My grandmother' story about the war:
The first two years were the hardest one.
One day from Moscow,
Two days from bombs and thanks,
We stood up strong.
All young and most of old men were gone,
Not eighteen still had to go:
The enemies didn't blew up our cities to say "hello".
I remember my mother slapped my face first time:
Ira, don't cry. Keep your tears for our victory.
My father was working day and night,
We didn't know he almost didn't eat,
Kept the bread for me.
Mother could only ask,
When she was back from working on the farm:
If any letters from my brother, what's new,
If I ate and did my homework.
Women felt sorry for us, girls,
No matter what, we had to go to school.
I saw women pulling metal pieces,
Digging the dry land,
Our army needed bread,
Twice a months a big truck,
What can you give to our victory,
We gave everything.
No way we would let our men go down,
If we were standing behind.
We believed...
