Sunday 6th
April
Before Daria
had left us on Saturday evening, she had said we would need quite an early start,
because there was a lot to do on Sunday.
We would be visiting Mamaev Kurgan and the Stalingrad Museum. I had been
looking forward to seeing Mamaev Kurgan for some years, ever since Daria had
sent me a T-shirt with this huge statue of Mother Russia featured on it. The Battle of Stalingrad was probably the
most decisive battle of the 2nd World War, with many believing it was the
turning point of the conflict. So it was with slightly mixed feelings that I
regarded the day ahead. On the one hand there was the visit to a really
spectacular sculpture, and on the other the understanding that the victory had
been very costly in terms of human lives.
First however
there was breakfast. Iraida and I went down to the dining area of the hotel to
find a breakfast buffet set out in an alcove which remains hidden during the
rest of the day. There was an excellent choice, catering for most tastes. The
hotel caters for foreign visitors, and whilst there was no full English
breakfast to be had, there was a range of fruit juices, fresh fruit and fruit
salad, cereals, pastries, cold meats and cheese, raw vegetables and the hot
dishes. Resplendent in shiny ‘silver’ containers there was quite a choice,
mainly of traditional Russian options. I selected orange juice, fresh fruit
salad and blinis (pancakes). Rather than the tiny blinis we see here, which are
more like cocktail snacks, these were pancakes just like we have them on Shrove
Tuesday. Iraida was a little bemused when I said that a lot of people here in
England only have pancakes on that one day of the year.
Having fuelled up for
the day ahead, we went upstairs to get coats, scarves and hats. The Saturday
had been cold, cloudy and windy, with the odd snow shower. Today, Dasha had
promised, would be much better, and so it was. Clear blue skies met us as we
left the hotel to meet Daria as she came from home. It was still quite cold,
but we were well wrapped up. It wasn’t too long before we saw her heading
to
We were
talking about music as we walked down on to the platform, and Dasha asked me if
I knew the singer Claudia Bettinaglio. I had to admit that I didn’t. It just so
happened that in my pocket I had a little gadget which would allow all three of
us to listen to Dasha’s MP3 player, and so, much to the amusement of one or two
folk on the platform, we each plugged our headphones into the gadget and
listened to Claudia Bettinaglio – a wonderful blues/jazz singer, and certainly
one to look up when I got home. (If I could remember her name.)
You didn’t
did you?
I beg your
pardon?
You didn’t
remember her name, did you?
Well, I
remembered that it sounded Italian, but that didn’t really help.
So did the
name come to you in a blinding flash of light?
No, I asked
Daria and Iraida, and Iraida answered first.
It was quite
amusing when the Metro Tram arrived – we shuffled across the platform and on to
the tram still tethered by our headphones to the MP3 player in Daria’s hand. We
then swapped to my iPod to listen to Beth Hart, who immediately got the nod of
approval from my fellow-listeners.
It didn’t
take too long before we were disembarking from the metro tram at the Mamaev
Kurgan stop, and as the tram pulled away from in front of us we got our first
full view of this very impressive monument. First we crossed the wide road an
mounted the pavement on the other side. Here was parked a jeep-style army
vehicle, with a guy in the uniform of the time of the Battle. A conversation
began between Dasha, Iraida and this chap, which resulted in me being ushered
forward to have my photograph taken beside the jeep. But not just standing beside
the jeep, sitting at the wheel of the jeep, dressed in a large cape and
military cap, clutching a Kalashnikov in my hands. Then another of me wearing
a metal helmet, and my new found comrade playing his accordion. As I may
have mentioned in a previous posting, Daria has ‘photo-journalist’ as one of her current roles in the press
department of the University of Volgograd, and she was about to show her
prowess. The phrase “Encore une fois” (one more time) became her catch-phrase
for the weekend.
Photographs
being taken and money having exchanged hands, we began the ascent towards
Mother Russia. A series of steps leads the visitor up towards the memorial,
with flat sections at intervals.
Some of these have statuary of the Soviet era, very powerful in
form and meaning. About half way up the steps pass between what initially
appears to be two cliff faces. On closer inspection these cliff faces are
sculpted rocks which depict the battle. To enhance the visual impact of the
walls, a sound-track provides an auditory atmosphere, with the sounds of
gunfire, diving aircraft, screams, speeches and patriotic songs.
Passing
through this assault of the eyes and ears, we moved on to an open space lined
with more statues, and a shallow rectangular ‘lake’ – the Lake of Tears.
At
this time of the year there was no water
in the lake, but one could well imagine it in the summer months, when most of
the 2 million visitors per years will be there. At each vertical step, each
pace forward, one was aware of the sheer size of the statue, standing on the
mound ahead of us. It was possible now to see the base of the statue, where
people resembled ants at her feet. As we approached the building which houses
an eternal flame, Dasha noticed a small squad of soldiers marching
ceremoniously towards it.
“Quick, we
are very lucky to be here to see this,” she said. It was the changing of the
guard ceremony, and were indeed fortunate to see it. We followed the soldiers
and a small group of visitors up the winding staircase into a large chamber. It
was like a dome with a circular hole in the the roof, directly above the flame –
a torch held by a hand. The ceremony was moving, accompanied as it was by ethereal
music echoing around the chamber. Iraida and I both attempted to video the
ceremony.
We then followed
the soldiers as they marched around a walkway which spiralled around the
chamber, passing below large memorial plaques to the thousands of Russian soldiers
who died here, on this hill. Passing out of the chamber we were on a zig-zag
path which led to the foot of the statue.
By the path were tombstones, marking
the last resting place of certain individuals, such as Vasily
Chuikov, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasily_Chuikov
) who led the Soviet forces at the Battle, and Soviet sniper Vasily Zaytsev,
who has 225 confirmed kills to his name, and who was also reburied here in 2006.
As we walked slowly past the grave of Chuikov, a guide was taking to a small
group of visitors, and shared the startling information that there were some
fifty thousand victims of the battle buried here, thirty five thousand
civilians and fifteen thousand soldiers. Mamaev Kurgan was originally, I
understand, a Tartar burial mound, and now it bears witness to those who
perished during those days in 1942/3. This was a very emotional moment.
Iraida, Daria and I made our
way up the path to the base of the statue, stopping from time to time to look
at the memorial stones which lie flat on the surface of the mound. Near the
statue is a church with golden cupolas, which today gleamed in the morning sun
and shone like beacons against the azure sky. It was all part of a magnificent
picture, one which will remain with me for ever. As we made the final approach
to the statue, it was difficult to look up to the tip of the sword, some 85
metres above the ground, without inducing a
bit of vertigo. Then to turn, facing forward as does Mother Russia, to
see the steps down, leading towards the distance and the River Volga and
beyond. Amazing.
There was time for some
more photos, and some souvenir purchasing before we made our way down those
steps, past the statue of a mother with her dying son, past the Lake of Tears
and through the sculptured walls and avenues of statues, and more steps until
we finally found ourselves at the level of the road. I know that my dear young
friend Daria is immensely proud of her city and its history, and that pride
shone out during this amazing visit. For Iraida, it was the most impressive
thing she had ever seen, and I would have to agree with her.
Today was a special day,
and is worthy of two more posts.
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