Khatyn, Belarus

Today in the UK is what we call Remembrance Day. At the 11th hour on the 11th hour of the 11th month we stop to stand in silence for two minutes in remembrance of the dead of wars. This day I have been thinking of my own father. He died, not in the war, but 41 years ago as a result of the illnesses he suffered as a result of the treatment he received in the Second War as a prisoner of war of the Japanese.  

It also brought to mind a very memorable trip I made to Belarus in 2012. This piece is about part of that visit.

This is the signpost by the side of the road 100 kms north east of Minsk for the village of Khatyn.  The village lies another 4 kms along a gentle forest road and does nothing to prepare you for what you see there. The current village is a monument to the destruction of many many villages of Belarus which was carried out during World War Two, or The Great Patriotic War, as the Russians call it.

 The village of Khatyn is one of several hundred Belarussian villages which were burned to the ground, flattened and the people murdered by the Nazis during the period from 1941-1945.  Over 2 million Belarussians died during that period, not only in the villages but the towns as well.

One in four of the entire population were killed.  One in four.  Think about that a moment.  The capital city of Minsk did not regain it's pre-war population figures until 1971.  Today the country still has not regained its pre-war population figures.  There is a net loss of population going on.

Khatyn (not to be confused with Katyn near Smolensk in Russia - the place where 12,000 Polish officers and intelligentsia were murdered) is a monument built on the footprint of the original village.  

The entire population were herded into a large barn and the barn set fire to.  Those trying to escape were shot, as were others who had managed to get out of the village.  One man from the village lived.  He had been out of the village when the 'action' started.  He is ccommemorated with a larger than life statue at the entrance to the whole site.

Where the villagers houses stood is a concrete outline of the house together with a replica of the chimney.  Set into the top of the chimney is a bell.  The bells toll during the daylight hours to remind visitors of those who had died.  In the entrance to the houses is a grey slate plaque with the names of those people from the house who were killed.  Some were as young as three weeks old. 

The image above is one of many at the site. It is a chimney stack with a small bell on its top. As you walk around the site you can hear the sound of the bell tolling every few seconds, a low melancholy sound. It is mean to represent the death of one person from Belarus during the war. On the front of the chimney are grey slate plaques. They are inscribed with the names of the people from the house which was on the site who were killed.  In the image below you can see the names of a mother and father, together with the names of their three children, aged 11, 9 and 5.

This is the statue of the one surviving man, carrying the dead body of his son from the village.  As you can see, children are encouraged not only to remember those who died, but to respect them as well.

Each of the stone monuments is to represent a Belarussian village destroyed, together with its name.

'Tain't What You Know, It's Who You Know

            I started Grammar School two days before my twelfth birthday. Everyone else in my class was at least a year younger than me. Not only that, I discovered that there were 191 other people in my year as opposed to 90 in the other years. I was a post war boom baby.

            I was quite proud when I learned I had gained a place at the school, so was my father, I think. I say I think because he was looking after a 16 year old daughter, me and my four year old brother, and his wife had died three  months before. Bit of a hard time to be as enthusiastic as I was.

            Because of the numbers in my year the classes were graded from A to F. I was placed in class F. It wasn't until the end of the third year and start of the fourth year that I discovered that the teaching staff considered that this stood for Failure, and from the start treated and taught us as such. What a bunch of idiots they were, and I don't mean that in a nice way. There were exceptions. The maths teacher was infinitely patient. The biology teacher was brilliant. The music teacher had the patience of a saint. The Geography and French teachers ruled with a rod of iron, but fairly.

            The last of the two English teachers I had was a complete and utter tosser. On the very last time I went into school to collect my final examination results ( a miserable one pass and five near misses and one complete failure) I bumped into him. I walked up to him and very pleased with myself told him that the one pass I had achieved was in English. He said, 'Yes, I know. It's because of the ridiculous system in this school that allowed you to pass and others far more worthy to fail that I am leaving teaching.' I was so upset by his words I could say nothing at all and watched his fat little arse waddle away down the corridor.

            It was quite a shock to leave school. I had never given it much thought. Felt it would go on forever. Obviously I knuckled down to try and find a job. Along with the several other thousand of kids of my age who had also finished their education that year. Not an easy task.

            I the space of a month I applied for fourteen jobs and had one interview. I didn't get the job, it went to a friend of the managers son, a lad I knew from school. I felt very aggrieved as I knew I was more capable of doing the job than he was, but it taught me a lesson. It ain't what you know, it's who you know. My next application was for the position of Police Cadet within my local Police force. There were 83 applicants, so I discovered, and one position. No chance. However, I put my best jacket and trousers on and a collar and tie and presented myself as instructed for a written examination, three of them in fact in one day. Not hard really, and I was one of about 35 who were whittled down.

            I had then to write an essay and leave it with the officers managing the interview process and told I would be getting a letter telling me whether or not I would proceed to the next part of the interview process. I got the letter the following week requesting the attendance of my body for further interviews. I went and had to sit yet another two written exams and we were cut down to ten.

            The ten of us sat in a large bare wooden floored gymnasium waiting and sweating for the results. Five of us were asked to remain in the room and the others were given the heave ho. Over the next two hours we were cut down to three, and I was one of them. Thinking and worrying that the final part of the interview process was upon us I, along with the other two started to really sweat. You could smell it in the gym, even though it was a big room. 

            The following week the three of us attended for our final interview by the Chief Constable and three members of the Watch Committee. (the Watch Committee was a local government committee responsible for the Police and Fire services of the town.) When it came to my turn I was ushered into the large corner office of the building which housed the Chief Constable. Imposing. Corner office overlooking a pleasant town centre road, floor to ceiling windows on two sides and half a mile of carpeting to walk along from the entrance door. When I had sat down and the oldest of the three very old Aldermen had put me at my ease, one of the men suddenly said to me, 'Are you Stanley Catherall's lad?'

            'Yes sir,' I replied. He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

            'I'm Alderman Booth. Your uncle Fred's brother. He's only recently retired from the force hasn't he?'

       'Yes sir,' I replied, suddenly placing the face of the man. I had seen him at my uncle's house once or twice before.

            'Make sure you remember me to your dad will you David? He's been through a rough time recently hasn't he?'

            I nodded my head silently. He smiled warmly at me and then made a note on the papers in front of him.  'Shall we start then gentlemen?' he said. 

            Guess who got the job?  Me!

            So, Mr English teacher. Up yours pal!