No-one is forgotten and nothing is forgotten

27th January 1944 saw the end of the brutal 872 day Siege of Leningrad.

The city was one of the strategic targets of Nazi Germany, and it is one of the most harrowing and tragic chapters of WWII, in which an estimated 1.2 million Soviet citizens and soldiers died.

To mark this occasion Manchester Branch comrade, Barrie Eckford placed a poignant tribute at the plaque commemorating Red Army soldiers at St Peter’s Square Cenotaph. Barrie says, “We need to ensure that this date is not forgotten, as this great victory over the Nazi's saved Europe and the world from subjugation.”

The Plaque, which was unveiled last September bears the words of Soviet poet, writer, playwright and journalist, Olga Berggolts: “No One Is Forgotten”.

Among the items placed at the plaque is a picture of Berggolts, bearing the colours of Leningrad and two silver swallows, evoking her famous 1945 poem “Siege Swallow” a translation of which is reproduced below.

Berggolts lived in Leningrad during the siege and during the first months of the blockade, more than 1,500 loudspeakers were installed on the streets of the city. People in Leningrad were cut off from the country, and Radio Leningrad not only provided vital information to the people of the city, but broadcast Berggolts’ powerful poetry and flowing speeches as well.

The tribute at the cenotaph also featured a metronome, one of the symbols of the Leningrad blockade. During breaks in broadcasting, the radio was not silent – the sound of a working metronome was broadcast on the air. The metronome signal confirmed that the city hadn’t fallen, and also warned people about artillery attacks and air raids. The rapid pace of metronome meant an air alert or bombardment, a slow one meant a stand-off or no alarm. Residents of Leningrad who survived the siege said that they perceived the sound of the metronome as the heartbeat of the city.

Siege Swallow

Olga Berggolts

In the spring of 1942, many Leningraders carried a badge on their chests - a swallow with a letter in its beak.

Through the years, both joy and adversity will forever shine for me alone - that spring of the forty-second year, spring in the besieged city.

I wore a small swallow made of tin on my chest myself. It was a sign of good news, it meant: "I am waiting for the letter."

This sign was invented by the blockade. We knew that only a plane, only a bird would come to us, to Leningrad, from our sweet, sweet homeland.

… How many letters have I had since then? Why does it seem to myself that until now I have not received the most desirable letter ?!

To the life that has risen behind the words, to the truth poured into every line, conscience would fall, like lips on a red-hot afternoon - to a spring.

Who didn't write it? Didn't send it? Is it happiness? Is it a victory? The trouble? Or a friend who has not been found and recognized by me forever?

Or is that letter still wandering somewhere, desired as light? He looks for my address and does not find it, and, languishing, yearns: where is the answer?

Or the day is near, and by all means, in the hour of great spiritual silence, I will accept the unheard-of, incorruptible news coming from the war ...

Oh, find me, burn with me, you, long promised to me by everything that happened - even by that ridiculous swallow, under siege, in war ...

Further reading:

Unveiling of the plaque at Manchester Cenotaph last year 

Olga Bergholz - This is Radio Leningrad 

Siege Swallow - Original Russian text