Eyewitness Testimony Vladimir Kibkalo

• Kibkalo, Vladimir Markiyanovich, questionnaire provided by the Ukrainian National Foundation "Understanding and Reconciliation" at the Cabinet of Ministers of Ukraine. Kibkalo, Vladimir Markiyanovich Kibkalo, Vladimir Markiyanovich Кибкало Володимир Маркіянович (Name according to the Ukrainian Foundation, he himself and the ITS write his first name as Владимир) 26.06.07 I was born on May 8, 1927, in the village of Solonzej (today Rudenkova), Poltava Oblast. When moving to my father's brother in Moldova, to the city of Bolgrad, in spring 1943, we were all arrested together by a German commander with an interpreter. We were my mother Anna Nikolaevna, my father Markiyan Kondratyevich, my sister Alexandra Markiyanovna, and I. We and five or six drovers were driving a large herd of cattle to Romania. Our task was to milk the cows. We were all promised that we would be released once the herd was brought to Romania. We crossed the Prut River, passed through the cities of Kagul, Adgut (?), and Vasluj, and arrived in the city of Berlad (probably Birlud? in Romania), where the cattle were handed over to a meat processing plant. After that, the Romanian gendarmerie took us over. We were driven to the train station where a transport with freight wagons stood, containing people from various countries, guarded by Romanians and German officers. Everything we carried was taken from us, leaving only clothing and some blankets. We were locked in the wagons. With us were Bulgarians, Yugoslavs, and Czechs. The journey went in an unknown direction. In the city of Vienna, we realized we were in Austria. Then it continued via Chemnitz and Weimar, where the transit prison and distribution were located. My sister was sent to agricultural work, but my father, mother, and I were sent to Kahla. In Kahla, we arrived in a freight wagon. We spent three to four days in the field under the open sky next to the factory, then we were taken to Construction Camp II. Initially, we were housed in this Camp II, later we were transferred to Construction Camp III. This is confirmed by a single letter sent to me from Arolsen on February 21, 2003. In this document, my birth year is given as 1929. My parents reduced my age because they knew that being underage would exempt me from hard labor, but it did not help. I worked just like the adults. A copy of the document is attached. We lived in the camp in a barrack with two-tier wooden bunks. Instead of mattresses, there was wood wool. It was very cold, and the light was turned off at nightfall. The barrack was heated with an iron stove, but the firewood was insufficient. There was a container with water. The latrine was outside on the street. Pillows and blankets were not issued. Everyone covered themselves with what they had. Work clothes were not issued. Instead of footwear, we had wooden shoe lasts. The letters "OST" were sewn onto our clothing. At the end of work, with an ID, we received a token/voucher for the next day's food. The food was bad and was distributed twice a day. The portion included 200 grams of bread with raw minced meat—horse meat with caraway—or a slice of moldy cheese (or mold cheese?), which was said to be Swiss cheese, and the mold contained penicillin. We also received soup with rutabaga and kohlrabi. Wake-up call was at 6 a.m., and by 7 a.m. we were already at work. The workday ended at 5 p.m. On Saturdays, we worked until 2 p.m., and Sundays were free. The distance from the camp to the factory was about 2 kilometers, but when we were transferred to another camp, we had to walk one kilometer more to the factory. We were accompanied by camp guards on the way to work. There was no roll call, only when we arrived at work were the "inhabitants" counted. There was no fixed work norm. The work was controlled by the foreman, a German disabled veteran, who assigned who had to do what. Essentially, the work was underground. Foremen and engineers were German. They were strict, strict with us as well as with their countrymen. Especially bad was the ventilation of the tunnels after explosions. The air compressors were turned on, and we had to pull the hoses to the end of the explosion so that the gases were pushed out from there. There were cases of poisoning by this gas. During working hours, it was not possible to rest; there was always something to do. To my knowledge, the work was not paid at all. Once we went to Jena to the Zeiss factory to load sand. My sister had already been assigned to agriculture since the transit prison. After four months, she was assigned to us; we made this request to the camp administration. Contact with home was not possible; there was no correspondence. Italians in other camps received packages from the Red Cross, mainly tobacco products. Contacts with workers from other camps occurred only during production, with Czechs, Poles, Italians, and Yugoslavs. Workers were not treated equally. The difference was that Italians, Poles, Yugoslavs, and other nationalities worked on (tool) machines, concrete mixers, as drivers of underground locomotives, and similar jobs—while we Ukrainians, Russians, and Belarusians worked as tunnel diggers and helpers. The hardest work fell to us. In production, one had contact with people of other nationalities, if it was possible to understand their language, but in the camp, we talked with Czechs and Poles, whose language was more understandable. In our camp, there were many married couples and families with children, but I did not meet children under 10 years old. The children cleaned the barracks and surroundings at their parents' request. They were not forced to work. Many of the families came from Poland, especially from Poland, after the uprising. The guards in the camp were from Belgium or France. There were others as well, but I don't know where from. In my opinion, they were rude and cheeky, which was because they did not understand the language. I know nothing about informers, but it is possible that there were some. I don't know about corruption. Once I noticed how someone was taken for some reason to the camp entrance, to the gatehouse, and then driven away in a car; where to, I do not know. My parents protected me from having to experience anything like that. For minor offenses, the guards inside the camp were allowed to beat and shove. The German workers and the camp administration behaved badly towards us; the demands of the administration towards us were harsh. Mainly, there were misunderstandings due to ignorance and because the language was not understood. There were contacts with the local population. The women from the nearby settlements turned to the camp management to ask for permission to take workers on their days off to help on the farm. Only one person from a family was taken as a worker so that they would not escape. I was lucky. Once a German woman from the Dienstadt settlement named Lisa Verter (spelled so, M.B.) called me and pointed at me. Since I was underage, my work in the settlement was arranged with my parents. That is how I came to this employer. On Saturday after 2 p.m. and on Sunday, the employer came to pick me up and gave me the task of caring for the horses, as well as the cows, and other tasks on the farm. Later I received a pass and could go to work on my own. The employer was quite good to me and satisfied that I finished the work, since I had also grown up in the village. The employer took good care of me, and when she learned that my family was in the camp, she even gave me two to three butter sandwiches for my mother, father, and sister. In Mrs. Lise's family there were three children – daughter Anne-Luise, 17 years old, Edit, 14 years old, and son Klaus, 5 years old, and a grandfather aged 80. I write the story briefly: There was a rumor in the camp that the Germans would shoot the prisoners. At the end of April, the employer said that we had to escape from the camp. When I asked how and where to flee, she answered – to me. She had everything planned. She gave me pincers so that I could cut an opening in the fence surrounding the camp, and at three o'clock at night my entire family escaped. The employer was waiting for us at the agreed place. Then she led us to her place and hid us in the barn in the hayloft. There we sat for ten days and nights "like mice." The employer took care of us, but when the American troops came, we were supplied by them with marching rations. Afterwards, she moved us close to her house into a chicken barn, which we later completed. We lived there until September 1945. Then our KGB agents ordered us to return home. The employer provided us with decent clothes and shoes, gave us food for the journey, and a bicycle with a cart. That way we reached Dresden and from there home. I cannot stop admiring how this woman risked her family to save us. Her memory is eternal. Only in 1995 did I decide to find this family. I had not remembered the family name, so I decided to write to the mayor of Kahla. I wrote as best I could – I had learned some German, how to find this settlement, and also the sign on the house "Otto Verter." I knew that was the name of the street, but it turned out to be the family name of the grandfather. I received a letter from the mayor stating that Klaus Verter lived there with his family. I wrote to Mr. Klaus and received a letter from him with a photo of the farm. In the photo you can see part of the chicken house where we lived for almost 5 months (a copy of the photo is attached). The grandfather and the employer were no longer alive, the daughters Anne-Lisa and Edit were married and lived nearby (addresses are attached). The local population behaved towards us differently. Some hated us, others were sympathetic, but those were few. I did not observe physical abuse by the population, but I remember one incident: On a Sunday I worked for the employer for a while, and then returned to the camp. At the exit of the settlement I met a German gendarme. He checked my pass and saw that I would be 10 to 15 minutes late returning to the camp. He shouted loudly at me and saw that I had something on my chest (the employer had given me butter sandwiches for my relatives). The German tore open my shirt and the butter sandwiches fell to the ground. He trampled on all of them and kicked me. I started running away, shouting that I had the pass with me. He tried to run after me shouting "Stop!" but he had a prosthesis on one leg. Human behavior was rare among the population; rarely did they share cigarettes and food. Help did not appear. I know nothing about other escapes besides mine. In the camp and at the production sites there were infirmaries where one could get help for minor injuries. There I saw for the first time how a wound was covered with a plaster instead of bandages. I know nothing about the hospitals. The prisoners went to work in any condition out of necessity, because if they did not go to work, they did not receive their food stamps. I know nothing about mortality. There were no deaths among my relatives and acquaintances. My parents did not allow me to go anywhere else, not even to the neighboring barracks. As long as we were in the camp, no workers were driven away anywhere. What happened after our escape, I do not know. At the moment the American troops arrived, we hid at the employer's place. The nutrition was insufficient, but physically we were restored, just by being free. I know nothing about arrests among the staff. In September 1945 we returned home. The homeland received us hostilely, because we were considered traitors to it. Finding work or places at educational institutions was difficult, but over time everything got going. Mother and father lived in Solonzej (today Rudenkovka), Poltava Oblast. My sister married and lived in Estonia in Tallinn. I myself also married and spent my life in Vinnitsa. Now I live with my wife, children, granddaughter and her husband, and great-grandchildren. The second daughter lives on her own with her children. My parents and sister are no longer alive. I can tell a lot and in detail. Writing is harder for me than telling, but I do not know if this information is of interest to you. I wished to write in a newspaper of the city of Kahla, and to thank the mayor of the city and the Verter family - Mrs. Anne-Luise, Mrs. Edit, and Mr. Klaus - but I do not know which newspaper I should write to and to which address. If it were possible for you to help me with this, I would be very grateful. I dream of, and would very much like to visit this family and thank them personally for risking their own lives to save me and my family, but unfortunately I do not have the opportunity to do so. Mr. B., you can contact me with any question. If you are in Ukraine, I invite you to visit my family. My address... • Kibkalo, Vladimir Markiyanovich, letter dated 03.11.2007, contact mediated by the Ukrainian National Foundation "Understanding and Reconciliation" at the Cabinet of Ministers of Ukraine. Addendum (letter contact) 3.11.07 We washed our clothes ourselves in cold water without soap. There was no occupational safety for us, no safety equipment was issued (only the wooden shoes). Our work, after the explosions, was to ventilate the tunnels, which was dangerous – a compressor was switched on and we had to carry a hose about 30 m to the end of the shaft to remove the gas from the tunnel. As the smallest, I did this most often. This was dangerous, especially when the concentration was high, but we had to do it anyway. Some fainted and were carried out of the tunnels. There was no overarching organization of everyday life; each family or worker organized their daily life as best they could. There were no worker representatives or the like; everyone was on their own. Solidarity was very low. Our guards were very "generous," one or two men per barrack, especially Belgians in uniform but without insignia. They also accompanied us to work and back. The rules in the camp were very strict, especially regarding blackout and the behavior of the workers.