The front line allowing herds of collective farm cattle to pass through is a problem.  War and children - Arkady Petrovich Gaidar Collected works in three volumes Volume Stories, story. People of the front line

And so the story begins, full of secret omissions and subterfuges, although in general everything has long been clear to us.

A dense forest closed harshly around, deep ravines lay across the road, and marshy reed swamps spread out along the banks of the river. Fathers, uncles and older brothers are leaving to join the partisans. And he is still young, but dexterous and brave. He knows all the hollows, the last paths for forty kilometers in the area.

Fearing that they won’t believe him, he pulls a Komsomol card wrapped in oilcloth from his bosom. And not having the right to say anything more, licking his cracked, dusty lips, he waits greedily and impatiently.

I look into his eyes. I put the clip in his hot hand. This is a clip from my rifle. It's written on me.

I take responsibility for the fact that each bullet fired from these five cartridges will fly exactly in the right direction.

- What is your name?

- Listen, Yakov, why do you need cartridges if you don’t have a rifle? What, are you going to shoot from an empty can?

The truck starts moving. Yakov jumps off the step, he jumps up and cheerfully shouts something awkward, stupid. He laughs and mysteriously shakes his finger at me. Then, hitting the cow spinning around with his fist in the face, he disappears in a cloud of dust.

Oh no! This guy will not put the clip in an empty container.

Children! The war fell on tens of thousands of them in the same way as on adults, if only because the fascist bombs dropped over peaceful cities have the same force for everyone.

Acutely, often more acutely than adults, teenagers - boys and girls - experience the events of the Great Patriotic War.

They greedily, to the last point, listen to the messages of the Information Bureau, remember all the details of heroic deeds, write down the names of the heroes, their titles, their surnames.

I love boundaries. It's always a contrast. I especially love borders that no one crosses, but which represent front lines that have kept temporarily frozen conflicts for decades. I have previously talked about the border between Israel and Syria on the Golan Heights, with its bunkers, anti-tank ditches and abandoned equipment. Today we'll talk about places where for 17 years now citizens of the same state have been vigilantly watching each other: Armenians and Azerbaijanis. I would like to immediately note that no one invited me on an excursion along the front line, and by climbing there, I essentially violated the requirements of the Karabakh Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which strictly prohibits tourists not only from approaching the border with Azerbaijan, but even just stopping on some roads and even more so They were no longer allowed to photograph anything there. A kind of paranoia, which, however, has certain grounds.

To begin with, when you enter Karabakh, you should register at their Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which is in the center of Stapanakert. Very nice and friendly Armenian girls will issue you a kind of “travel sheet” indicating the places that you are allowed to visit. And not a step aside, they warn. For example, they immediately told me - under no circumstances should you go to Agdam and take photographs there. To my question why not take pictures, the answer was “There are mines there.” I didn’t understand the connection between the presence of mines and the ban on photographing the ruins of the city, but I didn’t argue. In addition, the girls did not allow me to visit a number of places that I had chosen from their own map of Karabakh, issued in Yerevan: the ruins of the Jraberd fortress near Martakert, or the Zod Pass back to Armenia. The girls didn’t know about the Jraberd fortress at all, and when I showed them on the map, they decided that it was close to Azerbaijan and therefore dangerous. Regarding the departure back to Armenia through the Zod Pass, they heatedly replied that... there are Azerbaijanis there and they will shoot me (!). I didn't argue either. Too beautiful girls. Let them be weak in the geography of their native land, or maybe play it safe. Well, why argue with them? As a result, I received this paper:

Looking ahead, I note that the paper was checked only once, in the small town of Martakert in the north-east of Karabakh. I remember we were just walking down the street when a policeman and a guy in civilian clothes came out of a parked Zhiguli. They asked for our documents, asked what our nationality was, and asked where we were going. They wrote down our information in a notebook and released us. As for the Zod Pass, despite the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ refusal to allow us to go there, we ignored the bans and crossed it normally, but more on that later.

Combatant zone

It is very easy to notice on any detailed map region. If you look at the Soviet/Russian ones, the old Azerbaijani names are carefully preserved. This is a little confusing on the road, since everything has now been renamed, and asking the Armenians of Karabakh how to get to Agder (Martakert) or Fuzuli (Martuni) is at least not correct given the military situation, and at maximum is fraught with strong antipathy from the locals residents. So, if your map is Soviet, or “loyal-Russian,” then the border runs 3-4 km east of the Agdere - Agdam - Fuzuli - Goradiz highway. Accordingly, everything located east of this road is considered a front-line zone. All exits in that direction are marked with signs in Armenian and Russian “Entry prohibited.” If this doesn’t stop you, then, as an option, what can you say about such signs -

If nothing stops you, then with a very high degree of probability you will be stopped very quickly by a military patrol, or you will run into a road blocked by concrete blocks. There you will be detained and will be tested for a long time and tediously for involvement in espionage in favor of Azerbaijan. The lone French backpacker we met in Stepanakert was detained by the military in Agdam, he was walking on foot to the only surviving dead city building - a mosque. They detained him with the words “It’s dangerous here, there are mines,” but they interrogated him about whether he had ever been to Azerbaijan. As a person who suffered a lot with paranoid military men in Israel, I really didn’t want to have unpleasant interactions with Armenian people in uniform. In 2002, I explained to the Egyptians that I was not an Israeli spy; in 2004, I explained to the Israelis that I was not a Syrian spy; in 2008, I explained to the Serbs that I was not a Kosovo spy. You know, it’s very monotonous, unpleasant and long. And vigilant law enforcement officers in none of the countries shine with intelligence, knowledge of the geography of their own states and the understanding that beyond their narrow sphere of residence and civil service there is also huge world, full of colors.

In Karabakh (as well as in any other part of the post-Soviet space), in addition to the necessary vigilance due to the martial law, the incompetent Soviet system of total suspicion remains. There are a lot of typical Soviet “nizzies”: you can’t take pictures there, you can’t stop here. You can be detained for photographing the ruins of some useless barn. Yes, here's another episode. We are driving from Stapanakert to the east, towards the Askeran fortress. An airport is being completed there, from where flights to Yerevan begin in the summer of 2011. The airport is beautiful -

As soon as I took this photo, two state security officers rushed towards me. You can’t take pictures, it’s a strategic object, they said. I ask them the question “Do you want to say that people who fly to Yerevan will have to wear blindfolds so as not to inadvertently see your flower beds or the NKR flag? Or do you think that photographs of your airport are not available anywhere on the Internet and it’s not visible on Google?” They don’t know what to answer, but they insist that it’s impossible to photograph the airport, that the photograph must be erased urgently. Okay, I say, I’ll wash it. I pretend to do the laundry. On this we part.

Another episode. We are standing on the Agdam - Martakert highway, photographing an abandoned Soviet monument. This one -

A car approaches. There are five men in it, clearly of military bearing. They watch what we do. And I, I apologize, was just about to step aside for a minor need. But I understand that this will look suspicious (why am I turning away and shaking something with my hands - just like I’m jerking the Kalashnikov bolt). Therefore, I decide to endure, although I really want to. I try not to look at those sitting in the car as if they don’t exist. Soon they leave. Great. I do two things - relieve myself and take pictures. I feel like a fool.

Why you can’t film the ruins of Agdam is completely unclear. They say there are mines everywhere. Let's say. But, firstly, Agdam was partially populated by the Karabakh people themselves, restoring some of the houses, secondly, the city was almost entirely stolen for 16 years for building materials, and thirdly, on the website of the HALO organization (dealing with mine clearance in the front line) it is written that a large Part of the Agdam region has long been cleared of mines. And yet tourists are being actively hunted down, preventing them from visiting this place in every possible way. Are they afraid that the ruins photographed by tourists will be used by Azerbaijani propaganda? But this is stupid, you shouldn’t think that Azerbaijanis don’t have a single photo of these places. Take a look at Google Earth, there are fifty photographs of the destroyed Agdam, or write “Agdam” on the Internet and you will get thousands of photographs from there.

On my own behalf, I can suggest that you should not photograph Azerbaijani cemeteries. There are many of them between Askeran and Agdam. There are beautiful family crypts from the 18th and 19th centuries, but I suspect outsiders might find your interest in this kind of thing suspicious. Why is this tourist climbing into an Azerbaijani cemetery, nothing less than looking for the grave of his Azerbaijani grandmother? And then prove to them that my grandmother is not Azerbaijani at all, but Jewish, and she was buried in Sverdlovsk, and has never been to the Caucasus since her birth. And laughter and sin.

People of the front line

Friends, now draw a bold line between what was said above and what I will tell you next. Forget about the stupid and suspicious Karabakh GB, about the beautiful and funny girls from the Foreign Ministry, forget about the mines, front lines and so on. Have you forgotten, abstracted yourself? Great.

So, the people of Karabakh are something. I have never met such pleasant, hospitable, kind and helpful people. Although I've been to a lot of places. Everywhere, literally in everyone locality, any person we met did not limit itself to answering the question “Excuse me, how to get to Tigranakert?”, but immediately invited us to visit: for lunch, to spend the night, to talk. You know, I'm not used to this. And at first I was lost. It's somehow inconvenient. They are not rich people, they will pay everything for the sake of a guest, but I don’t even have a gift for them. It is no good to eat up hospitable hosts, and there is absolutely nothing to thank in return. Therefore, he always apologized and explained that, unfortunately, I was in a hurry and would not be able to come visit. They shook hands and parted until next time. The only minimum that I could do for the people of Karabakh was to leave a little money in churches and museums for the dead, or to give a ride to the voters. Transport is tight there, a rare minibus runs between villages a couple of times a day, a lonely grandfather is walking - how can you not get a ride? Amazingly, for these people it is absolutely normal to walk 10-15 km to the neighboring village. They are in no hurry. They walk quietly, snack on fresh baked goods along the way and drink tea from a thermos.

In every small town there is always a monument to those killed in the war and a small museum with photographs of townspeople who did not return home. For example, in Martakert it looks like this -

The small towns and villages of Karabakh themselves, for the most part, resemble a kind of apocalypse. There are traces of war and abandonment everywhere. It’s clean there, people try their best to create some comfort around them. But ugly signs of destruction are on every corner, wherever you go -

Abandoned amusement park

I admit, I was interested in the question of where to eat outside of Stepanakert. Initially, I thought that people are poor, don’t go to restaurants, and therefore eat at home. And all we have to do is buy sausage in stores and make sandwiches. To my great surprise, everything turned out wrong. Even in the smallest place there is always a home dining room, or even more than one. Just an apartment, usually on the ground floor. Ask the locals, they will show you. There, a completely ordinary auntie prepares food for herself and the guests. It costs mere pennies, but it’s delicious and always in a pleasant company with neighbors and household members. It looks something like this, you see, it’s more than cute -

After eating in Martakert, we headed to Armenia, deciding to pass the Zod Pass at any cost. For three reasons. First of all, because the Ministry of Foreign Affairs forbade going there (and the forbidden fruit is sweet), secondly, it shortens the path to Yerevan by about half, and thirdly, I wanted to test our Suzuki Grand Vitara jeep in conditions of dirty April weather and melting snow on the pass.

The path through the Zod Pass

I will definitely return to Nagorno-Karabakh. I’ll tell you separately about Stepanakert, Shushi, Askeran, Tigranakert, Vank, Gandzasar and Didivank monasteries. In the meantime, directly about the Zod Pass, where I experienced a whole range of thrills. To begin with, the road deteriorated immediately after Martakert. At first the road was quite decent -

Then it started to deteriorate -

It still retained traces of Soviet asphalt, but there were more holes than asphalt itself. Immediately after the Sarsang reservoir, the asphalt ends. This is a great relief, because the primer seems to be the lesser of two evils -

Near Dadivank Monastery

At some point, fog overtook us, we had to slow down, and then stop completely. By the way, funny moment. We walked a little away from the car and suddenly realized that we couldn’t see it! I'm not kidding. I was standing right here -

And now there is nothing. Do you see the car? -

We start looking for her, what kind of obsession is this? Soon the beauty emerges from the fog, hurray -

We move on as the fog has cleared a little. We barely climb the serpentine road, visibility is about three meters ahead. You can’t see anything, there’s liquid mud under the wheels, fortunately it’s all-wheel drive. An hour later we get out of the lowland and there is beauty all around -

The car is still relatively clean, but a zone of liquid mud is beginning. Literally a kilometer through the mud and the car looks like this -

Another hour of driving through the mud at a speed of no more than 20 km/h and we reach highest point pass, now the road goes down -

Yes, I almost forgot. We were very worried about communicating with the military when leaving Karabakh. After all, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs did not include the Zod Pass in our travel itinerary. Moreover, experts on tourism forums frightened: “You will not be allowed to leave without permission from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, you will have to go back to Stepanakert and leave through Lachin and Goris.” This prospect did not please us at all. However, being guests of the most famous Karabakh resident, Levon Hayrapetyan, in his village of Vank (link), we had his cell phone number. We were assured that not a single border guard would detain us, and if there were problems, let them call and everything would be explained to them. A small thing, but nice.

However, no one stopped us. We passed the military post without even stopping, except perhaps to line up with the military UAZ that was driving in front. Probably the soldiers decided that we were all going together. Our car was so dirty, including the windows, that it was difficult to see our faces. So we left Karabakh unnoticed. Hooray! By the way, along the way we helped the driver of a GAZ-66 military truck, who was stuck in the mud on a serpentine road and could not get out. It was unrealistic to pull it with a jeep, it was too big, and we were too small, even on summer tires. But I persuaded the lieutenant to let me drive. They refused for a long time, they say, war machine, you can't control it! To which I explained to them that in three years in the Israeli army I had driven through so much mud that I could give them an off-road driving lesson. But I was forbidden to photograph their car. It's a pity. It was interesting. For those who don't know, here's a thing -

The meaning is this: an inexperienced 18-year-old soldier stalled on a climb, the car rolled back, crookedly, got stuck in the mud, he tried to pull up but stalled - he couldn’t cope with the clutch, the climb was at least 20 degrees. Friends, I am proud of myself. Just a few jerks back and forth, the grinding sound of the clumsy old car, and the car pulled out of the mud. Spinning all our wheels and splashing brown sludge, we slowly crawled up the hill. There the officer thanked for the help, adding “... on behalf of the army of the Republic of Armenia.” It was funny. We shook hands, then the military moved on, and I went down to our car. On the way, I slipped and drove my own ass through the mud, but these are the little things in life, unworthy of mention.

So, Zod Pass will pass!

They say that driving there in the summer is much easier: dry primer, be careful to avoid potholes and don’t fall into cliffs. Autumn and spring are the most best time for lovers of a little extreme sports. Locals They manage to drive a Zhiguli there even in the mud, but this is not the best idea. Firstly, they travel in a crowd and inevitably, the four of them push the car more than once, and more than once, and secondly, we observed a dozen bogged down cars, next to which sad passengers sat and animatedly argued about what to do next. Not much pleasant. Therefore, it is best not to show up there without a four-wheel drive vehicle, even in summer. If it rains with sleet (and at altitude this is possible at any time of the year), then instantly the dirt road will turn into a swamp - you are lost.

Now, having visited the front line from the Armenian side, all that remains is to move to Azerbaijan and see what is happening there. Looking ahead, I immediately warn you that there is no way to get to the border from that side at all: the roads are closed for 30 kilometers, immediately south of Ganja. But it’s fascinating to get to Azerbaijan, where they are intensely looking for Armenian stamps in your passport and are very worried about whether you accidentally visited Karabakh? Read more.

From my communication with Karabakh people, love and tender feelings for Russia were constantly declared. People tried to completely avoid the topic of Moscow’s participation in this conflict in the early 90s. As we know, the situation was twofold. Gorbachev showed significantly greater loyalty to Heydar Aliyev, and the “accidental” transfer of weapons depots of the Transcaucasian Military District to the Azerbaijanis is completely worthy of a criminal investigation. On the other hand, already independent Russia, today, is a guarantee that Azerbaijan will not attempt to recapture Karabakh by force. After all, it is important to remember that over these 16 years the Aliyevs have become very rich in oil and their arsenals are many times larger than the Armenian ones. What can the people of Karabakh tell you? They are just hostages of an unpleasant situation with unclear prospects.

Combatant zone. Passing the herds of collective farm cattle, which go to the quiet pastures to the east, the car stops at the crossroads of the village. A boy of about fifteen jumps up on the step. - Uncle, give me two cartridges. - What do you need cartridges for? - And so... as a keepsake. - They don’t give you any ammunition for memory. I give him a lattice shell from a hand grenade and a spent, shiny cartridge case. The boy’s lips curl contemptuously: “Well!” What's the use of them? - Oh, dear! So do you need a memory that you can use to make sense? Maybe you want this green bottle or this black grenade? Maybe unhook a small anti-tank gun from the tractor? Get into the car, don’t lie and speak straight.

And so the story begins, full of secret omissions and subterfuges, although in general everything has long been clear to us.

Fathers, uncles and older brothers are leaving to join the partisans. And he is still young, but dexterous and brave. He knows all the hollows, the last paths for forty kilometers in the area. Fearing that they won’t believe him, he pulls a Komsomol card wrapped in oilcloth from his bosom. And not having the right to say anything more, licking his cracked, dusty lips, he waits greedily and impatiently.

I look into his eyes. I put the clip in his hot hand. This is a clip from my rifle. It's written on me.

I take responsibility for the fact that each bullet fired from these five cartridges will fly exactly in the right direction.

Listen, Yakov, why do you need cartridges if you don’t have a rifle? What, are you going to shoot from an empty can?

The truck starts moving. Yakov jumps off the step, he jumps up and cheerfully shouts something awkward, stupid. He laughs and mysteriously shakes his finger at me. Then, hitting the cow spinning around with his fist in the face, he disappears in a cloud of dust.

Children! The war fell on tens of thousands of them in the same way as on adults, if only because the fascist bombs dropped over peaceful cities have the same force for everyone. Teenagers - boys and girls - experience the events of the Great Patriotic War acutely, often more acutely than adults. They greedily, to the last point, listen to the messages of the Information Bureau, remember all the details of heroic deeds, write down the names of the heroes, their titles, their surnames. With boundless respect they see off the trains leaving for the front, and with boundless love they greet the wounded arriving from the front.

I saw our children deep in the rear, in the troubled front line, and even on the front line itself. And everywhere I saw their great thirst for business, work and even achievement.

Years will pass. You will become adults. And then in a good hour of rest after a big and peaceful work you will remember with joy that once upon a time, in the threatening days for the Motherland, you did not get in the way, did not sit idly by, but helped your country in its difficult and very important struggle against man-hating fascism. (According to A.P. Gaidar *) Arkady Petrovich Gaidar (real name - Golikov, 1904-1941) - Russian Soviet children's writer, film scriptwriter, participant in the Civil and Great Patriotic Wars.

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How do children survive the war years? How does the war affect them? A.P. Gaidar makes us think about these questions.

The author tells us about a boy who, during the war, asked soldiers for cartridges. “...he is still young...”, but also wants to fight the enemy, like “fathers, uncles and older brothers...”. Therefore, this act shows the boy’s courage and determination. The author also writes about the children in the rear who had “a huge thirst for business, work and even heroism.” In this passage we see a similar example of how children, along with adults, try to defeat the enemy.

What is war? In my opinion, war is the most terrible event that can happen to humanity. It claimed millions of lives. The war spared neither adults nor children. Not only fathers and uncles took part in it, but also teenagers who wanted to bring their country closer to victory over fascism. This is exactly what Arkady Petrovich Gaidar thinks about and poses the problem of the role of children in war.

He begs the soldier for ammunition to help destroy the enemy. The brave boy, seeing his older brothers and uncles joining the partisans, does not want to sit idly by. The soldier trusts him with the clip from his rifle. He is confident that these bullets will fly in the right direction. This is stated in sentences 22-26.

The children experienced the events of the Great Patriotic War very acutely. They helped deep in the rear, in the front line, and even on the front line itself. Wherever the children found themselves, they had a great thirst for action and achievement.

Through these examples we can see that during the war, children had to grow up early and stand up, along with adults, in defense of the Fatherland. This war was so cruel and merciless.

Thus, we can say that the role of children during the Great Patriotic War was enormous. The teenagers brought the country closer to a great victory with their exploits. We must remember them and try to create peace throughout the world.

Updated: 2019-02-23

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Useful material on the topic

• According to the text by A.P. Gaidara: Front line. Passing herds of collective farm cattle that go to quiet pastures (The problem of children’s experience of military events, their feasible participation in the war)

(1) Front strip. (2) Passing herds of collective farm cattle, which go to quiet pastures to the east, the car stops at the crossroads of the village. (3) A boy of about fifteen jumps up on the step.

- (4) Uncle, give me two cartridges.

- (5) What do you need cartridges for?

- (6) And so... for memory.

- (7) They don’t give out cartridges for memory.

(8) I give him a lattice shell from a hand grenade and a spent shiny cartridge case.

(9) The boy’s lips curl contemptuously:

Here you go! (10) What's the use of them?

- (11) Oh, dear! (12) So do you need a memory that you can use? (13) Maybe you want this green bottle or this black grenade? (14) Maybe you should unhook that small anti-tank gun from the tractor? (15) Get into the car, don’t lie and speak straight.

(16) And so the story begins, full of secret omissions and subterfuges, although in general everything has long been clear to us.

(17) Fathers, uncles and older brothers join the partisans. (18) And he is still young, but dexterous and brave. (19) He knows all the hollows, the last paths for forty kilometers in the area.

(20) Fearing that they won’t believe him, he pulls a Komsomol card wrapped in oilcloth from his bosom. (21) And not having the right to tell anything more, licking his cracked, dusty lips, he waits greedily and impatiently.

(22) I look into his eyes. (23) I put the clip in his hot hand. (24) This is a clip from my rifle. (25) It is written on me. (26) I take responsibility for the fact that each bullet fired from these five cartridges will fly exactly in the right direction.

- (27) Listen, Yakov, why do you need cartridges if you don’t have a rifle? (28) What, are you going to shoot from an empty can?

(29) The truck starts moving. (30) Yakov jumps off the step, he jumps up and cheerfully shouts something awkward, stupid. (31) He laughs and mysteriously shakes his finger at me. (32) Then, hitting the cow spinning around with his fist in the face, he disappears in a cloud of dust.

(33) Children! (34) The war fell on tens of thousands of them in the same way as on adults, if only because the fascist bombs dropped over peaceful cities have the same force for everyone.

(35) Acutely, often more acutely than adults, teenagers - boys and girls - experience the events of the Great Patriotic War. (36) They greedily, to the last point, listen to the messages of the Information Bureau, remember all the details of heroic deeds, write down the names of the heroes, their ranks, their surnames. (37) With boundless respect they see off the trains leaving for the front, and with boundless love they greet the wounded arriving from the front.

(38) I saw our children deep in the rear, in the alarming front line, and even on the front line itself. (39) And everywhere I saw them have a great thirst for business, work, and even achievement.

(40) Years will pass. (41) You will become adults. (42) And then, in a good hour of rest after a lot of peaceful work, you will joyfully remember that once, in the days that were threatening for the Motherland, you did not get in the way, did not sit idly by, but helped your country in its difficult and very important fight against misanthropic fascism.

(According to A.P. Gaidar)

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In the text proposed for analysis, the Soviet writer Arkady Petrovich Gaidar poses the problem children's experiences of war events.

Revealing the problem, the author cites the example of the boy Yakov, who found himself on the front line. He asks the soldiers for two cartridges “as a souvenir,” but it turns out that they are needed for a completely different purpose. The hero puts the clip into his “hot hand” and takes upon himself the answer that “each bullet fired from these five cartridges will fly exactly in the right direction.”

During the war, children understood that they could not remain aloof from the events taking place; they made any concessions just to help. This, in my opinion, is the position of A.P. Gaidar.

Criteria

• 1 of 1 K1 Formulation of source text problems
• 3 of 3 K2