Post by dixieflyer on Jul 17, 2010 20:32:38 GMT -5
I am glad I met Mike Ellis, aka “Squirrely” for a number of reasons. Aside from being a great reenactor and living history enthusiast, he gave me a copy of Comes the Comrade!, his favorite book about the RKKA soldier at the end of WWII. Written by Alexnadra Orme, it was evidently selected by the editor of the Book of the Month Club as one of their selections in 1950. I have been able to find next to nothing regarding the author aside from what is included in one review on Amazon. Alexandra Orme described herself as Polish, born in Warsaw, and educated abroad in Switzerland, Germany, and England. Ms. Orme’s book describes her experiences of being “liberated” by the RKKA in Hungary from December of ’44 onwards. In many ways it is little different from other books detailing the same thing from other women from this time, minus the horror. One must wonder if she either edited it out so that it could be published in the U.S., or if she had some other reason. If you read carefully between the lines, it is there though.
The real treasure for us in this as reenactors are her descriptions of the Soviet soldiers. She is a great observer of human nature, and for a reenacting/living history standpoint her descriptions give us a great amount of information if your impression is that of a RKKA soldier from the Fall of ’44 to the end of the war.
When the Soviets first arrived on her brother-in-law’s property, the first soldier they met asked her if the family had any valuables. She replied in the affirmative, and the frontovik told her to go bury it right then as there were soldiers fifteen minutes behind him that would take everything they had like a flight of locusts. Afterward, that evening, the Soviet troops wanted her and her husband to have a drink with them. She goes on to describe the scene, and I give this to you, her interpretation of Soviet “cap language”
“Our conversation grew louder and louder, more and more lively. The soldier’s caps began traveling about their heads at amazing speed: from over the right ear to the left; from over their eyes on to the backs of their heads. For you must know that a Russian soldier’s cap is far from being just a covering for his head. If I had to deal with a dumb Russian soldier, I could guess his innermost feelings simply the movements of his cap. The cap serves to express those feeling for which there are no words in imperfect human speech. The Red Army camp, as we came to realize has a language of its own. That, no doubt, is why it is taken off only in extreme cases and then only high-ranking officers who are much less impulsive than the rank and file, and most who do seem to find the Russian language, of the richest in the world, adequate to express their joy, surprise or repulsion. Here is a short lesson cap-language. Raised with both hands two inches above the head it betokens great excitement. (This may be joy at the sight of a jug of wine, or at the news of a victory.) Pushed slowly back on to the nape of the neck, is expresses weariness or meditation, or it may also mean that its owner wanted to say something but has forgotten what. (Uncovering of the forehead obviously helps the memory.) Pulled down on to the forehead, sometimes so low that the eyes are scarcely visible is a clear indication of anger. (During descriptions of the ruin and devastation doe not the Ukrainian towns all caps invariably descend over their owner’s eyes.) Cocked over one ear, left or right, the cap expresses astonishment, perplexity, shyness, and, sometimes exuberance. When its owner is sober, the cap travels slowly; after a few vodkas, its movements become much more lively.
This explains why the caps of Ivan and his comrades began to travel from their foreheads to the backs of their heads, and from right ear to left ear, nowhere stopping longer than the thoughts in the heads they covered.”
Orme, Alexandra. Comes the Comrade! Morrow, 1949. pp 19-20
The real treasure for us in this as reenactors are her descriptions of the Soviet soldiers. She is a great observer of human nature, and for a reenacting/living history standpoint her descriptions give us a great amount of information if your impression is that of a RKKA soldier from the Fall of ’44 to the end of the war.
When the Soviets first arrived on her brother-in-law’s property, the first soldier they met asked her if the family had any valuables. She replied in the affirmative, and the frontovik told her to go bury it right then as there were soldiers fifteen minutes behind him that would take everything they had like a flight of locusts. Afterward, that evening, the Soviet troops wanted her and her husband to have a drink with them. She goes on to describe the scene, and I give this to you, her interpretation of Soviet “cap language”
“Our conversation grew louder and louder, more and more lively. The soldier’s caps began traveling about their heads at amazing speed: from over the right ear to the left; from over their eyes on to the backs of their heads. For you must know that a Russian soldier’s cap is far from being just a covering for his head. If I had to deal with a dumb Russian soldier, I could guess his innermost feelings simply the movements of his cap. The cap serves to express those feeling for which there are no words in imperfect human speech. The Red Army camp, as we came to realize has a language of its own. That, no doubt, is why it is taken off only in extreme cases and then only high-ranking officers who are much less impulsive than the rank and file, and most who do seem to find the Russian language, of the richest in the world, adequate to express their joy, surprise or repulsion. Here is a short lesson cap-language. Raised with both hands two inches above the head it betokens great excitement. (This may be joy at the sight of a jug of wine, or at the news of a victory.) Pushed slowly back on to the nape of the neck, is expresses weariness or meditation, or it may also mean that its owner wanted to say something but has forgotten what. (Uncovering of the forehead obviously helps the memory.) Pulled down on to the forehead, sometimes so low that the eyes are scarcely visible is a clear indication of anger. (During descriptions of the ruin and devastation doe not the Ukrainian towns all caps invariably descend over their owner’s eyes.) Cocked over one ear, left or right, the cap expresses astonishment, perplexity, shyness, and, sometimes exuberance. When its owner is sober, the cap travels slowly; after a few vodkas, its movements become much more lively.
This explains why the caps of Ivan and his comrades began to travel from their foreheads to the backs of their heads, and from right ear to left ear, nowhere stopping longer than the thoughts in the heads they covered.”
Orme, Alexandra. Comes the Comrade! Morrow, 1949. pp 19-20