My mother only smiled sadly.” “Where did all bread disappear, I do not really know, maybe they have taken it all abroad.

“I saw the ravages of the famine of 1932-1933 in the Ukraine: hordes of families in rags begging at the railway stations, the women lifting up to the compartment window their starving brats, which, with drumstick limbs, big cadaverous heads and puffed bellies, looked like embryos out of alcohol bottles …” (as remembered by Arthur Kaestler, a famous British novelist, journalist, and critic.

Koestler spent about three months in the Ukrainian city of Kharkiv during the Famine.

His death from bullet wounds in his apartment remains unclarified, though it was officially ruled a suicide. People searched the fields for mice burrows hoping to find measly amounts of grain stored by mice…” “I still get nauseous when I remember the burial hole that all the dead livestock was thrown into. Driven to madness by hunger people were ripping the meat of the dead animals. People ate dogs, cats, just about anything to survive.” “I’m asking for your permission to advance me any amount of grain. Please don’t refuse me or it will be too late.” “In the spring when acacia trees started blooming everyone began eating their flowers.

His son Andrew continues to believe he was the victim of a KGB execution.) “From 1931 to 1934 we had great harvests. I remember that our neighbor who didn’t have her own acacia tree climbed on ours and I went to tell my mother that she was eating our flowers.

There was not even the consolation of inevitability to relieve the horror.” (as remembered by Victor Kravchenko, a Soviet defector who wrote up his experiences of life in the Soviet Union and as a Soviet official, especially in his 1946 book “I Chose Freedom”.

“I Chose Freedom” containing extensive revelations on collectivization, Soviet prison camps and the use of slave labor came at a time of growing tension between the Warsaw Pact nations and the West. I’ve started to swell up and I can hardly move my feet.I met her face to face, chatted her up as we walked.Therefore, mobile phones, the new virtual relationship venue, is not always quick and easy.Her memoir, Grey is the Colour of Hope, chronicles her prison experience.Her later poems recount her struggles to endure the hardships and horrors of prison life.Wealthy peasants were exiled into Siberia even before Holodomor during the “collectivization”. Children were crying beaten for that with the boots. It was so dreadful that every day became engraved in my memory. I have no idea how I managed to survive and stay alive. We collected grass, goose-foot, burdocks, rotten potatoes and made pancakes, soups from putrid beans or nettles.