It was spring – May – I gave notice and went to Riga to register at the milk factory authority. The manager there was Kersela, who had been a manager himself for many years. He was like a father to me – very friendly and helpful. He suggested that I take a few weeks holiday until a good job comes along as a manager’s assistant. I went home to Digaini, my oldest brother now respected me as an equal. I caught up on sleep and helped with some jobs.
After two weeks I got a telephone call at Base town hall, which was the closest telephone, that I had a job waiting at Prauliena factory. I packed my things, still not much to pack in the wooden box: two sheets, a blanket, a small cushion, work clothes, and a good suit. It was a long way to go, first to Aizpute then a narrow-guage rail to Liepaja. From Liepaja, in an ordinary train, to Riga, which at the time went through Lithuania (Mozekiem). In Riga I went to the employment authority to get a written confirmation of my appointment and stayed the night. The next morning I went on the first train to Madona, the closest station. I arrived there in the afternoon and decided to walk to Prauliena, about seven kilometres away, leaving my things at the station.
While walking, I caught up with an elderly man. We started talking and he asked, “Where are you going, son? I can see you are a stranger.” “I am from Kurzeme and have been poster to Prauliena milk factory as the manager’s assistant.” I replied. He said that means we are already acquainted and we got quite friendly. His name was Turss and we had been in the same course for the manager’s training. He was working as a milk supply coordinator. He told me that the manager was a woman – Marija Berkis. I was very happy that I had met him and that I at least knew someone. After about an hour we got to Prauliena manor. It consisted of the district hall, at the bottom of the hill were the milk factory, alcohol distillery, and farther up the hill was the school in the old manor building. Next to the factory there was a small lake; the water from it was used for the distillery and in the milk factory for cleaning and steam generation. The water for washing the butter was pumped from a well. I went into the factory to meet the manager M. Berkis, she was surprised that Turss and I already knew each other.
The building of the factory was not complete, it was changing from manual to fully steam-driven. The large milk churn and the steam generator were in place. There was a great hurry to connect all of the other machines; pumps and basins to be ready for the official opening a few days away when all the milk suppliers would be present. We, the workers, did not see the celebrations; as soon as the milk was through we had to disassemble the machinery and clean up. My special responsibility was for the steam generator and the butter churn because they were in rooms close together.
I have good memories from Prauliena. We were all young: the manager was 27, and the cleaner, Ida Darkevics, was 26-27. Pay was also good; 100 lati and 3 santimi for first-quality butter. This came to 140-150 lati a month, which was good pay at the time (a part-experienced government worker would get 60 lati a month.) Also, all milk products were free: butter, milk, cream, cream cheese, as well as a room and heating. We bought very little; if we made a vegetable soup with lamb we all shared it. I bought all new clothes, the latest fashions; I was a real city boy now, not a country boy. Then I bought a push-bike.
Soon after I arrived, a telephone exchange for the local farmers was opened at the factory. At first there were only thirty subscribers, but at that time it was a big event in the country. The exchange was put in the room I used. We all used it, for a small fee. Because we were all young, especially on weekends, we had a lot of visitors – for the young people it had become a meeting place. The farmers were well-off, butter at the time was expensive, even before the war the whole district had taken care to improve their herds – they had good thoroughbred, brown cows. Also, the standard of education was higher than in south Kurzeme, where I came from. The local farmer’s sons and daughters had finished schooling at Madona high school. There were also some who were studying medicine, pharmacy, or engineering.
I got on well with them. I dressed well and I liked girls that were smart and good dancers. We each had a partner. As the exchange was in my room, after-hours I was able to ring my Annina. Her name was Anna Medens, she lived at “Ubanos.” She was the only daughter and had a brother, Peter, who was my friend. Her mother was an invalid and bedridden. After work I often went there as Anna was the cook. The telephone was in her room. They had a large plantation of strawberries. In the spring we ate nice strawberries and made love. While the others worked in the fields, we were free. She was my first true love, even though she was older – 25-26 to my 20. She was lovely, had a good figure, played mandolin well, and only had a slight squint.
The first love was beaten – I went into the national service (compulsory) and my heart-flower went to live with an elderly farmer, without marriage, as a housekeeper. This was very unusual in the country at the time. I held her in my highest respect.
When I left for the national service, the committee decided that I should come back when I finished as Marija the manager was planning to marry a local farmer and I hoped to be a manager. I packed all of my possessions into a blanket pack and sold the bike. I took a week holiday and went to see a friend, Kronberg, who had been the accountant’s assistant at Prauliena but had been transferred and promoted to accountant to Druviena. Just before going to service I went to the new-soldier’s farewell ball at Lazdona, about five kilometres from Prauliena. I met a friend from Prauliena; she was working in Madona as a hairdresser and had her own shop. She was beautiful and a very good dancer.
I was assigned to the Latgale artillery corps which was stationed at Krustpils. On arrival there were about 1000 new recruits, we were lined up and divided into batteries. First all the university students were called out, then those that completed high school and those who had not completed high school. Then tradesmen and other workers were called. I applied as a milk factory bookkeeper and was assigned to headquarters as a bookkeeper. For army training I was assigned to the 4th battery for two months.
I managed well during my days in national service – I was used to managing and overcoming life’s difficulties and was never punished. When I returned from the practical training, I was sent to supply section where all the bookkeepers shared a separated room. At the headquarters my superior was a bookkeeper, Lozberg, who was single and a musician. He sang and played the violin and was very kind to me; he called me Zonin, after his son. After a couple months I ordered a good army uniform to be made in the same style as an officer’s. I had saved a lot of money in my last year at work before the national service. I had about 700 Lati, which I had put in the government bank. A good suit cost 100 Lati, and the boots 20 Lati. I wore my personal uniform only to go to balls or when I went on holidays.
Lozberg warned me not to associate with common girls as it was easy to get venereal diseases. He had a wide circle of friends because he lived in Jekabplis, which was on the other side of Daugava river. At that time there was no bridge so the river had to be crossed by raft, which was fun. Jekabplis was a town while Krustpils was only a village; one street with buildings each side, mostly populated with Jews. In towns where the army training was based there was a large population of prostitutes who went with the ordinary soldiers. Many times, Lozberg invited me to go to parties with him: “Zonin, put on your fancy uniform and come with me to the party in Jekabpils.” There he usually introduced me to teachers, university students, and other better-class girls. He was proud to show me off, to show that he had such an able assistant.
