In the footsteps of tension

People's memory is sometimes quite short. Now that everyone can go and go wherever they want, many cry for the lost cheap sausage, but have already forgotten that right behind Mērsrags, a striped boom and armed Russian soldiers, called border guards, often landed in front of the road, were passed only with written and stamped props. And not every inhabitant of the Latvian SSR could receive a permit, but only one who had first received a so-called invitation from the Roja or Kolka village council, on the basis of which he could (or could not) receive a visa to enter his militia in ten days. in the restricted border area. I had bought a house on this unfortunate coast of Kurzeme, so every spring I and my family members also had to pray and land so that the authorities would renew the entry permit.

One year after our first arrival in Aizklāņi, it was Easter. After checking the documents in Mērsrags and Roja, the additives were also stopped and checked before Melnsils - at the knee of Dundaga. A border guard car, armed soldiers watched at the intersection; the officer reported something on the walkie-talkie. It seemed that the vigilant USSR border guards were again taken over by another spy search. When we reached our house, a real military operation had taken place near it: an army bob with an extended antenna was standing on the side of the house, excited phrases were heard on the loudspeaker. We entered our yard, from where we could watch what was happening across the fence, just like watching a spy movie.
Its plot turned in a completely unexpected direction: when the octopus barked loudly, the border guards surrounded our neighbor's house! But August Rozenfeld lived there (to him now light sand in the cemetery of Melnsila!) - at that time a hero of Socialist work and a member of the USSR Supreme Soviet, a man who traveled back and forth to the Kremlin as easily as others to Roja department store or Talsi market. Could such a person be suspected? However, the border guards entered their house. True, after five minutes they came out again and drove away. The operation was over, peace and quiet re-emerged.
We found out exactly what had happened then much later. It turns out that on the very morning of Easter, raining in a fine, unloving rain, Rozenfelds Augusts, wearing a tarpaulin coat and putting his favorite gray jockey on his head, went to the edge of the forest. There he walked back and forth between the trunks, until he squatted down on a bushy Christmas tree and carefully grabbed something in the moss. Leaving still disguised their place with needles. After a short time, a phone call was heard in Kolka (where, as in other border guard posts, the wall was decorated with a slogan in clear Russian (ALL NATION GUARDING THE BORDERS OF THE USSR). it eroded something under the Christmas tree, it seems, a walkie-talkie, and it disappeared itself.
In order for you to finally get some clarity about all this detective-military patriotism, it must be revealed that my neighbor August had not hidden a walkie-talkie under his Christmas tree near his house that Easter morning, but painted eggs so that he and the grandchildren who came later find!

"Well, the ducks are already blowing!", Perhaps a reader will exclaim: "Then it turns out that the Russians in Kurzeme were as silly as boots!"
But there is already a dog buried that in fact they were smarter than the wise: they tried to blow an elephant out of any fly to constantly remind their Moscow leadership of the dangerous situation on this shore and so that someone would not think of downsizing or relocating them (for example, to the border). with brrr… Afghanistan). Here, however, green hats had a golden life: salmon could be caught in the streams flowing into the sea, hunting in the forests, mushrooms, berries. When the withdrawal of the Russian army had finally begun, I read in the newspaper the pleadings of the Ventspils border guard mercenary to the correspondents, what a terrible transgression would now be inflicted on the officers' wives and children. Well, what do you think? Such that they are accustomed to picking berries and mushrooms in the forests here and preparing them for the winter - what have they, the poor, now started to expel in the Russian plains?

Storyteller: Aivars Freimanis
Used sources and references:

LĪVLI - Monthly of the Liv Union and "Lībiešu krasta" 1994 No. 1 - sent by Inese Roze (Talsu TIC)