Interesting facts from individual Russian history

In a Facebook post yesterday I mentioned that it was fifty years since my great-grandmother died. I got several comments on this post, including: “why not give us more info about her life as there's always interesting facts coming from individual Russians history?”

For people who read Swedish, I provided a link to my memoir that gives an account for interesting facts from my family history. But this book is unlikely to be translated into English, so for my English-language friends I can tell the story again.

It is, however, impossible to tell any family history out of context so I need to start a long time ago, as long as the family chronicle goes, which is 1788 when a forefather, Paul Tietz, twenty years old and poor as a church mouse, came to Russia from Germany. At that time, Catherine the Great of Russia invited skilful Germans to come and contribute to Russia's well-being, which they doubtless did. But my ancestor was not part of that diaspora, who are better known as Volga-Germans. He belonged to a religious sect who were wandering to Palestine by way of Russia, but often got stuck somewhere in the steppes of Northern Caucasus where they could rent or buy land from local dukes and start wine production. Actually, I have already told part of this story.

Within two generations, the Tietz family got rich beyond imagination on wine and grain. My great-grandfather Jonathan Tietz was the youngest son of a miller, but he didn't have to rely on a trickster cat to make his fortune. His older brothers did try to cheat on him, but he was clever enough to resist. He wasn't particularly interested in the family business but preferred to use his share of income to support young artists and musicians. He was a good musician himself and even sang for a while in an opera house in Moscow.

At that time it was usual for a young man to marry whoever their parents chose for them. Jonathan's father told him to travel to a particular little town where one of his business partners lived. He had two daughters. Jonathan was to choose one of them as his bride. Before he left, his mother told him: “When you have chosen, give her a box of chocolates, but tie it very hard with a ribbon and watch closely. If she cuts the ribbon with scissors, don't marry her, but if she ties up the ribbon no matter how hard the knot, she will be a good housewife”. Jonathan chose the older sister, Maria, and she untied the knot carefully and put the ribbon away in her sewing box. This does sound like a fairy tale, but no one in our family has ever cut a knot with scissors.

They were married and lived in the mill before Jonathan build a house of his own in the town of Pyatigorsk in Northern Caucasus. They had six children, but only three survived infancy. The oldest was my grandmother Elizabeth, or Elly.

To be continued.

The value of hobbies

Whenever I feel exhausted to the degree that I cannot even read, I escape to my new Tudor dollhouse. I've made lots of improvements: painted it both outside and inside, put in half-timbering, roofing, window shutters and latticed wondow panes (the latter I have learned to make from the net in which you buy your oranges). The joys of making a period house is learning all about the period. What colour should the outside walls be? A little folder from Lavenham is helpful.

Tudor kitchen tables were made of trestles with boards on them, not fixed so that they could be put away when not used. They had holes to hang on hooks on the wall. Masters would put notices on the board for the servants - hence, notice board. The trestles came in many shapes, such as the comb trestle, which is what I have made. I can soon sit an exam on the Tudor period. (Two weeks ago I had no idea what a trestle was, still less a comb trestle).

My most recent discovery concerns dogs. I want a dog by the fireplace in my grand hall, but how do I find out what breeds were to be found in the Tudor time?

Twenty years ago

Twenty years ago I was sitting in front of the TV in my living room in Stockholm, crying floods. I am almost crying now when I think about it. I grew up knowing that the Communist regime was invincible. At sixteen, I as prepared to die for freedom, to burn myself on Red Square, to do anything to overthrow the hateful dictatorship. My mother told me not to be a fool. Nothing would change if I sacrificed my life. The dictatorship was there for ever. Not even my grandchildren would live to see it fall.

And there I was, twenty years ago today, watching, together with the rest of the world, the Wall being pulled down. I had never imagined I would live to see it. But there it was, happening right in front of my eyes. I had never before known what it meant to cry of joy. Those who remember, just look back and contemplate. Those who were too young, try to grasp.

For my grandchildren it is all ancient history.