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Category: History

& #34; Фанагория"


Rather a legend of the river tow with such exotic name I heard this story in Rostov-on-Don right after the end of war.

We, city boys from Pushkinskaya Street, were wound on the broken houses in search of the survived cartridges and shells, without realizing danger, a vykolupyvala from them caps, poured out gunpowder for the risky pyrotechnic entertainments. We greedy listened to stories by veterans about war, selflessly played it and sincerely regretted that war ended not to making also to us feats of arms any more. In that atmosphere of patriotic upsurge and ecstasy the victory us with a bang apprehended the story about heroic raid of crew of the river tow at release of our city from Germans. According to a word of mouth, everything occurred so.

Under the pressure of our troops the fascists urgently left the city and at the same time hurried to blow up Budennov-sky Bridge across the Don River. From the high legal coast they well shot the coast and all approaches to it. Ours sought to recapture the bridge whole and sustained big losses, but also Germans delayed blasting charges. Their miners fussed, trying to restore a chain of the wires whipped with splinters.

And at this dramatic situation of opposition from Gnilovskaya on the big water glade opened from ice with blows of air bombs and shells our towing boat in full operation approached a strategic object.

Its skorostrelny gun located on a nose beat almost without miss, suppressing machine-gun and shooting nests of Germans. From direct hit something blew up under the bridge, even more strengthening confusion and panic in a camp of the enemy.

But soon Germans recovered from shock and brought down all the fire power on the impudent small boat. On it hit into an emphasis over open sights, and the katerok as if exorcized, turned between the water columns which are flying up up, was sleepy, settled on a stern, hid behind the bridge footing and again appeared from behind it to sting enemies from the gun.

A heroic handful of river transport workers, having disdained death, turned the boat into a floating target to distract attention of enemies to itself. Immediately our assault groups which one throw rode out the bridge and put to flight Germans used it.

For many years the survived Budennovsky Bridge served people until his fellow on Voroshilovsky descent threw the flights on the left bank of Don.

And the impudent tow as appeared suddenly, also and disappeared, in smoke and water fog.

During that time I did not know that the word "Phanagoria" which is mysteriously sounding with some musical modulation is the name of the Greek settlement in the Crimea, at someone's will appropriated as well to the heroic tow. And therefore in my imagination there was a magic country where is not present and there was no war and ruin where always warmly, the sun shines and hanging gardens of Semiramis where crystal streams run from mountains to the blue sea with white steamships and boats smell sweet. There wonders are worked. Dreams come true and daring desires are granted.

Since then there passed many years. I saw off the wife and the son in a cruise to Volgograd and back... Handsome the che-tyrekhpalubny motor ship sailed away from an embankment parapet. Cheerful music played, on a public address system the teams of the captain sailing and those who remained ashore abruptly sounded, something shouted each other, but sense already nothing could be understood. But here engines of the vessel worked at full capacity, and the ship easily left upstream, opening a river scope. And here in the field of my sight the katerok which, as the float, shook on the wave lifted by motor ship screws got. The pipe at the boat turned black from a soot, sides were rumpled so that paint peeled off and rust appeared. It strainedly rumbled the engine and, appear, stood still.

Something pricked me in a breast. On its board it was written Phanagoria. There cannot be that!

This low-speed small boat did not correspond to the heroic image forever imprinted in my consciousness in any way as a fresco. Where you, my heroic ship, from the magic country with prompt lines of the torpedo boat, impudent and impregnable, flying on Don smooth surface to fear to enemies?

Obviously, human memory chooses and carefully stores the bright heroic affairs and fatal episodes made on rise of human spirit on a limit of forces and opportunities of the people who got into extreme situations. And then the word of mouth and own imagination so preu-krashivat real events that them becomes not to learn. So myths and legends are born and, perhaps, it is better for them not to meet own primary sources.

But stop. Unsightly type of the hero of military years at all yet not a reason for disappointment and scepticism. At it appeared long peaceful life. Day and night, during a heat and a bad weather the boat "Phanagoria" regularly kept the labor watch. Delayed for itself across Don barges sand and the wood, agricultural products and coal, pushed out motor ships and self-propelled barges on a waterway, and even broke them from a bank. Teams on its board changed, life changed around, and the tow with the crew did usual everyday work as breath of a living organism.

In all spheres of human activity of such routine works the sea razlivanny, and their conscientious execution - an indispensable condition of an order and stability in society. So there are less arrogance and chistoplyuystvo.

I was captured by embarrassment for minute confusion which arose at a meeting with the old acquaintance. It seems, I wanted to pass by, without having recognized it.

Almost with related warmth I looked for it on a water smooth surface. But where it? Only was near, rumbled a cursor, just imagine! While I indulged in reflections, our little rogue departured upstream and already turned into a point somewhere near the Green island. As the person knowing the own worth it slowly and surely overcame space for achievement of the planned purposes.

Happy journey to you, old times fighter and slogger. Your service to the fatherland to Dona in peace time also bears the impress of heroism. However, because of prolixity in time and the ordinary of your affairs it, unfortunately, escapes from attention us, guilty.

V.S. Zolotarev

Oscar Taylor
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