Дневник минометчика

Nezavisimaya Gazeta — “A Mortar Gunner’s Diary”

12 May 2016

Sergei Shulakov

A Mortar Gunner’s Diary

How artillerymen lived at the front

Berlin. Alexanderplatz. 1945. Photo from the book.

Oleg Budnitskii, the author of the foreword, calls Gelfand’s diary unique for several reasons. The first is its broad chronology: from the prewar months of 1941 through 1946, when he was serving with the Soviet forces in Germany. Budnitskii himself, however, adds a qualification: artilleryman Nikolai Inozemtsev and interpreter Boris Suris kept diaries over no less extensive a period. But, Budnitskii says, they were far from the front line. Inozemtsev, for example, served in heavy artillery and was not involved in direct contact with the enemy. Gelfand, by contrast, was the commander of a mortar company and fought on the front line. The uniqueness of these diaries lies rather in their tone and their point of view.

“The author of the diary undoubtedly belongs to the category of compulsive writers. He simply cannot refrain from writing…” Budnitskii says. He emphasizes that Vladimir Gelfand addresses his diary as though it were a friend and companion, which is a sign of a certain infantilism or, perhaps, of pronounced introversion.

At times Budnitskii displays a complete lack of familiarity with the realities of the Great Patriotic War, or else consciously repeats myths. For example, a signals sergeant drove Lieutenant Gelfand out of an officers’ trench. Budnitskii comments: “There would have been quite a few officers who would simply have shot the sergeant on the spot (and would hardly have suffered any punishment for it).” In fact, the question of punishment would have been decided by the unit commander or a tribunal, depending on the combat situation, and assignment to a penal battalion would have been the mildest form of punishment.

The diary consists mainly of details of everyday life. Those details involuntarily provoke comparisons with the present day—economists will say such comparisons are incorrect, but what we are dealing with here is literature. In March 1943, after returning from the market in Salsk, the author carefully recorded: “Bought six eggs for 30 rubles, half a liter of milk for 25 rubles, three glasses of sunflower seeds for five rubles, and a piece of bread weighing about 800 grams for 35 rubles.” Gelfand submitted part of a poem to the editorial office of the local newspaper. “There is a new editor there, a man of letters by vocation. He promised to look at the poem and tell me the result the day after tomorrow. I asked him about the fee, how it is paid. But he misunderstood me and said it would be paid after publication. By chance in the conversation I mentioned that I needed one copy of the poems typed on a typewriter (I had given two copies to the editors), perhaps I would publish it in another newspaper. ‘In every case we try to satisfy the author’s interests; even if a work is inadequate, we offer consultation and so on. You can be pleased that I am a literary man myself and will be able to make sense of your work…’”

The diaries most likely were indeed not intended for publication. In 1945 their author writes in complete seriousness: “One cannot live like this. All this business must be brought to an end, decisively and as quickly as possible. All the officers have been decorated, all enjoy honor and respect, while I am so ungratefully met everywhere with malice and ridicule from empty little people.”

Vladimir Gelfand.
Diary, 1941–46.
Compiled and edited, with an introductory article, by O. Budnitskii.
Moscow: Political Encyclopedia; Knizhniki, 2015. 751 pp.

These diaries reflect a problem that in recent years has suddenly reawakened in European memory—the myth of Red Army soldiers as rapists. In March 1945, a female unit attacked Soviet positions near the town of Bernlicht. Meeting resistance, the women fled, and most of them were captured. Gelfand wrote: “The paratroopers dealt with them quickly. The prisoners were divided into three groups. 1. Russians. There were two of them. 2. Married women and those whose husbands and relatives were in the same unit in which they served… Girls. They alone formed the third group of prisoners. The Russians… were shot after interrogation… From the third group they began taking the ‘trophies’ away to houses and beds… The German women were afraid and did not resist… they themselves asked to sleep with those who were younger. Sergeant Andreev was among those of fortunate age.” What follows is an almost direct description of the events, ending with the euphemistic phrase: “Thus, working together, they achieved their goal.” Sergeant Andreev “dressed her in civilian clothes, and she came out to her fellow sufferers looking satisfied and innocent.” The last word is not entirely clear; apparently the author meant “with an innocent look.”

An entry of 26 February 1946 says: “Card playing is becoming widespread. Hundreds and thousands of marks slice through the air, strike the table and, disappearing into the pocket of the lucky winner, turn into vodka, cologne, spirits…” In September Gelfand writes: “Sold a length of khaki cloth for 2,000 marks.” Garrison life—the ordinary life of soldiers in every country and every era. The only new thing here is that previously no one saw any point in publishing such material.

In 2005 Gelfand’s diary was published in Germany and, Oleg Budnitskii assures us, enjoyed a certain popularity. A scholarly approach to publishing these diaries is only half justified: if one wishes, such an approach can be applied to any text. It is unlikely, however, that entries such as “Soluyanov is a thoroughly vile type. Men like that know how to get ahead; contrary to justice, they are respected and praised…” will provide an impetus for sensational research in historical scholarship.

© 1997–2016 Nezavisimaya Gazeta

Text visible in the images:

Book cover: “Vladimir Gelfand. Diary 1941–1946.”