The way to the Victory for our grandfathers was stretched on thousand kilometres. They went, crept on snow and a dirt, clambered to next высотке, drop …
«Rise, the country huge!.»
And they rose, again went, crept and clambered. Furrows of their entrenchments пропахали all Europe, have been impregnated by their blood each plot of land …
«Rise on mortal fight!»
Lost hope, the companions favourite. But found in itself forces not to surrender, live, struggle and win.
And today, in 66 years after the end of war, the only thing, that we can make is not to allow to anybody to trample memory of a feat of our grandfathers. To allow and not to forget to nobody.
Also know, I am proud of our people. Often indifferent, all time occupied and tired, we have not parted on picnics, there were no houses. We left all together once again to pass a way to the Victory. Already the way.
And let it длинною only in some kilometres, and let it simply march. For us, modern and fussy, it is the best way to express respect for the Victory feat.
Also know, when we went, I have thought, that this day - not a holiday is sincerely a pity to me of parents of those people who publicly declare, that for them. It is a pity because their children have stolen at them four years of a life, belief and the Victory. My flowers intended and for them. They are not guilty, they approached the Victory as could. And children not at all turn out such as it would be desirable.
Nadejda Degtiareva, photo by Valerii Corcimari