Photo. How much she can tell us!.. Flipping through the pages family album, I relive the events that are captured in the photo. “How beautiful! This is us with the whole family in a pine forest - the air there is clean, clean, some kind of transparent! And this is me, very small, with funny curls, in funny shorts and with multi-colored balloons in my hands. Wedding color photos of dad and mom - both serious, solemn, with flowers. Mom recently told me that her bride’s bouquet, when she threw it, fell into the hands of a twelve-year-old boy, everyone laughed so much! in the summer at grandpa Tolya's. Oh, what is this picture? A small black-and-white photograph fell out of the album, yellowed from time to time ...
Ba, grandma? Look what I found.
Grandmother sat at the table in the kitchen and made dumplings for dinner. I placed the photo carefully on the table.
Look, some unfamiliar children, who are they?
This photograph is over sixty years old,” she replied.
- The girl is me, I was 9 years old then. And this is my younger brother Tolya, here he is about seven.
I looked at the little girl. skinny, long braid over shoulder. And how carefully he hugs his younger brother with his thin arm. Is this my grandmother Toma? And then the grandmother began her story in a low, low voice:
1943 ... Outside the window frost, the wind briskly tosses snowflakes. I am sitting by the window, and in my thoughts: “Where are you, dad? Why are not you here?" My father, Yakov Konstantinovich, was called to the front in the very first days of the war. I almost didn’t remember him, I only remember how he played with me - he carried me on his shoulders, he carved a wooden doll ... Following my father, two of his younger brothers went to the front. I was four years old, my brother was even younger. He crawled across the cold, unpainted floor, we had no toys, we played with mugs, spoons, and other household utensils. Mom worked a lot, she needed to somehow feed us. She also helped her sister and her children, who lived even worse: they ate grass and swelled from hunger. I remember our village, all pitted with ditches - we hid there when there were bombings ... The howl of planes, the roar of engines - I still remember it! .. After one of the bombings, I began to stutter, cried a lot.
When the village was captured by the Nazis, my grandfather Konstantin was ordered to work for them. He was the chairman of the collective farm. Without arousing suspicion in the enemy, Konstantin helped his fellow villagers, prisoners and wounded, at night he carried food to the partisans. When the war ended, the "traitors to the motherland" were called to account, and grandfather fell under the "execution article."
Shoot the traitor,” the man in uniform ordered coldly. But the whole village stood up for the grandfather, and they let him go!
Grandmother's eyes either filled with tears, or, on the contrary, shone mischievously and young. She fell silent, thought about something ... “Baba, my dear woman, what grief you all experienced!”
What about your father, his brothers? They are back? Did your mother survive? I quietly broke the silence.
My father never returned. We received a letter that he was missing. How mom screamed when she found out about it, how Tolya and I cried, not understanding why she was beating her head on the floor! Both of my father's brothers returned - invalids. Uncle Kolya - without a leg. There was a shootout, he and his two colleagues crawled to the hut where the Nazis settled. Explosion! Uncle Kolya was wounded in the leg, and his comrades were torn apart right before his eyes. Many years later, I asked him: “Was it not scary to go into battle?” He replied: “You know, Toma, when they shout:“ Forward! For the Motherland! ”, Fear is dulled, such hatred for the Nazis appears. The worst thing is when your friends die, it's scary to bury them in mass graves. A huge pit, two to three meters deep, the size of a hut, is a grave. The first ones are laid facing the ground, the next - in the intervals between the first and second, the third and fourth, head to head ... And so the bodies were buried up to five hundred, or even up to a thousand ... "
And Uncle Fedya reached Berlin, was wounded in the spine, was treated for a long time, moved to Moscow, helped Tolya and me, both with money and with parcels. At the age of 11, I was left an orphan - my mother died of tuberculosis. And after the war, she worked hard, raising my brother and me. You, my granddaughter, were named after your great-grandmother Anya.
How much you all had to endure, woman, - I said, hugging my grandmother.
Taking the old photograph carefully, I quietly left the room.
What a terrible price mankind paid for my life, for the life of my parents, for the life of my future children! How much blood was shed, how many lives were taken by the war! God grant that we only know about the war from history books.
I understand how important it is to love! To love a blooming dandelion outside the window, a butterfly flying past, to love life, to love each other. After all, love is the most powerful weapon, a weapon against war!
…After straightening the corners of the photo, I carefully put it back into the album. How much an old photo from a family album can tell! ..
The same photograph that evoked so many memories of a distant and terrible war.
Paranina Anna, 16 years old, Novoselovskaya school No. 5, grade 10
Photo from a family album
A family album, perhaps, is in every family. Either traditional, or, as is customary now, electronic. True, my grandmother does not recognize innovations, although she examines the photos stored in the memory of my computer with great interest, always saying: “It’s necessary, what technology has come to.” Of course, it is somewhat strange for me to hear this, because my grandmother worked as an engineer all her life and is familiar with technology firsthand. But before electronics, however, she reveres.
Grandmother rarely takes her album in a blue shabby cover out of the closet. I noticed: she turns to him only in moments of emotional unrest or on especially solemn occasions, which happen infrequently in her pensioner life. She loves to leaf through the pages of the album alone and very rarely when we are left alone. Probably because the memories of the past, evoked by old yellowed photographs, make the heart shrink strongly ... After all, the life of my beloved granny was not covered with a carpet of roses.
Here is a young man with large expressive eyes looking from the picture. He's wearing a white T-shirt and wide trousers, which no one wears these days. And this is not surprising, because the picture is more than sixty years old. On its back is the inscription:
Someday among the papers
Under a thick layer of dust
Find my card
And remember how we were friends.
And the telling date: "June 1941"
This is all that my grandmother had left of an athletic young man who was engaged in an flying club, who dreamed of becoming a pilot, but who, when the Motherland ordered, became a tanker.
He was a friend of her older brother. And I gave my photo to him, and not to his little sister. But it was this little girl, whom Ivan always brought gifts: a candy, a cookie, or just a piece of sugar, who kept this photo and the memory of the person taken on it. It is she, a woman wise by life experience, with a head as white as a harrier, who every year on Victory Day lights a memorial candle for him and her brother, who did not return from that damned war. Ivan burned down in a tank in a terrible battle near Prokhorovka on the Kursk Bulge. And brother? He went to Berlin. And he also died. Five days before the end of the war...
Many years have passed since then. But every time I see this photo from the family album, my grandmother's eyes are covered with a veil. And I understand well why, when celebrations take place in our house, my grandmother will certainly raise a glass so that there is no war.
Rykova Marina, student of grade 9A, MBOU "Secondary School No. 35"
The writing"What the old photograph told me."
Recently, at school, we were given the task of writing essay on an old photo. I found probably the most old photo, which we had at home, and that's what I got.
In front of me lies an old yellowed photograph. It shows my grandmother. They put her on a chair, gave her a little baby, but she is still frightened and crying, because she wants to be held by her mother, because my grandmother is here a little over a year old, she is very small.
Grandmother is dressed in a cotton dress and a hat made of satin ribbons. Previously, they sewed clothes themselves, for my grandmother this dress and hat were sewn by her grandmother, who is my great-great-grandmother.
This photograph is very dear to our family: it was taken more than fifty years ago, and this is the only image of my grandmother at such an early age.
And then I wanted to write about another photo, I also found it interesting, although it is not as old as the previous one.
This photo is of my mother with her younger sister, my aunt. The photo was taken in late spring: the snow has already melted, the earth has dried up, last year's garbage has been removed, but the green grass has not yet appeared, there are no young leaves on the trees either.
However, the weather is warm. We can understand this from the fact that mother and aunt are lightly dressed. My aunt is wearing a jacket, and my mother is generally in a summer dress.
You look at these girls and you understand that they are happy: they smile, they laugh. The aunt is holding an old doll wrapped in a baby coat in her hands. Mom decided to take the cat for a ride on the stroller, but the cat breaks out and does not want to sit in it. Mom tries to keep the cat in order to be with her in the frame. Mom's hair was disheveled, one of the braids was almost unraveled, she probably ran enough after the cat until she caught it.
Our family values this photo very much, because, like the previous one, it exists in a single copy. In addition, this photo was taken by my mother's great-uncle, when he, for the only time in his life, came to visit us from Ukraine. Therefore, looking at this photo, we also remember him.
Reply Delete
I have a photograph taken in 1967. It shows my great-grandmother, her name was Anna Ivanovna. In this photo, the season is winter, she is sitting on a bench with her friend. The friend's name was Natalia. These two Russian women are dressed in the usual way. Headscarf, hat, long thick coat, skirt and pants. My grandmother has a dog in her hands, a dachshund breed like mine. Their faces are thoughtful. I never saw my great-grandmother, she could only see my sister and died. I go to her grave and take care of her.Photography is a chronicle of our people.
Reply Delete
I have a photograph taken in 1941. It depicts my great-grandfather. My great-grandfather's name is Vasily. He went to war young. He left his son and wife in Leningrad. He is dressed in a marine uniform and capless. During World War II, he served in the Navy. Alas, he died in the war. His wife was sent a letter stating that he had been killed. I think my great-grandfather managed to accomplish many feats in his service.The photo shows the workers of the plant. Plant "Banner of Labor" named after I. I. Lepse. Lepse was a revolutionary, the plant was named after him. The factory produced cases for submarines. Men and women worked at the factory. The men had a profession of assemblers. Women have a profession of a marker, they marked the parts after assembly.
Reply Delete
This photo is of my father. It was Saturday at the factory. After Saturday the photographer arrived. They gathered the whole shop to be photographed. It was April 22, in honor of the birthday of V. I. Lenin, they were photographed."Photography is a chronicle of people's life."
Reply Delete
My photo was taken in 1971 in the city of Vorsma. On it is my dad as a child and great-grandfather. In the photo, my dad is 4 years old, and great-grandfather Borya is 58 years old. The picture is black and white, taken in the courtyard of the house near the old Moskvich car. The picture was taken at the beginning of winter, as you can see that they are dressed warmly. Dad is wearing a fur coat, a warm hat, leggings, felt boots and great-grandfather in a padded jacket, warm trousers and a hat with earflaps is holding dad.
Dad said that my great-grandfather participated in the Great Patriotic war 1941-1945 in the fight against the Germans, he was wounded, lost his leg. My great-grandfather had a difficult character, he was strict, and dad was nimble in childhood and dabbled a lot, but his great-grandfather loved him very much and forgave him everything. Great-grandfather had 4 children.
I am proud that I had such a great-grandfather who defended our Motherland from the Nazis."Photography is a chronicle of folk life"
Reply Delete
My photo was taken in 1978 in the flax area. The photo shows my great-grandmother, she is my grandfather's mother. The picture is black and white, it was taken in the house. Curtains hang behind the TV behind the TV. My grandmother is dressed in a regular dress, her look is simple and understandable.
Reply Delete
This photo was taken in 1978 in the Pskov region (Lyady village).
This photo is of my mother. Her brother is standing next to her. Then they were five years old. Mom's brother is painting the window frame from the veranda. At that time, the country house had not yet been built. Both mother and brother tried to help adults. They understood their importance and responsibility. And after hard work, they were treated to all sorts of goodies.
Now this house does not exist. Our family sold it when they needed money. Mom still remembers this place. After all, she spent all her childhood there. And that is why this photo is dear to the family. This is a memory ...Composition on the topic "Photography - a chronicle of folk life."
The photo was taken during the war.
The photograph shows my great-grandfather, Joseph Grigorievich. He served in the Baltic States, reached the rank of captain-lieutenant. He has several "awards". I didn't see him because he died long before I was born.
I was told about him that he is a kind, sympathetic person. Loved animals.
Thanks to people like my great-grandfather, our country won a victory over fascist Germany. If not for these people, we would be under the rule of the Germans. I am grateful to him for the fact that he participated in the war and did not go over to the side of the Nazis.
Photography is a chronicle of our people
I have one photo. The frame was filmed at the end of the twentieth century.
It has a picture of my father. In a patterned sweater and glasses. The photo shows a corporate party in honor of the birthday of the company in which he works. Many cheerful people: children, women, men. Behind a kind of fair. A wild boar is roasting in the foreground. We see a strange log building that looks like a "hut on chicken legs". It's funny, but you can see the head of an artificial giraffe.
The photo was taken in some picturesque place. Behind the woods. To the right is a large lake. Dandelions bloom.
Here is such a modern photograph with a bright contrast of cultures: Russian - with a fair, a "hut", a wild boar, but also a giraffe's head. Later I knew that the photo was taken in the tourist village of Mandrogi.
Branch of MBOU Volchkovskaya secondary school in the village. Rakhmanino
Petrovsky district, Tambov region
An essay about
"Family album photo"
4th grade student
branch in the village Rakhmanino
Head: Belyaeva T.A.,
teacher of history and social studies
S. Rakhmanino, 2015
The house is reliable, if they keep it in it
Through the years, dashing times,
Family album, the very first volume,
In the knowledge of the history of Russia.
N. Rubtsov
Each family has its own roots, its own unique history, its own memories. Our family has its own relic, which is of great value to us. This is a family album, where the memory of relatives is stored, about what has been experienced over the years.
In cares, the years imperceptibly fled,
We filled this album with the whole family.
Come on, let's look through it with you,
What you were, what we have become.
Family album - yellowed photos -
Suddenly, the memory will tell you something forgotten,
Can turn the hands of the clock back,
Stretch a thread from the past to us.
In the evening, when we get together with the whole family, I like to revise again and again family photos. I turn page after page and recognize familiar faces. With this the kindest and most beautiful mother in the world is looking at me, next to her is my father, the most beloved in the world, bright photographs of my older sister flash by. Here is a favorite portrait from childhood, from which my grandmother, my mother’s mother, smiles affectionately at me. To her left, a rosy-cheeked, chubby toddler in a beautiful dress is me.
But there is a photo in this album that is not like our modern ones. I take it in my hands with excitement, the young, handsome face of a man in military uniform is looking at me. His facial features remind me of someone very dear. I stealthily shift my gaze from the photo to my dad. A dumb question froze in his eyes, to which dad proudly answered: “This is your great-grandfather - Belyaev Fedor Fedorovich!”. Dad tremblingly took the photo and in a quiet voice, slowly began to tell a family story that he had heard as a child.
So from his story I learned that my great-grandfather was born and lived in our native village of Rakhmanino. Before the war, he worked as a tractor driver on a collective farm. When in 1941 the terrible news about the beginning of the war came to the village, men began to be called to the front. My great-grandfather had a reservation because he was a good tractor driver. But he believed that he had to protect his family, his homeland from the Nazis and went to the front as a volunteer, leaving his wife at home with two small children.
Letters from the front came infrequently. But all of them were filled with care and love for children, dear wife. Great-grandfather believed that they would soon drive the Nazis out of their native land. The last letter the family received from Novorossiysk was in 1942. Fedor Fedorovich wrote that a part of them was standing by the Black Sea, when there was a new address, he would inform. But the family did not wait for more letters, the great-grandfather went missing.
War is over. All those who did not receive a funeral, waited for their fathers, sons from the front. My great-grandfather did not return from that terrible war. But he will forever remain in our memory, our memories. He is next to us, in the Immortal Regiment, every year he celebrates the great Victory! His name is forever frozen on the granite stone of the memorial, which was opened this year in our village in honor of the 70th anniversary of the Victory.
Every year on May 9 my family watches the Victory Parade on Red Square in Moscow with great pride and respect. This parade is in honor of those heroes who defended their Motherland, among whom was my great-grandfather Fedor Fedorovich Belyaev.
My dear great-grandfather, I only saw you in an old yellowed photograph. But I am your continuation, I bear your last name and I promise to always be your worthy great-granddaughter. I remember! IM proud of!
How to disable ads on Android: remove pop-up ads
The Russian received a term and a million fine for "piracy Negative consequences of the law
Identification of key factors
The criteria for classifying organizations and individual entrepreneurs as small and medium-sized businesses have changed
See what "Royalty" is in other dictionaries Pitfalls of legislation