#Bakalo Hryhoriy Omelkovych

[dontforgetukraine]

Hryhoriy Bakalo, Photo - 1953

"I am Bakalo Hryhoriy Omelkovych. I was born at the end of 1923 in the village of Bohuslav. There were seven children in our family. We lived together with our grandfather and grandmother, Yavdokha.

We were not wealthy, but, for those times,we were not poor either. We were considered well-to-do. They demanded our father join the collective farm: they often came to our house and threatened him.

Little Vasyl was afraid of strangers and cried,so our mother took him out of the house. So he caught a cold and died.

When joining the collective farm, my father gave away the horses and all the livestock, so only a cow remained in our own household. As a successful owner, my father was appointed either foreman or head of the collective farm stable.

The farmers from the collective farm reluctantly accepted the collective farm (it could be called silent sabotage), and treated the collective farm poorly. A rider could leave a horse warmed up by running in the cold, etc.

In the end, poor care, lack of fodder, and unsuitable premises with the onset of autumn cold led to the death of horses. My father was accused of this.

He had an opportunity to "make amends": they offered him to organise the seizure of horses from those people who had not yet joined the collective farm. He did not agree, so he was arrested.

My father's arrest was a signal that a brigade would come to confiscate property.They came to us to seize our property on a horse-drawn sleigh (late November - early December 1932).This entire confiscation brigade included local peasants, but as they said, "not ours" led them.

It was very difficult to hide something from the brigade of collectors. They took everything with them, even clothes and canvas. They burned the icons right in the middle of the yard.

Using sticks, they found two sacks of wheat, one of flour, pine cones and seeds buried by my father in the yard. The utensils from the oven, including the dish in it, were also taken.

In total, they took eight carriages of goods (food, clothing, household goods, utensils, cloth, potatoes). They also took the cow, chickens, ducks - meat; before that, my father had slaughtered a heifer, so they took it too (it was hanging in the attic).

They did not find only the bag of flour, hidden in the barn under the barrel. I think that the older ones could have gone somewhere and there, maybe even survived, but they were "blacklisting" right after the arrest of our father. They were not allowed to leave the village.

Our mother cooked soup from the bag of flour left, and what she managed to exchange for clothes and jewelry (a necklace): water and a little flour...

By the spring, in February, when it got a little warmer, everyone was so exhausted that they could only lie down. Only I walked. I remember my sister calling: "Hrysha, go catch a frog and bring it to me."

I walked around the garden, went down to the river and then came back. "No," I said. And she asked: "Give me the scissors, I'll cut my hair and eat it." I handed over them and stood at a distance. She suddenly threw them at me, almost hitting me.

Later, my sister bit the skin on her fingers. Our mother beat her and wrapped her fingers with rags, but she took off the rags and again bit and sucked her fingers.

Our mother poured soup,and I carried it to my brothers.When I ate my share,I was sitting waiting, maybe,something else left for me.Mother:"Take it to Arkhyp." I brought it,and he said:"Put my bowl down,I don't need it." Then he died. Ivan didn't ask anything, he died quietly.

In March and April, everyone died except for me, Kolia and our mother. Our mother periodically, twice or even three times a week, went away to exchange that junk. And my brother and I wandered around the village.

My brother did not want to walk because he was thin, his legs and arms were like sticks, and his stomach was huge and transparent: the liver and intestines were visible.

My father returned seven months later after he had been taken away, in May, unshaven for seven months, scary, barely able to move his swollen legs wrapped in rags. My mother wasn't at home.

And I said: "Dad, now we will survive - there are only four of us: you, mom, Kolia, and me," and Father only replied: "They took all my strength there." The next morning, he went to the collective farm to sharpen scythes.

In the evening, he brought a quarter of a beet and some soup - he earned for the day. He gave it to us, told us to eat little by little, and lay down and wheezed. Foam came out of the mouth and nose. I ran to our neighbour, saying: "Something is wrong with dad."

She came, looked - "your father died." She covered him with a black blanket. He had been lying like that for two days until our mother came. Everything she earned was spent on the coffin and digging the grave..."

The carriage came to take him to the cemetery, and our neighbour came, asking: "Take my Pylyp to the cemetery too (the neighbour's son was my age). As I won't be able to take him there..." They took Pylyp away. On the way, someone else was taken away.

A storm broke out there. Thunder, lightning, rain, wind. The diggers quickly left. My mother covered the hole with her own hands..."

Source: Holodomor Museum