Many books have been written about life in Russia by outsiders in privileged positions and a few have been written by privileged Russians themselves. The number of the latter are so small that I have included here a chapter on life in Russia as it affected me - a privileged foreigner but living to all intents and purposes as a Russian. As a person with some training in observation and deduction it was interesting to see the Soviet way of life from the inside, and a brief note on what I found is perhaps worth recording.
Living problems in Russia divided themselves neatly up under three heads: food, housing, and heating, but all three were mutually interdependent since, if one category of food was obtained, then it was equally certain that a similar category of housing and heating would be available. Money did not really enter into it unless one was in the millionaire class, when all would have been available. Money was no criterion as regards the rations drawn and the privileges obtained; these depended entirely on position and work done. As far as that went, it could be said that the system was purely Communist and economically sound, as it based the standard of life of the individual on the service which he performed for the state. But into this neatly stacked deck of Communist cards there must be inserted the jokers of the black market and privilege by position, and these completely threw out of doctrinal gear the whole economic machine as applied to the individual.
Food was not rationed to the individual but was allocated by the state to the organisation or trades union to which the individual belonged and this organisation in its turn parcelled out the food on its quota to the particular individual- the amount depending upon the productive effort or the particular needs of the individual concerned. In practice this scheme applied only to rye bread and cabbage, the only foods the average worker obtained on his basic ration. Meat, butter, etc., were reserved for those in higher production groups or groups considered by the state more worthy of such luxuries.
These basic rations of bread and cabbage were issued only to workers and as a result everyone over the age of fourteen was bound to take a job in order to obtain what might seem to be the bare essentials of life. An exception was made for women with over two children under fourteen. They could obtain bread cards and certain other foods in the lower rationed category even though they did not work. If, however, they wished to obtain clothing coupons or supplementary rations over and above the basic, then they would have to go out and work. The other exceptions were the wives of generals and other Russians holding equivalent rank, who were excused from all work and received rations in a much higher category. If, in the case of generals' wives, their husbands were killed, these privileges continued; on the other hand, no widow of an ordinary Russian soldier killed in action received any sort of pension or privilege.
Generally speaking, there were three kinds of shops in Moscow. Those which sold goods against coupons and vouchers; those "commercial shops" which sold everything freely without coupons, vouchers, or any formality - but at a fantastic price; and the special shops where only privileged persons in certain categories could buy. In addition, there was the black market. Every effort by the Soviet authorities, ranging from executions and exile to education, had entirely failed to eradicate the "free market" and in 1945 it was flourishing as freely and probably on the same sites, as it had in 1919 after the Revolution.
Before dealing with the more legal means of purchase, a word about the black market may not be amiss. The Moscow black markets often occupied the sites of the old peasant markets, or indeed any large open space, and in these were crammed as many as ten thousand buyers and sellers all taking the opportunity of buying goods at a price considerably less than that which prevailed in the "commercial shops." The militia made no attempt to control these activities but contented themselves with patrolling the approaches and seldom stopped anyone who was old, infirm, or crippled, as were the majority of the stall holders. On the other hand if any healthy or well-dressed individual was seen leaving the market he or she would almost certainly be taken to the nearest militia post and stripped. All cash and valuables and any commodities which might have been bought would then be removed from the arrested person and he would then be released, probably also without his shoes. As a result it was extremely rare for any respectable householder to deal in person with the black market. For example, my own housekeeper, Olga, was visited almost daily by an aged crone whose sole duty in life was to act as go-between for the more well-to-do housewives in their dealings with the black market. Though in theory illegal, the market received de facto if not de jure recognition from the authorities. On one occasion we failed to receive our weekly meat ration but instead we were sent some tins of canned fish and told that we could exchange this for meat on the black market!
Throughout my stay in Russia I dealt at the special shops. I gathered that there were hierarchies in these as in so many other things and that the best of all these shops were those reserved for the theatrical profession. In them a ballet dancer, film star, or junior lead, earning about the same salary as a factory hand, could buy goods at a tenth of the price that the latter would have to pay at a commercial shop. Furthermore many goods in short supply were to be found only in the special shops and never filtered down to the commercial ones - even at the fabulous prices which prevailed there. The second best special shops, I was told, were those reserved for the Foreign Office, where among other things, suits, shirts, etc., could be bought at prices and of a quality which would compare favorably with prices in the rest of the world. I was led to understand by my more cynically - minded friends that this was designed to lessen the shock to the budding Soviet diplomat abroad exposed to the first impact of Western standards.
The third class in these special shops were those designed for the General Staff and in these I was allowed to buy. There I could purchase on my official salary at least ten times the amount that any worker earning the same sum in roubles could buy himself- and I was being given a salary which was drawn by few workers- but even so no one could say that I lived luxuriously by any Western standard. In fact my salary seemed to vary around eighteen hundred to two thousand roubles a month. It never seemed to be fixed and some months I received more and occasionally I was told that I had been overpaid the month before. This gave me the equivalent of twelve hundred pounds a year but if I had drawn my salary in roubles and spent it on the open market I should have lived at just above starvation level. As it was I used to buy all my rations and necessities at the General Staff shop and these purchases were signed for and the amount automatically deducted from my salary. The remainder of my pay I drew in cash and little good it was to me save for occasional tips. The difference in price can be seen from the fact that a packet of twenty- five cigarettes in the commercial shops was 45/ - while I purchased them for 4/6d. Similarly a box of matches which would be a penny farthing in the shop would be a few shillings in the open market.
I cannot complain as to my living conditions in Moscow. After all, I was living on the same scale as a Russian general. Equally there were no complaints from Olga or Ivan. Under Russian ration laws all the household draws the same ration as the head of the household and, as a result, while I was living in the flat they were drawing rations on the same scale as I. Nor when I first arrived in Russia were rations at all bad. The majority of the food that we drew was Lease-Lend material and we lived on excellent American canned products. After the end of the Japanese war, however, all Lease-Lend goods stopped and we then drew the equivalent amount of Russian rations and that was a very different thing. The food then, though still the same in quantity, deteriorated very quickly in quality; and the meat was often uneatable, and I for one got heartily sick of pickled cabbage - however excellent the quality.
As elsewhere in the world housing was a great problem in Moscow. A family which had more than one room could consider itself very lucky, or the head of the household was very privileged. Industrialisation has gone on apace but housing has lagged far behind. Factories and industrial undertakings were usually responsible for housing their employees but, faced with the difficulties of building and the shortage of supplies, they actually solved the housing problem by packing more people into the existing accommodation. Quite apart from the difficulties of building, the factories were also reluctant to build owing to the cost. Another factor that prevented building for workers was that all industrial undertakings were supposed to run at a profit and the heads of the organisations were reluctant to cut their paper profits and thus possibly incur wrath from higher up. This they would inevitably do if they indulged in building schemes, owing to the high cost of repairs and materials and the even higher cost of providing fuel for heating, which costs were inevitably far greater than any rent they might receive in return. Rent was limited to ten per cent of the tenant's income and in order to cover operating costs it was therefore necessary to pack every room to the absolute maximum.
The high building costs are also partially accounted for by the fact that it is only possible to carry out building operations during six months of the year owing to the climate. The building force, thrown out of work in the winter months, is usually occupied in snow-clearing, etc. The high operating costs are due to the high cost of fuel and the comparatively large labour force involved. Coal is in short supply in Russia and is not available for heating purposes save in public buildings. The usual winter fuel is wood and this has to be hauled, so far as Moscow and the large cities are concerned, from a long distance, as the forests near the large towns have been denuded long since. Wood-firing of the boilers means also that each block of flats must employ at least four and usually eight stokers and wood handlers as the boilers must be constantly fed throughout the twenty-four hours all winter long.
The block of flats in which I lived, 29 the 2nd Izvoznia Ulitza, was far from being a block of luxury flats by Western standards but would have seemed a paradise of luxury to the majority of the inhabitants of the Soviet Union. It had been built in 1938 as accommodation for the Red Army General Staff. It was also in sharp contrast to the surrounding jerry-built structures in having four-foot-thick walls and being built in an extremely solid fashion. This architectural style was not wholly in deference to the desire of the General Staff to be in a well-found building. The block was situated at a most convenient strategic position covering the important Mo- jaisk Chaussee and the Kiev Railway Station. I also noticed similarly well-constructed and solid fortresslike blocks of flats at other strategic points in the suburbs.
It will be remembered that the planning of the Paris boulevards under the Second Empire was not only for aesthetic reasons but also to give the imperial artillery a clear field of fire. Similar allegations were made regarding the workers' flats built by the Socialists in Vienna. The Moscow town planners learnt a lesson from their predecessors in imperial France and Socialist Austria and neatly combined in one building comfort for their army staff and the means of gratifying the same staff's tactical requirements.
In this block I had, as already mentioned, a two-room flat. Olga slept in the dining room and in theory Ivan and I slept in the bedroom. In fact after the first night Ivan deserted me and for the rest of my stay preferred the company of the housekeeper; from the point of view of comfort if not of morals I did not regret the change. There was also a bathroom, but this was more in the nature of an ornament, as hot baths were forbidden by law, the hot-water system disconnected, and all warm water for washing had to be heated on a stove.
The black market, however, penetrated even into this block, and the stokers ran a black market shower bath in the basement. I went there only once. In semidarkness, with the floor covered with mud and slime, and with no privacy whatever, they had rigged up one jet in the ceiling under which, for the payment of an exorbitant sum, one could gyrate beneath a trickle of warm water. The smell and the state of the floor put me off after my one attempt but I used to see the generals' wives, often swathed in looted furs, waiting their turn with their husbands.
I tried the public baths but found the smell and the general dirt too much for me. Any such excursion also meant a four- or five-hour wait in a queue before obtaining the doubtful privilege of attempting to get oneself clean. A chit showing that you had had a bath within the past few days was also required before one could take a ticket on a second-class train. A sensible precaution, as the seats in these trains were soft and provided only too convenient resting places for the "minor horrors of war." However, these chits were also readily obtainable on the black market! In the end I gave up the struggle to wash myself like a Russian and contented myself with washing in sections with the aid of a basin in the privacy of my own room. I at least knew then that any dirt I picked up was my own!
To run this block of fifty flats there was a staff of twenty-five: one "housemaster" and his secretary to control the staff and see that the tenants did not bring in unauthorised persons to share their flats; eight stokers and wood handlers; a plumber; an electrician; four lift attendants; four inside and two outside cleaners; and one guard in the courtyard to see that the washing was not stolen. At the end of the war when the generals returned home with their spoils of war, and after an armed robbery had occurred, two armed guards were added to patrol the place at night. (A general was entitled to one lorry load of loot and one private motorcar and with the return of the warriors our block became the wealthiest in the district.)
There have been complaints about the post-war crime wave in England but it is nothing to that which prevailed in Moscow when I was there. A large part of the city consisted of single-story log huts built long before the
Revolution and conforming to no street plan. These rookeries had been long scheduled for demolition and as a result no repairs had been carried out and the place, with a multitude of boltholes in, out, and around the crazy structure, provided an admirable hiding place for criminals. Indeed, effective control of the population there was so difficult and the number of gangsters harboured in them so great that during the time I was in Moscow these "Alsatias" were cordoned off by the militia between midnight and five in the morning. In addition there was a curfew from one to five and the streets were patrolled by cavalry who were inclined to shoot first and ask questions afterwards.
Crime was seldom if ever mentioned in the newspapers in Moscow, so that one knew only of those crimes which occurred in one's immediate neighbourhood. Never a week passed without one hearing of armed robbery, often accompanied by murder, in our district. The gangsters usually operated in large groups, one portion of the group committing the actual robbery and the rest manning the approaches to cover the getaway and often going so far as to put down holding fire to prevent the approach of any militia foolish enough to try to interfere. It was always impressed upon me that if ever I saw a robbery being committed- which, incidentally, would also include the clothes of the victim as well as the valuables- I was never to try to interfere as I was liable to be shot by the covering party.
During the war most of these gangsters were deserters (one division of Azerbaijan troops deserted during the winter of 1941-42 and terrorised the Moscow suburbs until the majority of them were rounded up). They were reinforced by deportees who had managed to escape from their guards on the way to labour camps and exile. I several times heard of whole trainloads of these overpowering their guards and then pillaging and ravaging the countryside. After the war the gangs received new blood in the form of demobilised soldiers who preferred a life of crime to the hunk of bread and handful of pickled cabbage which were the wages of industrial virtue. The most brutal of the gangs, which preferred on the whole to murder their victims as well as rob them, was the so-called "Polish Gang" which was alleged to consist of Polish deportees who had escaped and taken refuge in "Alsatia."
I am glad to say that I had no firsthand contact with these elements of disorder; my sole difficulty in Moscow arose out of a brush with the law.
On my arrival in Moscow the papers on which I had travelled were taken away and I had, for the first weeks, no sort of documentation at all. As a result Vera had warned me to take my walks in the back streets. After a bit, this prowling round the purlieus of Moscow did not suit me at all and, accompanied by the faithful- but protesting - Ivan, I went for a stroll down the Mojaisk Chaussee. Almost at once I was spotted by a plain-clothes- man as a suspicious character or a foreigner (in Russia the terms are almost synonymous) and he tipped off the first militiaman on the beat to ask for our papers. The militia in Russia take the place of the uniformed police in the West and they deal with "petty crime" up to and including murder. Major crimes such as political heresy, Trotskyism, etc., are dealt with by the N.K.V.D., now the M.V.D.
Ivan had previously told me that if we were picked up I was to refuse to answer any questions and to demand to be taken to the nearest militia post, whence he would telephone to the Centre and obtain our release. Accordingly on the militiaman's demand Ivan refused to make any reply. This was not at all according to plan as far as the rather dense militiaman was concerned, and he at once assumed that he had at last got hold of a real enemy of the state. Whipping out his automatic, he invited us to put up our hands, which we declined to do; he then whistled up a colleague who telephoned to the militia post for a car. We were kept at pistol point in the street for a good half hour before a big black Zis drew up and out of it jumped the smallest but quite the most ferocious plain - clothesman I have ever seen. Before he was out of the car he started firing questions at us, his five feet nothing quivering with eagerness. The whole impression was slightly marred as he was also adorned with an extremely handsome black eye, no doubt a legacy of some previous heresy hunt. He bundled us all into the car and we were whisked off to the nearest militia H.Q. for questioning.
Ivan at once demanded to be allowed to telephone, but this the little man would not allow and said that if Ivan gave him the number he would ring up. This in turn Ivan could not do as the number of the Centre, even though it was changed every month, could not be divulged to third parties. Matters appeared to be at a deadlock and Ivan was then taken off into another room and stripped and searched. His papers, which of course they then found, described him as an officer of the General Staff and gave his previous job, which had in fact been on the General Staff but quite unconnected with the Centre's work. As a result when the N.K.V.D. rang up his unit all that they could say was that he had left his job a little time before on a special assignment about which they knew nothing.
They then turned their attention to me. Our original interrogator was now joined by a female N.K.V.D. lieutenant colonel that had quite the most evil face I have ever seen. She was a complete contrast to her colleague. He, like many small men, was explosive and excitable and danced round the room as he roared out his questions. She was cold and expressionless and regarded me as a snake does a rabbit, and indeed there was something very reptilian in her appearance and approach.
My knowledge of Russian was extremely slight at that time but I did manage to gather that they wanted my name and address. I contented myself with cursing them in all the languages I knew and using all the words in my not un-extensive vocabulary. They did not appear impressed and I fear that it was wasted on them. In the end, enraged at the little man who thrust his face into mine, I cursed them both roundly in English, using the phrase usually rendered in polite society and print as "flick off." This had an immediate effect. My interrogators really thought that they were getting somewhere and at once wrote down on their paper "Name: Flick Off." I think they were somewhat impressed by the fact that I was well dressed and did not appear to be frightened of them, for they made no attempt to search me. After a further delay Ivan was allowed to dial the Centre's number himself and the N.K.V.D. were told that we were to be released unquestioned. About a quarter of an hour later a car arrived from the Centre and we were driven home by a roundabout route so that the militia post would not know where we lived. This in fact was a useless precaution as we had been arrested quite close to the flat and in my future walks abroad I frequently met the original militiaman who had arrested me and also his colleagues from the same post, who had all got to know of the mysterious foreigner who needed to have no papers. Whenever I saw them I was greeted with a broad grin and the salutation of "Good day, Comrade Flick Off."
My first months in Moscow coincided with the ever- quickening collapse of Germany and the days were punctuated by the booming of cannon and pyrotechnic displays to herald yet another Soviet victory. These salutes were very effective at first but got tedious after a time and must have been an infernal nuisance to the inhabitants of the jerry-built houses around ours, as there was a battery in the neighbourhood which fired part of the victory salvos and it must have shaken the flimsy houses considerably. In general the Moscow public were singularly apathetic about the war news. There were few newspapers in Moscow at that time save for an occasional one stuck up on a bulletin board, and few people appeared to look at the boards. All wireless receivers had been confiscated earlier in the war but their place was taken by loudspeakers in the streets and squares which broadcast a continuous programme of music and propaganda.
A quarter of an hour before the time for one of Stalin's Orders of the Day proclaiming a victory a special announcer broke into the programme and invited everyone to gather round and wait for an important announcement which was shortly to be made. The announcement was ultimately made, and very impressively it was done, but few people stopped to listen to it. The only announcement they wanted was that saying the war was over at last. The Russian propagandists had made the same mistake as Goebbels with his Sondermeldung and all its impressive accompaniments of Wagnerian music. Such things are all very well once or twice, but frequent repetitions, however good the news may be, dull the senses and breed contempt.
When VE Day did arrive the people of the Soviet Union remained in ignorance of it "for political reasons." Before it could be announced Prague had to be liberated by Soviet troops and as a result the Soviet Union had the dubious privilege of celebrating their VE Day twenty-four hours after the rest of the world.
The director had sent me a short-wave receiving set soon after our last interview and as a result I was able to keep in touch with world news, even though electricity cuts (sometimes we got only one hour's electricity a day) prevented anything like continuous listening. I managed to pick up enough to show me that the war was over and by some mysterious means the whole population of Moscow also seemed to be aware of it- though there had been no official announcement.
The morning after all the other Allies had celebrated the end of the European war, Ivan told me that there was a rumour that Stalin himself would announce the defeat of Germany from the top of Lenin's tomb. Accordingly we both went to the Red Square where we joined the crowd of thousands who had heard the same rumour. There was an atmosphere of tense excitement which heightened and grew almost unbearable when the loudspeakers announced that an important announcement would shortly be made. There was a corresponding emotional slump when all that was announced was the Order of the Day on the capture of Prague and the list of generals who had taken part in the "historic battle."
As there was obviously nothing to be gained by looking at the Kremlin wall, the crowd moved off into the neighbouring Revolution Square where they cheered members of the staff of the American Embassy who appeared from time to time on the balcony. It was not till that evening that the long-awaited announcement was made over the wireless that the war was over and "the flag of freedom floated over Berlin." By that time most of the enthusiasm had evaporated and, though it was somewhat revived by the booming of the victory salutes and the firework displays, the crowd seemed content to wander aimlessly about the town looking in vain for someone to cheer.
The end of the war had its own particular importance to me as it had to everyone. To most it meant that there was a chance of going home and rejoining their families. To me it meant that my affairs would be cleared up speedily and I should probably be off on my work for the Centre again.