#ARCTIC. #SIBERIA. THIS IS TAIMYR. In 1957, after graduation, Gorodnitsky joined the Yenisey geological exploration expedition, where he led surveys on the right bank of the Yenisey, in the Igarka and Norilsk area. He wrote many of his songs there.
For example, the song “Leather jackets thrown into a corner…” is about the Polar Aviation pilots who carried geologists in the Far North. According to Gorodnitsky’s memoirs, which he collected in the book “And we still live in hope…”, a funny story happened with this song.
“At first I ended up in the Yenisey expedition, where my duties included leading the associated searches for uranium during geological surveys on the right bank of the lower reaches of the Yenisey, in the area of Igarka and Norilsk. So in the summer of 1957 I first found myself in the Far North, with which I was associated for more than 17 years.
…At that time geologists in the Far North were carried by Polar Aviation pilots. To work in Polar Aviation, high professional training, courage and knowledge of the North were really required. Almost all the vehicle commanders who flew with us had the right of first landing in an unfamiliar place, were real polar aces and, of course, personalities. In the late 50s – early 60s, I had to fly a lot with the pilots of Polar Aviation in the Turuhansk region, and in the Norilsk region, in Amderma, in Kosisty, and, finally, to the North Pole station, three times with forced landings, and I was always amazed at their constant composure and calm humor even in the most critical situations.
…Impressed by my communication with polar pilots in 1959, during the spring season in the Turuhansk region, I wrote a song dedicated to them:
“Leather jackets thrown into the corner.
A low window is curtained with a rag.
A northern blizzard is wandering behind the hangars,
The small hotel is empty and dark…
A funny story happened with this song that same autumn. Having completed field work, we flew home to Leningrad via Turuhansk, where we were stuck for several days due to bad weather – the early polar winter came and covered Turuhansk with a sudden blizzard. All that remained was to wait. The mood, however, was high – after four months of sitting in the taiga, we were finally returning home to Leningrad, to clean linen, to civilization, to family and friends. In addition, we were, of course, confident that the ore occurrences we discovered would give rise to a new Norilsk.
Late on a snowy night, for some reason we decided to go into the Turuhansk airport head’s duty room. The airport itself was a dirt runway that quickly became limp in any rain, and the airport building was an ordinary hut, darkened and lopsided on the frozen soil from time to time. The boss, judging by the stories, was far from an ordinary person.
Just a year ago, this surly and flabby man was a military aviation major, a first-class pilot, and commanded a squadron of heavy jet bombers somewhere near Moscow. But for some sins he was removed from command, demoted from major and permanently dismissed from military aviation. To correct this, he was sent to Polar Aviation in Turuhansk to command an airfield without the right to fly. That’s why he was in a permanently gloomy mood.
…Despite the late hour, we knocked on his door. In his half-empty office, on a huge wooden chopped table, at which he sat, resting his cheek on his fist, there was a selector connecting him with airfield services, a couple of telephones and a small aluminum tank with “de-icer” – that’s the name of the special liquid that is sprayed on flying aircrafts’ surface in northern latitudes, so that when flying in clouds and fog they do not become covered with ice and the plane does not fall. They say that in recent years, thanks to the successes of domestic chemistry, something has been invented for pilots that can be poured onto planes, but at that backward time it was pure rectified alcohol.
After sitting with the owner, who greeted us with unexpected cordiality, for about 20 minutes, I decided to show him my song about polar pilots, without saying, of course, that it was mine, in order to avoid unexpected consequences. When, after taking a little sip of the de-icer, I sang this song, the boss actually did something rather unexpected. Turning on the intercom, he announced a combat alert at the airfield and, when about 15 minutes later frightened, sleepy and half-dressed people crowded into the office, he ordered in an unsteady voice: “Wake up immediately, put everything aside and start learning a new song”.
The next day he was removed from this position. The paper sent to the Polar Aviation main directorate stated that he “roughly using his official position, tried to force off-duty employees and female employees (especially emphasized) to learn an obscene song of unknown content”.
In the History Spot’s photo project, we told that the Norilsk first professional photographer was an illustrator for the Izvestia newspaper.
Follow us on Telegram, VKontakte.
Text: Svetlana Ferapontova, Photo: Nornickel Polar Branch archive
