“Strawberries by Accord. 37 short stories from my life” is a book of our father. The illustrations are of Galina Ivanova. The book was launched on August 31st 2024 in Villa Verka in Bela Rechka. This is the first book of our ARCHIVE SENTIMENTAL.
The stories in this book were written by Dad between 2004 and 2015. He wrote his first story, My father’s house (not included here), at my request. It was published in the book “I Lived Socialism”(Janet 45) in 2006. Then I asked him various questions, my sister Galya did so too, and so he wrote several notebooks of stories. In truth, he didn’t stick to the questions very much. I thought that was typical of him and somehow endearing. It was not for us to structure his memories. It was his life, after all.
This book is for all our friends who remember our father, and for anyone else who would like to enter his private world for a while and find out what he remembers, feels and recounts, and experience the way he does it.
I believe we need more of these narratives – the kind of documents of life that allow us to connect with people who are different from ourselves. This book is also the beginning of something bigger – our Archive Sentimental series.
You can read here three stories from the book in English (translated by Boris Deliradev) and more about our intentions and the birth of the book.
Strawberries by Accord
A group of people came to the plant one year to offer us to grow strawberries “by accord[1]“. They would [provide the plots] and take care of the planting. We would take care of the weeding, watering and picking. Seemed acceptable. Extra money, but also extra commitment. A lot of people signed up. I signed up one decare[2], others signed up two or more. I knew growing strawberries is hard work. I had grown some in the vineyard in Mihailovgrad and in Krivodol.
They assigned us the measured and planted plots. Everyone knew their rows. We started weeding and then watering. My plot was conveniently placed. When it came to watering, I managed easily. I also made myself a special hoe for weeding the strawberries. I still keep it and use it. Then the picking season came. We all went when we could, [in our spare time]. The buying centre was nearby. Right after the first round, there were a second and a third. The strawberries kept ripening.
One weekend, my wife and I decided to go together and finish them all off. On the Sunday, we had to stay late. We brought the strawberries to the buying centre. It was still working. We left. We were bushed. It was very unpleasant. You’re always bent over when picking strawberries, then your back hurts for days.
At the exit, before we got on the Mihailovgrad-Vidin main road, someone made a sign for us to stop. Hegot out of his car. Another man was sitting inside. I recognized him. He was in charge of the strawberries operation. Check. “What are you carrying in the car?” We were not allowed to sell strawberries outside the buying centre. We had picked two crates for the children who were visiting from Sofia. He bent down and picked up the crates. “Why did you take them?”, I asked. “We are allowed to pick for personal use as much as we need.” I was entitled to take strawberries to my children. We started an argument. “You put them on my account,” I said. I was really angry. We left. I didn’t sleep all night. I said to myself in the morning, “The children will now leave without a single strawberry.” I rushed to the plot and picked a new crate, then returned.
I tried to find out afterwards if he had put them on my account. He hadn’t. He had taken thesestrawberries from my children. They were my [agreed] income. I was not trying to sell them. He had shared them with his friend in the car. It was pure exploitation, which I was used to. It almost haunted me everywhere I went.
The incident passed but I remembered the man. I still do, [I don’t know] if he’s alive. I’ve seen him [on the train] to Berkovitsa. When we meet, I always find insulting words to say to him without any fear.
[1] A type of agreement in communist-era Bulgaria where the state pays an individual based on the volume of work, not the time put in to do it.
[2] A unit of surface equal to 1 000 square metres.
A Black Cat Has Crossed Your Path
I was a senior locomotive engineer on locomotive 2875 [of the Bulgarian State Railways]. The management of the depot decided to keep our locomotive permanently in Boychinovtsi, serving the Boychinovtsi–Berkovitsa line. For more than two years the service went on smoothly. Our locomotive was well maintained. The trains ran on time.
But there is one story I want to recount. [At some point] the right bearing of the locomotive began to regularly heat up and an injector on the assistant engineer’s side was now barely working. The depot managers knew about this situation but they kept postponing fixing it until scheduled repairs in Mezdra.
On the day the locomotive was expected for these repairs I was at work. I was told I could return on the passenger train in the morning. I boarded the train and so did the locomotive instructor Irinchev. He was very knowledgable but never helped with anything. All he was interested in was having a good time. He had arrived in Boychinovtsi the previous evening and used the spare room to rest. He was only here now to be able to report that he had instructed me. When we arrived in Rakevo, I went down to oil the bearing. I got back on and before leaving I heard Irinchev say to me, “You will not take this train to Mezdra.” I asked him why. He said, “A black cat has crossed your path[1]“. I said nothing but I was angry. Is that why he came at all? I am a child compared to him. He was near the end of his career, with lots of experience. But I made up my mind before the next station, Krivodol. [When we arrived in Krivodol] I opened the door of the locomotive and asked the instructor to get off. I told him I wouldn’t leave before he got off. And that the delay would be at his expense. I also informed the train manager. Eventually, Irinchev got off and said something I didn’t understand. During the trip to Beli Izvor, the assistant and I agreed for him to watch out on my side as well. I would keep oiling the bearing from the platform when needed. Which is what we did. That section was the steepest and many trains would stall there. We got to Vratsa on time. Everything was all right. We arrived in Mezdra on time, too.
I took the locomotive to the depot and work on it started immediately. While it went on, the depot secretary came and told me the boss wanted to see me. I went. He was a good man. He didn’t know anything about the case. I told him I would not be able to work with such an instructor and wanted to quit. I was very firm and uncompromising. He asked me to observe the contractual notice so they could find a replacement. “But you are always welcome back. If you change your mind, you can choose the job you like. You are first class.” [After this conversation] some of his people tried to persuade me to stay. He did, too. But I had decided to leave. I honestly showed how I felt. But I had come to love the service, the machines, the people and everyone around. And today, I feel the same.
[1] In Bulgaria, a black cat crossing your path is considered a bad omen.
How I Got Married
After finishing my studies, I started work first in Sofia, then [moved to] Cherven Bryag and finally toMezdra. This had been my dream. Everything seemed to be falling into place. Year after year, I dare say, I was growing up. Some of my friends had got married. And my parents had started talking to me about it. I began to think about it seriously and finally decided I would marry Vera, my [future] wife. We had met 3-4 months ago at a party in Krivodol. She was a teacher in the village of Borovtsi. I went to several parties in this village, we became fond of each other and decided to get married on the 24th of May.
On the appointed date, she came from Borovtsi to Krivodol. The train arrived at about 7 in the evening. She had spoken to her parents and they were expecting us. I met her at the station and we set off to their place. We arrived. Preparations had been made. We sat down at the table as soon as we entered. Dinner was ready, conversations of various kinds began, there were jokes, laughter, and a cheerful atmosphere.
After about two hours I got up. Complete silence. Getting straight to the point, I said, “I am here tonight because I intend to marry your daughter. I have nothing else to say. I want to hear your opinion. You have the floor.” Almost everyone spoke, except her mother. Almost everyone said it was a personal matter. If that’s what you’ve decided, we support you. We know your parents to be very honest and hardworking people.
Finally her mother stood up. First she cried. She then calmed down and said, “I don’t think you know each other well enough. I suggest we postpone this day until later.” There was a hush. I got up again and said, “We know each other well enough to have made this decision. I repeat, I am here to get married tonight. I’ve nothing else to add. If that doesn’t happen, I will not set foot in this house again. Which means there won’t be a marriage.”
Vera got up a moment later. She turned to her mother and said, “Mother, you know I love you very much. I have always followed your advice. But tonight I won’t. Forgive me, but I am going with Ivan.” I got up, too, and we left. There was agitation, Kolyo, Vera’s brother, his wife… We waited for them outside and they walked with us to our place. It was about three in the morning. My parents were asleep. I didn’t want to wake them up. Vera’s brother and sister-in-law went back to their place. We went into our room. In the morning, [we found] the news had spread around Krivodol. Ivan got married.
Ivan Todorov (1930-2017) was born in Krivodol, Vratsa region. For most of his life, he lived and worked in Mihaylovgrad (now Montana), Northwestern Bulgaria. In secondary school, he wrote poems and was nicknamed Pushkin by his classmates. The poems have not been preserved. Strawberries by Accord is his first and only book.
About this book
[…] I remember how impressed I was as a kid with how well our Dad drew. My love of drawing has stayed with me ever since. Because at one time I had a problem with speech, I remember the relief [when I found out] how easy it is to tell stories through drawing. So I tried to use drawings to complete Dad’s stories.
Galina Ivanova
5th July 2024
Gorna Bela Rechka
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Archive Sentimental
Archive Sentimental is a publishing series of Villa Verka, Gorna Bela Rechka, Northwestern Bulgaria. Our aim is to publish in small runs family and personal documents – letters, diaries, photographs, drawings, notes, and sketches whose value depends only on the people who inherit or find them – and to assist their owners in preserving, arranging and distributing them. The excitement that something is worth preserving is our guiding light in choosing a publishing project.
