—— Red Army Sniper ——118‘Klavdia Ivanovna, you have sung almost everything but my
favourite song. Could you please sing ‘Mother’?
And the sounds of the song, so heartfelt and tender, descended
over the hushed hall.
‘Mother... no words are brighter and dearer.. .’
Many had tears in their eyes. Not only for me but for others
it apparently conjured up thoughts of home, mothers, family,
children – of precious peacetime years.
When the last notes had died away and the song was over, the
thunderous applause shook the whole building and did not die
down for a long time. And we, the youngsters, twentyyearolds,
recalled the loved ones who were patiently waiting for us to come
following victory.
As if she had divined our mood, Klavdia Ivanovna began to
sing:
No, it’s not your eyes
I’ll remember at the hour of parting.
It’s not your voice
I will hear in the silence.
It’s those tender, trembling hands
That I’ll remember
And they will remind me
Of you...
We sat deep into the night, singing and talking. Everyone had
cherished memories of his own, and related or listened to what
was dearest to, or beloved of, each of us.
I sat at a table with a musician from the Front ensemble band,
whom I had just got to know. It turned out he was from Tambov.
We remembered the streets or our home town and discovered
acquaintances in common.
‘Well, who is it reminiscing about Tambov? Let me look at
him!’ said a voice behind me.
I looked around. Before me stood Vladimir Pchelintsev.
Swaying gently on his chest was the gleaming Golden Star of a Hero