The years will pass; I will not be on this earth. My daughters, or maybe my grandchildren, may become interested in where their father, or grandfather, came from. Thus I am writing my life history.
I was born the 25th of June, 1907 at Digaini farm in Base district. (Birth certificate shows 12th of June, 1907 in Moscow – Moscow was an error and the date from the old calendar.) I was born into a large family, we were five brothers and two sisters. The oldest brother was Adams, after him came sister Leva, brother Arturs, sister Alvine, myself, brother Janis and brother Alberts.
Father’s farm was in a beautiful hilly area at the crossroads of Alsunga-Aipute road and Liepaja-Aizpute road.
My first memories are from when I was six-years-old, before 1914 – the start of the first World War. Father was not keen on farm work, he employed a farm labourer (manager) to run the farm. At the crossroads father built a small house and opened a shop with goods that are necessary on farms: kerosene, sugar, flour, salted herring, tobacco. The shop was about one kilometre from the farmhouse.
Next to the shop there was a room where father lived. Since I was not at school and father needed someone to talk to, I lived with him at his shop. I was not happy about this because I did not have my older brothers to play with. Also, father was very strict. I was scared of him because he would not let me eat any sweets. All the sweet boxes were kept on high shelves that I could not reach. Once, when father was cutting wood outside, I climbed up the shelves. Just as I got up father came in and I got a belting for being disobedient.
Our lunch was brought from the farm by one of my brothers or sisters. Father made breakfast and dinner himself, usually tea and sandwiches. In the evenings father sent me in the shop to get some sugar; it was sugar cubes so I was able to put some quietly in my pocket.
As the war neared, father shut the shop. One sunny day at lunch-time father asked me to go and check on the shop to see if everything was in order – no breaking-in or stealing. I had a good look, nothing had been touched. I was just starting for home when I saw the German horse patrol with tall lances held aloft. In fright, I tried to hide behind the building but they had already seen me. They rode around the building from both sides. I was very frightened, I thought that this was my last hour because of the terrible stories that were told about the Germans. They asked – I still remember – “Russe” (“Russian?”) I just yelled that I didn’t understand. By this time the rest of the patrol had arrived; 15-20 men. “Aber here is eine kinder.” (“Here is only a child.”) They all laughed very loudly to see me so frightened with wet running down my legs. Then, the Germans, still laughing, rode away toward Kuldiga. I was very happy to be safe, having survived meeting the Germans face-to-face.
Some days later, refugees started pouring in along the road. The loaded carts with all of their belongings, and the farm animals: cows, sheep, were all mixed up with the Russian soldiers.
My father and the family also joined this exodus. After travelling about ten kilometres towards Kuldiga, we went up a side road into the forest. We stayed in a clearing in the forest. The carts were parked and animals released to feed, minded by my brothers and sisters.
After three days, my oldest brother and the manager went back to Digaini farm to see what had happened. Along the road towards Kuldiga there was a constant stream of German soldiers. They found that father’s brother, Ansis, and his wife and son Kola (my age) who had come from Liepaja, were not trying to escape as Ansis spoke German. We had not taken the pigs when we left, and when my brother Adam came back to the forest to report he said that all was quiet but father’s brother Ansis had taken over the place and had even killed a pig. He thought my father and the family had gone a long way, maybe to Vidzeme, as our neighbours had done.
After a week we went back to Digaini with all of our animals. Father’s brother Ansis was very surprised with our actions. Life went on, but my mother was not happy with Ansis and his family living at Digaini and that they were not making any plans to leave and return to Liepaja. In the evenings I overheard mother reminding father to tell his brother to leave because their keep should not be the family’s responsibility. Father did talk to his brother, but Ansis became very angry. They had an argument and then a fight. The next day, Ansis went to the German military police and lied that father was a Russian spy and that he had a gun. Ansis had given father the gun and he had not handed it over to the police. The next day we saw two military policemen with Ansis turning into our road. When I saw them I became very frightened; I had a bad premonition. From fright, I hid in a large ditch in the apple orchard, which was covered by scrub. I heard Ansis calling out for father to give up his gun. Father said that he had no gun. Then, the two German policemen started to beat father until he could not stand up anymore. Father admitted to having a gun hidden in the stables. They found the revolver, completely rusted and not in working order. The policemen searched the whole property looking for Russian spies. When they did not find anything they seemed satisfied.
At dusk, I crawled out from my hiding place, still very frightened at what I had seen and heard. The policemen and Ansis were still there. They were given supper and spent the night at our place. The next morning they were given breakfast then told father to be ready to go with them for further interrogation. Father went with them optimistically, but it was the last time that he saw his hard-earned home. He was put in jail in Kuldiga to await a military court hearing. The hearing happened two months later. Ansis’ wife, under oath, said that Russian spies had been sheltered at Digaini; a complete lie. Ansis refused to give evidence. Because of the gun and the testimony, father was sentenced to four years hard labour at a concentration camp in Germany. Before he left we had a chance to say goodbye at the prison in Kuldiga.
It was winter, no snow, only cold. I remember it so clearly as if it were today. I walked or ran next to the carriage as I had no warm clothes and it was freezing. The parting was tragic, first father said a prayer to God to look after us, then he directed my oldest brother Adam to take his place and look after all the other children and see to their upbringing and schooling. We were given half an hour. There wasn’t much talking, only crying as we knew that we would not meet again. I was only eight-years-old but it left a lasting impression on me for the rest of my life. I was the youngest to go and see father, my mother, Adams, Leva, Alvine, and Arturs came too.. The two younger brothers, Janis and Albert, stayed at home.
That was the beginning of German occupation in Kurzeme; the Germans went close to Riga but stopped at Daugava River. We occasionally received a card from father who could only write a few words in German saying things like “I am feeling good, praying for you.” Two years later we got notification that father had died at the concentration camp. When I was in Germany at the end of the second World War I wondered which part of Germany my father died in, I do not remember where the cards were from – I was young and could not imagine that one day I would be wandering around Germany.
For the first year of the German occupation during the First World War there were no schools in the country. Somehow, a teacher who spoke German and came from the city had obtained permission to teach Latvian language and writing. She opened a school about three kilometres from our house in a very old building with low ceilings. It had tiny windows and the ceilings and walls were black in smoke. It was one, large, long room with plain tables and benches. In this room crowded fifty children of all ages eight to eighteen. We were divided in groups, the older and the younger. Even the air was hard to breathe. If someone farted and did not admit it, they were checked by sniffing down their collar and then sent out to ventilate. Around this building were wild bushes on the hillside and at the bottom of the hill there were pits where gravel was dug to repair the roads. That is where we played traditional children’s games. The school did not last long. After Christmas, a school was opened in Birze district by a teacher named Janfelds for 50-60 students. Again, it was one large room, but it was light just like a real school.
They started from the age of six with shepherding pigs in the yard or along the lanes where other animals were guided to the pastures. There was a fence on both sides so my sister Alvine and I just stood at each end of the lane. Time went very slowly, we had to do it for two hours.
Next came the shepherding of cows and sheep. I don’t know if it was the same in other parts of Latvia as it was where we were. There were five farms with their buildings close together: Andulas, Digaini, Naglas, Vecvagari, and Zvirbuli. In the middle there was a road only for those properties with a fence along both sides so that the animals could graze along it and be directed to the pastures. The pastures started beyond Andulas. The pastures were common property from ancient times, so all the animals were herded together. The field was a square of about 1 ½ kilometres each side, mostly swampy with some water in places like small lakes. The grass was very coarse and the animals did not like it much. When the five farm animals were combined there were 50-60 cows and 200 sheep. Also, there were five shepherds, usually boys. That is where one learned how to get into trouble. There were some fights with the bigger boys teaching discipline to the younger, first-year beginners. It was the younger ones that got all the hard work – if the animals were going in the wrong direction they had to get them back. The older ones played cards or did their own thing. The younger ones couldn’t complain, it was like the Mafia of today. It was surprising how the animals, on returning to the farms in the evening, each knew to turn into their own yard. At first the calves and lambs would have to be guided. In the spring when the animals were first let out, the older cows, like people, chose a leader. The strongest took on the leadership and got respect. If the battle for leadership got dangerous, the shepherds had to separate them with a whip.
During 1917-1918 I remember playing war with snowballs at school; reds (communists) versus whites. During this time there was no knowledge of the terrors of the communists, they were considered as saviours from the German oppression. The school was 4-5 kilometers from our place. Three of us from the family went to school: myself, Alvine, and Arturs. In good weather we would walk home. In bad weather and in winter we would stay the night. There was sleeping accommodation upstairs on straw mattresses so close together that they touched. One end of the building was for boys and the other for girls. In the middle there was a dining room, also divided for boys and girls. The main food was rye bread with butter or smoked bacon. For breakfast we would get hot water for coffee or tea. For dinner, potatoes were boiled in a large pot. Each person’s lot was tied in a net with a named string hanging out of the pot. The school’s helper checked the parcels to see if they were cooked, and those that were ready he would put on a shelf. Usually we got them when they were already cold. There was no communal food.
In the evenings after dinner for two hours, those that stayed at school went to one large class and did their homework under a teacher’s supervision and with the light from a petrol lamp. There were four teachers, each with a class. It was a Catholic school because the surrounding district was Catholic. There were only 6-7 students who were not Catholic. The Catholic Church was also nearby. A priest taught religion, and I usually stayed in class so that I could learn all the Catholic teachings. The priest would check the students for their knowledge of the texts. Because I was the only non-Catholic in the class I was not asked anything, but I often would whisper the answers when other students did not know.
After the First World War there was a great shortage of teachers and country schools only went to fourth year. If you wanted to finish all six years you had to go to the district school in Aizpute.
To get into the school you had to do a test in mathematics and the Latvian language. I passed this test and started fifth grade. I lived with my other uncle, Gusta, who had come from Russia. In Russia he had been the manager of an estate for a Russian boss. He was very nervous. In Aizpute he had opened a shop dealing leather for clog uppers or moccasins. In his free time he also made moccasins and clogs, which he sold in the shop. There was a large room with a stove, in which I cooked my own food. I remember cooking milk soup with dumplings, or a meat soup. Most of the time I boiled water to make herb tea, without sugar of course. The usual food was fried pork and rye bread. The food was brought from Digaini every two weeks. There was no electricity in my room. I would use a small petrol lamp with paper around it to reduce the glare. I did not even have a friend; I was very lonely.
After the war there was no set syllabus so the lessons were set by each teacher’s initiative and each teacher thought their subject was the most important. As such, the standard was forced very high. Languages also had to be learned: Latvian, Russian, German, and we also started English. The most difficult for me was Russian because the inspector’s Russian wife was the teacher and she did not speak Latvian. Nonetheless, I achieved a very high standard in the end. The other students at Aizpute had learned Russian in fourth year, so I had to catch up. There were stories, pages long, that I had to read, repeat, and write from memory. I learned by memorizing it all word-by-word. I was studying until twelve o’clock every night because I was determined to get at least mid-range marks. My clothes were very thin and I did not even have an overcoat or woollen jumper, so I had to run to school.
My uncle Gusts started to go queer. He did not keep his shop open and was walking the streets talking incoherently that some woman, pretending to be a friend, had cheated him of a large sum of money. He was put in a mental hospital in Riga from which he never returned.
At school I made friends with Zanis Stalis from Aizputne. His family were renting a couple of rooms and a kitchen. My next school year was much better. I went to live with Zanis. I paid no rent as I shared a room with him. Some food was supplied from the farm and I ate much better. Also, I was not so lonely. Zanis had a sister, Alvine, who liked fun and was very ticklish.
I finished school with good marks in 1924 and had great hopes of going on, particularly I wanted to get into a technical school. There was such a technical college in Liepaja, 70 kilometres from Digaini. I wanted to qualify as an engineer. At the end of the school year my oldest brother promised me that I could go.
The next summer I was 16, no longer a shepherd. Next position – a farmhand. On the farm there was one farmhand on wages and one woman. My oldest brother Adams had taken over running the farm, even though mother owned it – she was sick a lot and was not a good manager. Adams also had control over the money.
The farm work was very hard with long hours. Starting at sunrise at 4 AM, then a short break for breakfast that was carried out to the fields. From 12-2 PM we could rest, then 2-9 PM it was back to work until sunset. There was no pay for this.
Summer dances were held in the open. Arturs and I waited until it was dark to sneak in without paying as we had no money. I felt very bad about this, insulted, that after a week of really hard work my brother would not give us the little money we needed for this.
As autumn came I expected to go to the technical college. When I raised the subject with my brother he refused to send me to school anymore as it was too expensive. When winter came I refused to go to the forest to cut logs as my brother was spending all the money received for the summer crops on building materials which he had already collected and stored in every possible place. He though only about himself.
Under the inheritance law the buildings belonged to the oldest son and the land to the other children. All along he behaved as if he owned the lot.
At the onset of winter I had made a gun of ½ centimetre metal pipe (using Russian cartridges.) I straightened the then end and made it a hunting gun. Powder and other things could be bought. Arturs had a real hunting rifle. That year there were a lot of squirrels; they were everywhere that firs grew, eating the seeds from the cones. The skins could be sold for 3 lati, which was a days’ pay for a labourer. By walking around the different areas I could shoot 2-4 every day, which was very good money. It was illegal to shoot them, but when it is necessary you can do anything. With my illegal earnings I saved 30-40 lati. My dream was to go to Riga and work during the day and study at night at the technical college. After Christmas I decided to do it. Until this time I did not even have an overcoat, so I had one made from a rough, home made material. I packed my belongings in a home made box like a suitcase with a lock. My belongings consisted of what mother gave me: a small cushion, a thin blanket, and one sheet. My oldest brother, after all my summer work, refused to give me anything saying, “You are just going in the world to become a thief.” I decided that I would never come home to the farm again because it could not be worse than anywhere else. At least I could always work for food.
Now, I am surprised at my determination and courage to go back to Riga in the worst weather without even knowing anyone there. The beginning was a shock. There was very bad unemployment. I spent the first night in a hotel, but for the next night I found Dzirnavas street where the farmers who came to the city stayed with their horses and loads of goods. At these special accommodation areas you could get a straw mattress in a warm room for ½ lati. Fully clothes, the farmers used this for sleeping. For a few santimi (cents) you could buy ½ a loaf of white bread with water, and that was breakfast. I had to find work. Vacant positions were advertised in the paper “Jaunakas Zinas.” After a search I found a newspaper publishing place in inner Riga in a narrow lane, “Mazu Kaleja” street. When I got there, the street was full of people queuing for the paper to come out so that if there were any jobs advertised they would be the first ones there. Seeing this I became quite depressed. Standing there, I met a school friend from Aizpute in the crowd. He was also looking for work. We talked about accommodation and he offered me ½ a bed in a place he was staying. It was a room with 2-3 beds, all the people were strangers. The bed was all you got. The old woman who ran this rooming house was kind and suggested that it would be all right to squeeze up until I could find something better. I started to learn about Riga, which I did not know at all.
One day the old landlady said that the baker downstairs was looking for an apprentice. The work was only at night, starting at 4 PM and through the night until 8 AM (16 hours.) I worked with the baker making bread rolls. They were put in the oven in one end and taken out at the other end. The rolls were put on wooden platforms, covered with a linen fabric, and put near the ceiling to rise. My job was called “smuli.” I was in a rush most of the time: grab the platforms from the ceilings, then the baker puts them on slides like very long skis, then slides them in on the stone floor in the oven. The ovens were heated before use by wood to a temperature of 30 celsius. I slept and ate during the day in a little room above that I shared with another youth from the country. The food was very good but the wages were only 10 lati a month (approx. $10AUD) I wanted to explore Riga. After breakfast I would think to go on an hours’ walk, but often returned just in time for work at 4 PM. It was very hard. I was so sleepy that as soon as I stopped moving, I fell asleep. I struggled like this for 4-5 months. Spring was coming and I decided that being a baker was not for me.
I read in the paper that trainees were needed for milk production co-operatives. I went to Dzirnava street where the authority for this was. An elderly man, Mr. Kerselis received me kindly. He was a past manager of a milk co-operative. I told him all of my problems and that I was from the country. He told me the requirements for the job – I would have to work in the milk factory for six months on all the jobs, then three months theory in Riga that qualifies you to manage a milk co-operative. At that time, after the First World War, butter was in high demand overseas – in Germany and England – but only butter made under the state control. In every district the factories were organised but there was no qualified staff. Thus the managers were given crash courses in order to qualify. I was in the right place at the right time.
After 2-3 days I received a letter telling me that I was to start at Valena factory. I told the bakery boss that I was leaving for another job. He was very angry that I had exploited him, but I think it was the other way around. I had been working 16 hours a day. I was not sorry to leave the bakery; even though I had passed the winter in the warmth there and had been well-fed. At that time, after the war, there were no regulations about employment; the bosses could do as they pleased and there were no unions. Also, there were no holidays and I worked six days, except on Saturdays as there was no fresh bread on Sundays.
Valena factory was in a beautiful area with Gauja (a large river) only about 50 feet away. Valena was a village: two shops, a church, some trades people, the milk factory, a pharmacy, and some houses. The bends in the river were particularly beautiful. On the bank there was a very well-tended cemetery, the first time I had seen this. Every day after work I went to swim in the river and sit in the sun. The factory at that time was still quite small. There was only two of us working there; me and the manager Karlis Spunde, about thirty-years-old, a non-drinker and non-smoker. He was quite strict but kind, he treated me as a son and when I did something wrong he taught me the right way. After receiving the milk I had to wash all the used containers and machines. The hardest to wash was the pasteuriser; it was copper, double-walled. It was put in a large pot of boiling water, under which a wood fire was made. To make the butter, electricity was generated to turn the butter barrels and the milk separator.
My pay was 40 lati (about $40AUD), two kilograms of butter a month, and one litre of milk a day. And importantly, the work was finished by 10-11 AM. I slept in a small room above the Jaunzemja shop, approximately fifty meters from the factory. The manager himself only had a small room. My main meal after work was milk soup with dumplings and in the evening, rye bread with butter and a glass of milk. In the morning I did not have time to eat. With the sunrise I had to be up and the first job was to light the boiler to heat the milk and then put all the equipment together.
After about four months the manager suggested I try to get into the theoretical course in Riga. I decided to try, even though I should have worked on the practical side for six months. Because of the shortage of students in the course, I was accepted. All the time I was working I had not spent much money so I had 100 lati saved.
