During the bombing, grandmother. Collection of ideal social studies essays

Original text:
During the bombing, my grandmother stood at the post with a rifle over her shoulders and a whistle in her hand. Small in stature, but very full, she rolled out to the post like a bun, regulating the flow of latecomers to the shelter and encouraging those who were behind with a thin trill of a whistle.
Neighbors loved Zinaida Ilyinichna for her kindness and ability to cheer up a person with advice or the right word. And we just doted on her soul. As a girl, she was Yusupova (she was secretly very proud of her roots), and the oriental reflection gave her appearance a special flavor.
The whole entrance remembered the story of Ivan, a thirteen-year-old teenager who moved into the house a year ago with his sick mother and half-blind grandmother. During his short life, he managed to visit the colony for theft. His choice obscenities sounded in the entrance, he demonstratively smoked and was already starting to drink. With the consent of the mother, the grandmother undertook to arrange Ivan for a part-time job in the theater of the young spectator. For six months, she literally took him by the hand to performances, heatedly discussed with him the impressions received, asked him to describe his feelings and emotions. Then, step by step, she taught me to work on myself with the help of a diary. The result exceeded all expectations. Vanechka, as his grandmother called him, having a remarkable memory and absolute pitch, turned out to be gifted with artistic talent. During the year he learned all the roles and easily replaced the absent actors. So the teenager found himself. After graduating from the directing and screenwriting department of VGIK after the war, Ivan subsequently became an honored artist and director.
For my grandmother, who was distinguished by rare insight in understanding people, I was always a mystery. For the indefatigable character and the ability to turn everything into a problem, she called me a fantastic girl. As a primary school teacher, my grandmother was able to create an atmosphere of play in the classroom, while at the same time not letting the students get away from the main goal - acquiring new knowledge. Lessons of Joy - that was the style of her teaching. And the children literally idolized their Zinaida Ilyinichna. Next to her, the bombing was not terrible. Grandmother instilled in those around her confidence in an imminent victory, hope for good news from relatives, from the crucible of the front line - otherwise it could not be ...
It was August 1941, but we still could not get used to the ruins of burning houses. The Germans subjected the city to brutal bomb attacks, literally leveling it with the ground.
The August night was dark and warm. The shelling that began forced us to wake up from sleep. "Where is my whistle, look!" - grandmother's cry finally woke up my mother and me. Hanging our heads off the bed, we peered into the darkness, trying in vain to help. Surely this ill-fated whistle dangled from her belt or around her neck. "Your handiwork, Anka?" Grandma turned on me. I have always been the cause of disorder in the house - my grandmother even hid her unloaded rifle from me, suspecting in advance God knows what and protecting her from rash acts. Finally, the whistle was found - it really ended up somewhere in the back pocket of my grandmother's skirt. Despite her age and solid weight, the grandmother rushed to the post like a whirlwind.
And we rushed to our shelter near the house. This deep hole, covered with boards from above, was our bomb shelter - it was dug by the tenants who remained in the house. It certainly would not have saved us from the bomb, but here we felt protected. Clinging to each other under the deafening roar of exploding shells and the crying of children, we tried not to chatter our teeth in fear and even sing.
Suddenly, my mother started laughing. "Linochka, what's wrong with you?" - cautiously asked a neighbor. Mom, literally choking on laughter, continued to flood. The tension that gripped people was gone after she told about her grandmother's gatherings, about how little, round Zinaida Ilyinichna, with a rifle behind her back, hurriedly threw things around the house, trying to find a whistle. Scene after scene, she painted the picture of this furious search so vividly that the smiles on the faces of those present were replaced by laughter. Everyone laughed, even the crying children smiled. Laughed to tears - loud, pre-war, laughter.
When we emerged from our squalid hiding place, neighboring houses were burning all around. We rushed to our house, which miraculously survived. Grandmother ran towards us, smearing tears of joy down her cheeks, because she saw us alive and unharmed. Not far from her post, a fragment of a bomb hit our old friend, her colleague, seventy-year-old neighbor Ivan Petrovich. The day before, he received a funeral for his only son and literally just complained to his grandmother that he was very cold, barely moving and completely exhausted. Grandmother hugged us, hugged us tightly and, as if nothing had happened, said: “The bones are intact, we will gain meat! We will live, we will not die!
So many years have passed since then, and I am already well over eighty. But in moments of despondency, I suddenly remember my grandmother with her unloaded rifle, eternal search for a whistle and unshakable faith in victory. And my mother's story pops up in my memory, our flimsy shelter and general uncontrollable laughter. It thundered like a messenger of hope and faith in oneself and in the future - laughter bursting from us in spite of the horror of war and death.

The writing:

How should you behave in emergency situations? G. Galler reflects on this question.
Using the story that happened to the narrator as an example, the author tells with admiration about the woman Zinaida Ilyinichna, who did not lose heart during the terrible years of the war, supported those around her with her “unshakable faith in victory”, hope for the best. G. Galler sees in such people one of the sources of the Great Victory.
The position of the author is as follows: in difficult life situations, the most important thing is not to get lost, not to succumb to fear, to be able to find courage in yourself, spiritual strength that can overcome all hardships.
I certainly agree with the writer's point of view. The spiritual core of a person helps him to deal with obstacles encountered on the way. Able to overcome even death.
This happened in the story of K.G. Paustovsky "Snow". Lieutenant Nikolai Potapov does not want to go to his home after the death of his father, thinking that other people already live there, indifferent to his grief. But everything turns out to be completely different. Tatyana Petrovna, who settled in it, after reading Potapov's letter to his father, arranges everything in the house as the hero wanted. This woman is not subject to despair, full of inexhaustible energy of life, which conquers death, overcomes the loneliness of Tatyana Petrovna herself and the military, fills their lives with new meaning.
The hero of the same name in A.T. Tvardovsky Vasily Terkin is not accidentally considered the most indispensable person in the company. He knows how to brighten up front-line everyday life with a joke, to cheer up other fighters. Everyone around is literally “infected” with his optimism, distracted from the harsh reality, which is so necessary for soldiers who are constantly in psychological stress.
Thus, a person who, in the most difficult circumstances, does not allow himself to fall into despondency, succumb to horror, not only copes with such situations himself, but also helps others.

Help! Assignment from the exam. From sentences 1-5 write out the adjective used in the meaning of a noun. Something I can't find

(1) The harsh, demanding years for us, “military boys,” coincided with the age-related laws of human upbringing. (2) We took on all the teenagers ourselves. why? (4) I remember what we could do. (5) We are five of the same age and classmates from the same street

Write an essay according to the exam criteria, plz formulate a problem! Once an actor from our city drama theater Levkoev came to our class.

Evgeny Dmitrievich. He said that he would lead a drama circle, and selected several guys to participate in the production of "The Tale of the Priest and his worker Balda" by A.S. Pushkin. For some reason I was sure that the role of Balda would go to me. When it came to me, I calmly read the given piece. Here you will be the Balda, - Yevgeny Dmitrievich screamed. And he freed one boy, Zhora Kurkulia, who read with a strong accent, from participating in the production. I even felt sorry for Zhora. After all, Evgeny Dmitrievich, having released him, hinted that he was no good. Can I just stay like that? - Zhora said and smiled without any offense. Evgeny Dmitrievich shrugged his shoulders. Rehearsals began. After several classes, I suddenly got bored, felt that I was tired of the role of Balda, and began to play disgustingly. Meanwhile, Zhora Kurkulia came to rehearsals all the time and even became somehow necessary. He was the first to rush to move tables and chairs to make room for the stage, open and close the windows. Once Evgeny Dmitrievich offered him the role of the horse's hind legs. Zhora gladly agreed. He got his role after the actor several times tried to show the boy playing the hind legs of a horse how to kick out the sound of hooves with his feet, which the boy could not do. accurately depicted a galloping horse. At the next rehearsal, suddenly, a joyful neighing was heard from under the back of the horse's belly. Evgeny Dmitrievich was delighted with this neighing. He immediately pulled Kurkuly out from under the horse and made him neigh several times. front legs of a horse, which, in addition to the ability to naturally gallop, has acquired the ability to naturally neigh. The rehearsals continued, and I continued to cover up the mediocrity and even dishonesty of my performance with loudness. Once, when I forgot a line, the horse suddenly turned in my direction and daringly uttered the right words, causing everyone to laugh. One fine day, while playing football with the guys, I suddenly noticed that Zhora Kurkulia was running towards us from the side of the school, gesticulating desperately. I remembered that it was high time for me to rehearse. When we arrived, Evgeny Dmitreevich suddenly said: Get dressed, Kurkulia! And you, the former Balda, will play a horse in his place ... Although before that I had not experienced any joy from my role, I suddenly felt that I was deeply offended and offended. The resentment was so deep that I was ashamed to protest against the horse, because then it would become clear to everyone that I value the role of Balda, which was taken from me. The rehearsal began, and it turned out that Kurkulia knows the text perfectly, and clearly plays better than me. True, his pronunciation did not improve, but Yevgeny Dmitrievich was so pleased with his playing that he began to find dignity in his pronunciation. And when Zhora began to twist the rope with some efficiency and faith that now he would spin the brains of all the devils with this rope, while not ceasing to listen to what was supposedly going on at the bottom, it became clear: I can’t compete with him. To top it off, my partner, who previously played the role of the front legs, now asked for his old place, because it turned out that I galloped and neighed much worse than he did. So, starting with the main role of Balda, I moved on to the very last role of the hind legs of the horse. The premiere was a huge success. When we left behind the quois, the audience continued to clap their hands. And suddenly, unexpectedly, the light hit my eyes, and a new flurry of applause fell on our heads. It turns out that Yevgeny Dmitrievich took off the horse's cardboard croup from us, and we appeared before the audience in our high red stockings, the color of the horse. Well: "curtain, maestro, curtain!"

help write an essay on this text)

(1) I live in a small house on the dunes. (2) The entire Riga seaside is covered in snow. (Z) The sea goes hundreds of miles into black-lead distances. (4) A small house stands like the last beacon on the edge of a foggy abyss. (5) 3 here the earth breaks. (6) There, to the west, behind a layer of darkness, there is a small fishing village. (7) An ordinary fishing village with nets drying in the wind, with low houses and low smoke from chimneys, with black motorboats pulled out on the sand, and gullible dogs with shaggy hair. (8) Latvian fishermen have been living in this village for hundreds of years. (9) Generations succeed each other. (10) But just like hundreds of years ago, fishermen go to sea for herring. (11) And the same. like hundreds of years ago, not everyone comes back. (12) Especially in autumn, when the Baltic is furious from storms and boils with cold foam. (13) But, no matter what happens, no matter how many times you have to pull off your hats when people find out about the death of their own comrades, you still need to continue to do your job - dangerous and difficult, bequeathed by grandfathers and fathers. (14) It is impossible to yield to the sea. (15) In the sea near the village lies a large granite boulder. (16) A long time ago, fishermen carved an inscription on it: "In memory of all who died and will die in the sea." (17) This inscription can be seen from afar. (18) When I found out about this inscription, it seemed to me sad, like all epitaphs. (19) But the Latvian writer, who told me about her, did not agree with this and said: (20) - On the contrary. (21) This is a very courageous inscription. (22) She says that people will never give up and,. no matter what, they will do their job. (23) I would put this inscription as an epigraph to any book about human labor and perseverance. (24) For me, this inscription sounds something like this: “In memory of those who overcame and will overcome this sea.” (25) I agreed with him and thought that this epigraph would also be suitable for a book about writing. (26) Writers cannot give up for a minute before adversity and retreat in front of obstacles. (27) Whatever happens, they must continuously do their job, bequeathed to them by their predecessors and entrusted by their contemporaries. (28) No wonder Saltykov-Shchedrin said that if "literature falls silent even for a minute, then this will be tantamount to the death of the people." (29) Writing is not a craft or an occupation. (ZO) Writing is a calling. (31) A person is never called to handicraft. (32) They call him only to fulfill a duty and a difficult task. (ZZ) What compels the writer to his sometimes painful, but wonderful work? (34) First of all - the call of your own heart. (35) The voice of conscience and faith in the future do not allow a true writer to live on earth, like an empty flower, and not to convey to people with full generosity all the huge variety of thoughts and feelings that fill him. (36) A person becomes a writer not only at the call of his heart (37) Years of maturity come, and the writer clearly hears, in addition to the invocative voice of his own heart, a new powerful call - the call of his time and his people, the call of humanity. (38) At the behest of a vocation, in the name of his inner impulse, a person can perform miracles and endure the most difficult trials.

(1) In the harsh war years, during the bombing, my grandmother always stood on guard with a rifle over her shoulders and with a whistle in her hand.

(2) Small in stature, but very full, she, like a bun, rolled out to the post and directed people to shelter, encouraging those who were behind with a thin trill of a whistle.

(Z) Neighbors loved Zinaida Ilyinichna for her kindness and ability to cheer up a person with advice or the right word. (4) And we, the children, simply doted on her soul. (5) As a girl, she was Yusupova (she was secretly very proud of her roots), and the oriental reflection gave her appearance a special flavor.

(6) The whole entrance remembered the story of Ivan, a thirteen-year-old teenager who moved into our house with a sick mother and a half-blind grandmother. (7) In his short life, the teenager managed to visit the colony for theft, at first his loud swearing sounded in the entrance.

(8) With the consent of his mother, the grandmother undertook to arrange Ivan for a part-time job in the theater of the young spectator. (9) For six months, she literally took him by the hand to performances, heatedly discussed her impressions with him, asked to describe her feelings and emotions. (10) Then, step by step, she taught me to work on myself with the help of a diary.

(11) The result exceeded all expectations. (12) Vanechka, as his grandmother called him, having a wonderful memory and absolute pitch, turned out to be gifted with artistic talent. (13) Within a year, he learned all the roles and easily replaced the absent actors.

(14) After graduating from the directing and screenwriting department of VGIK after the war, Ivan subsequently became an honored artist and director.

(15) Being a primary school teacher, grandmother was able to create an atmosphere of play in the lessons, while at the same time not letting the students get away from the main goal - acquiring new knowledge. (16) Lessons of joy - such was the style of her teaching. (17) And the children literally idolized their Zinaida Ilyinichna.

(18) Next to her, even the bombing was not so terrible. (19) Grandmother instilled in those around her confidence in an imminent victory, hope for good news from relatives, from the crucible of the front line - otherwise it could not be ...

(20) It was August 1941, and the Germans subjected our city to brutal bomb attacks. (21) The August night was dark and warm. (22) The shelling that began made us wake up from sleep. (23) "Where is my whistle, look!" - grandmother's cry finally woke up my mother and me. (24) Hanging our heads off the bed, we peered into the darkness, trying in vain to help. (25) Surely this ill-fated whistle dangled from her belt or around her neck. (26) "Your handiwork, Anka?" - my grandmother attacked me, because I was always the cause of the mess in the house. (27) Finally, the whistle was found - it really ended up somewhere in the back pocket of my grandmother's skirt.

(28) Despite her age and solid weight, the grandmother rushed to the post in a whirlwind, and we ran to our shelter not far from the house. (29) This deep pit, covered with boards from above, was our bomb shelter - it was dug by the tenants who remained in the house. (Z0) Of course, it would not have saved us from the bomb, but here we felt protected. (31) Clinging to each other under the deafening roar of exploding shells and the crying of children, we tried not to chatter our teeth with fear and even hum.

(32) Suddenly, mom started laughing. (33) "Linochka, what's wrong with you?" - cautiously asked a neighbor. (34) Mom, literally choking on laughter, continued to burst. (Z5) The tension that seized people went away after she told about her grandmother's gatherings, about how a small, round Zinaida Ilyinichna, with a rifle behind her back, hurriedly threw things around the house, trying to find a whistle. (36) Scene after scene, she painted a picture of this furious search so vividly that the smiles on the faces of those present were replaced by laughter. (37) Everyone laughed, even the crying children smiled. (38) Laughed to tears - loud, pre-war laughter.

(39) When we left our wretched shelter, we rushed to our, fortunately, surviving house. (40) Grandmother ran towards, smearing tears of joy on her cheeks, because she saw us alive and unharmed. (41) She hugged us, hugged us tightly and, as if nothing had happened, said:

The bones are intact - we'll make meat! (42) We will be alive - we will not die!

(43) So many years have passed since then, and I am already well over eighty.

(44) But in moments of despondency, I suddenly remember my grandmother with her unloaded rifle, the eternal search for a whistle and unshakable faith in victory.

(45) And my mother's story pops up in my memory, our flimsy shelter and general uncontrollable laughter. (46) He thundered as a messenger of hope and faith in himself and in the future - laughter bursting from us despite the horror of war and death.

(According to G. Haller)

Galina Galler (born in 1964) - journalist, doctor, researcher.

Show full text

The teacher occupies a very important place in the life of every child, as he is directly involved in the formation of the personality of the student. That is why there are a lot of requirements for people who have chosen this profession in society. What qualities should a real teacher have? The answer to this question is also sought in the text proposed for analysis by the journalist Galina Galler.

To draw readers' attention to this problem, the author tells us about the teacher Zinaida Ilyinichna. She "created an atmosphere of play in the lessons", not forgetting the transfer of knowledge to students, which made the learning process fun and joyful. Galler draws our attention to the fact that the children adored the teacher. She also writes about Ivan, one of the students of Zinaida Ilyinichna. The teacher found artistic talent in a teenager with a difficult childhood, and directed him: “she took him to performances”, “heardly discussed the impressions received”. And the "lessons of joy" brought results: Ivan later becomes an honored artist and director.

Haller's position on the issue raised is clearly and unambiguously expressed. The master of the word is convinced that a teacher should be attentive to his students, be able to discover talents and abilities in them, create an atmosphere of happiness and kindness in the classroom in order to instill in children faith in good things and arouse the desire to learn.

Criteria

1 of 1 K1 Statement of source text problems
3 of 3 K2

Chronicle of the rear Pugachevsky district
Pugachev was in the rear, and the war did not bring destruction here. But the life that the area lived could not be called peaceful. The rhythm of every day, month, year was subordinated to one thing - the defeat of the enemy. Workers and employees at their meetings decided to deduct one day's earnings to the defense fund. People handed over warm clothes, agricultural products, livestock and poultry. Nobody spared anything to win.
The movement under the slogan “Let's surround the families of the Red Army with attention and care” has found its place. For the second half of 1941, the district social security department gave one and a half million rubles to the families of front-line soldiers. Many families of workers, employees, and collective farmers took orphaned children and adopted them. Soldiers' uniforms were taken home for washing and darning. Dried blood, shot through tunics, riding breeches. Hard community work. But if you wash clothes with sand or silt, you can save laundry soap and carve out something for the family. During the war, soap was highly valued.
The year 1941 ended. At the corner of Toporkovskaya and Rev. avenue, where the Board of Honor is now located, a large map was installed. There, red flags marked the front line. Near the map, especially in the evenings, a lot of people gathered. We talked about Moscow. They agreed that the Red Army would not give up the capital to the Germans.
There were many evacuees in the city. Mostly they were women and children. They were settled in houses. The hosts didn't complain. They sympathized with the trouble, cordially received those who came to live in Pugachev. The city's population has tripled rapidly. Visitors talked about the bombings, about the destroyed cities and burned villages.
Urban and rural youth held a fundraiser for the construction of Pugachevsky Komsomolets aircraft. I.V. Stalin did not leave the patriotism of the inhabitants of the Pugachevsky district without attention. Sent a thank you note. Later, during the war, there were other telegrams of gratitude from the Supreme Commander.
During the days of spring sowing in 1942, there were not enough people to operate tractor units. Then the old peasants began to sow by hand. For example, 50 experienced sowers on the Chapaev collective farm sowed 300 hectares on April 22. The sowing was done on time.

In those harsh days, the Pugachev Theater worked. In the first months of 1942, more than 38,000 spectators attended the performances. In the hospitals of Saratov, in the cities of the region, in military units, the theater gave 90 concerts, 320 productions, collected 115 thousand rubles for the country's defense fund. For the excellent service of the Red Army units during the Great Patriotic War, the Committee for Arts under the Council of People's Commissars of the USSR awarded the best Pugachev artists with diplomas.
The front needed help. A 1942 war loan was issued. The state asked to borrow money from its citizens. People gave their savings and wages to fight the enemy. In five days, the workers of Pugachev and the region subscribed for 11.5 million rubles and paid about two million rubles in cash. Workers and employees of the motor-repair input signed up for a two-month salary. The foreman of the felting factory, Galakhov, contributed five thousand rubles, and the combine operator of the Zakharkinskaya MTS, I. Petrov, signed up for ten thousand rubles. The father of three sons - front-line soldiers I.A. Samsonov contributed five thousand rubles in cash, the father of two sons - front-line soldiers E.A. Okunev - six thousand rubles.
The winter of 1943 was very difficult. Bad with food, even worse with fuel. Fences were used for firewood, gardens were cut down behind Irgiz. To conserve heat and fuel, “potbelly stoves” were heated in the houses, small cast-iron stoves with a tin chimney through a window. At this time, a fundraiser was held for the restoration of Stalingrad. Beggar Pugachev shared the last with the destroyed city - the hero.
Shale appeared, a combustible material of gray color. It was mined in the neighborhood, in Gorny. Shale gave a lot of ash and little heat. They were drowned for a long time after the war.
In 1943, the workers of Pugachev and the region continued to raise funds for the construction of combat aircraft and tanks for the Red Army. Tractor driver of the Staroporubezhskaya MTS Karelin contributed 100 thousand rubles, workers and employees of the state farm named after Chapaev collected and contributed 500 thousand rubles. There were other donations as well. The meeting of the deputies of the city council with fellow countryman, Hero of the Soviet Union Alexei Danilov, who arrived in Pugachev on a short vacation, ended with a decision to increase assistance to the front, to intensify work in the fields, farms, and enterprises.
In the rear, too, there is a place for heroism. If before the war in the collective farms of the region the share of female labor and the labor of adolescents was 36 percent, then in 1944 it was already 72 percent. Despite this, during the four years of the war, the collective farms and state farms of the Pugachevsky district gave the state 4,800 thousand poods of grain, tens of thousands of poods of other agricultural products. People worked wonders. The local industry increased the volume of production by one and a half times, and artels of trade cooperation - twice.
On Victory Day there was rejoicing in Pugachev. Strangers hugged, songs were heard, an accordion played. Wives began to wait for husbands, mothers for sons.
End of August 1945. The first wagon trains with bread of the new harvest reached the Pugachevsky elevator. At that time, a train with demobilized front-line soldiers arrived at the station. The entire population of Pugachev and the surrounding villages came to meet the winners. A brass band played. Joyful exclamations, cries of "Hurrah!", hugs, kisses, tears of joy.
Former front-line soldiers set to work. A peaceful life was established.

N. Voronov