PSG: concubines or fighting girlfriends? Female face of war

Taught by the solid chancres of World War I, the Hitler army from the very first days of the war in Europe developed a network of soldiers and officers brothels. They were deployed on all fronts with the same German clarity as medical infirmaries: 5 fifteen-minute brothel coupons per month for 3 flight tags for the employee.  

In addition, additional coupons in unlimited quantities in the form of uncomplicated soldier service incentives: relax – zich, zoldaten! 

Sexual communication providers were civil servants of the Reich, they lived in a barracks position according to combat regulations with the most severe medical supervision and a decent salary. Clearly standardized working day, guaranteed right to rest, protection from the costs of the profession in the form of sexual excesses. Many Germans served in brothels simply out of patriotism, for thanks. 569 brothels … And how many more private establishments!

At first they voted for Aryan purity and used only Western Europeans, and when they got bogged down in protracted actions on the Soviet fronts, representatives from Untermensch went into the process, but under more strict control. The Germans did not have a personnel question on the eastern front – many women preferred working in a brothel to hijacking camps or migrant workers, they preferred normal work for money and rations of the opportunity to be simply raped on the street, without thanks. 

Why did I start with German brothels? But because war is not only bang-bang. This is the ordinary life of ordinary people from meat and bones, just modified for a military regime. And people remain people. And there are no armies in the history beyond which women’s convoys would not plait . And those warlords who understood that the sexual needs of a male warrior were not conserved, but only aggravated by the conditions of frontless barrenness, acted humanely towards warring people. And reasonable. In relation to the physical health of the warrior.  

There is no sex in the Soviet Army ! Therefore, a blurry figure (from 110,000 to 1,900,000!) Of raped Germans (without Estonians, Latvians, Poles, Hutsuls, Bessarabian Romanians) liberating soldiers walks with military historians. These are not my fantasies, these are statistics. And how many unknown women in their own liberated territory fell victims in the struggle for the sexual survival of a soldier … We will never know only these figures: our freed women were silent, there was nobody to complain. They spoke only of unclear where the children came from in the liberated territories. Yes, well, at least light-headed, blue-eyed, Nashensky ones.    

War … Such a thing …

Thanks to the one that is so easy,
Without requiring that they call me sweet,
Another, the one that is far away,
They hastily replaced.
She beloved of strangers
Here she regretted how she knew how,
At an unkind hour she warmed them with the Warmth of an unkind

So wrote Konstantin Simonov in 1942 from the front in a poem, because of which he almost put down a party card (well, there is no sex in the Soviet Army!). And there was sex, gentlemen! In the form of the institution of PPS – field wives. And for all the political prostitution of the man, Simonov, the poet Simon could not get past this female face of the war, could not help but bow to the woman-comforter, woman-hostage, woman-warrior with a poem. 

There were about a million people on the fronts of World War II. One millionth was my mother, who served on the bodo personally with Marshal Ivan Khristoforovich Baghramyan. Height meter with a cap, sheep’s weight, leg 33 sizes – a child in his 19 years. He pitied her to tears. And only the high parental protection of the Marshal of the Soviet Union saved my mother from the fate of her co-workers-communications workers – to be sorted out by his excellencies, who loved poultry. Lucky mother: my father personally asked my mother’s hands for Marshal Baghramyan. And others, after playing enough, were sent to the front line or to the rear with offspring. Or given to adjutants.   

For each headquarters went his harem. There, according to Senka, there was a hat, and according to macho sombrero: someone who is thinner in rank is the nurse’s, who is denser – the whole doctor. This is not counting the nomadic harems of the singing staff of the command and the highest command staff:  

I am so high and the rank and rank,
And you are gentle, agile and light.
So come, smooth my wrinkles,
Warm me, gray-haired old man …

Ordinary soldier, to whom the female sex could only dream, wow he hated these PPS – after all, everything was going on in public, brazenly, not ashamed: 

When the soul yearns
And curses everything in the soul,
dear PPZ brings us a lot of joy .
She will enter, shining her eyes,
Will become brighter in the dugout.
Now we are affectionate with you,
You have success everywhere,
But I, soldier, despise you with my soul
, PPS …

It was for what. PJ of Marshal Zhukov, military assistant Zakharova received a combat Red Star for exclusively sexual services:

To the nurse for n *** do
Dali the Red Star,
And to the guys for the attack
Dali x … walrus
In s *** ku.

Marshal Rokossovsky openly fed his military assistant – Galina Talanova. Also did not offend with military awards. What to say about Marshal Kryuchkov and his greedy wife, the socialist nightingale Lydia Ruslanova – also noted as a Red Star. The Brezhnevsky harem rattled on all fronts: PAM Tamara was not offended, Anna Sochinskaya received promotion in the cinema and on the radio – she sang “The Girl” for the whole country.   

You know whether to bet? They knew. And they closed their cunning eyes. But in the dossier a tick was put on a black day for macho day. And while the award list for mistresses can be signed. 

Let people babble about us stupidly,
Rumor flows quietly by the side,
I will command, and they will bow,
As before God, everything is before you.

And worshiped. And they arranged their dark affairs: 123 paintings of the great masters from the Dresden Gallery took Lidia Ruslanova to her chambers. Even in the zone, she then sported a fur coat and heels! And what containers with chests of Gross-Germany sent PPS! And how they lit up at the fronts!

The boots are new and silk dresses will
dispel your sadness, anxiety and sadness,
Then I will introduce you to the award,
And you will put on a voiced medal.
You will carry the chest before you,
Like a real front-line hero,
And I will quietly caress this hero’s chest
with my senile hand.

Front-line women. This is twice the heroine. Who does not know, I will say that there was no female draft in the Soviet Army. Most women volunteered for the army really out of patriotism. Some went to serve for guaranteed soldering. For a village girl from darkness, the army was just a chance to save her life, risking it. 

There was pure female and male love at the front – after all, the young people were quite young, they were pretty, almost children. There was an unearthly passion. PAPs were such that they became fighting friends and wives. But there was hatred of the lawful rear wives for the front litter, and the contempt of ordinary soldiers, and hand-to-hand gifts to adjutants. And there was the lawlessness of the youngest woman, the fear of “exile” to a hot spot or to disband, the fear of the lips, of the tribunal. A woman who became pregnant in the war was one way – commissioning, rear, deprivation of certificate. For most simple nurses, this sometimes meant simply death.    

In my family, they sang the song “I am so high in my position and rank” with great feeling. In general, you know , they used to sing at the table, and people sang just like that – they would get together and sing. Sober, for the sake of singing. Dad’s and mother’s friends are post-war friends, those whom I remember well, all went through more than one war, all of them deserved, iconostasis. My place was, as always, at the piano: accompany and be silent.   

And I well remember the faces of these people: thoughtfully mysterious like that. And after all, each of them recalled some kind of their own PPS, the one that was in Simon’s style:

She felt sorry for them, as she knew how. At an unkind hour, she warmed them with the Warmth of an unkind

Men singing about their youth, about fleeting love or just fun, men who remembered with the warm words of these such different women. Maybe at some point they became more amiable, closer and more visible than the full-bodied lawful rear-generals sitting nearby:

Spit on everything, don’t frown your brow,
And do n’t hide your sadness,
So give me your little hands,
My little PPS.

Spit on everything: what happened was …

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *