Me with my Dad on a family trip to the west coast in 1970ish.
I’ve been gradually scanning my father’s photos, posting them to Flickr, and encouraging my family — especially my mother — to comment so as to identify names and places that are unfamiliar to me. I recently scanned the photos from my parents’ travels during the summer of 1959, including a trip to the Soviet Union.
I posted the photos and invited my mother to tag and comment . . . and ended up with mentions on a number of Russian websites, a couple of Russian commenters on Flickr offering their thoughts on the photos, and over 50,000 views since the photos went up a week ago.
With the help of Google Translate and my mother, who speaks Russian, I’ve been learning more about the photos and commenters.
For example, here is a Live Journal page by “Finnish Passenger”
Google translates this as:
In 1959, the American Peter Robertson on a tourist visa to visit the Soviet Union. Under the cut I have selected 48 photographs from his archive. Photos from the trip are interesting in that a Soviet citizen would not do at all these pictures, because ordinary is happening, and in ofitsilnyh magazines and newspapers printed entirely different subjects.
Yeah, the translation is a bit rough.
Another Russian blogger turned the photos into a guessing game and then provided answers (in addition to the answers in the comments).
My favorite of the bunch is this photo and some of the commentary around it:
I had no idea what this was. A Flickr commenter, Leonid Paulov, explained,
Machine for the disabled. When I was 8 years old living in Kazakhstan. Roads there was not. After the rain this car off the road. The driver of a war veteran with Germany very loudly berated those who made this car
Remember, this is Google Translate talking, so it’s not that everyone in Russia actually sounds like Boris and Natasha. Mom did a better job with the translation:
It’s a machine for disabled people. When I was 8 years old, I lived in Kazakstan. There were no roads for automobiles. After it rained, this machine could go out on the shoulder. A bus driver who participated in the war with Germany loudly berated those who made this automobile.
So this is car that would be used by a disabled person? Like a wheelchair with an engine?
Mr. Paulov responded,
Yes, this is the first vehicle for persons with disabilities in the Soviet Union manufactured 60 years ago.
Still not clear on the role of the veteran/bus driver. Here’s another Russian site commenting on the same photo.
The last paragraph reads,
In this collection you will actually find a lot of interesting details. For example, a rare three-wheeled wheelchair in front of the historic journey to Moscow.
There were a number of photos of women working on roads or in the fields. One commenter noted — tersely but (to me) poignantly — that, because of the war, there was a dearth of men:
(Pretty buff commenter, though, eh?)
A theater showing “War and Peace.”
Reading the newspaper:
The photo below is apparently a tank of something called kvass, which my mother described as a drink made from fermented rye bread. Truly a testament to the ingenuity that can arise from the combination of great deprivation and great thirst.
The sign says “place for feeding pigeons.” And that’s Mom — in her travel gear — a far cry from the jeans and hiking shoes I wore for my post-college travels.
The requisite giant portrait of Khruschev.
and the people tasked with schlepping the giant portrait:
More to come in a future post — by me or perhaps a guest post by Mom!
My Dad attended a summer camp — Camp Ironwood — in Harrison, Maine, which apparently took a driving trip to Gaspé, Quebec
one summer in the (I’m guessing) 1940s. Here are some of his photos. Text is from his penciled comments on the back of each.
Fishing harbor drying nets:
Cartful of dried cod:
And of course, Dad himself:
Miss you every day.
Photo from a trip to Scotland in 1985. I was taking the long way home from Taiwan to start law school in the fall, and we met up in London, drove around England and Scotland, and ended up at a friend’s wedding in Edinburgh. Driving was an adventure, including England’s almost impossibly narrow country roads, which we shared with all types of wild and domesticated animals. Here’s Dad attempting to clear the road of flock of ducks who insisted on waddling rather than flying.
And where but Scotland could he find a store bearing his name: