Bolshevism - Mr Keeling's Five Years in Russia

8/11/2019 Bolshevism - Mr Keeling's Five Years in Russia

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BOLSHEVISM

Mr.KEELING'5FIVE YEARS IN RUSSIA


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BOLSHEVISMMr. Keeling'

Five Years in T^ussia

H. V. KEELING

.^%\^0

LONDON NEW YORK TORONTOHODDER AND STOUGHTONMCMXIX


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PREFACE

The narrative of Mr. Keeling whichappears in the following pages is bound toexcite the interest of a large number of

people ; it is the first hand evidence,direct and explicit, of a bond fide English

workman who has lived and worked withRussian peasants and town factory em-ployees for the last five years.

In the ordinary way no question of hiscredibility would ever arise, but it so

happens that the strongest political passions

are aroused by the direct and implied

conclusion to which his story leads.

When first introduced to Mr. Keeling,

I had the greatest difficulty in consciouslybelieving much that he said, and I do not


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think I should ever have given completecredence unless I had seen the man andtested him inside and out.

I mention this in no personal sense, butsimply because I happen to be in the sameboat as most of my Labour friends, whofelt that the Russian Revolution has neverhad a fair chance. This, together with thecumulative effect of a four and a-halfyears' -censorship, distorted news and thedrop in the value of official statements,

has produced an atmosphere of suspicionwhich takes a long time to dislodge. Atthe moment, statements of first class publicimportance backed by incontrovertibleevidence are regarded with either indiffer-

ence or suspicion of motive.

In times of public stress this is the moreunfortunate, because it often prevents

the right thing being done ; men andwomen are playing with the ideas ofBolshevism without in the least knowingwhat it means in practice, being content

to see it through the hazy mists of meaning-less Decrees, which look, on the face of

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them, that a new heaven and earth for theworkman has arrived.

It will be noticed throughout that Mr.Keeling makes no attack on the theory ofBolshevism, he is only concerned withwhat he saw of its day by day practice.He pleads hard and strongly for helpfrom the men of England and the UnitedStates for the unfortunate Russian work-man whose fortunes are now at theirnadir and who have lost the power ofhelping themselves.

Among the many reasons for presentingthis book to the public is the desire toescape from the constant attempts to useonly part of his story for political propa-

ganda. No party is quite clear of thischarge.

In order that there may be no doubtof the exact position it ought to be at once

stated that neither Mr. Keeling nor myselfhave received one single penny from anyGovernment source, neither are we in theemploy or pay of any political organisation.The whole thing is an individual effort,

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Mr. Keeling has been interviewed byseveral individual persons and by a certainnumber of Labour Organisations ; he hasalso been seen by the Foreign AffairsCommittee of the Unionist Party. He hasdelivered one lecture at Hampshire House

Club, Hammersmith. That is the sumtotal of his activities.

For the introduction to the Labourgroups in the Provinces and in ScotlandI was responsible, believing that it wouldbe of great advantage to those who I

know are keen on Russian affairs to havea chance to see Mr. Keeling and get hisstory first hand.

In most cases there was the same olddifficulty of getting credence, followed bya generous attitude after the first half

hour. In one or two cases theoreticalBolshevists thought they were defendingRussian Bolshevism by being rude to Mr.Keeling, but these were fortunately un-important exceptions.

Iwas present throughout

allthese

interviews and took some hundreds ofviii


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Prefg ace

notes ; it js from these notes, together witha continuous collaboration with Mr. Keel-ing, that the book is compiled. In everycase the exact words of Mr. Keeling areused, not the slightest attempt has beenmade to colour or distort anything, andif

one's word counts at all I ought to addthat although I have heard Mr. Keelingtelling his story under all kinds of con-ditions, in friendly and unfriendly atmos-pheres and in the close questioning oflong-extended private conversation, I have

never detected the slightest variation inhis story.

The hostile attitude of some of theirreconcilables has occasionally made himimpatient, indeed tempted him into saying, I wish they would go and live under theBolsheviks for a time.

Mr. Keeling 's great idea is to get helpfor the Russian friends he left behind, andhe makes a few tentative suggestions ofhow it might be done. He hates the ideaof sending

soldiers, and would do any-thing to escape from such a conclusion ;ix


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but he is quite sure that the English work-man ought to act in the name of commonhumanity; he beHeves that if they couldsee for themselves what is happening theywould not tolerate the reign of the presentBolshevik Government for another day.

He bluntly describes it as the ascendancyof the lowest and most ignorant class inRussia. The people at the top, Lenin andLunarcharsky in particular, he describes

as idealists who have been compelled tosee their ideas carried out by ruffians

who have not the remotest conceptionwhat Communism means.

The danger is that people in Englandmay confuse the avowed ideals of theRussian Communist with what is actuallyhappening ; for this confusion Mr. Keelingprovides the only antidote which ought tobe listened to. The form in which thebook appears prevents me from givingmore than a slight picture in which toconvey the strength of character, virility

and unquenchable vivacity of the man ;in many respects he fully represents the


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kind of man one loves to think of as atypical indomitable, untheoretical English

mechanic. Mr. Keeling is willing to speak

at a limited number of conferences and

answer questions. Letters on this matter

should be sent to the writer.

E. H. Haywood.

Burgess Hill, Sussex.

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CONTENTSPAGE

PREFACE ^'

CHAPTER ICREDENTIALS 1

CHAPTER nTHE ESCAPE 23

CHAPTER HINORMAL LIFE IN RUSSIAN TOWNS AND

VILLAGES 52

CHAPTER IVTHE MARCH REVOLUTION ... 74

CHAPTER VTHE BOLSHEVIK COUP . . IO3

CHAPTER VIBOLSHEVISM AT WORK . . .12/

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ContentsPAGB

CHAPTER VIIFACTORIES AND TRADE UNIONS . -152

CHAPTER VIIIHOW THE BOLSHEVIKS KEEP IN POWER. 1 6/

CHAPTER IXBOLSHEVISM AND SOCIAL LIFE . 1 8/

APPENDIXTHE THEORY OF BOLSHEVISM . 199

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CHAPTER I

CREDENTIALS

I HAVE just left Northern Russia after

a sojourn of five years, during which time

I earned my Hving by working at my owntrade or as a jobbing mechanic. I have

also been officially employed by the Soviet

Government as a photographer under thedirection of Lunarcharsky, the Education

Minister of the Bolsheviki.

I can truthfully say that I have never

written a book or made a speech in mylife before ; but many people have told

me that a first-hand account of what Ihave seen in Russia would be appreciated,

so with the assistance of a friend this book

is offered to the public.

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Credentials

yet here I have found an atmosphere socharged with suspicion that it is onlywith an effort I can gain credence. Willthe reader forgive me for at once statingmy own credentials ?

For twenty-five years I have been amember of the Litho Artists and Engravers*Society, and in my own town have beenan active member of this trade union.About twelve years ago I played a leadingpart in raising our minimum wage from

38^. to 505. per week, and at the time Ileft England was the Vice-President ofour London branch. All the time I wasin Russia I kept up my membership, payingthe subscriptions through my wife, andon my return to England at once reportedmyself to our secretary.

Whilst in Russia under the Tsar's regime

I did what was possible to explain to theRussian workmen with whom I came intocontact how our trade unions were organ-ised, and this at a time when it was by nomeans a safe thing to do. However, the

rest must speak for itself.In February, 19 14, a London firm sent

me to Russia to assist in setting up a17 c


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Credentials

patent photo -litho process in St. Peters-burg which they had sold to a Russiancompany. The reason for my being sentout was, I suppose, the fact that I hada fair acquaintance with the Germanlanguage, which I had learned in

myspare

time, principally in order to be able toread the many books on technical photo-graphy which were not to be found in ourown language. My job was to act asinterpreter and to help to instruct the

Russian workmen (several of whomspoke German) in the details of theprocess.

For a year I ** carried on. Havinglearned to like Russia and the Russians,I decided to stay and find fresh work.

The majority of the mechanical engineersto the printing trade were Germans, and

as most of these w^ere either interned orrepatriated, I had no difficulty in finding

repair work in many towns in Russia.

Myarea seems by chance to have been

confined to that part of Russia where theBolsheviks have been most active and

which is now under Bolshevik rule.Little by little I grew to speak the

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language more fluently, and as I hadpractically no friends other than Russianworkmen, it will be readily understoodhow I came to know what were actuallythe thoughts of the average Russian. I

was seldom if ever without an invitation

to spend an evening or a week end, or oneof their numerous holidays, with somemember of the most hospitable people thatit would be possible to meet. A realRussian will literally share his last crust

with one who accepts his hospitality,and right down to the day I left Petrograd,when all except the members of the RedArmy and some of the favoured membersof the Soviets were in the grip of a terriblehunger, they invariably managed to scrapesomething together for a visitor, if only toshow their desire to be hospitable. Ifeel sure the Russian is hurt more by notbeing able to provide a meal for hisfriends than he is by being starvedhimself.

I worked in Russia throughout the tryingperiod of the war, and witnessed the firstgreat revolution and the other changeswhich followed, and can testify to the fact

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that amongst the mass of the people with

whom I came in contact there remains, inspite of the most awful distress, nothingbut the kindest feeling towards their

fellow workmen in England and else-

where.The natural Russian, whether in town

or country, never fails to accord a kindly

welcome to any stranger who is preparedto be content with the best they can

offer. I left Russia in January of this year

why, you will gather as the story pro-ceeds, at the moment I will contentmyself by saying that although I was thechief photographer to the Committee ofPublic Education, with a salary of 1,500

roubles per month, a sum which at thepre-war rate of exchange was more than

,(^150, and that this was the highest salary

paid to expert workmen, I was utterly

unable to keep myself from slow star-

vation. At that time I had little idea of

what was happening outside Soviet Russia,and had received no letter from my wifeor friends for over a year.

Although a keen trade unionist, I have

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except perhaps at election times, whenthe labour candidate was always sure of

what service I could render. My chiefinterest has always been in my work, andI would much rather be at the bench thanwriting this book.

I have been askedseveral times why I

am undertaking this apparently unpopulartask ; the reason must be plain to all but

the wilfully blind. I have left a country

where the conditions are so terrible and

where I have so many friends all work-men and peasants that I should indeedbe a coward, and wanting in the firstelements of simple gratitude, if I were

quietly and meekly to settle down to myown work without at least making anattempt to place the facts before those

whom I know are being deceived by theirresponsible talk of those who have neverpersonally experienced the actual results

of Bolshevism in action. It is very easy

for those who have obtained their know-

ledge of Bolshevism throughreading of

the Decrees, or whilst living as the guests

of the Higher Soviet, to relate wonderful

fairy tales of magnificent ideals, but what21


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I have to relate are the actual facts andresults personally witnessed and experi-enced by one who was regarded and treatedin every way sls a workman of the firstcategory.

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CHAPTER II

THE ESCAPE

Many who have read the precedingchapter will perhaps wonder why I stayedso long under such conditions. The answeris that one is seldom without hope, andthe whole business seemed such a night-

mare, that I should have to be insane tobelieve that it could continue for long.

As will be seen later, I was able to rendermany services in consequence of being amechanic, and being an Englishman I didnot think it was up to me to run away theinstant trouble arose.

I was in a relatively privileged position,being paid at the highest rate given to

workmen, and, like everyone else, I had beenhoping from day to day that somethingwould happen to free us from the miserywe suffered. It was not possible to securepassports, because, being of military age,

I was liable to be conscripted for the Red23


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Guards. In December, 1918, I appliedseveral times for permission to leave, butwas refused on each occasion. There wastherefore nothing left but to make a bidfor food and freedom by dispensing withthe usual formalities.

After careful thought I decided to getaway if possible during the time of theold Russian Christmas January 6 accord-ing to our calendar. I calculated that this

would be the most favourable time, not-

withstanding the fact that the SovietGovernment had attempted to do awaywith the Church holidays and the OldStyle Calendar ; I knew the averageRussian would celebrate the holidays, nomatter how many Decrees forbade himdoing so. Quite why the Bolshevikshandicapped themselves by interfering withthe calendar I could never make out,unless they were copying the example of

the French revolutionists. The reasonfor selecting the holiday time was the notunnatural suspicion that the watch on theFinnish frontier would be less strict thanusual.

As it turned out, I was not able to get24 I


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away until the second day after the festival

a festival indeed held, but only a spectreof its former self.

My plan was to make the attempt aloneand to cross the frontier at a point about

sixty miles north of Petrograd and a little

to the east. This I thought would be thesafest spot for such a venture, judging

from the information I had been able to

gather. I was informed that that part of

the Finnish frontier which lies nearest to

Petrograd was being watched with very

great and increasing strictness ; to cross it

was more than risky. Every inch of the

way must be done on foot for even hadI been able to get a permit to travel by

train out of Petrograd, the train would

assuredly have been a death trap. I had

an excellent map, bought some years

before, and after minutely studying the

route I collected together a few of the most

necessary things, which included a com-

pass, an electric torch, a pair of wire

nippers, a pair ofskis

and mytrusty

revolver.

At seven o'clock on a dark cold morning

I left my lodgings in Petrograd with a25


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small knapsack on my back and carryinga pair of skis and poles. It was quitedark, hardly anyone was to be seen, theRed Guards were not in evidence and tomy great satisfaction there v/ere no lightedlam^ps in the streets. As I crossed the

Troitsky Bridge I looked back on thebuilding which once contained the BritishEmbassy and noticed lights in two of theupper stories. For a moment the thoughtcrossed my mind that perhaps some repre-sentative of my own country might bethere, and I half turned with the idea ofapplying for assistance so that I might

leave Russia by a less hazardous route.With a rueful laugh I remembered thatthere was no one there and that the only

way out was the one I was taking.Before it was really light I was nearly

out of the town and much less liable toattract attention ; my skis were the im-mediate danger, for skis had all beenrequisitioned by the authorities some timebefore. Besides being troublesome todrag along, they were just the things toinvite the unwelcome questions of a soldieror sentry. It was because I knew of the

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risks which would befall me by walkingon the main roads that I took the skis at

all, it was my intention to use them sosoon as I got within twenty or thirty miles

of the frontier. It would then, I thought,

be possible to complete the journey over

the trackless snow, which lay from one tosix feet deep across the marshes and forests.

As it turned out the skis were a uselessburden, and would have been better left

behind.

Thinking it would be comparatively

plain sailing until I arrived in the neigh-

bourhood of the Finnish frontier, I was

very dismayed when, turning up a long

road not far from the end of the town, I

saw a couple of sentries belonging to the

Red Armywalking towards me. I could

neither turn back nor avoid passing themwithout exciting suspicion. On one side ofme was a high wall, on the other openfields. There was nothing for it but to

face them. As they drew nearer I noticed

they were very young, I expected to beminutely questioned as to where I was

going and how I came to be in possessionof skis. At the least I expected to be

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The Escape

compelled to return, even if lucky enoughto escape being brought before the Com-mandant.

By the time we met I was feeling prettynervous, so that when first accosted I didnot realise what was being said. Thesentry repeated his question, which, in-stead of being a challenge, was, '* Haveyou any tobacco on you ? That was mycue. I replied that just at the moment Iwas unfortunately quite out of tobacco,but that I was going to visit a friend whohad some and that on^ my return in acouple of hours I wouh^ give him a share.They were so profuse in their thanks thatI was almost ashamed to deceive them.I could see quite plainly that they could

not think of anything but the possibilityof soon being able to satisfy the cravingwhich obsessed them. The absence oftobacco in Russia* is a serious deprivation.

I had no accurate knowledge of the road,but was guided by my compass, andeventually struck one of the main roadsnorth when about ten versts from Petro-grad. I did not want to go by a main road,but could see no alternative for the time,

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so I trudged along trying to make myselfas inconspicuous as possible. I was ofcourse dressed more or less in the Russianfashion and wore a beard, which helpedstill further to give me the appearance ofa Russian workman of the class to which

my papers showed I belonged.At the first cross roads the Red soldiers

on duty eyed me rather questioningly, butmy ordinary appearance and assumed tiredgait evidently gave them the impressionthat I was not going far and they foreboreto question me. Every time, and it waspretty frequent for the first thirty miles,

that a group of soldiers of the Red Armywalked or rode by, my heart was in mymouth, and I should have been glad if I

could have left the main road to travelby some less frequented route. This,however, was impossible, because there

had been a slight thaw a few days previ-

ously, and at this stage of the journey

the skis were quite useless ; there being

plenty of holes in the marshes where the

ice was not safe to cross. No one havingquestioned me, I felt a little more secureand knocked at the door of a tiny cottage

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about four o'clock in the afternoon andasked if they would let me rest a little.The occupants were Finns, a mother andher son. The boy, about eighteen years ofage, had learned to speak Russian, themother could not understand a word ofthe language. They kindly offered to maketea and gave me some milk, a thing I hadnot tasted for months. To crown my joythey even found me some bread.

The young man explained that he was

employed withothers

to dig trenches, andI learned that a row of these were to befound a little further on. There were tv/omofe^rows at seven and fourteen verstsnearer the Finnish frontier. I then realised

for the first time that I should not be able

to use my precious skis as I had intended.These trenches were in all parts exceptwhere the main road passed through them ;they were flanked on both sides by barbedwire entanglements and were supposed toextend right across the country to LakeLadoga. The boy mentioned that the roadwas guarded near the trenches, but pro-bably not very closely, as the holidays werenot really over.

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I did not, of course, reveal where I wasgoing, simply remarking that I was onmy way to spend a holiday with somefriends in a village a little further onthe name of which I had learned from mymap. After an hour's rest I started off

again and soon arrived at the first trench.To my great relief there was no one onguard at the moment, the sentry whoshould have been there was evidentlydrinking tea at a cottage near by. I trudged

along the straight white road for another

couple of hours and then came to thesecond row of trenches. It was nearlydusk, only a special guard and a few womengoing home and carrying spades were to beseen. The barbed wire entanglements

upon frames wereat

theside

of the roadready to be placed across if necessary,

but the trench itself had not been cut

across the roadway. Here the characterof the country changed. Instead of the

flat, wide marshes thinly covered with

trees, the surroundings became hilly andfairly well wooded, the road winding round

amongst the hills.

Just as it became dark I came to a wooden31


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bridge over a brawling river which wasonly partly frozen, and here the road tooka sharp turn to the right. Noticing afootpath up the steep hill in front leading,as my compass showed me, in the directionI wished to go, I left the roadway andstarted to climb the hill. After a whilethe footpath ceased and I began to regretthat I had not stuck to the road it wasvery fatiguing work tramping through theknee-deep snow. I did not relish going

back, so with the help of my compasspushed ahead for about half an hour untilI saw a wooden building with a lightburning inside lying over to my right.Not caring to risk too close a survey, Ipassed it at a safe distance, and a little

while after again struck the road which Ihad left. I looked back and saw by thelight from the window of the building Ihad passed that a barrier had been placedacross the road where everyone was beingstopped and examined.

Reflecting how lucky I had been afterall in taking the footpath, I had hardlyproceeded a quarter of a mile when asoldier of the Red Guard suddenly held

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me up. He seemed to appear from theshadow of a house and was armed with hisBrowning pistol. He asked> Wherewas I going } where was my permit ?how did I come to have a pair of skiswith me ? And added that I mustcertainly see the Commandant. All thetime he was talking my own loaded re-volver, which I had always kept with mein spite of the many Decrees, was pointingat him over the top of my overcoat pocket.I was afraid to use it, because the noisemight have brought a dozen men down onme, so although I felt pretty hopeless I

resolved to try what could be done by per-

suasion. I told him I was going for a shortholiday to a village a few miles further on,

giving the same name thatI

had given tomy young Finnish friend. I assured himthat I had all the necessary permits, in-

cluding one for the skis. Very good,

he replied, we must go and see the Com-mandant and no doubt it will soon be

settled.

Here I broke the conversation to tell

him the latest news and asked how hefound things out there. He told me he

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had been formerly employed in a factory

in Petrograd, that it was rather tedious

out there, but he did get plenty to eat.

I interrupted him in an off-hand kind ofway with a suggestion that as it was solate and my friend might have gone to bedit could perhaps be more simply arrangedif I left my skis and knapsack with himuntil the morning, when I would returnand see the Commandant.

Being, as I had already perceived, anaturally good-natured man, he after amoment's hesitation agreed. I begged himto take great care of the knapsack, which Ideclared I would not like to lose for athousand roubles, so after receiving his

assurance that my things would be allright until the morning I walked away.In a few moments I passed between thelast line of trenches and barbed wire,hurrying on a little faster now that I wasrelieved of my baggage. I dare not deceivemyself that I had escaped altogether

there were still twenty miles or so to coverbefore I could reach the frontier, also

there was the risk of an attempt to bringme back. The sentry had mentioned that

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they were specially on the look out forpeople who were trying to cross thefrontier on skis. I had laughed at the

suggestion that / was thinking of any suchthing, but thought it wiser to take into mycalculation the possibility of someone else,if not the sentry, smelling a rat.

In less than half an hour I saw a smallblacksmith's shop which was closed forthe night. There was a path leading upto it, so I decided to see if I could rest in

it for a while. With my wire nippers Imanaged to open one of the doors and hadonly just sat down inside and began toeat some of the pieces of black bread whichI had bought when I heard a sleigh comingfrom the direction of the place I had

recently passed through.The night was rather light, the modn was

somewhere behind the clouds and thewhite snow further helped to make thingsuncomfortably visible. I peered through

the window, which looked on to the road,

and saw a couple of soldiers or officers

of the Red Army drive by. It was im-possible to say whether they were looking

for me or not, but I judged it best to give35 D 2


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myself the benefit of the doubt. I decidedto stay where I was for an hour or so andsee if they returned.

This was not to be. In a few minutes Iheard faintly in the distance the singing

of a group of soldiers coming from the

same direction. As they drew nearer Ihad to decide quickly whether I wouldstay where I was for several hours, untilin fact the soldiers got tired of wandering

about the roads, or get away in front ofthem and take the risk of meeting thereturning sleigh. I much feared they wereactually looking for me. Before it was toolate 1 decided to risk the road and scram-bled down into the track again just beforethe soldiers appeared round the last bend.

I hurried along as fast as I could go, thesoldiers behind and the possibility ofmeeting the sleigh in front. There wasvery little chance of getting off the road

to hide, even if my tracks did not betrayme. Without my precious skis I shouldnot be able to proceed far through thesnow, which might prove to be anything

up to six feet deep.At last, after the most miserable hour

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I have ever spent in my life, I came to afork in the road. With my electric torchI examined the ground and came to theconclusion that the sleigh had gone to the

left. I took the right, hoping that the

soldiers would also go to the left, butthey did not. I was feeling so tired thatI must have a rest somewhere. Turningup a small footpath in the woods at theside I came to a little barn, which I entered.I heard the soldiers approaching nearer

and pass at the end of the footpath in abouta quarter of an hour. Their songs suddenly

ceased, so I stayed a little longer and then

retraced my steps to the road. Afterwalking for about twenty minutes I camenear to a sort of guard-house brightly lit

up ; my singing soldiers were evidentlyinside and with them the men who, Ipresume, should have been on the look out.

Very carefully and with much trepidationI sidled past the building as close to the

wall as possible, so as not to be too easily

seen should anyone chance to be looking

out. Again luck favoured me, and I got

past unnoticed, but was too tired to feel

any great thrill of joy there was also the37


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anxiety of my getting nearer to thefrontier and the need for increasing care.In order to make sure, I hid myselfwhenever I heard or saw anyone approach-ing. Once a sleigh with two soldiers,whose voices I heard before it was visible,

approached me. The road at this pointwas a high road some five feet abovethe marshy forests on either side ; all Icould do was to jump into the deep snowand crouch there until the sleigh with itssoldiers had passed. I distinctly heard one

of the soldiers say to his companion asthey rode by me, '* I saw someone in fronta minute ago, where could he have goneto or was it only a shadow }

The sleigh passed and after it was outof sight I took to the road again. Aboutthree in the morning I lay down for amoment in the snow behind a shed whereit was sheltered from the wind. I musthave fallen asleep, for I woke up feelingsuddenly cold in spite of my fur coat.

I looked at my watch by the light of thetorch and found that it was half past five,I hardly knew what to do. I felt I wassomewhere near the frontier, how near I

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had no idea. I was afraid to go further

on the main roads for fear of meetingsome of the Guards, and now that my skiswere gone I could not travel across thesnow.

I tried two side paths and found in eachcase that they ended up at a cottage andthat it was impossible to go further. Itried another side road running to the

east, but as a matter of fact I did not knowwhat to do and in addition to feeling cold,tired and miserable, I was beginning to

think that I had had all my trouble fornothing and that I was to be imprisonedfor ever in this dreadful circle.

I dragged myself along the side road

a side road that had been so little used

that the new snow was half-way up to myknees. I kept going in this snow for quite

two hours, and at last, just as it was

beginning to get faintly light, I felt that

whatever it cost I must obtain rest and

shelter somewhere. I therefore made upmy -mind to stop at the first cottage I saw.The fates proved kindly. In a very fewminutes I saw a very small house, or rather

hut. I crept up to the door and listened

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awhile, after a little I heard a child cough-ing, and then saw a small lamp burninginside. I plucked up courage to knock,having not the slightest idea who would beinside, but anything was better than beingfound by a patrol of the Red Army so near

to the frontier in daylight. I must haveknocked too timidly the first time, so Iknocked again louder, Who is there }

a woman's voice asked. I replied, ** Astranger who has lost his way. After afew moments the door was opened and I

followed the woman through the outerinto the inner room, where I found somechildren and two older boys sleeping. Oneof these boys, a ferrety-faced youth, asked

me what I was doing there and added thathe could see I was no Russian or Finneither. I mumbled something in answer,not knowing what to say, when he suddenlyjerked out, '' I know what you are after

;

you want to cross the frontier. I sawthere was no chance or sense in denying

the charge, so I straightway admitted itand added that if he would show me theway I would pay him well. Oh, heanswered, turning to his companion, we

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know you will pay well ; you will have to,because it is very dangerous and if we giveyou up to the guards we shall get looroubles each.

Whether this was actually true or notI had no means of knowing ; but I did

know that if they wished they could easilyget more by arranging with the soldiersto get me shot whilst trying to cross thefrontier and then dividing the spoils.

Any^vay I did not trouble to dispute it.

I simply asked, '* How much do you want .''

After a little consultation they asked for

300 roubles each. I appealed to the woman,who turned out to be the mother of theother boy, and after a good deal of hagglingand wrangling I got them to agree toaccept 200 roubles each.

Having settled on the bargain I natur-ally asked, When do we start ? Theyreplied at about ten o'clock. Thinking

they meant ten p.m. I asked if I mightlay dow^n awhile and sleep. The mother

made a place for me and I lay down undermy overcoat. I did not seem to havebeen asleep a minute when I was awakenedby the ferret-faced boy saying, We must

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The Escape

start soon. I looked at my watch andsaw it was 9.30 and daylight. ** What I asked, '* are we going to risk it in thedaytime } They explained that at nightit was quite impossible to get throughbecause all the roads were closed and that

we would certainly be stopped. In thedaytime it was possible to dodge into theforest paths when the soldiers were notlooking, that was the only way it could bemanaged.

I was entirely in their hands and washalf suspicious, so while they went outsideto see if anyone was about I asked thewoman, to whom I had made a present,if she thought I could trust them. Sheassured me on the point. The present I

had given the woman consisted of somehighly valued needles and thread togetherwith a few pieces of leather and fortyroubles. When the boys returned theydemanded that I should pay them at once.This I would not agree to do, but arranged

with the help of the mother to put thecorrect amount into an envelope in theirpresence which was to be given to them themoment we were on the frontier. They

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The Escape

agreed to this plan and after a little mealconsisting of some bread, potatoes and adrink of tea, we started off.

They explained to me that though wewere only three versts (about two miles)

from the frontier we must make a detour ofabout twenty versts until we arrived at aplace where there were only two soldiers

guarding a forest through which the

frontier ran. I was carefully coached what

to say in case we met any soldiers, andthey made it very clear that in any even-tuality they would disclaim all responsi-

bility for me ; they would state that theyhad just met me accidentally. Afterwalking for about an hour a peasant caught

us up in his sleigh. I suggested to the boys

that we should ask him to give us a lift.This was done and the peasant agreed.

He appeared to be almost entirely ignorantof Russian and, like many people in thatpart of Russia, was only acquainted with

the Finnish language. It was here I madethe discovery that the ferret-faced boy wasa Finn. In a short time we were bowlingalong in the sleigh in comparative comfort.

I lay down amongst the hay, leaving the43


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The Escape

boys to explain my presence as best theycould.

We passed two groups of soldiers in theCiDurse of about ten versts. The peasantand the boys greeted them ; I do notthink they noticed me at all. At last wedrove right into a little farmyard, wherewe alighted. I gave the driver tenroubles and then we all went into thehouse.

Here again, although we were still inRussia, only th Finnish language wasspoken. There were in this place four orfive men, several women and many chil-dren, all speaking Finnish. The boys toldme to say nothing, but to give the fatherforty roubles for some dinner and to wait

whilst they took it in turns to look out forthe moment when the frontier guards*backs were turned. When this happenedI was to rush out and enter the forest atonce, where I would be comparativelysafe. It must be remembered that even at

this point we were still five versts from theactual frontier line.

The peasant who had driven me in nowdrove away and I waited for nearly an

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The Escape

hour and a half whilst the boys were takingit in turns to run in and out. At lastone of them rushed in and said, '* Now isyour chance. We all ran out of the cottageand crossed the road and there I saw thetwo soldiers about forty yards away talking

to a woodcutter. They certainly had theirbacks turned to us, but their rifles were inreadiness and the forest was a little too thinto be comfortable. We hurriedly wadedthrough the knee-deep snow for about aquarter of an hour and then the boys

started to look for a path whilst I waited.I spent quite a half an hour in a state

of numbed suspense, whilst the boys triedfirst one direction and then another.

At last they declared they had found theright path and after wading another 400yards or so we found a little footpath whichmy compass showed was in the rightdirection. The boys assured me we hadpassed the danger zone and suggested thatthey could now leave me, but I insisted

on their accompanying me to theactual

frontier which, they had previously ex-

plained, was marked by a river. We wenton for two hours walking Indian file

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The Escape

through the forest until we came to a partlyfrozen river. I noticed that the boys werevery much on the alert and stopped eachtime before they came to one of the straightavenues which are made through all theRussian forests. On these occasions oneof them would go forward and look roundbefore giving the signal to proceed.

On arriving at the river they declaredthis to be the actual frontier. I thought

there would have been some trenches or atleast some barbed wire and could scarcelybelieve them. They insisted that theywere right and demanded their money.Feeling tired and perhaps unduly suspiciousbecause of what was at stake, I took outof my pocket a little dictionary which Itold

them was aBible

and made themswear upon it that they were speaking thetruth. .This they did. I paid the moneyand left them carefully counting it. Beforeleaving me they instructed me to followthe path until I came to a road, and after

going along along the road for about oneand a half versts, said that I should find ahouse where I could rest.

It was now about four o'clock in the46


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' The Escape

afternoon and I pushed on,but very soon

the path branched off in several directions.All looked equally likely, but I gave thecasting vote to my compass.

I wandered up- and down-hill for aboutfive hours and began to fear that the boys

had deceived me after all, that I had simplybeen led into a forest to get lost. I was sotired that I often began to fancy I couldsee houses and lights, scores of times Istopped, thinking I heard voices. I

wanted to meet someone, but was alwaysafraid that it might be a Russian soldier.

The only comforting thought was the onethat came from feeling that I had stillgot possession of my revolver.

Suddenly I noticed something by theside of the path ; I picked it up and foundthat it was an empty cigarette packet.I shouted for joy ; the printing on it wasin Finnish. In a few minutes I found

another, and this was- also Finnish. Asthere was practically no tobacco in Russia

and certainly no packets of cigarettes, Ibegan to feel reasonably sure that I was

really in Finland at last.

I wandered up and down for some time47


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The Escape

longer, picking my way by the help of thetorch and compass until I came to some-thing which looked a little more like a road.All at once I saw a light. This time itwas a real light showing through a tinywindow. It did not disappear when Ilooked at it carefully, as the others hadbeen doing for the last few hours. When Igot near enough I saw that it was awoodcutter's cottage. I knocked ; no oneanswered, so I opened the door and wentin. In a glance I saw that it was not

Russian, the arrangement of the stove wasquite different. I have been in hundreds ofRussian houses and have noticed that theyall have certain things in common, thestove, the Icon and the boards runningfrom the stove where they all sleep. This

cottage was different in many respects.They were burning splinters of wood forlight, igniting another as one burnt out.

The inmates of the house proved to bea woodcutter and his wife, neither of whomcould speak Russian. They were Finns,I made them understand what I wanted bysigns, but they showed me they had no roomand at last made me understand that a

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The Escape

better house could be found a little further

on.The man very kindly came out and

accompanied me, I was so weary that Itook his arm with one hand and used mystick as a help with the other. Nothingmattered now, for I was in Finland and

felt already that I had reached home. Wehad only gone about half a mile when twoFinnish soldiers met us. They searchedme perfunctorily, but did not find therevolver. They looked at my precious andcarefully guarded British passport by the

light from my electric torch and then weall went on together until we came to alarge farmhouse.

Neither of the soldiers could understand

anything but Finnish, a language of which

I could only speak ten words. Noneof

these were of any use at this juncture. Onarrival at the farmhouse we fortunatelyfound a man who could speak both Russianand Finnish, who quickly made the soldiersunderstand that I was English. On receiptof this news the soldiers were very obHgingand arranged for me to stay the night atthe farmhouse, whilst they went on to

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The Escape

and walked with the soldiers to the guardhouse with a feeHng of buoyancy.

Later I was sent with a soldier in asleigh to the nearest railway station, andafter being taken to Terijoki to fulfil thenecessary formalities I eventually arrivedat Helsingfors, where after

my passporthad been vised I was enabled to return toEngland, the country I had feared I shouldnever see again.

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CHAPTER III

NORMAL LIFE IN RUSSIAN TOWNS AND

VILLAGES

When in February, 19 14, I left Englandand crossed the frontier out of Germanyinto Russia my heart sank. The contrastbetween the spick and span German towns

and villages and the rude and roughappearance of the Russian countryside

made one feel like leaving a house to livein a barn. To myself, a stranger who hadnever been further away from home than aday trip to Boulogne, it appeared most in-hospitable and forbidding, and for manyweeks after my arrival in Petrograd Ifound myself continually sighing for the

familiar sights of London. Before the

edict which forbade the sale of vodka there

was a frightful amount of drunkenness inRussian towns. In my time I have seenplenty of drunkenness in England, es-

pecially on Saturday nights in mining and52


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Normal Life in Russian Towns

manufacturing districts, but never have Iseen such horrible degradation as was tobe met with at every turn in some parts ofPetrograd. Never shall I forget the dis-gust and astonishment with which, on thefirst occasion, I observed half a dozen

men sit down in a gateway opposite the.window of the factory where I worked,and in less than ten minutes become help-lessly drunk upon the contents of severalbottles of vodka, which could be boughtat that time at a very trifling cost. After-

wards I became quite used to such sights.In some of the lower parts of the city Iwas told there were murders almost everynight as the direct result of the con-

sumption of this raw, ardent spirit.

Before the Revolution the life of theordinary workman in Petrograd, althoughrestricted in many important directions,was not without its compensations. Hegenerall}^ worked rather longer hours thanwe do in England, and there was noSaturday half holiday, except in a few

British factories, a thing which I missedat first very much. Work was also carriedon in some places on Sunday mornings.

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Normal Life in

On the otKer hand, there were the ChurchhoHdays, over fifty in the year, on whichno work was done, whilst the workmenreceived full pay, and double pay if for somecause or other their services were required.It was also the custom, at least in the

printing trade, to allow each workman totake a week or a fortnight's leave uponfull pay each year and as far as possiblethe men were allowed to arrange the dateto suit their own convenience.

In the summer it was quite the thingfor large numbers of the workmen to sendtheir families into the country many ofthem going back to their own native villagesand helping in the harvesting, etc.

In the towns there were the summer

gardens with variety performances andopen air cafes. The Narodny Dom(People's Palace) in Petrograd was verypopular ; I have spent many a pleasantevening there. In 19 14 there weretheatres, kinemas, circuses, and smallvariety shows open ever5rwhere. Therewere tea-houses in every street, generallyprovided with an automatic organ, usually

of Italian make. Some of the latest ones54


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Russian Towns and Villages

played remarkably well. These placeswere patronised by workmen who inEngland would be called the artisan class,

and if it had 'not been for the terrible

weakness of many of the workmen forvodka, which unfortunately could be

bought so cheaply at that time, I aminclined to think that, except in the matter

of political freedom, the Russian workmenwere in many respects better off than manyof the same class in England. They werenot kept so closely at their work in thefactories as most of our workmen are,but were able to stop and have a drink of

tea almost whenever they liked. I visited

many factories on different occasions andfound the workmen making themselves

very comfortable. Like everyone else,they craved for what was denied to them

free speech. I have often seen smallgroups of political prisoners being de-

ported to, I suppose, Siberia. Their

crime was rarely more than a trumperypolitical offence, yet in other directions

liberty almost amounted to licence. As

long as one did not bother with politics

it was possible to do many things which are55


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Normal Life in

^ more or less forbidden in England. Icannot imagine any place being more gay than most of the large towns inRussia.

It was a different picture of life inPetrograd in December, 1918, just beforeI left. Then shops, tea-houses andrestaurants were almost all closed, a sickand starving population were hunting forfood, women whose faded clothes showedthat they had once been members of a

respected and respectable class, huntedamongst rubbish for the .head of a herringor any bit of offal that might have escapedthe attention of the cats. Everyone exceptthe younger Soviet Commissars and theRed soldiers had a look of hunger andsuffering on their faces. I was astoundedone day when I met a man whom I knewhad built up a business by his own in-dustry, a business where 650 workmenhad been formerly employed, painfullydragging himself along the street. He wasblack with coal dust gathered during his

day of forced labour, which took the formof unloading coal from the German shipswhich came to Petrograd in the late sum-

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mer of 191 8. Everything had been takenfrom him, yet his only crime was that hehad by his own skill and industry foundeda small business which gave agreeable

and profitable work to many of his fellowcountrymen. In a word, he was anemployer.

The houses in the towns are generallybuilt upon one plan, there is a courtyardground which is built an edifice of flats

several stories high. Our liouse was one

of the largest, it was eight stories high.The entrance to these blocks of flats isthrough a gate which is closed every nightat a certain hour 10 or 11 p.m. generally.In times of unrest, which became rathercommon later, they were often closed muchearlier ; sometimes, indeed, they were kept

closed all day, the inmates being let in or out

by the porter. These porters, or Dvorniks,as they are called in Russian, deserve a

little notice, as they played a very im-

portant part under the old regime and still

continue to fill a scarcely less significant

role under the Bolsheviks.

They were all under the direct control

of the police, to whom they were com-57


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Normal Life in

pelled by. law to report all the comingsand goings of the tenants and their visitors.

Every morning the head porter, or *' Starshy

Dvornik, had to go to the police station

of his district with lists of the people whohad slept in the house on the previous

night. Each newcomer had to give his

passport, without which no one was allowed

to go anywhere, to the head porter for

registration, for which service a small fee

was charged. Even if a visitor wanted to

stay the night at a friend'sflat, the

sameceremony was supposed to be gone through,

although in actual practice this was often

omitted. Still it must not be forgotten

that this involved some considerable risk

to the head porter, as he was held account-

able for all that happened in the,house.When you get accustomed to these rules

and regulations you hardly notice them,

but at first it feels like a grave curtailment

of one's personal liberty when you comehome a little later than usual to have toawaken a more or less generally rathermore than less sleepy porter in order togain admittance. Although I understand

the same regulations respecting the regis-58


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tration of passports applied to the country,

they did not appear to be carried out

anything Uke so rigidly. There were fewporters, the country folk living in their ownlittle cottages.

The Russian workman is a great, big,good-natured baby, and like a child hasoften lightning strokes of penetration ;

the trouble is that he is seldom possessed

of the power to compare and to know hisstrong points. For the most part he is

wayward and sometimes tragically, oftencomically, inconsequent. He will neverwork regularly except under pressure ofsome external force, he will cheerfullygive you anything out of his bountiful

good nature except regular work. I v/as

a foreman in a sense, and against all advice

I honestly tried to get my work done inthe factory by imitating the easy-going

good nature of the Russian. I madethings easy, gave every privilege it was in

mypower to give, but was at last com-

pelled to act as though I had the power to

dismiss men who would not do their work.I daresay that this characteristic of the

average Russian workmen has helped to59


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make the task of the Bolsheviks moredifficult. I cannot think of any of the

factories in which I have worked in

England where the whle concern wouldstop if the hand of authority was takenaway. There are always a large number of/men who have a sense of restrained self-discipline and who would go on with theirwork, master or no master. Under nocircumstances can I conceive of Bol-

shevism in the Russian sense lasting in

England for a day. We either work orstrike, the Russian tries to do both at thesame time, and does it without knowinghe is in fact on three-quarter strike.

I did not become really well acquaintedwith village life until the early spring of

191 8, when I went beyond Vologda tostay with some friends whose acquaintanceI had made in Petrograd. At that time,of course, the Bolsheviks were already inpower, and had made great changes inthe towns.

Here in the villages a thousand verstsfrom Petrograd and Moscow the changeswere not very visible, and indeed when Icame to speak to the people I found that

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the majority seemed to have only thevaguest notion of what had happened.

With sheep-hke docihty the more ignor-ant had taken down the portraits of theLittle Father and were asking for *' pic-tures of the Republic to put in its place.

It was plain they had no very clear idea ofwhat a republic (Respublic it is calledin Russian) really meant and in somevague way fancied it must be a person.

It was, however, far from being theinvariable custom to take down the Tsar's

portraits ; I saw lots of them in cottageseven right down to November of last year.In one sense it would not be quite fair todescribe the Russian people as an ignorant

people, they know many things and domany things well, such as making boots,building houses, carpentering, etc., whichwe either never knew or have more or lessforgotten, but their lack of ** school

education is very great. I have beenmyself in villages where only the priestsand one or two officials could read or writeand even then not particularly well. Ihave even been asked by soldiers and othersto read them the numbers on houses, as

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Normal Life in

they could not read even figures or tell

the time by a clock.From my window in Petrograd I could

look down upon a square where soldiersrecruits were often drilled, and morethan once I have seen the difficulty the

sergeant in command has had to teachsome of the new recruits from the villageswhich was the right and which the leftleg.

Lots of the older people in the villages

could never be brought to understand the

difference between an Englishman and aGerman. Tartars, Turks, Chinese andJapanese they knew were different, butEnglish, French, Italians and even Ameri-cans all came from the West and thereforethey must all be the same. This, if youplease, was after Russia had been at warwith Germany as our Allies for threeyears.

In the country village where I lived I

happened casually to mention one daysomething with reference to the movementof the earth round the sun. What you say the earth moves round the sun,that cannot possibly be. Why we see the

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sun moving round the earth every daywith our own eyes.

Later I discovered a description of the

solar system in an old Russian almanac

and read it aloud to about twenty of the

villagers. It was no good, however, they

smilingly said *' Seeing is believing nomatter what is printed in an almanacwhich we cannot read and would not believeeven if we could read. I not only couldnot convince them but frequently later onwhen I spoke of something they could

not understand, they would say,*'

Oh,that's like your tale of the earth going

round the sun. One might illustratethis ignorance by numerous instances.I particularly remember something I hearda ^peasant say in the train on a journey

from Vologda to Petrograd. I did nothear 'what had gone before, but I dis-tinctly heard him say : Oh, yes, I know,Jesus Christ lived a long while ago, andHe was not well educated like Lenin andTrotsky. This was obviously said inperfect faith, and not, as I had thought atfirst, in a vein of satire.

The women appear to do most of the63


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Normal Life in

farming. I thought at first that this

might be the effect of the war in takingaway so many able-bodied men, but wasassured that this was not the case. Themen as a rule followed some trade whichwas generally the same all over one dis-trict. For instance, in one village whereI stayed they were all shoemakers, as weremost of the men in the surroundingneighbourhood. Further on they wouldbe mostly carpenters, whilst in anotherdistrict a race of house painters would be

found. In all these things they are veryconservative, the particular trade of the

father being handed down to the son.In the summer the villages are nearly

denuded of men, they go to the towns tofollow their vocation and generally returnin the autumn to rest during the winteron the stove. In the summer of 1918there were more men in the villages thanhad ever been known ; this was due to theunsettled state of affairs in the towns andthe starvation which had already com-menced.

In consequence of these annual migra-tions the men were generally far better

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informed than thewomen

; the majority

of the women in the district where Ihved about one hundred versts from thenearest hne of railway had never seen alocomotive or a steamer, much less amotor car or a kinematograph. As a rule

my bicycle caused quite a sensation, peoplecried out with astonishment, sometimes

in fear. One man waved his arms asthough demented when I rode through asomewhat out of the way village, and Iwas always attended through the villages

by a crowd of interested youngsters.

Only the younger element seem to under-stand what is happening in the towns ;they have either fled from the towns or

have come back from the front. In mostrespects life in the villages

wenton pretty

much in the old way, the holidays werecelebrated with processions and afterwardsthere were dancing and singing in the

open part of the village. To one whohad just come from the terror of Petrograd

they seemed to be living a very comfortablelife.

In the summer they started to dividethe land in the district where I was living.


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The houses in the country in Russiaseem all to be built upon the same plan.I saw very little variation although Ivisited scores, if not hundreds in variousparts of Northern Russia. These consistgenerally of one living room, the kitchen,

with the brick stove on the top of whichthey lie in winter and if they were some-what better off then there would be anextra room called the piaty stenka,i.e. fifth wall, where the father could receiveand entertain his friends and visitors.

Women's rights had not then penetratedinto the villages, and it was very unusualto find a house where the man was notlord and master. I must add, however,that in the village councils I noticed that

the widows who worked their own farmshad a voice in the proceedings.

I found everyone good natured, and wasliterally overwhelmed with invitations totake tea on any and every occasion.Nothing seemed to offend them morethan to attempt to refuse these offers of

hospitality. This was not, of course,because I was English ; they often saidpoint blank that it was all the same to

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them whether I was English or Germanor Austrian. They were always verycurious to know what kind of religion weprofessed in England, and because I didnot cross myself before their Icons and said

that they were almost unknown in ourcountry it was practically impossible toconvince them that we had the sameBible and the same root beliefs.

The various new decrees of the Sovietsaffecting the Church were quite ignored

by the older people and they were veryironical and sarcastic about the Bolshevikmarriage, which they held to be no marriageat all. So far as I was able to judge theRussians in the villages are very strict as

regards morals and only in the towns isany slackness noticeable.

Even when there was real famine inPetrograd the normal life in these villages

went on pretty much the same. Foodwas plentiful, and though they would

tell strangers that they had none to spare,to privileged visitors like I became theyfreely admitted that they had stores enoughto last them for at least two years. I oughtperhaps to explain how I became a privi-

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leged visitor ; first of all because Iopened

a repairing shop in a district where there

was none nearer than twenty miles away,the nearest town, and also because I had

a camera and took their photographs,

printing them post cards at a nominal

price.

Through these means I became wellknown and welcomed for twenty verstsround. The inhabitants used to bringme all sorts of things to repair, from bucketsto gramophones, and from watches toploughs ; they generally paid me in kind,so many eggs, so much milk or butter, andso on, which suited me very well andallowed the money I received by repairingmachines in the towns to last longer.

The peasantsin

the country workas a

rule very hard in summer, up to eighteenhours in the twenty-four, but on holidaysall work, except entertaining guests, is

taboo. As a general thing, in the districtsI visited they keep their houses very

clean, and the afternoon before a holiday,or holy day rather, is given up to cleaningeverything in the home and performingtheir ablutions.

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Once a week I was allowed to use aneighbour's bath. The baths are builtseparate from the house, and his wasbeautifully arranged with a small outerroom in which to undress, and the innerroom for the stewing process, furnishedwith a special brick stove or oven. Thesebaths are quite like little cottages and onseveral occasions when I have beentravelling by road and did not wish toknock anyone up, I have slept very com-fortably in one of them, few of themever being fastened up.

The great institution is the samovar.I was of opinion that everyone now knewwhat these were ; but as I have been askedquite a number of times to describe them,

I hope the reader will forgive me if Iappend a short description.

The samovar is a large urn of metal,generally brass ; in the centre is a chimneyand around it the receptacle for water.It is provided with a tap underneath andtwo handles for lifting and carrying, andthe top can be removed to pour in water.Charcoal is placed in the chimney, somered-hot coals or burning wood dropped

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in on it, and another loose chimney placedover it to ensure a draught. The loosechimney is generally led into a flue arrangedfor the purpose in the stove. When thewater boils the loose chimney is taken ofl ,a lid is placed over the inner chimney andthe whole affair is placed upon the table.China tea is now put into a small teapot,boiling water is poured on to it, and thenit is generally placed upon the top of theinner chimney after the lid has been re-moved ; a small quantity of tea is poured

into each glass, which is filled up to thetop with boiling water from the samovar.

In the country, at least, a lump of sugaris generally held between the front teethand the tea drunk through the sugar fromthe saucer. As a rule, all eat from thesame dish, each has his or her own spoon,generally a wooden one, and I noticed thata certain order and ceremony is alwaysobserved.

I became quite a devotee of the samovar,around which all that is most endearingin the Russian character seems to gather,

so that to me it seems to be the symbol ofhospitality and good nature.

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By November the villages were be-ginning to feel the effects of the Bolshevik

decrees ; horses were requisitioned, cattlewere taken, food was commandeered.They had divided the land, but beingshort of agricultural implements they were

unableto

make the best use of it ; withoutmany of the best horses it would bedifficult to work. Heavy taxes were beinglaid upon all who had land, and flour wasdemanded before any of the few necessitieswhich still remained in the CommunalSoviet shop could be bought.

In November, many people had onlyhalf a pint or so of kerosine to last themuntil the New Year, when they werepromised new coupons with which toprocure a further pint.

A short description of the stove whichI found universal in Russian cottages andwhich plays so important a part in theirdomestic economy may be interesting.It is built of brick upon a foundation of

wood, bricks and clay and consists of anoven with an arched brick roof verysimilar to our baker's oven The fire,however, is lighted in the oven itself,

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which is provided with a flue leading tothe chimney which can be closed laterwhen the fire has been drawn.

As a rule, a fire is lighted each morningand while it is burning all the food whichis needed for the day is cooked. After-

wards, when thefire

has been drawn, theoven is closed and the heat is thus retainedfor a long time. Food put in in themorning can be taken out nice and hot in

the evening or even, if it is a well-built

oven and has had a good fire, the next

morning. On the top it is always cosyand warm, even in the most bitter weather,and it is the general custom tc sleep thereduring the winter upon sheepskins andrugs.

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CHAPTER IV

THE MARCH REVOLUTION

Long before the Revolution v^^as accom-plished there were rumours of its possi-

bility, indeed I have often been told that a

Revolution was on the point of happening

when the War was first started. Icannot vouch for this from personalknowledge ; for one thing, it took memore than two years to learn to speak thelanguage and the political life of a country-is not, as a rule, the thing one learns first.

What I do know is that when War wasdeclared there were a few days of frightful

suspense ; everyone seemed to be hangingon the news as to whether England wasgoing to join or not. Night and day I was

asked anxious questions;

in a sense Isuddenly became an important person toall the workpeople in my own and neigh-bouring factories. I was really as much

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The March Revolution

in the dark as anyone else and just asanxious to know.

When the news did come throughthere were scenes of indescribable enthu-

siasm, and really in those days it was agreat thing to be an Englishman. I will

not waste time by trying to picture someof the incidents ; there were hundreds of

them, all having the effect of making onefeel proud.

Until the fall of Warsaw the workmenwhom I knew seemed quite confident of

the result. The general conditions weregood ; food was both plentiful and com-paratively cheap ; there was little if any

change in prices. I have the best of

means of judging this, for my salary wasnot an extravagant one and I had to send

one-half of it home to my wife ; with theremainder I kept myself and made apractice of living on one rouble per day.This was sufficient to enable me to getall the food and necessities I required, andI never noticed any change in the cost.

Whatever may be said of the Tsaristregime there was certainly very littleprofiteering in food. Bread cards had

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beenissued just

beforethe

Revolution ;but they meant little, for one could alwaysbuy as much as was needed at a very lowprice.

On the other hand, there was un-doubtedly a good deal of peculation and

swindling in the matter of Governmentcontracts, about which a good deal wassaid.

The chief feature, however, was therapidly maturing belief that the people

were being sold, and confidence in many ofthe army chiefs was at a low ebb. Inall the talk I never heard anything which

could be called evidence ; it was all

rumour based on hearsay. The fall ofWarsaw appeared inexplicable to Russians

apart from treachery, and the wildeststories were believed. Rasputin wastalked- about a good deal at the time ;but not in connection with treachery to

Russia, his crimes were of a different

character.

There had been a number of smallstrikes during the autumn and winter of

19 1 6 and 19 17, culminating in several

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Ido

notthink that

I

am ever Hkely toforget the Sunday which preceded theRevolution, it was Sunday, February 26,19 1 7 (old style).

Strikes were pretty general in theprevious week, and the hoardings were full

of proclamations calling upon the strikersto return to work. Little if any noticewas taken of them, and it was known thatthe soldiers were in sympathy with theworkmen. What organisation existed couldonly be of a hand-to-mouth character,the Revolution was in the air you breathed,rather than in organised bodies. Belief in

the sympathy of the soldiers was a sourceof great confidence and encouragement tothe strikers.

There were many reasons for thissympathy. The soldiers' wages were verylow, never amounting to more than a fewkopecks, separation allowances were un-known, and although in some cases thewife succeeded in obtaining her hus-

band's situation for instance, the wife ofour house porter became the porter, andin the country the women would work onthe land there must have been an

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immense amount of distress. I know ofmany such cases, and we helped where wecould.

There was, in addition, the enormousgulf which separated the officer class

from that of the men. It was an unbridg-able gulf for all practical purposes, thetwo classes might have been living indifferent worlds. Discipline was terriblysevere and the punishments make oneshudder to think of them.

After the fall of Warsaw very fewofficers were trusted by the men andthis fact was known to the strikers, whoconversed about it freely in the factories.

For a long time before this whispers

went round that the police had placed

machine-guns in the garrets of cornerhouses and in all buildings which com-manded a square or street. Very littledefinite news was known, because it wasquite easy for the police in Petrograd to

instal any weapons they chose in any

position in the houses without the inmates

being any the wiser. It must be remem-bered that each house in Russia is built

round a courtyard and contains many78


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what was even more remarkable, althoughwe did not realise the significance of itat the time, was the entire absence of theusual gorodevoy the Russian policeman.In their places were groups of soldiersfully armed with rifles, bayonets and other

military equipment.Rumours were flying . thick and fast,

people constantly turned to the soldiers

and, talking loud enough for them to hear,said, Surely they will never fire on theirbrothers, and made other remarks of asimilar kind.

Usually under such circumstances theRussian soldier would have smiled andmade some kind of good-natured answer ;these men, however, remained stolid, glumand quite immovable. It was not untillater we discovered that they were notsoldiers, but police dressed and armedas soldiers. I strolled into a cafe andsat for perhaps half an hour or so, andthen walked out. The Prospekt was more

crowded than ever ; it was quite anorderly crowd, there was wonder ratherthan excitement.

Suddenly, just as I was about to cross80


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away from the centre of the road, otherslay where they had fallen. In other direc-tions, the soldiers were firing downthe Nevsky. By great good luck I hap-pened to be standing just between twogroups of soldiers, and so was able to

escape, astheir fire

was outwards.After recovering from the first para-

lysing shock, my blood tingled with rageand shame, and I thought to myself thatif the Russian people stood this without

resisting they would never deserve to be a

free people. In the sequel they did resist,and resist to some tune, in a short twodays they had completely destroyed theold bureaucratic despotism.

I went home wondering what wouldhappen after such a terrible scene. Thenext morning, Monday, however, I wasable to go about my business, though I sav/at two points a group of soldiers withhorses and machine-guns. Afterwards Iwent down the Nevsky to see what damage

the shooting of Sunday had done to thebuildings and reflected when I had exam-ined the holes, made in some cases throughiron shutters, what a near escape I had had.

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Everyone was then saying that the long-expected Revolution was imminent. Itwas a day of great tension. I went homerather early, and except for some distantfiring was not avv^are that anything speciallyunusual was happening. Very early next

morning, however, I was awakened bywild shouts of joy from the populace,mingled with near and distant shooting.Above everything could be heard the cry,** We have taken the fortress of Peter andPaul, everybody shouting it out. Excite-

ment was continually at fever heat as thename of one regiment after another wasgiven who had come out openly on thepeople's side. When it was definitelyknown that the Cossacks had come over,the enthusiasm reached its climax. In

England this might not seem a verygreat thing ; but Russia, though it fearedits Cossacks, was at heart proud of themtoo.

I remember seeing one day in the streets

of Petrograd an officer quarrelling with acabman. A Cossack soldier happened tobe passing and the officer ordered him togive the cabman a cut with his whip.

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This the soldier did and took a piece cleanout of the cabman's thick coat and jacket.Instead of being furious, as I expected,

the cabman turned to the bystanders andsaid in a voice full of admiration, Thatwas neatly done, smart boys our Cossacks,

eh ? Many of the streets were quiteimpassable owing to the great crowds ofsoldiers and workmen, all armed, whowere going about looking for the hiding-places of the police and well-known sup-porters of the old regime. Every few

minutes the crowds opened out to letthrough motor cars and lorries filled withsoldiers, workmen, and even boys, allarmed to the teeth and waving red flags,who were rushing off to take part in the siege of one or the other police stations

which had not yet capitulated.The hunt for the police was carried on

with particular zest. No one was allowedto escape, they were generally shot or

bayoneted on the spot. To get out of

the range of a machine-gun I ran into adoorway and along a passage, almost intothe Jarms of two policemen who werecrouching with Brownings in their hands.

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day morning as he was taking his two Httlegirls out for a walk. He was dressed incivilian clothes. It was a pitiful sight tosee the two poor little children taken awaycrying whilst their father was being ledaway to be shot. This so worked uponmy feelings that I became bold enoughto suggest to one or two who were holdinghim that perhaps he was not so bad assome and might be allowed to go. Twoor three took up the suggestion, moved,

no doubt, by the children's tears, andafter they had given the ex-policeman a

number of blows over the head he wasallowed to depart.

On another occasion I sav/ a lad standingand chuckling over the body of a policeman

which was lying in the road. As I passedthe lad turned to me and said, *' Hechivvied me out of the- market . the otherday ; he won't do it any more.

All the prisons were captured ; I saw

several burned down. The prisoners werefirst brought out, pale and trembling,and nearly all looking very ill. As theycame out, they were asked by the crowd, What were you in for .? If it was a

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political offence they were cheered ; manyshook their hands and it was difficult tosuppress tears on seeing some of thetouching incidents. The kindliness wasoverwhelming. If the prisoner admitted

having been imprisoned for somecriminal offence, particulars were asked,and in many cases they were thrashed andtold they would forfeit their lives if theywere caught again. All were allowed to go.

One poor fellow had been in prison

twenty-sevenyears ;

whenhe found

him-self free he did not know what to do.He sat down on the snow and cried.Except for the killing of the policemen the

wliole atmosphere seemed to be one of anold v/orld made young.

Certainly we v/ere all a little nervous,wondering many things and particularlyif we should have to go without food,since all the shops remained closed for

the first day or two. No newspaperswere published, with the result that the

wildest rumours were flying about. Themost extraordinary stories were circulated.

We did not know at first what to believe.On the second day motors appeared from

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which single news leaves were thrown.There was a mad scramble to get possessionof one of these leaflets, and whoever wassuccessful was immediately the centre ofan eager crowd, to whom he was expectedto read the whole of it. Everyone wasanxious to know what had happened,and what was going to be done. Thosefirst days of the Revolution were gloriousones after all. King Hope reigned un-challenged. Everywhere were songs and

greetings ; new newspapers appeared withwhat seemed to our eyes outrageouslydaring headlines. New unions wereformed, new enterprises of all kinds pro-posed, and only those who were a littlelonger-headed than the others believed

other than that all Russia's troubles werenow at an end. Alas poor Russia.Writing at this date I well remember thediscussion between a professor and someof his pupils. I happened to be workingat the school erecting a large camera forthe authorities ; the students were main-taining almost violently to the professor

that everything must go on swimminglynow. This professor had spent several


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years in prison as a political offender

and was shaking his head sadly from timeto time, and declared that a sea of Russianblood would be shed before his belovedcountry would make any real progress onthe path to Freedom.

At the time I was inclined to side withthe students, and told the professor thathis view was a little pessimistic. Heevidently knew more of Russia and of theworld than I did. Quite recently I learned

that this same professor had been shot bythe Bolsheviks as a counter-revolutionary ;it seems a strange end for a man who hadfought all his life for freedom, but then

there are so many of this kind of man whohave been similarly treated.

For a time there was little done exceptto talk politics. I expect there was morepolitical discussion in the first few weeksafter the Revolution than in the fifty years

which preceded it. It was perhaps becausethe freedom was new and very intoxicating,the talk was ceaseless. A curious sightwere the endless processions of various

political bodies. Anarchists with black

flags and a few Bolsheviks held meetings.89


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All were applauded out of sheer goodnature. Few, if any, took any real noticeof what was said ; they just laughed at thewhole thing as a good joke which freedomcould afford.

There was one unpleasant feature. Theconstant succession of lynchings seemedat first a little perplexing, knov/ing as I dothe essential good nature of the Russian.The kind of person who was lynchedwas in the main those thought to be guiltyof social wrongs, especially of theft. Therewere two reasons for this, the first was thesudden abolition of the death penalty,which caused people to think that therewas no redress for wrongs done. In acountry accustomed to regular justice witha known standard by which crimes aremeasured it would be possible to abolishthe death penalty ; but in Russia wherefew expected justice and where the policehad such ^ide powers, the abolition of

the death penalty seemed to mean an endof all the checks on social crimes. Theother reason was the belief that no onehad a right to commit crimes now thatthe Revolution was a fact. Under the

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Tsar much might be forgiven, bu

Bolshevism - Mr Keeling's Five Years in Russia

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Transcript of Bolshevism - Mr Keeling's Five Years in Russia