Alexei Ostalopov, a merchant, had a three-storey house at Torzhok on Bolotnaya street, 5, just opposite the church. The ground floor was not lived-in. There were kitchen and laundry there. The yard was large, there was a stable. His son Efrem, born in 1896, married Alexandra Karmaleeva. Their daughter Engelina was born at Torzhok in 1928, on April 27. The family lived on the second floor. Even now, in the late century, the house has lasted perfectly. It looks rather impressive, even among the present five-storey buildings
Engelina Efremovna married to Petru Tamas, the Rumanian, born at Petroshani, Timoshoara District, Rumania. Their daughter Anzhelika was born in Leningrad in 1955, on March 30
Vasily Ksenofontovich emphasized that Torzhok had supplied the imperial family with golden embroidery. I said that my grandmother, having been a dress-designer in the clothing workshop, had learned this craft. Then he spoke about Nicholas II and the mass execution at that time. His story surprised me. He described the events in detail and spoke about the executed as if they were his relatives. First, speaking about Alexei in the third person, he imperceptibly proceeded to himself (the first person). He described in detail the rescue of the boy, gave the names of his rescuers – the Strekotin brothers and mentioned a further help from Mikhail Pavlovich Gladkikh
My husband also listened to him and asked straight: ‘So, you are Alexei, aren’t you?’
Vasily Ksenofontovich answered: ‘I’ve told you that already. You should remember things the first time!’
There were many heart-to-heart talks. Quietly, without hastening to tell everything at once, but little by little preparing for us our own conclusions, he achieved the main thing – he taught us to think. The ways of God are unknown
Being a tourist in Bulgaria, I had an opportunity not only to see the sights of the country and to get acquainted with the culture of the people but also to be blessed by Metropolitan of Plovdiv. Here is the story of it. It was July, 1982. I walked about old Plovdiv, taking photos of the architecture of the epoch of the Bulgarian Renaissance, gathering interesting details. Going down the hill by the marble staircase I saw the Christian church – an ancient house buried in flowers and rose bushes. A stone wall was in place around it and two men were standing by the forged gate. I photographed that picturesque corner. The men stopped me. They asked if I knew what house was behind the wall and invited me to see it. It was very interesting to me, but I hesitated to go there alone. By chance I got my opportunity. Three tourists from our group happened to be nearby. During an excited conversation in different languages we learned that the men were monks from the staff of the metropolitan chambers. They spoke lively in Bulgarian and we told about ourselves in Russian. They repeated their invitation and we agreed. The Metropolitan’s residence included several small halls for business talks and a large conference-hall decorated with carved oak panelling. There were portraits of the Head of the Church and of the Head of State on the walls as well as portraits of the Metropolitans of Plovdiv. We were also shown the private chambers, the cell icons and a prayer-book with a silver cover. By the end of the visit we unexpectedly met the host himself. He and his retinue had just returned from Greece. It was a business trip concerning the problems of the church. He was also accompanied by secular officials who had conducted negotiations and shot a film on Orthodoxy
We turned out to be the center of attention. I told them where we were from and about the sacred places of my city: the chapel of the blessed Kseniya of Petersburg. I decided to ask for a blessing by the Metropolitan of Plovdiv. The sovereign blessed me with the words: ‘I bless you, a God’s slave, to great deeds.’ We were invited to take part in the evening liturgy and we agreed with gratitude
So a chain of many opportunities had started
On the following day our tourist group set off for Kazanlyk and Shipka. There, at the height of 31m above sea level, stands the Russian church of Saint George built in honour of the Russian soldiers killed in action for Shipka. While the other tourists were being photographed and fussed over by the guide, I went to the cemetery near the church. A woman came up to me and told me about the graves in front of which I was standing. According to legend, the people buried there, were from the Romanov family which had ruled Russia for more than 300 years. Our country is going though peculiar times. Old Russia has gone but still there is nothing new, though more than 80 years have passed since the October upheaval. Life had made Vasily Ksenofontovich roam the country but everywhere he went, this cultivated man was received willingly. He found work everywhere but he felt drawn to Saint-Petersburg. He had sent his grown-up children to their native country, to their native city. My grandparents had also been sent to Povolzhye, to Tatarstan, to establish the Soviet power there and organize agriculture. They accepted the good local traditions and customs and helped the Tatars, but they could not consider themselves one with the people. The village which was composed of mixed nomads could not be called a collective. It was very difficult to cope with everything. An attempt had even been made on my grandmother’s life, but the people had shielded her with their bodies. Therefore when the term ended, Efrem and Alexandra, like many others who had left their homelands for different reasons, tried to come back. They lived in Moscow for some time and before long they were sent to Leningrad. My grandfather headed the building organization and my grandmother was the head of the Vasileostrovsky Party Committee. Grandfather had the right to carry a weapon. He did not wear a uniform but he lived as a military man. He went to the front from the very beginning of the war
I told about my relatives and Vasily Ksenofontovich told about his life in the Orenburg district, in the German-Dutch settlement
He said that it was both possible and necessary to learn from the Pretoriya villagers. While each member of the collective farm had a household of his own, life itself made them strengthen the feeling of collectivism. They would support an individual but only of their nationality: they neither recognized the foreigners nor helped them. In other, outwardly successful collective farms, in fact, an attitude of indifference was growing, that is, a man understood an interaction between ‘my’ and ‘common’, but nobody was interested in his opinion (probably there was no need). Ultimately, he got convinced that he cannot change anything. He knew, saw, understood but did not influence anyone or anything. Vasily Ksenofontovich would say: ‘Our freedom and independence are not supported financially. An enormous mass of peasants and workers have been reduced to the state of poor proletariat. The government is very strong, it has all the means of production, and any abuse of power tells immediately upon a multitude of people.’ And now, in the late 90’s we witness a re-organization of political power but the country has not been prepared economically. The government does not conside it’s obligation to care for the needs of individuals. All of us have