The House by the Dvina (40 page)

With the arrival of a grey dawn, the storm abated. My young brother, white-faced and ill, appeared on the scene and hurried to the jar. Seeing no sign of the fish he began a frantic search among the scattered debris.

It was eventually found swept under a small rug. Although it was tenderly placed back in the jar, there was no miracle. Ghermosha would not leave the jar and was found later lying on the floor of the cabin sound asleep beside it.

While the ship was still in dock many of the passengers, including us, went ashore to the shopping precinct of Newcastle. During that time I celebrated my fourteenth birthday. There were no presents, but Mother gave me money to spend whichever way I wished. I bought some little gifts Ч a string of white coral beads for Marina, knitting wool for Babushka.

Something special had to be found for Marga. Remembering that I had once heard her express a wish to taste some exotic fruits, I decided on a bunch of bananas, so large that I could barely drag it up the gangway, and with difficulty found a corner in the cabin. MotherТs warning that the bananas would never see Archangel fell upon deaf ears.

During a short break in Bergen some of the passengers, including Mother, went ashore. She and Maisie came back bringing with them cheese, freshly baked bread and other items of food, as the cuisine on the Canada left a lot to be desired. Osborne Grove also went along to do some shopping and presented Ghermosha, Vanya and me with sweets, nuts, playing cards and a fine set of dominoes. He was a strange person, Osborne Grove, who never wasted any time in needless conversation, but would sit for hours at a time watching us playing or listening to our talk, barely uttering a word.

Yet he was a generous man at heart, always ready to help anyone if need be.

As we moved further north, Christmas arrived. The saloon was gaily decorated. In the dining-room the cook, observing the festive season, for once opened his heart and cooked up a pleasant meal which included an English plum pudding and pancakes served with jam. After dinner everyone assembled in the saloon. A party of soldiers came up from their quarters and sat together, looking a bit uneasy at first. Natasha, accompanying herself, sang in her fine contralto voice, with much expression, several of our renowned gypsy songs. Maisie stood up and, with Mother accompanying her, sang current popular songs. Maisie sang well and was heartily applauded. Best of all was the singing of the soldiers under their leader.

Everyone joined in, singing in full voice our well-loved folksongs. It was an evening which has remained for ever clearly stamped on my memory.

A week went by. As the old year slipped away, celebrations broke out all over the ship. The officers got together in one cabin. The captain threw a party in his private quarters to which Mother was invited. I, considered too young to be included anywhere, was delighted when the young second officer invited me to his cabin to meet the New Year with him. There I drank a glass of wine and, when he offered me a cigarette, nonchalantly accepted it and smoked it in what I judged to be a sophisticated manner.

Back in my cabin, I was almost asleep when a crowd of officers burst in.

They came with glasses in their hands to wish, as they explained, the youngest lady on the ship a Happy New Year. All were rather merry. Each one demanded that I should sip a little of the wine and allow myself to be kissed in the traditional manner, after which they cheerfully departed.

1920

On the second day of the new year, the ship reached the dismal port of Murmansk. My Aunt Margunya and her husband, Lieutenant-Colonel Dilakatorsky, in command of the Murmansk region, came aboard. There were glad reunions with relatives and friends. The same glowing optimism still prevailed. Everywhere was heard the Russian greeting: “New Year Ч New Happiness”. A crowd of young cossacks had followed Dilakatorsky aboard the ship. One of them started to dance in the traditional manner, shooting out his long legs while gliding round the deck to the accompaniment of enthusiastic clapping. Everything was going well, we were assured. The White Army was approaching the great fortress of Kronstadt outside Petrograd. It was only a question of days. Two days later we were on our way to our final destination, cutting through the great frozen expanse of the White Sea. Anyone who travelled on an icebreaker in those far-off days perhaps can remember how difficult, how slow the progress was. The ship relentlessly forges ahead, cuts through the ice, then reverses and starts again. The awesome mass of ice, rising on either side and threatening to engulf the ship, falls back, showering the deck with sparkling crystals.

The noise is deafening. In our wake, the narrow channel carved out of ice trails like a long dark ribbon, vanishing in the distance where the sky and sea blending together show no defining line between them.

One evening when I was standing on deck watching the playful magic of the aurora borealis, a member of the crew pointed out a polar bear lumbering across the ice. He was enormous but, intent on his own business, paid no attention to the ship.

Eventually we reached the outskirts of Archangel and docked in a small port called Ekonomiya, some twelve miles from the town. Uncle Sanya was waiting on the landing stage, but on being told that no one was to leave the ship until the following morning, he left, promising to return. No sooner had Uncle Sanya gone than the passengers were told they could disembark if they desired to do so. Some wished to remain aboard the ship, others like the Browns and ourselves decided to go ashore. From Ekonomiya a railway line ran into town. Assisted by members of the crew, we got our luggage aboard the train and settled down with the Browns. There was no sign of any driver. The cold was bitter. In the unheated carriages frost lay like thick white velvet on the window panes. In spite of Mr BrownТs repeated enquiries, the driver could not be found. We sat huddled together, trying to keep warm, perhaps an hour, perhaps more, but just as we were making up our minds to return to the ship, the driver, yawning and stretching, appeared and started up the engine. After a few minutes the train halted beside a siding. For some unknown reason the engine was unable to take us any farther. There was no choice but for us to go on foot for the next few miles. Fortunate to find sledges in the adjoining shed, we got together and piled our trunks on top. Seating Vanya on the luggage and harnessing himself to the sledge, Mr Brown, with Mrs Brown pushing behind him, set off on the snowy road for home. Mother also tied the rope around her waist and with her dragging and Ghermosha and I pushing the heavy load, we followed the sledge in front.

I remember the unusual brilliance of the moon, the high snowdrifts, the empty streets, the silence. There was something sad about this silence. We met no one and saw no sign of life in any of the darkened windows.

At the top of Olonetskaya Street we parted with the Browns, who had to go on further, and turned down towards the old familiar gates. The house was in complete darkness. At first no one heard our knocking, but eventually a sleepy Katinka opened the door and rushed upstairs to waken Babushka.

Father was joyful. Babushka threw her arms around us and ordered a samovar to be brought to the nursery. But glad as she was to see us, I noticed while we sat talking that there was some anxiety in her manner which she seemed to try and hide from me. Although we did not know it, while we were travelling rumours were already reaching Archangel of reverses in Siberia.

No one had expected us to arrive in the middle of the night. Katinka hastily prepared beds for Mother and Ghermosha in the nursery, beside Father. Babushka took me into her room. We had all been almost frozen by the time we reached the house. Lying close to BabushkaТs warm body, I continued shivering for a long time. In the adjoining bed Dedushka was gently snoring, unaware of our arrival. When I awoke in the late morning, the sun was streaming through the frosted panes. There was no one in the bedroom. Babushka and Mother along with Marga and Marina were in the dining-room talking together beside the bubbling samovar. No one appeared to be unduly surprised at our return. Life resumed, just as if we had never left.

I duly presented my little gifts. Marina was delighted with the coral beads, Babushka with her wool. Needless to say the great bunch of bananas meant for Marga never reached her. To compensate her for the loss of her present, I succeeded in wheedling from Mother a jar of face-cream out of her precious store. Marga was most grateful, as all these little aids to beauty were now quite unobtainable.

A few days later Maisie Jordan, bored with life aboard a ship with no passengers, came to stay with us. Her visit coincided with Yura and Mitya Danilov arriving unexpectedly for a short leave from the front. Yura had been promoted to the rank of a captain as a reward for a daring feat when, regardless of his own safety, he had rushed down an embankment under a bridge and defused a bomb set to go off just as a troop train was due to leave. Both boys had changed and were no longer the callow youths who had so eagerly set off to fight the Bolsheviks.

It was now Epiphany, when young people play strange games by which they half-believe they are allowed to peep into their future.

Katinka, Marina and I ran out into the moonlit courtyard where we each removed a shoe and threw it high over our shoulders on to the snowdrifts.

The toe of the shoe was supposed to point in the direction from where our future husband would arrive. Mine pointed north, which I thought was odd, but Katinka assured me that my fate could well be a Samoyed who would arrive from the polar regions with his sledge and reindeer.

Maisie, intrigued by all these ancient customs, decided to try the uncanny mirror game. We put her in MarinaТs room and sat her down between two mirrors Ч one in front and one behind her. We lit candles on each side, took down her hair and draped a sheet over her shoulders. We left her there and waited. After a little while she came rushing out, her face deathly pale. Later in the evening, after a long session over the samovar, we adjourned to the ballroom and waltzed to the haunting melody of “Autumn Dreams”, played by Mother. Mitya approached Marga and she, brushing aside her unhappiness, cheerfully danced the whole night with him. Seryozha was rapturously waltzing with Maisie in his arms, while I was being whirled around by Yura. I enjoyed dancing with my young uncle and rather admired my reflection each time we glided past the mirrors. For a while, all fears and anxieties were forgotten. This short interlude passed all too quickly.

The boys left for the front in the early hours of the following morning.

Uncle Vanya came to see us. Although he had walked all over Russia, he had never travelled abroad. He asked many questions and displayed a great interest in all our impressions of Scotland. He left in the early evening to follow his usual route of taking the tramcar to the end of the line and walking across the river to his home. It was snowing and gradually the snowflakes fell faster and thicker. A blinding blizzard with a strong wind took over. Everyone became alarmed. It was hoped that Uncle Vanya might return to spend the night as he sometimes did if the weather was bad, but he didnТt turn back. It was impossible to get in touch with Tanya as there was no telephone in her house. Babushka tried to console herself with the thought that her brother had crossed the river before the worst of the blizzard began.

Early in the morning, Tanya phoned from the station to enquire if her father was with us. Babushka, devastated, ordered the sledge to be harnessed and with Seryozha set off across the river. From the other side a party of friends, led by TanyaТs husband, had already begun their search. They didnТt have to look far. Uncle VanyaТs body, lying under a thin blanket of snow, was found quite close to the shore and safety. It seemed a mockery of fate that Uncle Vanya, who had walked the length and breadth of Russia, across the steppes in the heat of the summer, and Siberia in the terrible frosts of winter, in the end had to perish within reach of his home.

Meanwhile, as Ghermosha and I had lost a whole term, Father engaged a tutor to bring us up to date. When the question of payment was raised, the young tutor did not want money, but asked for salt instead. And so for two pounds of salt we successfully passed our exams. Such were the times.

1920

In February, the White Army on the northern front was falling back. A sense of impending doom, like a black cloud, hung over the city. To some, each Bolshevik victory brought open jubilation, to others only despair. In spite of bitter, desperate fighting for each village and town the communists kept on advancing. The old historic town of Kholmogor, lying some forty miles up the river, fell into their hands as did, a few days later, villages closer to our town.

The situation was fluid, abounding with rumours. There were people who said that the Bolshevik victory would not last and that help would arrive just as it did the last time. Some earnest souls also firmly believed the story that a group of children had seen the Mother of God appear in the heavens and with outstretched arms bless the suffering town. More real and frightening were the tales of innocent people and officers being summarily executed after capture. In our house there was deep anxiety for Yura and Mitya. No one knew where they were. Before the town fell, a deputation from the local Duma called. They begged Dedushka to assist them to create some order in the chaos which followed after the flight of several of its members. Dedushka agreed Ч a mistake dearly paid for in the days to come.

The weather turned bitterly cold and windy, the skies darkened, heavy with snow clouds. The tramcars stopped running; schools emptied.

Kiril Yermolov with his fellow officers arrived one day. The tanks, on which so much depended, proved to be useless. Whoever thought of using them completely overlooked the danger of fuel and water freezing in the arctic temperature. Nor did they think of the unsuitable terrain of thick woods between villages. Forced to abandon the tanks, they had continued fighting but, in the end, surrounded and outnumbered, only a handful managed to get through and eventually reach the northern outskirts of the city. We gave them what we had, sitting with them in the nursery so as to be near Father, who wanted to hear everything.