The villages of the Don were portrayed in pen and ink sketches by my father-in-law, taken by their rural loveliness, as he led his small band of soldiers to disaster nearly seventy years ago. At least, unsually, he led them out again, most of them.
Now we see the President of Europe, the President of the European Commission and the Prime Minister of Russia (someone else is having a turn at being President of Russia at the moment) in Rostov-on-Don sorting out further relations between Europe and Russia more amicably.
Perhaps we too will soon be able to board a train and set off for Russia without a visa ( and without an artillery unit) wave from our sleeper car at Monculi, glowering on its hill in its long outworn defences across the Giotto landscapes, as did my dear father-in-law from his troop train, and on through a Europe that must hold fast to the vision of no more fighting. Russia is as much part of Europe as it is part of the East and, indeed, part of the Mediterranean.
Big, Russia is, as Field Marshall Montgomery noted. And not an enemy, as perhaps he didn't.
2 comments:
I had my 17th birthday on the banks of the Don, near Rostov on Don. FWIW. Terrible mosquitos.
Elby! Your life! Wandering round London with your jamas hanging out of the bottoms of your trousers, 17th birthdays on the banks of the Don.
Who took you there? What were you wearing?
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