Memories of Valentina Gamatina about Gennadiy Patrushev from 1 May 1999


Memories of Valentina Gamatina about Gennadiy Patrushev from 1 May 1999

Fates are personal, different walks of life. Sometimes this will entangle and the fate of a person will tie in such a knot that he is struggling to untie this knot his all life. This is life. God works in mysterious ways. It happened to me. Of the six girlfriends who lived in the city of Nikolaev, that is in Ukraine, fate brought me to the Urals, where my husband came to serve. Patrushev Gennadiy Vasilyevich.

The Urals met me unfriendly, this was April 1, 1957. Yes, it was April 1, on the Day of Fools, I crossed the threshold, or rather descended from the steps of the train to the station of Sverdlovsk. In Ukraine, spring was already raging: cherry blossoms, apricots blossomed, it was warm and green in spring. Sverdlovsk met me with snowdrifts, what did I get myself into, barely getting out of the car - obviously my shoes were not suitable for the Urals weather.

I live in the Urals more than forty years. My two sons were born here, grew up and became fathers.

I had to go through many tests. . . Many secrets are kept by the Urals. And one of them: The tragic death of the Igor Dyatlov group on February 2, 1959. Was it on the 2nd? .. As far as we know from the article in the newspaper, the last entry of Igor Dyatlov in the diary is dated January 31. But there is no certainty that the record is the last. Who can say and answer this with complete confidence?

This secret of their death (and I would say: murder) disturbs the minds of many people, forcing us again and again to return to those events so far away in the past.

What or Who leads them? What purpose do they pursue? It seems that they want to find out the truth and pay the last tribute to those young guys and girls that gave their lives for what is unknown. So here I am, although I try to forget, but I can not.

I was bound by fate with a knot to these events, the knot relaxed with time, the pain softened, but untie myself I still can't.

Distant 1959 year. Ivdel is the point on the map and the point in the life of Gennadiy, the pilot of the GVF. In Ivdel, he meets a group of Igor Dyatlov. People with same age and romantic in character, they quickly find a common interestes, friendship is fastened. At this time, with my young son (he was born on March 10, 1958), I live with my mother-in-law in a suburb of Sverdlovsk, in the village of Torfyanik. Arriving home, Gena talks about them with warmth and respect and promises to introduce me to everyone, especially with Zina, with whom, according to Gena, we are similar in appearance and in character.

I remember how Gena arrived with a terrible news about the death of the guys. Four years Gennadiy flew to Ivdel, he knew Mansi well. Hunted with them. I've heard the legend of the Kholat Syakhl, then he decided to get to the bottom of the truth himself. How far has he advanced in his investigation, it is now impossible to say. Gennadiy died on May 22, 1961. Shortly before the tragic flight, we had a childhood friend, at that time the captain of the state security, Sergey Misharin. For a long time they talked about something, when I approached them, they fell silent.

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Recently, Gena began to be afraid of something, stopped telling me what he had said before and took my word that I would never, under any circumstances, tell what I already knew.

Having submitted documents to the Academy of Civil Aviation, received a call for examinations, the last hours before he had to fly away, which were truly the last. After the death of Gennadiy and the failed assassination attempt on me, Sergey Misharin shot himself.

It is probably impossible to prove the connection between the death of Dyatlov group and the death of Gena. Only I know that this is so. Unfortunately many, many who could have shed light on this, are no longer alive. Documents, records, destroyed, the squadron was disbanded. Ural keeps this secret behind seven locks and seals.

The road of life led me by its own ways, until it led to Yuri Kuntsevich. Only twelve-year-old boy, being at the funeral of students, he took upon himself to get to the truth of their doom. Years passed, youth passed, it seemed and enthusiasm should pass, only not Yuri Konstantinovich, who kept the young fuse, and outwardly he is young. He collected a lot of material over many years of searching. I had met and meeting with many people now.

Each has its own version, same goes for Yuri Konstantinovich, and I have my own too. Versions, versions, versions. . . Where is the truth? Who will put the period, and not the question mark to the 1959 tragedy?

With excitement and tears I leafed through the pages of the case, searched for Gennadiy's testimony, but it is not in the files. But he gave a testimony. He took him several hours in a row, I know for sure. He came home with exhaustion, and that is when he took from me my word that I won't tell no one.

Personally, I just want one thing, that in place of their eternal camp there was a monument not only of Dyatlov group, but also of those who gave their lives, unraveling the tangle of their deaths, or rather their killing... Is this utopia?

I just want to believe that our grandchildren and those who are now as old as they were, in that distant year of 1959, remembered and knew that memory is eternal. Nobody is forgotten, nothing is forgotten.

In the distant 1959, young guys and two girls went on a expedition in the Northern Urals, went with songs, jokes, youthful enthusiasm, with debates about happiness and love.

Force, I believe, a dark force cut short their young lives.

Let them live in the memory of people, staring from the obelisk with their young, eternally young faces.


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