Mushynsky Ivan Serhiiovych, b. 1903

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. My great-grandfather had oxen because he was a Chumak. I’ll tell you how land was divided when serfdom was abolished in 1861. My grandfather was a serf and used four oxen to plow the landowner’s field. The land was divided between those who worked as serfs. Those who didn’t would not get any land. This is how the land was divided: a person with two oxen would get six hectares; a person with four oxen would get 12. Someone who worked alone got three hectares. My grandfather was given 12 hectares. He had four sons, and he split the land between them. One of them was a Cossack. We had three landowners’ enterprises in Vi’shana and an administrator; the main office was in Bila Tserkva. His son Vasyl’ was a mailman and was allotted 12 hectares, too. He didn’t take any of his father’s land, so the land was eventually split between three sons; each got four hectares. My grandfather had one son (my father), so each of them had four hectares, and I gave four hectares to the kolhosp. My neighbors had their son’s land and they divided it by two hectares. They were poor. The resellers who didn’t work for the landowners but somehow managed to buy themselves out paid the landowner—they stayed without the land. 

—Did your family live in one house?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. 

—Was the house divided into two parts?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No, it was one house. We built it in 1921. We had had a large house, but we took it apart in 1913 and my father was taken to war; we started building the house only in 1921 when he came back from the war after the Revolution. 

—Who was considered the main figure in your family?

Ivan Serhiiovych: My father. They managed the household together, but my father was in charge. If we needed to buy something or do something, they would discuss it together. 

—Did your mother have her own money?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Back in the day, the man who was in charge of the family had the key to the place where the money was kept. If you needed to buy some salt, you could find the money for it. 

—Where would one find the money?

Ivan Serhiiovych: People sowed the hemp in several shifts, and the Jews came to buy the crops. We didn’t eat Easter eggs that we made but took them to the market to sell; this is how you would buy salt and baking soda to make cheese pancakes. If you needed to buy anything bigger than that, that would be on the father’s money. 

—Whose money was used when a family had to prepare a dowry for their daughter?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Common money. People used to fast back then, and children under three years old would get an Easter egg and milk during the Nativity Fast (Pylypivka, from November 15 to December 24). We had a total of 200 days of fasting in a year, including the Fast of the Holy Apostles (Petrivka, also called the ‘Fast of Peter and Paul,’ from the first Monday after Pentecost until June) and the Assumption Fast (Spasivka, in August). Wednesdays and Fridays were also fasting days. If you put everything together, you get 200 days [of fasting]. We didn’t eat meat or milk, but the children would get an Easter egg. If I broke a cup, I wouldn’t get an Easter egg; if I broke a spoon, I could have one. 

—Who was the main authority in the village before the Revolution?

Ivan Serhiiovych: At the time, we had a volost’ and starshyna was the main authority. He was elected. Our volost’ consisted of Zhurovka, Petryky, Vil’shana, Verbivka, Zelene, and Tovsta; this was Vil’shans’ka volost’. In the village, we had a statosta and a room for detentions [in the text, kardogarnia, a local word, perhaps the same as katalozha, “a detention holding facility”]. No protocols were drafted at the time. If someone was drunk, they would whip him and lock him up in a detention room; he’d spend the night there and put 50 kopiiky into a cup. This cup was sealed, just like this urn. We had criminal prosecution, guards, and administrators. Before the Revolution, it was forbidden to sing in the evenings because this would disturb the order. One drunken man was walking and singing, and the guards took him and gave him a beating: his legs were tied; they bent him over a barrel; one man sat on his neck, and the other pulled his pants down and hit him 25 times with a whip. [The punished] would then spend two weeks lying on his belly, and the next time he was drunk, he’d remember, “My tongue, be quiet or else I’ll get another beating.”  

—Was the starosta elected in a local village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: A starosta was elected in our local village, and the starshyna was elected by all the villages of the volost’ by a secret ballot. To vote yes one would put the peas, and to vote no one would put the beans into the box; people were not literate. For the election of the starshyna each village would propose its candidate. 

—Did people gather in town for council?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes, people would gather on the square near the volost’ building. They would select the best khaziai—elderly people, 50–60 years of age. People knew people in other villages, too. There were very few drunkards, but still, we had some. 

—How was the power divided with the church starosta?

Ivan Serhiiovych: This was the church council. They had elderly people—sisters and brothers. The sisters were the women who were no longer giving birth to children; there were also the elderly men. They chose their starosta. The priest was like a hired worker, and the starosta was the administrator [khaziaiin]. The church council was in charge. They would make decisions about the renovations and such, but the priests played an important role at the time. They would record deaths and brths; they would send the documents to the army, too. There were no Civil Registry Office at the time. The priest was in charge of all that. 

—What was the highest body of this government?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Skhodka. 

—What decisions were made during a skhodka?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Decisions on the economic activities and the jobs that had to be done in the village. In 1908, they wanted to build a hospital in our village. It was discussed at the skhodka, but the village hospital had to be funded by the tax money (desiatyna). The people didn’t want to proceed, so the hospital was built in Shevchenkove, and we only had a landowners’ hospital.   

—Did people go to that hospital?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. People didn’t get ill much at the time. The landowners’ laborers worked in that hospital because we had three landowners. A doctor would see children up to seven years old, but not the old people. So the people didn’t go to the hospital and went to women-healers instead. 

—Did women take part in a local community assembly (skhodka)?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No, God forbid. A woman is for pots; women used to be concerned with pots. There was a custom at the time to say of the man who held his child in his arms in public, “She put a skirt or a clay bowl on him.” “Stepan’s wife put a skirt on him.” He could hold his child in the house, but not in public, not to be seen like that. 

—Did all members of the community have equal right to vote?

Ivan Serhiiovych: All except women. All who came had the right to vote. 

—What was the voting age?

Ivan Serhiiovych: 18. 

—Were only the married men allowed to vote or the young bachelors could vote, too?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No, young men did not vote. Only the khaziaii. A bachelor didn’t go to a skhodka because he was not a khaziaiin; he was called a burla. 

—Who had the highest authority in the village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: At the time—the good khaziaii, those who didn’t drink and had land and a family. 

—Were there many khaziaii in your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not many. There were some who owned land but were drunkards. They were not understood well. 

—What was considered a large homestead?

Ivan Serhiiovych: This didn’t depend on the measurements, but on the person’s actions and how well-maintained his homestead was. Most of the farmsteads in our village had seven, eight, or 10 desiatyny, up to 20 maximum. 

—Did you hire any day laborers?

Ivan Serhiiovych: We did everything on our own. A scythe was used for harvesting, and girls would be hired to sheave, but we didn’t have any day laborers [naimyty]. Vil’shana had such good khaziaii that no one needed day laborers [naimyty]. The khaziaii were deported. I had a neighbor who owned land but was very poor.  

—Why was he deported?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Because he owned land. It was a policy at the time: they didn’t join the kolhosp, and a tax was imposed on them which they couldn’t pay because they had nothing. The village council wrote in the records whatever they wanted to write: that those people had day laborers, that they had this or that. There was a committee in Korsun’ that took them in. 

—How did you pay those girls for sheaving?

Ivan Serhiiovych: With money. 

—What about the day laborers that were hired for the whole year?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They would get money, too, but they also got food and clothes. A landowner had permanent positions for blacksmiths, carpenters, wheelwrights, guards, and those who looked after the oxen and the horses. There were no production animals, just the working animals. Those workers were paid [amount and currency were not indicated in the original interview. “7.5 rubli per month” is mentioned in the interview below by Nadezha] and given food rations. 

—What year was this?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Before the Revolution. The food ration included two pounds of oil, 16 kg of flour, and some firewood per month. Those who worked all year round also got half a desiatyna of ripe wheat; they only had to harvest it on their own. In spring [iaryna] they would also get half a desiatyna of the landowner’s land—sow what you will. There were few of them.

—Did they have any land of their own?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes, they had a bit of their own land. Our neighbors had two hectares, but the family was large; two hectares was not enough for them. 

—Was there a division into the rich, seredniaky, and the poor?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not before the Revolution. There were khaziaii; and the poor were the poor. During the Revolution, they were divided into those three categories: kurkuli, seredniaky, and komnezamy.  

—Who was considered poor before the Revolution?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Those who didn’t own any land. Some didn’t own any land but lived better than the ones that owned land because they were merchants. 

—What did they do?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They sold products, had some kind of trade, and made shoes or barrels; some were carpenters, but we had few such people. Others were very poor; they had large families and no land. 

—Were the poor looked down upon at the time?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. Depending on their actions. Some poor people behaved well and were respected; some richer ones didn’t behave well and were not accepted or loved. Some owned three hectares of land. He would harvest the winter crops and lease the land for a year for the spring grains because after the spring grains the land was used to graze the cattle [toloka]; no one would buy land during that time because you can’t sow anything. The land was leased for one-time harvest. Some people would take the lease money and spend it on alcohol. People were poor before the Revolution. 

—Did the poor try to marry the rich?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Rarely. The poor ones were despised to an extent. The young people didn’t pay so much attention, but their parents did. I remember that the parents would arrange marriages without their children knowing. 

—Did people have a drink in the tavern [shynok]?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. 

—Were there many such taverns?

Ivan Serhiiovych: We didn’t have any main ones; the Jews owned them in our village. They had a patent. Rukhlia was in charge; vodka wasn’t sold as openly back then as it is now. She would open at 10 p.m. and close at 2 a.m.; this was observed strictly. If one needed to celebrate a wedding, they would go to the matchmakers. If there was a priest, they would go to him to arrange the wedding. This was a custom. At the time, the weddings were held not on Sundays, but on weekdays. They would go to a priest; a richer person would pay five rubli or something like that, and the pooper would pay less. The priest knew the people of his parish. We had two churches. The people went to their priest. The parents went to sell things, and the priest gave them a note confirming that they could buy vodka. So they would buy as much as they needed; back in the day, people sold vodka by the buckets; there were such large bottles called a quarter [chetvert’]; they must have been three liters. The richer people would buy five buckets, and they didn’t make any moonshine [samohonka]. People started making moonshine around the Revolution. Some brought the recipes from the war and started making it; before the war, they had no idea what it was. In our village, there were no tomatoes before the Revolution. After the Revolution, we had tomatoes, natural seeding for borscht. My mother died when she was 105, and my father died young. He had tetanus after he wounded his leg, and there was no treatment at the time. He died in a week. 

—Were there any market fairs in your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Sure thing. There was one in Vil’shana where everyone went. The fair was where we now have a store and a school, and down below was the landowner’s pond; this is where the market was set up. People would sell the sheep, pigs, and goats there. Now, on the hill we had oxen, cows, and horses for sale. The Romani people used to sell them. 

—Did khaziaii sell horses to each other?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Of course. The Romani people resold them; the khaziaii were selling stallions, or they would keep a stallion and sell an older horse. 

—Did you have merchants who sold meat?

Ivan Serhiiovych: The Jewish people sold meat from dry cows, not pork. There was a butcher’s shop. These merchants sold pork; they bought pigs and sold pork; they had very little land. At the time, aged lard was more expensive than the fresh one, unlike now. There wasn’t a lot of old lard on the market, and it cost 30 kopiiky per pound; the fresh lard would cost 20–25 kopiiky. One had to have a patent. The Jews used to sell beer on a Russian license; they paid a certain percentage to the Russians, because the Jews were [technically] not allowed to sell beer.  

—Who made the clothes?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Clothes were made locally. Before the Revolution, men didn’t have an overcoat; they only wore a camisole and a jacket without a lining. The overcoat appeared during the Revolution. Before that, it would be made of linen. If a woman was getting married, she had to make pants and a shirt for her husband, children, and herself. People would go to tailors to order overcoats for the children; people also made long linen undershirts for their children once they turned three years old. The child would wear this shirt until he grew up and the shirt reached his belly. One had two such shirts: while one was in the laundry, he would wear the other one. Back in the day, guys would wear a long shirt until they turned 20 years old; they would start wearing pants when they were drafted into the army. If someone was hiding to avoid the army service during Catherine’s reign, he would get caught. 

—Did mothers embroider shirts for men?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Who else? A mother would sew everything, and the pants usually had two zippers. 

—Why?

Ivan Serhiiovych: She would make wide-leg pants on her own, and would stitch the top hem for the belt. If the pants got torn, she would mend them. The person wearing such pants was considered a khaziaiin. When going to the church, he would wear leather boots treated with tar. 

—What did the men wear on top of the shirt?

Ivan Serhiiovych: A svytka, a kyreia, or an overcoat [kozhukh]. Kyreia was a kind of a cloak made of woolen cloth. 

—What kinds of hats were there?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Simple hats, made from lambskin. 

—What were these hats called?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Just hats, not vushanka, but a pot-shaped hat. Guys bought lambskin hats because men didn’t wear them. There were no vushanky. Women would wear a shirt, a belt, and an overcoat [kufaika]. At home, a woman would wear a skirt with a zapaska [see below next question]. If she was going to town, she would remove the belt and turn the skirt inside out. A woman had one or two skirts. A better-off woman could have three skirts or more. Some people were so poor that if they washed a shirt, they would sit on the oven waiting for that shirt to dry. There were many poor people at the time. Some people went blind because of their diet because they never ate any meat or oil and only ate borscht with horseradish. Little by little, life got better after people got land after the Revolution. 

—What was zapaska made of?

Ivan Serhiiovych: It was homespun. People would spin yarn and dye it black. 

—Did people tie a belt on top of a zapaska?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes, and they would put tassels and pom-poms. The belts were of two forms: the ribbon-like ones [strichechkovy] were homemade, and the viatirkovy [a local word unknown to me] were woven out of dyed wool. 

—What were the red ones dyed with?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They bought a specific red dye for this. 

—Did your father sell anything from his farm on the market?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Mostly bread or a piglet or a bull-calf. They sold them at a local fair. We had a fair in our village because we had many Jews in the village. 

—What happened to the Jews during collectivization?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They were here before the war, then some of them left. There were few of them after, but there were some left. During the war, the Germans took them. 

—During collectivization, did they join the kolhosp?

Ivan Serhiiovych: There was only one Jew in the kolhosp. 

—Were they punished for not joining the kolhosp?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Nobody cared. The Jews were also salesmen. Some people went to work the land in the steppes, so one Jew joined them. They would sign up in spring and autumn. When it got to going there, he said, “Oh! I won’t go. My wife and children are sick.” So, he stayed, and one Jewish woman worked in the kolhosp weeding the crops. The kolhosp was organized in 1928 and it was called “The Red Way” (Chervoniy Shliakh). Her husband was an accountant. The girls sang so well; she was barely able to find her way home and never went there again. 

—Were you considered seredniaky?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. 

—Did people use to borrow something from your family?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not at the time. If one was a khaziaiin, he had his own. 

—Did people borrow money?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes, but with witnesses present. People would not lend much money; it would depend on who was asking. If the person was reliable, they would let him borrow. If not, they would say that they had no money. 

—At what age were the children taught to work?

Ivan Serhiiovych: From early on. When a girl was six or seven, she had to be near her mother helping peel the potatoes. When a child turned seven or eight, he or she would graze the cattle. An older one would go to graze the cattle, and a younger one would follow. 

—Were the sheep grazed in flocks or did each person graze their own sheep?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Each person grazed their own cattle, but the sheep were taken care of by the shepherd. I grazed a cow, and the sheep would follow it because if they were on their own, they were afraid of dogs. There were sheep flocks in the village corners. 

—Was a shepherd hired?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Hired and paid. If I gave him five sheep, he would charge five rubli for the summer. 30 rubli was a large sum at the time; one could buy a cow with that. Each sheep had an earmark or a collar. They would all go in a flock. 

—What kind of sheep did you have?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Plain black ones. 

—You didn’t have any curly-haired ones, did you?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. The wool from the ones we had was straight, long, and black. 

—How many times a year did you shear the sheep?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Once a year. We sheared lambs, too. Some people sheared them twice a year, but that wool wasn’t good. It was called kushnirka; it was short and would not fit into the head of a needle. It would tear fast, too. 

—What did people make from wool?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Overcoats [svytky]. There was a fullery. 

—In your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No, they would come from Korsun’. A piece of vine the length of a finger would be used as a document. Half of it was given to the owner of the wool and the other half was tied to the woolen cloth; sometimes letters were used to mark the cloth. Then the cloth weaver would tell people when to come to pick up their cloths. He would come to the market, and people knew where he would be located; they’d come and bring their piece of vine for him to identify their wool. He would match the two halves of a vine stick together to confirm. 

—Were there overcoats with creases [vusa]?

Ivan Serhiiovych: One crease would be made to distinguish men’s overcoats from women’s. 

—How did the overcoats look from behind?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They were the same. Every village had a different way of making overcoats. We didn’t have this type of clothing in Pertopavlivka. Each village had different styles. In our village Vil’shana people made round-shaped blazers made of plush [kruhli kufaiechky z plysom]. We didn’t have any godets in our clothes, unlike people in Shevchentsi who used godets and folds from the waist down. We had a tanner Serioha; he was a good master. 

—Were the overcoats straight in your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They were broader at the top. They were called polushubok or tulubok. Tulubky, however, were not normally sewn because they weren’t profitable. Kozhukh was popular because one could wear it and use it as a banket, too. We didn’t have beds at the time, and houses were not built like they are now. There was a storage space for the produce or clothes, the hallway, and then a room with an oven. Next to the oven you had a sleeping ledge. There was no porch, just a large room. 

—Where were the icons?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Above the table. There was a ledge on the stove and a matress made of either rushes or straw. Little children would sleep on the floor, and the adults would bring in some hay and sleep next to them. They would also bring the lambs and the calves in for the winter. When I was sleeping there, one lamb would come to hide in my coat and sleep with me. 

—Did everyone in your village join the kolhosp?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not everyone joined at once. The assemblies were called in each neighborhood. “Who wants to join the kolhosp?” — “Add me.” — “What do you have?” — “A wife and four children.” They were enrolled. Those who had the horses didn’t join. What would they use to plow the land in the kolhosp? Those who had less land and no horses joined right away. In the next few days, they called another assembly. At first, we had the SOZ, and then the kolhospy. 

—Were the seredniaky forced to join the kolhosp?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Well, the seredniaky joined. They were holding off a bit, but they were quickly forced. In 1929 the evictions of the rich began, and they joined the kohlosp. All land was mixed together and redistributed. You could not find the land that you had owned. The fields were split into plots in a totally different way: 120 fathoms one way or the other; it was called a cell. A desiatyna had 20 fathoms; this was six desiatyny; they set uneven boundaries and transferred it all into hectares. Those who got land plots in the ravine after the land redistribution got another 0.1 hectares on top of that. 

—How did those who didn’t join the SOZ live?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They continued to lease the land. This was all done in one year. In a SOZ, we just sowed the crop one time in the summer, and the winter crops were planted in the kolhosp. 

—How were those who did not want to join the kolhosp treated?

Ivan Serhiiovych: There were few such people in our village. Those who didn’t join the kolhosp and were not subject to exile because they were poor received land plots at the edge of the field because that land was not convenient. If someone didn’t join the kolhosp, they got land and were taxed with grain delivery [to the state]. That person would not fulfill that obligation because he had no crop. They came to his house and took everything he had, including any food he had in the pots. They would bring it all to the kolhosp, weigh it, and leave it there. 

—Did people steal from the kolhosp?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They cut the spikelets during the famine, and they were sentenced to three years. Otherwise, they didn’t steal—they took some food. Stealing is when you break into someone’s property; if it’s in the kolhosp, it’s not theft. The person works there and he takes some. When they started putting people on trial, the guard started checking the pockets and the bags. Everyone would be checked to make sure they didn’t have a single grain on them. 

—When did people start supporting collective property?

Ivan Serhiiovych: After the famine in 1935 or 1936. The harvest was good in 1937, so we got seven kilograms of bread per workday and 50 kopiiky cash. Everyone supported the kolhosp. I gave my plow, horses, and harrows to the kolhosp; everyone remembered their property. We gave the state our grain to sow and feed the cattle, and whatever was left was to pay for work, so everyone cheered for the collective property to work out.  

—Were there any people who told ancient legends or tales?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. 

—Did men and women gather separately?

Ivan Serhiiovych: The girls went to hodenky (dosvitky), not the women. As soon as the girl got married, that was it; she would stay at home. Men used to go to play cards, and there was a book called Ne liubo, ne slukhai, brekhat ne mishai [A folk saying that translates as “if you don’t like it, don’t listen, but don’t prevent me from telling stories”]. This was before the Tsarist war, and people also read Kobzar. At the time, there weren’t many educated people in the village, and people would gather at the house of the person who had a smaller family and a larger house. 

—What did the men talk about?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They didn’t talk about farming. They would either play cards or read a book. One book [a fantasy] was about a family where a father died and the son and the grandfather were in charge of the farmstead. They used turkeys to plow the land and get the milk. A wolf damaged the pipe while they were milking the turkey; the milk got spilled and washed off the wolf who fell into a barrel, and the lady of the house made cheese and baked pies and took them to the field. The grandfather and his grandson were trying to split the pie, but it didn’t work, so they put it onto a wheel; the pie got split and the wolf jumped out of it. That was the story in the book. 

—Was there a church choir in the village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. There was one woman who was a good singer and a few others who organized the choir, but our deacon was a drunkard. Krups’kiy was the choirmaster. Girls and men would sing, not boys. 

—How many voices were in the choir?

Ivan Serhiiovych: I don’t know. 

—Was the choir gone during collectivization?

Ivan Serhiiovych: In 1929, the priest was evicted, and the church services stopped.

—Were there any musicians in the village? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. 

—Did they play fiddle? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: The harmonia. 

—Did anyone play wind instruments? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: In the landowner’s enterprise, the landowners would hire the musicians among their people to play at dinners. They would play for an hour and get paid; the landowners would dance. 

—Was there a club in your village during collectivization? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. 

—Did the musicians play there? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Back then, we had silent films and harmonia players. 

—Did the startsi go around the village? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Why would they? They used to come before the war, before the Revolution. The war began in August 1914. 

—Did they play any instruments? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: They played a kobza. They would get together, sit down, and play. 

—Did they play the hurdy-gurdy? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes, and the music box, too. 

—Did they sit on the market? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes, on the market. A son of one farmer met a starets’s daughter but was not allowed to date her. He insisted and said that he would harm himself if they didn’t let him date her. After a while, his father let him bring her home. Back in the day, the tradition was for the groom’s father to go to the bride’s father. He came out and said, “My son Stepan wants to marry your daughter Nastia.” — “If he wants to, let them live together. If you can be my guide, I will let Nastia marry your son.” The groom’s father went back home to discuss this with his wife. They talked to their son again, “Come on, son. Stop this. I won’t be a blind man’s guide. People will laugh at me.” — “I won’t marry anyone else. Only Nastia.” They gave it a thought and let him marry her. His father went to see her father again, “I’ll be your guide, but not in my village.” He had a horse, and so they drove the horse around the village asking for alms. They went around one village and collected 438 kilograms of grain in a day. The next day they went to another village and collected a good deal of grain again. The farmer said to the blind man, “Do you have any other villages in mind?” — “No, none.” At first, he didn’t want to go, but he liked it. He came to his wife and said, “You know, it’s not such a bad job. We collected more grain this way than we normally harvest from a hectare of land.” And so they became friends. I visited them… He was poor, too, but they went around asking for grain and they saved the money because they had a daughter. There were sticks like little tubes; you could fit a 10-rubli note in it. And they saved enough. The father of the bride gave the groom’s father one of these sticks as a gift, but the groom’s father got angry and threw it away into the chicken coop. Some time later, they came to visit their in-laws, “What did you do with the stick I gave you, son?” — “I threw it away somewhere.” — “You shouldn’t have. Take another look at it.” — “What for?” — “Well, take a look.” A handle was screwed to the tube. He told his daughter to take a look inside. She unscrewed the handle and saw the money inside, about 500. One could be very rich with that amount of money. They went to another village, and the guy’s parents started hating the starets’s daughter because she was beautiful. They put her out of the house and sent her to ask for alms. They took that stick with the money, moved to another village and bought a large homestead there. People in the village were wondering where he got the money. He covered his house with metal and had horses and cows, and his wife was such a landlady. Then this man’s father’s house burned down. At the time, the starosta gave such people a document confirming that their house burned down and allowing them to ask for alms. There was a law that if this was the case, people had no right to refuse them. So, they went around their village asking for help and went to the village where their son lived. They came to visit him, but saw their daughter-in-law in the house and her mother-in-law left right away. Her son stopped her, “Why are you running away, mother?” They invited them to the house to calm down. Their son served them dinner and asked what made them go around asking for alms. They told him. Their son had two children by then. That’s the moral: not to offend the poor and the startsi. They chased the startsi away, and they themselves became the startsi. 

—Was it considered a sin to offend a starets’? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. 

—How did people treat the startsi during collectivization? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: We were all startsi [here, “paupers”] at the time. Back then, land was given to the people. Some people were poor and didn’t have any land. There were some unmarried guys—no one wanted to marry them because they didn’t have a farm. So these guys would go to work as day laborers. There was one who lived in a khutir here. He had a house with one window and no roof. He went asking for alms in the summer and winter. He had nothing. The girls would become nuns if they were poor and no one married them. She would get to the age of 25 and then become a nun or a hired laborer. There was a type of people called prodaidusha [literally: “sell your soul”]. This person would go to another village and they would look for [day laborers]. Now it’s called an employment office. If someone wants to get hired, they go to a prodaidusha, “Find me a job, Miss.” If you want to get hired, you go to her and register. She can recommend you to those who need laborers because they would also come to see her and pay her 20 or so kopiiky. 

—Did people sing koliadky in your village during collectivization?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No, they didn’t. Somehow it was out of fashion. Children would do posypannia, but no one went singing koliadky. It all ended in 1929. The priest was driven out of his house, and the church was closed. The church was turned into a barn to store grain. The priest’s children were of school age, but no school would take them, so they left the village. Few men would study because you had to pay for school and rent an apartment. They only had three years of schooling and some education at the parochial school. It was different at the time: there were schools with one and two classes. If there were five groups, and the program was divided into six, it was considered a school with two classes. But there were three groups. 

—Did you go to school? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: I completed three groups. A parochial school was the highest degree of education. 

—What did you do after school? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: I worked at home. My father was drafted in 1914, and I had a brother. We were little, and we were in charge of the house. But my brother died in 1924; he was the oldest in the family. During the Revolution, we were farming, too. One sister died in 1933, and one brother died during the famine. 

—When did you get married? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: In 1931. 

—Did you marry a khaziaiin’s daughter? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: They were seredniaky, like us. 

—What did she bring with her? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Nothing. Her dowry was gone by then. She was completely illiterate; her brothers went to school, but she didn’t. She took a liknep [campaign against illiteracy – likvidatsia nepys’mennosti] course and learned to read and write. 

—Were you a liknep teacher? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. What was there to teach? Just the ability to sign her name. They didn’t pay for this teaching at the time; this was an obligation to fulfill. 

—Were you a komsomolets’? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. I taught in two village neighborhoods. As soon as they learned to sign their name that was good enough. One woman was sweating while learning to write. 

—Were these people forced to learn or did they want to learn? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: They were forced. If a person was illiterate, they had to go. If they didn’t, they’d be summoned to the village council. 

—What were your principal tasks? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: I went to the kolhosp to work at the time. I worked in the field. There were no liknep classes in the summer, only in the winter and the fall. You had to go get the kerosene, notebooks, and pencils. The village council provided all this. I came to my mother and said, “Mother, one gram, and that’s the end.”

—Prior to this, did you tell your mother who you were going to marry? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes, of course. 

—But there was no matchmaking, right? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: You could marry whoever you wanted. You were choosing a wife for yourself, not for me. 

—Were there any komsomol’ weddings at the time? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. There was one “red” wedding. It was organized by the ruling administrators. The bride was a shock worker in our kolhosp named after Shevchenko. They slaughtered an ox and gave them many centers of grain. All the shock workers went to attend the wedding, and I was a shock worker, too, so I went along. This was in winter, so I went by sleigh. We came, and the students there were shouting, running, and drinking. “Go!” they shouted. When we came back we had memories of that wedding for a long time. 

—What did the bride and the groom wear? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: I didn’t see them. We left in the evening, and they were very drunk. There was a fight. The administrators drank and ate, hit these folks with spires, and left. The wedding was “red” indeed. 

—When you were a child, would all the relatives come to a wedding? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: All. 

—Was matchmaking mandatory? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: It depends. If it was a guy, he would choose the girl. Before the Revolution, the groom’s father would choose the bride. 

—Who did people invite as matchmakers before the Revolution? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Relatives of close neighbors. I wasn’t a matchmaker for anyone. They make things up. There was no matchmaking in our village. A couple would go to town and sign the documents, that was all. The dowry coffers began in 1900, or earlier. My mother had one when she was getting married. She got married in 1896 and had a coffer at the time. My grandmother said she had a coffer, too. And prior to that, in the 1800s, they would take the girl for a show outside the windows and weave a round straw basket [for the dowry] with a locker. This is true. They would put clothes into it and drive oxen or cows by other people’s houses. They would ride in and say, “Where are the guys here?” — “We don’t have any here, but they do in that house,” and the people would point to the house. The girl was of marrying age, but there were no matchmakers, so the parents would put her in a cart and take her around like that: Zdoloben’or zdoloben,’ and the girl would sit in the cart and say zdoloben’ [local word zdoloben’ unknown meaning]. They would open the gate and ride in. The hosts would take a look at them, “Come in.” They could come in and make arrangements. They would take a look at the bride and how she says hello. Then they’d have a drink. The groom would come later. “Here, son, we have a bride. This will be your wife. If you like her, let it happen.” That was all. 

—They were the matchmakers for their own daughter? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: This was the way; they did it by themselves, what can you do? And she stayed to live there. This is all changing. 

—Did people sing at home?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. If there was a khram, then they would come to sing. In our village, khram was on the spring Mykolai until 1929 [Saint Nicholas’ Day on May 22]. There was Mykolaivs’ka Church, and we belonged to its parish, but we didn’t go frequently. In our village Vil’shany, khram was not celebrated as much. Other villages—Zhurovka, Petryky, and Medyntsi—used to laugh at our village because our people would buy all the locks from the shop to lock our houses during khram. We used to celebrate the holiday, but not frequently. Sometimes, our neighbors would come to our village for the holiday. We also had relatives: my aunt, my father’s sister. She would also come to Mykolaivs’ka Church for the spring holiday. My father’s aunt’s village had a khram every year on Varvara’s Day [December 17]. My father goes there. 

—Did people in your family sing koliadky?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. Boys and girls from the church did. Boys would carry a star around, sometimes for two days. Girls would get together separately and go singing koliadky. Those from the church would go around carrying a star and a mug—people would put money into it. All of the donations were for the church. 

—Did men go singing koliadky?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not the married ones. Neither men, nor women. Boys would not go caroling on their own; only if they were from the church. 

—Did people sing spring songs in your village? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. Girls would only gather for Kupala Night and put the wreaths on the water. 

—During collectivization, was it forbidden for the girls to gather for Kupala Night? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: No, not forbidden. The kolhosp also had celebrations by the pond. 

—Did people in your village celebrate the mermaid week around Pentecost? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: The women celebrated it. 

—What about the girls? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. The women under 40 would gather to celebrate. 

—Where did they go? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: They would just gather and have a drink. They didn’t go anywhere. There was no place to go in our village; we had no pond. 

—Did they go to the fields to have dinner? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: They would go to the house of one of the women, but even that was very rare. Our life was more urban. The club was set up in the former synagogue. The Jews had been evicted, and the club had been set up. The Jewish synagogue was on the hill, and they [Soviet power] took the building in 1926. 

—What songs did people sing in the club? Do you remember? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: There was a play Natalka Poltavka and they also showed silent films. I didn’t go there often. Potters used to bring pots to sell on the market in our village Vil’shany. Everyone would come to the market to buy pots that were made in the village of Hnyle. 

—How much did they charge for the bowls?

Ivan Serhiiovych: I didn’t buy them. A pot the size of half a liter would cost one kopiika. How do I know this? Because one man here was on his way to see his kum, and the priest lived across the street. He said, “Ivan Ivanovych, you know it’s Monday today.” They brought the child for baptism because at the time you had to baptize the child on the third day after it was born; you could not wait longer than that. Sometimes, the lights would be on all night long until they baptize the child. Otherwise, the devil would exchange it for an unbaptized infant. Once they baptized the child, they could turn the lights off. If not, the lights had to be on the whole night. We had half a kopiika and a quarter of a kopiika. They were called shah and polushah. I don’t know what you could buy with a quarter of a kopiika. The money was so devalued. 

—Besides Jews, what other nationalities were there in your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Poles and one Russian. There were also the Krakusi, the Poles who joined the army in Poland and weren’t subjects of the state here. They were the workers; they baked bagels. One was a saddler; there were few of them here. They were not the subjects of the state; they joined the army in Poland. They didn’t own land. They were also the day laborers who worked for Branits’ka; our enterprise belonged to Branits’ka. All the landowners had agricultural enterprises. She would call them to report in Bila Tserkva and say, “You were given land. How much income did the desiatyna render?” He would say, “150 rubli.” — “That’s too little. Sit down.”

—What language did the landowners’ servants speak?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Russian and Ukrainian. They were various people. 

— What language did the Jews speak?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They spoke their language between themselves and Ukrainian here. Let me finish my story. So, she called the other person, “You were given land. How much income did the desiatyna render?” He would say, “200 karbovantsi.” — She thought about it for some time, “Thank you. Sit down. What about yours?” The next person says 180 or something like that. She said, “That’s not enough. You’re not a good manager of your farmstead.” So, he would not be working there anymore. He didn’t say anything, but he knew. This is how she monitored the land. 

—What was the language of the church services?

Ivan Serhiiovych: The priest read from a book in Old Church Slavonic, and the sermon was in Ukrainian. They lived here, so they were Ukrainians. The priest was important; people would remove their hats to greet him. The priest of the Uspens’ka Church was a carpenter, too. When I was a schoolboy, I came home and said to my mother, “I saw the priest wearing trousers.” She slapped me on the face, “You, troublemaker! What are you saying?” I started crying, and when my father asked what happened, I told him the story. My father was not very religious, but my mother was. My father used to go to church on Christmas and Easter to fast and attend the service before taking communion. 

—What was the language of the administration?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Russian. I went to school, and it was in Russian. There was no Ukrainian language there. 

—Could you buy books in Ukrainian?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Books would come through the school; they were not sold on the market. 

—Where did people get the book Kobzar?

Ivan Serhiiovych: We didn’t have a bookstore; there was a small Russian-language library in the school. Old people had that old, old Kobzar, a thick book of poems. It had stories about everything, including Vil’shany and the Jews. Now they have thrown everything away and changed it. 

—When did people start using both Russian and Ukrainian?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Everyone spoke Ukrainian; nobody spoke Russian. Russian was taught at school. I still remember the poem “Chto ty spish, muzhychok?” [“Why are you sleeping, little man?” It was a 1839 poem by Alexei Kol’tsov]. 

—Where did you buy icons?

Ivan Serhiiovych: We used to say obrazy [“picture”] for icons. They were commissioned through the church, and the Russians would bring them to the market. We would buy them there. 

—Were there icon painters in your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not in our village. Back in the day, there were no paintings or photos. They started appearing after the Revolution, in 1926. 

—Did you have any icons in your house?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. We had some here, too, but they were old and damaged. I took them home. 

—Were they painted on wood?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They had wooden frames. 

—Did you put an altar lamp near an icon?

Ivan Serhiiovych: At the time, it was mandatory to put an altar lamp where the icon was. 

—When did you light the altar lamp?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Saturday evening and Sunday morning; the lamp was on while the church service was in progress until 12 o’clock. We would also light a lamp on all the major holidays: Easter, Christmas, and Pentecost. 

—Did you put rushnyky on the icons?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. 

—Woven or embroidered ones?

Ivan Serhiiovych: We called them “rus’ki”—long, red ones. We didn’t use the woven ones because they were short. 

—Did people embroider the rushnyky themselves? 

Ivan Serhiiovych: Some people in our village embroidered them, not everyone. Those who worked in their farmsteads did not embroider because they had pigs, cows, sheep, and horses to take care of and also had to spin yarn. If there were girls in the house and a smaller farmstead, people embroidered. My [wife] embroidered using the running stitch technique [kuriachyi brid]. Do you know what it is? These are the narrow stitches. 

—Did they do any Hardanger embroidery [liakhivka]?

Ivan Serhiiovych: There was no such fashion in our village. They made cuts on Hardanger embroidery. 

—Where did people embroider the running stitch?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Men would bring their shirt-fronts [manishky] to the women [for embroidery]. My wife made me a shirt with a dickey. 

—When a person died, did people put icons into the coffin?

Ivan Serhiiovych: If this was a woman, they would put an icon of Virgin Mary; if this was a man, they would put an icon of Jesus or St. Nicholas. 

—When people were seeing someone off to the army, did they use the icons?

Ivan Serhiiovych: When I was on my way to the army, I just put my bag over the shoulder and left. My father gave me some teachings, not blessings. 

—Did people give blessings with the icons before the Revolution?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No, there was nothing like this before the Revolution. If there was a gathering, the priest would administer a service. 

—Would people sometimes get angry with an icon if it wasn’t helping them?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. During my time, this was declining. 

—Did people use to say that the spirit of the dead lived behind the icons?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not in our village. No. 

—Would people cover the icons if they were partying in the house?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. Only if there was a deceased person in the house; then they would cover the mirrors. 

—Were there any khresni khody during Soviet times?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. 

—Do you remember how the church was demolished in your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Why don’t I remember? The bells were removed first and the church was looted. This was in 1937 or 1938. 

—What did people think about this?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No one went to that church; it had to be maintained and repaired. Some were gasping in sadness, and others were wondering why keep the church. Different opinions. Young people didn’t go to church much, and the old ones would have liked to keep it. It didn’t bother anyone. But it had to be maintained and repaired. Grain was kept there and there was a winnowing machine inside. Everything was dusty. At times, we had no firewood to keep it warm, so the village council took [parts of the church] for firewood. So, we all burned it. 

—Was there public bidding?

Ivan Serhiiovych: This was in 1919. The Germans burned some structures down; some fell apart; some remained. The soldiers that came back from the war got one horse per two persons. 

—Were there artisans in your village?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Artisans? There were the Swedish cobblers. The main shoemaker was named Kachan. He used to make knee-high boots from chrome-tanned leather. They cost 15 rubli. 

—What type of leather was used to make boots?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Chrome-tanned leather. It was good quality. People would order boots from Kachan, and he chose the leather himself. 

—Did the cobblers make bast shoes?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not in our village. 

—What about women’s morshchni [a special boot; the thin material of the top part could be folded down to the shoe part]?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not in our village. Men and women used to wear rubber overshoes to walk on the snow. 

—What did people wear in winter?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Boots. 

—What did they wear in the harvested fields?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They walked barefoot. I worked as a tally clerk, and I would go barefoot to the field, all the time. 

—Did people make work boots [chuni]?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. People would walk barefoot, before and after the war. 

—Were there weavers?

Ivan Serhiiovych: I am a weaver myself. During the Revolution we used to weave two threads by two [“basket weave”?] because we did it manually. We had to weave enough cloth for the pants and the shirt. 

—Were the pants made of linen?

Ivan Serhiiovych: They were made of wool and hemp. These were the adult pants. 

—Were they dyed?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Not the woolen ones. People would dye the linen ones. Some used powder, and others—elderflower. There were many weavers. I used to weave cloth, rushnyky, belts, bags, and tablecloths. No one in our village made tablecloths; I was the first to do this. 

—What patterns did you use to weave the tablecloths?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Two-sided stitches [koropova luska], ‘buckwheat’ [hrechechka], ‘Solanum’ [paslin], and a wavy pattern [kryvul’ka]. 

—Where did you get the red thread?

Ivan Serhiiovych: We used to buy it. 

—What was it called?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Zapoloch. 

—How was it sold?

Ivan Serhiiovych: In small skeins. The rough threads [val] were spun from linen on the tablecloth and then bleached in the sun, the same way the cloth is bleached. It would be moistened and spread out on the grass. Once it dried, it was moistened and spread out again—this is when it would turn white. One summer was not enough to whiten it out completely; you had to do this during two summers or else repeat this more frequently over the course of one summer. Young people didn’t do this, but the old ones did. 

—Describe the rough threads.

Ivan Serhiiovych: They came in skeins, removed from a swift and soaked in water. Then people would spread it on the grass and let it get whitened by the sun. The same goes for rushnyky: the same type of yarn and the same weaving techniques. I donated one rushnyk to our local museum. 

—Did you make rushnyky or tablecloths for sale?

Ivan Serhiiovych: No. 

—Any commissions?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Yes. People would bring me the warp [osnova] and yarn [val], and I would weave. 

—How much were you paid for this?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Before the kolhosp, I was paid 30 kopiiky per arshine. I used to weave in the winter and work the land in the summer; I wasn’t married. 

—More often, was weaving done by men or women?

Ivan Serhiiovych: Mostly women. I was an apprentice of one weaver in Zhurovka. The old people did this. 

—How much did you pay that old weaver for the lessons?

Ivan Serhiiovych: I paid, of course. I took half a liter of alcohol, pickled watermelon, and a kilogram of herring from the store. I went with my acquaintances, “Father, he wants to learn to weave.” He had many students in Zhurovka, but they didn’t learn well. He gave me a long look. I said, “I’m the only one from Vil’shany, and I’m not your competitor. I only want to learn.” “Let’s have dinner.” I put a liter of alcohol and some bread on the table; this was in 1924. He had a drink and said, “Alright, son, if you’re a weaver, I’ll teach you.” He told me how to set up a loom. I wrote it all down and practiced with him; he showed me how to do everything. I was eager to learn, so I learned. I gave him a bag of rye, and that was all. Then people started bringing me yarn and I charged them for work. I made one ruble per day; back in the day, this was good money. I didn’t go to parties; I would just sit and weave. Only on Sundays I didn’t work. I bought my own clothes and shoes; I paid for everything myself.