They arrested me on the first of June, 1947, the feast of the Blessed Trinity, a major feast of the Church. The entire family was in Church as we always enjoyed being there. There was such beauty all around the church – Lilacs, Jasmine, peonies and roses everywhere. And it was like that in every yard, such was our faith. Later the cherries would bloom, and the apples, and red and black currents, which we called puryshkami. Everything was in bloom. Our dear mother Ukraine was full of such beauty, especially when everything was flowering with such sweet smells – yes, such indescribable beauty.

We went to church that morning not suspecting anything. O Good Lord, the KBG agents surrounded the church, and then stormed into the church, stopping the service. What difference was it to them, if it was the Feast of the Holy Trinity. They yelled at the priest: “Stop, how long will this continue!” They started to force everyone outside. There were two exits from the church. They forced everyone through only one. They had a list. Anyone on the list was taken and put on the side. They took 26 people like that. Then they searched inside the church again, to be sure no one was hiding there. The beautiful flowers around the church were ruined by the machine guns. At home they broke the locks, and ransacked everything. Of course, they didn’t find anything. There was nothing to find! Still they forced us to sign some sort of paper.

They took us straight to the local council, where they also brought those who weren’t at the church. No one was hiding, who, after all, knew. The village was occupied until the next morning. They didn’t allow anyone in from other villages - my friend tried. He had gone to the church to meet with me, and they arrested him and two other farmers. They brought them to the council also, and interrogated them about who they were, why they were there, and where they were from. They had to send someone back to their village for their documents, to find out if they really were who they said they were. And he was the secretary of the local timber industry. They eventually let him go, after many interrogations. He endured a lot for nothing.

Then a truck arrived with dogs and machine guns, and they loaded us on it. I remember how the head KBG agent, tapping his pockets, boasted: “Ah, today was a great success, I’ve earned a lot of money for today’s work, gathering all the troublemakers from this village.” They took us to the center in Solotvino, and on the next day took us to Ivano-Frankovsk. The inquest continued all the way into fall. It was already cold by the time they moved us, in stages, to Lvov. There we were held for some time. Then we were sent to the north, to Komi in ASSR. We worked on the railroad bed there. They told us it was Vorkuta and Comsomolsk,. I remember when we were working on that project, how planes, some quite large, were flying over us, one after the other. Then, through the convoy we found out, that they had photographed us, and did an article on how the young communist workers were building a road. The escorts were laughing at us; “Did you know you weren’t prisoners, but young communist workers”. That’s how it seemed. But in fact it was quite different, as any who was repressed knows. I don’t even want to remember the inhuman conditions, the harsh guards, the unbearable work, the starvation rations, the work - it’s so difficult.

Then they transferred us to the Irkutsk region to Taishet, to a special camp. You could only send two letters a year. It was an extremely harsh regime, though I can’t say anything personally about the punishment system. I remember one morning, the brigade leader came to our door early, and announced “Girls, we are leaving the ‘zone’”. One lady from Latvia, was so happy, saying, “Get up girls, we have to go, Stalin ordered, we don’t have a choice. Why bother!” And someone reported her, and they threw her into the punishment cell, where she sat starving.

In Irkutsk, we worked on different projects - like digging foundations. Of course we had to dig the foundations by hand. In order to haul out the dirt, we had to cut steps in the side of the foundation. Whoever was at the very bottom would place a load on the first step, and the next person would lift it to the next step, and so on to clear out the foundation. Imagine how much dirt had to be removed like that for a large foundation. Plus we had a quota to fill.

We also worked cutting lumber. The trees were very tall, like columns. We worked loading logs onto trucks. All the work was very hard; it’s hard to even think about it. I worked there till Armistice Day. Amnesty found me clearing stumps. Some prisoners worked in the forest, others clears stumps for the village farm. Our brigade leader comes up to us and says “we had a commission look into us, the twelfth column, and an unpleasant fate awaits someone.” Good God, what could we think! Several days later, when the work assignments came out, not everyone was included. They read out the list of those who would be taken for ‘cultural education’. And I was on that list. Vasilevna Lexnik, I was already married.

“Gather your things, and turn them in” they told us. “Right now, everything on the list- pillow, blanket, mattress; even everything we wore - jacket, the skirt we were issued, and such.”

They gave us new sneakers, very clean, a sweater, pants and blanket. Everyone laughed at what was given. “Turn in everything else” they said. Several girls who had parents nearby received some things from home. But we had no close family as they also had exiled all our relatives and children. Yes, they arrested everyone and exiled them to Siberia. Thus they arrested me on the first of June, and before the October holidays had come for my whole family - my sisters, and parents - and exiled them also. And not only my immediate family, but my relatives from the Omsk region, the Vasisski region and the village of Imshagal. At that time there were already Cubans, Cherksi, and Volga Germans (who were exiled in the 30’s) living there. They had already survived to that time. The young Germans were very good people who worked hard.

I was 18 years old when they took me, and 24, going on 25 when I was freed. I endured that punishment for 7 and a half years.

When I was freed, I immediately asked for permission to return to my homeland. They gave permission, but didn’t want to let me go right away. They sent us to the Mordovski region instead. They explained that we were free, but would have better luck in the Mordovski region. They also placed us in camps there, but already there wasn’t the hard, difficult work. But there were stumps to remove, and so right away they sent me to clear stumps. We lived in nice barracks, with glass in the windows even, very pretty. We had a commandant over us. They gathered us all together, just like on the trip from Moscow, then they gave us the final certificates. We worked there for a month and a half, and of course, now we did not have to report for work at 6 am, but already later. But still, they couldn’t herd us like sheep any more. But still they gave us a quota for how many of those stumps we had to dig out. They gave us a section and we had to clear all the stumps and roots. Some places were easy and others were more difficult, if the trees had deep roots. It was hard work, but we managed to clear those stumps.

Then the commandant came with his list indicating who was to go on which train car for the trip to Moscow. He led us barefoot to the station, but now we didn’t have to march in rows, but just walked as we wanted to, and the commandant didn’t even yell at us! Arriving at the station, the train was already there, and the commandant let us board. The cars were even passenger cars, and they served tea, just as you might imagine!

But of course, we didn’t feel that we were really free, and didn’t believe it, as there was a convoy behind us, and now again they were taking us somewhere. It had been many long years always feeling that I was being trailed by a convoy. I had already been a prisoner for seven and a half years. We all felt dismayed and not at all at peace, not believing that we were free. We expected someone to yell attention, and command us to get off the train.

But at last we reached Moscow, and from there traveled to Omsk. I was the only one going north, except for two ladies from Latvia going to their families. All the rest boarded trains to the western Urkaine, to Fankovsk, to Lvov, and such places.

And in Omsk, I went to my relatives.

I went to see my relatives in the village of Talovk. It was a village of 12 huts, full of unhappy migrants. The cow barns were farther off, 4.4 miles away. Except for a couple of horses, and these people no one else was there, except those Cubans, Checks , and Germans who were brought there earlier, and Ukrainians. The Cubans were already free at that time to come or go as they pleased, but of course none of them wanted to leave. They had already built homes, had cattle and pigs and other farm animals, and were surviving. They had been there several generations, and their parents were buried there, and the younger ones felt that this was already their home.

Soon, my younger sister Vasilia found me there. They admitted her to the communal farm and she came. I immediately asked: “Is Mother living? Is Father?” We never referred to our parents informally, as we were brought up to treat our parents with the highest respect. She answered: “Yes, Mother is still alive, as is father, only his legs hurt and he has trouble walking”. My family, they endured so much. When they were taken, they were given 20 minutes to collect their things. But what could they take with them? Why nothing. Much pain and suffering came from this. When I at last came to their village, my dear little momma walked a long way to come and meet me. Oh I can’t even think about it, or describe what a reunion it was.

In Omsk, I lived with relatives about two years. I still worked cutting timber, as I declined to join the communal farm. They didn’t look too kindly on me for that, but I didn’t care, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I went to the lumber region, to Pixovi, Many people from our village worked there, especially the younger ones, as the old people couldn’t go far. My father, on the other hand, was forced to work as he was a carpenter. They set him repairing sleighs, as it was winter. In the summer, he worked on the homes. Nor did they leave mamma alone, even though she was also old, they make her weed flax, gather it and spin. It was so difficult for her, her hands swelled up that she wasn’t able to do anything. And then my sister got on the village council, she had been in the army, and was able to throw those bales around. She said; “I work day and night, I’m practically supporting the whole farm myself, you do the spinning yourself.” And at last they left my dear mamma alone. Father still had to work, but then whenever they received a delivery of cloth, he received two or three yards, and thus we were able to make our clothes.

There were good people there who advised me, as to where to write about my parents. I wrote lots of letters, and replies came from Omsk and Moscow. The replies always came to the commandant, and every month I still had to register with them. I also wrote to Kiev, because Moscow said it was Kiev that liquidated us. But of course, Kiev said, its all Moscow’s responsibility write to them. The regional commandant from Vasis was already coming for us to register. He usually came every month to be sure we hadn’t run off.

That was simple life in the Soviet Union. Even after we were freed, we still lived as if we were in a prison camp. Thus the commandant would come and inform us if a decision come about leaving. But he would strongly request that we help with the harvest, saying: “You will go, we, of course will provide your documents and let you go. I’ll bring the documents with me – the next time I come.”

That was how it was. I could leave the sawmill any time I wanted, I could quit, but my sister had to help with the harvest on the communal farm. Only when the brigade-leader declared the fields all cleared, did we receive the final permission to leave. We gathered up everything there was. Yes, Lord, what little there was. We were given a pass and we left along with several other people. This was the spring, March of 1957. I only remember that we arrived in April. I don’t remember the date, but it was almost Easter.

It was difficult to reach Omsk. We traveled by trucks and even bulldozers, until we found a car which, for a price, brought us to Omsk. The driver took us straight to the train station. There, we all bought tickets, Father, Mother, Vasilis my younger sister, and I. We were heading home. From Omsk we traveled to Moscow, where we had to change trains, from there it was an easy trip to Frankovsk, and then to Stanislav.

As soon as we got off the train, mother and father fell to their knees, and kissed the holy soil of home. Dear God, how they had wanted to return. Even in Omsk they would cry for home. Father often sat smoking his pipe with tears flowing from his eyes wondering when would we ever get out of there? Momma broke her hand, and would sob uncontrollably. Eternal Rest to you, my dear momma. Of course, we once had a home and everything there in the Ukraine. Now they had to live in a shack, a former stable – they chased the horse out, and settled them there. There were such shacks there. Lord, what is there to say, so many tears, so much suffering, so much persecution, so much injustice one had to endure. I don’t like remembering all this so I’ll just be quiet.

And how was it when they returned? A garrison had been stationed in our hut such that their kitchen was in our garden. We had a large barn, where we used to keep horses. The shed for the cows and pigs was where they kept their horses. Of course, since we weren’t there, many such things had happened. There were now three garrisons in our village. So everyone just had to adjust to the new reality. Even the priest’s home had been burnt down. The priest had been my father’s friend since they were one year old. The priests name was Ivan, and his family name was Tishber. He was from someplace in Galich. When he finished the seminary, they sent him to our village. He had often come to our house. They burned his house down, because they had wanted him to become Orthodox, but he refused, saying; “I was born and baptized Greek-Catholic, I lead the Divine Service, how could I change.” He flatly refused. They wanted to throw him out of the village, but he was not young either. So he begged to be allowed to stay in one half of our house, so that he could remain near the church. The decision as to whether or not he was a criminal was slow in coming from Kiev, but at last they decided he could stay - and that he could stay with us. He was so happy. He even ended up dying right there in our house. And we carried him to his grave. That was our life – it was very difficult. It’s difficult to even think about it.

I ended up here in Magadan, because my brother, Peter, had to serve a seven year sentence here in the Dneprovski camp. My husband was also sent to that camp. They were there at the same time, but didn’t know each other. And of course, the camp was far off. My brother suggested I come here, and he would find work for me, even if only in the sewing factory. So I did. I came to Magadan in 1958. I spent about a year with my parents, and then moved to Magadan to be near my brother. He had married, and already had a daughter, Nina. I began to work, made many friends, married, and had two children. And so I stayed in Magadan. I lived there 33 years, surviving each year. I worked in the sewing factory, and from there retired.

When we worked in Taishete, we wore a number on our blouse and jumper. My number was A-661. This abasement was the worst thing for me, plus the fact that one could be killed any minute. Good Lord, don’t let anyone say anything against another, they could shoot you without warning. We were lined up, surrounded by dogs, and warned: “Take a step out of line to the right or to the left and you will be shot without warning”. It was the same on the work projects. God forbid anyone should step out of the ‘zone’ even a foot, and you would be shot without warning. And it happened so many times, people were simple shot dead. Indeed, every step was terrible, they ordered ‘down’, and mud or no mud, everyone had to lay with their faces to the ground. Rarely was there a calm and carefree day. We were threatened every minute. I can’t remember even one normal day. Even when we had free days, they still ordered us out to pick up trash from the yards where the supervisors lived. Go there and pick up and gather up everything. And they could do that – winter and summer, day in and day out. Yes, humiliation on humiliation; that was probably the worse.

Our family was a very religious and highly respected in the village. Do you know how many people gathered when we returned? After all our family was very large, with many kinfolk there and in the neighboring villages. They let everyone know that we were returning, and came to meet us. We found out all the news - who had married and the like with the cousins and distant relatives. Seeing that my parents were already old, many thought that they would probably not be able to return. But thanks be to God, they did return. I had personally begged God, innumerable times, to allow them to return to their home and live but three years in their hut under the hazelnut trees. And God gave them not three, but 18 years. There was no greater joy for me, than that my parents returned to their home.

What helped me to survive those 7 years in prison? Probably, like for all, it was God’s will, His strength, and the Holy Spirit. Whatever I did, and wherever I went, I constantly prayed. You go in formation, and what do you think, you only pray, only prayer. That’s what saved a person, nothing else could, only the Lord God, and his strength. And of course, my dear sweet mamma prayed for me, kneeling or with her face to the ground, begging that God would protect me. I had seen how she prayed for her children when they arrested Peter and Eustace before me. And two older sisters, Marge and Evdox were also exiled to Siberia, one to Tyomensk, the other to Kemerov. No one was left in the village; no one had the right to be nearby. Only father, mother and my youngest sister Vasilia could stay; all the rest were sent to different places.

They did this intentionally. Not only me and my family, but many, many families were split up and sent to different parts. I thought we would never see each other again. But, thanks be to God, we were able to see each other again, and in our home town, and most importantly, we have photographs of being together again. My daughter Irina has them in Khabarovsk. I have two children, two daughters. One is here, married, living in Magadan. The other is in Khabarovsk. I am very grateful to God for my children. They are very good to me; they studied well at school, graduated from the university and are working. And I have a very good husband. I can’t complain about him. He doesn’t smoke or drink, and we were always close. He was also from the Ukraine, only from a different part, from Drouobichsk.

And I have found our Church here through Fr. Michael. I consider myself lucky to be able to go to church. It is a great joy for me. I had gone to the Orthodox Church often, but it became too difficult for me to stand. Here it’s easier for me. I can hear every word spoken, and what they talk about. How precious are these prayers to me, Oh Lord. Thank you for everything. I will never stop thanking Him.