Naked truth Chapter 15 The Weight of Remembering - WW2

When parents go through a war

Photo by Geranimo on Unsplash

"The war was a great and terrible event. It was a time when each person had to make a choice. And that choice was not always about good and evil, but about how to remain human in inhuman circumstances." - Vasily Grossman - Life and fate

Martha doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to open herself up fully to others. The wounds of her past, of her family’s trauma, seem too deep. Sometimes, when she’s alone, she wonders if the pain of opening up is worse than the numbness that protects her. But then, there’s a fleeting moment—when she’s painting, or reading a book—that she wonders, what if healing were possible?

It’s November! Long faces, dark clothes, red poppies, pomp, and somber expressions. People selling plastic poppies on every corner. Some even have big poppies on their cars. Each to their own. They’re selling on behalf of a charity, doing their best.

11th November is Remembrance Day in England—a day to remember the fallen heroes. In other countries, the day may be different. Judging by the pomp, solemnity, and all the accompanying paraphernalia, you might think there are no more wars in the world, that the weapons industry has shut down, and we’re living in a peaceful, harmonious world—just reminiscing about the beloved lives lost in wars they never started. Wars where people were manipulated to kill and maim in the name of their country. Something seems very wrong, doesn’t it?

Martha cannot watch those ceremonies. It is too painful and she cannot relate to that type of manifestation. The more pomp, flowers, and speeches, the more weapons are sold around the world, the more bombs are dropped on innocent civilians, and the more death, horrific injuries, and destruction follow. But hey, we’re not talking about that, are we?

The Second World War had a profound impact on Martha’s family, shaping her life in many ways.

NICKY’S STORY AND THE WAR

Her gentle father, Nicky, was born in northeastern Romania, one of 3 surviving children - out of 8 her grandmother gave birth to - in a small village in the Moldavia region (Romanian Moldavia, not to be confused with the modern country of Moldova—a topic for another time). In the 1940s, Nicky was just a child—six years old when the war began and ten when it ended.

The only memory he ever shared with Martha was both vivid and haunting: a vast field stretching as far as the eye could see, filled with lifeless bodies—Russian, Romanian, and German soldiers. The stench of death was seared into his memory, and he refused to speak of it further. All he revealed was that, for a time, he had to walk through this sea of bodies every day on his way to school in a nearby village. She wondered many times how do such images impact the soul of a small boy?

Each time Martha passed a corner stall selling poppies, her mind would flash back to the images of the soldiers in her father’s memory. A field of bodies. How many innocent lives were sacrificed for politics, for power? The poppies, the symbol of remembrance, felt so hollow. How could she wear one with sincerity when the horrors of war still lingered in her own family’s bloodline?

When Martha views the war through her Russian lens, the stories take on a deeper and more poignant dimension.

LIUBA’S STORY - RUSSIA AND THE WAR

The Ferret was born at the start of the war in a tiny village in Russia, about 100 kilometers from Moscow. This village, nestled beside an ancient forest, had a population of just 300 people. To reach the nearest neighboring village, one had to pass through dense woods on either side—a feature that proved irresistible to a German battalion during the occupation. The battles in the Orel region were among the most brutal and destructive in all of Russia. The local resistance showed incredible bravery, while the cruelty of the German officers revealed the darkest sides of human nature.

During the occupation, many villagers were forced out of their homes to accommodate German soldiers and officers. This was the fate of the Ferret’s family, who were relegated to the “podval”—the cellar beneath their house—while the occupiers lived upstairs.

Each time Martha watches a film about the Second World War, her heart aches. It feels painfully close to home.

THE GERMANS IN THE VILLAGE

Surprisingly, the Ferret recalled some bittersweet memories from that time alongside the horrors. The leader of the German battalion loved music and often played the accordion or harmonica while sitting on the wooden porch of her house. Village children, including Liuba, would gather to listen, partly drawn by the music and partly by the promise of German bread, which the commander occasionally shared. The Ferret vividly remembered its aroma, its delicious taste, and how beautifully it was wrapped.

A big change from the potato peel bread they had to eat at that time, a time when food was so hard to get as the germans took the lions share from everything the families had.

She would often say, "Not all Germans were “sabaki”—dogs.”

However, the horrors of war overshadowed such moments. As the Russian troops began reclaiming the land, the German commander followed orders that were monstrous. In a nearby village, he rounded up many people, locked them inside a church, and set it ablaze. Liuba could never forget the screams or the thick, black smoke.

The Ferret’s sentiment—“Not all Germans are dogs”—held a complicated truth for Martha. While she met Germans later in life who were kind and decent, she could never completely shake a deep unease. Something intangible lingered, a wound that never quite healed, leaving a quiet pain that Martha carried with her always although she was not directly impacted by it.

Another vivid image comes to Martha’s mind when she thinks about the war: the story of a resistance heroine who hid in the forest near her mother’s village. She was captured by the Germans, skinned alive, and tortured to death as they tried to force her to reveal the resistance network. She never did.

While in Romania, Martha read numerous books about the Second World War—novels in Russian and Romanian, and years later, in English. She also watched many films produced by the Russian film industry and of course the American movies as well. These stories shaped her views, helping her put things into context and understand that wars are ignited by rulers, while the population bears the unimaginable costs.

Sometimes, death is not the greatest price. Sometimes, life after such horrors is.

LIUBA’S SISTERS

DARIA AND RAISE

Liuba’s older sisters both had an intimate connection with the war alongside their husbands. Yes, the age differences in the family were quite significant. Daria, the eldest, was 20 years older. Her husband was killed during the war, leaving her to raise their three children alone. Raise, a few years younger, was married and also fighting on the front lines.

According to family stories, Raise fell seriously ill while stationed in a German village, losing the ability to use her legs. For weeks, everyone feared she would never walk again. When the troops moved, she had to be carried on a stretcher.

While marching through a small German village, an elderly lady approached Raise on the stretcher. Seeing the young, suffering girl, the woman made inquiries and assured the Russian soldiers that she could help Raise recover. For reasons unknown, they trusted her, and Raise stayed with the woman for a month. By the end of that time, she was able to walk again, and the mysterious illness never returned.

ANIA

During the harsh winter, Ania, 18, was crossing a frozen river after trading for supplies when the ice cracked beneath her. She was swept under and found hours later, near death from exposure. For weeks, she lingered in critical condition, battling severe pneumonia. The Ferret remembers how Ania, weakened but fiercely protective, wouldn't let anyone near her food or drink, fearing contamination. But her body, already ravaged by the cold, could not fight the illness. Ania died, another casualty of war's silent cruelty. Liuba always said she was the most beautiful of all and her mother’s favourite together with her brother.

UNCLE SERIOJA

Uncle Serioja was a war hero, his coat adorned with numerous medals. He had fought bravely during the war, survived, and returned—but he was forever changed. No one who witnesses death and destruction firsthand remains the same. To think otherwise is a delusion.

Martha adored him. Though not one to openly express affection, Uncle Serioja had a playful side that surfaced during her rare visits to her Russian family. He was a chain smoker and drank a bit too much, but he had a warm heart and a big smile. There was something endearing about him, despite his flaws. More about him later.

Martha lifts her gaze from the screen and looks out the window, lost in thought. She doesn’t feel the need to show anyone how she feels about the Second World War—or any war. Her emotions, raw and deeply personal, are not meant for display.

Her family was traumatized by war, as its horrors were etched into their minds and hearts. The sounds of bombs, the sight of destruction, and the constant fear of death or capture haunted them long after the fighting ended. They carried these scars in silence, often unable to find the words to describe the unspeakable things they had witnessed or endured. The trauma shaped how they viewed the world, trust, and even hope.

And then there was the Ferret. Martha wonder how much of the way she became was connected to that childhood steeped in fear, loss, and survival. Could the shadow of war have shaped her so deeply that it extinguished her ability to connect? Or was it something else entirely?

In her quiet moments, Martha would sometimes close her eyes and picture the wooden porch where The Ferret had once stood, listening to the German officer play his accordion. Music, so simple yet so deeply contradictory in a war-torn world. Could something as beautiful as music have been a small lifeline in the darkness? And could she, too, find beauty in the chaos of her own emotional world, the one she had spent so long trying to shut off?

“In the war, we all became different people. But no one asked us whether we wanted this." - Seventeen Moments of Spring - a famous Russian TV series

End of Chapter 15

One of my dreams is to write a novel, inspired by real events but with touch of fiction in it. Will it happen? I don’t know! Writing as and when I find the energy and time while navigating the choppy waters of life.

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