The story of yesterday reminded me.

“Brow the good into the water.”

Epigram: “Guest in the house, joy in the house”

During the war, my grandfather served as a squadron in the 1st SISBR. Its full name: 1st Strike Engineer-Sapper Smolensk Red-Flag Order of Suvorov and Kutuzov Komsomol Brigade (who is interested in reading about such brigades, here is the link http://erazvitie.org/article/shturmovye_inzhnery). It follows from the name itself that the title was earned for the liberation of Smolensk. There, in the distant 1943, fierce battles were fought, and the losses among the assailants were enormous, because they were thrown into the very hell, but he was lucky. Years later, the few surviving brigade veterans even gathered in Smolensk for meetings. Grandfather also travelled several times, drank vodka, saw old faces of friends, and remembered things that he would like to forget.

Time runs, 25 years have passed after the liberation of Smolensk, grandfather quietly works as a teacher of mathematics in school and raises daughters. Although the family lives quite modestly in a very old, pre-revolutionary house, in a small two-bedroom apartment, he is quite happy with the fate. Suddenly, one beautiful evening, a noise in the hallway and a knock on the door. He opens, and he has 6-7 high school students and a couple of older boys on his doorstep.

He is astonished,
Who are you all?
They explain that they are young trailers (there was such a pioneer-komsomol movement in Soviet times).
What do you want from me?

He had such a moment in his biography. In 1943, for the liberation of Smolensk he was awarded a Grammy from the Central Committee of VKLSM. Healthy such a sheet, where it is quite pathetically written, how good it is. Gramota grandfather nafik was not needed, because the thing is uncomfortable, and where to put it, and what to do with it - it is unclear, because there is no place to store. Well, you can, of course, fold it and put it in a bag, but the product appearance it will then, obviously, lose. And considering that he is not a rear soldier, and with his squadron all the time on the front, in the snow, rain, and dirt, then surely from the beautiful paper will soon remain only scratches, how do not save it. As a result, he looked at her, twisted her hands, and left her at the brigade headquarters until the best times, because it would be safer. “The war will end, I will deal with it if I survive.“ I thought.

Soon I forgot about it entirely, because between the marches, passages on the mine fields, attacks, and wounds, there was something to do. The war ended in a completely different part, so the document did not have to take. Surprisingly, when the brigade was disbanded, the literature was not thrown out, and in some way it was transferred to the Smolensk Regional Museum, where it was displayed as an exhibition. My grandfather did not even know about it.

These young trailers found the literature in the museum, and... decided to find the grandfather. How they found out the address, I have no idea. But a whole group, having set up bicycles, left Smolensk, the benefit of riding is not very much, 150-180 kilometers. We drove, we drove, and then, in the evening, we fell in with unexpected guests.

My grandfather and grandmother were not rich people, but very salted. Clearly, they were not ready for such a visit, and the time later, the shops are closed, but the village hardening is strong. To refuse a guest, even uninvited, is shame and shame. Therefore, the grandmother, having abandoned all affairs, prepared a delicious dinner for everyone, eating all the supplies that were at home. And while she spelled over food in the kitchen, the grandfather entertained the guests with all sorts of military stories. My aunt, who was then a junior high school student, of course, this event was delayed in memory.

I do not know where these brave trailers expected to spend the night, but, of course, grandfather and grandmother did not put them anywhere for the night looking, all somehow dismantled, giving all the blankets, blankets, carpets, and pillows. In the morning, my grandmother made sandwiches. A funny incident happened, but soon forgot about it.

A dozen years later, my aunt graduated from the medical institute in Leningrad, and here she, like all the young specialists, should get the distribution. Many of her friends went to some deaf villages in Karelia, and she appears to be the same. She, over the years of her studies, became accustomed to Leningrad, and, obviously, did not want to go anywhere, especially to the hell. But distribution is distribution, you won’t argue here. Grandfather and grandmother are not very happy with the upcoming schedule, but "if the Motherland said it was necessary, the people will answer to eat."

And here in the distribution commission is one important uncle. He himself is not much older than her, but the weight there is considerable. Commander of Komsomol. She looks at her papers, notices her name, pays attention to her paternity. He seems to remember something.
Is your father like that? He asks.
Yes, he is answering.
Are you from City N?
is also true.

It turns out, this guy was one of those Komsomol-trackers, who many years ago visited my grandfather and grandmother. He did not forget the good reception, and remembered the girl who listened enthusiastically to her father's stories. Should I say that with the distribution everything went as well as she wanted.

This is actually all. Throw the good into the water and it will return to you.