My grandmother was born shortly before the war. She became the third child in the family. When the war began, she became ill, she was placed in a hospital, treated for a long time and even sent by plane to a distant city for surgery. Her mother did not return to the hospital. It sounds awful, but I will not write about the reasons for this. I want to tell you, from my grandmother’s words, one story. The grandmother was 3 or 4 years old, and they with the children and an educator from the children's home returned from the river, where they were swimming. Summer, hot, wet children walk along the dusty road that leads through the field. And the grandmother shattered her legs to blood because of the wet floats, and walked behind everyone and quietly cried. At that time, alongside the children on the same river went the company (?) The soldier, and one soldier noticed the crying girl, and when he found out why, he got a nose cloth and bound her wounds on her legs so that they didn't crack on each other. The grandmother still remembers the motif (drawing) on that nasal wrap, and in her youth she often wrapped it on her wipes.