‘There were different people, even in the days of German occupation. And we were friends when Polish ruled. We were friends with Polish. Pals. Even not pals, but children who got on well. We used to have fun and play different games, e. g. hopscotch. It was something so dear and intimate for us that when Polish children were taken away, we cried so hardly. It was a pity. They didn’t know where they were being taken to. Some people were moved to Siberia, and others were brought to Poland, to better places, as it seemed. I recall good people all the time. There was Mrs. Yunchalikova. Well, sometimes my family was in want. She was poor as well, and if she had some potatoes, she washed and peeled them. Then she cooked pancakes from that peeled potatoes. And she always called us and shared. And also some Jews lived in front of us. He was a shoemaker. He never took any money from my Mum for resoling our boots or shoes. People were that wholehearted. When Germans ruled, all mothers and fathers worked somewhere and had no time, so kids dashed around the streets and yards and played as devotedly as they could. And one day we ran to examine one shop (we said ‘sklep’), to stare at some dolls or something like that. Myrosya Verbova was the youngest among us. So we were standing there. The shop was right near the house. The monument to Ivasyuk is situated really near that place now. There is a small stone tenement behind the monument. Tree steps up – and there was a little shop with dolls and other toys. So we were standing and staring, staring. A German came. And he spoke to that Myrosya: ‘Which doll do you like most?’ She pointed with her finger. He entered the shop, bought a doll and gave it to her. We were surprised but envious, because we were just kids, you know.’
Halyna Yarema (Kostko) (1936)
She was born on March 26th, 1936 in Lviv. In 1945–1955 she attended secondary school # 34. In 1955–1960 Halyna received her education at Lviv State University. At first, she studied at the Faculty of Russian Language and Literature, and then she was transferred to the Faculty of Ukrainian Language and Literature of her own accord. From 1961 Halyna was working as an assistant director in Lviv television, and later she became a director. In 2000 she retired. Halyna lives in Lviv.
Relations between nationalities in Lviv, the 1940s
A story about Stepan Tymkiv, a member of the OUN, 1940-s
‘I remember uncle Stepan. He perished. His death was hard as well. I don’t know what he busied himself with. Mum’s youngest brother. He happened to find himself in the prison ‘on Lontskoho Street’ when people were being executed there. He arrived to our home running early in the morning. He told us that he had got out of a pile of dead bodies, and had escaped home, wounded, wet, covered with blood. ‘Otherwise, if I hadn’t escaped, they would have murdered us,’ he said. Because people were being shot there. So he escaped before dawn. Later he joined a group of banderivtsi. And when the struggle against them was being conducted, they were encircled and he perished. People from all over the village were called. He was being carried on bare bayonets. Those who showed him, asked, ‘Tell us, whose son is he?’ And nobody pointed or told. Even my granny held out and endured. That’s how he perished.’
Censorship on Lviv television, 1960–1980-s
‘There were lots of people one could be proud to work with. They were skillful and worked artfully, in masterly fashion. And every time they delved deep into the essence of the matter. So they could demonstrate somehow that we were worthy, even in such difficult conditions. The thing was that everyone was being watched over, everyone’s work was being scrutinized. It was obligatory to write a scenario and bring it to knyazya Romana Street (it used to be called Vatutina Street at that time and Batorego Street before). There was a radio committee. A censor worked there. It was crucial to write down really everything and bring it there. Even all the TV announcers and presenters had to peep in order not to say anything beyond the text. It used to be always like that.’