There are unnamed graves, but no violations. Unnamed grave

May, morning, the sun rises higher and higher, quickly warming the earth still cool after the night, unspeakable grace around: the trees are lush green, light, airy, as if ready to soar majestically slowly into the deep blue bottomless depth of the sky, the air is crystal - transparent and pure, inhale, drink it like a magic elixir - with every sip the joyful force of life will pour into you. And the silence around is such that it rings in the ears, only the blacksmiths chirp busily and the birds give their voices crazy from spring happiness, not breaking this silence at all, but on the contrary, giving it a special melodic charm.

The three of us: grandmother, Sergei and I - are walking along a brown-clay with bushes of a mighty podrozhny country road to the nearby forest standing in front of us. The forest is getting closer, and now the domes of the temple begin to rise from the green foamy waves, as if now before your eyes the miracle of the resurrection of the city of Kitezh is beginning. The temple, seen from afar, is completely ruined, the walls are sealed, the crosses are askew, on the domes there is a bare crate, only here and there covered with rusty pieces of iron. But all the same, he is calm and proud like a wounded warrior who, despite everything, decided not to surrender to the enemy. Our temple of the Ascension on Gorodnya, a small river flowing not far from it. There, near the temple - an oldthe cemetery, where many generations of our ancestors are buried, and we are going to them now.

In our hands: both grandmother, and Sergei, and I have bouquets of carnations. We will put carnations on our graves.

Today is a big Parents' Saturday ...

In the garrisons, I heard something from my mother about parenting Saturdays: on the days allotted by the Church, you must go to your dead in the cemetery, clean up their graves and commemorate not only mother and father, but also all deceased relatives. Yes, on such days we sometimes remembered "ours" at the table, but we did not go to the cemetery: there was no one to go to. And here, at my grandmother's, I soon learned what a real Parents' Saturday is.

So they came ... The church stands not far from the forest. Behind it is a huge field. At the beginning of the field, the quietest, like a crystal, transparent river Gorodnya flows. The church is fenced with an ancient fence, skillful brickwork with protruding, large, also brick crosses. On the tops of some of the pillars, crosses are also preserved, massive, cast-iron, pretty rusted, in some places lopsided, but still monumental, cast for centuries. The fence fell in many places, so you can enter the church territory from anywhere, as you please. But the gate survived, and it was, as I already knew, almost three hundred years old; in the 17th century, a little later, their churches were erected.

On the other side of the church that looks at the forest, from the very fence begins the cemetery, several dozen graves - on the site of the field to the forest, and the whole cemetery - in the forest. The cemetery in ancient times began exactly from here, when our present church was not in sight, and there was not even a wooden church here, but a small chapel made of logs. Then, five centuries ago, as the long and knowledgeable memory of the people kept, they began to bury the dead from the nearby villages here. So some of the graves under the sprawling sprawling birches and mighty spruces are five hundred years old.

We go into the church gate. We are baptized three times and bow to the desecrated temple. And we go on to the graves of those buried here near the church. The gloom of desolation is everywhere: dry grass, broken branches, rotten boards, empty bottles... Only one patch - clean and tidy, with several old burials. These are the gravesrectors of the church since the 18th century (as my grandmother told me, it was customary to bury the rectors inside the church fence, according to a long-standing tradition).

Gray mossy stones ... Elm of inscriptions: servant of God ... surname, name, patronymic, years of birth and death of the one who lies here, a short appeal through the insurmountable abyss of times and measurements that separates the earthly world and the heavenly world, to him, living and living with God, with an unshakable faith that he will surely hear this appeal - from here on earth, living and living here on earth: rest in peace ...

This patch, where the graves of the abbots are, is taken by the people who come to the cemetery to "their own". And my grandmother and I clean up here from time to time. And now we are picking up and putting in a bag several empty vodka bottles, crumpled pieces of paper, cigarette butts thrown at the tombstones: sometimes any club-headed drunkenness wanders here "into the bosom of nature" and walks with might and main. We do not throw this garbage somewhere on the way back, but we carry it home and there, as expected, put it in the trash bin. “Every person lives like this: one in everything multiplies order, and another breeds disorder,” says the grandmother, “and it depends on every person what will be more around, order or disorder”. Sergei and I, of course, are for order.

We come to the first tombstone, it is the oldest here, yet early XVIII century ... Mother Superior Cyril ... We are baptized, we bow, we put a carnation on the tombstone: peace be upon your ashes, father. The next grave: we cross again, bow down, put a carnation on the tombstone ... We went around the graves of the abbots, now the way is to our graves ...

The entire cemetery is in the dense shade of huge birches and fir trees. Under the trees there are countless hills with crosses and monuments: people began to bury in this place since time immemorial, so many generations of residents of nearby villages and our Voskresenoks also lie here (it is less than a kilometer to Voskresenki from here). And the ti-bus is special here. Not ominous, frightening, but, on the contrary, reconciling and pacifying.

Before coming to my grandmother, I never went to the cemetery: there was no one to visit. And the first time we came here, I got scared. Here lie in the ground those who once lived, as I now: rejoiced, grieved, loved, worried. And now they are gone! And everything that they felt died with them. And I will die someday and lie in the ground like that. Everything that I have lived with will also go with me. And I will never be again! Never! And I wanted to run away from here as quickly as possible, from these mute graves, which with their silence persistently reminded me that sooner or later it would be with me.

But gradually this chilling feeling began to pass. Thanks to my grandmother. She never had "educational" conversations with me aboutsometime serious problems... And of course, we never specifically spoke about death and immortality. Grandma's view of this main question for a person was manifested through some of her short judgments on one occasion or another. “There is no death, our soul is immortal. Let us leave the earth, come to God or his enemy. To whom - it will be rewarded according to our earthly affairs. " "God has in paradise for everyone kind person there is at least a small room. It will be light and joyful in it, and - no sorrows. And the greatest joy in paradise is that you can always see God and always be with him. "

And she spoke amazingly about our deceased loved ones. How about the living! “From there they look at us, worry, grieve: as we are here, they ask God not to leave their neighbors on earth with their mercy. And we must remember and remember them. They are happy about it. "

And my grandmother had her own special attitude to tears about the dead. Two or three times I came to observe how the grandmother approached some inconsolably sobbing young woman and said to her softly and kindly: “Don't, dear, he feels bad from your tears, you drown him in your tears. I swam a little, and it will be. Go to church and pray for the peace of his soul. Immediately, it will become easier for the resting person from your prayer. The Lord pays special attention to such prayers of neighbors for their neighbors. "

After listening to my grandmother, I began to think, looking at the now completely not frightening me, that our Lord had arranged everything wisely: He had prepared eternal life for us. But in order to receive this priceless gift, you need to work hard: earthly life for this it was given to us, so that we would know the price of good and evil and live our life in good. It is for this that God takes a person to himself and gives him a "little room" in paradise. Many of those whose mortal remains lie in these graves are now there, with God. They look at us: they rejoice, grieve and help us live. And we will remember them. From these thoughts your soul calms down and pacifies.

Yes, it is here, in the cemetery, where life personally comes into contact with death, eternity with daytime, reveals itself a radiant truth, higher than which there is no: the Lord is ready to give you an endless, blissful life next to Him. Do not get lazy, earn it.

The first "our grave" we approach is the grave of my grandmother's mother, my great-grandmother and Sergei. On the hill there is a simple cross carved out of stone and many flowers (we plant them every year in the spring). Next to the knoll is a bench, once made by Sergei instead of the old one, which has fallen apart. The bench is well done, solid, neat, freshly painted (every year, also in the spring, we paint it).

As expected, we cross ourselves, bow, put a few carnations at the foot of the cross and sit on the bench: there is no need to clean up the grave,we did a thorough cleaning here last time. We never light candles on graves: “Candles are supposed to be placed in a church, not in a cemetery, as it has been customary since ancient times.” We are silent ...

Granny now probably remembers her mother, life with her. And we, Sergei, are trying to imagine our great-grandmother alive (her photograph hangs on the wall in the upper room in our "family" row). And then the grandmother speaks: “Mother was a great toiler, she raised five children, she kept the house as it should. She sewed skillfully, sheathed everyone in the house ... "

We rise, we bow again, we are baptized; Sergei and I are leaving, and grandmother stands at the grave for some time.

Our graves ... Grandma's father, grandfather, grandmother, great-grandfather, great-grandmother, elder brother, father of Uncle Vova; parents of our grandfather with Ser-gay, grandmother's husband Ivan, who died in 1944 in Poland. One grave at the far end of the cemetery was in general the 18th century: great, great, great (I don’t know how many times “great”) grandmother's grandmother.

At each grave we bow, cross ourselves, put flowers at the foot of the cross, and then sit on a bench by the hill and commemorate the one who is lying here.

Each time I approach one grave with trepidation. She is in the far corner of the cemetery. A green mound, some flowers, a simple wooden cross, and there is no sign on the cross that says who is here. Unnamed grave... But I knew her secret from my grandmother. The severed hand of the last priest of the All Saints Church, Father Eugene, was buried in the grave.

This is what my grandmother told me: “Before Japanese War sent to us a young priest, Father Eugene. He was good: tall, stout, shoulders - fathoms, playfully lifting weights of poods. His face was bright, his beard was bearded, he sang in a bass voice, so that the voice rumbled under the domes. The character was kind, sympathetic, but firm. Immediately, the people fell in love with him: in grief and trouble he will console anyone, you will not sin much, he will scold him, but he will forgive the sin, and if the sin is great, he will excommunicate it, but strictly, for a long time, and will impose an even difficult penance, to atone for your sin pleasing to God. And he was an exemplary Se-Myan: he and his mother gave birth to three children.

In the 18th year, in the autumn, the Chonovites came to us - to take away bread. They go into one yard, clean up all the grain, even leave nothing for the seeds. They go to another yard, and here everything is cleaned up. The women are crying, the children are screaming. The peasants stand sullenly, their heads bowed: what can you do, they have strength. And those who still resisted, those in front of their loved ones were mercilessly beaten. The commissar in a leather jacket and glasses, with a nose and black as a raven, was in charge of everything, his name was Yakov, and we were silently Yashka-Judas okre-style. Himself our men and women beat with the handle of the revolver. He hits and laughs, pleased. He was always happy when people were tormented in front of his eyes. Several times Father Eugene tried to stop him: "What are you doing this, non-human!" And he was beaten mercilessly, so it happened that Father Yevgeny lay without memory in his blood, as in a lake. But Father Yevgeny still did not back down: he spoke the truth to his eyes.

He got his stubbornness for Yashka-Judas. Once during the service, Yashka came to the church with a dozen of his Vahlaks. He ordered: "Stop the service, everyone should disperse!" The Wahla-ki began to loot people with their rifle butts so that they could run up quickly (I was then at that service and saw everything myself, I remembered everything). Judas loudly announces: “There will be no more services, the church is closing. The people's power does not intend to endure how the people are intoxicated with the opium of religion! " Screams, tears ... Yashka wants to go into the altar, but Father Yevgeny lights up his way: "I won't let him in!" "Take him!" - Yashka commands his wahlaks. On the father of Ev-genius, everyone piles on, twists. Yashka enters the altar, brings out the chalice with the sacrament and throws it on the floor. The people freeze in horror, and Father Eugene shouts: “What are you doing,inhumans? " He pulls out his right hand from the bonds of the Vahlaks and baptizes the people and everything around.

And then it was terrible. You dragged Father Eugene out of the church and nailed him to the gate (they dispersed the people, and I hid in the bushes nearby and saw everything). Crucified as our Lord Jesus Christ. Blood gushes from the hands nailed to the gates, and Father Yevgeny shouts: “Don't be your demonic power on the Russian land! And the Russian people will never stop believing in our Lord Jesus Christ! " I see: his fingers right hand shrink into three fingers. "Shut the vile throat!" - cry-cheat Yashka. The Wahlaks beat Father Yevgeny in the face with rifle butts, blood - the sea. Father Eugene still continues to shout, but the words can no longer be heard. And the fingers, I saw, were still clenched into three fingers. "Open your fingers!" - Yashka squeals. But the fingers are in three fingers! "Nothing, now we will unclench them!" - Yashka gets in even more, snatches a sword out of its scabbard and with a flourish cuts off the hand of Eugene's father below the hammered nail. The body slides to the right, and a nailed hand with fingers in three fingers remains on the gate.

I ran home, did not sleep all night, shook me as if in a fever. And in the morning I got together and went to the church (the Chonovites left us early in the morning). But the body of Eugene's father was not found, only a nailed hand hung on the gate. They climbed everything around: pits, ditches, heaps of brushwood raked out. Our father's body was nowhere to be found. Only the hand remained to be buried. Good-nili, like that, with folded three fingers. They put up a cross, wrote the name of the slain on the tablet. But soon the news reached us: Soviet authority She was very angry with Father Eugene, de this enemy, and after death, will stir up the people. Therefore, our Ascension Che-cysts were ordered: the body, if it was buried by the people, should be dug up and taken away in an unknown direction. So that they do not go to worship the inveterate enemy of the people. Then we removed the tag from the cross on the grave of Father Eugene. So that Judas does not dug out his hand. So the grave became nameless. "

Since then, from that black May day drowning in the sea of ​​human blood in the 18th year to the present day, almost a century has passed. Mighty terrible waves of time swept over the Russian expanses and carried away so many blessed and painful moments of the people's life, which, fortunately and unfortunately, will never be repeated.

A fine summer morning, quiet, blissful and not yet hot. I sit on a bench not far from the gates of our church and rejoice both in this day and in everything that I see around me now. I am already over six or ten, and I have not been in Voznesensk for over twenty years.

The temple, completely restored, shines with a new young beauty, copper domes and gilded crosses float in the immense blue sky, the gates are also like new - they cleaned them, removed the rust from the forged patterns. On the bell-koln there is a huge "evangelism" and dozens of smaller bells, among which are the ancient bells that were here both in the XVII and in XVIII centuries, which in "these" difficult times were sheltered and saved by the grandmother and other desperately bold God-loving ascents. And I, looking at the bells, recall with quiet blissful joy how many years ago on Holy holiday Ascension of Christ on the same clear, fine day, we hoisted here on the bell tower with Uncle Fedya, Nikolai and Sergei these kind green-bearded old men, responsive to all our human needs.

Yes, what grace is around! Everywhere everything is tidied up, well-groomed: paths, graves of insisted. The cemetery, as then, in the days of my youth, is immersed in the green cool waves of birches and firs. Sadly, the number of native graves has noticeably increased here: grandmother, aunt Klava, uncle Zhenya, uncle Vova, Boriska. All of them now, I hope, are with God.

I look at the gate: the gate is still the same, from the 17th century, which the terrible XX century also saw, yellow-wax oak boards, not at all touched by the bony hand of time, bizarre forged patterns, intertwining, unweaving - wreaths of iron flowers.

At the top of the gate, if you look closely, you can see two darkened recesses: I know these are traces of large nails, a hundred and fifty. The very ones with which Father Eugene was crucified (when the gate was being repaired, the people asked the craftsmen to preserve the traces of those terrible events).

And I am especially happy today because the relics of Father Eugene were found several years ago; Fr. Eugene was recently canonized as a locally revered saint, and now in our church there is a shrine with his relics. But couldn’t find the body of Yevgeny’s father for so many years, because the Chonovtsy buried it masterfully, worthy of their Chekist qualifications. A few meters from the gate, where the cemetery forest began, a hole was dug under one of the fir trees and the body was thrown there, and the hole was laid on top with turf, so imagine that here fresh grave, it was simply impossible. We stumbled upon it by accident.

I look at the gate, at the black indentations from the nails and imagine how it happened then, in the 18th year. And I hear: “Do not be your demonic power on the Russian land! And the Russian people will never stop believing in our Lord Jesus Christ! "

And so it all happened, as Father Eugene predicted. Exactly!

Oleg Morzhavin

Today it became known that plaques with names and dates of life were removed from the grave crosses of the paratroopers who died on the territory of Ukraine and were buried in the Pskov cemeteries.
Also removed from the graves are photographs and wreaths with inscriptions from colleagues - any evidence of the military affiliation of the deceased.
Everyone understands that this is the response of "commanders and chiefs" to attempts to compile a people's martyrology of Russian servicemen who died during the hostilities in Ukraine.
Perhaps this is happening in other regions of Russia as well.
This is not an attempt to rid the names of the victims of excessive attention.
This is an attempt to hide the evidence of the crime, its scale, to hide the very number of irrecoverable losses, which, judging by such acts, is great.
The unmarked soldiers' graves that have appeared throughout the country will be silent witnesses.
Let's hope that the Day of Judgment will come.

Visitor to my magazine Alexander Efremov, who found out about this, sent a poem today.
Judging by the structure of the poem, this is a song.

+ + +
No, there will be no apology speeches
There will be no repentance, do not wait.
Never ask for forgiveness
The soldiers have leaders in front of the line.

We're racing to the limit
To that invisible line, fatal,
Where is the land of the naked body
Waiting for blood like rainwater.

Where springs are mischievous dawns
Will not awaken the poetry of birds
Where there will be no summer for boys
And the nights of New Year's eyelashes ...

It so happened, in obedience to the well-fed
We have forgotten how we live
We called the COUNTRY - "unfinished",
We got drunk in ecstasy with lies

Very necessary, come in handy,
Like someone else's bed for a whore ...
AND, last strength having spent
Even a homeless person wanted to fight! ..

And the landing is already ready,
the best in the world.
And the shaman rages -
reporter on air.
Battalions without banners
and in the end everything is simple:
Only plaques without names
fresh churchyard.

I will ask without giving in to ecstasy
Maybe someone passed the law
So that the landing on someone else's orders
I was waiting for a landfill in a neighboring country -

Out of habit stable - strange,
In an undeclared, new war? ..
Countries get scared out of habit
Threatening you or me ...

So the commanders should be silent again?
Mothers cry over their children again.
So here we are in our eternal apartment
We learned to win ourselves.

Sending soldiers to the slaughter
Clean as a priest in a cassock, that commander.
All that can: add to the task:
If captured, then you are a deserter.

That's all. Without shoulder straps, and without titles,
Without a fatherland, and without a destiny.
Returns Russia from "assignments" -
Mothers - instead of life - coffins.

And the landing is ready again,
the best in the world.
And the shaman rages -
reporter on air.
Battalions without banners
and at the end: everything is simple:
Only plaques without names
fresh churchyard.

Let me tell you a story that happened to me last year. I still feel uneasy. I didn't even want to describe it.
Actually, it all started at the end of spring. My business was completely messed up - in everything. I was very sick, and my husband, and Native sister thundered to the hospital, and in the summer my brother died of hemorrhage. In addition, we suffered from a catastrophic lack of money, and many other troubles. By the summer, completely absurd phenomena began in general. In the morning I'll cook the soup - in the evening it's rotten, in the evening I'll cook it - in the morning in the trash. The milk turned sour in half a day. And once I boiled a couple of hard-boiled eggs - I think I'll make a salad. But I postponed cooking for a day. I threw the eggs into the refrigerator. So, friends, when a day later I looked at the eggs, I saw that they MOVE! I touched, and I almost vomited - huge fat maggots swarmed there! It is known that in order for the worms to appear, the fly must lay eggs. Suppose a fly still flew into the refrigerator (!), But how could the whole process take place in such a short time?
In general, I was told that a strong evil eye or damage was on me. And they suggested a way to take it off. Looking ahead, I will say, never get in there where you do not understand anything, especially into occult affairs. I had to stomp into the cemetery and find an unmarked grave. You know, in any cemetery there are such. Without a cross, a monument, overgrown and forgotten by everyone. I was required to read an eerie spell, standing at the feet of the grave, and put some kind of offering. I, like a fool, flooded into our small cemetery, which had been closed since the age of 10, I did everything as taught, I put something in.
It started to rain, I got wet all over and, cursing everything in the world, flooded home. By the way, I was alone at home, my husband went fishing to Karelia, there weren't even neighbors. We have a common dressing room with our neighbors for two apartments, we put in a common door so that strangers would not wander around. The neighbors were at sea, I went to them to water the flowers and feed the fish.
Went to sleep. I have an eerily realistic dream: an unfamiliar grandfather came to me, thanks for something, thanks. Then he smiles so maliciously, says: “I barely found you! But now I will come in ... "
I woke up with horror, I don't know why, because the dream was not terrible.
In the afternoon I went to the store when I opened the first door - gasped! The entire dressing room was covered in mud both on the floor and on the walls. After all, no one could come in!
Then I also dreamed about this grandfather, but the food stopped wasting, and things went smoothly. It means, however, that the dead man took my evil eye. But his visits did not suit me either; however, he no longer "followed". Later I went to church, read the prayers that were necessary, and everything seemed to stop.

Ella Polyakova, member of the Presidential Council for Human Rights, says:

"We received information about the Shali brigade, where a lot of guys died these days. Sergei Vladimirovich Krivenko, Lyudmila Vasilyevna Bogatenkova and I made a request to the Investigative Committee and to all competent authorities with the question of what it is to conduct an investigation and In addition, I know that the hospital in Rostov-on-Don is overcrowded, hospitals in the south are overcrowded, and in the hospital in Rostov-on-Don, in the camp hospital there is the contractor who contacted us, when we were in Chechnya, in Grozny, when we had a visiting meeting of the presidential council, and these contractors turned to us. They have already visited Crimea ... ", - she said.

"There are only contract servicemen there. They treated violations of their social and official rights, that is, the law on veterans was not observed, the law on military service, the law on social protection of servicemen was not observed," the human rights activist added.

Ella Polyakova said that for participation in hostilities in eastern Ukraine, the military who serve under a contract in Dagestan were paid 250 thousand rubles. In addition, she argued that the wounded contract soldiers, after returning from the territory of Ukraine to Russia, were dismissed from service so that “there would be no social responsibility before them and before their families.”

"The Ministry of Defense has learned a lot from us, corrected mistakes. What losses did we have in Chechen wars and the public was informed. As long as we ourselves are silent, as long as we do not understand ourselves, this is what happens. But now the phenomenon is new. It seems that those Dagestanis who signed contracts and were paid 250 thousand rubles each, for the money they went there. And when I talked with the same Lyudmila Vasilyevna Bogatenkova, I say: “Why do they agree to die?” She says: “You know, there is unemployment. Until the end of the contract we have to live for two more years, and we also need to raise our son. " This unattractive economic situation pushes people into such situations, "she explained.

"But the most unpleasant thing, and here we need to sort it out together, meet with the wounded, living people. When they return wounded or what, their backdating they are fired so that there is no social responsibility to them and to their families. This scary tale... Because none of them can documentarily confirm that he somewhere participated in some kind of hostilities. Russia is not waging a war, there are no hostilities, they are considered at the range. Where? Suppose, in the Belgorod region, "added the human rights activist.

Ella Polyakova also reported about 100 servicemen who were taken with wounds to one of the hospitals in St. Petersburg.

Unnamed grave

At the cemetery in the village of Vybuty near Pskov, plaques with the names of the paratroopers Kichatkin and Osipov buried there on August 25 were removed. Wreaths and ribbons also disappeared from the graves.

On the morning of August 25, at the cemetery in the village of Vybuty near the training ground of the Pskov airborne division, two paratroopers were buried: Leonid Kichatkin, born in 1984, and Alexander Osipov, born in 1993. The date of death is indicated as August 19 and 20 this year, respectively. The reasons for their death were not named. A farewell ceremony under police protection took place at the Church of Elijah the Prophet in Vybuty.

Earlier, the Russian Ministry of Defense denied NATO statements about the possible participation of servicemen of the Pskov division, partially stationed in Rostov region, in "active hostilities" in Ukraine. At the same time, a number of Ukrainian media outlets announced on August 21 that they could have died on the territory of the ATO.

As previously reported, on the afternoon of August 26, at another cemetery near Pskov, journalists from Dozhd, Russkaya Planet, Fontanka and Novaya, who tried to find out more detailed information about the death of the paratroopers, two unknown assailants attacked.

Soldiers' mothers rose up against Putin's lies

The Committee of Soldiers' Mothers in the Stavropol Territory compiled a list of four hundred wounded and killed Russian soldiers. This was reported by its chairman Lyudmila Bogatenkova.

“I have a list of about four hundred people. There are both the wounded and the dead, ”she said.

The list was compiled from different sources in the military, which the Committee cannot disclose. According to the data collected by the soldiers' mothers, the list includes “Vladikavkaz-Shumlenskies, Shalinskys, Borzoisky”.

We are talking about several motorized rifle brigades: 19 separate motorized rifle Voronezh-Shumlenskaya Red Banner Orders of Suvorov and the Red Banner of Labor (Vladikavkaz, North Ossetia), 17 separate guards motorized rifle brigade in the city of Shali (Chechnya), 8 separate guards motorized rifle town in Chechnya ...

According to Bogatenkova, in addition to those already mentioned in the list, there are servicemen from other units. Russian army... The list of the wounded and the dead is not final and is constantly being updated.

In February 2011, Vera Drobinskaya, who is raising disabled children taken into custody from this institution, turned to the Prosecutor General's Office. She, in particular, asked to check the observance of the law in the burial of children who died in the boarding school and to give a legal assessment to the regional departments responsible for the treatment of disabled children.

Cemetery in Raznochinovka. Photo: Vera Drobinskaya, drobinskaja.livejournal.com

“I could not resist, and drove to the village cemetery, where children who died in this orphanage are also buried. I was shocked by what I saw, - says this appeal. - Many small bumps, not even signed. In some places, the monuments, apparently, were erected by the relatives of the deceased children, where the inscriptions are almost erased. One monument attracts attention, it says: "Forgive me from my mother." The child's name is Vasily F. He died, as follows from the entry on the monument - November 6, 2007. However, the volunteer chief of this child from the "Invisible Children" community, Galina S., assures with full responsibility that in March 2008 this child was still alive. In any case, the teachers told her so. Some of the graves give the impression of “brotherly” ones. I could not find where the children I personally knew were buried, namely: Aliya, who died in January 2003 at the age of 14 from a spinal hernia, and Vanya P with diagnosed with m Downa, celiac disease, who died in summer 2002. The moral aspect of this picture is monstrous. "

“The inspection did not establish any violations of the law during the burial of the inmates. Burials are carried out on the basis of a medical death certificate at a local public cemetery, ”the Astrakhan prosecutor’s office said on March 22 on the agency’s official website.

“At the same time, during the inspection of the cemetery, it was established that there are unmarked graves with crosses on the conditionally designated area, the registration of the burials of which by the authorities local government not being conducted, "the inspectors admit. A submission on this matter was submitted to the local village council.

However, some violations were found by a check in the boarding school. For example, the untimely passing of periodic medical examinations by employees of the institution. Or - lack of a diploma medical education at one of the nurses.

"Another check of compliance with the legislation in Raznochinovsky orphanage the regional prosecutor's office took control. Since 2009, this is the fifth inspection: planned and extraordinary, they are carried out with the participation of the district prosecutor's office almost every six months, not counting inspections of other departments: Rospotrebnadzor, Ministry of Health, Gospoznadzor and others, "Assistant to the Regional Prosecutor Yulia Svitina told RIA Novosti.

In addition to the prosecutor's office, investigation and internal affairs bodies, representatives of the human rights ombudsman in the Astrakhan region, Rospotrebnadzor, Roszdravnadzor, the Ministry of Health, the Ministry of Social Development and Labor of the region are also taking part in the inspection being carried out now. Each expert, upon completion of his examination, draws up acts and transfers the collected material to the district prosecutor's office.

According to Svitina, violations in the organization of the boarding school's activities have been identified, but not the same, and not at all on the same scale as it was presented by the media.

The accusations are much more serious: violence, exploitation, cruel treatment with disabled people. The check continues, say the prosecutor's office.