Anatoly Yasinsky biography

I think that everyone else has come to the first time I thought when I was barely 16 years old, under very dramatic circumstances, which I will talk about a little later. Before sitting down for this, I painfully thought about whether it was worth doing this topic for a long time. On the one hand, she has very much occupied me since the same 16 years.

For many years, I have constantly thought about it. Many times I wanted to buy a recorder and in the most detailed way to ask the then still living grandmother on my mother’s line, father, mother, rummage in the archives. But in the rather stormy circumstances of the then life, everything was somehow not time for this. Now there is no grandmother, nor dad, nor mom, and there is no one to ask.

In the affairs of my service for many years, I had to wander a lot throughout the entire former Soviet Union. And even then I made it a rule, in every place where I was, to buy a set of postcards with the types of this place and, necessarily, with the number of the main local newspaper. In addition, I had a long-term habit of keeping a “work book”, where I was in sufficient detail, I wasolated a day to do everything I wanted to do and what I did.

There could be no better material for further reproduction of events. This was also a subconscious collecting of material for future memories.

I also lost everything, or almost all these materials as a result of very dramatic events. But this is also later. On the other hand, recently, as a result of the already tragic circumstances for me, I have been left alone. Almost one. No, of course, there is a son who urges me to write the story of our family. Probably my other relatives and friends will be interesting.

But, by coincidence, all the same dramatic circumstances, I know that no one will follow my son and the surname, at least in our branch, will be interrupted. Labor is large. Life to go - do not cross the field. And a piece of “Stalinism”, and “Khrushchev’s thaw”, and “Brezhnev’s stagnation”, and the treacherous “Gorbachevsky coup”, and the new, “Putin Putin”, and a long life abroad, got to my share.

Again, for a long time I considered my last name rare. Well, I met in the Pereyaslavsky Rada this name from one of the associates of Bogdan Khmelnitsky. Well, there was such a gentry colonel and poet Jacob Yasinsky, whom the Polish writer Marian Brandis recalls in his story about the adjutant Napoleon Sulkovsky. This surname is found in literature a couple of times. But what does this have to do with me and my family, I had no idea.

Years, five ago on the Internet page "Odnoklassniki" the Yasinsky community arose. I was quietly stunned when in a short time more people registered on it. I tried to talk with this community of Yasinsky. And it quickly became clear that all of them, like me, have no concepts about their ancestors. Like in an old fairy tale, "go there - I don’t know where, find it, I don’t know what." Although statistics say that every third namesake is a relative.

I do not blame myself, I do not blame these people. For centuries, the lives of our families have been overlapped so many times and so cool that the loss of their roots has become normal. It’s good that now interest in this is waking up. Thinking all this, I thought everything, but who needs it? I will leave, over time my son will leave, not leaving the heirs. And this work will go to kindle fireplace.

Moreover, there is already sad experience. Throughout my life, I published three collections of poems and a documentary story about my latter, and, probably, the only true love. And even among the closest people he repeatedly noticed during conversations, especially behind the glass that they did not read these books. Yes, probably leafed through, yes, probably, the pictures were watched.

But to read, and even more so to read, few people found it difficult. So is it worth it? And on the other hand, that I am losing. A pensioner who died with idleness and boredom. The old man, suppressed by the permostrical loss of a loved one and gradually going crazy with longing. What am I losing? And I don’t need to find anything. Who cares will read it. Who needs is the benefit, which will be removed.

And so they will melt the fireplace - again, the benefits. I will be in the case for some time. I will write. Without a plan, without ideological and other psychological bells out. A year after year, day after day, that I remember and keep in my heart. So, it seems, Andrei Pechersky, outlined his work. It may well be that I will never finish this work.

It was painfully long, confused and intense, this short life was. Immediately and in advance I apologize for meticulous critics for possible inaccuracies. I deliberately do not attract notes that remained within the wholeness of notes and documents. Let for the curious this be another experiment on the reliability of human memory. It is not for nothing that they say that there is nothing more reliable than the memory of veterans, because they remember even that which has never happened.

The phenomenon is what I mean about. Well, of course, first about how I was born.My mother, nee Anna Savushkina, was the daughter of the mother’s stories of the royal sailor Dementia Savushkin. Grandfather Dementia returned from the Russian-Japanese war of the year crippled. They lived in the village of Tsarevo, near Tula. The family was not large. That is, according to legends, my grandmother Maria gave birth not a few.

But there were three alive, as often happened then. The eldest son Vasily, the dad also has an older brother - Vasily - the magic of names will accompany us throughout this story. My mother is mediocre, and the youngest daughter of Praskovya. Grandfather Dementia crippled in the war, before the deadline, went into another world. In search of a better life, the elder brother Vasily went in search of earnings.

At the end of the 10ths of the last century, it brought him in a fair wind to Leningrad. And he settled there, apparently his hand was a baguette, that is, a master for the production of baguette frames for paintings as much as the Hermitage itself. In the year he managed to buy near Leningrad, in the village of Kovalevo, a small house. Mom somewhere in the year she got a nanny in the Moscow family of Toli himself composer Dunaevsky, his brother's felts.

She worked for them for three years, and in the year she moved to her brother near Leningrad. It’s funny, sad, but my mother remembered all her life how she once, along with the Dunaevsky, was at the Bolshoi Theater on the opera “Tsarist Bride”. This was her first and last visit to the theater. But in forty years, she talked about that visit. What should have been a stupid “theater” so that I would never offer my mother at least something from Marinka.

After work, Dunaevsky had with money. And although she graduated only to the 4th grade of the parish school, she was enough read enough, ginger with her mind, and took it with a look. She was all right with this. She could expose for hours the events of the last week in their village. Soon her brother Vasily arranged for the enviable position of the forwarder at the Kalinin factory in Leningrad.

Military plant, forwarder is a responsible position with the corresponding salary. And the brother and sister healed the soul into the soul. We saw only rarely. Vasily is all at work, Anna is all on the trip. In the year, they called to Leningrad and the younger sister with Grandma Maria. The house was two rooms for two meters, but a kitchen is 6 meters, yes, yes shed.

There were enough places for four. But it was difficult to feed everyone. The youngest sister Praskovya still wanted to study, Grandma Maria, except for homework, was not suitable for anything.