I had to live on the western front. Collection of ideal social studies essays

On the Western Front, I had to sew for a while in the dugout of quartermaster technician Tarasnikov. He worked in the operational part of the headquarters guards brigade. Right there, in the dugout, his office was located. A three-linear lamp illuminated a low frame. There was a smell of fresh plank, earthy dampness, and sealing wax. Tarasnikov himself, a short, sickly-looking young man with a funny red mustache and a yellow, stoned mouth, greeted me politely, but not very affably.

“Sit down right here,” he said to me, pointing to the trestle bed and immediately bending over his papers again. “Now they put up a tent for you.” I hope my office will not embarrass you? Well, I hope you won't interfere too much with us either. Let's agree so. Have a seat for now.

And I began to live in Tarasnikov's underground office.

He was a very restless, unusually meticulous and picky hard worker. For days on end he wrote and sealed packages, sealed them with sealing wax warmed over a lamp, sent out some reports, accepted papers, redrawn maps, tapped with one finger on a rusty typewriter, carefully knocking out each letter. In the evenings, he was tormented by bouts of fever, he swallowed akrikhin, but categorically refused to go to the hospital:

- What are you, what are you! Where will I go? Yes, everything will be fine without me! Everything rests on me. I’ll leave for a day - so then you won’t unravel here for a year ...

Late at night, returning from the front line of defense, falling asleep on my trestle bed, I still saw Tarasnikov's tired and pale face at the table, illuminated by the fire of a lamp, delicately lowered for my sake, and wrapped in a tobacco mist. A hot fumes came from an earthenware stove folded in a corner. Tarasnikov's tired eyes watered, but he continued to write and seal the packages. Then he called a messenger, who was waiting behind a cape, hung at the entrance to our dugout, and I heard the following conversation.

- Who is from the fifth battalion? Tarasnikov asked.

“I am from the fifth battalion,” the messenger answered.

- Take the package ... Here. Take it in hand. So. See, it's written here: "Urgent." Therefore, deliver immediately. Hand over personally to the commander. Understandably? There will be no commander - pass it on to the commissar. There will be no commissioner - look for it. Don't pass it on to anyone else. It's clear? Repeat.

- Deliver the package urgently, - as in a lesson, the messenger monotonously repeated. - Personally to the commander, if not - to the commissar, if not - to find.

- Correctly. How will you carry the package?

- Yes, usually ... Right here, in your pocket.

Show me your pocket. - And Tarasnikov approached the tall messenger, stood on tiptoe, put his hand under the raincoat, into the bosom of his overcoat, and checked for holes in his pocket.

- Yeah, okay. Now consider: the package is secret. Therefore, if you get caught by the enemy, what will you do?

Why, Comrade Quartermaster Technician, why am I going to get caught!

There is no need to get caught, quite right, but I ask you: what will you do if you get caught?

Yeah, I'll never get caught...

- And I ask you, if? Now, listen. If anything, there is some danger, so eat the contents without reading. Break the envelope and throw it away. It's clear? Repeat.

- In case of danger, tear the envelope and throw it away, and eat what is in between.

- Correctly. How long will it take to deliver the package?

- Yes, it's about forty minutes and it's only a walk.

- I beg you.

- Yes, Comrade Quartermaster, I think I will not go more than fifty minutes.

- More precisely.

Yes, I'll deliver it in an hour.

- So. Notice the time. - Tarasnikov clicked a huge conductor's clock. It's twenty-three fifty now. So, they are obliged to hand over no later than zero fifty minutes. It's clear? You can go.

And this dialogue was repeated with every messenger, with every liaison. Having finished with all the packages, Tarasnikov packed up. But even in a dream, he continued to teach messengers, took offense at someone, and often at night I was awakened by his loud, dry, abrupt voice:

- How are you standing? Where did you come? This is not a hairdressing salon for you, but the office of the headquarters! he spoke clearly in his sleep.

- Why did they enter without reporting? Log out and log in again. It's time to learn order. So. Wait. Do you see the person eating? You can wait, your package is not urgent. Give the man something to eat... Sign... Departure time... You can go. You are free…

I shook him, trying to wake him up. He jumped up, looked at me with a little meaningful look, and, again falling on the bed, covering himself with his overcoat, instantly plunged into his staff dreams. And he began to speak quickly again.

All this was not very pleasant. And I was already thinking about how I could move to another dugout. But one evening, when I returned to our hut, thoroughly soaked in the rain, and squatted down in front of the stove to kindle it, Tarasnikov got up from the table and came up to me.

“Here, then, it turns out like this,” he said somewhat guiltily. - You see, I decided not to heat the stoves for the time being. Let's hold off for five days. And then, you know, the stove gives waste, and this, apparently, is reflected in her growth ... It has a bad effect on her.

I, not understanding anything, looked at Tarasnikov:

- At what height? On the growth of the stove?

- What's with the oven? Tarasnikov was offended. “I think I'm being clear enough. This very child, he, apparently, does not act well ... She completely stopped growing.

Who stopped growing?

- And you still haven't paid attention? - Staring at me with indignation, shouted Tarasnikov. -And what's that? Don't you see? - And he looked with sudden tenderness at the low log ceiling of our dugout.

I got up, lifted the lamp, and saw that a thick round elm in the ceiling had put forth a green sprout. Pale and tender, with unsteady leaves, he stretched out to the ceiling. In two places it was supported by white ribbons pinned to the ceiling with buttons.

Do you understand? Tarasnikov spoke up. - I grew all the time. Such a glorious twig waved. And then we began to drown often, but she, apparently, did not like it. Here I made aarubochki on a log, and I have the dates stamped. See how quickly it grew at first. Another day I pulled out two centimeters. I give you my honest word! And how we began to smoke here, for three days now I have not observed growth. So she won't be sick for long. Let's hold off. And smoke less. The stalk is delicate, everything affects it. And, you know, I'm interested in: will he get to the exit? BUT? After all, so, the imp, and stretches closer to the air, where the sun is, it smells from under the ground.

And we went to bed in an unheated, damp dugout. The next day, in order to ingratiate myself with Tarasnikov, I myself spoke to him about his twig.

“Well, how,” I asked, throwing off my wet raincoat, “is it growing?”

Tarasnikov jumped out from behind the table, looked me carefully into my eyes, wanting to check if I was laughing at him, but seeing that I was talking seriously, he raised the lamp with quiet delight, took it a little aside so as not to smoke his twig, and almost whispered to me:

- Imagine, almost a half centimeter stretched out. I told you, you don't need to burn. This is just an amazing natural phenomenon!…

At night, the Germans brought down massive artillery fire on our position. I was woken up by the sound of close explosions, spitting out earth, which, from the shaking, rained profusely on us through the log ceiling. Tarasnikov woke up too and turned on the lamp. Everything was hooting, trembling and shaking around us. Tarasnikov put the light bulb in the middle of the table, leaned back on the bed, with his hands behind his head:

“I don’t think there is much danger. Won't hurt her? Of course, a concussion, but there are three rolls above us. Is it just a direct hit? And, you see, I tied it up. It was like I felt...

I looked at him with interest.

Lev Abramovich Kassil

green branch

On the Western Front, I had to sew for a while in the dugout of quartermaster technician Tarasnikov. He worked in the operational part of the headquarters of the guards brigade. Right there, in the dugout, his office was located. A three-linear lamp illuminated a low frame. There was a smell of fresh plank, earthy dampness, and sealing wax. Tarasnikov himself, a short, sickly-looking young man with a funny red mustache and a yellow, stoned mouth, greeted me politely, but not very affably.

And I began to live in Tarasnikov's underground office.

- What are you, what are you! Where will I go? Yes, everything will be fine without me! Everything rests on me. I’ll leave for a day - so then you won’t unravel here for a year ...

- Who is from the fifth battalion? Tarasnikov asked.

“I am from the fifth battalion,” the messenger answered.

- Deliver the package urgently, - as in a lesson, the messenger monotonously repeated. - Personally to the commander, if not - to the commissar, if not - to find.

- Correctly. How will you carry the package?

- Yes, usually ... Right here, in your pocket.

Show me your pocket. - And Tarasnikov approached the tall messenger, stood on tiptoe, put his hand under the raincoat, into the bosom of his overcoat, and checked for holes in his pocket.

- Yeah, okay. Now consider: the package is secret. Therefore, if you get caught by the enemy, what will you do?

Why, Comrade Quartermaster Technician, why am I going to get caught!

There is no need to get caught, quite right, but I ask you: what will you do if you get caught?

Yeah, I'll never get caught...

- And I ask you, if? Now, listen. If anything, there is some danger, so eat the contents without reading. Break the envelope and throw it away. It's clear? Repeat.

- In case of danger, tear the envelope and throw it away, and eat what is in between.

- Correctly. How long will it take to deliver the package?

- Yes, it's about forty minutes and it's only a walk.

- I beg you.

- Yes, Comrade Quartermaster, I think I will not go more than fifty minutes.

- More precisely.

Yes, I'll deliver it in an hour.

- So. Notice the time. - Tarasnikov clicked a huge conductor's clock. It's twenty-three fifty now. So, they are obliged to hand over no later than zero fifty minutes. It's clear? You can go.

- How are you standing? Where did you come? This is not a hairdressing salon for you, but the office of the headquarters! he spoke clearly in his sleep.

I, not understanding anything, looked at Tarasnikov:

- At what height? On the growth of the stove?

- What's with the oven? Tarasnikov was offended. “I think I'm being clear enough. This very child, he, apparently, does not act well ... She completely stopped growing.

Who stopped growing?

And we went to bed in an unheated, damp dugout. The next day, in order to ingratiate myself with Tarasnikov, I myself spoke to him about his twig.

“Well, how,” I asked, throwing off my wet raincoat, “is it growing?”

- Imagine, almost a half centimeter stretched out. I told you, you don't need to burn. This is just an amazing natural phenomenon!…

At night, the Germans brought down massive artillery fire on our position. I was woken up by the rumble of close explosions, spitting out the earth, which, from the shaking, fell abundantly on us through

Write a comment on this text, please.
On the Western Front, I had to live for some time in the dugout of quartermaster technician Tarasnikov. He worked in the operational part of the headquarters of the guards brigade. Right there, in the dugout, his office was located.
For days on end he wrote and sealed packages, sealed them with sealing wax warmed over a lamp, sent out some reports, accepted papers, redrawn maps, tapped with one finger on a rusty typewriter, carefully knocking out each letter.
One evening, when I returned to our hut, thoroughly soaked in the rain, and squatted down in front of the stove to kindle it, Tarasnikov got up from the table and came up to me.
“You see,” he said somewhat guiltily, “I decided not to heat the stoves for the time being. And then, you know, the stove gives waste, and this, apparently, is reflected in her growth .. She completely stopped growing.
- Yes, who stopped growing?
- And you still haven't paid attention? - Staring at me with indignation, shouted Tarasnikov. - And what is this? Don't you see?
And he looked with sudden tenderness at the low log ceiling of our dugout.
I got up, lifted the lamp, and saw that a thick round elm in the ceiling had put forth a green sprout. Pale and tender, with unsteady leaves, he stretched out to the ceiling. In two places it was supported by white ribbons pinned to the ceiling with buttons.
- Do you understand? Tarasnikov spoke up. - I grew all the time. Such a glorious twig waved. And then we began to drown often, but she, apparently, did not like it. Here I made notches on a log, and the dates are marked on me. See how quickly it grew at first. Another day I pulled out two centimeters. I give you my honest word! And how we began to smoke here, for three days now I have not observed growth. So she won't be sick for long. Let's hold off. And, you know, I'm interested in: will he get to the exit? After all, it stretches closer to the air, where the sun is, it smells from under the ground.
And we went to bed in an unheated, damp dugout. The next day I myself spoke to him about his twig.
- Imagine, almost a half centimeter stretched out. I told you, you don't need to burn. This is just an amazing natural phenomenon!
At night, the Germans brought down massive artillery fire on our location. I was woken up by the sound of close explosions, spitting out earth, which, from the shaking, rained down on us profusely through the log ceiling. Tarasnikov woke up too and turned on the lamp. Everything was hooting, trembling and shaking around us. Tarasnikov put the light bulb in the middle of the table, leaned back on the bed, with his hands behind his head:
- I don't think there is much danger. Won't hurt her? Of course, a concussion, but there are three rolls above us. Is it just a direct hit? And, you see, I tied it up. Like I felt...
I looked at him with interest.
He lay with his head thrown back on his hands placed behind the back of his head, and looked with tender concern at a weak green sprout that curled under the ceiling. He simply forgot, apparently, that a shell could fall on us, explode in a dugout, bury us alive underground. No, he thought only of a pale green twig stretching under the ceiling of our hut. He was only worried about her.

And often now, when I meet at the front and in the rear demanding, very busy, rather dry at first glance, seemingly unfriendly people, I remember the quartermaster technician Tarasnikov and his green twig. Let the fire roar overhead, let the dank dampness of the earth penetrate into the very bones, all the same - if only he survived, if only he reached out to the sun, to the desired exit, a timid, shy green sprout.
And it seems to me that each of us has our own cherished green branch. For her sake, we are ready to endure all the ordeals and hardships of the wartime, because we know for sure: there, behind the exit, hung today with a damp raincoat, the sun will certainly meet, warm and give new strength to our branch, which we have grown and saved.

Essay on the text: “On the Western Front, I had to live for some time in the dugout of a technician - quartermaster Tarasnikov.” Kassil L. A.

What helps a person to survive, not to lose heart in difficult circumstances? The prominent Russian prose writer of the 20th century, L. A. Kassil, makes you think about this.

The text tells about the meeting of the narrator on the roads of the war with one interesting person - Tarasnikov, the technical quartermaster of the operational unit of the headquarters of the guards brigade. Carry properly your military service, he managed to take care of a small green shoot that sprouted from a thick round elm in the ceiling of the dugout: he tied it with ribbons, did not heat the stove once again so that the waste emanating from it would not harm the plant, he thought about him all the time, noticed the slightest changes in his development and well-being . Such a tender, reverent attitude towards a sprout in the midst of the horrors of war struck the narrator and led to philosophical generalizations.

So, Andrey Bolkonsky, one of Leo Tolstoy's favorite heroes, feels absolutely happy after a sharply experienced spiritual crisis, when he discovers the moral truth: "You need to live for others."

I recall the story of Andrei Sokolov, the hero of the story "The Fate of a Man", from whom the war took everything: home, wife, children. To show the depth of the soldier's grief, Sholokhov finds an amazing image - "eyes, as if sprinkled with ashes." However, having adopted the boy Vanya, whom he met on the road, the hero seems to be born again ...

Thus, a loving person is a strong, wise person. And happy no matter what.

Searched here:

write an essay on the topic what helps a person to survive difficult moments?

Text by Lev Abramovich Kassil:

(1) On the Western Front, I had to live for some time in the dugout of a technician - quartermaster Tarasnikov. (2) 0n worked in the operational part of the headquarters of the guards brigade. (3) Right there, in the dugout, his office was located.
(4) For whole days he inscribed and sealed packets, sealed them with sealing wax warmed over a lamp, sent out some reports, accepted paper, redrawn maps, tapped with one finger on a rusty typewriter, carefully knocking out each letter.
(5) One evening, when I returned to our hut, thoroughly soaked in the rain, and squatted down in front of the stove to kindle it, Tarasnikov got up from the table and came up to me.
- (6) You see, - he said somewhat guiltily, - I decided not to heat the stoves temporarily. (7) And then, you know, the stove gives waste, and this, apparently, is reflected in its growth. (8) 0 has completely stopped growing.
- (9) Who stopped growing?
- (10) Have you still not paid attention? - Staring at me with indignation, shouted Tarasnikov. - (11) What is this? (12) Don't you see?
(12) And he looked with sudden tenderness at the low log ceiling of our dugout.
(14) I got up, raised the lamp and saw that a thick round elm in the ceiling had sprouted a green sprout. (15) Pale and tender, with unsteady leaves, he stretched out to the ceiling. (16) In two places it was supported by white ribbons pinned to the ceiling with buttons.
-(17) Do you understand? Tarasnikov spoke up. - (18) I grew all the time. (19) Such a glorious twig waved. (20) And here we often began to drown, but she, apparently, does not like it. (21) Here I made notches on a log, and I have dates. (22) See how quickly it grew at first. (23) Another day I pulled out two centimeters. (24) I give you an honest noble word! (25) And how we began to smoke here, for three days now I have not observed growth. (26) So she won't get sick for long. (27 Let's refrain. (28) But, you know, I'm interested: will he get to the exit? (29) After all, it stretches closer to the air, where the sun is, it smells from under the ground.
(30) And we went to bed in an unheated, damp dugout. (31) The next day, I already spoke to him about his twig.
- (32) Imagine, almost one and a half centimeters stretched out. (33) I told you, you don’t need to drown. (34) This natural phenomenon is simply amazing! ...
(35) At night, the Germans brought down massive artillery fire on our location. (36) I woke up from the roar of close explosions, spitting out the earth, which, from the shaking, fell abundantly on us through the log ceiling. (37) Tarasnikov also woke up and turned on the light bulb. (38) Everything hooted, trembled and shook around us. (39) Tarasnikoa put the light bulb in the middle of the table, leaned back on the bed, lay it down! hands behind head:
- (40) I think that there is no great danger. (41) Won't hurt her? (42) Of course, a concussion, but there are three rebounds above us. (43) Is it just a direct hit. (44) And, you see, I tied her up. (45) As if I had a presentiment ...
(46) I looked at him with interest.
(47) He lay with his head thrown back on his hands placed behind the back of his head, and with tender care he looked at the green, weak sprout that curled under the ceilings. (48) He simply forgot, apparently, that a shell could fall on you yourself, explode in a dugout, bury us alive underground. (49) No, he only thinks about a pale green twig stretching under the ceiling of our hut. (50) Only he was worried about her.
(51) And often now, when I meet demanding, very busy, dry and callous at first glance, seemingly unfriendly people at the front and in the rear, I remember the quartermaster technician Tarasnikov and his green twig. (52) Let the fire rumble over your head, let the dank dampness of the earth penetrate into the very bones, all the same - if only it survived, if only it reached the sun, the timid, shy green sprout reached the desired exit.
(53) And it seems to me that each of us has our own treasured green branch. (54) For her sake, we are ready to endure all the hardships and hardships of the wartime, because we firmly know: there, behind the exit, hung today with a damp raincoat, the sun will certainly meet, warm and give new strength to our branch, which we have grown and saved.

(According to L. Kassil *)

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In his text, the Russian prose writer L.A. Kassil raises the problem of overcoming difficult periods of life.

In order to draw the reader's attention to this issue, the author cites as an example the quartermaster technician Tarasnikov, who found "... his cherished green branch", which helped him endure all the hardships of wartime and overcome fear. Kassil is surprised by the act of Tarasnikov, who was ready to sleep in a damp dugout, if only the "shy green sprout" would survive and reach out to the sun. The writer reflects on what helps a person overcome difficult moments of life, move forward and believe in himself.

The author is convinced that, watching how, in unsuitable circumstances, straining all his strength, a twig grows on a felled tree, a person can overcome internal spiritual weaknesses, feeling the vitality of nature.

Agreeing with L.A. Kassil, I would like to turn to fiction and find argu in it

Criteria

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