An NKVD report on the public mood in villages around the town of Borovichi, east of Novgorod, illustrates the resentment these measures provoked. A series of public meetings had been held to raise funds for the ‘Collective Farmer’ tank column, duly raising three million roubles amidst patriotic speeches. ‘We should help the Red Army chase these two-legged beasts from our land’, a loyal
Elsewhere villagers were more outspoken, emboldened by the sound of German guns actually to threaten their bosses. Scolded for bad work by the chairman of her village soviet, one woman spat back
I can’t wait for Soviet rule to end. It has bankrupted the peasants, left us hungry and barefoot, and now you’re stripping us naked. But I’m not going to bow down before you fine gentlemen. Your reign’s coming to an end. You sent all the good people out of the village, but just you wait, it’ll be your turn next.
A fifty-year-old member of the ‘Unity’ collective was equally bold: ‘Our time’s coming, and we’ll take what’s ours. I may not be able to read or write but I’ll be the first to turn the bosses in. I’ll be believed. Then we’ll repay you. And we won’t just take a lamb from each of you; we’ll flay a pair of belts off each of your backs.’ (This ‘counter-revolutionary activity’, the report noted, had been documented in preparation for arrest.) There was also a widespread rumour that America and Britain, in exchange for opening a second front, were demanding that the collectives be broken up and the land given back to its peasant owners.33
In the city, new drives were launched against food theft and black-market trading. But although hundreds of food shop and food distribution agency staff were arrested (520 in July, 494 in August), and substantial amounts of ill-gotten property confiscated (sixty-two gold watches in September), both continued to flourish.34 The outdoor markets, when shut down in one part of town, simply reappeared in another, and factory workers continued to complain that bosses and kitchen staff colluded to skim their rations. At the Sudomekh shipyard, the crackdown sparked a showdown between the factory’s management and its Party organisation. ‘The senior and junior managers are all drinking spirits’, Party member Vasili Chekrizov confided to his diary.
You see the bastards tipsy more and more often. If they’re going to get drunk, I wish that at least they’d do it behind doors. They stuff their faces, give cover to all the thieving in the canteens, and have eliminated workers’ control, since it gets in their way. There are lots of bosses like that — not just here, but everywhere. . At meetings they declare their support for the gardening drive, and at weekends sometimes even go and inspect the allotments. But in private all they talk about is how to grab whatever they can for themselves. The inventory managers have got twenty ration cards each. Where are the NKVD? Can they really not catch them?
At a Party meeting at the end of August he (fruitlessly) stood up and made a public complaint: ‘I was pleased with what I said, though I know that Kalinovsky [Sudomekh’s director], Derevyanko and others will not forgive me. They can go to the devil. I said out loud what everyone in the hall was thinking. . I won’t sell myself for lentil soup, though I’m hungry every day.’
As well as trying to fulfil what was turning into a deluge of near-impossible production orders, Chekrizov was also put in charge of demolishing fourteen wooden buildings south of the Alexander Nevsky monastery, part of a government campaign to lay in supplies of firewood. Some were taken apart by hand, with saws and axes; others were slung round with a hawser attached to a tractor and pulled to the ground. Though Chekrizov accepted that the work was necessary he found it depressing, because the buildings were well constructed (with traditional cinders under the floorboards for insulation) and because their inhabitants had not yet been rehoused. To force one family to leave, he had to order his team to strip off their roof. Most, though, were resigned. ‘We’re wrecking their homes, which they’ve lived in for decades. They’re not angry, they realise that the city needs firewood. They just sit there on their bundles and suitcases, waiting for transport.’35
