Trudov

Leningrad. Summer 1941. At the zoo, while preparing for evacuation, the staff understood that reptiles were among the most vulnerable.

The pre-war Leningrad Zoo housed quite a number of reptiles: snakes, lizards, monitor lizards, various species of turtles, and crocodiles. They required constant heat, humidity, specialized lighting, and food, which was nearly impossible to provide in a besieged and unpowered city. When mass evacuation began in June/July 1941, reptiles were prioritized. Attempts were made to move them first because without electricity and heating, they were doomed to a slow death by cold.

At the end of June/beginning of July, the first train echelon departed for Kazan with approximately 80 animals. Among them were black panthers, tigers, polar bears, a rhinoceros, a tapir, pelicans, large parrots, kangaroos, and monkeys—as well as reptiles. Exact species lists for the reptiles have not survived, but sources mention that snakes, lizards, turtles, and crocodiles were transported in the train. One American crocodile did not make it to Kazan. It died en route from stress, shaking, and the inability to maintain the required temperature. Its body simply could not withstand the journey.

Another shipment of reptiles (and other animals) was sent to Belarus, but the war caught up with them in Vitebsk. The train carrying the animals was bombed by the Luftwaffe (Trains and railway strategic infrastructure were a priority target for attacks).

In Leningrad itself remained those who could not be evacuated in time. Large predators were shot on the authorities’ orders to prevent them from breaking out during bombings. And the reptiles… they simply froze. Terrariums cooled down within hours; water in the drinking bowls turned to ice; and food (insects, vegetables, meat) disappeared.

Tropical snakes and lizards died first—their metabolism required heat, without which they fell into a coma and died. The crocodiles were fortunately evacuated in time.

By the spring of 1942, almost all reptiles in the besieged zoo had perished. The only one to survive all 872 days was a small star tortoise. It was one of the most undemanding animals, possessing a slow metabolism and the ability to hibernate at low temperatures.

The zoo staff did everything possible for her: they arranged warm shelters made of blankets and carried her to heated corners where they themselves sought warmth. The tortoise was fed scraps of vegetables, grass, and potato peels—the minimum required to prevent starvation. She did not demand meat, nor did she panic from the bombings; she simply waited.

By 1943, when only about a hundred animals remained in the zoo, the star tortoise was the only reptile alive. All other reptiles had died.

After the blockade was broken and the war ended, reptiles gradually returned to Leningrad, but those evacuated to Kazan partially remained there, forming the basis for the Kazan Zoo and Botanical Garden. The Leningrad Zoo preserved the memory of that tortoise as a quiet, small creature that did not cry out or roar, but simply survived against all odds.

Leningrad. July 1941. In the zoo, just as the war was closing in and bombs were about to rain down on the city, a terrible order was issued: liquidate the large predators.

This was a decision made by the city authorities. Harsh, but unavoidable. The enclosures were mostly wooden, the cages fragile, and bombings could destroy them at any moment. Imagine: a tiger, a lion, or a bear loose on the streets of besieged Leningrad, among people starving to death. Nobody wanted such a nightmare. Therefore, in early July, even before the city was completely surrounded, the order was given: destroy all large predators. This included lions, tigers, leopards, bears, and wolves (those that could not be evacuated before the siege). This applied to those who could pose a real threat if they broke free.

The executioners were not the zoo keepers. The keepers could not bring themselves to raise a hand against their charges. The task fell to the militsiya (the Soviet equivalent of the police)—men in uniform, accustomed to orders, but not to this kind of order. They arrived at the zoo early in the morning, while the city was still asleep, and did what was required: they shot the animals with rifles.

The bodies of the predators were buried right there, in hastily dug pits. This was a necessary measure; the war left no other choice.

But there was a loophole in the order. A small, yet saving one. The decree stated: liquidate the large predators. Baby animals were not considered “large.” The militiamen decided to interpret the order literally: “Large means adult.”

Thus, the tiger cubs, brown bear cubs, and wolf cubs survived. The situation became somewhat more stable, so the authorities did not issue a second order to eliminate the now-grown cubs.

The liquidation of the predators became one of the first tragedies of the Siege and a reminder that war spares no one. But the specific wording in the order, “large predators,” allowed at least some to survive.

NOTE: I could not find any photographs of the liquidation (and it is unlikely anyone would have taken any at the time), so I have inserted a photo of a militsiya officer.

Leningrad. Summer 1941. In the zoo, even before the blockade ring closed around the city, a tiger cub named “Kotik” (rus. The Kitten) was born.

He entered the world in July, when the war was already raging, but Leningrad was still breathing relatively calmly. However, when the blockade ring closed, his mother tigress was “liquidated” (The city authorities ordered the elimination of large predators, fearing they might break out and pose a danger to the residents). The zoo employees could not allow the cub to die for nothing, but feeding a tiger cub was nearly impossible: there wasn’t enough milk even for the humans, and meat had become a luxury.

Then they found a solution that seemed miraculous even in those days. One of the zoo’s stray dogs, a dog named Alma, had recently lost her puppies. The keepers decided to take a chance: they placed the tiny tiger cub next to Alma.

The dog accepted him immediately. Kotik drank the dog’s milk and slept pressed close to the warm side of his adoptive mother.

The winter of 1941–1942 brought frost and famine. There was no electricity, no water, and no proper food in the zoo. Predators were fed a mash made of sawdust, oilcake, grass, pine cones, acorns, and rowan berries—sometimes they stuffed old hides with this mixture just to trick their instincts. Kotik, who had grown larger but was still young, ate what he was given and survived thanks to the care of the people and that very Alma.

Kotik survived the entire blockade. The exact date of Kotik’s death is unknown—the archives did not preserve all the details—but it was definitely sometime after the war, in peacetime.

NOTE: Kotik’s siblings did not survive the first blockade winter. Attempts were made to save them, but the conditions were too harsh for young predators without proper milk and meat. Kotik became the exception thanks to Alma and the special attention of the keepers.

In 1958, during the Brussels World’s Fair, Expo 58 (one of the largest and most famous expositions of the 20th century, where the famous Atomium was built), a so-called “Congolese Village” (village indigène or Kongorama) was organized in the “Tropical Gardens” section dedicated to the Belgian Congo (then still a Belgian colony). Approximately 598 people were brought there from the Congo (273 men, 128 women, and 197 children—entire families). During the day, about 120 of them were displayed in the reconstructed “village” behind a bamboo fence, dressed in “traditional” clothing.

Expo 58 ran from April 17th to October 19th, 1958, but the “village” was closed early—already in July 1958 (about 2–3 months after opening). The reason: the Congolese people (many of whom were educated city dwellers, not the “primitive natives” they were positioned as) began openly protesting the humiliation. Visitors threw bananas and money at them, insulted them, and mocked them. The people refused to tolerate it, staging strikes and demanding proper treatment. As a result, the organizers (the Belgian Ministry of Colonies) were forced to send them back to the Congo ahead of schedule to avoid a scandal.

The “human zoo” with the Congolese operated at a time when humanity had already entered the space age. (Meaning: approximately 6 months and 13 days passed between the launch of Sputnik 1 and the opening of the exhibition.)

Let me tell you briefly. The Revolution destroyed the Russian Empire. However, the First World War was still ongoing. German troops broke through the front line and were advancing towards Petrograd. The old Imperial Army had effectively disintegrated. Soldiers, weary of the war, were heading home. There was almost no one left to defend the capital.

The Bolsheviks raised the alarm. On February 22nd, Lenin issued an emergency decree: “The Socialist Fatherland is in danger!” and an urgent mobilization began.

Rifles were handed out on the streets. Workers, peasants, and sailors signed up as volunteers. A decree to establish the new “Workers’ and Peasants’ Red Army” had been signed back in January, but now its formation proceeded at an accelerated pace.

In those days, battles raged near Pskov and Narva. Hastily assembled volunteer detachments held back the Kaiser’s advancing troops. Although the German offensive could not be stopped in a single day, these battles became a symbol of resistance.

On February 23rd, mass volunteer enrollment into the Red Army took place in Petrograd and Moscow. This day was later chosen to celebrate the anniversary of the founding of the Red Army.

The date became a symbol. Initially, the holiday was called “Red Army Day,” and later “Soviet Army and Navy Day.” Today, in the CIS countries, it is known as “Defender of the Fatherland Day.”

From frozen volunteers with rifles to modern drone operators, the name has changed, but the essence remains the same. It is the day for those who are ready to take up arms and go to war

Initially, they tried to build the metro using the cut-and-cover method. That is, they dug huge trenches across the streets. Because of this, the city was paralyzed, and historical buildings suffered significant damage. The construction curator, Lazar Kaganovich, was furious. Authoritative engineers offered excuses: “Moscow’s geology is terrible. Groundwater will flood everything.”

And then, a young engineer named Veniamin Makovsky appeared. He declared: “Digging up the streets is nonsense! We need to go 40 meters deep and drill tunnels using a Tunnel Boring Machine (TBM), just like in London.”

The old professors rejected his idea, stating, “The pressure will crush the workers!”

At that time, arguing with authorities was unthinkable. But Makovsky took a major gamble. He personally pushed his idea through to Kaganovich. Realizing he had nothing to lose, Lazar presented the project to Stalin.

The authorities made an unexpected decision: to trust the young engineer. The USSR purchased one Tunnel Boring Machine from England, disassembled it, and, using reverse engineering, created their own copies. To prevent groundwater from flooding the workers, the ground was frozen using a solution of calcium chloride with a negative temperature, which circulated through special pipes.

A young Party leader, Nikita Khrushchev, personally descended into the shafts and stood knee-deep in icy mud, solving problems on site.

The metro opened in 1935. Makovsky turned out to be right with his project. For the first 20 years, the Moscow Metro was named not after Lenin, but after Lazar Kaganovich—the man whose iron will made this project come true.

Georgy Malenkov. You don’t know him, yet he was.

Stalin is dead. Georgy assumes the highest state post—Chairman of the Council of Ministers. The country is under collective leadership. Power is divided among three men: Malenkov controls the state apparatus, Beria controls the security services, and Khrushchev controls the Party.

Against them, Georgy appears to be a mild-mannered bureaucrat, but this is deceptive. He went through the harsh Stalinist school.

Everyone fears Beria. His ambitions threaten the others. Georgy is no lone hero. He enters into a conspiracy with Khrushchev and Marshal Zhukov.

Right there in the Kremlin, the military arrests Beria. Georgy, as the head of the meeting, sanctions the execution, and Beria is shot. The path is clear, but the allies will soon become enemies.

Georgy bets on the people and their needs. He declares: “Enough building only weapons; we need food and clothing.” He cuts taxes and allows small-scale entrepreneurship. Shop shelves noticeably begin to fill up. A saying even emerged among the people: “Malenkov has arrived, and we ate Blinks” (the rhyme is in Russian).

However, the real power belonged to Nikita Khrushchev, who controlled the Party’s personnel. Khrushchev outmaneuvered Malenkov in the cabinet intrigues, accusing him of inexperience and past mistakes. In 1955, Georgy was removed from the post of Prime Minister. He attempted to regain power but ultimately lost.

He was sent to Kazakhstan to work as the director of a power station. Later, he retired and died in Moscow in 1988, remaining in the shadow of Stalin and Khrushchev.

Leningrad. Autumn 1941, the beginning of the blockade. In a wooden house designed for 4 apartments, all the food had run out.

The yard dog, Trezor (a mix between a terrier and a hound), also felt hunger. Only water remained in his bowl.

The residents expected the dog to leave them.

But Trezor did not abandon the people. Every morning, he began to leave the outskirts of the city and return with prey: first a hare, then other small game, but mostly he brought back hares.

This was enough to cook soup or broth for everyone. Four families lived in the house, totaling 16 people (adults and children). Thanks to Trezor, none of them died of starvation throughout the entire blockade.

The dog survived the blockade, but sadly, not for long.

In June 1945, Trezor left for a hunt out of habit, but returned an hour later, leaving a trail of blood.

The dog had stepped on a mine left over from the blockade era. Trezor hobbled back to his home courtyard and died in the arms of the people he had saved throughout the entire war.

The year 1914. The Russian Empire enters World War I. Nicholas II makes a risky decision. He introduces total Prohibition. All alcohol stores are shut down. The country is obliged to welcome the New Year of 1915 sober.

The Tsar thought the people would go to church, but instead, they went full Breaking Bad. The common folk, deprived of alcohol, began drinking anything that burned. Denatured alcohol, furniture polish, and even cologne came into use. Hospitals were overflowing with poisoned individuals. People went blind and lost their minds from surrogates.

But the most terrifying developments occurred among the Petersburg elite. Aristocrats didn’t drink surrogates. They turned to “maraffet.” This was the term used for cocaine in the Russian Empire. At that time, it was freely sold in pharmacies as a remedy for toothache and depression.

The result of the Tsar’s “Healthy Lifestyle Initiative” turned out to be a catastrophe. The treasury lost almost a third of its budget and hundreds of lives.

In 1925, the Soviet government capitulated. Prohibition was repealed. State-produced vodka appeared on the shelves, which the people nicknamed “Rykivka” in honor of the USSR minister Alexey Rykov.

New York. The Roaring Twenties. Jazz! But Prohibition is in effect across the country. Yet, people are preparing to welcome 1927 with a glass of champagne. Nobody knows that the government has prepared a deadly gift for them.

Since proper alcohol was unavailable, bootleggers stole industrial alcohol intended for paints and lacquers and attempted to purify it.

The authorities knew about this. And so, the federal government issued a radical order: make the industrial alcohol lethally poisonous to deter people from drinking.

Kerosene, chloroform, and the most deadly substance—methanol—were added to the formula for the industrial alcohol.

The celebration begins. People raise their glasses in speakeasies. By morning, the hospitals of New York are overflowing.

The symptoms are the same for everyone. First, hallucinations, then complete blindness, followed by respiratory paralysis and death. Doctors were horrified. They could do nothing.

The main proponent of Prohibition, Wayne Wheeler, stated: “The person who drinks this industrial alcohol is a deliberate suicide. The Government is under no obligation to furnish the people with alcohol that is drinkable when the Constitution prohibits it.”

In total, over 10,000 Americans died during this Chemists’ War.

December 1941. The Siege of Leningrad. The city is under continuous shelling. The ration is 125 grams of bread per day. That year, the command made a desperate decision: to arrange a holiday for the children. A single train car filled with tangerines was sent from Georgia (a country in the Caucasus region; not the 14th state) to the besieged city.

The final leg of the journey was across the “Road of Life” over the ice of Lake Ladoga. The driver behind the wheel was Maxim Tverdokhleb. On the ice, the truck was spotted by two Nazi aircraft, and they began their hunt. Maxim maneuvered, but bullets pierced the cabin.

The windshield shattered into fragments. The temperature outside was -20°C (-4°F). Stopping was impossible; the truck would become an easy target. Only through sheer persistence did Maxim reach his destination, but he no longer had the strength to leave the cabin and was almost unconscious. Soldiers carried the driver out by hand and urgently rushed him to the hospital.

The truck was found to have 49 bullet holes, but the cargo remained intact. These tangerines were distributed to children for Christmas in bomb shelters and hospitals.

For many young Leningrad residents, this bright orange sphere and its aroma became the last joyful memory in their short lives…

Leningrad. Winter 1941. In the center of this hell, in the zoo, lived a female hippopotamus named “Beauty.”

She required 40 kg of food and 300 liters of water per day to live. For a city dying of starvation, maintaining a two-ton animal was an unjustifiable luxury.

The water pipelines had been destroyed during air raids, causing her pool to dry up. A hippo’s skin dries out without water, cracks, and begins to bleed. The animal, covered in sores, quietly groaned in the corner of the empty pool, dying from pain and hunger.

Her salvation came in the form of a woman named Evdokia Dashina. Every day, she walked to the Neva River (the river upon which St. Petersburg is built) with a small sled and brought back 40 buckets of ice-cold water, which was then warmed on a potbelly stove.

Evdokia spent hours bathing the animal’s hide with warm water and rubbing camphor oil into the cracks to stop the bleeding.

There was nothing to feed her with. Dashina took sawdust, added a little grass, oilcake (press cake), and potato peels, which she then boiled into a homogeneous mash. This gruel was used to stuff the beast’s stomach to trick its hunger.

When the night raids began, amidst the roar of artillery and the wail of sirens, Evdokia would descend to the bottom of the empty pool, hug Beauty around the neck, and lie down next to her on the cold concrete. Only in these embraces would the beast, driven mad by fear, calm down.

Beauty survived the blockade. She passed away in 1951 from old age.