A moving museum visit: The Battle of Stalingrad

It was a very pleasant, sunny Sunday afternoon as Daria, Iraida and I walked along the banks of the Volga towards the site of the museum dedicated to the Battle of Stalingrad. As we approached it we first saw a number of vintage military vehicles, including tanks parked, facing the Volga. Another photo opportunity!

Daria had already told us that she needed to return home to do some work, in preparation for the visit of a Minister of Education to the University where she works. She would rendezvous with us later at the hotel, for a very, very important undertaking. 

First she walked with us around the outside of the museum, past a fighter aircraft and an old railway locomotive, to show us how to find the Metro back to the hotel. Iraida and I bade farewell and returned to the main entrance of the museum. The modern building, circular in shape is set beside the ruins of buildings which have been left exactly as they were after the Battle.

Iraida and I entered, following a line of visitors, and passed through the obligatory metal detecting scanner. We paid our entry fee and deposited our coats and bags at the cloakroom. The visitor makes his/her way through the museum through a series of galleries which in turn spiral their way up to the top of the building. Each gallery is packed with artifacts and images.  

The strategy employed by Chuikov was to have the Soviet troops as close as possible to their enemies, so that the Germans' heavy artillery and dive bombers would cause as much 'damage' to their own troops as to the Soviet army. This 'hugging' strategy was very successful. There are reconstructions of fox-holes from which small groups of Russian troops emerged to harry the German invaders. There are large diagrams showing how successive attacks and counter attacks were made, there are examples of the weapons used, from small to large, and amazing models of the city showing the absolute destruction caused.

 The models are deliberately grey in colour, because such was the destruction caused by explosions and fire that the earth and the buildings were scorched black and covered in  grey dust. The earth around Mamaev Kurgan remained like this for a number of years, before nature made its recovery and the  green of vegetation was restored.

For me the most powerful and poignant exhibits were those relating to individuals. To individual soldiers, fighting and dying for their Motherland. Photos of young men in uniform, with accompanying letters which had been written by them to their families. 

One wrote that he was not sure exactly when he would return home, but that hopefully it would not be too long. Beneath that was another, official letter, addressed to that same family, informing them that their son, brother, grandson had perished in the conflict. The second was dated just two short weeks after the first. At one point, just after I read these letters, Iraida asked me what had impressed me most so far. I could hardly speak, because the young man whose photograph and letters were displayed before me had taken on an identity, and he had lost his life. When people speak of the horrors of war, of great victories and humbling defeats, they often speak of the numbers of dead, be it in terms of thousands, hundreds of thousands or even millions. Each one a human being with a family and a precious life. For me, the enormity of this vital battle, with its huge losses of life, at that moment entirely focused upon this one young soldier. I tried, in a very faltering voice, and speaking in a foreign language, to describe how I felt. I'm not sure how successful I was.... It was very moving, and it seems that as I get older, such situations have a greater impact upon me. Tears for a young Soviet soldier.

His story was replicated so many times within other exhibits. This was not a visit to be enjoyed, it was a necessary re-affirmation of the understanding of the horror of war, and the heroism which it engenders. 

Here in England, each November, we mark Armistice Day, and remember the fallen. Poppies fall from the ceiling of the Royal Albert Hall, each one representing  a life lost. "Lest we forget."

In Volgograd, formerly Stalingrad, its inhabitants are not likely to forget, and nor should they.

Further on through the exhibits was a large photograph of a group of defeated German soldiers. I pointed out to Iraida the expressions upon those faces: the fear and despair of ordinary men, far from their homeland, at the behest of their political leaders.

We slowly spiralled upwards through life-sized dioramas of the battle scene to another gallery, and upward again to a circular gallery beneath the dome, upon which was a 360 degree panorama of the battle, which brought home the 'hugging' strategy very powerfully. Then we retraced our steps, past displays of gifts sent to Stalingrad by countries and cities from around the world, in recognition of the heroism displayed by its people and the Soviet army. 

One telegram, from the English city of Coventry, acknowledged the debt owed to Stalingrad, from the most bombed city in Britain.

We walked past portraits of the leaders, and  exited past bronze statues of Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin,  taken from photos of their meeting in Yalta.

There wasn't much to be said, but there was much to be felt and remembered.

We needed to return to the hotel, to await Dasha, and then try to create some moments of magic. Read on.