed and exiled to die in the north. People would ask around: where is such and such? He died under an ice sheet somewhere when the ice broke. So many times, the authorities changed during my lifetime. We got used to it and work in the vegetable garden. Natalia Stepanivna Kravchenko (Sumy region) – Would you like it if your father’s farmstead were given back to you?

natalia stepanivna: No. Back at the time, tractors started plowing and

people worked in the sugar beet fields collectively; then they divided land into parts, and no one had anything. Markian Hryhorovych Kutsevol (Poltava region) – Would you like to own land today?

markian hryhorovych: If it were like before, then yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I work the land?

Mykhailo Pavlovych Maslo (Cherkasy region) – Would you like it if your father’s farmstead were given back to you? Mykhailo Pavlovych: We’re moving toward land repossession; it cannot be otherwise. People have gotten to the point where they don’t want to work. How can you get any results that way? One worked for himself but also for society, this much I know. If there were any extra products, they would be sold at the market. What was done during nep , tell me? After the civil war there was nothing; everything was ruined, burned, and destroyed. During the three years of nep [sic] everything was restored. People worked hard. We had about five smithies: people made plows and hayforks – all that was necessary. Mykola Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – What would you prefer: life before or after the collectivization? mykola ivanovych: I was a farmstead owner, but I was better off in the kolhosp. Why? Land was cultivated well, and the harvests were good. It took some time to even out; it wasn’t good from the start, but it wasn’t bad. Who

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set up the good life that we knew for some time? The Soviet authorities. We lived especially well when Brezhnev was in office. I sometimes say, “Don’t complain too much about Stalin.” I survived the Holodomor, and someone wrote about it. I thought, why are you writing? The young don’t read this because they grew up in luxury. I survived the Revolution, the famine of 1921, the famine of 1933, and collectivization. I don’t need these accounts because I lived through it all. Maybe that person wanted to be paid a salary. Maybe Stalin was wrong, too. – What if your father’s farmstead were given back to you? mykola ivanovych: I don’t want it. You have to work non-stop. Life was good when Brezhnev was in office. My neighbor who is eight years younger than me used to go panhandling with his mother before the Revolution, and now he has two cars: a Volga and a Zhyguli. I tell him, “The Soviet regime gave this to you.” People often call me a Communist, but I wasn’t one and don’t plan to be. Would you have earned enough to buy a Volga before collectivization? They weren’t even sold then in our village. – When did the people lose the sense of a landowner (vidchuttia hospodaria)? mykola ivanovych: I don’t approve of this. Some people still say, “If only I were given land.” I don’t want it. I’m eighty-seven, and I would go [to work in the kolhosp] even now. Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha and Teklia Ivanivna Nadezha (Kharkiv region)

mykyta mykolaiovych: I know what you want to say. The press is wait-

ing to see what would happen if the land were repossessed and given to the peasants. Nothing will work out. If land is given out, there’ll be weeds everywhere and they will bury one man after the other. – Aunt, if the land were given back to the people, would they take care of it? teklia ivanivna: No one will take it. In our village, only one man took a plot of land; no one else did. – How much land did he take? teklia ivanivna: About four hectares. mykyta mykolaiovych: He doesn’t pay anything, no use to the state. – Is he earning anything? mykyta mykolaiovych: He earns for himself. – Why doesn’t the state want to take a portion of the earnings from him? mykyta mykolaiovych: It’ll be a while before he finishes the work. They were forcing people [to return to private farming] just as they forced them into the kolhosp. … – Did everyone in the village understand what had to be paid back to the state?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: Look, the renters now are using the land for the

fourth year and have not paid a gram of produce. – Where would a renter go if they don’t give him a shipping order? mykyta mykolaiovych: He is subsidized and supported, but will his work have a good outcome, or will he sell it back to the state? Now they give kolhospy and sovhospy to the state. There’s a decree, but this one sticks to his land. He must give 30 per cent to the state from his income. – What exactly does he do? mykyta mykolaiovych: He raises cattle and sells thirty kg of meat. – Perhaps the state wants to create more of such producers and doesn’t want to tax them for now? mykyta mykolaiovych: They won’t succeed. The only way to go about this is to keep the kolhospy and sovhospy. In the current situation, a single state cannot come out of the crisis on its own. It’s a struggle now for Belarus and Russia and the majority [of the post-Soviet republics] to have trade contacts. You can’t do without this, and you can’t do without collective farming. You must turn back, only turn it back to collective farming on a voluntary basis. – The Lenin way? mykyta mykolaiovych: Not the Stalin way, but the Lenin way. – And to destroy all those Communists? mykyta mykolaiovych: If it’s the Lenin way, the Communists are few. – How can one tell the Lenin Communists from the Stalin Communists? mykyta mykolaiovych: Walk around the village and you’ll know. – What if they are not Communists, but from Western Ukraine? mykyta mykolaiovych: What about it? I know what Western Ukraine wants. It wants to be independent and not give anyone anything. It wants to live independently and not let even the rest of Ukraine get involved and to make sure no Russian ever crosses its threshold. – Ukraine is independent now; so, the Constitution says. mykyta mykolaiovych: Is it really independent? It’s written in the Constitution; anyone can write anything. What good is it if it’s not working out? Andrii Hryhorovych Pavlichenko (Cherkasy region) – Would you like it if the farmstead you owned with your mother and brothers were given back to you? andrii hryhorovych: If I had been twenty-five to twenty-seven years old, I would have taken it back today, sure. But I am eighty-three and I can’t work the land anymore. You know, I come out to my vegetable garden, and I know that I am a master here. When we got six hectares of this land, we

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sowed four hectares with wheat and had eight thousand kg of grain. We took it to a state enterprise and got paid 1.25 rubles per each 16 kg. We had money. Nykyfor Maksymovych Poberezhnyk (Vinnytsia region) – Would you like to have a farmstead like your parents did? nykyfor maksymovych: Why would I need it? Tetiana Yakivna Poliesha-Novak (Cherkasy region) – Would you like it if the farmstead your parents owned were given back to you? tetiana yakivna: Of course, if this was done humanely. We lived well when Brezhnev was in office. Olha Mytrofanivna Reuta (Sumy region) – Would you like it if the farmstead your parents owned were given back to you? olha mytrofanivna: Yes, I would. My father worked very well in the kolhosp and went to agricultural expos, but he used to say, “If I had worked for myself, I would have been a millionaire.” My grandfather was a peasant and wanted to have land. You don’t have peasants now. I worked my whole life, and my sons grew up in the vegetable garden. They used to go to their grandfather’s home for the holidays and learned to do everything there. Our family is hard-working. There were all kinds of people in the village; some didn’t want to work. Mykhailo Antonovych Ustymenko (Poltava region) – Would you like to own land today?

mykhailo antonovych: If I were healthy, certainly. I know the land; I

used to plow it. Of course, I would work the land, but you have to have the tools to plow, sow, and transport the harvest. Why wouldn’t I? I’m used to the land, but the young people now don’t understand it. If you gave them land now, they wouldn’t be able to work it because of the kolhosp system. People were told what to do in the kolhosp. They were sent on assignments and the brigade chief and the head of the kolhosp were in charge. The worker knew that he would come to work and get an assignment. He wouldn’t be able to manage the land on his own. He must learn and get the tools. It’s a lot of hard work.

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Andrii Fedorovych Filatov (Kharkiv region) – Would you like to own land today? andrii fedorovych: Me? I’m eighty-six; what would I do with it? Two meters would be enough for me. – What if you were young and strong? andrii fedorovych: Oh! In this case, of course. – Would you leave the kolhosp and choose to live independently? andrii fedorovych: Of course!!! I would be independent, not following anyone’s orders, planting, selling, and raising what I want. Of course I would. Petro Vasylovych Khudyk (Poltava region) – Would you like to own land today? petro vasylovych: Yes, I would. I would work it on my own. It’s not interesting if I worked and others didn’t. I would work on my father’s land. They have a rice field now where our land used to be. Sava Ivanovych Chorny (Sumy region) – Would you like it if your father’s farmstead were given back to you?

sava ivanovych: I don’t need it anymore.

Ivan Ivanovych Shamrai (Poltava region) – Would you like to own land today? ivan ivanovych: No, I’ve learned my lessons. Today’s renters and farmers are fools; they are driving themselves to death. These farmers will later be the same as kulaky and they will be dispossessed. He will work day and night, trying hard to leave something for his children, and he will be dispossessed. Everything is as it was during nep [in the 1920s]. It will repeat itself. I tell the children that they will have to use a spade to dig the soil after all of this because everything will be taken away. You will spin yarn and weave again. All this will be destroyed.

th e de cl i n e of v i l l age c ivil so c iet y It was not necessary to include in the questionnaire the query “Would you like to return to the village culture of the 1920s?” because there were several questions on the change of culture in the 1930s. All but a very few interviewees indicated in several parts of their interviews that the social and cultural life before

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collectivization was far richer and more elaborate than that which replaced it under the kolhosp. They repeatedly detailed a complex civil society in the 1920s and contrasted that with the controlled society and culture of the 1930s. This control is seen by many to be the reason the cultural norms that existed before collectivization declined. The excerpts below are a small sample of the many responses on this topic. Only a few interviewees were asked direct questions regarding cultural life in the 1990s. When asked why her village club was closed in 1994, Oleksandra Posobilova stated that there was no director. By this she meant that if there were no external organizational effort, then there could not be any activity at the club. For example, she said that if there was no one to direct a choir, the choir would not exist – and in her locale, it did not. Civil society in this locale was so truncated and so suppressed that it did not even seem strange to this interviewee when song and dance of village origin – not to mention ritual – virtually did not exist outside the control mechanisms of the state. The situation described above by Posobilova derived from the control mechanisms put into place in the 1930s – a control over village culture which, to be implemented, required the destruction (or at least the partial destruction) of the peasant culture that existed before collectivization. This process required having control over people’s lives. Various interviewees depicted the kinds of control held over them as well as the several different aspects of civil society that were in decline in the 1930s. Maria Bulah noted that in some villages during the Holodomor virtually everyone died, while in other villages only a certain percentage succumbed, which varied from a smaller to larger number of residents. She survived only because her father [who apparently perished in the war] used to fish a great deal. He and his daughter made a broth from boiled fish, with nothing else in it, and it was this meal that saw them through “the hungry years.” Mykola Medvedenko noted that before collectivization most people lived peacefully with their neighbors because the ethic was “live as you please.” After collectivization, this ethic was largely gone. In its place was the kolhosp system, based mostly on forced labor. A kolhospnyk was ordered to work a certain minimum, and if he did not, he could encounter serious trouble. In the early 1930s (as Maria Bulah noted), this could mean even death. The control over people’s lives in these circumstances was virtually total. Andrii Zaiets noted that kolhosp activists could confiscate whatever they wanted from a family. He also remarked that weddings were truncated and dosvitky disappeared. This occurred simultaneously with the introduction of the club. These statements are significant for several reasons. Regarding confiscation, this kind of action is indicative, among other things, of a drastic transformation of the political structure. In the 1920s, before collectivization, this kind of confiscation was unthinkable not just in a moral or ethical sense, but because there was no vlada (government

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Cultural Life and Destruction

power) that had the right or the need to enact this. The authority that had earlier derived from the skhodky in the 1920s could not be systematically abused in the fashion of the 1930s zbory. Villagers in the 1920s controlled the political aspects of civil society, and any skhodky leader who would attempt this would immediately be replaced. I have no examples to illustrate this. It simply never occurred. Regarding the decline of ritual life, the observation by Andrii Zaiets that this occurred simultaneously with the rise of the village club is echoed in remarks made below by several interviewees. In other words, the repression of the ritual institutions of civil society occurred simultaneously with the building of a new Soviet culture, what I (and others) have called “the parallel culture” of the Stalinist period (Noll 1993; 1994b). The cultural norms from this period were very much in evidence still in the second decade of the twenty-first century. Yevdokia Dyshliuk described her youth as being a form of horror. At age seventeen, instead of thinking about boys, meeting with her friends, and gathering her dowry, she was struggling to stay alive, swollen from hunger yak slonka (“like an elephant”). She was fed once a day on the radhosp where she worked, but sometimes the food was so harsh it was difficult to eat (a bread from bran). There was literally nothing to eat at home, so her meals at the radhosp were the only nourishment she had. She said that the ritual institutions of the wedding sequence and dosvitky ceased to exist from about 1930 to 1935. People resumed the practice of getting married only in civil ceremonies in 1935, but dosvitky never recovered. They were replaced by the village club, which was located in one of the three churches that village activists expropriated. Her description of the way she survived the famine echoes remarks made by several interviewees in chapter 3: the state engineered the famine in order to drive villagers into the socialist agrarian system. Her description ties the decline of ritual life to the collectivization process and the famine. It is from this time that the decline begins, and it is from this time that some ritual institutions (here the dosvitky, the spring song cycle, etc.) disappear altogether, while others were greatly truncated (the winter song cycle, weddings). Again, they were replaced by the club and the “parallel culture” of the time. Rituals could be transformed or destroyed outright by means other than the “parallel culture.” The wedding sequence was one of the rituals that survived the 1930s, but it was cut back, as described by Varvara Chukhlib. She believed that it was shortened primarily because people were materially destitute to such an extent that they could no longer afford to mount elaborate weddings. Once again collectivization led directly to the shortening of this ritual institution, in this case through the impoverishment of the population, and the famine almost finished it off until it re-emerged just before the war. Maria Palahniuk noted that the ritual life of her village nearly ended. Before collectivization, nearly everyone took part in the singing that accompanied various

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rituals. After collectivization that changed. People became spectators who went to the village club to view music and dance groups who performed for them – the “collectives” (kolektyvy – a thoroughly Soviet concept) that were still in evidence in the 1990s when the fieldwork was being conducted (Sava Chorny and Natalia Semeniaka). In fact, they still exist in a more limited sense (there are far fewer of them) in the first two decades of the twenty-first century. The repertory heard in the club was strictly controlled, as related by Lidia Hrabovska and Mykola Sokyrko. Those who worked in the club as well as teachers were among the most heavily controlled people in the village. Lidia Hrabovska, a teacher, noted that not only could she not sing koliadky or propose anyone to sing them, she could also not paint pysanky (elaborately painted Easter eggs), on pain of being fired from her job. She pointed out that children did not know the ritual songs of their own locale and region. In their place, they were taught in school generic Ukrainian folk songs or pan-national Soviet songs. These were arrangements of songs that had originally been contrived by activists at narkomos and others. These generic folk songs over time came to be seen by large numbers of people as the actual repertory of village Ukraine, while the complex ritual songs of the pre-collectivization period were retained by only a handful of people in any given village – thus becoming a type of frozen layer of “folklore” that has been mined by researchers for decades. In most villages by the late 1990s, even these few knowledgeable people had passed away. At the time of writing, they were all gone. * * * Viewed from the perspective of the peasant, the period from about 1929 to the mid-1950s was extremely harsh. Up to the Second World War, millions of people died in prolonged and horrible ways: famine, dispossession and eviction, often leading to exposure to elements, forced labor camps, and epidemic diseases. Vocal resistance to the system was not merely futile, but deadly. The proof of this is not merely in the vast numbers who died, but also in that sooner or later virtually all (surviving) families had to participate in the socialist system on one level or another – on the kolhosp or radhosp, in the factory, or the bureaucracy. Collectivization and the consequent decline of civil society impoverished the village in crucial ways – both materially and non-materially. The diet was worse, clothing was worse, attitudes toward one’s neighbors deteriorated into suspicion and divisiveness, and thievery became acceptable – in some cases even necessary in order to support a family. Religious institutions in the village in many locales were either destroyed outright, or they were seriously compromised. The small, freeholding agriculturists of the 1920s lost not only their land but also most of their cultural, political, and commercial freedoms. Ritual life declined across the board: nearly every ritual occasion was either shortened or it disappeared.

752

Cultural Life and Destruction

With the suppression of the blind minstrels, the performing startsi, the bohomazy, and all religious instruction, the most important symbolic and philosophical teachings of moral life and much of Ukrainian national history were suppressed. Village politics became a sham and were no longer locally generated activities but controlled and manipulated by a powerful and distant super elite. In short, the political life of civil society was extinguished. The commercial institutions of civil society declined or, for some activities and most home industries, ceased altogether. It was far more difficult than it had been before collectivization to earn extra money through home industries and the sale of surplus produce on the bazaar.

int e rv i ew e xce rp ts : the dec line of c ivil so c iet y Maria Andriivna Bulakh (Poltava region) – Did many people die during the famine? maria andriivna: Many. Almost everyone died in Luchka and Trybok [likely local names of kutky] during the previous famine. Before my father went to war, he used to fish and I would make some broth out of it, without potatoes. We would drink this broth to survive. It was a horrible time. The rich were being dispossessed at the time for the kolhospy. – Were some people exiled? maria andriivna: Yes. They never came back. Lidia Serhiivna Hrabovska (Vinnytsia region) – What kinds of songs did the girls sing? lidia serhiivna: When we were in the Komsomol, we were not allowed to wear rings or earrings. This was considered whimsical. I loved to wear rings, earrings, or necklaces. This was in 1934. – When did you join the Komsomol? lidia serhiivna: In 1932. We didn’t sing at the time because it was out of fashion. We learned some Komsomol songs, but we didn’t go caroling. … – How long have you been painting Easter eggs? lidia serhiivna: I remember my mother doing it. When painting Easter eggs was permitted again, I remembered how to do it and started painting. I went by visual memory. – When was it forbidden? lidia serhiivna: When I worked in school. I was afraid to drop an eggshell on the floor. The children would report it to the director, and then

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during the meeting they would say that in such and such class such and such teacher lets students paint Easter eggs (halunky) and bring them to school. I didn’t paint eggs at home, or if I did, I tried to make sure no one would see any traces of it. It was punishable to the point of losing the job. This is art, and I love this work so much, but my whole life I was not allowed to do it. – Did your mother paint Easter eggs? lidia serhiivna: Yes, she did. I remember she used to melt wax in the oven. – What types of paints do you use? lidia serhiivna: I had a thick candle to melt wax. – Where would you get the ornaments? lidia serhiivna: From magazines. I don’t remember my mother’s ornaments. Hers were simple. – You mentioned the cultural programs for the school Olympiads [Olympiady]. Did you have to seek approval from some committee? lidia serhiivna: It was mandatory to have approval from the Komsomol and the raikom [district committee] of the party. – Did they cross out many songs? lidia serhiivna: All Ukrainian songs were removed, especially the folk songs. They wanted songs about the Komsomol and the party. – Did this contribute to the fact that the children did not know folk songs? lidia serhiivna: Of course. They could not sing folk songs at all. – How long did this last? lidia serhiivna: All the time. There were no Olympiads before the war. Everything was controlled. Yevdokia Mytrofanivna Dyshliuk (Cherkasy region) – Describe girls’ parties.

yevdokia mytrofanivna: I was seventeen and I was swollen from

famine in 1932–33. The year 1933 was the worst and in 1934 we got some bran delivered from somewhere; I don’t know where it was brought from, but we ate it because we were so terribly hungry. Later on – I don’t remember what year it was – it got better, and buns could be seen lying around on the ground by the road. Before, you couldn’t find a tiny piece of bread anywhere. When I worked in the radhosp, they would make some broth for us and give us two hundred grams of bread; it was so heavy and there was so little of it. In 1933, the rain helped out. We were eating dinner; there wasn’t enough to eat, just enough to take the edge off the hunger, and the rain clouds appeared, and [?], they didn’t touch it and went home. There was nothing to eat at home. – Then girls didn’t have any parties in 1932?

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Cultural Life and Destruction

yevdokia mytrofanivna: Oh, no. – What about 1934?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: Again, no. In 1935 or 1936 some got married. – Were there no weddings in 1934 and 1935?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: No. – What about 1932 or 1933?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: God forbid. It wasn’t on anyone’s mind. – Did the girls have any parties in 1936?

yevdokia mytrofanivna: No, we didn’t gather for parties, but we

would go to some club during the day or something like that. I didn’t go because we lived far from the village. The others went. – Did the new authorities build the club? yevdokia mytrofanivna: We had a church, so first they dismantled it; one person volunteered to climb up to remove the cross. The crosses were made of gold or silver, I don’t know; they were yellow. The rest remained, and the large church building was used for grain storage, later a club, and then a school. I used to go there to do construction work and carry bricks and construction clay. Andrii Solomonovych Zaiets (Kharkiv region) – Were there any weddings in the 1930s?

andrii solomonovych: People used to marry back then, too, but you

know, it’s not the same. – During the famine?

andrii solomonovych: They got married during the famine, married into the ground. People died often. – Were the weddings shorter in the 1930s? andrii solomonovych: Very different. – Were there any parties (vechornytsi)? andrii solomonovych: Everything was canceled. Back then, you had movie screenings or theater performances. – Did you go to these shows? andrii solomonovych: I was married; why would I go? I didn’t need this. I had my own show at home. I had two cows. No other person had cows at the time. The head of the village council would come and tell me to give or sell one cow to the kolhosp. I said, “I earned them with my labor, and I won’t give it to you. Maybe I’ll sell it, and maybe I won’t. You have no right to take it away from me.” In 1933 they took one cow from me, they stole it. If I had gone out, they would have killed me. I didn’t go out. …

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– Would people today want to live without the kolhosp? andrii solomonovych: No, they wouldn’t. It is necessary to work and take care of the land, but now they’ve become lazy, they don’t want to work. Now at 8 a.m. they are just arriving at work, the sun already up. By 9 a.m. there is still no tractor in the fields, none of the drivers have even left their households. When I went to work on the kolhosp, they marked when you arrived, the sun was not yet up. Today at 5 p.m., they are already leaving for home. Mykova Ivanovych Medvedenko (Cherkasy region) – How were the poor treated [before the kolhospy]? mykova ivanovych: There weren’t many scandals. The system at the time allowed everyone to live as they pleased. The kolhosp was different. If someone didn’t complete minimum requirements, they were questioned as to why they didn’t do it. Maria Vasylivna Palahniuk (Vinnytsia region) – Did the authorities forbid the old customs? maria vasylivna: For example, they didn’t say anything about St Andrew’s Day [13 December] because it was a folk holiday. But baptisms and carols were [forbidden]… The tradition of posivannia was acceptable. For baptism, people were summoned to school and questioned. Yustyna Petrivna would gather them, “Did you go to baptize anyone? Did you go caroling? Who sent you there?” She would start moralizing. I didn’t do this. During the occupation, my firstgraders would bring a holiday dinner to my house. I didn’t tell them not to go caroling; I was just silent. Oleksandra Ivanivna Posobilova (Cherkasy region) – Why is the club closed?

oleksandra ivanivna: Because the people are used to it being closed. No one is forcing them. There’s no one who can work with the choir; maybe someone would want to, but there are no singers. There are no young people, and the older ones don’t want to go. It’s been closed for a year. No one went to the club for a year, but they keep getting paid. The regional administration pays them, and they report that they do the work. Why?

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Cultural Life and Destruction

Natalia Hryhorivna Semeniaka (Cherkasy region) – Did you sing in every village corner [kutok]? natalia hryhorivna: Yes, we used to go to parties. If this was for a church choir, we would gather at the church. Then the activists organized all the girls for their purposes. They went there to sing those revolutionary songs. – When you were a young girl, did people sing in your corner of the village? natalia hryhorivna: Sure thing. In spring, people sang spring songs (vesnianky) in their respective corners. … – When did people stop singing? natalia hryhorivna: After the famine, they stopped gathering and weren’t so glad anymore. Before, they were cheerful, and after the famine – not anymore. … – How were the parties (dosvitky) in your village? natalia hryhorivna: Boys went to parties; they chose girls, and girls chose boys. They came into a farmstead’s lady’s house, and the light was on. On Fridays, we would embroider; it was forbidden to spin yarn. They would tell tales and jokes. – Who used to organize these parties? natalia hryhorivna: The girls and boys themselves. If a boy liked a girl, he would go there. Yosyp said, “You’ll be given to me in marriage.” There were many guys, and he was poor, but a good singer. When my husband (khaziain) came, he never left. Every night he would come from Burshtyn. This is how it was. It was fun; people used to sing. … – Did you go to parties after collectivization? natalia hryhorivna: No. At that time, the weaving and the parties stopped. … natalia hryhorivna: Everyone sang on the streets. I loved both the spring and the Easter songs; we would join hands around the church or go around the village and sing Easter songs. After the famine, you wouldn’t hear the songs. Sava Ivanovych Chorny (Sumy region) – Did the people sing in the evenings [before the kolhospy]? sava ivanovych: Yes, the young people sang – boys and girls. It was fun.

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– What kinds of songs did they sing? sava ivanovych: I’ve forgotten. – What about koliadky and shchedrivky? sava ivanovych: Yes, during the holidays. – When did this disappear? sava ivanovych: People would gather during kolhosp times, too. In particular, if they did a good job sowing, they would organize a good party in the evening with songs and dance. – Did they sing Russian songs? sava ivanovych: I don’t consider chastushky songs. They are just horseplay. Varvara Denysivna Chukhlib (Cherkasy region) – Were the weddings in the 1930s shorter than before? varvara denysivna: Of course, shorter. – Why was this? varvara denysivna: The custom was adjusted because people had nothing [money, food] to organize a week-long celebration with. A slaughtered pig would be enough for two days. Today, they probably don’t celebrate weddings on Saturdays, only on Sundays. – If you could compare, were weddings better before the famine? varvara denysivna: Of course. Back in the day a wedding was fun, and now it’s only one day. … – When did people sing and play outside more? varvara denysivna: Before the kolhospy. – After the kolhospy, did people gather in the streets to party? varvara denysivna: Little by little, but not like before.

Epilogue

When we were conducting fieldwork in villages in 1993–95, Ukraine was still in the midst of a financial and monetary crisis from which it would not exit until the stabilization of the currency in 1996. By the end of 1998 yet another serious monetary crisis was making life quite difficult for most people. The financial and political situation in the 1990s must have seemed almost hopeless to many of the elderly interviewees. They had already lived through several calamitous events – collectivization, famine, the Second World War, the wholesale deportations of certain population groups, the exile of family and friends. Each of these cascading disasters had turned their world upside down, had left them poorer than before, and had taken family members and neighbors. After each crisis, they had to build their lives anew. Each calamity had also impoverished their culture, and each in turn diminished the significance and range of activities of civil society in the village. The series of financial crises that followed Ukrainian independence in 1991 must have seemed to them to resemble the catastrophes of their past. Whatever savings they had were wiped out with the transition from Soviet to Ukrainian currency. Their pensions were not being paid, or only partially paid. Their adult children were having difficulty finding employment, and they (like other citizens) were not certain or confident of the political direction of their country. Many lacked the money to purchase even bread and had little hope that the situation would soon improve. Perhaps as important was the decline of the cultural world to which they had grown accustomed. The peasant culture of their youth had been nearly erased by Soviet power, particularly during the period of terror when wholesale evictions and deportations occurred, followed by collectivization and famine in the years immediately after. Now the sometimes shallow and often drab cultural world of the Soviet state to which they had grown habituated in the years since collectivization was also collapsing. The budynok kul’tury or klub (house of culture or club) had virtually ceased operating in most locales. There were few concerts and

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759

only an occasional dance or a rare film screening. The seasonal Soviet holidays were no longer being observed in most places. The officially organized social world of the Soviet Ukrainian village had crumbled. Elderly villagers had come to expect control and direction from state organizations regarding both agrarian policy and cultural matters, a control that was intrinsic to the structure which had largely replaced the peasant culture of the pre-collectivization era. Without it, many were helpless to do for themselves. They no longer knew how. They were old and tired, and this must have seemed like just another cross to bear. The kolhosp was a shell of its former self. Young people still living in the village were attempting to flee to small towns or to cities. The most extreme cases we witnessed were villages my wife and I visited in 1994 in the Kharkiv region, where scarcely anyone under the age of fifty lived – except for small children left with grandparents for the summer by their urban parents. Although a few young people in scattered locales (by no means everywhere) were leasing land from a kolhosp to work for their own profit, the actual amount of land under private cultivation by village entrepreneurs was quite small. More to the point of this study, the elderly could not directly participate in this. They no longer were physically capable. The near collapse of the kolhosp system was simply yet another catastrophe, one in a series that they had learned to live through. The roots of the 1990s crises in the Ukrainian kolhosp and culture are to be found in the 1930s and in the premises inherent to the system of socialist agrarian and cultural policy. This system required tight controls on all aspects of the economy and social life. The controls over agriculture and culture stemmed from the same sources and the same needs. In the 1990s, when the controls were relaxed, bedlam loomed over the village. A large percentage of the population was lost and unsure of itself, unable to contribute usefully to the reconstruction of the agricultural sector or to a renaissance of Ukrainian culture as there was no authentic peasant culture left to revive. What could the oldest living generation of villagers contribute, given that their birthright – an intricate culture that included a civil society – had long ago been brutally snatched away from them? How much could the subsequent Sovietized generations contribute, imbued as they were with the idea that theft was normal, that state representatives could destroy them on a whim, that the culture of their grandparents, and therefore the history of their nation, was tainted because it lacked “socialist content” or because it was “primitive”? The destruction of the peasant economic system went hand in hand with the destruction of peasant culture. The simultaneous construction of socialist agriculture and socialist culture not only changed the economic lives of villagers (drastically for the worse in the 1930s and 1940s) but also fundamentally altered their expectations for the future. It made a mockery of their former lives while forcing an acceptance of an alien culture and the destruction of their civil society.

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The Transformation of Civil Society

The culture that developed from the 1960s to the 1980s was very different from that found in the Ukrainian village before collectivization, and it differed also from the culture of the years of terror in the 1930s. Generalized pronouncements on the “peasantization of the cities” in the Soviet Union and similar academic arguments intend to show, among other things, a continuance of culture from the time before collectivization into the post-war period. I have wondered whether the historians, political scientists, and journalists of the ussr , as well as many of those from North America and Western Europe who utilize such terms, were describing the same land and people that I have researched. Peasant life before collectivization was very different from village life after 1930. The former culture was complex in ways that had no parallel in Soviet culture. This complexity was certainly not duplicated in Soviet cities. On the contrary, it was not possible for such complexity to exist there. Whatever influences the village migrants to Soviet cities brought with them, by the 1930s it was not peasant culture. The great migration from village to city had already started in the nineteenth century. It was continuous, even in times of war and terror. By 1939, peasant culture had already been largely destroyed. What the rural population brought to urban areas was not peasant culture in the sense understood here but a memory of something already lost, the shadow of a slip of an idea on the tip of the tongue. The destruction of the agricultural system of peasants was not required in order to industrialize the country – as so many researchers of the Soviet past have so often claimed. We cannot predict “what might have been” if collectivization and the famine had not taken place, although some very general remarks are possible. Although we cannot know what the smallholder’s response would have been to a gradually industrializing economy, the culture of peasants would not have declined as it did without collectivization, the famine, and the other repressive features of the terror of the 1930s. Cultural elements and figures such as the dosvitky, the spring songs, the bohomazy, the startsi, as well as religious institutions could have perhaps adapted to new social contexts. What would have happened if the smallholders of the past had been allowed to continue to live on and farm their land and retain their cultural norms, including religious belief and worship? Their culture and social order would of course have changed over time, as these structures do among all people throughout the world. However, one fact is indisputable: the totalitarian structure of Soviet power in the 1930s dissolved most of the institutions of civil society, ravaged the face of agrarian life, and inflicted massive death on the peasantry of Ukraine.

Appendices

a ppe n dix 1

Questionnaire, Fieldworkers, and Archivists

Before we began fieldwork in the spring of 1993, I asked each of the researchers in the project to comment on the questionnaire that I was drawing up. I requested their advice as to which questions might need to be taken off and what questions might be added. In relation to this, each fieldworker had a certain area of specialty. All had conducted fieldwork previously on their specialization. I asked a number of them to propose questions (from a few questions to about twenty) related to their field of specialization. For example, Serhiy Kryvenko added questions related to religion and the church. Lidia Lykhach added questions about bohomazy and iconography. Mykola and Halyna Kornienko provided questions about home industries. My contribution was questions about muzykanty and startsi as well as dosvitky. The questionnaire went through several revisions both before we began fieldwork, and to a more limited extent, even after fieldwork had begun. By the end of the project, each fieldworker did not have precisely the same questionnaire, although each did have the same basic questions concerning the most important aspects of life before collectivization and the Holodomor as well as about village life immediately after the years of terror. Questions on the famine were imbedded throughout in the questionnaire. However, my aim from the beginning was to frame the Holodomor in the context of what immediately preceded it and what immediately followed it, believing then, as I still do, that an understanding of the monstrous effectiveness of Soviet power’s ability to alter people’s lives and culture would be illustrated far more effectively when placed within a broader frame of reference. Most of the fieldworkers conducted interviews with about twenty to sixty elderly village residents. Mykola Kornienko worked with many more than that. Serhiy Kryvenko, who was primarily an archivist in this project, conducted only four interviews. The overall number of interviews was 438. The regional breakdown of the total number of interviews is this:

764

Appendix 1

Cherkasy region

161

Vinnytsia region

79

Kharkiv region

66

Poltava region

43

Sumy region

33

Chernihiv region

55

‘Kyiv region

1

In right bank regions (Cherkasy region, Vinnytsia region, Kyiv region), 271 interviews were conducted, or about 61.9% of the total number of interviews. In left bank regions (Kharvkiv region, Sumy region, Poltava region, Chernihiv region) 167 interviews were conducted, or about 38.1% of the total. Therefore approximately 60% of the interviews were conducted in central regions, and about 40% in eastern regions. Readers should note that western regions of Ukraine were a part of the Polish Republic from about 1921 to 1939, with Soviet forces entering that part of the country during the war. In those western regions of Ukraine, collectivization took place in the late 1940s, of course under Soviet power’s auspices. From the beginning, I ruled out trying to compare the process of collectivization between western regions and the rest of Ukraine, as it is really a study all unto itself and outside the bounds that I had set for the project. The number of interviews conducted by each fieldworker was this: Mykola Kornienko

97

Lidia Lykhach and Bill Noll

68

Antonina Palahniuk

57

Vladyslav Paskalenko

57

Halyna Kornienko

53

Larysa Novykova

33

Valentyna Borysenko

24

Vira Zaichenko

44

Serhiy Kryvenko

4

Tetiana Kyshnir

1

All interviews were recorded on cassette tapes, which are stored at the Center for the Study of Oral History and Culture in Kyiv. There were a few interviews

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765

where the fieldworker poorly provided basic information, such as the name of the person interviewed and these are not included in the totals from above. They were never transcribed. There were over 100 interviews that were not considered for inclusion in the book, for one or more of the following three reasons: 1 Some interviews simply duplicated others in the project 2 Several interviews were poorly conducted by the fieldworker with the result that the interviewee wandered off topic, and contain long fragments which did not pertain to the project 3 Some of the interviewees could not collect their thoughts and speak in a clear manner.

que sti onnaire Family before and after collectivization. Family relationships, structure of the family, orchards: 1 Given name, patronymic, last name; year and place of birth. 2 Was your childhood family large? What people did it consist of? 3 What was your maiden name (if applicable)? What were the maiden names of your mother, grandmother? Did women take their husband’s last name in the 1930s–1940s? 4 What was the name of the kutok in which lived your family? What were the names of other kutky in your village? 5 Did your entire family live in one house? 6 Before collectivization how was work structured: division of labor, was there a family specialization? 7 Who was considered the head of the family: father, mother (or grandparent, older brother, etc.) 8 Who held control of the money in your family: mother or father? 9 How many hectares of land was in your father’s family before collectivization? In his brother’s or sister’s holdings? How large a herd did they run? 10 At that time, virtually everyone in the village was engaged in agricultural production, and many had, in addition, a craft. What specialties were your parents engaged in, did they sell something? When they traveled by cart to market, did they take something with themselves to sell? 11 Did they sell something on the market after the famine/Holodomor? 12 Did they sell something in the 1940s–1950s? 13 Did your parents’ holdings include an orchard? What happened to it after the 1930s?

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14 How did your situation change with regard to land holdings and orchard in the 1950s? 15 To which category of land ownership did your family belong before collectivization: wealthy, middle income, poor? 16 Did your family carry authority in the village, did they come to you for advice? During collectivization, did your family carry authority? 17 Before collectivization, at what age did children begin to work? Did the age depend upon the economic standing of the family, was learning to work a part of your family upbringing? 18 Did anyone in your family hire out as labor outside of the family? 19 How were they paid? 20 What kind of relationship was there between the family doing the hiring and those who worked for them as hired labor? 21 For how long were people hired? Kolhosp 22 How did family relations change with the loss of their land? 23 What did family members begin to undertake then? 24 Did the authority of the main person in the family change, as compared to before collectivization? 25 At what age did children begin to work in the kolhosp? 26 Did the status of women change with the kolhosp? 27 Did everyone in your village join the kolhosp, and did they join from conviction or were they forced? 28 If they did not join the kolhosp, how did they make a living? 29 How did villagers regard those who did not accept the kolhosp? 30 Did the authorities evict and deport people? Did any of them return? Who? When? 31 Who conducted collectivization: your own village people or outsiders? 32 Who was crueler: your own or outsiders? 33 What did you receive from the kolhosp? 34 How did you make money to buy products/food? 35 How did you make money to buy clothing, footwear? 36 Did you make your clothes yourself, how exactly? 37 Was it common in the village for people to exchange goods from one another, rather than buying them; e.g., food products, clothing, footwear? 38 Was theft from the kolhosp regarded as normal? How did people react to this? 39 Was such theft prosecuted? 40 How were such people punished?

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41 Was there, in your opinion, a feeling of worry for the collective property? If so, when did it start? 42 How did people regard concepts such as: mine – yours – ours – everyone’s; this before collectivization and after? 43 Would you want to have now a farmstead like your parents had? 44 If yes, would you be able to successfully manage it? 45 If no, then why? 46 What was the vision for, the attitude toward, the land for your parents; what is it for you? 47 Was attendance mandatory to the zbory (“gatherings, sometimes elections”) in the kolhosp years? What happened if someone did not attend? Village Community before Collectivization 48 Who in the village was the main person with the most authority? 49 Was this one person, or were there several? 50 What role in the community life of the village did the priest play, the village starosta, the church starosta? 51 What was the extent of authority for each of them? 52 What decisions was each of them responsible for as regards village community life? 53 What was the highest organ of village authority? 54 What occurred at the skhodky? 55 Where did they occur? 56 Did women take part in them? 57 Did all members of the community have the same rights, among others the right to vote? 58 Who had the most authority in the village, besides those discussed above? 59 Was it normal, that the wealthy khaziaii held more authority? 60 Were there many khaziaii in your village? 61 Were there families with many children? 62 What was regarded as a large land holding? 63 Who considered themselves “poor”? 64 Was there union between the poor and the wealthy? 65 Did they frequently associate with one another? 66 Did they retain relations with one another? Village Community after Collectivization 67 Who was the main person, the one with the most authority? 68 Was that one person, or were there several people?

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69 What role in the community life of the village did the priest play, the village starosta, the church starosta? 70 What was the highest organ of village authority? 71 Did people still gather for the skhodky? 72 Where did they take place? 73 Did women take part in these? 74 Did all members of the community have the same rights? 75 Who held the highest authority in the village? 76 Who was regarded as “poor”? 77 Were the poor ignored? 78 Did people sympathize with the plight of the poor? 79 Was there union between the poor and the wealthy? 80 Did they frequently associate with one another? 81 Did they retain relations with one another? 82 Were there outsiders [not neighbors] who were in positions of power in the village? 83 From where did those people come? 84 Did villagers frequently associate with them? 85 Did they retain relations with one another? 86–110 (your choice – if you would like, add here questions pertaining to the subjects: family, kolhosp, collectivization). Vocal Music Divisions, kutok, dosvitky 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121

How did you name the various voices (first, second or lower, higher, or other)? How many voices were common in songs in your village? Did the same number of voices take part in all of the kutky? Which kutok was regarded as having the best singers in your youth? Did singing pass from one kutok to another? Was there competition among the kutky as to vocal music? Were there women who were regarded by people as the best singers? Were they specially invited to sing at weddings? Why? Were they given something for their participation? Did this change during collectivization? Did your village have dosvitky or vechornytsi? How were they called in your village? 122 Who organized them? What did girls do there, what did boys do? 123 What did the authorities say about these gatherings after collectivization? What happened to them? 124 What other specializations were there in your village for women specialists: cooks, singers at funerals? How many of them were in your village?

Questionnaire, Fieldworkers, and Archivists

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125 Were these women specialists paid for their services? What were they given, other than cash? Instrumental Ensembles, Muzykanty, Shynok, the Club 126 What instruments were played at weddings in the 1920s? 127 What instruments were played at weddings in the time of your father, your grandparents? 128 How much did village ensemble musicians earn from a wedding? When did people pay: before the wedding, during it, or after it? 129 Who taught you how to play and what was the nature of the learning process? 130 Were there family ensembles in your village? 131 Was there a shynok? 132 Who was the owner? 133 Did muzykanty sometimes perform in the shynok? On what occasions? 134 Did part of the wedding take place in the shynok? What part? 135 What happened to the shynok after collectivization? 136 In the 1920s–1930s did they play in the club? What repertory? What instrumentation? 137 Was there a director of the ensemble? What did he do: teach you to play certain melodies? How did he teach you: from music notation or by ear? 138 When the ensemble played in the club, on which holidays did it occur? 139 Are there today concerts given at the club? 140 Was it required for you to play/sing at the club for the zbory? What would happen if someone declined to take part in such a performance? Startsi Did you see startsi? Where? What did they perform? What kinds of songs did they sing? Where did they normally perform? Were there startsi who did not play an instrument, but only sang? Were startsi only men, or were there women starchykhy as well? What kinds of songs did the women starchykhy perform? Where were they when they sang on the street? Were there startsi who traveled in pairs – a male being guided by a female, or two startsi together? 149 Were there startsi who performed on the kobza, lira or harmonia? What were these instruments called in your village? 150 Were all of them without sight?

141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148

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151 Were there any startsi from your village? What were their names? Do they still have relatives living in your village? 152 How were startsi regarded in your family? 153 How were startsi regarded in your village? 154 Was it considered to be a sin to offend a starets’? 155 Did startsi have their own family? When they sang on the street, were they there alone? 156 How were startsi regarded by the authorities after collectivization? 157 When did startsi disappear from your region? What happened to them? 158 Were there startsi after World War Two? Who were those who sang with no instrumental accompaniment? What instrument? 159 Did banduristy (not startsi) come to your village to perform concerts? 160 Where did they perform? 161 What did they perform? 162 Were there banduristy (not startsi) from your village or from your region? What were their names, and did any of their relatives live in your village? 163 What happened to them after collectivization? Church, Religious Songs 164 Is there a church in your village? If not, when was it destroyed? 165 After the church was destroyed, and in general in the 1930s, who sang at funerals? Where did they sing and what did they sing? 166 Did you sing Christmas carols in the 30s–40–50s? Why not? Did local party people say something to you about that? What exactly did they say? 167 Did people back in the day include during the wedding sequence praise sayings or songs about Jesus Christ? If not, why not? Did the authorities say something about this? Changes in Rituals: Weddings, Baptisms 168 Did weddings in the 1930s become shorter in length of time, than those of today? Why? 169 How would you compare weddings before and after the famine? 170 Do you remember the “red” weddings that took place in the village in the 1920s? How did they occur? 171 In your childhood, did relatives of the bride and groom gather at weddings? 172 Was it required to send matchmakers to the prospective bride and her family before the wedding? Who were the matchmakers? 173 Was a dowry prepared for the wedding?

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174 Was it mandatory that the bride take the last name of the groom? 175 Did it occur that relatives would marry one another (e.g., first cousins, or uncle and niece)? 176 Were children baptized in the 1920s? Who performed the ceremony? Family and State Authority 177 Were there divorces in village families? What did that look like? 178 Under what circumstances was either a man or a woman allowed to marry for the second time? Under what circumstances did a wedding not take place? 179 Was it mandatory that children born to a woman from her first husband, take on the last name of her new (second) husband? 180 How did the village regard those children who were born out-of-wedlock? 181 When did pre-schools/nurseries appear in your village? Who was its director? 182 Who was in charge of looking after the elderly parents? With whom did they live out their life? 183 Where were they looked after? How did people take care of the deceased? 184 Who received land, tools, draft animals, etc. after the death of father? How was property divided after the death of father? 185 Did people help build houses for someone in the larger family? 186 Did boys and girls go to others for seasonal work? 187 Did someone from your family take part in the revolution and the civil wars? 188 Did they return to the village after the wars? 189 Did people sing to their children/grandchildren revolutionary songs? In what language? 190 Did many members of your family leave and go to work in cities? Where did they find work (what kinds of business concerns)? Did they return to the village later? 191 Did someone in your family become a party activist; did they become the head of the kolhosp? Ritual Songs (Wedding, Christmas Carols, etc.) 192 From whom did you learn to sing: grandmother, mother or the village girls? 193 When did the young spend more time meeting on the street: before the kolhosp or in the 1930s? 194 Do you feel that the songs of your village were similar to those of neighboring villages?

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195 If the answer is that the songs were different, in what ways: 1. other texts; 2. were the melodies different; 3. a different presentation of the performance, adding voices, for example? 196 Were there in your village songs associated with the holidays: spring songs, rusal’ni (“mermaids”), Ivana Kupalo? 197 Did you take part in these rituals in the 1930s? Had you heard of their existence from older people, from your grandmother, mother, older sister? 198 If the elderly still rendered these rituals and songs, when did they stop rendering them: were they no longer of interest to them, or did the authorities forbid them? 199 If you still remember the spring songs, the mermaid songs, the kupalo songs, until what approximate time were they still rendered in your village? 200 If you remember the spring songs, then what type is most widely rendered in your village: calling songs, circle dances, joking songs? 201 Did they render the circle dance; did they lead a goat around – “And the goat jumps into the garden”? 202 Which of the ritual songs were most appealing to you, which did you find to be the prettiest: spring songs, kupalo, shchedrivky (sung on New Year’s Day), Christmas carols, or did you prefer love songs? 203 Which of these songs were looked upon favorably by village authorities: directors of the kolhosp, the club “culture” workers; and which of them were neglected or forbidden? 204 Those songs in the 1930s (or even 1920s), such as the Christian Christmas carols, and the greeting songs of the New Year’s celebrations, specifically shchedrivky, were they ignored or forbidden by the authorities? 205 Did people sing the Christmas carols just among family or relatives after they had been cracked down on? 206 In your village were there separate bands for girls and boys when singing? 207 If men and women sang together, which songs was that? Was that a custom of old? 208 Did the men’s bands sing Chumak songs, or Cossack songs? Or was it forbidden to recall them, to sing them? 209 Why is it that today it is primarily women who remember songs in general? 210 In your band of singers, were there only people from your family (husband, brothers, sisters), or were there also people from other families? 211 In your village in the 1920s and 1930s (and even later), did people render chastushky? Or were they called by a different name? 212 If chastushky were sung, in which language: Russian or Ukrainian? 213 Did people dance to the music of chastushky? What kind of instrumental accompaniment was common: harmonia, fiddle or some other instrument?

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Home Industries – Pottery and Potters 214 When and in what manner did village pottery production cease? 215 Were dishes produced at home in your village? 216 Did potters work at their craft over many years or only temporarily, and was this in the spare time, apart from their main work occupation? What did this look like in the 1920s? What did it look like in the 1930s after the kolhosp was set up? 217 How many artisans were there in the old village, at the beginning of the 1900s, in the 1920s, 1930s, 1950s? 218 How many potters are working at the present time? If there are no potters today, when did they disappear? Why? 219 Were home industries banned by local authorities? When did this happen? 220 Were there instances when village artisans were suppressed and evicted and sent away? 221 Did they force village potters during collectivization to work in the kolhosp pottery shops? 222 In what manner were local cells of potters affected by the famine/ Holodomor in 1932–1933? 223 Were potters connected to organizations such as the Union of Artists, artists’ organizations, regional arts and sciences centers of folk culture? When did such connections appear? 224 What kind of clay was used in the local potters’ guild? What different kinds of clay were used by local potters? What names did they call these different kinds of clay? 225 How deep below the surface was potters’ clay? 226 Who and in what season was potters’ clay acquired? 227 Describe the system for mixing clay. 228 What sort of structure did the local potter’s band have? How were the separate parts of the band called? 229 Describe the work place of a potter: the wheel, the work bench, placement weights, the wire, the knife. 230 Describe the production of various potter’s work. 231 Where was the clay left to dry after production: in winter, in summer? 232 By whom and when was your product ornamented with painted designs? 233 What instrument was used to do the ornamenting? 234 What sorts of ornaments appeared and what sorts disappeared with the coming of Soviet power? 235 Did you see a gradual decline in the ornamentation of local pottery products? 236 Describe the technological production of the watering and coating of the clay products.

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237 What type of pottery kiln used to be in your locality? Describe its outer and inner appearance. 238 How much dishware could be fitted into one kiln? 239 How much of, and what kind of wood was required in order to fire one kiln, and how long would you fire the items in the stove? 240 To what place did you take your pottery production in order to sell it? 241 What kinds of taxes were levelled on potters: in the 1920s, 1930s, 1950s, and who were the people leveling and collecting these taxes? Other Home Industries 242 What other kinds of specialists were there in the village before collectivization? 243 After collectivization, did Soviet power regard their work and earnings favorably? 244 How did local authority regard these people? 245 For example, did they slap large amounts taxes on money earned in this manner? 246–72 (your choice – if you would so like, you may add questions to the theme: home industries). Language 273 What was the ethnic composition of your village? Were there Jews? How many? Russians? How many? Poles? How many? 274 What language of instruction was utilized in your school? 275 What was the language used for church sermons? 276 Was it possible to purchase Ukrainian language books and newspapers in the 1920s? In the 1930s? In the 1940s? 277 Did Russians, Jews, and Poles who lived in your village speak the Ukrainian language? Bohomazy – Their Art and Their Belief, in Connection with Icons 278 Were there painters in your village, the bohomazy, who painted icons and other things? 279 Did these bohomazy work in connection with a church? With whom? 280 Did the bohomaz have pupils? Did he have his own workshop? If he did have a workshop, did his children assist him, did his wife? 281 What would they do, as assistance for him? 282 For whom did the bohomaz create icons?

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283 Would a bohomaz paint both for the people and for the church? 284 Did the bohomaz sell his work? If not, then who did this? 285 How much would a pair of icons cost? What would be the cost of an icon on wood? On canvas? 286 Did the price vary with the type of icon, painted on wood? 287 Did it sometimes happen that an icon wasn’t sold for cash, but exchanged for something else? For example, what? 288 Do you remember how the bohomaz painted his icons: a) What kind of paint did he use? Did he apply gilding? b) What kind of wood did he use to paint his icons? c) Who wove the canvas for icons? d) Where did he dry his boards or canvas, where were they stored? 289 Did a bohomaz have his own homestead: land, a house, draft animals? Bohomazy – Beliefs Associated with Their Work 290 How many icons would normally be in someone’s house? 291 Can you tell us the names of some of those with icons at home? 292 How were icons arranged in a house? Were rushnyky attached to all icons? Why did people do this? 293 Why were small lamps mounted on the wall near the icons? 294 Were icons placed on the couch? 295 When going into military service, were inductees escorted with an icon? 296 Did it happen that in someone’s house, people would especially pray to a particular icon; and they would call it the “intercessor”? Why was their attention so fixed to that particular icon? 297 Did it sometimes happen that if the “intercessor” did not help, they would address themselves to the icon disrespectfully, growing angry with it and even swearing at it? Did they give orders to the icon? 298 Did it happen, that when in church people would choose “their” icons, and that they prayed primarily to them, and asked them to intercede on their behalf? 299 Did people feel that the souls of the dead lived in the iconostasis? 300 How did people act around old icons? 301 Did people hang icons during fasting days, or during dancing and singing? 302 What would people say when someone would get angry in front of the icons? 303 How and why would one punish his own icon? 304 To whom was it required to pray, when: a) something conceived of came true; b) a child begins to walk for the first time;

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c) when a child is safely born; d) when a person is cured of blindness; e) when a fever breaks; f) to ask for rain to end a drought; g) when someone dies without repentance; h) when you avert a fire from the house? 305 Do you remember the khresni khody (“processions behind a raised cross”)? Religious Politics of Soviet Power, Changes with Regard to Churches 306 In what ways did Soviet power investigate people with ties to the church: the priest, the deacon or deacons, bohomazy, the gilders of icons (especially those in frames), the members of the church choir? 307 Did the authorities forbid outdoor processions behind a raised cross and supplicatory services? 308 What did the struggle look like in the battle to save churches and monasteries? 309 What happened to those who worked or performed services for religious organizations and orders after collectivization? 310–20 Each fieldworker may, if he or she chooses to do so, add their questions to the themes: wedding, expressive culture and religious policy.

a ppe n dix 2

List of Interviewees

Family name, given name, patronymic

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Andriiash Uliana Hryhorivna

1912

Sumy

Krovne, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Andriienko Pavlo Ievtukhovych (with wife Riabukha A.I.)

1918

Kharkiv

Zrubanka, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Antonenko Hanna 1908 Mykhailivna

Chernihiv

Voloskivtsi, Mena

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Apilat Iakiv Herasymovych

1916

Cherkasy

Hrushkivka, Chyhyryn

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Babenko Nina Iakivna

1924

Cherkasy

Popivka, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Babenko Stepan Havrylovych

1922

Cherkasy

Khreshchatyk, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Bahats’ka Hanna Iakivna

1922

Kharkiv

Verhniy Burluk, Pechenihy

Larysa Novykova

Bahrii Iavdokha Frezonivna

1905

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Antonina Sharhorod; Palahniuk born Hontivka, Mohyliv-Podilskyi

Balyn Olena Pavlivna

XXXX

Sumy

Rudkivka, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko (with Varvara Danylova)

Barbaziuk Vasyl Savovych

1923

Vinnytsia

Berezivka, Chernivtsi

Antonina Palahniuk

Barbaziuk Tetiana Vasylivna

1909

Vinnytsia

Berezivka, Chernivtsi

Antonina Palahniuk

Bazyk Paraska Fedorivna

1921

Cherkasy

Trushivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

778 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Berdnyk Ivan Fedorovych

1930

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Bezkorovaina Paraska Mytrofanivna

1912

Cherkasy

Zatyshok, Uman

Halyna Korniienko

Bezrodnia Halyna Zakharivna

1911

Poltava

Hradysk, Hlobyno Halyna Korniienko

Bibik Ivan Ivanovych

1925

Chernihiv

Oleshnia, Ripky

Vira Zaichenko

Bida Daryna Panasivna

1909

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Bila Marfa Oleksiivna

1907

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Bilenka Darka Zakharivna

1916

Vinnytsia

Anopil, Tulchyn

Antonina Palahniuk

Biletsky Hnat Ivanovych

1902

Cherkasy

Ivanivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Bilous Hryhoriy Petrovych

1911

Cherkasy

Pastyrske, Smila

Halyna Korniienko

Bilous Ievhenia Arsentivna

1922

Cherkasy

Pastyrske, Smila

Halyna Korniienko

Bohuslavets 1893 Iavdokha Ivanivna

Cherkasy

Iasnoziria, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Boiko Frosyna Ohrimivna

1915

Kharkiv

Kozacha Lopan, Derhachi

Larysa Novikova

Boiko Halyna Savivna

XXXX

Vinnytsia

Anopil, Tulchyn

Antonina Palahniuk

Bondarenko Ievdokia Petrivna

1920

Kharkiv

Zrubanka, Zolochiv; born Svitlychne, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Bondarenko Maria Oleksandrivna

1926

Cherkasy

Huta, Kaniv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Borenko Danylo Petrovych

1900

Sumy

Iunakivka, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Briukhovetsky Iakiv Mykhailovych

1931

Cherkasy

Holovkivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

779

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Buhai Ivan Ivanovych (with wife Sysa N. M.)

1917

Kharkiv

Buhaii, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Buhai Nina Mykolaivna

1921

Kharkiv

Buhaii, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Bukhaiova Hanna Iukhymivna

1914

Kharkiv

Stara Hnylytsia, Chuhuiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Bulah Maria Andriivna

1903

Poltava

Matskivtsi, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Buriak Frosyna Andriivna

1913

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Burysichenko Liudmyla Kostiantynivna

1922

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Buslyk Motria Hryhorivna

1907

Poltava

Velyka Krucha, Pyriatyn

Halyna Korniienko

Bychenko Olha Andriivna

1912

Poltava

Velyka Krucha, Pyriatyn

Halyna Korniienko

Cheheryn Hanna Onufriivna

1906

Vinnytsia

Pysarivka, Kalynivka

Valentyna Borysenko

Chernetska Anastasia Vasylivna

1906

Kharkiv

Mykolske, Velyky Burluk

Larysa Novykova

Chornobai Oksana Mykhailivna

1915

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Chorny Sava Ivanovych

1908

Sumy

Nova Sich, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Chub Antin Antonovych

1929

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Chub Fedora Oksentiivna

1914

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Chub Olha Tymofiivna

1917

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Chuchupak Dmytro Mykhailovych

1912

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Vladyslav Paskalenko

780 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Chuhlib Maria Semenivna

1909

Cherkasy

Vilshana, Horodysche

Halyna Korniienko

Chuhlib Varvara Denysivna

1915

Cherkasy

Vilshana, Horodysche

Halyna Korniienko

Chuiko Hanna Trokhymivna

1911

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Chumak Hanna Semenivna

1903

Cherkasy

Sofiivka, Cherkasy Mykola Korniienko

Chumak Onysia Fedorivna

1911

Cherkasy

Sofiivka, Cherkasy Mykola Korniienko

Danylova Varvara (with Balyn Olena)

Xxxx

Sumy

Rudmivka, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Datsiuk Nadia Ivanivna

1931

Vinnytsia

Selysche, Vinnytsia

Antonina Palahniuk

Dazhun Onysia Khomivna

1910

Cherkasy

Popivka, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Demchenko Marko Mykolaiovych

1915

Sumy

Vasylivka, Trostianets

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Demianenko Ivan Veremiiovych

1911

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Demianenko Oksana Iakivna

1929

Cherkasy

Trushivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Demianenko 1923 Pavlo Matviiovych

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Diachenko Mykhailo Antonovych

1927

Cherkasy

Zarubentsi, Kaniv

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Dolychenko Mykola Serhiiovych

1958

Vinnytsia

Don Palazhka Petrivna

1914

Cherkasy

Subotiv, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Doroshenko Oleksandra Varfolomiivna

1910

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Dotsenko Andriy 1910 Hryhorovych

Sumy

Khotin, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Fedchenko 1902 Kylyna Markivna

Cherkasy

Trushivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Valentyna Borysenko

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

781

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Fesenko Vira Oleksandrivna

1910

Kharkiv

Sharivka, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

Filatov Andriy Fedorovych (with wife Starikova M.M.)

1909

Kharkiv

Piatnytske, Pechenihy

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Firman Antonina Sevastiianivna

1909

Vinnytsia

Kalytynka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Halushchenko Antonina Artemivna

1918

Poltava

Borysy, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Halushka Fedosiy Hryhorovych

1930

Cherkasy

Starosillia, Horodysche

Halyna Korniienko

Hanzha Tetiana Matviivna

1912

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Hatko Halyna Ivanivna

1892

Kharkiv

Cherkasy Bishkin, Zmiiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Hatsko Fedora Yukhivna

1915

Kharkiv

Cherkasy Bishkin, Zmiiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Havrylyshyn 1919 Petro Dmytrovych

Vinnytsia

Dzhuryn, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Heraschenko Olha Mykhailivna (with father Ihnatenko M.Ie.)

1929

Cherkasy

Krutky, Chornobai

Mykola Korniienko

Herasymenko Vasyl Kuzmovych

1937

Cherkasy

Berezniak, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Hladka Hanna Hnativna

1912

Cherkasy

Mliiv, Horodysche Mykola Korniienko

Hnatiuk Anastasia 1914 Stepanivna

Vinnytsia

Pavlivka, Kalynivka

Valentyna Borysenko

Hnidash Maria Zakharivna

1924

Cherkasy

Heronymivka, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Holovko Iefrosynia Stepanivna

1918

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Holub Maria Fedorivna

1923

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Honcharenko Hanna Petrivna

1915

Kharkiv

Ohultsi, Valky

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

782 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Honcharova-Boka 1922 Paraska Vasylivna

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Hrabovska Lidia Serhiivna

1915

Vinnytsia

Murovani Kurylivtsi

Valentyna Borysenko

Hrechka Melania Pavlivna

1908

Cherkasy

Shelepuhy, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Hrim Maksym Davydovych

1910

Poltava

Hannivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Kornienko

Hrushivska Sofia Tymofiivna

1912

Cherkasy

Shevchenkove, Zvenyhorodka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Hrytsenko Halyna 1930 Pylypivna

Kharkiv

Novy Verchyk, Valky

Larysa Novykova

Hrytsyna Motria Fedorivna

1906

Sumy

Hrytsakivka, Bilopillia

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Huhlia Anton Zakharovych

1911

Cherkasy

Tashlyk, Talne

Serhiy Kryvenko

Husonka Iavdokha Artemivna

1911

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Hykova Pestyna Hryhorivna

1908

Vinnytsia

Anatopil, Tulchyn

Antonina Palahniuk

Hyrych Raisa Fedorivna

1915

Kharkiv

Velyka Lykhivka, Valky

Larysa Novykova

Iakobchuk Nina Ustynivna

1925

Cherkasy

Zatyshok, Uman

Halyna Korniienko

Iaremaka Kateryna Kupriianivna

1907

Cherkasy

Trushivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Iaroshenko Varvara Dmytrivna

1909

Kharkiv

Ryzhov, Kharkiv

Larysa Novykova

Iatsenko Makar Maksymovych

1925

Cherkasy

Heronymivka, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Iavdoshenko Vasyl Arsenovych

1922

Poltava

Povstyn, Pyriatyn

Halyna Korniienko

Ieshchenko Maria Opanasivna

1913

Chernihiv

Staryi Bilousov, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Ievdokimova Klavdia Fedorivna

1926

Kharkiv

Pisochyn, Kharkiv

Larysa Novykova

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

783

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Ihnatiuk Ivan Mykhailovych (with Voropay S.I.)

1919

Cherkasy

Krutky, Chornobai

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Ihnatenko Mykhailo Ievdokymovych (with daughter Harashchenko O.M)

1902

Cherkasy

Krutky, Chornobai

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Ilchenko Valentyna Ivanivna

1913

Vinnytsia

Vinnystia born Khyzhyntsi, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Ilchenko Ivan Dmytrovych

1906

Kharkiv

Zamiske, Valky

Larysa Novykova

Ilchenko-Zaika Antonina Karpivna

1909

Kharkiv

Bovarii, Kharkiv

Larysa Novykova

Ionenko Fedir Samsonovych

1919

Cherkasy

Starosillia, Horodysche

Mykola Korniienko

Ionenko Semen Kharytonovych

1905

Cherkasy

Starosillia, Horodysche

Mykola Korniienko

Iuschenko Vasyl Kharytonovych

1905

Chernihiv

Zhukotky, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Ivanchenko Mykhailo Hryhorovych

1923

Cherkasy

Husakove, Zvenyhorodka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Kahan Zinaida Osypivna

1914

Chernihiv

Kozerohy, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Kalashnyk Anastasia Trokhymivna

1907

Kharkiv

Cherkasky Bishkin, Zmiiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Kalchenko Khivria Frolivna

1911

Cherkasy

Karashyna, KorsunShevchenkivsky

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kalinichenko Nina Fedotivna

1910

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Kaniuka Sofia Iakivna (with Khymych N.H.)

1918

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Karakai Fedora Terentiivna

1903

Cherkasy

Starosillia, Horodysche

Mykola Korniienko

784 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Karpenko Maria Fedorivna

1927

Cherkasy

Popivka, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Karpiuk Ivan Fedorovych

1930

Cherkasy

Pastyrske, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Kharchenko Pylyp 1911 Kuzmych

Sumy

Krovne, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kharchenko Tetiana Iakivna

1908

Kharkiv

Pechenihy

Larysa Novykova

Kharina Odarka Herasymivna

1910

Kharkiv

Pisochyn, Kharkiv Larysa Novykova

Khomenko Hanna 1908 Hryhorivna

Cherkasy

Mliiv, Horodysche Mykola Korniienko

Khrapko Tetiana Mykolaivna

xxxx

Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Khudyk Ivan Pavlovych

1920

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Khudyk Petro Vasylovych

1909

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Khudyk Ustyna Dmytrivna (with son Khudyk I.P.)

1897

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Khymych Nadia Havrylivna (with Kaniuka S.I.)

1918

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Kindratenko Paraskeva Trokhymivna

1909

Kharkiv

Mar’iane, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

Kitliar Sekleta Pylypivna

1914

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Kitliar Tetiana Ivanivna

1907

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Klanovets Liubov Stepanivna

1924

Chernihiv

Moskali, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Klishchuk Iuhyna Oleksandrivna

1910

Vinnytsia

Berezivka, Chenivtsi

Antonina Palahniuk

Kliuchko Oksana 1911 Ivanivna

Cherkasy

Khreschatyk, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Klymenko Halyna Ivanivna

1915

Cherkasy

Borovykove, Zvenyhorodka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Kobylnyk Ivan Savovych

1910

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

785

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

1911

Cherkasy

Medvedivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Kolobotska Oliana 1912 Kyrylivna

Cherkasy

Hnylets, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Komashkova Anastasia Samsonivna

1915

Cherkasy

Popivka, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Kondratenko Olena Tymofiivna

1906

Kharkiv

Sharivka, Larysa Novykova Bohodukhiv; born Khrushchova Mykytivka, Bohodukhiv

Konovalchuk Hanna Fedorivna

1928

Vinnytsia

Kalytynka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Konovalchuk Pylyp Hryhorovych

1912

Vinnytsia

Polutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Kononenko Kharytyna Musiivna

1908

Cherkasy

Dumantsi, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Korin’ Paraska Saveliivna

1920

Cherkasy

Zolotonoshka, Drabiv

Mykola Korniienko

Korniuk Ivan Fedorovych

1930

Cherkasy

Pastyrske, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Korobka Ivan Mykytovych

1918

Poltava

Hradysk, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Kosiachenko Maria Oleksandrivna

1942

Cherkasy

Hnylets, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Kosovska Polina Hryhorivna

1922

Vinnytsia

Vedmezhe Antonina Vushko, Vinnytsia Palahniuk

Kotliar Hryhoriy Semenovych

1907

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Koval Maria Hordiivna

1910

Cherkasy

Heronymivka, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Kovalenko Iuhyna 1925 Naumivna

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Kovalenko Kost Petrovych

1909

Sumy

Myropillia, Krasnopillia

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kovalenko Natalka Stepanivna

1912

Sumy

Velyky Bobryk, Krasnopillia

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kolisnyk Iosyp Ievhenovych

786 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Kovbasenko Stepanyda Ulianivna

1903

Cherkasy

Moryntsi, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Kozar Maria Pylypivna

1921

Kharkiv

Sharivka, Larysa Novykova Bohodukhiv; born Vysokopillia, Valky

Kozel Mykhailo Fedorovych

1901

Chernihiv

Brusyliv, Chernihiv

Kozub Trokhym Savovych

1910

Cherkasy

Mliiv, Horodysche Mykola Korniienko

Kozuliak Halyna Afanasivna

1910

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Kramarchuk Halyna Mykolaivna

1925

Vinnytsia

Volodiivtsi, Chernivtsi

Antonina Palahniuk

Kravchenko Fedir Yosypovych

1915

Kharkiv

Zrubanka, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Kravchenko Hryhoriy Pylypovych

1913

Poltava

Matskova Luchka, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Kravchenko Iaryna Maksymivna

1924

Poltava

Matskova Luchka, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Kravchenko Natalia Stepanivna

1912

Sumy

Velyky Bobryn, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kravchenko Tetiana Semenivna

xxxx

Kyiv

PereiaslavKhmelnytsky; born Zarubentsi, Kaniv

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kravchuk Solomia 1909 Pylypivna

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Kravchuk Vasylyna Stepanivna

1907

Cherkasy

Ryzyno, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Kryvchenko Odarka Iakivna

1903

Poltava

Mats’kivtsi, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Kryvonis Kostiantyn Hryhorovych

1915

Sumy

Kyianytsia, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Vira Zaichenko

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

787

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Kryvonos Oleksandra Kharytonivna

1912

Cherkasy

Zatyshok, Uman

Halyna Korniienko

Kryvoruchko Iavdokha Onufriivna

1914

Vinnytsia

Anopil’, Tulchyn

Antonina Palahniuk

Kulchytska Ievhenia Pylypivna

1921

Vinnystia

Mali Khutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Kulyk Vasyl Savovych

1912

Sumy

Mezhyrich, Lebedyn

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kurasa Kateryna Dmytrivna

1954

Cherkasy

Khalaiidova

Halyna Korniienko

Kurylo Kateryna Fedorivna

1912

Poltava

Hannivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Kushnir Petro Ivanovych

1912

Chernihiv

Velyka Divytsia, Pryluky

Tetiana Kushnir

Kutsai Ustia Vakulivna

1911

Cherkasy

Lukovytsia, Kaniv

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Kutsenko Ivan Vasylovych

1921

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Kutsevol Markiian 1910 Hryhorovych

Poltava

Velyka Krucha, Pyriatyn

Halyna Korniienko

Kuzmenko Danylo Iosypovych

1910

Kharkiv

Mlynkivtsi, Valky William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Kybalo Oleksandra Hryhorivna

1914

Cherkasy

Holovkivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Kyiko Ievdokia Ivanivna

1910

Poltava

Matskova Luchka, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Kyiko Motria Iakivna

1910

Poltava

Matskova Luchka, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Kylymnyk Ivan Dmytrovych

1907

Vinnystia

Iakushyntsi, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Kyrychenko Olena Pylypivna (with husband Vovkohon I.T.)

1919

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

788 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Kyrychenko Vasyl Viktorych

1922

Cherkasy

Moryntsi, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Labaieva Ievdokia Fedorivna

1912

Vinnytsia

Ialtushkin, Bar

Antonina Palahniuk

Lavoshnyk Ivan Havrylovych

1932

Sumy

Khotin, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Lavrinenko Hanna Prokhorivna

1917

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Lavrinenko Ivan Maksymovych

1934

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn SerhiyKryvenko

Lavrinenko Motria Kharytonivna

1907

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Lavrinenko Natalia Musiivna

1905

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Lazarenko Halyna Dmytrivna

1908

Poltava

Mala Pereschypyna

Antonina Palahniuk

Leklenko-Nevlod Maria Prokopivna

1921

Vinnytsia

Zhvan, Murovani Kurulivtsi

Valentyna Borysenko

Leoninko Hanna Vasylivna

1912

Sumy

Khotin’, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Lisachenko Dmytro Danylovych

1925

Kharkiv

Staryi Saltiv, Pechenihy

Larysa Novykova

Lisova Olha Andriivna

1937

Cherkasy

Pastyrske, Smila

Halyna Korniienko

Liubychankivska Paraska Ivanivna

1902

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Lomaka Hryhoriy Maksymovych

1925

Cherkasy

Lukovytsia, Kaniv

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Lozinska Natalia Andriivna

1910

Vinnytsia

Volodiivtsi, Chernivtsi

Antonina Palahniuk

Lomynoha Motrona Ivanivna

1911

Kharkiv

Buhaii, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

LotoshDiatlenko Iryna Vasylivna

1913

Sumy

Zalizniak, Lebedyn

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Lukichova Paraska Ivanivna

1924

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

List of Interviewees

789

Family name, given name, patronymic

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Lutsenko Vasyl

1924

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Lysenko Anastasia 1920

Cherkasy

Zolotonoshka, Drabiv

Mykola Korniienko

Lytvyn Hryhoriy Pylypovych

1942

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Lytvyn Oleksandra Mykytivna

1920

Cherkasy

Trushivtsi, Chyhyryn

Lytvyn Vustia Arekhtivna

1915

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn Mykola Korniienko

Makhaiuchenko Hanna Prokopivna

1917

Kharkiv

Korbyny Ivany, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

Makho Maria Terentiivna

1922

Cherkasy

Trushivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

MakhoSliusarenko Paraska Mytrofanivna

1913

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Makiiva Hanna Illivna

1913

Kharkiv

Piatnytske, Pechenihy

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Maniako Lidia Kindrativna

1934

Chernihiv

Kozerohy, Chernihiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Manzhurenko Oleksandra Ielyseivna

1914

Kharkiv

Kruchyk, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

Marchenko Kyrylo Tymofiiovych

1904

Sumy

Rusanivka, Lypova Dolyna

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Marchenko Oleksandra Fedotivna

1912

Cherkasy

Hutir Huta, Kaniv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Marchenko 1915 Paraska Andriivna

Cherkasy

Starosillia, Horosysche

Mykola Korniienko

Marynenko Hanna Pylypivna

1902

Kharkiv

Piatnytske, Pechenihy

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Mashchenko Tamara Iakivna

1950

Cherkasy

Drabiv; born Uhovets, Kovel, Volyn region

Serhiy Kryvenko

Maslo Mykhailo Pavlovych

1911

Cherkasy

Kvitky, KorsunShevchenkivskyi

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Mykola Korniienko

790 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

1923

Chernihiv

Krutoiarivka, Pryluky

Vira Zaichenko

Medvedenko 1907 Mykola Ivanovych

Cherkasy

Lesky, Cherkasy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Melnyk Zinaida Iakivna

1930

Vinnytsia

Antonivka, Tomashpil

Antonina Palahniuk

Mohylko Serafima 1918

Cherkasy

Moryntsi, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Mostovyk Sofia Ustymivna

1904

Vinnytsia

Kalytynka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Mudra Maria Oleksiivna

1930

Vinnytsia

Verhivka, Trostianets

Antonina Palahniuk

Muliar Olha Feodosiivna

1937

Chernihiv

Karpivka, Bahmach

SerhiyKryvenko

Mushynsky Ivan Serhiiovych

1903

Cherkasy

Vilshana, Horodysche

Halyna Korniienko

Mylaienkova Hanna Andriivna

1916

Sumy

Stytsivka, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Mynak Taisia Petrivna

1919

Kharkiv

Ohultsy, Valky

Larysa Novykova

Mynenko Paraska Omelkivna

1911

Cherkasy

Iasnoziria, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Myroniuk Hnat Fedorovych

1919

Cherkasy

Tymoshivka, Mankivka

Mykola Korniienko

Myroshko Ievdokia Mykhailivna

1920

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Myshko Varvara Andriivna

1914

Poltava

Povstyn, Pyriatyn Halyna

Naavhust Teklia Viktorivna

1928

Vinnytsia

Sapizhanka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Nadezha Mykyta Mykolaiovych (with wife Nadezha T.I.)

1903

Kharkiv

Piatnytske, Pechenihy; born Stara Hnylytsia, Chuhuiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Nadezha Teklia Ivanivna (with husband Nadezha M.M.)

xxxx

Kharkiv

Piatnytske, Pechenihy; born Stara Hnylytsia, Chuhuiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Nadolna Nadia Petrivna

1910

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Matviienko Hanna Leontiivna

Korniienko

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

791

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Nechytailo Oksana Ivanivna

1904

Kharkiv

Lyptsi, Kharkiv

Larysa Novykova

Nedilko Anastasia Antonivna

1908

Poltava

Matskova Luchka, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Nekhai Maria Maksymivna

1909

Chernihiv

Stary Bilous, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Nekrutiak Iadviha Vasylivna

1912

Vinnytsia

Dzhuryn, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Nemyrivsky Tsar Borysovych

1912

Vinnytsia

Miziakivski Khutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Nesterenko 1953 Oleksandra Ivanivna (with mother Zashalovska Ie. F.)

Kharkiv

Postil’ne, Zolochiv William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Novak Melanka Iosypivna (with Tiutiunnyk H.D.)

1921

Vinnytsia

Miziakivski Khutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Nychyporenko Maria Serhiivna

1906

Cherkasy

Hladkivschyna, Zolotonosha

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Odnoroh Olha Vasylivna

1922

Cherkasy

Trakhtemyriv, Kaniv

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Odyntsov Vasyl Khyrsanovych

1906

Sumy

Stytsivka, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Ohrimenko Ivan Trokhymovych

1933

Cherkasy

Starosillia, Horodysche

Mykola Korniienko

Okhrimenko Vasyl Iosypovych

1928

Cherkasy

Starosillia, Horodysche

Mykola Korniienko

Oklei Andriy 1908 Platonovych (with wife Oklei M.I.)

Kharkiv

Cherkaskyi Bishkin, Zmiiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Oklei Marfa Illivna (with husband Oklei A.P.)

1917

Kharkiv

Cherkaskiy Bishkin, Zmiiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Oliinyk Vira Trokhymivna

1918

Cherkasy

Shevchenkove, Zvenyhorodka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Olkhovska Motria Porfyrivna

1913

Kharkiv

Ohultsi, Valky

Larysa Novykova

Omelchenko Oleksandra Iukhymivna

1905

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

792 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Onufriichuk Nadia Iakivna

1910

Vinnytsia

Murovani Kurylivtsi

Valentyna Borysenko

Onyshchenko Hanna Fedorivna

1914

Cherkasy

Iasnoziria, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Opanasenko Olha Kyrylivna

1909

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Osadcha Ustyna Iukhymivna

1914

Cherkasy

Melnykivka, Smila Vladyslav Paskalenko

Osavulets Liudmyla Arsenivna

1909

Sumy

Rudnivka, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Otomaniuk Paraska Prokopivna

1911

Vinnytsia

Pysarivka, Kalynivka

Valentyna Borysenko

Ovcharenko Andriy Ivanovych (with wife Ovcharenko M.Ia.)

1921

Cherkasy

Pleskachivka, Smila

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Ovcharenko 1924 Maria Iakivna (with husband Ovcharenko A.Ia.)

Cherkasy

Pleskachivka, Smila

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Palahniuk Maria Vasylivna

1918

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Palahniuk Maria Dmytrivna

1938

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Panych Ivan Vasylovych

1908

Sumy

Nova Sich, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Panchenko Vasyl Illich

1931

Vinnytsia

Miziakivski Khutory, Vinnytsia

Antonina Palahniuk

Panchenko Polina Hryhorivna

1934

Vinnytsia

Pochapyntsi, Zhmerynka

Antonina Palahniuk

Panchenko Iakiv Falymiiovych

1915

Cherkasy

Trushivtsi, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Papusha Mykola Stepanovych

1903

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Pasichnyk Lykera 1909 Andriivna

Poltava

Bubnovii

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Popov Stepan Prokopovych

Chernihiv

Redkivka, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

1916

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

793

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Posobilova Oleksandra Ivanivna

1917

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Potapenko Motria Tymofiivna

1920

Cherkasy

Subotiv, Chyhyryn

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Povzyk Anatoliy Zakharovych

1916

Kharkiv

Mandryky, Bohodukhiv, born Murafa, Krasnyi Kut

Larysa Novykova

Push Hafia Musiivna

1918

Cherkasy

Iasnoziria, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Pustovoit Tetiana Vasylivna

1911

Poltava

Masiurivka, Orzhytsia

Halyna Korniienko

Pustovoitova Vira Mykolaivna

1914

Sumy

Kozachi Lokny

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Pylyk Kateryna Ivanivna

1909

Cherkasy

Lesky, Cherkasy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Pyvovar Varvara Ihorivna

1922

Poltava

Chyrkivka, Orzhytsia

Halyna Korniienko

Ratushniak Frosyna Fylymonivna

1922

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Reuta Olha Mytrofanivna

1923

Sumy

Zalizniak, Bilopillia

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Reva (Zaiets) Priska Fedorivna

1909

Kharkiv

Kobzarivka, Valky; born Zaitsivka, Valky

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Riabukha Ahafia Illivna (with husband Andrienko P.Ie.)

1927

Kharkiv

Zrubanka, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Riasna Halyna Ilarionivna

1921

Cherkasy

Lubentsi, Kamianka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Rohova Motria Hryhorivna

1906

Poltava

Kahamlyk, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Roman Ivan Samsonovych

1924

Poltava

Brysi, Lohvytsia, living in Kyiv

Antonina Palahniuk

Romanchuk Trokhym Stepanovych

1898

Cherkasy

Husakove, Zvenyhorodka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Chernihiv

Brusyliv, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Sharamok Uliana 1902 Pavlivna

Interviewer

794 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Shcherbak Maria Danylivna

1914

Cherkasy

Popivka, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

SheikoIvanyshyna Maria Leontiivna

1907

Sumy

Terny (Nedryhailiv)

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Shelest Solomia Stepanivna

1907

Kharkiv

Bereznychky, Vovchansk

Larysa Novykova

ShepelenkoOsadcha Ustyna Iukhimivna

1914

Cherkasy

Melnykivka, Smila Vladyslav Paskalenko

Sheremet Sofia Petrivna

1918

Poltava

Poteivan, Lokhvytsia

Antonina Palahniuk

Shevchenko Feodosia Iakivna

1910

Cherkasy

Hnylets, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Shevchenko Iryna Iakivna

1912

Chernihiv

Zhukotky, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Shevchenko 1920 Kateryna Ivanivna

Chernihiv

Oleshnia, Ripky

Vira Zaichenko

Shkarlat Hanna Makarivna

1919

Kharkiv

Korbyny Ivany, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

Shmatko Maria Pylypivna

1902

Cherkasy

Medvedivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Sholudko Halyna 1913 Ivanivna

Kyiv

Stare, Rzhyschiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Shpak-Smolinska Anastasia Varfolomiivna

1922

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

ShpylovaRomancha Tetiana Mykhailivna

xxxx

Cherkasy

Buda, Chyhyryn

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Shuhelman Maria Prokopivna

1913

Kharkiv

Kadnytsia, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

Shved Vasylyna Lavrentiivna

1902

Cherkasy

Melnyky Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Sinkevych Olena Volodymyrivna

1925

Vinnytsia

Volovodivka, Nemyriv

Antonina Palahniuk

Sirenko Motria Stepanivna

1914

Cherkasy

Dumantsi, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Skorodiy Kateryna Ivanivna

1936

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

795

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Skrypnyk Kateryna Oleksiivna

1910

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Slipchenko Maria Nychyporivna

1905

Cherkasy

Pleskachivka, Smila

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Slipchenko Tymofii Vasylovych

1911

Cherkasy

Kulykivka

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Slobodaniuk Frosyna Todorivna

1906

Vinnytsia

Smola Ievhenia Dmytrivna

1925

Poltava

Kotliarevske, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Smola Paraska Fedotivna

1903

Poltava

Kotliarevske, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Snikhovska Stefania Demianivna

1914

Vinnytsia

Svintsytsia, Bratslav

Antonina Palahniuk

Snurinkova Hanna Iakivna

1913

Kharkiv

Pisochyn, Kharkiv Larysa Novikova

Sokyrko Mykola 1913 Panteleimonovych

Cherkasy

Shevchenkove, Zvenyhorodka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Solohub Ivan Kyrylovych

1915

Kharkiv

Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Sotnyk Volodymyr Mykhailovych

1921

Chernihiv

Slabyn, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Sozansky Hryhoriy Demydovych

1905

Vinnytsia

Kalytynka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Sozansky Tymofiy Demydovych

1912

Vinnytsia

Kalytynka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Spivakina Natalia Mytrofanivna

1905

Kharkiv

Piatnytske, Pechenihy

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Starikova Vira Oleksandrivna

1914

Kharkiv

Martove, Pechenihy

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Steblianka Oleksandr Ivanovych

1896

Sumy

Lebedyn

Larysa Novykova

Storozhenko Vasyl Ivanovych

1925

Cherkasy

Shelepuhy, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Valentyna Borysenko

796 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Strilkov Oleksiy Ivanovych

1911

Poltava

Lukomia, Orzhytsia

Halyna Korniienko

Stupak Hanna Mykhailivna

1926

Vinnytsia

Berezivka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Suprun Oksana Prokopivna

1915

Kharkiv

Pisochyn, Kharkiv Larysa Novykova

Synook Natalia Hryhorivna

1907

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Synook Oleksiy Ivanovych

1911

Poltava

Pronozivka, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Syrota Hanna Ivanivna

1935

Vinnytsia

Anopil, Tulchyn

Antonina Palahniuk

Syvak Palazhka Mynivna

1912

Cherkasy

Popivka, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Taranets Hanna Makarivna

1931

Vinnytsia

Pysarivka, Kalynivka

Valentyna Borysenko

Taranets’ Olha Maksymivna

1935

Vinnytsia

Pysarivka, Kalynivka

Valentyna Borysenko

Tarasenko Halyna Tymofiivna

1925

Kharkiv

Kruchyk, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

TelizhenkoShestiuk Vasylisa Nykyforivna

1909

Sumy

Chervone (Krasne)

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Tereshchenko Oksana Ohtypivna (with Lavrinenko Hanna)

1905

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Tiutenko Iefrem Hryhorovych

1906

Cherkasy

Pastyrske, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Tiutiunnyk Stepan 1914 Dmytrovych (with Novak M.Io.)

Vinnytsia

Miziakivski Khutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Tkach Dmytro Pylypovych

1912

Vinnytsia

MKhutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Tkach Oleksandra Dmytrivna

1931

Vinnytsia

Miziakivski Khutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Tkach Uliana Havrosivna

1931

Vinnytsia

Miziakivski Khutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

797

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Tkachenko Anastasia Iukhymivna

1919

Cherkasy

Ivkivtsi, Chyhyryn William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Tkachenko Feodosiy Trokhymovych

1922

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Tkachenko Tetiana Iukhymivna

1930

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Tkachenko Volodymyr Hryhorovych

1925

Cherkasy

Sunky, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Tokarchuk Nadia Hryhorivna

xxxx

Vinnytsia

Dzhuryn, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Trach Hryhoriy Vasylovych

1919

Vinnytsia

Dzhuryn, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Trohymenko 1915 Fedir Fedorovych (with wife Trohymenko S.H.)

Sumy

Trokhymenkove, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Trohymenko Lyta Hryhorivna

1912

Cherkasy

Dubiivka, Cherkasy

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Trokhymenko Hanna Hryhorivna

1923

Sumy

Verkhnie Pischane, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Tsap Maryna Levkivna

1901

Cherkasy

Hryhorivka, Kaniv

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Tsaruk Maria Trokhymivna

xxxx

Vinnytsia

Chahova, Orativ

Valentyna Borysenko

Tsybenko Herasym Borysovych

1916

Cherkasy

Lukovytsia, Kaniv

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Tsymbaliy Sofia Panasivna

1914

Poltava

Kahamlyk, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Tsiupka Melanka Mykolaivna

1911

Cherkasy

Pastyrske, Smila

Mykola Korniienko

Tymoshenko Oleksandra Fedorivna

1909

Chernihiv

Zhukotky, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Udovychenko Ivan Kalistratovych

1919

Cherkasy

Husakove, Zvenyhorodka

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

798 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Urbanska Natalka Tarasivna

1920

Vinnytsia

Dzhuryn, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Ustymenko Mykhailo Antonovych

1903

Poltava

Matskivtsi, Lubny

Halyna Korniienko

Vakulych Anton Myfodiiovych

1903

Vinnytsia

Khomutyntsi, Kalynivka

Valentyna Borysenko

Varvan Serhiy Mytrofanovych

1919

Vinnytsia

Miziakivski Khutory, Vinnytsia

Valentyna Borysenko

Vasylenko Valentyna Mykolaivna

1922

Kharkiv

Shevchenkovo, Kupiansk

Larysa Novykova

Vasiura Liudmyla Afanasivna

1918

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Verhun Hanna Ivanivna

1917

Cherkasy

Baibuzy, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Vershylnyk 1919 Kateryna Ivanivna

Cherkasy

Iasnoziria, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Vladychenko Kateryna Mykhailivna

1937

Poltava

Borysy, Hlobyno

Halyna Korniienko

Voitenkova Maria Petrivna

1901

Kharkiv

Lytvynivka, Valky

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Voloshyna Maria Vasylivna

1920

Vinnytsia

Dzhuryn, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

Voropay Sofia Ivanivna (with Ihnatiuk I. M.)

1920

Cherkasy

Krutky, Chornobai

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Vovchenko Pavlo Illich

1906

Sumy

Loknia, Sumy

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Vovkohon Hryhoriy Kyrylovych

1904

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Vovkohon Ilko Terentiiovych (with wife Kyrychenko O.P.)

1923

Cherkasy

Poludnivka, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Vuits Nadia Mykhailivna

1928

Vinnytsia

Dzhuryn, Sharhorod; born Pysarivka, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

List of Interviewees Family name, given name, patronymic

799

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

VyklenkoPohrebniak Hanna Herasymivna

1905

Vinnytsia

Zhvan, Murovani Kurylivsti

Valentyna Borysenko

Zabolotna Frosyna Andriivna

1918

Vinnytsia

Antonivka, Tomashpil

Antonina Palahniuk

Zachepa Feodosia Semenivna

1905

Cherkasy

Heronymivka, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Zadorozhniy Andriy Semenovych

1934

Cherkasy

Shelepukhy, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Zaichenko Natalia 1906 Hryhorivna

Chernihiv

Masany, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Zaiets’ Andriy Solomonovych

1908

Kharkiv

Hutir Zaitsivka, Valky

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Zaiets’ Nykyfor Mytrofanovych

1911

Chernihiv

Kyinka, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Zakharchenko Maria Vasylivna

1919

Chernihiv

Masany, Chernihiv

Vira Zaichenko

Zakruzhna Motrona Ovdiivna

1915

Chernihiv

Oleshnia, Ripky

Vira Zaichenko

Zameliansky Stepan Petrovych

1910

Cherkasy

Moshny, Cherkasy Mykola Korniienko

Zamohylna Hanna Vasylivna

1915

Poltava

Kotliarevske, Hradysk

Halyna Kornieko

Zamula Anastasia Volodymyrivna

xxxx

Kholodkivka

Vladyslav Paskalenko

Zashalovska Ielysaveta Fedorivna (with daughter Nesterenko O.I.)

1913

Kharkiv

Postilne, Zolochiv

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Zatyrka Maria Semenivna

1915

Vinnytsia

Antonivka, Tomashpil

Antonina Palahniuk

Zborovsky Iakiv Mykhailovych

1908

Cherkasy

Mliiv, Horodysche Mykola Korniienko

Zelenetska Frosyna Sylvestrivna

1918

Vinnytsia

Pokutyno, Sharhorod

Antonina Palahniuk

800 Family name, given name, patronymic

Appendix 2

Dob

Region

Village/raion

Interviewer

Zhadan Petro Hryhorovych

1914

Kharkiv

Chrnechchyna, Larysa Novykova Krasny Kut; born Kolontaiiv, Krasny Kut

Zharlynsky Mykhailo Semenovych

1923

Vinnytsia

Medvezhe Antonina Vushko, Vinnytsia Palahniuk

Zhurba Ivan Amosovych

1918

Cherkasy

Hnylets, Zvenyhorodka

Mykola Korniienko

Zhyrna Kateryna Stepanivna

1937

Cherkasy

Heronymivka, Cherkasy

Mykola Korniienko

Zinchenko Maria Trokhymivna

1910

Cherkasy

Melnyky, Chyhyryn

Mykola Korniienko

Zmiivska Hanna Leontiivna

1919

Kharkiv

Korbyny Ivany, Bohodukhiv

Larysa Novykova

Zoria Kateryna Kostiantynivna

1907

Kharkiv

Pisky, Valky

William Noll, Lidia Lykhach

Zubaliy Marfa Kindrativna

1902

Cherkasy

Prydniprovske, Chornobai

Halyna Korniienko

a ppe n dix 3

Tables

Information on draft animals (skotyna) and farm implements (remanent) have not been included because they were roughly similar for most families in the years before collectivization. Obviously, there were differences between wealthier and poorer families as the number of animals varied, with wealthier peasants owning more of most animals and poorer peasants fewer. A very few owned none at all aside from chickens. For example, a wealthier peasant might own both oxen and horses, while a poorer peasant might own only an oxen team and no horse, or no oxen and only one horse. Farm implements could vary greatly in kind and quality, but the questionnaire did not broach this subject and the interviews provide little information on it. I also do not include here the home sewing and weaving that virtually all village girls and women were engaged in for home consumption. Those who were sewing, embroidering, or weaving in order to sell a product are included here. As listed below in the “amount of land” column, if the interviewee speaks in terms of hectares, then hectares are noted; if in terms of desiatyny, then they are noted. Land acquired in the new social and economic conditions between 1917 and 1921 is indicated by: (1917). These lands were mostly confiscated from others by Soviet power, then allotted to village families by the state unless noted below as “purchased.” If the interviewee does not give specific amounts of land, but only that the family had land, then “Yes” is indicated. Many of the “other labor” references are to a husband’s activities when the interviewee is a woman, although that is not always clear.

802

Appendix 3

Table a3.1 | Economic activity before collectivization Interviewee

Region

Amount of land

Sold and purchased at the bazaar before collectivization

sold: eggs, chickens

Andriienko, P.YE.

Kharkiv

yes

Barbaziuk, T.V.

Vinnytsia

3 desiatyny

Other labor

hired out as laborer

Bezrodnia, H.Z.

Poltava

yes

Bibik, I.I.

Chernihiv

yes

Briukhovetsky, Ya.M

Cherkasy

25 sotok

Bulakh, M.A.

Poltava

yes

sold: rye, wheat; calves cows, bulls; purchased: shoes, draft animals

Buhai, N. M.

Kharkiv

yes

sold: plums, apples

Buhaiova, H. YU.

Kharkiv

yes

sold: grains and other

Vovkohon, H.K.

Cherkasy

4 hectares

sold: sheep, fruit, pottery

Vovkohon, I.T.

Cherkasy

6 hectares

potter

Voitenkova, M.P.

Kharkiv

¾ ha (purchased)

worked landowner’s field (1917)

Honcharenko, H.P.

Kharkiv

10 desiatyny

sold: fruit, fish

Hrytsyna, M.F.

Sumy

Yes

sold: chickens

Hrushivska, S.T.

Cherkasy

“little land, large orchard”

sold: plums, apples, cherries

Demchenko, M.M.

Sumy

3 hectares

Dyshliuk, Ye.M.

Çherkasy

6 ha (1917)

sold: rye; purchased: sugar

Dzhyrma, A.Ia.

Cherkasy

yes

sold: potatoes, calves, swine

potter

Dotsenko, A.H.

Sumy

yes

sold: moveable goods, calves

shoemaker, tailor

less than desiatyna

sold: fruit, fish

no

Diachenko, M.Ya Cherkasy

shoemaker

sold: mushrooms, sheep, wool

no potter

shoemaker, barrel maker

miller

miller bees, 17 hives

Tables

803

Table a3.1 (continued) Interviewee

Region

Amount of land

Sold and purchased at the bazaar before collectivization

Other labor

Yeshchenko, M.O.

Chernihiv

Yes

sold: potatoes, onions, milk

Zaiets, A.S.

Kharkiv

Yes

sold: fruit

made washbasins out of fallen willow trunks; sold clay to potters

Zborovsky, Ya.M.

Cherkasy

2 ½ desiatyny

sold: calves, piglets

no

Zelenetsky, F.S.

Vinnitsia

7 hectares+ 2 hec. (1917)

Zoria, K.K.

Kharkiv

7 hectares

Ivanchenko, M.H.

Cherkasy

5 hectares, orchard on separate ground

sold: moveable goods, swine

Ihnatenko, M.Ye.

Cherkasy

3 hectares

sold and bought: bulls

Ilchenko, V.I.

Vinnytsia

12 desiatyny

sold: swine; dried plums, pears, apples

Kiyko, Ye.I.

Poltava

2 ha (1917, purch. from landowner)

Kozub, T.S.

Cherkasy

Yes

sold: moveable goods, swine

Kravchenko, N.S. Sumy

1 ½ ha (1917)

sold: beets

Kravchenko, F.I.

Kharkiv

5 hectares

weaver

Kryvonis, K.H.

Sumy

1 ½ ha (1917)

father was locksmith in factory; mother took care of farm

Kryvchenko, O.Ya.

Poltava

Yes

sold: cows

no

Kuzmenko, D.I.

Kharkiv

Yes

sold: plums

shoemaker

Labaieva, Ye.F.

Vinnytsia

Yes

made heavy overcoats

Lisachenko, D.D.

Kharkiv

10 sotok

fishing; father worked in factory, mother a seamstress

potter

bees

804

Appendix 3

Table a3.1 (continued) Interviewee

Region

Amount of land

Sold and purchased at the bazaar before collectivization

Other labor

Lotosh-Diatlenko, I.V.

Sumy

Yes

sold: vegetables

blacksmith; made wooden spoons; fishing

Liubychankivska, P.I.

Vinnytsia

4 hectares

sold: wheat; purchased: salt, salt-pork

Maslo, M.P.

Cherkasy

Yes

sold: cherries

Myshynsky, I.S.

Cherkasy

Yes

Odnoroh, O.V.

Cherkasy

Yes

Oklei, A.P.

Kharriv

Yes

Oliinyk, V.T.

Cherkasy

Yes

Osadcha, U.Y.

Cherkasy

Yes

sold: chickens, eggs, sheep

no

Palahniuk, M.V.

Vinnytsia

3 hectares

sold: apples, honey, garlic, peas

no

Pasichnyk, L.A.

Poltava

Yes

father was a carpenter

Pyvovar, V.I.

Poltava

garden, orchard

hired out a laborer

Podzhara, H.Z.

Cherkasy

Yes

blacksmith

Ponomarenko, M.F.

Cherkasy

Yes

sold: fish

fishing

Posovilova, O.I.

Cherkasy

Yes

sold: sheep; swine

wheelmaker, barrel maker

Rohova, M.H.

Poltava

Yes

Roman, I.S.

Poltava

Yes

sold: calves

Riasna, H.I.

Cherkasy

10 hectares

sold: grain; old bulls; purchased: young bulls

took orders for loom weaving of rushnyky, and tablecloths sold: beets, butter

before 1917 sold items from a lavka bohomaz (icon painter) shoemaker

father was a shoemaker, mother hired out as laborer no

Tables

805

Table a3.1 (continued) Interviewee

Region

Amount of land

Sold and purchased at the bazaar before collectivization

Other labor

Salienko, T.P.

Kharkiv

44 hectares

sold: wheat, rye, apples, pears

no

Semeniaka, H.H.

Cherkasy

7 desiatyny

sold: grain

Solohub, I.K.

Kharkiv

Yes

Strilkov, O.I.

Poltava

Yes

Tkachenko, A.Yu.

Cherkasy

1½ hectares

shoemaker, carpenter; hauled barrels of petroleum sold: fruit

no

moveable goods, hay

no

Trokhymenko, F.F. Sumy

5–6 hectares

Udovychenko, I.K.

Cherkasy

1½ hectares

Tsap, M.L.

Cherkasy

Yes

sold: cut firewood; fished

shoemaker, miller

Chorny, S.I.

Sumy

1½ desiatyny, orchard 4 desiatyny (1917)

harvest only for family

laborer in brick factory, in winter, lumberjack

Chub, F.O.

Cherkasy

2 hectares

sold: swine, “but not much”

sewed on a sewing machine, had students concerning same

Chukhlib, V.D.

Cherkasy

3½ hectares

sold: onions, horseradish

sold beets to a factory; carpenter; had a lavka (stand) in village (sold meat)

Yaremaka, K.K

Cherkasy

3 desiatyny

sold: calves, sheep

carpenter, stove builder

weaver

806

Appendix 3

Table a3.2 | Earnings from work as hired labor before collectivization

Region

Group where worked

Work

Earnings

Work period

Bezkorovaina, P.M

Cherkasy

landowner

beet fields

45–50 kop. a day

seasonally

Bila, M.O.

Vinnytsia

landowner

?

5 karb. er month

seasonally

Hrushivska, S.T.

Cherkasy

landowner

beet fields

10–15 kop. a day

seasonally

Ihnatenko, M.Ye.

Cherkasy

Germans

?

40 karb. per season

seasonally

Mushynsky, I.S.

Cherkasy

landowner

field work

7.5 karb. per month

seasonally

Nadezha, M.M.

Kharkiv

landowner

field work

7 karb. per month

seasonally

Nychyporenko, M.S.

Cherkasy

?

pasturing cattle; looking after children

20 puds of grain per year

year-round

Pavlichenko, A.H.

Cherkasy

landowner

pasturing cattle

15 karb. per year

year-round

Smola, P.F.

Poltava

Jews

fetch water, wash dishes, clean house

6–7 karb. per month

?

Smola, P.F.

Poltava

landowner

pasturing cattle

100 karb. for three months [?]

seasonally

Interviewee

Tables

807

Table a3.3 | Economic activity after collectivization Interviewee

Agricultural production and sale Home industries and other of product on bazaar subjects

Bezrodnia, H.Z. Bibik, I.I.

her father worked as shoemaker in kolhosp artil, daughter made rushnyky sold: dried fish

Briukhovetsky, Ya.M.

ceased working as a potter due to high taxes on his finished product

Chub, F.O.

family’s orchard destroyed

Chukhlib, B.D.

family ceased selling from lavka (stand)

Diachenko, M.A.

made linen; lived primarily from their garden

Dydnyk, M.O.

sold: flour from various grains, grain, eggs

Hrushivska, S.T.

sold: salted cucumbers, vegetables

Ilchenko, V.I.

was repressed for selling pears at the bazaar

Kozub, T.S. Kryvchenko, O.Ya.

father’s mill was confiscated

cooper; made mostly barrels ceased selling anything after the Holodomor

Lysenko, A.

dressmaker for Kharkiv residents

Lotosh-Diatlenko, I.V.

sold: vegetables

Medvedenko, M.I.

sold: onions at widely dispersed bazaars

Mushynsky, I.S. Nekhai, M.M.

ceased work as a seamstress, because she was forced to work full-time on kolhosp

kolhosp confiscated the blacksmith tools

ceased weaving sold: potatoes, beets, cucumbers; purchased: sugar

Oklei, A.P.

repressed for being a bohomaz (icon painter)

Podzhara, H.Z.

father was a blacksmith; died in the Holodomor

Poluden, Ye.H.

ceased working as potter due to high taxes on product

808

Appendix 3

Table a3.3 (continued) Interviewee

Agricultural production and sale Home industries and other of product on bazaar subjects

Riasna, H.I.

sold: chickens, eggs, starch

Strilkov, O.I.

ceased selling fruit due to high taxes on orchard trees

Udovychenko, I.K.

continued working as a tailor

Voropai, S.I.

sewed in an artil

Vovkohon, H.K.

ceased working as a potter due to high taxes on his finished product

Yaremaka, K.K.

father (carpenter and stove builder) died in 1934

Yeshchenko, M.O.

sold less than before

Zborovsky, Ya.M.

ceased selling product at the bazaar in the 1930s; began again after the war (late 1940s)

a ppe n dix 4

On the Song “Shche ne vmerla Ukraiiny”

Shche ne vmerla Ukraiiny i slava, i volia, Shche nam, brattia molodii, usmikhnet’sia dolia. Zhynut’ nashi vorizhen’ky, iak rosa na sontsi. Zapanuiem i my brattia, u svoii storontsi. Pryspiv Dushu i tilo my polozhem za nashu svobodu, I pokazhem, shcho my, brattia, kozats’koho rodu. Ukraine’s glory has not yet died, nor her freedom, Upon us, my young brothers, fate shall yet smile. Our enemies will perish, like dew in the morning sun, And we too shall rule, brothers, in our own land. Refrain Souls and bodies we will lay down, all for our freedom, And we will show that we, brothers, are of the Cossack nation. The text was written by one of the greatest ethnographers of nineteenth-century Europe, Pavlo Platonovych Chubyns’ky (1839–1884) in 1862, although its first publication was in 1863. That same year the composer and song writer Michael Verbytsky (1815–1870) set the text to music. There were originally several verses, but over time the standard rendition became one verse followed by a refrain. The song almost immediately became widely disseminated and was vilified by the Czarist state because of its overt Ukrainian patriotic sentiments. Nearly from the time it was written, and continuing until independence in 1991, singing this song was an offense subject to sometimes long years in prison. Several of the interviewees make note of people arrested and sent away in Soviet times for singing this song.

810

Appendix 4

With the short-lived Ukrainian Republic in the years of the Soviet civil wars, the song was briefly the official Ukrainian National Anthem. With the demise of the Ukrainian Republic and the rise of a unified Soviet state, which included Ukrainian ssr , once again singing the song became an offense punishable by a prison sentence. With independence in 1991, the song was officially recognized by the Verkhovna Rada (the country’s highest parliamentary body) as Ukraine’s national anthem. In 1992, the song was “revised,” basically by shortening it thus making it more suitable as a national anthem, which it continues to be today.

a ppe n dix 5

Five Complete Interviews Mykhailo Ievdokymovych Ihnatenko (born 1902) and his daughter Olha Mykhailivna Herashchenko (born 1929) in Krutky, Chornobaiivskyi district, Cherkasy oblast – What is your date of birth?

mykhailo ievdokymovych: 1902.

– Where were you born?

mykhailo ievdokymovych: In Krutky. – What was this district called at the time? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Irkliivskyi and prior to that it was called Zolotonoshenskyi district of Poltava oblast. – Did you have a large family? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. I was the only one who was literate. We had three years of schooling at the time. – How many children did your parents have? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I have to count: [tn: sisters] Natalka, Hanna, Iivha, Motria, and Sekleta who died. All of them were illiterate. – Did your father own land? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes, but not a lot: about a hectare and about 0.7 hectares in the steppes. – Did he have any cattle? mykhailo ievdokymovych: A horse and a cow. – Any pigs? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes, one– to breed piglets. – What about bees? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. We had little land, so my father would work for other people harvesting crops. He would reap the crops and get every sixth or seventh sheaf in return for his work, depending on the owner’s rules. – Did he help harvest the crops in his village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: In his village or in Krasne; it was called

812

Appendix 5

Pans’ke at the time. Their land was behind our land, near Chornobai. He had a barn and a well there. – Was this at your father’s or at the khaziain’s? mykhailo ievdokymovych: At the khaziain’s. We would go there when I was six or seven; they had a steam-powered thresher, and my father helped with threshing and sowing. – Did he sow by hand? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No, he had a seeding machine. – What was the name of the khaziain? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Vasyl Petrovych Klymenko. – Did you and your mother help your father? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Of course. During the harvest, my mother and father both worked there, and I was helping around with the rake. – What about your sisters? mykhailo ievdokymovych: My sisters worked for the Germans, where the Germans lived on our territory. – Were did the Germans live? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was a colony that was in the process of returning to their land, not far from Cherkasy, on the right bank. – Was this before wwi ? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. Each spring, my sisters would go to work for this German and would work there until Saint Simeon Stylites [tn : 14 September] or the Intercession of the Theotokos [tn : 14 October], sometimes until Saints Cosmas and Damian [tn : 14 November], and then they would come home having earned some money as they had agreed with the landowner. – How much did he pay? mykhailo ievdokymovych: About 40 rubli. – Would that be enough for clothes? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes, girls would come and make clothes for themselves with that. We had Jews in the village who owned a store; they knew when the girls came home, so they would follow them right away and come to borrow money. He knew that if they came home, it was time to make clothes. He’d make a skirt or a coat for them, and then they would sit at home embroidering or weaving. – Did they buy the clothes from that Jewish man? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He used to go to Lodz and Warsaw and bring the goods from there – plenty of goods. He built a large store and would bring his cart there, load the goods, and take them to the market in Irkliiv to sell. – Were there any Poles? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I can’t say for sure.

Five Complete Interviews

813

– What word did people use in your village: Jews or zhydy? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Jews. “Zhydy” was ridicule. – Who was in charge of your family: father or mother? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Both were in charge of the homestead. – Who was in charge of the money? mykhailo ievdokymovych: You didn’t have any money saved at the time; one had to buy this or that. – How did you survive the famine? mykhailo ievdokymovych: It was hard. It’s hard even to think about it. We ate millet chaff. We used to grind proso millet and corn cobs in the kolhosp. – Did you have a cooperative in the village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was one in Melnyky, and people from our village joined it. – Who joined it: the richer ones or the poorer? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They were not so poor. The people [in Melnyky] were better off, so the people from our village went there. – Was life more bearable in Melnyky? mykhailo ievdokymovych: You could say so. We had to go to a faraway field to collect the spikelets, and they had the steppe close by, all around them. They were given food there. Then they saw that it was not working out, so they left [the cooperative]. – Do you remember where your parents used to go to the fair? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was a fair in Irkliiv. – Did your parents sell anything at this fair? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They would buy and sell, including the cattle. People would come here from Moscow to buy the production animals for meat. We had large oxen here, good for plowing, weighing about eight quintals each. – Do you remember the famine in 1921? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes, I do. – Why did it happen? mykhailo ievdokymovych: The harvest was bad, and some people didn’t make it. We had 0.75 hectares in the steppes, and my father kept one bag of grain for sowing. Life was hard, but he sowed the wheat and the harvest was good. – Was this what saved you that year? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Some people died, but not many. – When did the kolhospy begin in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They fooled us. They used to give people land.

814

– When did they give land?

Appendix 5

mykhailo ievdokymovych: In 1917 when the Revolution began. They started to distribute land among people at the time, and the people took it and plowed it. The state did not charge any tax; you kept whatever you reaped. If you had anything extra, a representative of the government came to the market, spread a large sheet of tarpauline, and people who had a surplus of bread would bring it there. One brought this, the other brought that; the market would last about three days. Once they collected everything, they would weigh the produce and pay the people money. Then they would arrange to transport the produce to the station in Zolotonosha where it was sold. My father had a horse, so they would tell him to come on such and such day to transport the goods. – When did the kolhospy start in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: In 1928. They were called soz [Spil’niy obrobitok zemli, an early form of collectivization; mostly the 1920s]. They used to say at the time that the land was given to us for nine years; we worked and wondered what would happen if the land were taken away from us. Then in 1929, they say, “Come on, guys, sign here.” People didn’t know what they were signing up for; the poorest ones started signing up – those who didn’t even use to plow the land. Then the collective farms started taking away the people’s cattle and work tools, confiscating people’s land, and giving them low-quality land in the lower parts of the field where plots were smaller and less fertile. – Did your father join the kolhosp right away? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No, he was no longer alive at the time. – How did you join the kolhosp? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I didn’t want to join for a long time because I had three or four small children. They said, “Sign up because you won’t survive otherwise.” I said, “I have a large family, but there are no workers.” So, they dragged this on for some time and gave me the worst land. I sowed proso millet on that land and took my children with me to help me weed the land. The government representatives came, “Whose millet is this? Son of a bitch! We gave him the bad land, and he has such a good harvest.” They started looking for ways to make me join the kolhosp. Then they took my cow. I went around asking to have it back, but they didn’t give it back until I promised to join the kolhosp. The harvesting time came, and the people who sowed their own fields were ordered to work in the kolhosp and not touch anything on their own land. Old man Savka joined right before I did, went to his land plot, and collected the spikelets there to eat. They found out and came to his house to take it away. I didn’t give them anything; I kept my grain and my children. – Did they take your land away from you?

Five Complete Interviews

815

mykhailo ievdokymovych: The hardworking people stayed, but later on they had to run to the kolhosp because otherwise they would have no land, nothing. – Were some people exiled? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – Why were they exiled? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Because they had money. The man worked hard. There was one man named Il’kovych; they took him away into the steppes. It was hard to stay on your own land at the time. – After you joined the kolhosp, how did you make a living? mykhailo ievdokymovych: We had a cow and went to the market. We never drank the milk from our cow, God forbid; we only took it to the market to sell. The state also imposed the taxes that we had to pay by giving them milk. We were just giving it away to them for nothing. – How much were you paid when you worked in the kolhosp? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They didn’t pay us and took everything away for the loans. When I worked in the Dnipro Hydroelectric Station, three or four men would come to impose the loan: you owe us this much, sign here, and pay back later. What would I pay it with? It was a hard time. If you went to the woods and stole some wood, they’d fine you. They would cut the wood and transport it on a two-wheel cart as far as Chornobaii. olha mykhailivna: I took wood to sell on the market in Chornobaii. I stood there a long time until one woman said, “I’ll pay you if you take the wood to my house.” So, I did, and she gave me two glasses of beans and 10 potatoes. She also invited me to have breakfast with her. I sat down, and she gave me a large plate of soup; the little Romani children flocked around me right away, so I put the spoon down and left. mykhailo ievdokymovych: There were many Romani people. They would party in spring; they had good horses and a good caravan. The Romani women would run around the village fooling people; they’d get anything they wanted from people and then have a wedding party. They moved from village to village. – Who organized the kolhosp: the locals from your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Both the locals and the newcomers. – How did they treat people? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There were various people among them. olha mykhailivna: If you went to gather the spikelets, they’d go after you. One woman was beaten to death. The man who beat her is still alive; he was the head of the kolhosp and was paid a special pension. – Did people steal anything from the kolhosp? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No, they would search and check. If

816

Appendix 5

someone put a potato in their pocket, they would check, summon that person, and fine them. – What were the authorities like in the village before the kolhosp? Who was in charge? mykhailo ievdokymovych: A khaziaiin was in charge. A man was assigned to the village council for one or two years. – What was this position called? mykhailo ievdokymovych: A starosta. – Was he elected by the people or assigned by the government? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He was elected. He had to be a khaziaiin, not someone lazy. – What was the election like? mykhailo ievdokymovych: A skhodka. – Were skhodky only held during the chairman election or at some other time as well? mykhailo ievdokymovych: It was a village assembly. They would rent the communal land so the village council could have money. – How often were the skhodky held? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They would be announced as needed, and people would come. – Was there a priest in the village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – What was his name? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Gryts’ko Shakhnovs’kyi. Back then the village was under the priest’s authority. – Did he have a lot of authority? mykhailo ievdokymovych: The highest authority: he baptized people and had the metrics. If anyone needed a passport, they would go to the priest. – Would the priest always name the child? Mykhailo Ievdokimovych: Yes, he would record the birth in the registrar; then he would report to the regional administration on how many were born and how many died. – Did the priest own land? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He had land and a lot of cattle. – Who worked for him? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He didn’t work himself. Back in the times of Zolotonosha, he married a woman whose dowry was either 90 or 100 hectares. He had a khutir there which he rented out. He was probably paid in gold. – Did he have land in the village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – Who worked on this land?

Five Complete Interviews

817

mykhailo ievdokymovych: Day laborers. – Do you know how much he paid them? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I don’t know for sure, but they worked almost for free. He had many cows. He was rich. – Was he kind to people? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Oh, no! Not good. He would take God knows how much bread from memorial services – he did many of them – and would send it home, and the eggs kept coming all the time. He’d dump them in the ravine, and they’d rot and reek there. – Did his wife do something in the church, too? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No, she was farming at home. – How did she treat people? mykhailo ievdokymovych: She was a housewife. – Did he have any horses? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes, he had a cart. There was also a cart in the kolhosp; it belonged to the one who used to beat people; he’s still alive. He did such atrocious things to his people, beating them so hard for taking spikelets. – Was this in the 1930s? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – Does the priest have any children? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He has one son who has a disability in one leg. The priest’s sons were revolutionaries. In the Soviet time, he would sing Ukrainian songs and play the fiddle very nicely; one son was exiled. – In 1937? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No, before. One was named Zhorzh, and the exiled one was Mykola. He sang revolutionary songs, so the Communists came for him. – Was the present-day head of the kolhosp its administrator at the time, too? Mykhailo Ievdokimovych: They were the party members. People worked in the field and sheaved crops. They were persecuted a great deal. One man had a small basket and put spikelets into it. His peer helped him out a bit. I was in the steppes near the well, giving water to a herd of horses, when I saw several drunken people in the priest’s road cart going toward the haystacks. The man who gathered the spikelets had already been warned, and he was on his way. They asked, “Where is such and such?” “He’s not here.” That man was running away, but their horses caught up with him and they gave him a brutal beating. Then they threw him into the cart; I saw him there. One man went to take a look at what they did to him: they took him to a dugout in the steppe and left him under the hangar where the kitchen was. I went to take a look at him after work, and he was still there, not saying a word. I got so scared. Sons of

818

Appendix 5

bitches, they gave a hardworking man such a bad beating. In the evening, he got up and went home little by little. – When the kolhospy began, were the churches closed down? mykhailo ievdokymovych: The Germans did not burn the church, but the locals set up grain storage there. – When was the grain storage set up – before the war or after? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Before the war. When the Germans came, the church was still there; after the war they started restoring the church, hired workers, and brought back the service. The priests would change. Our priest from Zolotonosha was thrown out before the war; he died of hunger; he was a beggar. – When was the church restored? mykhailo ievdokymovych: After the war. In the 1960s the service was done in the houses. The priests would come and stay for three months or so. – Did the authorities protest? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. – What were the voices called in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: It depended on the song: tenor, descant, and alto. – Was there a lead woman singer on your street? mykhailo ievdokymovych: A descant. – Were there any neighborhoods in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: The neighborhoods were nice: Chypachivka, Dibrova, and Selo. In some of them, as soon as the evening came, the girls would come out to sing and they would sing until God knows when. The same goes for the boys. – Did you have vechornytsi or dosvitky? mykhailo ievdokymovych: We had dosvitky. There were some houses where girls would come to weave and sew, and the guys would party. – Did they play any games? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They would either play cards or tell stories. – At what age did the boys start going to dosvitky? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Around 18. One had to go through a ritual and treat others to a drink to be accepted as a parubok [tn : a young man]. – Would you sometimes bring a bottle of alcohol? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. – If a guy brought a bottle, would they drink it inside or outside? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There were some houses where people had a drink. – Did they only have a drink, or did they do something else? Did they hire the musicians?

Five Complete Interviews

819

mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was music. The guys used to party

with the music. – Who paid the musicians?

mykhailo ievdokymovych: No one. If someone had a wedding, they would hire the musicians. – Did the guys bring musicians to dosvitky? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No, not to the party. The party had its own musician. I forgot to tell you that the guys had work. A contractor would come to the village when the road was being built; he had 5–10 horses and would write down the name of those who would work for him in the spring. These guys would list their names, and he would come for them in the spring and give them the advance payment: as much money as each needed because they would be leaving their parents. Then he would give them the departure date. They would leave, do the work until the date they were paid, come back home, buy what they needed, and play all winter long. – When your father died, who was in charge of your homestead? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I was because my mother died, too. – When girls were getting married, did you have to give them the dowry? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was nothing to make the dowry with. – Would people sometimes stay at the party [dosvitky] until the morning? mykhailo ievdokymovych: It was their secret. There were some parties where guys stayed overnight, and so did the girls. – And this was not talked about? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. – Was this bad for the girl? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I guess. It was a secret. – Were there women who were hired by others to sing as the weddings? mykhailo ievdokymovych: If a wedding was about to happen, the singers were around. They were not hired. – Did people know which women were the best singers? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes, they knew. – Were there women who were hired by others to keen at the funerals? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Not in our village. – What instruments did people play at weddings? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Fiddle and harmonia. – Was the harmonia always used or introduced later on? mykhailo ievdokymovych: It was used before the Revolution. There were also the Romani people in Melnyky, and they had fiddles and bubon. – Did the Romani people play at the weddings? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They were hired for the weddings.

820

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– Did the Jewish people play anything? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Eh, no. They didn’t. – Did the German people play anything? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There were no Germans. – How did people pay the Romani people for the weddings? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They gave them money. – Did the village people play fiddle and bubon? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. They played poorly; no one hired them; they came by themselves. – When did the Romani people disappear? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I don’t remember when, but they were forbidden to move around. It was considered unacceptable for so many people to not work all summer long and not have anything done about this by the government. They disappeared not long ago; I think it was when Brezhnev was in office. – When were the clubs set up in the village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: During the Revolution. – Do you remember the communist weddings without a priest? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. – Was there a tavern [shynok] in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was one but long ago. A man built a house for himself near the road and opened a tavern. – Was he a Ukrainian or a Jew? mykhailo ievdokymovych: A Ukrainian. This was his garden. – Did you sometimes go to the tavern? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I did, why wouldn’t I? I was a neighbor. I moved here in the 1930s, and before I used to live near the tavern. – Who went to the tavern more often: women or men? mykhailo ievdokymovych: The women didn’t go there; there were some older women who drank vodka. The owner had a barn with a lavka (“bench”) outside; that is where they drank. We also used to have a pasture field where the tree grows now, where the monument stands. There were six or seven mills in that field. If the mill was not working, they would sit in the grass near it and drink. – If your wife went to the tavern, would you scold her? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There’d be some trouble. – Were the women who used to go to the tavern drunkards? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – Did you go to the dances in the club? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I didn’t have time to dance. – Were there any startsi in your village?

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mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – Were they from your village or someplace else? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They were from our village, but they went to a different one. We didn’t see where they went. – Were they blind? mykhailo ievdokymovych: A son would accompany his blind father to a market in Irkliiv. That son is still alive. – What was the name of the blind man? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I know. Artem Makedon was the old man, so the son’s last name was Makedon, too, I guess. – Where does he live? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Someplace far. He used to come here. I used to go caroling with Artem Makedon when I was little. – How did he go blind? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He was born that way. – Did he play an instrument or sing? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He only sang laments. – Were there any women starchykhy? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Some. Sometimes even men who owned a cow and a pig and were not blind would go around asking for alms. – Did you see any lira (“hurdy-gurdy”) players at the market fair in Irkliiv? mykhailo ievdokymovych: We had a blind man Savka who played the harmonia. – Where did he sing: near the church or indoors? mykhailo ievdokymovych: On the market. – Where did you see the hurdy-gurdy players? mykhailo ievdokymovych: When I was in Irkliiv one time, I saw one who sang “Oh, Moroze, Morozenku.” – Were there any bandura players in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Could I remember everything? Maybe there were some. – Did people judge Savka because he didn’t work? mykhailo ievdokymovych: He was blind and lived in poverty. – During the kolhosp time, did the people invite a priest to the funerals? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Of course – not like now. Now, they just mumble something, and the coffin is carried away. Back in the day, the priest would walk with the procession from the house to the cemetery and administer the service. The people carried the crosses. – Did people ever sing a song about Jesus at the weddings? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I don’t know. The relatives would cry and keen all the way to the cemetery.

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– How old were you when you started caroling? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I have been caroling ever since I was a child, until I got married. Young men go singing, too. – Did you dress up and make a star? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No, we didn’t. We went around our street corners. – Did boys and girls go singing together? mykhailo ievdokymovych: We went together with the girls and also took dukhy with us. – What is “dukhy”? mykhailo ievdokymovych: When people sing carols at someone’s place, the hosts give them a loaf of bread and a piece of lard. The singers would get loads of food and then have a party. – Did people stop singing carols later on? mykhailo ievdokymovych: It somehow stopped on its own. We continued singing koliadky during the Soviet times. We would go from house to house in a sleigh. – Who taught you to sing carols? mykhailo ievdokymovych: My sisters sang in a choir group with the same priest that sang Ukraine’s anthem. They learned from him. – Did people do a circle dance in the spring and sing spring songs? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Back in the day, before the kolhospy, the girls used to sing the spring songs so well; they don’t do this anymore. – Did they sing somewhere by the water? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Near the pasture here and also in their neighborhoods. – Why did they stop? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They all went to different places. Husband and wife no longer work at the same place, and the children are on their own. – When people started going to the kolhosp to work, why didn’t they sing spring songs or dance anymore? mykhailo ievdokymovych: It stopped. – When the girls did a circle dance, could the guys participate? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – Did you celebrate the Kupala Night [evening and night of 6-7 July]? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was no such holiday in our village. – Did you have a circle dance called ‘vodyty kozla’ (“to dance the goat dance”)? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes, I know it. – Was there a chapter of “Prosvita” in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I don’t know such an association. – Did men sing together with the women?

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mykhailo ievdokymovych: If this was a wedding, yes. – Did men sing the Chumak songs? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. – Were there Russian ditties [chastushky]? mykhailo ievdokymovych: At the parties, yes. – Was there a potter in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. There was one farther away from Cherkasy. They used to bring pots here in carts; the pots were covered with hay; everything was clean. – When you were in school, what language did the teachers speak? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Ukrainian. There was no other language. – What about the language of church services? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Ukrainian. The priest was there once a week. – Could one buy Ukrainian books at the time? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There were none. People didn’t buy them. There was a bookcase for the students in the school. There were some revolutionary books. – Were there any painters who made paintings or icons in the village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. – Did anyone paint icons in the church? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. – Where could one buy an icon? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They were brought to the village. – Did you buy any icons? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Of course. – How much did one cost? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Some were cheaper, some more expensive. – Did you buy the icons painted on wood or on canvas? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Many were painted on wood, and we had some. There were also some that were painted on canvas: The Last Supper and Jesus Christ. A lot of things were destroyed by fire in our village, including books. – How many icons did your parents have in their house? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I don’t remember. – Do you remember any of them? mykhailo ievdokymovych: The Mother of God and Saint Pantaleon the Healer with the depiction of his story and how he was thrown into the fire. – When a young man went to the army, would his mother give him an icon? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No.

824

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– During the burials, did people use to put icons into coffins? mykhailo ievdokymovych: They still do. I have a small icon. – Did they use to put a bigger one into a coffin? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Those who didn’t have a small one would put a larger one. – Why did they do this? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Such is the custom. – When you went to church, did you pray to one particular icon? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There is only one God. People say: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. There were icons of saints who were said to help people if they prayed to that particular saint. – What saint did one pray to if they were going away on a journey? mykhailo ievdokymovych: There was no such saint. – If someone was ill, who did they pray to? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Saint Nicholas or Saint Pantaleon the Healer. – Would it happen that, if someone prayed to an icon but it didn’t help, they would get angry at it? mykhailo ievdokymovych: I don’t remember such a thing. – Were there any khresni khody in the fields? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Yes. If there had been no rain for a while, a priest would get dressed for the procession. He had a tool that would show if the rain was coming; it was a piece of wood of some kind that could sense the approaching rain. Then the priest would announce the procession to ask God for the rain. The people would go, and the rain would start. – Besides the Orthodox Church, was there any other church in your village? mykhailo ievdokymovych: No. – Did the authorities forbid raising money for the church? mykhailo ievdokymovych: You don’t raise money for the church that way. Instead, people sell things in church. If some kind of construction was planned, like a belfry or the domes, then people would collect money. This I remember. – Were there any free villages [khutory]? mykhailo ievdokymovych: We have some of those. Stolypin distributed the land for khutory, and we have them still. The idea was: this is your land and you can live here. And people built their houses around. Nowadays, the farmers have a hard time. It’s a dire place with the separation from Russia and Chornobyl’; bad things were done. – Do people regret their independence from Russia? mykhailo ievdokymovych: We regret that there is no order and that it’s hard to live. All you hear on the radio is that trains were delayed or a car

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carrying – what’s it called?– … How can you bring any order to all this? There is no responsibility, no khaziaiin. – What do you think is better: the kolhosp or private farmsteads? mykhailo ievdokymovych: If only there were fewer bosses per a working person now. There are so many of them who don’t do any work. So many crooks come to work in offices. If you need to get some document, you do several rounds and have to see three people for something simple that one person can do. And they only sit there and waste chairs. Pliushch said, “For one person with a plow, there are ten with a spoon.” Some administrators need to be let go; instead, they only switch them around. They steal everything: things and food. – What is the name of your daughter who was here? mykhailo ievdokymovych: Olha Mykhailivna Herashchenko born in 1929 in Krutky. People used to start working early, at age 15–16. Sofia Tymofiivna Hrushivska (born 1912), the village of Shevchenkove, Zvenyhorodskyi district, Cherkasy oblast

sofia tymofiivna: It didn’t use to be so bad. He has a disability of the first category; he was paralyzed during the war. No one noticed me. Ask my husband. […] – Aunt Sofia, when were you born? sofia tymofiivna: 1912. – Were you born here? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, here. – What was your village called? sofia tymofiivna: Kyrylivka … Does anyone have a fence like I do? He has a disability of the second category, and this brought attention. – How large was your family? sofia tymofiivna: My mother had eight [sic] children: four boys and three girls. – Were you the youngest? sofia tymofiivna: No, I was the middle child. – What was your maiden name? sofia tymofiivna: Shevchenko sofia tymofiivna. My father was Taras Shevchenko’s great-great-grandson. I’m not lying. – What was your mother’s last name? sofia tymofiivna: I’ve forgotten. – Were there various neighborhoods in Kyrylivka? sofia tymofiivna: No, it was just one village. Kyrylivka was a good place.

826

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– So the neighborhoods didn’t have their own names? sofia tymofiivna: They had names. – Which neighborhood were you born in? sofia tymofiivna: How would I know? I lived close to Budyshchi. I know we had a house. I have a house in Kyiv where I was born. It’s displayed at the exhibition now [Museum of Folk Architecture and Life in Pyrohiv]. – Did all of your family live in one house or did you have two houses? sofia tymofiivna: We lived in one house. Later on, we got married and left. – What else was in your farmstead? sofia tymofiivna: Three types of sheds: povitka (“tool storage”), klunia (barn), and komora (“cold room for perishable foods”). One of them was very good and was taken to the kolhosp nearby; it’s still there, but I don’t know where exactly. We have a wooden barn in the village somewhere around the training school. – How much land did your father have before the kolhospy? sofia tymofiivna: Not a lot. He had a mill with a set amount of grain that people paid to have their grain ground (in place of money). This is how he made a living. During the famine, there was nothing. – So, when people came to use his mill, they didn’t give him money? sofia tymofiivna: No, they paid with grain– either a large bowl [koriak] or a bucket [mirchuk]. – Did they pay with wheat? sofia tymofiivna: Whatever grain they brought to the mill. – So, your father could have less land but get enough food supply from the mill? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. Later on we got married and left. – Who was in charge in your family: your mother or your father? sofia tymofiivna: Both of them. And I can tell you now that when we went to cut the hay, my father would never carry the rakes on his shoulders. You had to carry the instruments and rake up the hay. Nowadays, they don’t rake it together so carefully. My father had everyone under control, what can I say? I had a brother named Kupriian who lived in Kyiv and worked in a museum; he had a summerhouse here and he died here. He moved here when he got weaker and was buried here. His wife is still alive. She was recently bitten by someone’s dog when she was on her way to the station, so she had to go to a hospital. – Was your father in charge of the family money? Did he go to fairs? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, he used to go to fairs and he had some money. He used to sell plums and apples. We had a large garden with apples, plums, and cherries. They would go to a market in Shpola. At times, he’d take one of the guys to look after the horses. He would bring home some goods such

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as cotton for shirts and skirts. One time, he went to a wedding and found a few capsules there [tn : artillery shells]. He put them in his pocket and thought he’d make pens and cups for the boys out of these capsules. So he kept carrying them in his pocket and one day he came to the mill and found a stitching awl. My mother just had a baby (Tetiana) at the time; she was by the oven and I was standing by the table with my brother Lionka. My father did something with the capsule, it exploded, his fingers got thrown in all directions, and the awl went right into a pillow. I had a wound right here. He grabbed his hand and tried to put it in the bucket with water. My mother fainted. He poured the water over her. When he woke up, she saw that his hand was gone. So they ran to the neighbors and took my father to the hospital. It was in the winter; there was a lot of snow. The doctor stitched the skin, and my father lived without his left hand. – When was this? sofia tymofiivna: Before the war. I don’t know for sure because I was very little. This was our life. – Did he continue to work in the household and go to fairs? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, he went to fairs and did everything. He took care of us because there were many of us. He had two wives. He had two sons (Pavlo and Mykyta) with his first wife; she died. We were his six children from his second wife. The sons went to different places: Baku and elsewhere. The six of us stayed here and lived together. – Do you remember how the kolhospy began? sofia tymofiivna: They gave us land near the mill, so we sowed wheat. The wheat was very good. Since my father had one hand, he used a rope to tie a scythe to his arm. He reaped, and my mother and I sheaved. We sowed everything including sunflowers. – Did they not confiscate your garden and the mill? sofia tymofiivna: No, my father was old, so the deceased Khrystia just took the mill apart. Her name was Khrystia Kuliova. She used to sew the blankets [riadna]. The mill over there is said to be one of the three mills: ours, the one belonging to Bilenky, and someone else’s. – Did they take the mill apart because your father was old and could not work? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – He didn’t want to sell it? sofia tymofiivna: No. We all moved away, and my youngest brother inherited the house. – When was the mill taken apart? Was it after the war? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know. My brother didn’t want to live in that house; he sold it and moved to Vatutino. He built a house for himself with some man from Kyiv: half a house for one, and half for the other. Then he didn’t want to live there either and left.

828

Appendix 5

– Why did your youngest brother inherit the house? sofia tymofiivna: I guess because we all got married. – Did he look after your father? sofia tymofiivna: No, we looked after our father and mother. I lived here at the time, so I buried my father with my other siblings. That brother sold our house to the museum in Kyiv. – Did young guys and girls work as day laborers before the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: Some went as hired workers, and some stayed at home. – Did your father hire someone at times to help at the mill? sofia tymofiivna: No, he didn’t. My husband Oleksa used to help out after we got married. My father was old, so he’d replace him once in a while. My father was 86 when he died, and my mother was 85. All my brothers are dead, too: Kuprian died here, Oleksa died in Vatutino, and Lion’ka died in Kyiv at his daughter’s. One sister is paralyzed in Zolotonosha, and the other… – How old were you when you started working in the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: 12. – What kind of work did you do? sofia tymofiivna: All kinds of work: carrying water, weeding, anything. – Did you have your own plot of land or did you help your mother on her plot? sofia tymofiivna: I helped others. When my mother worked on her plot, I helped her. The field was beyond the village; I weeded and carried the water. – Did people use to sing a great deal at the time? sofia tymofiivna: Oh, yes, people sang a great deal at the time. Everyone who was walking home from the sugar beets fields in Budyshchi during the Green Week would sing songs. And the main holiday was Kupala Night [tn : 6 July]. People sang all kinds of songs if they knew how to sing. Those who could not sing did not, just like today. – Did you make a fire on Kupala Night? sofia tymofiivna: Back then? I can’t say. I haven’t noticed. – Did the ladies go to the river? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, they would put the wreaths on the water; people with the flags [korohvy] would go from the church; they went to the lake and consecrated the wreaths there. – When you were a young girl, did you sing the spring songs [vesnianky] in the spring? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, I did. – Did you do the circle dance? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. You know the Easter holiday? The bells would ring a great deal in the church, and the boys would wear the embroidered shirts and make a round dance [shuma zaplitaly] around a man dressed in

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green boughs. This man was Hantypenko Khrystoforovych. They would make that dance, people would sing songs, and the bells in the church would ring. – How did they do the round dance? sofia tymofiivna: They would walk around [the dressed up person “shum”]. – Was shum in the middle? sofia tymofiivna: I’ve forgotten some. I know they used to dress him up and they would sing on the way. – Do you remember the year the kolhosp was set up? sofia tymofiivna: No, I don’t. – Did everyone join the kolhosp in your village? sofia tymofiivna: Not everyone. Later, they saw that it wasn’t working out, and they joined the kolhosp. – Were people forced to join? sofia tymofiivna: Who was forced? Our neighbor Zubko here had two children and a daughter-in-law; they didn’t join the kolhosp, and worked and had enough to eat. Nowadays – go figure. We work, but there’s nothing; our money is weird, and what can you buy with it? – How did the people who did not join the kolhosp make a living? sofia tymofiivna: They had land; later they joined the kolhosp, worked, and lived. – Were there families that refused to join the kolhosp and were deported to Siberia or elsewhere? sofia tymofiivna: I think some were deported, yes. The rich ones were evicted and deported. – Did they come back? sofia tymofiivna: Some did, and others didn’t. – Who set up the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: The locals from our village. I know this because they also demolished the church. They pulled it apart. I was a little child when they were doing this, and I saw that people were carrying very nice icons, so I thought to myself, “I’ll go there, too.” Grandpa Stepan said, “Where are you going? Are you going to take icons? What for?” The people burned those icons. – Did people burn anything? sofia tymofiivna: The people took and burned everything from the church. We had two good churches: Bohoslovs’ka and Prechysta. Our side of the village went to Prechysta, and the other side – to Bohoslovs’ka. Those were lovely churches, and now we have nothing. – Did the locals demolish the church? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, the locals. Those who were not lazy, could come to loot and take a whole cart of anything.

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– Were both churches demolished in the same year? sofia tymofiivna: No. One was demolished first and then the other; they took it apart piece by piece as if it were the parents’ mill. Now they try to put them up again, but there’re no resources. – How much were you paid by the kolhosp? sofia tymofiivna: We worked to have a workday marked with a stick. They would put a stick next to the house for each day worked. – For your work you got a stick? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, a stick. And we kept working. – Did they pay money or give any food for each stick? sofia tymofiivna: Sticks were used to mark the number of workdays. They paid something, but very little. – Where did you get the money to buy shoes? sofia tymofiivna: We would earn a little something; people paid. I used to get 12 rubli from the kolhosp, so I could buy a loaf of bread and some shoes. It’s not at all the same now. – During the kolhosp time, did you use to go to the fairs to sell the fruit? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, we used to sell the fruit and we would buy the clothes at the fairs. We lived in my brother’s house; he left for Baku; he worked in Budyshchi. He worked, and I washed a barrel and made sauerkraut in the attic. People would pay for it, and we had sauerkraut and pickles to eat. – Did people steal from the kolhosp at the time? sofia tymofiivna: They would take some, but not as much as they do now. – Did they fear punishments? sofia tymofiivna: Of course. Our neighbor Motria had four children; she went to sheave wheat, took some home, and was caught. She was sentenced to something like seven years, I think. Then she came back, and her children were still living here. – When Motria stole that wheat, did people disapprove? sofia tymofiivna: No, not the people, but she was caught by the head of the kolhosp. His name was Zahoruiko or something like that. – Who was the leading authority in the village before collectivization? sofia tymofiivna: It was probably the village council. – Was there a starosta? sofia tymofiivna: No, just the village council. – Did people gather in the neighborhood to sing? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, the girls used to gather in the neighborhood. – What were the voices called? sofia tymofiivna: They differed from girl to girl. One would start, and

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the other would end the song. We would go around singing in the evening, and the mentally retarded one would follow us. – Did people use to say, “She leads” or “She’s a bass singer”? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, they would also find someone with a balalaika to play. – Were there any women who were good singers? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, some girls and women were good singers. We had Iaryna Hrushivs’ka who was born in 1912. She was great. – Did people invite these women to weddings? sofia tymofiivna: No. If there was a wedding, they would go there to sing by themselves. – But no one hired them? sofia tymofiivna: No. They would just go to weddings to sing. – Did you have dosvitky or vechornytsi in your village? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, both. – What was the difference between the two? sofia tymofiivna: Dosvitky is when the girls gathered in a house and spin yarn in the evening. Vechornytsi was when girls gathered in the grazing field and sing. – Where did dosvitky take place? sofia tymofiivna: In a house of a single mother or an orphan. – When people went to dosvitky, did they bring kerosene or did they pay the house owner? sofia tymofiivna: No, they brought a large oil lamp to put in the middle of the house. They would put chairs around it, and sit down to spin yarn; guys would play cards behind them. – If people went there in the winter, did they bring firewood to keep the house warm? sofia tymofiivna: Oh, no. Where my husband lives, there used to live Vania and Motria. Their house was very cold. A guy used to sit in that house and shake, wearing a long linen shirt. It was cold. – Were there women in your village who assisted with childbirth? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – What did people call them? sofia tymofiivna: Baba-branka. – Did she help anyone who asked or only her relatives? sofia tymofiivna: She helped everyone. – How did people have to pay her? sofia tymofiivna: They would give her some cloth and a loaf of bread. – Were there women who were hired by others to keen at funerals? sofia tymofiivna: No.

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– Were there women chefs? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, and we still have them. – Did they make food for the weddings? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – How did people pay them? sofia tymofiivna: Back in the day, it was somehow… Nowadays, I know that people give them money, cloth for a dress, and a rushnyk. – When you were young, how long did the wedding last? sofia tymofiivna: Back in the day, they would start partying on Saturday and it would go on for a week. – What was the Saturday or Sunday before the wedding called? sofia tymofiivna: Saturday was called divych-vechir (“ladies’ night”) for the groom, and the bride would gather her maids of honor and go to the groom’s to play and sing. On Sunday, he would come to get her for the wedding in the church. Then they would go back to the bride’s place. – Who played at weddings? sofia tymofiivna: Men played the bubon and the harmonia, same as now. – Was there an ensemble of fiddle and bubon? sofia tymofiivna: There were fiddles, too. I remember my father bought a fiddle because he wanted the boys to learn to play; the fiddle was in the house for a long time, and we sold it. They didn’t learn to play. We still have Mykola in the village who’s a very good fiddle player. – How old is he now? sofia tymofiivna: He’s old. – Was he the one who bought the fiddle from your father? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. And he played it. It was a very loud fiddle. Mykola Panteleimonovych is his name. He is still alive. – Did your father buy the fiddle because he wanted his sons to make some money playing? sofia tymofiivna: No. He bought it so they could play for fun because they were little. But they played their father and mother instead. – Did you want to play? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, but I didn’t have time. I had a lot of work. I only had one year of school because I had to spin yarn and make cloth or sleeves. I didn’t have time to study. – Did you tell your father that you wanted to play? Did he let you? sofia tymofiivna: I didn’t say anything to anyone because I had no time. We had a cow, a horse, and a large family, so we worked. – Was there a tavern in your village before the kolhosp?

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sofia tymofiivna: I think there were two. – Who used to be the sellers there? sofia tymofiivna: The present-day profiteers. – Did the musicians use to play there sometimes? sofia tymofiivna: No. – Did you go to concerts in the village club? sofia tymofiivna: No, because the club was far away. You had to walk a long way to get there. – When you were a young girl, did the startsi go around your village? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – How did you call them: blind or temni? sofia tymofiivna: No. They would come, collect the alms, and go away, same as nowadays. – During the kolhosp time, did you go to vote? sofia tymofiivna: You know, there were no elections before the war. – Were there any startsi who played the hurdy-gurdy or the bandura? sofia tymofiivna: No. – Were there any hurdy-gurdy players on the market? sofia tymofiivna: I didn’t see any. – Did the regular startsi sing? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, a blind man with a boy would sit and put a hat on the ground. – What did they sing? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know, I don’t remember. I know that on Shevchenko’s holiday, my mother would bake fritters and people would come to one house to celebrate. They would bring Taras Shevchenko’s portrait. I still have the portrait that my mother used, but I gave away the rushnyk to the museum. Shevchenko’s portrait is on the wall in my house. On holidays, the inspectors would go around the village. My father had a large portrait of Shevchenko and he gave it to me. – Did the whole village celebrate Shevchenko’s holiday? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, the whole village. We were little and curious about the celebrations. At some point, it was forbidden to celebrate, and then allowed again. – Did landowners from Kyiv come to these celebrations? sofia tymofiivna: No. My father and I went to Kaniv twice on invitation. I also went to Shpola for the opening of the monument with my director. – Among the startsi, were there any women? sofia tymofiivna: We had one blind woman named Bulachans’ka in a village nearby. She was surrounded by her many children.

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– Did she sing on the market or in the villages? sofia tymofiivna: She would sit on a bench somewhere in the center of the village, and people would give her money. – Did she not have a husband? sofia tymofiivna: She had one, but she had too many children, including the illegitimate ones. She was blind, but she was as sturdy as a cow. She went around asking for alms. – Did people dislike her and not give her alms because she had children out of wedlock? sofia tymofiivna: Was it her fault? People were sorry for the children. – Did the bandura players use to come to the kolhospy? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know. – Were there any ensembles in the club? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, they used to participate in some expo at the time. – After the church was dismantled, what happened to the priest? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know where that priest is. Nowadays, we have a corrupt one. – After the priest and the church were removed, what was the burial like? Who sang at funerals? sofia tymofiivna: The woman who read the psalms. People would come into the house, and we would ask her to sing. – So, the women were the ones who sang? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, the women. Later on, they started hiring wind instruments for funerals. – Was there a group of women who sang the psalms? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – When they were invited to funerals, how did people pay them? sofia tymofiivna: They paid them something. We had one woman who lived alone and only had 800,000 saved. She wanted to call the priest, but he charged 100,000. When he found out that her daughter worked as a plasterer, he said, “Come to plaster my house.” Son of a bitch! How is that possible? – Do you remember if there were any “red” weddings in your village after the kolhospy began? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Did the komsomol’ members get married in a different ceremony? sofia tymofiivna: There were various weddings. – Did the relatives intermarry? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, this was not allowed, but it used to happen. People didn’t like this. – After the churches were demolished, where would the people baptize their children?

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sofia tymofiivna: If only they were baptized. When my boy was born and the priest was still alive, my husband went to his house but didn’t find him there. The priest’s wife said he was in another house. My husband went there, “I need to baptize my son.” The priest said, “I don’t have the scissors; do you?” My husband had them, so the priest baptized our child in his house. – Why did he need the scissors? sofia tymofiivna: To cut the hair on the head in the shape of a cross. – What did the priest do since there was no church? sofia tymofiivna: Nothing. He played cards. He baptized our child because we gave him the scissors. We closed the windows because baptism was forbidden. We had dinner with closed windows and went home. – Who did you ask to be godparents? sofia tymofiivna: A husband and wife. – Your relatives? sofia tymofiivna: Acquaintances of friends. – Were they afraid to come? sofia tymofiivna: No. – Do you remember if people got together to build a house for someone? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, they helped each other to build houses. This was called toloka. You’d come to help me, and I would come to help you. – Did any of your relatives take part in the civil war? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Did they come back to the village after the war? sofia tymofiivna: Not all of them. Many didn’t come back. – Did you sing any revolutionary songs? sofia tymofiivna: We didn’t have time for this back then. – When you were single, did you do seasonal jobs as a day laborer? sofia tymofiivna: Everyone would go to the landowners to make a living. – In your village or somewhere else? sofia tymofiivna: In my village and elsewhere. – When would you normally go to work? sofia tymofiivna: When the season would start: weeding the sugar beets and such. They would pay 10–15 kopiiky. At the time, 7–10 kopiiky would buy you a meter of fabric. – Were the day laborers usually young or would the older people go, too? sofia tymofiivna: All ages. Whoever could walk and work. – Was there a store? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, and they would call out to customers. – Who worked in the store? sofia tymofiivna: The Ukrainians were selling things there. The

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merchants would lay out their goods on the counters, “Come take a look at my fabrics.” – Did people go caroling in your village? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Did you go, too? sofia tymofiivna: No, I didn’t, but they went caroling. Guys would dress up and have someone dressed as a goat. – Was there a potter in the village? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Is he still alive? sofia tymofiivna: No, those potters are gone. They didn’t work in our village; they made pots, jars, bowls, and pots. – But there was no potter in your village? sofia tymofiivna: No. – Were the startsi present only before collectivization? sofia tymofiivna: I guess so. – Were they gone after collectivization? sofia tymofiivna: No, they always existed and still are. My daughter-inlaw is in Kyiv, and she says, “Good Lord, old people are sitting outside in the streets.” – Who lived in your village before collectivization: Ukrainians only or perhaps there were the Jews, Poles, or Romani people? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know any Poles, but there were the Romani people. We bought a whitewashed house and they rented it from us. – They rented it? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Did they pay you rent? sofia tymofiivna: No, we used to bring the materials and they looked after them. They would also chop the wood. – Were there any Jewish people? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Where did they go? sofia tymofiivna: Oh, we had one named Heshko. He was dispossessed and exiled. – Did he have a lot of land? sofia tymofiivna: No. He was a Jew, that’s why. Oh-h-h, he was dispossessed. – Was he a kind man? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, he was a good man, but they took him away, and that was it. – What happened to his children?

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sofia tymofiivna: They ran away and were hiding in other people’s houses. Malia was his wife’s name; she was a beautiful woman; his name was Heshko. – Were there any other Jewish families? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know. – What word did people use in your village: ievrei or zhyd? sofia tymofiivna: Both words were in use. – Did you go to school? sofia tymofiivna: I did, for a year. – What was the language of instruction? sofia tymofiivna: Ukrainian. – Could one buy books or newspapers at the time? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, and the main thing was that you had a primer. – Were there any icon painters in your village? sofia tymofiivna: He is still alive, I guess. Mykola Panteleimonovych paints well. – Did his father paint, too? sofia tymofiivna: No. – When you were getting married, did your mother give you a “blessing” [an icon]? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Where did she buy them? sofia tymofiivna: How would I know? I still have these icons. – Are they painted on wood and covered with glass? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, with glass. – Were there any icons painted on wood? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. I gave two such icons to a museum. The museum workers were asking for them, so I gave them the icons; next thing I know– they sold them and kept the money. – What was on those icons? sofia tymofiivna: They were old icons. They kept asking me to donate them, and so I did. I could have sold them myself like they did. – What was painted on the icons? sofia tymofiivna: A woman on one icon, and a man on the other. – Do you remember if there was an icon painter to whom the people went to commission icons? sofia tymofiivna: No, I haven’t noticed such a painter. People used to by icons on the market. – Who sold the icons: a man or a woman? sofia tymofiivna: Both men and women. – How many icons did your mother have in her house?

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sofia tymofiivna: Oh, plenty. There were wooden ones on a shelf for plates and there was a large icon in the corner. She had many icons. – Did the icons have a specific place in the house or did your mother sometimes switch them around? sofia tymofiivna: No, they were always in one place. – Did people put rushnyky over the icons? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Did they have special rushnyky for the lent and the holiday? sofia tymofiivna: No, I think the rushnyky were the same because there were some that were embroidered on cloth and some red ones. – Did you put an icon lamp? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – When did you light it up? sofia tymofiivna: In the evening or for the holidays. – What did this mean? sofia tymofiivna: How would I know? We just used to light it up. – Did people put icons into coffins? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, and they still do. – Were those icons small? sofia tymofiivna: They were large and small. – Why don’t you know? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know. – Did people cross themselves in front of the icon when setting out on a journey? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – In front of which icon did they do this? sofia tymofiivna: People would always cross themselves in the house before going to bed. I don’t know if they do it now. I do. – Did people tell stories of icons getting angry and punishing people? sofia tymofiivna: I haven’t heard of such things. – Did people use to say that the spirit of the dead lives behind the icons? sofia tymofiivna: Perhaps they said this because they were afraid to leave children alone in the house. They would say, “Don’t touch this or that because the icon is looking.” So the children were afraid; maybe they thought that if no one was watching they could take the food and eat it. – Did people use to tell their children not to do something because God would get angry? sofia tymofiivna: Yes, God would get angry. – Did parents use to say between themselves, ‘Don’t swear because the icon is in the house’? sofia tymofiivna: Yes. – Did you hear what could happen if someone had a dream of an icon?

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sofia tymofiivna: I don’t know. One time, our dog was howling a great deal. I got up and [accidentally] burned a boiler. How does the dog know what I did? – Do you feel that you are of Shevchenko’s lineage? What do you think of your relative? sofia tymofiivna: I don’t feel anything. I know that I’m related to him, but no one pays any attention. They used to, back in the day, but now I have this fence … – Where could you turn to have the fence fixed? sofia tymofiivna: I can’t get one anywhere. I went to the head of the village council, but he said, “I can’t get you a fence anywhere.” – Does your son not live here? sofia tymofiivna: No. Ivan Serhiiovych Mushynskyi (born 1903), the village of Vilshana, Horodyshchenskyi district, Cherkasy oblast – Do you remember your mother’s last name? ivan serhiiovych: Her maiden name was Kovalenko Hanna Dmytrivna. – In what neighborhood were you born? ivan serhiiovych: Pronivka. – What other neighborhoods were there? ivan serhiiovych: Persha Zahreblia, Druha Zahreblia, Novoselytsia, Tuptyn khutir, Persha Valiava, Druha Valiava, Persha Natiahalivka, and Druha Natiahalivka. – When were you born? ivan serhiiovych: 9 December 1903. – Do you remember your childhood? ivan serhiiovych: I know my father very well, but I don’t know my grandfather. My grandfather died in 1905, and my grandmother had a long life; she died in 1936 at the age of 98. – Did your father own any land? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, four hectares. – Was your family large? ivan serhiiovych: Let me count: Ihor, Olha, Ivan, Hnat, Vasyl, Motrona, Varka, Khrystia, and Maria – nine people. – Did your father have any cattle? ivan serhiiovych: At first, one cow and one horse, and later on he had two horses, a few pigs, and sheep. – How did he plow? ivan serhiiovych: He used a horse.

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– You didn’t have any oxen, did you? ivan serhiiovych: No. My great-grandfather had oxen because he was a Chumak. I’ll tell you how land was divided when serfdom was abolished in 1861. My grandfather was a serf and used four oxen to plow the landowner’s field. The land was divided between those who worked as serfs. Those who didn’t would not get any land. This is how the land was divided: a person with two oxen would get six hectares; a person with four oxen would get 12. Someone who worked alone got three hectares. My grandfather was given 12 hectares. He had four sons, and he split the land between them. One of them was a Cossack. We had three landowners’ enterprises in Vilshany and an administrator; the main office was in Bila Tserkva. His son Vasyl was a mailman and was allotted 12 hectares, too. He didn’t take any of his father’s land, so the land was eventually split between three sons; each got four hectares. My grandfather had one son (my father), so each of them had four hectares, and I gave four hectares to the kolhosp. My neighbors had their son’s land and they divided it by two hectares. They were poor. The resellers who didn’t work for the landowners but somehow managed to buy themselves out paid the landowner – they stayed without the land. – Did your family live in one house? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Was the house divided into two parts? ivan serhiiovych: No, it was one house. We built it in 1921. We had had a large house, but we took it apart in 1913 and my father was taken to war; we started building the house only in 1921 when he came back from the war after the Revolution. – Who was considered the main figure in your family? ivan serhiiovych: My father. They managed the household together, but my father was in charge. If we needed to buy something or do something, they would discuss it together. – Did your mother have her own money? ivan serhiiovych: Back in the day, the man who was in charge of the family had the key to the place where the money was kept. If you needed to buy some salt, you could find the money for it. – Where would one find the money? ivan serhiiovych: People sowed the hemp in several shifts, and the Jews came to buy the crops. We didn’t eat Easter eggs that we made but took them to the market to sell; this is how you would buy salt and baking soda to make cheese pancakes. If you needed to buy anything bigger than that, that would be on the father’s money. – Whose money was used when a family had to prepare a dowry for their daughter?

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ivan serhiiovych: Common money. People used to fast back then, and

children under three years old would get an Easter egg and milk during the Nativity Fast (Pylypivka, from 15 November to 24 December). We had a total of 200 days of fasting in a year, including the Fast of the Holy Apostles (Petrivka, also called the ‘Fast of Peter and Paul,’ from the first Monday after Pentecost until June) and the Assumption Fast (Spasivka, in August). Wednesdays and Fridays were also fasting days. If you put everything together, you get 200 days [of fasting]. We didn’t eat meat or milk, but the children would get an Easter egg. If I broke a cup, I wouldn’t get an Easter egg; if I broke a spoon, I could have one. – Who was the main authority in the village before the Revolution? ivan serhiiovych: At the time, we had a volost and starshyna was the main authority. He was elected. Our volost’ consisted of Zhurovka, Petryky, Vilshana, Verbivka, Zelene, and Tovsta; this was Vilshanska volost. In the village, we had a statosta and a room for detentions [in the text, kardoharnia, a local word, perhaps the same as katalozha, “a detention holding facility”]. No protocols were drafted at the time. If someone was drunk, they would whip him and lock him up in a detention room; he’d spend the night there and put 50 kopiiky into a cup. This cup was sealed, just like this urn. We had criminal prosecution, guards, and administrators. Before the Revolution, it was forbidden to sing in the evenings because this would disturb the order. One drunken man was walking and singing, and the guards took him and gave him a beating: his legs were tied; they bent him over a barrel; one man sat on his neck, and the other pulled his pants down and hit him 25 times with a whip. [The punished] would then spend two weeks lying on his belly, and the next time he was drunk, he’d remember, “My tongue, be quiet or else I’ll get another beating.” – Was the starosta elected in a local village? ivan serhiiovych: A starosta was elected in our local village, and the starshyna was elected by all the villages of the volost by a secret ballot. To vote yes one would put the peas, and to vote no one would put the beans into the box; people were not literate. For the election of the starshyna each village would propose its candidate. – Did people gather in town for council? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, people would gather on the square near the volost building. They would select the best khaziai – elderly people, 50–60 years of age. People knew people in other villages, too. There were very few drunkards, but still, we had some. – How was the power divided with the church starosta? ivan serhiiovych: This was the church council. They had elderly people – sisters and brothers. The sisters were the women who were no longer giving

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birth to children; there were also the elderly men. They chose their starosta. The priest was like a hired worker, and the starosta was the administrator [khaziaiin]. The church council was in charge. They would make decisions about the renovations and such, but the priests played an important role at the time. They would record deaths and brths; they would send the documents to the army, too. There were no Civil Registry Office at the time. The priest was in charge of all that. – What was the highest body of this government? ivan serhiiovych: Skhodka. – What decisions were made during a skhodka? ivan serhiiovych: Decisions on the economic activities and the jobs that had to be done in the village. In 1908, they wanted to build a hospital in our village. It was discussed at the skhodka, but the village hospital had to be funded by the tax money (desiatyna). The people didn’t want to proceed, so the hospital was built in Shevchenkove, and we only had a landowners’ hospital. – Did people go to that hospital? ivan serhiiovych: No. People didn’t get ill much at the time. The landowners’ laborers worked in that hospital because we had three landowners. A doctor would see children up to seven years old, but not the old people. So the people didn’t go to the hospital and went to women-healers instead. – Did women take part in a local community assembly (skhodka)? ivan serhiiovych: No, God forbid. A woman is for pots; women used to be concerned with pots. There was a custom at the time to say of the man who held his child in his arms in public, “She put a skirt or a clay bowl on him.” “Stepan’s wife put a skirt on him.” He could hold his child in the house, but not in public, not to be seen like that. – Did all members of the community have equal right to vote? ivan serhiiovych: All except women. All who came had the right to vote. – What was the voting age? ivan serhiiovych: 18. – Were only the married men allowed to vote or the young bachelors could vote, too? ivan serhiiovych: No, young men did not vote. Only the khaziaii. A bachelor didn’t go to a skhodka because he was not a khaziaiin; he was called a burla. – Who had the highest authority in the village? ivan serhiiovych: At the time – the good khaziaii, those who didn’t drink and had land and a family. – Were there many khaziaii in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Not many. There were some who owned land but were drunkards. They were not understood well.

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– What was considered a large homestead? ivan serhiiovych: This didn’t depend on the measurements, but on the person’s actions and how well-maintained his homestead was. Most of the farmsteads in our village had seven, eight, or 10 desiatyny, up to 20 maximum. – Did you hire any day laborers? ivan serhiiovych: We did everything on our own. A scythe was used for harvesting, and girls would be hired to sheave, but we didn’t have any day laborers [naimyty]. Vilshana had such good khaziaii that no one needed day laborers [naimyty]. The khaziaii were deported. I had a neighbor who owned land but was very poor. – Why was he deported? ivan serhiiovych: Because he owned land. It was a policy at the time: they didn’t join the kolhosp, and a tax was imposed on them which they couldn’t pay because they had nothing. The village council wrote in the records whatever they wanted to write: that those people had day laborers, that they had this or that. There was a committee in Korsun that took them in. – How did you pay those girls for sheaving? ivan serhiiovych: With money. – What about the day laborers that were hired for the whole year? ivan serhiiovych: They would get money, too, but they also got food and clothes. A landowner had permanent positions for blacksmiths, carpenters, wheelwrights, guards, and those who looked after the oxen and the horses. There were no production animals, just the working animals. Those workers were paid [amount and currency were not indicated in the original interview. “7.5 rubli per month” is mentioned in the interview below by Nadezha] and given food rations. – What year was this? ivan serhiiovych: Before the Revolution. The food ration included two pounds of oil, 16 kg of flour, and some firewood per month. Those who worked all year round also got half a desiatyna of ripe wheat; they only had to harvest it on their own. In spring [iaryna] they would also get half a desiatyna of the landowner’s land – sow what you will. There were few of them. – Did they have any land of their own? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, they had a bit of their own land. Our neighbors had two hectares, but the family was large; two hectares was not enough for them. – Was there a division into the rich, seredniaky, and the poor? ivan serhiiovych: Not before the Revolution. There were khaziaii; and the poor were the poor. During the Revolution, they were divided into those three categories: kurkuli, seredniaky, and komnezamy.

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– Who was considered poor before the Revolution? ivan serhiiovych: Those who didn’t own any land. Some didn’t own any land but lived better than the ones that owned land because they were merchants. – What did they do? ivan serhiiovych: They sold products, had some kind of trade, and made shoes or barrels; some were carpenters, but we had few such people. Others were very poor; they had large families and no land. – Were the poor looked down upon at the time? ivan serhiiovych: No. Depending on their actions. Some poor people behaved well and were respected; some richer ones didn’t behave well and were not accepted or loved. Some owned three hectares of land. He would harvest the winter crops and lease the land for a year for the spring grains because after the spring grains the land was used to graze the cattle [toloka]; no one would buy land during that time because you can’t sow anything. The land was leased for one-time harvest. Some people would take the lease money and spend it on alcohol. People were poor before the Revolution. – Did the poor try to marry the rich? ivan serhiiovych: Rarely. The poor ones were despised to an extent. The young people didn’t pay so much attention, but their parents did. I remember that the parents would arrange marriages without their children knowing. – Did people have a drink in the tavern [shynok]? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Were there many such taverns? ivan serhiiovych: We didn’t have any main ones; the Jews owned them in our village. They had a patent. Rukhlia was in charge; vodka wasn’t sold as openly back then as it is now. She would open at 10 p.m. and close at 2 a.m.; this was observed strictly. If one needed to celebrate a wedding, they would go to the matchmakers. If there was a priest, they would go to him to arrange the wedding. This was a custom. At the time, the weddings were held not on Sundays, but on weekdays. They would go to a priest; a richer person would pay five rubli or something like that, and the poorer would pay less. The priest knew the people of his parish. We had two churches. The people went to their priest. The parents went to sell things, and the priest gave them a note confirming that they could buy vodka. So they would buy as much as they needed; back in the day, people sold vodka by the buckets; there were such large bottles called a quarter [chetvert’]; they must have been three liters. The richer people would buy five buckets, and they didn’t make any moonshine [samohonka]. People started making moonshine around the Revolution. Some brought the recipes from the war and started making it; before the war, they had no idea what it was. In our village, there were no tomatoes before

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the Revolution. After the Revolution, we had tomatoes, natural seeding for borscht. My mother died when she was 105, and my father died young. He had tetanus after he wounded his leg, and there was no treatment at the time. He died in a week. – Were there any market fairs in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Sure thing. There was one in Vilshana where everyone went. The fair was where we now have a store and a school, and down below was the landowner’s pond; this is where the market was set up. People would sell the sheep, pigs, and goats there. Now, on the hill we had oxen, cows, and horses for sale. The Romani people used to sell them. – Did khaziaii sell horses to each other? ivan serhiiovych: Of course. The Romani people resold them; the khaziaii were selling stallions, or they would keep a stallion and sell an older horse. – Did you have merchants who sold meat? ivan serhiiovych: The Jewish people sold meat from dry cows, not pork. There was a butcher’s shop. These merchants sold pork; they bought pigs and sold pork; they had very little land. At the time, aged lard was more expensive than the fresh one, unlike now. There wasn’t a lot of old lard on the market, and it cost 30 kopiiky per pound; the fresh lard would cost 20–25 kopiiky. One had to have a patent. The Jews used to sell beer on a Russian license; they paid a certain percentage to the Russians, because the Jews were [technically] not allowed to sell beer. – Who made the clothes? ivan serhiiovych: Clothes were made locally. Before the Revolution, men didn’t have an overcoat; they only wore a camisole and a jacket without a lining. The overcoat appeared during the Revolution. Before that, it would be made of linen. If a woman was getting married, she had to make pants and a shirt for her husband, children, and herself. People would go to tailors to order overcoats for the children; people also made long linen undershirts for their children once they turned three years old. The child would wear this shirt until he grew up and the shirt reached his belly. One had two such shirts: while one was in the laundry, he would wear the other one. Back in the day, guys would wear a long shirt until they turned 20 years old; they would start wearing pants when they were drafted into the army. If someone was hiding to avoid the army service during Catherine’s reign, he would get caught. – Did mothers embroider shirts for men? ivan serhiiovych: Who else? A mother would sew everything, and the pants usually had two zippers. – Why? ivan serhiiovych: She would make wide-leg pants on her own, and would stitch the top hem for the belt. If the pants got torn, she would mend

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them. The person wearing such pants was considered a khaziaiin. When going to the church, he would wear leather boots treated with tar. – What did the men wear on top of the shirt? ivan serhiiovych: A svytka, a kyreia, or an overcoat [kozhukh]. Kyreia was a kind of a cloak made of woolen cloth. – What kinds of hats were there? ivan serhiiovych: Simple hats, made from lambskin. – What were these hats called? ivan serhiiovych: Just hats, not vushanka, but a pot-shaped hat. Guys bought lambskin hats because men didn’t wear them. There were no vushanky. Women would wear a shirt, a belt, and an overcoat [kufaika]. At home, a woman would wear a skirt with a zapaska [see below next question]. If she was going to town, she would remove the belt and turn the skirt inside out. A woman had one or two skirts. A better-off woman could have three skirts or more. Some people were so poor that if they washed a shirt, they would sit on the oven waiting for that shirt to dry. There were many poor people at the time. Some people went blind because of their diet because they never ate any meat or oil and only ate borscht with horseradish. Little by little, life got better after people got land after the Revolution. – What was zapaska made of? ivan serhiiovych: It was homespun. People would spin yarn and dye it black. – Did people tie a belt on top of a zapaska? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, and they would put tassels and pom-poms. The belts were of two forms: the ribbon-like ones [strichechkovy] were homemade, and the viatirkovy [a local word unknown to me] were woven out of dyed wool. – What were the red ones dyed with? ivan serhiiovych: They bought a specific red dye for this. – Did your father sell anything from his farm on the market? ivan serhiiovych: Mostly bread or a piglet or a bull-calf. They sold them at a local fair. We had a fair in our village because we had many Jews in the village. – What happened to the Jews during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: They were here before the war, then some of them left. There were few of them after, but there were some left. During the war, the Germans took them. – During collectivization, did they join the kolhosp? ivan serhiiovych: There was only one Jew in the kolhosp. – Were they punished for not joining the kolhosp? ivan serhiiovych: Nobody cared. The Jews were also salesmen. Some people went to work the land in the steppes, so one Jew joined them. They

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would sign up in spring and autumn. When it got to going there, he said, “Oh! I won’t go. My wife and children are sick.” So, he stayed, and one Jewish woman worked in the kolhosp weeding the crops. The kolhosp was organized in 1928 and it was called “The Red Way” (Chervoniy Shliakh). Her husband was an accountant. The girls sang so well; she was barely able to find her way home and never went there again. – Were you considered seredniaky? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Did people use to borrow something from your family? ivan serhiiovych: Not at the time. If one was a khaziaiin, he had his own. – Did people borrow money? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, but with witnesses present. People would not lend much money; it would depend on who was asking. If the person was reliable, they would let him borrow. If not, they would say that they had no money. – At what age were the children taught to work? ivan serhiiovych: From early on. When a girl was six or seven, she had to be near her mother helping peel the potatoes. When a child turned seven or eight, he or she would graze the cattle. An older one would go to graze the cattle, and a younger one would follow. – Were the sheep grazed in flocks or did each person graze their own sheep? ivan serhiiovych: Each person grazed their own cattle, but the sheep were taken care of by the shepherd. I grazed a cow, and the sheep would follow it because if they were on their own, they were afraid of dogs. There were sheep flocks in the village corners. – Was a shepherd hired? ivan serhiiovych: Hired and paid. If I gave him five sheep, he would charge five rubli for the summer. 30 rubli was a large sum at the time; one could buy a cow with that. Each sheep had an earmark or a collar. They would all go in a flock. – What kind of sheep did you have? ivan serhiiovych: Plain black ones. – You didn’t have any curly-haired ones, did you? ivan serhiiovych: No. The wool from the ones we had was straight, long, and black. – How many times a year did you shear the sheep? ivan serhiiovych: Once a year. We sheared lambs, too. Some people sheared them twice a year, but that wool wasn’t good. It was called kushnirka; it was short and would not fit into the head of a needle. It would tear fast, too. – What did people make from wool? ivan serhiiovych: Overcoats [svytky]. There was a fullery. – In your village?

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ivan serhiiovych: No, they would come from Korsun’. A piece of vine

the length of a finger would be used as a document. Half of it was given to the owner of the wool and the other half was tied to the woolen cloth; sometimes letters were used to mark the cloth. Then the cloth weaver would tell people when to come to pick up their cloths. He would come to the market, and people knew where he would be located; they’d come and bring their piece of vine for him to identify their wool. He would match the two halves of a vine stick together to confirm. – Were there overcoats with creases [vusa]? ivan serhiiovych: One crease would be made to distinguish men’s overcoats from women’s. – How did the overcoats look from behind? ivan serhiiovych: They were the same. Every village had a different way of making overcoats. We didn’t have this type of clothing in Petropavlivka. Each village had different styles. In our village Vilshana people made roundshaped blazers made of plush [kruhli kufaiechky z plysom]. We didn’t have any godets in our clothes, unlike people in Shevchentsi who used godets and folds from the waist down. We had a tanner Serioha; he was a good master. – Were the overcoats straight in your village? ivan serhiiovych: They were broader at the top. They were called polushubok or tulubok. Tulubky, however, were not normally sewn because they weren’t profitable. Kozhukh was popular because one could wear it and use it as a blanket, too. We didn’t have beds at the time, and houses were not built like they are now. There was a storage space for the produce or clothes, the hallway, and then a room with an oven. Next to the oven you had a sleeping ledge. There was no porch, just a large room. – Where were the icons? ivan serhiiovych: Above the table. There was a ledge on the stove and a mattress made of either rushes or straw. Little children would sleep on the floor, and the adults would bring in some hay and sleep next to them. They would also bring the lambs and the calves in for the winter. When I was sleeping there, one lamb would come to hide in my coat and sleep with me. – Did everyone in your village join the kolhosp? ivan serhiiovych: Not everyone joined at once. The assemblies were called in each neighborhood. “Who wants to join the kolhosp?” – “Add me.” – “What do you have?” – “A wife and four children.” They were enrolled. Those who had the horses didn’t join. What would they use to plow the land in the kolhosp? Those who had less land and no horses joined right away. In the next few days, they called another assembly. At first, we had the soz , and then the kolhospy. – Were the seredniaky forced to join the kolhosp?

Five Complete Interviews

ivan serhiiovych: Well, the seredniaky joined. They were holding off a

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bit, but they were quickly forced. In 1929 the evictions of the rich began, and they joined the kolhosp. All land was mixed together and redistributed. You could not find the land that you had owned. The fields were split into plots in a totally different way: 120 fathoms one way or the other; it was called a cell. A desiatyna had 20 fathoms; this was six desiatyny; they set uneven boundaries and transferred it all into hectares. Those who got land plots in the ravine after the land redistribution got another 0.1 hectares on top of that. – How did those who didn’t join the soz live? ivan serhiiovych: They continued to lease the land. This was all done in one year. In a soz , we just sowed the crop one time in the summer, and the winter crops were planted in the kolhosp. – How were those who did not want to join the kolhosp treated? ivan serhiiovych: There were few such people in our village. Those who didn’t join the kolhosp and were not subject to exile because they were poor received land plots at the edge of the field because that land was not convenient. If someone didn’t join the kolhosp, they got land and were taxed with grain delivery [to the state]. That person would not fulfill that obligation because he had no crop. They came to his house and took everything he had, including any food he had in the pots. They would bring it all to the kolhosp, weigh it, and leave it there. – Did people steal from the kolhosp? ivan serhiiovych: They cut the spikelets during the famine, and they were sentenced to three years. Otherwise, they didn’t steal– they took some food. Stealing is when you break into someone’s property; if it’s in the kolhosp, it’s not theft. The person works there and he takes some. When they started putting people on trial, the guard started checking the pockets and the bags. Everyone would be checked to make sure they didn’t have a single grain on them. – When did people start supporting collective property? ivan serhiiovych: After the famine in 1935 or 1936. The harvest was good in 1937, so we got seven kilograms of bread per workday and 50 kopiiky cash. Everyone supported the kolhosp. I gave my plow, horses, and harrows to the kolhosp; everyone remembered their property. We gave the state our grain to sow and feed the cattle, and whatever was left was to pay for work, so everyone cheered for the collective property to work out. – Were there any people who told ancient legends or tales? ivan serhiiovych: No. – Did men and women gather separately? ivan serhiiovych: The girls went to hodenky (dosvitky), not the women. As soon as the girl got married, that was it; she would stay at home. Men used

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to go to play cards, and there was a book called Ne liubo, ne slukhai, brekhat ne mishai [A folk saying that translates as “if you don’t like it, don’t listen, but don’t prevent me from telling stories”]. This was before the Tsarist war, and people also read Kobzar. At the time, there weren’t many educated people in the village, and people would gather at the house of the person who had a smaller family and a larger house. – What did the men talk about? ivan serhiiovych: They didn’t talk about farming. They would either play cards or read a book. One book [a fantasy] was about a family where a father died and the son and the grandfather were in charge of the farmstead. They used turkeys to plow the land and get the milk. A wolf damaged the pipe while they were milking the turkey; the milk got spilled and washed off the wolf who fell into a barrel, and the lady of the house made cheese and baked pies and took them to the field. The grandfather and his grandson were trying to split the pie, but it didn’t work, so they put it onto a wheel; the pie got split and the wolf jumped out of it. That was the story in the book. – Was there a church choir in the village? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. There was one woman who was a good singer and a few others who organized the choir, but our deacon was a drunkard. Krups’kiy was the choirmaster. Girls and men would sing, not boys. – How many voices were in the choir? ivan serhiiovych: I don’t know. – Was the choir gone during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: In 1929, the priest was evicted, and the church services stopped. – Were there any musicians in the village? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Did they play fiddle? ivan serhiiovych: The harmonia. – Did anyone play wind instruments? ivan serhiiovych: In the landowner’s enterprise, the landowners would hire the musicians among their people to play at dinners. They would play for an hour and get paid; the landowners would dance. – Was there a club in your village during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Did the musicians play there? ivan serhiiovych: Back then, we had silent films and harmonia players. – Did the startsi go around the village? ivan serhiiovych: Why would they? They used to come before the war, before the Revolution. The war began in August 1914. – Did they play any instruments?

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ivan serhiiovych: They played a kobza. They would get together, sit

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down, and play. – Did they play the hurdy-gurdy? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, and the music box, too. – Did they sit on the market? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, on the market. A son of one farmer met a starets’s daughter but was not allowed to date her. He insisted and said that he would harm himself if they didn’t let him date her. After a while, his father let him bring her home. Back in the day, the tradition was for the groom’s father to go to the bride’s father. He came out and said, “My son Stepan wants to marry your daughter Nastia.” – “If he wants to, let them live together. If you can be my guide, I will let Nastia marry your son.” The groom’s father went back home to discuss this with his wife. They talked to their son again, “Come on, son. Stop this. I won’t be a blind man’s guide. People will laugh at me.” – “I won’t marry anyone else. Only Nastia.” They gave it a thought and let him marry her. His father went to see her father again, “I’ll be your guide, but not in my village.” He had a horse, and so they drove the horse around the village asking for alms. They went around one village and collected 438 kilograms of grain in a day. The next day they went to another village and collected a good deal of grain again. The farmer said to the blind man, “Do you have any other villages in mind?” – “No, none.” At first, he didn’t want to go, but he liked it. He came to his wife and said, “You know, it’s not such a bad job. We collected more grain this way than we normally harvest from a hectare of land.” And so they became friends. I visited them … He was poor, too, but they went around asking for grain and they saved the money because they had a daughter. There were sticks like little tubes; you could fit a 10-rubli note in it. And they saved enough. The father of the bride gave the groom’s father one of these sticks as a gift, but the groom’s father got angry and threw it away into the chicken coop. Some time later, they came to visit their in-laws, “What did you do with the stick I gave you, son?” – “I threw it away somewhere.” – “You shouldn’t have. Take another look at it.” – “What for?” – “Well, take a look.” A handle was screwed to the tube. He told his daughter to take a look inside. She unscrewed the handle and saw the money inside, about 500. One could be very rich with that amount of money. They went to another village, and the guy’s parents started hating the starets’s daughter because she was beautiful. They put her out of the house and sent her to ask for alms. They took that stick with the money, moved to another village and bought a large homestead there. People in the village were wondering where he got the money. He covered his house with metal and had horses and cows, and his wife was such a landlady. Then this man’s father’s house burned down. At the time, the starosta gave such people a document confirming that their house burned

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down and allowing them to ask for alms. There was a law that if this was the case, people had no right to refuse them. So, they went around their village asking for help and went to the village where their son lived. They came to visit him, but saw their daughter-in-law in the house and her mother-in-law left right away. Her son stopped her, “Why are you running away, mother?” They invited them to the house to calm down. Their son served them dinner and asked what made them go around asking for alms. They told him. Their son had two children by then. That’s the moral: not to offend the poor and the startsi. They chased the startsi away, and they themselves became the startsi. – Was it considered a sin to offend a starets’? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – How did people treat the startsi during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: We were all startsi [here, “paupers”] at the time. Back then, land was given to the people. Some people were poor and didn’t have any land. There were some unmarried guys – no one wanted to marry them because they didn’t have a farm. So these guys would go to work as day laborers. There was one who lived in a khutir here. He had a house with one window and no roof. He went asking for alms in the summer and winter. He had nothing. The girls would become nuns if they were poor and no one married them. She would get to the age of 25 and then become a nun or a hired laborer. There was a type of people called prodaidusha [literally: “sell your soul”]. This person would go to another village and they would look for [day laborers]. Now it’s called an employment office. If someone wants to get hired, they go to a prodaidusha, “Find me a job, Miss.” If you want to get hired, you go to her and register. She can recommend you to those who need laborers because they would also come to see her and pay her 20 or so kopiiky. – Did people sing koliadky in your village during collectivization? ivan serhiiovych: No, they didn’t. Somehow it was out of fashion. Children would do posypannia, but no one went singing koliadky. It all ended in 1929. The priest was driven out of his house, and the church was closed. The church was turned into a barn to store grain. The priest’s children were of school age, but no school would take them, so they left the village. Few men would study because you had to pay for school and rent an apartment. They only had three years of schooling and some education at the parochial school. It was different at the time: there were schools with one and two classes. If there were five groups, and the program was divided into six, it was considered a school with two classes. But there were three groups. – Did you go to school? ivan serhiiovych: I completed three groups. A parochial school was the highest degree of education. – What did you do after school?

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ivan serhiiovych: I worked at home. My father was drafted in 1914, and

I had a brother. We were little, and we were in charge of the house. But my brother died in 1924; he was the oldest in the family. During the Revolution, we were farming, too. One sister died in 1933, and one brother died during the famine. – When did you get married? ivan serhiiovych: In 1931. – Did you marry a khaziaiin’s daughter? ivan serhiiovych: They were seredniaky, like us. – What did she bring with her? ivan serhiiovych: Nothing. Her dowry was gone by then. She was completely illiterate; her brothers went to school, but she didn’t. She took a liknep [campaign against illiteracy – likvidatsia nepys’mennosti] course and learned to read and write. – Were you a liknep teacher? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. What was there to teach? Just the ability to sign her name. They didn’t pay for this teaching at the time; this was an obligation to fulfill. – Were you a komsomolets’? ivan serhiiovych: No. I taught in two village neighborhoods. As soon as they learned to sign their name that was good enough. One woman was sweating while learning to write. – Were these people forced to learn or did they want to learn? ivan serhiiovych: They were forced. If a person was illiterate, they had to go. If they didn’t, they’d be summoned to the village council. – What were your principal tasks? ivan serhiiovych: I went to the kolhosp to work at the time. I worked in the field. There were no liknep classes in the summer, only in the winter and the fall. You had to go get the kerosene, notebooks, and pencils. The village council provided all this. I came to my mother and said, “Mother, one gram, and that’s the end.” – Prior to this, did you tell your mother who you were going to marry? ivan serhiiovych: Yes, of course. – But there was no matchmaking, right? ivan serhiiovych: You could marry whoever you wanted. You were choosing a wife for yourself, not for me. – Were there any komsomol’ weddings at the time? ivan serhiiovych: No. There was one “red” wedding. It was organized by the ruling administrators. The bride was a shock worker in our kolhosp named after Shevchenko. They slaughtered an ox and gave them many centers of grain. All the shock workers went to attend the wedding, and I was a shock

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worker, too, so I went along. This was in winter, so I went by sleigh. We came, and the students there were shouting, running, and drinking. “Go!” they shouted. When we came back we had memories of that wedding for a long time. – What did the bride and the groom wear? ivan serhiiovych: I didn’t see them. We left in the evening, and they were very drunk. There was a fight. The administrators drank and ate, hit these folks with spires, and left. The wedding was “red” indeed. – When you were a child, would all the relatives come to a wedding? ivan serhiiovych: All. – Was matchmaking mandatory? ivan serhiiovych: It depends. If it was a guy, he would choose the girl. Before the Revolution, the groom’s father would choose the bride. – Who did people invite as matchmakers before the Revolution? ivan serhiiovych: Relatives of close neighbors. I wasn’t a matchmaker for anyone. They make things up. There was no matchmaking in our village. A couple would go to town and sign the documents, that was all. The dowry coffers began in 1900, or earlier. My mother had one when she was getting married. She got married in 1896 and had a coffer at the time. My grandmother said she had a coffer, too. And prior to that, in the 1800s, they would take the girl for a show outside the windows and weave a round straw basket [for the dowry] with a locker. This is true. They would put clothes into it and drive oxen or cows by other people’s houses. They would ride in and say, “Where are the guys here?” – “We don’t have any here, but they do in that house,” and the people would point to the house. The girl was of marrying age, but there were no matchmakers, so the parents would put her in a cart and take her around like that: Zdoloben’or zdoloben,’ and the girl would sit in the cart and say zdoloben’ [local word zdoloben’ unknown meaning]. They would open the gate and ride in. The hosts would take a look at them, “Come in.” They could come in and make arrangements. They would take a look at the bride and how she says hello. Then they’d have a drink. The groom would come later. “Here, son, we have a bride. This will be your wife. If you like her, let it happen.” That was all. – They were the matchmakers for their own daughter? ivan serhiiovych: This was the way; they did it by themselves, what can you do? And she stayed to live there. This is all changing. – Did people sing at home? ivan serhiiovych: No. If there was a khram, then they would come to sing. In our village, khram was on the spring Mykolai until 1929 [Saint Nicholas’ Day on 22 May]. There was Mykolaivska Church, and we belonged to its parish, but we didn’t go frequently. In our village Vilshana, khram was not celebrated

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as much. Other villages – Zhurovka, Petryky, and Medynts – used to laugh at our village because our people would buy all the locks from the shop to lock our houses during khram. We used to celebrate the holiday, but not frequently. Sometimes, our neighbors would come to our village for the holiday. We also had relatives: my aunt, my father’s sister. She would also come to Mykolaivska Church for the spring holiday. My father’s aunt’s village had a khram every year on Varvara’s Day [17 December]. My father goes there. – Did people in your family sing koliadky? ivan serhiiovych: No. Boys and girls from the church did. Boys would carry a star around, sometimes for two days. Girls would get together separately and go singing koliadky. Those from the church would go around carrying a star and a mug – people would put money into it. All of the donations were for the church. – Did men go singing koliadky? ivan serhiiovych: Not the married ones. Neither men, nor women. Boys would not go caroling on their own; only if they were from the church. – Did people sing spring songs in your village? ivan serhiiovych: No. Girls would only gather for Kupala Night and put the wreaths on the water. – During collectivization, was it forbidden for the girls to gather for Kupala Night? ivan serhiiovych: No, not forbidden. The kolhosp also had celebrations by the pond. – Did people in your village celebrate the mermaid week around Pentecost? ivan serhiiovych: The women celebrated it. – What about the girls? ivan serhiiovych: No. The women under 40 would gather to celebrate. – Where did they go? ivan serhiiovych: They would just gather and have a drink. They didn’t go anywhere. There was no place to go in our village; we had no pond. – Did they go to the fields to have dinner? ivan serhiiovych: They would go to the house of one of the women, but even that was very rare. Our life was more urban. The club was set up in the former synagogue. The Jews had been evicted, and the club had been set up. The Jewish synagogue was on the hill, and they [Soviet power] took the building in 1926. – What songs did people sing in the club? Do you remember? ivan serhiiovych: There was a play Natalka Poltavka and they also showed silent films. I didn’t go there often. Potters used to bring pots to sell on the market in our village Vilshana. Everyone would come to the market to buy pots that were made in the village of Hnyle.

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– How much did they charge for the bowls? ivan serhiiovych: I didn’t buy them. A pot the size of half a liter would cost one kopiika. How do I know this? Because one man here was on his way to see his kum, and the priest lived across the street. He said, “Ivan Ivanovych, you know it’s Monday today.” They brought the child for baptism because at the time you had to baptize the child on the third day after it was born; you could not wait longer than that. Sometimes, the lights would be on all night long until they baptize the child. Otherwise, the devil would exchange it for an unbaptized infant. Once they baptized the child, they could turn the lights off. If not, the lights had to be on the whole night. We had half a kopiika and a quarter of a kopiika. They were called shah and polushah. I don’t know what you could buy with a quarter of a kopiika. The money was so devalued. – Besides Jews, what other nationalities were there in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Poles and one Russian. There were also the Krakusi, the Poles who joined the army in Poland and weren’t subjects of the state here. They were the workers; they baked bagels. One was a saddler; there were few of them here. They were not the subjects of the state; they joined the army in Poland. They didn’t own land. They were also the day laborers who worked for Branitska; our enterprise belonged to Branitska. All the landowners had agricultural enterprises. She would call them to report in Bila Tserkva and say, “You were given land. How much income did the desiatyna render?” He would say, “150 rubli.” – “That’s too little. Sit down.” – What language did the landowners’ servants speak? ivan serhiiovych: Russian and Ukrainian. They were various people. – What language did the Jews speak? ivan serhiiovych: They spoke their language between themselves and Ukrainian here. Let me finish my story. So, she called the other person, “You were given land. How much income did the desiatyna render?” He would say, “200 karbovantsi.” – She thought about it for some time, “Thank you. Sit down. What about yours?” The next person says 180 or something like that. She said, “That’s not enough. You’re not a good manager of your farmstead.” So, he would not be working there anymore. He didn’t say anything, but he knew. This is how she monitored the land. – What was the language of the church services? ivan serhiiovych: The priest read from a book in Old Church Slavonic, and the sermon was in Ukrainian. They lived here, so they were Ukrainians. The priest was important; people would remove their hats to greet him. The priest of the Uspens’ka Church was a carpenter, too. When I was a schoolboy, I came home and said to my mother, “I saw the priest wearing trousers.” She slapped me on the face, “You, troublemaker! What are you saying?” I started crying, and when my father asked what happened, I told him the story. My

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father was not very religious, but my mother was. My father used to go to church on Christmas and Easter to fast and attend the service before taking communion. – What was the language of the administration? ivan serhiiovych: Russian. I went to school, and it was in Russian. There was no Ukrainian language there. – Could you buy books in Ukrainian? ivan serhiiovych: Books would come through the school; they were not sold on the market. – Where did people get the book Kobzar? ivan serhiiovych: We didn’t have a bookstore; there was a small Russianlanguage library in the school. Old people had that old, old Kobzar, a thick book of poems. It had stories about everything, including Vilshana and the Jews. Now they have thrown everything away and changed it. – When did people start using both Russian and Ukrainian? ivan serhiiovych: Everyone spoke Ukrainian; nobody spoke Russian. Russian was taught at school. I still remember the poem “Chto ty spish, muzhychok?” [“Why are you sleeping, little man?” It was a 1839 poem by Alexei Kol’tsov]. – Where did you buy icons? ivan serhiiovych: We used to say obrazy [“picture”] for icons. They were commissioned through the church, and the Russians would bring them to the market. We would buy them there. – Were there icon painters in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Not in our village. Back in the day, there were no paintings or photos. They started appearing after the Revolution, in 1926. – Did you have any icons in your house? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. We had some here, too, but they were old and damaged. I took them home. – Were they painted on wood? ivan serhiiovych: They had wooden frames. – Did you put an altar lamp near an icon? ivan serhiiovych: At the time, it was mandatory to put an altar lamp where the icon was. – When did you light the altar lamp? ivan serhiiovych: Saturday evening and Sunday morning; the lamp was on while the church service was in progress until 12 o’clock. We would also light a lamp on all the major holidays: Easter, Christmas, and Pentecost. – Did you put rushnyky on the icons? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. – Woven or embroidered ones?

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ivan serhiiovych: We called them “rus’ki”– long, red ones. We didn’t use the woven ones because they were short. – Did people embroider the rushnyky themselves? ivan serhiiovych: Some people in our village embroidered them, not everyone. Those who worked in their farmsteads did not embroider because they had pigs, cows, sheep, and horses to take care of and also had to spin yarn. If there were girls in the house and a smaller farmstead, people embroidered. My [wife] embroidered using the running stitch technique [kuriachyi brid]. Do you know what it is? These are the narrow stitches. – Did they do any Hardanger embroidery [liakhivka]? ivan serhiiovych: There was no such fashion in our village. They made cuts on Hardanger embroidery. – Where did people embroider the running stitch? ivan serhiiovych: Men would bring their shirt-fronts [manishky] to the women [for embroidery]. My wife made me a shirt with a dickey. – When a person died, did people put icons into the coffin? ivan serhiiovych: If this was a woman, they would put an icon of Virgin Mary; if this was a man, they would put an icon of Jesus or St Nicholas. – When people were seeing someone off to the army, did they use the icons? ivan serhiiovych: When I was on my way to the army, I just put my bag over the shoulder and left. My father gave me some teachings, not blessings. – Did people give blessings with the icons before the Revolution? ivan serhiiovych: No, there was nothing like this before the Revolution. If there was a gathering, the priest would administer a service. – Would people sometimes get angry with an icon if it wasn’t helping them? ivan serhiiovych: No. During my time, this was declining. – Did people use to say that the spirit of the dead lived behind the icons? ivan serhiiovych: Not in our village. No. – Would people cover the icons if they were partying in the house? ivan serhiiovych: No. Only if there was a deceased person in the house; then they would cover the mirrors. – Were there any khresni khody during Soviet times? ivan serhiiovych: No. – Do you remember how the church was demolished in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Why don’t I remember? The bells were removed first and the church was looted. This was in 1937 or 1938. – What did people think about this? ivan serhiiovych: No one went to that church; it had to be maintained and repaired. Some were gasping in sadness, and others were wondering why keep the church. Different opinions. Young people didn’t go to church much, and the old ones would have liked to keep it. It didn’t bother anyone. But it

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had to be maintained and repaired. Grain was kept there and there was a winnowing machine inside. Everything was dusty. At times, we had no firewood to keep it warm, so the village council took [parts of the church] for firewood. So, we all burned it. – Was there public bidding? ivan serhiiovych: This was in 1919. The Germans burned some structures down; some fell apart; some remained. The soldiers that came back from the war got one horse per two persons. – Were there artisans in your village? ivan serhiiovych: Artisans? There were the Swedish cobblers. The main shoemaker was named Kachan. He used to make knee-high boots from chrome-tanned leather. They cost 15 rubli. – What type of leather was used to make boots? ivan serhiiovych: Chrome-tanned leather. It was good quality. People would order boots from Kachan, and he chose the leather himself. – Did the cobblers make bast shoes? ivan serhiiovych: Not in our village. – What about women’s morshchni [a special boot; the thin material of the top part could be folded down to the shoe part]? ivan serhiiovych: Not in our village. Men and women used to wear rubber overshoes to walk on the snow. – What did people wear in winter? ivan serhiiovych: Boots. – What did they wear in the harvested fields? ivan serhiiovych: They walked barefoot. I worked as a tally clerk, and I would go barefoot to the field, all the time. – Did people make work boots [chuni]? ivan serhiiovych: No. People would walk barefoot, before and after the war. – Were there weavers? ivan serhiiovych: I am a weaver myself. During the Revolution we used to weave two threads by two [“basket weave”?] because we did it manually. We had to weave enough cloth for the pants and the shirt. – Were the pants made of linen? ivan serhiiovych: They were made of wool and hemp. These were the adult pants. – Were they dyed? ivan serhiiovych: Not the woolen ones. People would dye the linen ones. Some used powder, and others – elderflower. There were many weavers. I used to weave cloth, rushnyky, belts, bags, and tablecloths. No one in our village made tablecloths; I was the first to do this.

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– What patterns did you use to weave the tablecloths? ivan serhiiovych: Two-sided stitches [koropova luska], ‘buckwheat’ [hrechechka], ‘Solanum’ [paslin], and a wavy pattern [kryvul’ka]. – Where did you get the red thread? ivan serhiiovych: We used to buy it. – What was it called? ivan serhiiovych: Zapoloch. – How was it sold? ivan serhiiovych: In small skeins. The rough threads [val] were spun from linen on the tablecloth and then bleached in the sun, the same way the cloth is bleached. It would be moistened and spread out on the grass. Once it dried, it was moistened and spread out again– this is when it would turn white. One summer was not enough to whiten it out completely; you had to do this during two summers or else repeat this more frequently over the course of one summer. Young people didn’t do this, but the old ones did. – Describe the rough threads. ivan serhiiovych: They came in skeins, removed from a swift and soaked in water. Then people would spread it on the grass and let it get whitened by the sun. The same goes for rushnyky: the same type of yarn and the same weaving techniques. I donated one rushnyk to our local museum. – Did you make rushnyky or tablecloths for sale? ivan serhiiovych: No. – Any commissions? ivan serhiiovych: Yes. People would bring me the warp [osnova] and yarn [val], and I would weave. – How much were you paid for this? ivan serhiiovych: Before the kolhosp, I was paid 30 kopiiky per arshine. I used to weave in the winter and work the land in the summer; I wasn’t married. – More often, was weaving done by men or women? ivan serhiiovych: Mostly women. I was an apprentice of one weaver in Zhurovka. The old people did this. – How much did you pay that old weaver for the lessons? ivan serhiiovych: I paid, of course. I took half a liter of alcohol, pickled watermelon, and a kilogram of herring from the store. I went with my acquaintances, “Father, he wants to learn to weave.” He had many students in Zhurovka, but they didn’t learn well. He gave me a long look. I said, “I’m the only one from Vilshana, and I’m not your competitor. I only want to learn.” “Let’s have dinner.” I put a liter of alcohol and some bread on the table; this was in 1924. He had a drink and said, “Alright, son, if you’re a weaver, I’ll teach you.” He told me how to set up a loom. I wrote it all down and practiced

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with him; he showed me how to do everything. I was eager to learn, so I learned. I gave him a bag of rye, and that was all. Then people started bringing me yarn and I charged them for work. I made one ruble per day; back in the day, this was good money. I didn’t go to parties; I would just sit and weave. Only on Sundays I didn’t work. I bought my own clothes and shoes; I paid for everything myself. Andrii Platonovych Oklei (born 1911) and his wife Marfa Illivna Oklei (1917), the village of Cherkaskyi Bishkin, Zmiivskyi district, Kharkiv oblast – Were you born here?

andrii platonovych: In this village, on this very site. – What church did you go to? andrii platonovych: To my church, not the evangelical one. To the Orthodox one. – When did the evangelical church appear in your village? marfa illivna: Recently… – Auntie, when were you born? marfa illivna: 1917. My name is Marfa Illichna. – What was your maiden name? marfa illivna: Buba [below her husband says her maiden name was Huba]. – Are you from here, too, not from Nyzhnii Bishkin? marfa illivna: No, I’m from Vyshnii Bishkin. – So, when did the evangelical church appear in your village? andrii platonovych: Well, I was a boy. I was 13 years old. Let me think what year it was. They came in 1951, no, earlier, because in 1951… Well, I can’t say for sure what year it was. – What kind of family did your parents have? andrii platonovych: I cannot speak about this anymore. I will begin to cry. My nervous system … and I am deprived. When I was two, my father died. My mother was left with five children. I was illiterate. I didn’t have a life – I was surviving and suffering. And now it’s been 15 years that my nerves … I’m good for nothing. – How much land did your mother have prior to the kolhosp? andrii platonovych: The land at the time was given to men only. If a father had daughters, they would not get any land. People went to work as day laborers, and over there we had the landlords in Oleksiivka, Krasnopalovka, and Biliaivka. The Germans that were settled here by Catherine the First lived there. Or some other people. I was a boy at the time. – Were the landlords Germans or Russians, too?

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andrii platonovych: Russians and Ukrainians, too. A German was a landowner of that forest over there, about 60 hectares. During the Revolution in 1917, they were fleeing. I was a young boy and went fishing there. They were coming here in boats because they had their carts here. Back in the day, there were no cars; they used horses to go abroad. I asked them, “Why are you running away?” They said, “You’re little, but you understand that we’re running away. If we don’t, they’ll beat us up.” Some didn’t flee and stayed in Raznofalkovka, Biliaivka, Horokhivka, well, many villages with the landowners. Simple folk like the father of my friend used to work as day laborers; they did whatever they were told and earned 20 kopiiky per day. They would come home and have to pay tax; those who didn’t pay the tax would get ice thrown into their shirts to make them pay, but they didn’t have any money to pay with. – Was this the town hall? andrii platonovych: Well, yes. We had a town hall and one head of the village council; now there are 40 of them, but back in the day he was one for the whole village. I was wounded in Chita, and we were traveling via Kyiv and stopping at the station there. The wound was here and here; my fingers didn’t move and the leg … I was in the tank division and we were besieged around Warsaw and we were retreating. We had 300 tanks, 300 trucks, machine gunners, horses, snipers, and miners. – Do you remember the civil war? andrii platonovych: Yes. There was a revolution. – Did any of your relatives take part in the Revolution? andrii platonovych: My brother did. – Where was he? andrii platonovych: This is how it was at the time: when Lenin started the revolution, some took part in the military action on the German side, and some – on the Soviet side. My brother was with the Soviets, and some others were with the Germans. Some of them would come to the village where we just built a house; we lived up the hill, my mother and I. One time, seven people came to our village with spikes (weapons at the time); they were not the infantry – they rode horses. And they had a battle, hitting each other into the abdomen with those spikes [presumably lances]. – Were these Germans and the Red Army soldiers? andrii platonovych: No, the Germans. Our soldiers fled. Here is [the village of] Nyzhnii [Bishkin] and there’s also Cherkaskyi [Bishkin]; the Germans were moving from Nyzhnii [Bishkin], and our soldiers were after them; then our troops came into Nyzhnii [Bishkin] if the Germans were still there; then they retreated to Verkhnii [Bishkin]. – When did your brother return home?

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andrii platonovych: He came back home after the Revolution when the war began in 1917; he was drafted to war. Not just him – his buddies, too. He went to war in the Carpathians. He saw the mountains there. – When did he come back from that war? andrii platonovych: I don’t know, I was little at the time. – Was it in the 1920s? andrii platonovych: No, earlier. He got married in 1920. No, he got married earlier in 1919 or 1918; he had a son, my nephew, who grew up and later went into the army. – When your brother came back home, was he respected for having taken part in the Revolution? Did he have any authority? andrii platonovych: Yes, he did since he wasn’t a prisoner of war in the German army; he saved himself and was hiding; some other people got captured. There were some in the village here. I was little, and I remember one landowner who lived where we now have the store. This was all his land, and it was fenced with oak planks. Mavra Holovlianska’s husband was captured by the river and brought to be executed by firing squad. When the war began, he was drafted. He didn’t serve anywhere, and then he came back. [My brother] came back after serving in Kyiv and Kharkiv. My sister brought him food [in detention]. Well, when they arrested him, we – the boys – ran there to see. They said, “He will be executed.” I forget the man’s name. There was a post with a drain, and they wouldn’t let him go there. Then the colonel said, “Let him go to say goodbye.” She went to say goodbye (we were watching), and she brought the child with her. The colonel said, “Don’t execute him. Let him go with us.” And he said, “I will go with you since you asked me.” And they went somewhere – who knows where they were – but he was away for three years, or maybe less. – When your brother came back, did he have to join the party? andrii platonovych: No, there was no party at the time. – When the kolhospy were set up, did your mother have to join? andrii platonovych: No, she didn’t. There was no kolhosp at the time. Then he got married, and in 1920 his son was born. – Were there any komsomol’tsi in your village after the Revolution? andrii platonovych: No. They started in 1935, 1936, and 1937. – When the kolhosp was set up, were there no komsomol’tsi at the time? andrii platonovych: There were komsomol’tsi and they were bandits. They were throwing children out of their homes through the window. They would open the windows at night, grab the children, and throw them into the snow outside. This is how they dispossessed the kurkuli. – Are you talking about one of your neighbors? andrii platonovych: Yes, my godfather nearby; he lived in the woods.

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He had a mill, oxen, and two cows. Yesterday, a policeman came to our house and his daughter too (he had already died, and so did his wife) asking to describe how he was dispossessed. I was about 17 and I saw this. A family named Kocherha lived near our house. When the Revolution began, they wanted to set up a commune here; they wanted to have communes everywhere. They started building a house with 14 rooms nearby for everyone to live; they set it up in the mountains, near mount Homol’sha. Then everything turned around; Stalin didn’t let the commune happen. – When was your godfather subjected to dispossession? marfa illivna: After he was evicted from his house and the house was demolished. andrii platonovych: Yes, he lived nearby. They came and evicted him. – Did they come in carts? andrii platonovych: They came on foot and evicted him in a way you would come in when we were outside; you’d enter the house and tell us we had no right to come back in. He was evicted in March or in winter. He had four children; they went to different places, and he was left with his wife. When they came, they said it was not his house anymore and he could go where he wanted. – Who came to his house? andrii platonovych: The locals. Kocherha brothers came and some other people; they are dead now. I lived with my mother and we were considered poor; they came to our house as well and took a loaf of bread from the table; we were left with nothing. – Where did your godfather’s family go after their house was taken away? andrii platonovych: After he was evicted, all of his property stayed there. Each of us – you or me– takes care of the food to eat, right? Back in the day people had cows, and two or three pigs – to have meat. They took everything, and my godfather took an icon and said, “Let me live some more.” He left, and they remained the owners of this home and property: two cows, two oxen, a horse, pigs, lard and meat, various kinds of flour, and a windmill. He left, but his father-in-law spent one winter in his house. At the time, the activists, if they found a piece of bread in the house, would keep searching in the yard; they had metal spears and used to stick them into the soil to see if the house owner had hidden any bags with grain in the ground. In this way, they’d find wheat or barley and confiscate it. They’d say to the owner, “You dug it all in to avoid giving it to the state?” My father moved to Zmiiov for the summer. He did various jobs for the people. He had two boys after he was evicted from his house; they ran away somewhere. One went to the Donbas. He used to make hay or grind the grain for people in a hand mill. They would pay him or give him some flour. There was a plant in Zmiiov (I can’t remember its name), so

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he went to work there. With the money earned, he bought a horse and started working in a plant there. They would carry wood planks and cement from the station to the plant. Later on, he built a house. His daughter is living in that house by the station now. He died about three years ago. – What was your entertainment like when you were a young man? andrii platonovych: I was the one that stayed with my mother. My brother left, and the sisters got married; so, it was just my mother and I. The kolhosp was set up, and they didn’t know when to plow or when to sow. You had to sow, reap, and transport the crop on your own. What could a poor woman do alone? She used to spin yarn and weave for people, and people would plow, sow, and reap everything. I was about ten; I couldn’t be very helpful. My sister got married to a neighbor, so I lived with them and grazed the oxen and the cows. They would go to plow, and I would drive the oxen and the horses, and they would sheave. The land was leased to us for 10 years. There were how many of us – four, five – and each person was given two fathoms of the good land and one fathom of bad land. My mother and I couldn’t have gotten enough land, being just two of us. But we survived; we didn’t buy anything; we ate whatever we grew on our land. I was little and I was made to thresh the grain which I didn’t know how to do; I just did whatever I could. – How old were you when you started going to vechornytsi? andrii platonovych: I was around 25 years old; I just got married. There were no vechornytsi at the time; we had collectivization and people were persecuted to make sure they stopped going to vechornytsi, to prevent groups from forming. – Who persecuted people? andrii platonovych: The head of the village council and his administration, the activists. – Did they come to you to tell you that you were not allowed to go to the vechornytsi? andrii platonovych: No, it was just not allowed. There was a house of a dispossessed man over that fence; they came and caught us in that house, pulled the buttons from our pants, and chased us out with our pants unbuttoned. You couldn’t run far with your pants unbuttoned. Some did anyway. – What did they do to the girls? andrii platonovych: We don’t know what they did to the girls; it was long ago. Then the famine began, so I was not getting married; I was going to Kolachi and Komaryshche on my own to exchange [clothes] for grain and flour. You’d take shirts and cloth to Kuban’ because they didn’t have any there. We used to wear linen shirts, and they had rough shirts called riadno. They made pants and shirts out of this rough fabric. They had a good deal of quality grain; people used to grind the grain on a roller.

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andrii platonovych: Not yet. – Were you already in the kolhosp when you went exchanging goods from produce? andrii platonovych: I hadn’t joined yet at the time. I joined in 1935. – Prior to that, you didn’t apply to join and you were not forced to? andrii platonovych: No, they didn’t argue with me; I was young at the time. When I got older, one fool was ordered to set my house on fire because they claimed that I brought four bags of flour. It was at the time when I went to Zamky – you know Zamky station nearby? – and at night when I was about to go home, the people from Laman’ took away my [object of the verb is unclear in the original]. I spent the night in Zamky and came to the market in Laman’ in the morning to be told by the person who set my house on fire, “Go take a look; your house is on fire.” My hands fell. “Who set it on fire?” He said, “I don’t know.” He did it because they claimed that I brought four bags of flour. How could I have four bags? I would normally get 8 kg of millet and 8 kg of flour and give it to my mom so she would sell it on the market for money. I used to go to Kharkiv and buy children’s shirts for my acquaintances; they would give me millet and flour; they were kind to me and fed me for free. I would bring the millet and the flour to my mother and leave again. My cousin also lived with us because she was an orphan. When the house was on fire and the reeds snapped, my mother was lying down facing the wall. At first they thought the sound was from the rain outside, and only then they saw that it was the fire. (I planned, but didn’t have time to put up the bars on the window. If I had, my mother would have burned alive there). My sister broke the window and they jumped out. My mother took the bundles with food with her, and outside there was the man who set the house on fire. She said to him, “What are you standing here for, son of a bitch? Do you think I’ll give you my produce?” Prior to this, my mother was here when he came and took her wooden barrel [zhlukto] with 10 rolls of linen, each roll about 20 meters long. My mother used that wooden barrel to bleach the linen. – Was [the man who set your house on fire] a member of the party? andrii platonovych: A minor bastard. When my mother and sister left the house, they couldn’t do much. Later, the main bandit from the regional administrative center came from Balaklei region where we belonged at the time. The communists were in power at the time. The head of the village council came, too, to look at the house that burned down to the ground. The property of my brother and two sisters – overcoats and clothes – was stored in the attic at my mother’s house. They were evicted from their houses and they said, “Mother, you won’t be evicted; we’ll keep our things in your house.” Everything burned down there. I came home wearing my last pair of … I had

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nothing to change into and nothing to eat. I brought 8 kg of flour and 8 kg of wheat; the two of us were in the house; my mother was cooking. Here come the administrators Shapovalov and Mandenko, “Why are you home?” “Where else would I be? I just got home. Don’t you see I’m still wearing my long underwear?” After they left, I took a fishing rod and was on my way to try to catch some fish. They met me on the way, “Where are you heading?” “I’ll go fishing.” “Go stack the hay.” Where we now have the bridges, was a field of hay, already mown. “How will I go to stack the hay if I have such misery at home?” “We don’t care about your misery. Go stack the hay.” – So, they told you to go to work? andrii platonovych: Yes, they would force us to go to work at the time. It was a time of famine, and people would flee to save their lives because they didn’t give us anything to eat here. I tried to run away, but he caught me in the yard and kicked me in the back. He arrested me and took me to a cellar. They also caught Musiivna and Kholodniak, so the two of us spent the night in the cellar. In the morning, my mother came and brought me some food to eat; then they sent us to stack the hay. We spent the day stacking the hay; I must say they gave us broth to eat there. – How long did you work stacking the hay? andrii platonovych: About two days, and then we ran away. There was a river; you could swim through its shallow part and escape. When I was young, I went to parties; I didn’t have a house at the time. There was someone else’s broken house nearby, and I fixed it. I made the windows, the doors – everything. So, what? At the time, all my friends were married, and all the girls were taken. So, I said to my mother, “I want to get married, mother.” – “It’s up to you.” I started looking around, and many girls were chasing after me. One would say, “I’ll marry you.” And I said, “I don’t want you.” I didn’t like her. Then this lady … At first, I didn’t know where she lived. She lived in Kharkiv and worked as a nanny. I knew her father; he was old and worked as a brigade guard. I worked there by the tractors, and so we got acquainted. They liked me because I was agreeable; they would tell me to do this and that, and I would do it. I didn’t know her at all. I had a friend there; I didn’t want to work there anymore, so came to work in the kolhosp here. That friend of mine courted her, but she didn’t like him. He started talking about her– how good she was and such. – What did he say to you? Did he say that she was good but didn’t want to marry him? andrii platonovych: Well, yes. He didn’t look so good; he was all freckled. I was 25 and she was 20. One time, she came home, and I started wondering what I could do to see her. She and I had a friend in common, so I said, “Natalko, how could I meet such and such and talk it over with her?” One

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day, I was transporting clay, and she was walking by – ample-bodied, a braid all the way down to her ass – such a beauty. Some guys had been working in the field, harvesting crops with a sickle; one of them said he’d take a nap and let the others drive the tractor, but the other guy ran over him and killed him. It was his funeral she was coming back from when I saw her. She was on her way to her sister’s. I thought, “Well, that’s her. How could I meet her?” Then in the fall, I was on my way to the store, and she was walking by. Then she went to the club, and I followed her there. I wanted to ask that friend of mine, you know, “Give her a shout and I’ll talk it over with her.” But we were all chased out of the club because they were going to close it. She went her way, and I went back. Well, I thought, it’ll work out somehow. I had an uncle who wasn’t a good negotiator, and I said to him, “Uncle, you know what? I know her old man and I spoke with him; he liked me. Go to Huba [above, wife said her name was Buba] and ask if they will let me marry their daughter.” He agreed. Vodka was hard to buy at the time; you could get it only in Kharkiv. I went to Lyman and bought seven liters there for the matchmaking. My uncle came and started talking to them. Their neighbor said, “He’s an active guy, a worker. He’s good. Let her marry him, grandpa.” So, they decided to let her marry me. – Did they ask her? andrii platonovych: No, they didn’t. She didn’t know I existed. She was thinking of some other guy. When my uncle went to see her folks, they said, “Whatever she says. We don’t decide for her.” My uncle came back, “Go find some vodka.” I said, “I got vodka.” – “Well, then we’re going tomorrow.” So, we went to their house. Snow was everywhere. I came and she was not there. I said, “Where is she?” – “Over there, in the barn. She’s making flour.” (There was a small wooden handmill). I went there, and she was making flour. I said hello, and she stood there dumbfounded. I said, “Let’s go to the house.” So, we went, and her family said, “Well, will you marry him or not?” She shilly-shallied a bit. I asked, “Will you?” She turned red and said, “I will.” And we’re still together, thank God. She’s weak now, and I have post-concussive syndrome. – Did you have a wedding? andrii platonovych: Yes, four days. – What year was this? andrii platonovych: 1937. – Was there any music? andrii platonovych: A harmonia. – What kind of music was there in the 1920s? andrii platonovych: A fiddle, a bas, and a balalaika. – Would all of these instruments play together at a wedding? marfa illivna: Yes, at the wedding. – How many strings did the bas have?

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andrii platonovych: Five. I know this for sure because we had a bas at home. My father bought it or something. I was as little as our granddaughter is now and played with it all the time. – Why did your father buy it? Did he think that his sons would play it? andrii platonovych: Nah. Well, I don’t know. My father died when I was two. We just had the bas in the house. – Was there a bubon in the 1930s at the weddings? marfa illivna: In our village, it was just the harmonia. andrii platonovych: Those were the poor years. After 1933, life was still hard; there was no vodka. We managed to get some denatured alcohol and partied for four days. – What is denatured alcohol? andrii platonovych: A kind of methynol that you mix with water [!!! I cannot answer how that was possible, unless the water dilution was large]. – Did you get married in a church? andrii platonovych: No, we had a civil marriage. Just the two of us went to the village council and signed the papers, that was all. – On what day would the weddings usually start? andrii platonovych: On Saturday. The lent was about to start when we had our wedding on Sunday, so our wedding was quick. – One could not have a wedding during Lent? andrii platonovych: Not back in the day. – Why did you marry him? What did you like about him? marfa illivna: My father said he was a good guy. Back in the day, we listened to our parents. These days, parents don’t even know that their child had a baby. – Did the blind startsi used to come to your village? andrii platonovych: Yes, they played this spinning thing [obviously a hurdy-gurdy]. I was little at the time. – Did they come up to people’s yards? marfa illivna: They would be outside the windows. andrii platonovych: I know they came into our house. We lived in the house that that man burned down, so they came into our house. – Were there any women among them? marfa illivna: Both women and men. andrii platonovych: Both women and men, but there were fewer women. – Did the women play, too? andrii platonovych: No, the men played, and the women were their guides. She would take him by the hand and would lead the way. Or he would hold the cane and walk behind her.

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– Did they sing?

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andrii platonovych: Yes, but I don’t remember what they sang. It was long ago. – Auntie, do you remember what they sang? marfa illivna: No. andrii platonovych: I remember they sang “Oh, give us something, don’t ignore our plea” [“Oi, daite, ne mynaite nashu pros’bu” – a begging recitative]. – Did you see any of them near the church for the khram? andrii platonovych: I can’t say for sure. – What about the market? andrii platonovych: There were so many of them on the market. If you went to a fair for the Intercession of the Theotokos, you’d see so many of them. – Did they play a bandura? andrii platonovych: All kinds. – And a kobza, too? andrii platonovych: There was no kobza at the time. – What was the bandura like? andrii platonovych: Well, a box like this with 40 strings; he would play the strings and there was a handle over here. He would play and sing a song. Kobza was large, and this box was small. – Have you ever seen a kobza? andrii platonovych: There was no kobza. – Do you remember how the church was demolished? andrii platonovych: Why wouldn’t I remember? It was in 1947, I think. – After the war? andrii platonovych: Yes, the church was toppled. They dug the foundation, and it tilted to the side and fell down. There’s a village here called Shulytivka. They bought all the wood from the church and made a farm for pigs. It rained heavily and there was thunder; everything caught on fire – the church, everything. – During the German occupation, did the church work? marfa illivna: Well, the church was closed. andrii platonovych: No, it was never closed down. There was one foolish communist woman in the village council, and there was – what’s it called? – a winding-sheet in the church; she got in there and eased herself on it and later she died. – Do you remember if the girls did circle dances by the river? andrii platonovych: They did the goat dance on holidays. – Did they go to the river when the ice broke?

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andrii platonovych: I don’t know. Back in the day, the river was near the present-day store. We had a wooden bridge that was 44 meters long. I was a shepherd and measured it with my feet. Back in the day we had large lakes everywhere; now we have none. Back then, the ice moved fast and took down the whole bridge. The ice broke the bridge in two. – When did they do the goat dance? andrii platonovych: For the Annunciation. And on the radio they would announce the day to do the goat dance. – What does this mean? andrii platonovych: It was a custom. They would start from Zamok (our area is called Berezivka) and go in line, lifting their hands for those in the back to pass; then they would do another round of this dance and sing. – Was this all done by the girls? andrii platonovych: Yes, all the girls. – What about the guys? andrii platonovych: Guys would follow them, but they didn’t join hands. – Why is that castle called Cherkasy? andrii platonovych: This is an old story. Bishkin – Cherkaskiy Bishkin – is so called because the Cherkesy [Circassians] lived here. Over there in the hills, there were graves and they had dugouts. They kept their cattle in the dugouts and harvested the grain. They would be asleep during the day and would come out at night. There was no one here. There was a river called Teplianka when I was a little boy; it has since dried up but back then there was water. They used metal fences. They’d lock themselves in. There were small children at home, and they killed them. They would put them behind the ledge [unclear; perhaps behind a stove]. – Were they the Tatars? andrii platonovych: I don’t know. They lived over there. Now, it’s all overgrown with weeds; there used to be various potsherds. All kinds of things. – Who told you about this? Did you see those dugouts yourself? andrii platonovych: These dugouts are still there. Please, go take a look. There’s one deep dugout and one shallow; that’s where they lived. – Did you see those people? andrii platonovych: No, I haven’t. I don’t know where they went. There’s a river there called Dovzhyk and a deep ravine. The water would flow there from Donets’. Our people used to go fishing there. Those people would run up to them and take the fish from them. They would fry it and pour water over it; they would eat it just like that [ still half-raw?] and have diarrhea, so they were afraid to go there.

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– Did the guys go to Nyzhniy Bishkin for entertainment? andrii platonovych: Back in the day? We went both here and there. – People say that Russians live there. andrii platonovych: The Russians, just like now, are building something. There was a river and people made shepherd’s slings. They were coming from somewhere, like Romani people [interviewee says Gypsies] do, and asked the head of the village council to stay the night. They were told, “Stay the night or live here, if you want.” Then they build their houses here and they’ve been living here for many years. – Were there bohomazy in your village? andrii platonovych: Yes. – Who were they? andrii platonovych: One of them was my friend Stepan Volosianka. He worked near Lyman’ and painted icons, too. – Did he live in Lyman? andrii platonovych: Yes. His wife is still alive, and they have a daughter. He made many icons at the time when it was forbidden to make icons or have them at home. They forbade, but he kept making them in secret, and those who knew would come to buy them from him. – What material did he paint on? andrii platonovych: Wood. I used to make wooden plates myself. I would saw as many as I needed. Then I would put them on glass using a specific tool [odbol’nyk], measure them up, and put a gold leaf [shumykha] from the old icons around. marfa illivna: It was an old icon, and he just worked on the edges. It was the Holy Virgin, and he made St Nicholas. – Who did Stepan make icons for? andrii platonovych: He made icons just like that. Whoever wanted to buy would buy them later. – Were you and Stepan the same age? andrii platonovych: Yes, we went to war together. – When did he make icons? andrii platonovych: Before the war. He lost one arm during the war. – Could he sell icons on the market? andrii platonovych: It was forbidden at the time, but people would come to his house to buy icons. I don’t know if he continued making them after the war. – Did he make some money from the icons? andrii platonovych: I don’t know; I never asked how much he earned. – Did he only sell the icons or did he sometimes exchange them for other goods? andrii platonovych: I don’t know. He was also a fisherman.

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– Did he gild the icons or just paint them? andrii platonovych: No, he painted the silver ones; they are called shumykha [gold leaf; also called sukhozlitka.] I don’t know where he got them from; someone must have brought them from elsewhere. – Did he paint on canvas, too? andrii platonovych: No, only on wood. – Which tree did he use? andrii platonovych: Any tree; pine for instance. He used to come to our house, and my wife went to theirs. We were friends. – Did he have a farm? andrii platonovych: He had everything. – What was his wife’s name? andrii platonovych: Uliashka. She lives on Hlynychka Street. – Who forbade him to paint and sell icons? andrii platonovych: The Communists. My wife used to go to church nearby; she had to pay five rubli to go. – Five rubli as a ticket or as a fine? andrii platonovych: If you were a believer, you had to pay to go pray. – When did people commission icons: for the benediction or just like that? andrii platonovych: He would make them just like that. I’m the unskillful one. If I could make icons, I would – instead of sitting around. Neither can I draw or paint. – Did people say that the deacon’s son was a member of Komsomol’? andrii platonovych: Yes, the deacon’s son. – Was he forced to join or did he want to join? andrii platonovych: He joined on his own. marfa illivna: He was a Communist and joined. andrii platonovych: He … Don’t talk about him. He offended me. When people were taking the bond certificates in 1947, I was lying in bed. He came and started distressing me, “Give me 100 rubli.” I said to him, “Take me instead. Where will I get 100 rubli?” He was ill, just like me [a year of famine]. – Was he a tax agent? marfa illivna: Yes. – During the famine, did he go around collecting grain? andrii platonovych: No, he was little at that time [i.e., 1932–33]. – When was he born? andrii platonovych: I don’t know. – Did the deacon stay in the village a long time? andrii platonovych: They wanted to execute him, but he got scared and died before the Revolution. – After the church was closed down, did the deacon continue working there?

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andrii platonovych: He lived in the village and baptized our son in secret. We went to his house and he baptized him there. – In 1937 when you were getting married, had the church already been closed down? andrii platonovych: Yes, but it was still standing. It was a good wooden church; my mother’s father-in-law built it. There’s a place called Vun where they had an oak forest. They felled those oaks and built a church. The nails were made from wires in a smithy; there were no other nails. They would cut the wire and make the nail heads. – Who painted the icons in the church? andrii platonovych: I don’t know about that. – Were there other bohomazy? andrii platonovych: There were some more in Lyman, but I didn’t know them. [singing a song about an unspecified icon]: Virgin Mary was walking in the Elysian mountains, She lay down to rest and had a dream: Her son was taken away and crucified, His hands nailed to the cross. His blood flowed in three rivers, three streams. God sent three angels from above with golden bowls To collect his blood and not let it drain into the earth. This blood had to be known to the whole world. Let those who know this prayer read it on the road and in the field. They won’t drown in the water, won’t burn in the fire, and won’t get cold on the road. They will be saved by God and the Holy Spirit. This was all. [about this icon]: If you go somewhere, nothing bad will happen to you, no misfortune, and God will always be on your side and save you if you fall. This was not the only icon; the house was smaller there; we had four icons – from corner to corner. There were about 15 icons, and these two were there. One was white and the other – just like that [all of this was not clear in the original interview]. – And then it [the icon] was burned? andrii platonovych: Then it was burned and they threw the icon out of the window. The glass was broken, and then the icon was buried. And so, the people continued praying to it; we moved from there where we used to live and we now pray here.

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– What did people do with the old icons? marfa illivna: They burned them. We didn’t burn them, but others did. During the war, they got spoiled: the wood rotted. People would hide them in the cellars and barns or threw them away. We were evacuated and our icons rotted. Then [people] came and picked the ones that were in better shape and burned the rest. – Was it considered a sin to throw away the icons? marfa illivna: I don’t know. The good ones were kept, and the rotten ones were thrown away. – Were they thrown away or burned down? marfa illivna: They were burned; the activists burned them, not us. Those who went to the rich people’s houses burned the icons and did other things. That woman Mon’ka made a kutia one time and put a pot of it on top of the oven, and they – the neighbor – came and took it all and that’s it. They started crying, “Why did you take it? What am I going to do?” – “You’ll get over it. My children are hungry.” Mykyta Mykolaiovych Nadezha (born 1907) and his wife Nadezha Teklia Ivanivna (date of birth unknown), the village of Stara Hlynytsia, Chuhuivskyi district, Kharkiv oblast – When were you born?

mykyta mykolaiovych: 1907. – In what village were you born?

mykyta mykolaiovych: Stara Hlynytsia of the Chuhuivskiy district. – Was your family Ukrainian or Russian?

mykyta mykolaiovych: Ukrainian. – Did your parents speak Ukrainian?

mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes.

– How many children did they have?

mykyta mykolaiovych: Eight. – How much land did they own?

mykyta mykolaiovych: They didn’t have any. – Were they serfs?

mykyta mykolaiovych: They were serfs during serfdom. The land-

owners gave land, and the people worked for them. We were born after the landowners had divided the land. This is how our whole village ended up without the land. So, they live without any land. There are the kolhospy now. We didn’t have any land and worked [for a landowner]. The landowner was a German named Weiss Retermurt. – Where was his homestead? In which village?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: Oh, he had divisions in Stara Hlynytsia,

Bilokolodiaz, and Zmiiov. He grew sugar beets. My father worked for him. There were our local landowners and 1,500 hectares of land. My father worked for the landowner as a milkman for 15 years. He preferred only men as milkmen. His lady was in charge of the administration and kept the ledger of how much milk each cow produced. Only men milked the cows; she didn’t like women. She would sit on the chair and make notes. – What was the name of that landowner for whom your father was a milkman? mykyta mykolaiovych: Iefremenko, Iakhmovskyi, Iakhno. The priest in our village was named Iakhno and the landowner was Iakhno. – Why did you say Iefremenko? mykyta mykolaiovych: His first name was Iefremenko, and his last name was Iakhno. – Did he just live there? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, no. He bought land. He was not a Ukrainian. He was a Latvian or something … He bought land here. We had three widow sisters there whose father was a duke [kniaz’]. I don’t know how this came about. When their father died, they sold that land and left. I don’t know where they went. And so, he was a landowner there until the Revolution. – What happened to him after? mykyta mykolaiovych: He left in 1918. The Revolution. They all left. – Before the Revolution, when your father worked for the landowner, were those landowners kind to people? mykyta mykolaiovych: How shall I put it – so-so. This is how it was and still is: if you’re a good worker, the landowner or the khaziaiin is kind to you. This is how it was back then and still is. A good worker was appreciated and spared. Some would give their people two liters of milk every morning. Each worker had a two-liter bottle. A woman would bring out the container – “That’s your milk.” – and the men would pour it into their bottles. There were some landowners who would beat their workers a great deal. Some had to be loved, and some – beaten. – How much was your father paid by the landlord? mykyta mykolaiovych: 7.5 rubli per month. Life was hard. – What did your mother do? mykyta mykolaiovych: She was a housewife with eight children. – What did your father do after 1917? mykyta mykolaiovych: We got the land, and a good life began for us. Lenin gave land; we got 18 hectares; at the time, land was measured in desiatyny. A hectare was less than a desiatyna [a desiatyna is 1.09 hectares]. A German plowed our land. There was also a law (serfdom): land was allotted

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to men only, not women. We divided the land between all at the time of the Soviet regime in 1917. A child would be born in the village – by then, there were no midwives left (we called them baba in the village) – and someone would run to announce it: “Guys, come, a baby was born.” But who knew that it was born? “So, guys, are we allotting land to the newborn?” – “Sure thing.” As soon as they gave land to that man, comes another one: “I have twins. Baba Habylykha was the midwife.” Habylykha was a well-known midwife in the village. – Was Habylykha her name? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. – Who divided the land? mykyta mykolaiovych: The village men. – Was there no one in charge? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. They would choose an elder and divide the land on their own. All on their own. – How did they go about choosing the elder? mykyta mykolaiovych: How? Soviet power. Usually, they would choose among the decent men. The officers were not allowed at the time, but we had two that were elected. They went through the regiment school and headed the Soviet authorities. – When people were dividing the land, did everyone get an equal plot? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, an equal plot per person. – How much land was given per person? mykyta mykolaiovych: 1.5 desiatyny. – Did your father have a garden after 1917? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. He also had the land and the farmstead. He had everything: a cow, a horse, everything. – Where did he get the money at the time? mykyta mykolaiovych: He sold the grain to the cooperative. This was the same farm as we have now. And it’s the same process now. Some grow crops, and some do something else. Some bring the grain, and others – something else. – Did your father grow crops only or did he do something else in addition? mykyta mykolaiovych: He only grew crops. Nothing else. – Did he take anything to sell on the market? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. – Where did he go to the market? mykyta mykolaiovych: Chuhuiv. – Did you go with him, too? mykyta mykolaiovych: I was as little at the time as my grandson is now. Yes, I used to go with my father. The money had high value at the time, and there were many goods.

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– Was there a tavern [shynok] in the village before the revolution? mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a tavern. – Where was it located? mykyta mykolaiovych: In the old house. – Who was its owner? mykyta mykolaiovych: A crook who ripped people off. He was clever and knew where to make easy money. My father was not smart that way. He was just a milkman, what did he know? And I finished three years of school. – Where did you go to school? mykyta mykolaiovych: In my village. – Was this a church school? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, of course. There were church lessons and a priest. Why did the priest beat me? It was around 1917, the Revolution was coming up; my uncles and brothers worked for Retermurt Weiss. On the weekend, they would come to the house and play cards and drink. There was an icon in the house: Peter the Great was on top of a white horse holding a spear. A snake coiled itself around the horse, and Peter the Great was fighting the snake with a spear. My uncle said, “What kind of a God is this? A snake attacked him, and he’s hitting it with a spear. Can this be God?” I heard this and retold this to the guys at school. Then the priest came to the lesson, and someone said, “Father, Nadezha committed blasphemy.” – “How? Come here, Nadezha, and explain how you committed blasphemy.” – “I didn’t.” – “He said, is it God depicted as Peter the Great on a horse, hitting a snake with a spear?” This was in 1914. When the priest was on this way to a lesson, the guys that were on duty would come running: “Nadezha, go stand in the corner.” So, I spent all his lessons standing in the corner. – Who owned the tavern? mykyta mykolaiovych: A peasant. He had a store, so he would buy produce, and the people would party and drink. A bottle of vodka cost 40 kopiiky in the store, and he sold one for 42 kopiiky. – Did only men drink there or women, too? mykyta mykolaiovych: Both men and women drank and partied. They didn’t want to work. – Did musicians sometimes play in the tavern? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, there was music. They would put a gramophone in the window, and you could hear it across the whole village. – Did any musicians play there? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. – When you were a schoolboy, what language was used to teach in school? mykyta mykolaiovych: Mostly Ukrainian. – What language did the priest use?

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some Old Slavonic and Russian, but mostly Ukrainian. – When you started socializing as a young man, how did you join the group of guys? mykyta mykolaiovych: After the Revolution. After 1917. The group was organized right away. I had linen pants, not bleached or anything. I wore them just like they were made and I used a peasant bag to go to school. We made all the clothes by ourselves. My mother would cut half a cloth and stitch a rope in and I would put the primer into the bag. – Did you have any books? mykyta mykolaiovych: Sure I did. – Were there any newspapers in the village at the time? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, nothing. – How many years of schooling did you have? mykyta mykolaiovych: Three. There were only three years of schooling everywhere in the village before the Revolution of 1917. After 1917, larger villages had 10-year schools. A small village like ours would have five or seven classes. – How many houses were in your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: 400. – Was it a large village? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, medium-sized. – How old were you when you started going out with the girls and the guys? mykyta mykolaiovych: Around 16. – When you first went out, did the guys bully you or make you do something? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, I began my cultural life after 1917. It was a totally different life. We didn’t have a moment to breathe at the time. There was no culture; after 1917, they set up a reading house and showed some films – not often, about twice a month. We started getting people together; we started getting magazines in the reading house. Vechornytsi stopped; the reading house had newspapers and one pair of headphones. Then they started buying more, organizing the hobby groups, and staging plays and concerts. – What plays were staged? mykyta mykolaiovych: Plays about the bandura and the Cossacks. The first play was Natalka Poltavka. Then the hobby groups were organized, and the church was destroyed. Before, people used to sing in the church; when it was destroyed, the singers came to the club. In our village, we called it the reading house, not the club. – Did they sing religious songs? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, no. They sang old Ukrainian songs. – Did they sing songs about Lenin?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: Of course, about his childhood, his life, and

the life he made for others. I will tell you this directly: Soviet power provided for us and should continue to provide us now. We need to bring Soviet power back so that the average man can be in charge. – When did the power belong to the people? mykyta mykolaiovych: In 1917 when the Soviet authorities gave it to us. Lenin gave us land and the right to choose the authorities. – When the kolhospy began, was the land taken away? Were those the Soviet authorities or not? mykyta mykolaiovych: The Soviets. No one took the land. Who told you that land was taken away? We have the decree confirming the indefinite use of the land. – Do you have this decree? mykyta mykolaiovych: We have it in the [kolhsop] office. It says in gilded letters that the land in the kolhosp is ours for indefinite use. It’s a large book and in gilded letters it says: the land is transferred to the kolhosp workers for indefinite use. – After 1917, did life change for the better? mykyta mykolaiovych: It became totally better. – Did you go to vechornytsi? mykyta mykolaiovych: Of course. It was a good time. When it was over, when the Soviet regime began … – Where did you gather for vechornytsi? What house did you rent? mykyta mykolaiovych: Girls used to gather (about five or six of them); they would choose a house and arrange with the man or woman who owned the house about how they would pay for it. – How did they pay for it? mykyta mykolaiovych: In various ways. Some could whitewash the walls or bring the firewood, clean or bring some pirozhky (“stuffed pastries”). They made the arrangements. The rich ones wouldn’t let them in, but the poor ones or the widows would let them come. When such a woman let the girls in, it was more fun for her and they would bring the firewood and the food. – Would the girls go to her house throughout the whole winter? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, the whole winter. – What about the guys? mykyta mykolaiovych: Guys would come. The girls would be spinning yarn until Friday, and on Friday – God forbid; you could only sew. Such was God’s law. On Friday, you could only sew, not spin yarn. On Saturday, you would whitewash the house and do laundry. – When the guys came over, what did they do?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: They would sit around, sing, and eat [probably

sunflower or pumpkin] seeds. – Did they play cards? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. – Did the girls sometimes go to another village neighborhood for vechornytsi? mykyta mykolaiovych: Our village wasn’t very big, about 400 houses. There were about 10 houses where vechornytsi were held. Most people went to party in their kutok because the village was spread out. Not everyone wanted to go to the other side of the village. They mostly gathered here, locally. – Did the guys come to meet with the same girls all the time? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. It was allowed [for the guys] to go to various neighborhoods. – What about the girls? mykyta mykolaiovych: Same goes for girls. Those who lived on one street gathered in that street, and those who lived on the other street would party in that street. – Could the girls from one street go to the other street? mykyta mykolaiovych: They could, but it was rare. It was allowed and some used to go, but rarely; maybe this was not convenient. – Did the guys sometimes hire musicians? mykyta mykolaiovych : Yes, there were the musicians. Harmonia, mostly. – Did they hire an older man to play or was the musician young? mykyta mykolaiovych: A guy the same age as everyone else. If one harmonia player got married, he was no longer available, so someone younger would come to replace him. – When that harmonia player played, did everyone dance? mykyta mykolaiovych: People danced. – What dances did they dance at the vechornytsi? mykyta mykolaiovych: Oh! Mostly polka and hopak. – Was there music in the reading house [khata-chytal’nia]? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they started buying music. During the Soviet regime, the vechornytsi stopped, and the reading house took over. – Did all the girls who used to go to the vechornytsi go to the club? mykyta mykolaiovych: Girls used to come, too. – Could they spin yarn there? mykyta mykolaiovych: The cultural activities at the reading house were more developed at the time. The church stopped working, and the people who sang in the church got together in the club, too. The church starosta chose the singers for the choir. Now, the church choir sings better; they are all well chosen. The church was closed down once it was acknowledged that it was not necessary. Indeed, it wasn’t necessary, not for me.

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– Did you not wed in church?

mykyta mykolaiovych: No, I hate them all.

– What year did you get married? mykyta mykolaiovych: After the war. – What did people do in the reading house? mykyta mykolaiovych: There were concerts and theater plays. People read there, too. – Who was in charge? mykyta mykolaiovych: The komsomol’ members. The military chiefs would come; the plays were staged often. The Soviet government gave us a totally different life. – You said there were plays about the bandura? mykyta mykolaiovych: Bandura players. Taras Shevchenko played the bandura, so people called him a bandura player. That was about him. – When was the kolhosp starting to be set up in your village? Was there a soz before the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a soz first. – In what year? mykyta mykolaiovych: 1928. – Who started the kolhosp in your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: The paupers. soz were the paupers. I joined a soz when I was 16. Our family gave up their land (they were well-off), and the pauper who got the land had eight people in the family – 1.5 desiatyny per person, so he got a total of 12 desiatyny. – Was it much? mykyta mykolaiovych: Not much, but they had no tools to work the land. They elected a man and a woman as representatives to send to Lenin so he would give us, the poor, a tractor. Komnezam organized this, and Lenin approved. He signed a document for the Kharkiv region, and we got a tractor. My uncle was the chairman of the Committee of the Poor Peasants and he organized all this. He sent me to Kharkiv for a month to learn how to work the tractor while they were waiting for me here. They gave me a tractor there. I was on my way from Kharkiv but made it to Chuhuiv; the tractor broke down on the way because I was a fool and didn’t check it. That tractor fell apart and burned down. I got up, left the tractor there, and walked barefoot to Kharkiv. “What happened?” I told them the story. They gave me another tractor and a mechanic. He and I went to my village; he fixed the tractor and showed me everything. I was there for a month, and he showed me everything. Then I drove that tractor. – What organization was this? mykyta mykolaiovych: “Sil’khozsnab” [“Agricultural Supply”].

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– What kind of work did you do with the tractor? mykyta mykolaiovych: Well, we had this soz. Komnezam gave us good land. – Your father owned land, so he didn’t join? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, he didn’t join. – How many of you were in this soz ? mykyta mykolaiovych: About 15. – They also came without the land of their own? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, without the land. – Where did you get better land from? mykyta mykolaiovych: We had a society with some extra land. You understand, a newcomer would move in with his family to live here, so we should give him some land. This was how the society worked. Land had to be available for the people. The people would come – refugees, the Poles; they would get some land. – You were 15 people in a soz , and how much land did you have? mykyta mykolaiovych: 1.5 hectares per person. – Was the land collective? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. I plowed the land using the tractor; then we’d reap the harvest. We would then divide the harvest equally between all. The horses, the cows, and the tractor were all collective property. This was collective agriculture [soz ]. – Where did you live? mykyta mykolaiovych: Over there. – Not at your father’s? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. – Did you build a house of your own? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, I lived at my father’s [??]. – You didn’t build a communal house? mykyta mykolaiovych: No-no, we didn’t have this. – Why didn’t soz last? Why did the kolhsop begin? mykyta mykolaiovych: We went from soz to the kolhosp because we learned that soz was a middle-class farming enterprise, and the kolhosp was supporting the older people. We started setting up collective meals and helping the elderly. The cooperative was another stage. In the soz we would divide everything earned throughout the year. In the cooperative we had the poor members and the elderly, and the cooperative would help them. This was a different stage. – When did the kolhosp begin? mykyta mykolaiovych: In 1933. Stalin had vertigo in 1933, so he ordered collectivization. He was set up, and as strong as he was, he wasn’t afraid to

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accept the responsibility. Stalin had vertigo with this collective agriculture. This collectivization amounted to nothing. Like Horbachiov and his perestroika. So, Stalin said, “Dismiss the kolhospy.” – So, the kolhospy began in 1931. What was the name of your uncle who was in charge of the soz ? mykyta mykolaiovych: Pavlo Nadezha. – Did he become the head of the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, the other man did. – Why? mykyta mykolaiovych: My uncle was the chairman of the Komnezam, and we had an organizer from Kharkiv, a stotysiachnyk (“hundred-thousander”). At the time, there were stotysiachnyky, young guys who were sent to the kolhosph, the Komsomol’ members. Pohorielov came to our village from Kursk and lived here. – When the kolhosp was being set up, was Pohorielov in charge of it? mykyta mykolaiovych: He was not in charge; he led it forward. There was no technology at the time, just the horses. – You were 15 people in a soz ? How did you tell others to join the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: The people came on their own. They saw that life was good, came, and enrolled in the kolhosp. They were accepted. – What about the rich? mykyta mykolaiovych: The kurkuli didn’t want to join the kolhosp. They were taxed, asked, and persuaded. They were taxed. Their land was not confiscated, but they were heavily taxed until they would pay, and they would pay until they had nothing left. Then the person would come, “Enroll me in the kolhosp.” This was how it was. Smarter people sold their farmsteads and left. Most of them fled to the sovkhozy. They were accepted to the sovkhozy, and life in the sovkhozy was better than in the kolhospy. They paid some money there and provided three meals per day; in the kolhsopy they only marked the days worked, and they gave everything except the money (there was no money). They paid money only at the end of the year. – What did you do in the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: I worked on the German tractor “Fordson” since 1928. The father’s name was “Ford” and so the son’s name was “Fordson”. – Tell us about collectivization. Your wife says the land was confiscated, and you say it wasn’t? mykyta mykolaiovych: No one confiscated anything. We came to the kolhosp and were given the book. There was a large meeting of all the kolhosp workers, and in gilded letters it said: the land is transferred to the kolhosp workers for indefinite use. The land was marked with pegs so no one used the other people’s land.

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– Who gave this book to the kolhosp workers? mykyta mykolaiovych: Sovnarkom. – Why do other people say that they were forced to join the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: I know this activism. – Was it a lie? mykyta mykolaiovych: This was the same as this perestroika. Some people like it, and some don’t. Those who give bribes, the profiteers, and the hooligans like perestroika. It was the same at the time of collectivization. Lenin’s law was very good: work and earn. It was very good in the kolhosp. – If the well-off people had the land and the cattle, why would they join the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: Let them do their own work, but let them pay the taxes. But the taxes were set up in a way to make the rich join the kolhosp because otherwise they got in our way. – How? mykyta mykolaiovych: Because he would live better than we did. We had to work, and what about him? He would lie in the shade; he’d finish working his land and sit down to rest. – How could he live better if he were resting in the shade so much? mykyta mykolaiovych: Because we gave him a separate piece of land. Between the stretches of our land is a stretch of his; he would work a little on it, and leave to take a break. teklia ivanivna: Don’t say this. Say that most people in the kolhosp were lazy, that’s all. Ivan’s father used to go fishing and would come to the kolhosp to get bread. They were all like this everywhere. mykyta mykolaiovych: I know what you want to say. The journalists are waiting to see if the land can be split between the peasants. Nothing will come of out it. If you give them land, it’ll all be covered in weeds and people will die like flies. – teklia ivanivna , if the land can be distributed again between the people, will they take care of it? teklia ivanivna: No one will take it. In our village, only one man took the land. No one else did. – How much land did he take? teklia ivanivna: Around four hectares. mykyta mykolaiovych: He doesn’t pay anything; no use to the government. – Is he earning anything from the land? teklia ivanivna: I guess so. – Why doesn’t the state want to tax him? mykyta mykolaiovych: It will take him time to make profit. He was

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dragged into this the same way people were dragged into the kolhospy. – You say that people were not forced to join the kolhosp but joined out of their own will? mykyta mykolaiovych: They did (laughs). – What were you saying about Stalin’s vertigo? mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a law for Sovnarkom: collective agriculture had to be set up on voluntary basis as in the example of our soz : we were 15 people who came together on a voluntary basis; we received a tractor; we asked for the land from the society; we got the land and worked. Some people did not accept this, so the authorities forced them to join the kolhosp. If they followed Lenin’s way (as he said– on a voluntary basis), the peasants could organize villages on their own. Stalin made the wrong decisions; he crushed Lenin’s policy completely. – Did people in 1933 understand this and think the same way you think today? mykyta mykolaiovych: I think they did not understand this. The Soviet government could not provide for the people, you understand? It could not provide neither bread, nor anything else. How could it? It had just begun; it was new and had to support an army in some way. – Your neighbor said that people’s property was taken away and sold along the road? mykyta mykolaiovych: No one took anything away except in the case of the rich individuals who didn’t share bread and used to hide it. They were taxed, but they didn’t pay the taxes. – Was the grain that was confiscated from the people brought to the barn? mykyta mykolaiovych: To the barn first and then it was given to the government and the regional administrative center. No one sold a single grain anywhere else. This was all done by the party and the Soviet authorities; they had to feed the army and the people, and the rich were hiding the grain. – Did everyone in the village understand what had to be paid back to the state? mykyta mykolaiovych: Look, the renters now are using the land for the fourth year and have not paid a gram of produce [in tax]. – Where would a renter go if they don’t give him a shipping order? mykyta mykolaiovych: He is subsidized and supported, but will his work have a good outcome or will he sell it back to the state? Now they give kolhospy and sovhospy to the state; there’s a decree, but this one sticks to his land. He has to give 30% to the state from his income. – What exactly does he do? mykyta mykolaiovych: He raises cattle and sells 30 kg of meat. – Perhaps the state wants to create more of such producers and doesn’t want to tax them for now? mykyta mykolaiovych: They won’t succeed. The only way to go about

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this is to keep the kolhospy and sovhospy. In the current situation, a single state cannot come out of the crisis on its own. It’s a struggle now for Belarus and Russia and the majority [of the post-Soviet republics] to have trade contacts; you can’t do without this and you can’t do it without collective farming. You have to turn back, only turn it back to collective farming on voluntary basis. – The Lenin way? mykyta mykolaiovych: Not the Stalin way, but the Lenin way. teklia ivanivna: And to destroy all those Communists. What use are they? mykyta mykolaiovych: If it’s the Lenin way, the Communists are few. – How can one tell the Lenin Communists from the Stalin Communists? mykyta mykolaiovych: Walk around the village and you’ll know. – What if they are not Communists, but from Western Ukraine? mykyta mykolaiovych: What about it? I know what Western Ukraine wants. It wants to be independent and not give anyone anything; it wants to live independently and not let even the rest of Ukraine get involved and to make sure no Russian ever crosses its threshold. – Ukraine is independent now. So, the Constitution says. mykyta mykolaiovych: Is it really independent? It’s written in the Constitution; anyone can write anything. What good is it if it’s not working out? – How many komsomol’tsi were there in your village in 1931? mykyta mykolaiovych: About 60 people. – What about Communists? mykyta mykolaiovych: Few. About 10–15. – Were you a komsomolets’ or a Communist? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, I wasn’t. – Why? mykyta mykolaiovych: I didn’t belong to anything and didn’t have religion until I understood better and got some culture. Before I didn’t acknowledge any of this. – And you didn’t want to join Komsomol? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. – You didn’t want to join or did you have to fulfill some prerequisite to join? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, they didn’t accept me, I didn’t want to join, I didn’t have time. You had to sit in the reading house in komsomol, listen to something, put on these headphones, know that tomorrow they would ratify the decree about Taras Bulba, about the peasants, about Natalka Poltavka, all that. I didn’t have the time. I got that tractor in 1928 and was underneath it, fixing it, all covered in oil, barefoot.

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– And you didn’t get married? mykyta mykolaiovych: What kind of a groom would I make? Barefoot, dirty, my hat full of holes– a tramp. When we joined [object of the verb is unclear] and I had to have a different life, but I had no time. – Was there a famine in your kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: Famine? I don’t know. This is a political affair. – How many people died? teklia ivanivna: Not quite everyone. mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a famine in Ukraine. – And in your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: There was a famine here, too. I was a tractor driver. People died like flies. Someone would go into a thicket to find the last year’s potato or some herbs and would die right there. We used to plow last year’s thickets and we would sometimes plow through the dead bodies there. What could one do with them? No one could bury them properly because all the living ones were swollen and weak. This is a political affair; you must know better that this is what Stalin did. – Auntie, did you see any cases of cannibalism? teklia ivanivna: One woman here told me about a woman who lived alone about 10 houses away. If a child came to her house, it didn’t come back; comes in, but doesn’t come out, comes in, but doesn’t come out. This woman said she came to her house one time, and she said, “Lenochka, in the oven there are two pots with meat. Pass me one.” She said, “I poured her some, and she ate it.” Then she said, “Give me some more.” She poured some more and saw children’s hands. She said that she rushed out of the house. That woman [the cannibal] died and the meat stayed in the oven. When she died, they found a lot of human bones on the ledges [of the stove] in the house. – Would it happen in your village that a mother of a large family would leave her child at the train station? mykyta mykolaiovych: Some did. – Why? teklia ivanivna: They thought the government would pick the child up and maybe the child would survive. At home, the child would have died. – What did the people think was the cause of the famine? mykyta mykolaiovych: They thought it was due to the atmospheric causes; there was a propaganda campaign saying that this was the year of a poor harvest and the drought, so there was no bread. Then the people understood that it happened only in Ukraine. Not everyone understood the real cause; some did, but you could not say it directly. You know how Stalin ruled. The people knew who did this; the politicians and the party members knew. We had the Communists in the village, but who could openly tell me that it

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was wrong? They kept sending the message that it was due to a bad harvest and a drought in Ukraine, and things were different in Russia. Why was it different in Russia if they also had the Soviet regime there? Later on, you could talk openly about this. This was a political affair. This is a very difficult question. – After the famine, did the people come to enlist in the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: Some did. – Someone said the famine aimed to make all the people join the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, that’s not the reason. This was Stalin’s work. He destroyed many Bolsheviks: Kirov, Postyshev. He killed them. Perhaps this was done with a similar purpose – to exterminate the people so they would not start a revolution, something like this. This is a political case and very hard to crack. No one has solved it to this day. I am being honest with you. – How did you manage to work at the time? One has to eat to have the energy to work, and there was no food at the time. Was there a working kitchen in the kolhosp at the time? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they prepared food and gave it out little by little. Our chiefs were from Kubins’kyi regiment. They were stationed in Chuhuiv and they gave us (especially the mechanics) grain and bread. There was a time when we had seven tractors and I was the brigade chief, and the chiefs helped the people; they brought the corncobs without the grains, just the cobs, to the mill. People would boil these cobs in a large pot. It was a very difficult time. Why it happened, I cannot say. Now no one can prove why exactly Stalin did this; he killed the Bolsheviks so they would not replace him; you can see the famine in a similar way. He decreased the population in the nation so people would live in fear. You could understand it this way, but no one knew for sure. – Tell us about your marriage. mykyta mykolaiovych: I don’t know how we got married; that was her work … She was young, and I am old, you see. She is 16 years younger than me. She was left alone without her mother or her father, and I was a tractor driver, a brigade leader, then I was the mechanic at the machine tractor station, a hero. They were chasing after me. – Did you have a house at the time? mykyta mykolaiovych: So, she came up to me and said, “I guess I will live with you.” teklia ivanivna: Yeah, right. mykyta mykolaiovych: Well, you tell them then. How was it? teklia ivanivna: We got married, that was all. – Which of you had a house? teklia ivanivna: Neither of us had anything.

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mykyta mykolaiovych: We rented an apartment. – Did you come to propose?

mykyta mykolaiovych: There was no such thing. It was after the war. teklia ivanivna: People do the matchmaking and proposals now, but

after the war, you know how we lived. We had nothing. Now we have a granddaughter. – How was the church closed down in your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: I remember this. It was closed down, the priest was expelled, and his house was confiscated. – What was the house used for? mykyta mykolaiovych: Village council. The priest was resettled. Each church had a lodge [a small storage space, a shed] where possessional materials were kept and where the custodian lived. They resettled the priest into that lodge. – Did he have a family? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, a mother and a daughter. He died in 1933; life was hard. The old women would bring him food. – When was the church closed down? mykyta mykolaiovych: 1933. – What was done to the building? mykyta mykolaiovych: It was dismantled, pulled apart. The cross was thrown off; the metal and the bells were collected and sent to Kharkiv. The icons were looted. Some women who understood theology took them. There used to be old people who knew theology. – Who was in charge of this? mykyta mykolaiovych: Komnezam [Committee of Poor Peasants]. – Was your uncle the head of Komnezam? mykyta mykolaiovych: My uncle and the poor peasants. – Did he worry afterwards that this [destroying the church] was a sin? mykyta mykolaiovych: Why would he worry? He lived very well. – Did you help them a little? mykyta mykolaiovych: Me? I didn’t know about this at the time. When I was given a tractor in 1928, I never left it. I went from the soz to the guild, and from the guild to the machine tractor station. teklia ivanivna: When he joined the machine tractor station, he had nothing to do with the kolhosp anymore. – What did your uncle do in the kolhosp? mykyta mykolaiovych: He was a komnezam, the committee of poor peasants. – What did that committee do? mykyta mykolaiovych: Nothing. The poor people got together and

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received good land; I used to plow the land for them with the tractor. Whatever I earned, we used to party and drink. We split the harvest between us. – Where did you buy vodka? mykyta mykolaiovych: In the store. – Where was the reading house set up? mykyta mykolaiovych: In the former priest’s house. He had a good one. He was evicted. – Were the village council and the reading house in the same building? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, the priest had six rooms in his house. – Was the reading house established before the village council? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. A man was dispossessed and evicted, and his house was confiscated and used for the reading house. Then they took the priest’s house which had six rooms, and both the village council and the reading house moved there. – What year was the first reading house set up? mykyta mykolaiovych: Approximately 1928. – Not earlier in 1921, 1922? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, no. – When the kolhosp was set up, did the girls still go to the vechornytsi or was it forbidden? mykyta mykolaiovych: No, the vechornytsi stopped on their own. The reading house took over; they stopped spinning yarn and sewing. – They could rest in the reading house but had to work during the vechornytsi, right? mykyta mykolaiovych: They were spinning yarn there, but this stopped on its own. – Were there any icon painters in the village? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. – Where did people buy icons before collectivization? mykyta mykolaiovych: In specialized stores in Chuhuiv. At the time, people had to give the bride and the groom icons for the wedding. It was mandatory. There were specialized stores that sold icons. With the Soviet government, the icons disappeared. – What was the music like at the weddings before the Revolution? mykyta mykolaiovych: Harmonia and bubon. – Were there any fiddles? mykyta mykolaiovych: No. We had two musicians: she played the bubon, and he played the harmonia. They would get hired for weddings, play for three days, and be treated to a drink there. – Did they pay them anything?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. If there were any pastries left, they would

take some. – Were they husband and wife? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. – When you were little, did the blind startsi come to your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, they were not startsi but narodnyky. – Who are the narodnyky? mykyta mykolaiovych: Startsi were the ones who asked for alms if there was some kind of a misfortune, for example, if their house had burned down. These people who went around asking for alms that people called startsi are actually narodnyky. – What would a narodnyk say when he came to someone’s house? mykyta mykolaiovych: He would talk about his difficult life. We had one in our village; his name was Fedko Burta; he was very poor and his house was all overgrown with weeds. He used to go around asking for alms. Once a year, he would come to his house where he had some hay on the floor. Back then, the newspaper Iskra came out; the church did it [sic], the priests did it [sic], the administrator did it [sic], and there was also the police. The neighbors would say, “Fedka came.” They would run to him and he would read the newspaper. – When did the newspaper come out? In 1905? mykyta mykolaiovych: Oh, right, in 1905. So, he would pull out the newspaper and read it. The old women would go to the priest, “Father, Fedka Burta came and pulled out the newspaper. He read that there would be no gods, no church.” The priest said, “Where’s that man Fedka?” – “He’s home.” Fedka was no fool; he took his bags in the morning and left. When the priest came, he was no longer there. The priest said, “Ladies, when he comes back, let me know.” Fedka came back in a year, and the ideas were different at the time; he gave out the brochures. The priest came with the police, “Stop!” And they took Fedka, and to this day he’s not been found. That was a narodnyk. – Were there any blind people? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. They would mostly take coins or pastries, but most people gave money because it was what people needed to live. – Did people always give them something? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes, yes, people helped them – no question about it. – What did they sing? mykyta mykolaiovych: “Our father who art in heaven” and the religious songs. – Did they play any instruments? mykyta mykolaiovych: They played the bandura. – Did anyone in your village play the bandura?

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mykyta mykolaiovych: No one. The bandura players would come from

other villages. – Did you know the player that lived in your village? mykyta mykolaiovych: We are not local. We moved here in 1953. teklia ivanivna: He was a brigade chief of a tractor brigade. He was assigned to this village. – As a stotysiachnyk? mykyta mykolaiovych: Mhm. I was conscripted. I didn’t think of returning to agriculture; I’ve had enough of it. I worked for two months at the factory, and then I was called to the Human Resources department: “Leave the workplace immediately and go.” – “Where to?” – “To the Human Resources department in Chuhuiv. They will tell you what’s next.” – Why did you go to work at the factory in Kharkiv? Why did you leave the tractor? mykyta mykolaiovych: I was sick and tired of agriculture. It was very difficult. So, I came to the Human Resources department, “Come. You are a machine operator. We have a decree to send all the machine operators, agriculturalists, specialists, and all agriculture worked to the cities.” So, we were all sent to different places, regardless of our desire. You had to go and work in agriculture. I was sent here, so I came here to suffer. This is shit, not a village. We had a good village. We had Retermurt’s land; it was good land. Even now, the land here is not that good, and life isn’t good here either. Over there, the land is better, and people are better off. If you offer people there some land for free, they won’t want it. They will say, “Just give me the kolhospy.” This is further away from Chuhuiv, on the other side of Kharkiv. – Do those komsomoltsi still live there? mykyta mykolaiovych: Yes. – What are their names? mykyta mykolaiovych: I’ve forgotten. You can find them there. Their kolhsop is great! The land is very good there, not like here. teklia ivanivna: In our village all the people are Ukrainians [in the interview, khokhly]. We also have Georgians, Jews [zhydy], Jews [ievreii], and Russians [not clear why she used two different words for Jews]. mykyta mykolaiovych: Most of them are Jews [ievreii]. The locals are just about 100 people. – Did they buy the country houses here? mykyta mykolaiovych: They fled. You know why? When the atom was moved, America got more active. – America got more active? mykyta mykolaiovych: Didn’t you hear? What kind of a journalist are you? I guess you’re questioning me. You know everything.

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– In the 1960s, did the Jews move here? mykyta mykolaiovych: They are running away from everywhere. They came here, and back in the day they were running away. teklia ivanivna: You say Ukraine is independent. Is it really? Have you been to a market in Chuhuiv? Go take a look. How independent is it if there are so many Georgians on the market? They are selling lipstick, earrings, and all kinds of trifles, things to paint your eyes with. He’s sitting on the market there, and a Ukrainian is working in the field at home. If this were Ukraine, all the people would have been our people, Ukrainians. Go take a look at Chuhuiv. Kharkiv is the same way, even worse. One person in our village said, “I went to Lviv. People on the market there are selling only their local produce: milk, meat, cucumbers, and eggplant.” Go look at our market; they are selling vodka. Vodka costs 28 at the store, and the person on the market is asking 40. And no one says anything. So, people say: is it Ukraine? When Ukraine was under the damned Soviet government, nobody … that … at least, nobody sold that. mykyta mykolaiovych: You have to bring everything back to the cooperative organization. Whatever I acquired, give to the cooperative for the exchange. – Could you buy anything you needed on the market during the Soviet times? teklia ivanivna: On the markets they would sell only what we bought: eggplant, cabbage, and meat; there was nothing from the stores. – Auntie, what is your name? teklia ivanivna: teklia ivanivna Nadezhyna. My children’s last name is Nadezhyny, too. – Why is your husband’s name Nadezha and yours Nadezhyna? teklia ivanivna: This is how it was recorded when we registered our marriage. – What is your maiden name? teklia ivanivna: Velyka. – And your mother’s? teklia ivanivna: I don’t remember. – You said in that village all the residents were Ukrainians. Who are the local residents here? I’m asking because that woman speaks Russian. mykyta mykolaiovych: That woman is a native. – But she speaks Russian. So does Hanna Illivna. Didn’t Ukrainians live here? mykyta mykolaiovych: Piatnytske was a Russian village. – Why is it in Ukraine if it is Russian? teklia ivanivna: You know, people used to say that there were prisoners here, convicts, and so they stayed on and the village was Russian. – What would you like Ukraine to be?

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teklia ivanivna: Independent. No profiteering. No Georgia, no Armenia. I want all of us here to be Ukrainians. Well, Russians are Russians, they are the same as Ukrainians. Take a look and see if a Georgian works anywhere. One of our neighbors has a son-in-law [from Georgia?]. He’s a profiteer. He buys cars in Poland and sells them here. Does he need to go to war there? His sister is here, and they don’t want to go there until the war ends. – You said there used to be a club with film screenings in the village? Why is it gone? teklia ivanivna: Because it’s just the hooligans now. No one goes to the club. – What would mykyta mykolaiovych like Ukraine to be? mykyta mykolaiovych: Friendly. To be friends not just with Russia, but with all the nations on the planet. – Isn’t Ukraine friendly now? mykyta mykolaiovych: It is, as you said, independent. Let it be independent. Let it have its own religion, its language – please. Learn Russian, well, friendship, only friendship. Do not, under any circumstances, dismiss the sovkhozy or kolhospy; they need to be supported. The government supported them with technologies and money. They need to be supported with everything; workers and grain farmers need to be paid. This is the primary task. If the new President [1994] considers all this and pays attention to agriculture, the economy will grow. If he doesn’t, nothing will work. And friendship, only friendship. Let Ukraine stay independent. We can’t grow the economy without the friendship. – Isn’t Ukraine friendly now? mykyta mykolaiovych: Oh, this I don’t know when the new President comes. It will be hard, but we will survive. Look what progress the country has made. Who was the first man to go to space? People say Gagarin was the duke’s son. And who taught him? teklia ivanivna: Enough talking. You don’t know these people. Maybe they came from America.

Glossary

Ahitatory – agitators Artil – [strictly, ‘artil'’] a craft collective; thousands of these were created by Soviet power in many villages; thus, there were artils for potters, for tailors, for shoemakers, for blacksmiths, for coopers, etc. Bandura – a large plucked bowl lute with some twenty plucked strings (number varies) and several dozen sympathetically sounding strings; not the same as a kobza. Blahovishchennia - “the Annunciation” is an official religious holiday, celebrated before 1930 (and after 1991) in church. It commemorates the appearance of Gabriel before Mary; there is also a non-canonical component to this holiday, explained in chapter 7. Bohomazy – village painters who painted primarily icons hung in village homes, but other genres as well, such as kozak mamai. Bosiaky – “lazy goof-offs” who had a very low status among most villagers. Bubon – a one-sided drum widely used in ensembles in central and eastern regions of Ukraine, played with a mallet; made by village masters. Buksiri or Buksyry (pl.) – literally “tugboat” but here meaning komsomol’ activists who led the repressions of peasants and the confiscations of food, tools and land. Civil Society – as used here refers to the great complex of social institutions that exist over long periods of time, are inherited and used by local populations, and which normally lie outside the pale of direct control by the state. It is a relationship of human beings on an equal basis, it is a ‘constituted’ condition by participants, and it is a self-sufficient relationship. Chervona mitla – “red broom,” a komsomol’-based organization not found in a majority of locales; where found, they were brutal to peasantry in the extreme. Desiatyna – an archaic unit of measurement of land, no longer in use; it is 10,926.512 square meters or 2.7 acres, slightly larger that a hectare; there are 2.47105 acres in one hectare.

898

Glossary

Diak – cantor or deacon. Dispossession – when Soviet power stole all of a family’s possessions and evicted them, usually deporting them far away; see Rozkurkulennia. Dom Kultury – village hall that took over earlier function of the Klub; see Klub. Dosvitky / Vechornytsi – a evening event where girls worked on textiles that were to become a significant part of their dowry. Dumy – heroic epic songs exclusively performed by the blind peasant minstrels. Dvadtsiatyp’iatytysiachnyky – “twenty-five thousanders,” see Stotysiachnyky. Emic / etic – a dichotomy widely used in American cultural anthropology. An emic approach argues for using language that is intrinsic to the culture in question. An etic approach argues for using language that lies outside of the culture in question. Halushky – dumplings with no filling, just the cooked dough. This was commonly eaten before the famine and in fact is still commonly eaten in Ukraine today. Holodomor – “death by starvation.” Hospodar – a masculine noun for a peasant farmer. Hospodarka – a feminine noun for a peasant farmer. Hospodarstvo (as action) – housekeeping, farming. Hospodarstvo (as ownership) – farm. Kandior – ears of ripened grain crumbled, dried, and grated and made into a thin gruel. Kaplytsia – chapel. Karbovantsi – Ukrainian term for monetary currency. Khaziaiin (pl. Khaziaii) – masculine noun for a peasant farmer. Khaziaika (pl. Khaziaiky) – feminine noun for a peasant farmer. khlib (Bread) – used throughout the interviews as reference to both the grain and a loaf of bread. The meaning of the reference is usually evident in the context of the interview. Khram – the name day of the saint for which the church or sobor received its name. Khresny khid – “procession behind the cross”; an outdoor religious procession. Khutir (pl. Khutory) – a group of homes built away from a village proper, even up to one kilometer away. Klub – “club,” rare in the 1920s; in the 1930s one of the main settings for both political gatherings and dances. Kobza – a small, plucked, bowl lute, with from about eight to twenty strings, hand-made by a village master; not synonymous with the instrument bandura. Kobzar / pl. kobzary – blind, quasi-mendicant performers of kobza, who traveled and performed while begging for alms. Virtually all of them had

Glossary

899

families and had land. Most traveled approximately ½ the year, the half spent at home with their families. Kommersant – merchant Komnezam – Komitet nezamozhnykh selian (kns ); “committee of poor peasants.” Kopiika/kopiiky – more or less “pennies.” Kurkul’ (Ukr.), kulak (Rus.) – a term used by Soviet power to designate “rich” peasants, which rarely existed as described in Soviet sources; labeling someone as a kurkul’ was the preferred manner of evicting and dispossessing, thus often murdering, large parts of the village population; cf. Rozkurkulennia. Koliadky – Christmas carols, sung primarily on Christmas Eve, Christmas day, and one or two days following; most often sung to close neighbors and relatives. Kostiol – Church (Protestant). Klub – a “club” maintained by Soviet Power to hold elections, and later for dancing; cf. Dom Kultury. Kolhosp – collective farm from 1930 to the present. Kolhospnyk (m.) / kolhospnytsia (f.) – members of a kolhosp. Komsomol’tsi – members of komsomol. Komsomol – young communist league; in villages of the 1930s, they were the primary local players in repressing and murdering peasantry. Kryzhma – christening linen or swaddling clothes. Kum – godfather to one’s child. Kupalo (or Ivana Kupalo) – a largely secular holiday celebrated the evening and night of 6–7 July. Kutok – literally “a corner;” i.e., here a neighborhood; a village could have two or a dozen or more kutky. Lavka – “bench;” before collectivization, especially before the 1920s, a small, informal retail outlet, usually located along a well-traveled road; literally products for sale stacked on a bench or on the ground. Lipenyky – buns made from ground corncobs, acorns, or goosefoot. Malanka – multiple meanings, most commonly the village word for New Year’s Eve. Mishok (s.) mishky (pl.) – a unit of measuring grain, one was approximately fifty kilograms of grain. Materyzna zemlia – literally, “mother’s land,” when a daughter inherited some or all of her parents’ land. Muzykanty – ensemble musicians most often hired for weddings and christenings. Naimyt – “journeyman,” one who hired oneself out to perform labor for another family.

900

Glossary

narkomos – Narodny Komisariiat Osvity – (People’s Commissariat of Education)

nep / НЕП – New Economic Policy [1920s].

Oblihatsia – “obligation,” technically a loan by a kolhospnyk to the kolhosp, in reality a fee assessed upon kolhospnyky by local activists. It could be virtually of any amount, and once the kolhospnyk got close to paying it off, more could be imposed. Odnoosibnyky – holdouts from the collectivization process who attempted to farm on their own. Virtually all had entered the socialized agrarian system by the late 1930s. Paiok – ration packs Panakhyda – memorial service in church. Peasant / peasantry – a system of family-based agricultural production. The peasant’s labor commitment to the family farm is virtually total, although in pre-collectivization times they were the people who also created all the goods and creature comforts of village life through their work in literally hundreds of kinds of home industries and village services. Pip – priest. Plach – an emotional cry of grief rendered next to the grave during funeral burial. Posah – bride’s dowry. Posypannia – to earn a few pennies, children were invited into peasants’ homes to throw grain into the corners of the house for good luck; performed in the Christmas season. Prystavy – various kinds of roles in village governmental life, pre-Soviet times. Psal’ma / psal’my – “psalm.” Mainstay repertory of semi-mendicants such as startsi / starchykhy as well as kobzari and lirnyky. Pievcha – common term for a member of the village church choir. Pyrozhky – stuffed pastry, usually with ground poppy seeds or fruit as the stuffing. Radhosp – state-owned and state administered agricultural production without the pretense of member ownership, such as is attached to the kolhosp. Raikom – raionniy komitet, “district committee.” Raion – an administrative district. Rozkurkulennia / rozkulachennia – “dispossession of farmers,” literally “de-kurkulization” or “de-kulakization,” was the term Soviet power used to rationalize the murder of millions of people by stealing their homes and often exiling either the entire family or only the father; cf. Kurkul’. Rubli – Russian word for monetary currency. Rushnyk – [pl. rushnyky – nearly untranslatable], a ceremonial or decorative towel elaborately embroidered. Shchedrivky – songs sung during winter cycle of songs, after the koliadky and

Glossary

901

most closely associated with New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day; the carolers sang these songs for a larger part of the village, not just those close to them. Shtykhar – assistant to the local priest. Shynok – tavern, or village inn. Sil'rada – village council. Skhodka (s.) skhodky (pl.) – pre-collectivization gatherings of sighted, male peasants with land to elect a leader, a starosta, for varying lengths of time, decided by the skhodka proper. Skotyna – “a herd,” both draft animals as well as other animals. Skrynka – a chest (used to store a woman’s dowry). Sobor – Cathedral (Orthodox). Sotok – one one-hundredth of a hectare. Sovnarkom (Sovietskyi narodnyi komitet– Soviet People’s Committee soz – sovmestna obrabotka zemli – a form of collectivized agriculture, primarily in the 1920s; replaced by the kolhosp of the 1930s. Spekuliant (pl. Spekulianty) – A Soviet concept translated as “profiteers,” which attempted to criminalize all private transactions. Starets’/pl. startsi – blind, semi-mendicant vocalists who sang primarily the popular Christian song repertory known as psal’my. There are several layers of meaning to the word starets’; see chapters 6–7. Starchykha/starchykhy – same as starets’, only with women and girls. Starosta – the elected leader of the skhodky of the 1920s and before, elected locally. Stotysiachnyky – “hundred thousanders,” mostly urban dwellers who volunteered to go into the countryside to help with collectivization; most were wholly ignorant of agriculture. They were not often mentioned in the interviews, but when they were it was with a mocking tone. Sutsil'na kolektivizatsia – “full-on collectivization.” Sviashchennyk – priest. Synahoha – synagogue. Syrotyna – a song about an orphan, sung widely over central and eastern Ukraine by all minstrels as well as all singing startsi and starchykhy. Trudoden' – a workday, in most cases measured with a mark in a record book, but one interviewee said that they literally put sticks next to her house to mark a workday (Hrushivs'ka Sofia). Tserkva – church (Orthodox). Tserkovna starosta – “church elder.” Verstat – loom; found in the 1920s in many homes, used to weave various textiles; in the 1930s, most looms were confiscated and a weaver’s artil was formed. Vesillia – the peasant wedding sequence. A series of events each with specific songs attached to it, rendered in formal order over several days; before

902

Glossary

collectivization 3–7 days, after 1930 usually 1–3 days. Before 1930, it included the sacrament performed in church by the priest, uniting the two families, the vinchannia. Vesnianky – part of the spring song cycle, “spring songs,” sung exclusively by girls in most locals, heard on Easter Day and the Monday immediately after. Vinchannia – see Vesillia. Volost – small administrative region, similar to the meaning of “county.” zahs - Civil Registry Office. Zatirka – water and grain ground into flour (most any grain) mixed and made into a dough. Zbory – post collectivization gatherings of all adults in the village, supposedly to conduct political discussions, but in reality, they were used as indoctrinations to rural socialism; later, popular dances were held in them and still later films were shown. Zeleni Sviatky – the Green Week.

References

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Index anthropology, ix, xv, 11 artil, 267, 305–7 bandura, 557, 592, 619–20, 723; blind players of, 691, 702–5, 709–13, 718, 723, and Cossacks, 577; and kobza, 676; and lira, 682, 709, 711, 733; makers of, 562, 620, 706; and Taras Shevchenko; and tsymbaly, 592 bidniak, 151, 173, 200, 206, 223 bohomaz, 8, 13, 31, 399, 490–512, 760, 763; genres of, 13, 491; repressions of, 20, 22, 493–4, 752; selling the icons, 491–2, 494–6, 498, 504, 507; sources of income, 490–1 Center for the Study of Oral History and Culture, 10, 14–15, 23 chervona mitla, 266, 268, 295. See also Holodomor civil society, 370, 397–9, 465, 599, 647; components of, xiv, 13, 399, 513, 512; destruction of, 4,15, 404, 514, 517, 736–59; economic, social, and cultural institutions of, xi–xii, 8–9, 17, 20, 25–30, 121–3, 516, 750, 760; and expressive culture, 516–17; lack of, xiv; notionof, xi, 11–12, 493. See also collectivization club, 421–2, 427–38, 513–14, 540– 1, 551–91, 749–51; closure of, 749, 755, 758; concert in, 617, 673; in former churches, 402–3, 373, 445, 448, 754; music director of, 405, 516, 552, 556, 560–1; wedding in, 721 collectivization: aims of, 6, 404; benefits of, 22; commercial activities after, 299–308, 311–27, 752; commercial activities before, 26–9, 32–5; confiscation of personal property, 165–8, 189; dispossession, 70, 150, 201, 207, 212, 261, 740; economic life of kolhospnyky, 296–9, 328–55; and entertainment and secular rituals, 513–733; ethnography of, 17; family before, 128–47, 383;

family structure after, 383–94; farmstead before, 62, 64, 93; forced, x, 301, 596; full-on, 183, 235, 375; home industries before, 13, 28–39, 299; landowning after, 71, 349–50; landowning before, 26, 40, 48, 57, 61, 102–3, 197; and Lenin, 5, 194; and obligations, 265, 308– 10, 334, 538; perpetrators, 149, 164, 170, 198, 207, 211, 222, 231, 244–65; political institution after, 369–82; political institution before, 122–8; process of, 3, 8, 18, 170, 219, 247–9, 309, 622; and religious repressions, 397–512; resistance to, xii, 9, 12, 153, 160, 169, 212–20; result of, 4, 383, 532; and “revolution” from “above” and from “below,” 15; rupture of peasant culture, 25; and sociocultural transformations, x–xv, 21, 749–51, 759–60; sympathetic to, 161, 167–71, 247; thievery after, 355–69; and village music, 31; and village social structure, 148, 151; voluntary, 5, 195; in western regions of Ukraine, 764. See also bidniak; deportation; famine; Holodomor; komnezam; Komsomol; kurkul; New Economic Policy; religious culture; secular culture; seredniak; Thousander Committee of Poor Peasants. See komnezam Communist Youth League. See Komsomol deportation, 3–4, 100, 153–62, 185–7, 215–17; as acts of mass terror, 20, 149–50; of certain population groups, 758; description of, 156; experience of, 179; liable for, 205; topic of, 165. See also collectivization dosvitky, 513–14, 519, 529–50, 558, 573, 596, 599, 610, 621–4, 651, 749; and collectivization, 531–5, 538, 540, 542–6, 600, 750, 756 famine, xi, xiii, 19, 149, 151, 154, 230, 265, 299, 300–1, 311, 324,

331, 340, 346, 349, 351, 600; cannibalism during, 273–4, 278, 282, 283–4, 287; causes of famine, 268–70, 278–86, 292, 294, 750, 888–9; children and, 178, 273, 274–6, 280–1, 286, 290, 383, 391; cities during, 276–7, 287, 294; clothing market and, 267, 329; collectivization and, xii, 3, 4–5, 10f7, 25, 150, 164, 165f2, 213, 264; cultural life, 21, 25, 493, 517, 590, 592–3; death and mortality during, 214, 243, 274–5, 285, 288–9, 294, 368, 633, 752; and ethnography, 17; evictions of peasants and, 155; family and marriage during, 383, 515, 543, 622, 754; food sources during the, 227, 240, 270, 272–3, 276, 281–2, 284–7, 290–4, 342, 363; health and diseases, 286, 385, 439, 508, 662, 753; hired laborers and, 111, 232; interviews about, 21; kolhosps and, 231– 2, 250, 283, 342, 357, 391; land ownership and, 376; marketing during, 302, 304, 334, 353; mass entertainments and celebrations during, 513–15, 531, 534–5, 538, 540, 544, 556, 567, 622, 756; mental distress during, 291; new village elite and, 148; in 1921, 32, 97, 188, 268, 280; in 1947, 279, 287–8, 319, 322, 330, 713; noises of the village and, 276, 292; and peasants’ income, 51; as “political affair,” 284–5; religion and, 438–9, 492, 507–8; remembrance of, 23, 745; repressions in the villages and, 160, 199; requisitions and, 96, 168, 185, 226, 230, 248, 260, 277, 310; Soviet activists and, 18, 156, 166, 191, 203, 260, 263, 292; surviving strategies and, 180, 214, 219, 232, 277, 279–80, 282, 286, 290–1, 313, 380, 543, 730, 867; the term “kurkul” and, 159; theft during, 358, 359, 362–3, 365, 368. See also Holodomor folk culture, ix–xii, xv, 3; religion-related, 397; scholars of, 36

908 folklore, 516–17, 588, 751; event, 646; and heritage, x; studies, xiv; traditional, xi Holodomor, xi, xv, xvii ft1, 169, 221, 745, 763, 765; collectivization and, 3, 20, 150; confiscation of food and, 168, 237, 248, 379; elite group and responsibility for, 16; as intentional murder, 265; material destruction and, 38; mortality during, 749; music practices and, 576, 592, 596– 9, 601, 606–7, 610, 615; reasons of, 267–8; repressions in the villages and, 160; social changes in the villages before, 148; social life and, 267, 514; surviving strategies, 385; terror in the ussr and, 4; traditional rituals and, 408– 10, 468, 479, 482, 513, 515, 615, 622–4, 630, 632–3, 644, 750. See also chervona mitla; collectivization; famine icon, 73, 426, 491–512, 559, 720; burning of, 399, 436, 438, 447–8; of Christ the Savior, 491–2, 494, 496, 499, 505, 509; and destruction of churches, 424, 429, 434, 445; iconostasis, 401, 445, 500, 508, 511; of Mother of God, 491–2, 494, 496, 499–501, 503, 509; processions with, 410, 423, 426, 493; removing from private houses, 465–6, 481, 485, 494 industrialization, 54, 760 Kirov, Sergei, 268, 285, 292, 666 kobzar, xiii, 19, 31, 515, 676, 679, 682–3, 719, 733–4; as beggars, 679; disappearance of, 682, 684–5; lifestyle, 680; musical instruments of, 677; repertory of, 677–9; and Shevchenko’s Kobzar, 677; as startsi, 682 koliadky, 407, 463–6, 506, 520, 556; suppression of, 398, 424, 436, 466–90, 751 komnezam, 172, 192, 371, 374, 710; activist, 206, 254, 258, 263; destruction of churches, 402, 421, 435; leaders of, 374 Komsomol, 159, 229, 287, 404,

Index 490, 452–3; activists, 163, 191, 205, 310, 369, 552; and destruction of churches, 400, 424, 432, 438; as leaders of the collectivization, 148, 166– 8, 175–8, 199, 244–65, 268; as perpetrators during the Holodomor, 288, 292; and Pioneers, 385, 411, 437, 465–7; and reading houses, 577 Kosior, Stanislav, 579 kurkul, 7, 10, 184, 189, 193, 235; labelled as, 20, 113, 159, 184, 207; as a part of village class structure, 151; as a repressed group, 151, 159, 173, 199–200, 204–5, 227, 248; as a term, 11, 152–3, 159, 215, 740 Lenin, Vladimir, 17, 82, 151, 192– 3, 226; and agricultural policy, 4, 7, 212, 680, 720, 746; chastushky about, 648, 669; and collectivization, 5, 194–5, 204; death of, 95, 100, 300, 354; and New Economic Policy, 4, 54, 100; song about, 344, 553–4, 557, 562–3, 572, 577, 582–3 lirnyk, xiii, 19, 31, 515, 676, 679, 682–3, 692; as beggars, 679; disappearance of, 682, 684–5; lifestyle, 680–1, 701; repertory of, 677–9, 692, 701; as startsi, 682, 687, 690, 692 Marxism-Leninism, v, 11 Molotov, Viacheslav, 269, 293 narodnyk, 711 New Economic Policy, 4, 54, 100; supporters of, 100, 300, 354 nkvd, 157, 360, 493, 510, 717; agent of, 187, 247, 264 oral history, ix–x, xiv–xv, 19–22, 34, 355 People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs. See nkvd Petrovsky, Hryhorii, 328, 585 Postyshev, Pavel, 268, 285, 579 Prosvita, 559, 570–2, 590 reading house, 419, 534–5, 541, 573, 577–8. See also club religious culture, 21, 397–9. See also bohomaz; icon; koliadky

secular culture, 513; holidays, 643. See also bandura; club; dosvitky; kobzar; lirnyk; reading house; Shevchenko, Taras; vechornytsi seredniak, 52, 96–8, 101–2, 198– 205, 264, 311; as a part of village class structure, 151 Shevchenko, Taras, 446, 577, 579, 734, 882; birthday of, 582, 587, 833; Kobzar, 509; “My thoughts, my thoughts,” 620, 714; “Perebendia,” 680; “The Plundered Grave,” 668; “The Poplar,” 713; portrait of, 571, 833; relative of, 497, 825, 839; songs on texts by, 678, 701; “Testament,” 704; “When I am dead, bury me,” 665 Stalin, Joseph, 266, 393, 585; chastushky about, 669; and collectivization, 193; dictates of, 169; as engineer of famine, 268, 281, 285–6; joke about, 666; rise to power, 100, 153, 184, 300, 354, 489; song about, 344, 553, 558, 581–3, 587, 590; speech of, 555, 579; view on peasantry, 7 startsi / starchykhy, 8, 19, 686, 222, 236, 513, 679–735; as beggars, 679–80, 690, 696–9, 701, 703– 12, 734; during collectivization, 691, 699; disappearance of, 683–4, 686, 693, 695–6, 699, 701–4, 711, 724, 732; evicted peasants as, 220; and Holodomor, 683, 720, 679, 683, 688, 690, 695–8, 704, 726–7; income of, 688, 696; and kolhosps, 204; lifestyle and families of, 680–1, 687, 691, 694–6, 705, 710; as performers, 515, 679, 681–2, 690–3, 699– 711, 722; repressions of, 20–2, 683, 685, 687–8; during and after the Second World War, 686, 694–5, 698, 699–700, 705, 708, 713; as sellers, 731; women as, 731 Thousander, 171; as non-local activist, 247, 250–2, 257–62, 283, 568 vechornytsi, 513–14, 519, 529–50, 558–62, 568–9, 577, 589, 621, 652, 754; and collectivization, 532–5, 537–8, 541–6, 549