At that time we were crossing the Gaichura River. This river itself is not special, just so-so, just for two boats to pass each other. And this river was famous because it flowed through the Makhnovist republic, that is, believe me, wherever you go near it, there are either fires burning, and under the fires there are cauldrons with all sorts of goose and pig meat, or an ataman is sitting in session, or a man is simply hanging on an oak tree , but what kind of person he was, why he was sentenced - for some kind of offense, or simply to intimidate others - is unknown.

Our detachment forded this wretched river, that is, the water was up to the navel, and for me, as I always stood on the left flank as a forty-sixth incomplete, it almost went straight to the throat.

I raised my rifle and bandoleer over my head, walked carefully, feeling the bottom with my foot. And the bottom of that Gaichura is nasty and slimy. My leg got caught on some snag and I fell headlong into the water.

Seryozha Chumakov said:

After all, if you ask like this: “What is the most important thing for you in battle, that is, how do you defeat the enemy and inflict damage on him?” - the person will think and answer: “With a rifle... Well, or with a machine gun, a weapon... In general, depending on the type of weapon.”

And I don’t quite agree with this. Of course, no one takes away the qualities of a weapon, but still, every weapon is a dead thing. It itself has no effect, and all main strength in a person lies in how a person poses himself and how much he can control himself.

And even if you give another fool a tank, he will abandon the tank out of cowardice, and he will destroy the car, and he himself will never disappear, although he could still fight back with anything.

What I’m saying is that if, for example, you fight off your own people, or run out of ammunition, or are even left without a rifle, this is still no reason for you to hang your head, lose heart, and decide to surrender to the mercy of the enemy. No! Look around, invent something, turn around, just don’t lose your head.

The Red Army soldier Vasily Kryukov had a wounded horse, and the White Cossacks were catching up with him. He, of course, could have shot himself, but he didn’t want to. He threw away the empty rifle, unfastened his saber, put the revolver in his bosom and, turning his weakened horse, rode towards the Cossacks.

The Cossacks were surprised at this, because it was not the custom of that war for the Reds to throw their weapons to the ground... Therefore, they did not hack Kryukov to death on the move, but surrounded him and wanted to find out what this man needed and what he hoped for. Kryukov took off his gray hat with a red star and said:

The other day I read in the newspaper a notice of the death of Yakov Bersenev. I had long since lost sight of him, and when I looked through the newspaper I was surprised not so much that he died as at how he could still live, having no less than six wounds - broken ribs and lungs completely crushed by rifle butts.

Now that he is dead, we can write the whole truth about the death of the 4th company. And not because I didn’t want to do it earlier because of fear or other considerations, but only because I didn’t want to once again cause unnecessary pain to the main culprit of the defeat, but at the same time good guy, among many others, severely paid for his self-will and indiscipline.

I was thirty-two years old then. Marusya is twenty-nine, and our daughter Svetlana is six and a half. Only at the end of the summer did I get a vacation, and for the last warm month we rented a dacha near Moscow.

Svetlana and I thought about fishing, swimming, picking mushrooms and nuts in the forest. And I had to immediately sweep the yard, fix dilapidated fences, stretch ropes, hammer in crutches and nails.

We got tired of all this very soon, and Marusya, one after another, comes up with new and new things for herself and for us.

Only on the third day, in the evening, was everything finally done. And just when the three of us were getting ready to go for a walk, her friend, a polar pilot, came to Marusya.

They sat for a long time in the garden, under the cherry trees. And Svetlana and I went into the yard to the barn and, out of frustration, began making a wooden turntable.

There lived a lonely old man in the village. He was weak, he wove baskets, hemmed felt boots, guarded the collective farm garden from the boys, and thereby earned his bread.

He came to the village a long time ago, from afar, but people immediately realized that this man had suffered a lot of grief. He was lame and gray beyond his years. A crooked, ragged scar ran from his cheek across his lips. And therefore, even when he smiled, his face seemed sad and stern.

My mother studied and worked at a large new factory, surrounded by dense forests.

In our yard, in apartment number sixteen, there lived a girl, her name was Fenya.

Previously, her father was a fireman, but then he immediately learned at a course at the plant and became a pilot.

One day, when Fenya was standing in the yard and, raising her head, looking at the sky, an unfamiliar boy thief attacked her and snatched candy from her hands.

At that time I was sitting on the roof of the woodshed and looking to the west, where beyond the Kalva River, as they say, in the dry peat bogs, the forest that had caught fire the day before yesterday was burning.

Either sunlight It was too bright, or the fire had already died down, but I didn’t see the fire, but only saw a faint cloud of whitish smoke, the acrid smell of which reached our village and prevented people from sleeping that night.

Our platoon occupied a small cemetery at the very edge of the village. The Petliurists were firmly entrenched on the edge of the opposite grove. Behind stone wall Because of the lattice fence we were little vulnerable to enemy machine guns. Until noon we exchanged fire quite hotly, but after lunch the shooting subsided.

It was then that Levka said:

Guys! Who's with me to go to the melon-growing for the kavuns?

The platoon commander swore:

I’ll give you so much melon that you won’t even recognize your own!

But Levka was cunning and headstrong.

“I,” he thinks, “will only be there for ten minutes, but at the same time I’ll find out why the Petliurists fell silent - nothing other than preparing something, and from there it’s clear to see.”

In those distant, distant years, when the war had just died down throughout the country, there lived Malchish-Kibalchish.

At that time, the Red Army drove far away the white troops of the damned bourgeoisie, and everything became quiet in those wide fields, in the green meadows, where rye grew, where buckwheat blossomed, where among the dense gardens and cherry bushes stood the little house in which Malchish, nicknamed Kibalchish, lived. , yes, Malchish’s father, and Malchish’s older brother, but they didn’t have a mother.

Father works - mows hay. My brother works, hauling hay. And Malchish himself either helps his father or his brother, or simply jumps and plays around with other boys.

The spy crossed the swamp, put on his Red Army uniform and went out onto the road.

The girl was collecting cornflowers in the rye. She came up and asked for a knife to trim the stems of the bouquet.

He gave her a knife, asked her name, and, having heard enough that people had fun on the Soviet side, began to laugh and sing funny songs.

Works are divided into pages

The stories of Arkady Gaidar are a real treasure trove for children all over Russia. The reason for this popularity is simple - the main actors in his works are ordinary street children. They are the ones who do good deeds, help people, and accomplish great feats. Therefore, for Soviet children, such heroes as Timur and his team, Chuk and Gek, as well as Malchish-Kibalchish were the main role models! The main qualities possessed by the protagonists of Gaidar’s stories were devotion, honesty and courage. And the antagonists, as usual, did nothing but betray and play dirty tricks.

The reality that surrounded them was heavy and harsh: October Revolution and the civil war forced the parents of the heroes to go to war, and as a result, the head of the family was left to the children, who quickly realized the fullness of responsibility. They blamed their problems, which were not at all childish, and yet successfully defeated the bad guys and their leaders, took patronage over the weak and helped improve their homeland. And even now, when a child begins to read Gaidar’s stories, the brightest feelings awaken in his soul.

Our platoon occupied a small cemetery at the very edge of the village. The Petliurists were firmly entrenched on the edge of the opposite grove. Behind the stone wall of the lattice fence we were little vulnerable to enemy machine guns. Until noon we exchanged fire quite hotly, but after lunch the shooting subsided. Read...

The guardhouse is quiet. The Red Army soldiers of the next shift, sitting around the table, are talking in such a way as not to interfere with the rest of the comrades who have just been relieved. But the conversation doesn’t go well, because the rhythmic ticking of the pendulum induces sleep, and the eyes stick together against their will. Read...

I had just sat down to a piece of hot bread with milk, served by the kind hostess, when suddenly someone burst into the door noisily and shouted... Read...

It seems that Nemirovich-Danchenko has this picture: a captured Japanese is brought in. For now, this and that, he asked the soldier to wash himself. He rinsed his hair from the pot and began to soap it. He lathered for a long time, snorted, rubbing his face, washed off the soap, scooped up another pot of water, began to rinse his teeth and chest cold water douse Read...

The Red Army soldiers began to argue around the fire while resting after a long march. Read...

Kolka was seven years old, Nyurka was eight. And Vaska is six. Read...

Father was late, and three sat down at the table for dinner: the barefoot guy Efimka, his little sister Valka and his seven-year-old brother nicknamed Nikolashka the Balovashka. Read...

There lived a man in the forest near the Blue Mountains. He worked a lot, but the work did not decrease, and he could not go home on vacation. Read...

My mother studied and worked at a large new factory, surrounded by dense forests. Read...

There lived a lonely old man in the village. He was weak, he wove baskets, hemmed felt boots, guarded the collective farm garden from the boys, and thereby earned his bread. Read...

The spy crossed the swamp, put on his Red Army uniform and went out onto the road. The girl was collecting cornflowers in the rye. She came up and asked for a knife to trim the stems of the bouquet.

Our detachment forded this wretched river, that is, the water was up to the navel, and for me, as I always stood on the left flank as a forty-sixth incomplete, it almost went straight to the throat.

Seryozha Chumakov said:

And I don’t quite agree with this. Of course, no one takes away the qualities of a weapon, but still, every weapon is a dead thing. It itself has no effect, and all the main strength in a person lies in how a person poses himself and how much he can control himself.

Now that he is dead, we can write the whole truth about the death of the 4th company. And not because I didn’t want to do it earlier out of fear or other considerations, but only because I didn’t want to once again cause unnecessary pain to the main culprit of the defeat, but at the same time a good guy, who, among many others, had cruelly paid for their self-will and indiscipline.

Svetlana and I thought about fishing, swimming, picking mushrooms and nuts in the forest. And I had to immediately sweep the yard, fix dilapidated fences, stretch ropes, hammer in crutches and nails.

We got tired of all this very soon, and Marusya, one after another, comes up with new and new things for herself and for us.

Only on the third day, in the evening, was everything finally done. And just when the three of us were getting ready to go for a walk, her friend, a polar pilot, came to Marusya.

They sat for a long time in the garden, under the cherry trees. And Svetlana and I went into the yard to the barn and, out of frustration, began making a wooden turntable.

There lived a lonely old man in the village. He was weak, he wove baskets, hemmed felt boots, guarded the collective farm garden from the boys, and thereby earned his bread.

My mother studied and worked at a large new factory, surrounded by dense forests.

In our yard, in apartment number sixteen, there lived a girl, her name was Fenya.

Previously, her father was a fireman, but then he immediately learned at a course at the plant and became a pilot.

One day, when Fenya was standing in the yard and, raising her head, looking at the sky, an unfamiliar boy thief attacked her and snatched candy from her hands.

Either the sunlight was too bright, or the fire had already died down, but I didn’t see the fire, but only saw a faint cloud of whitish smoke, the acrid smell of which wafted into our village and prevented people from sleeping that night.

It was then that Levka said:

Guys! Who's with me to go to the melon-growing for the kavuns?

The platoon commander swore:

I’ll give you so much melon that you won’t even recognize your own!

But Levka was cunning and headstrong.

In those distant, distant years, when the war had just died down throughout the country, there lived Malchish-Kibalchish.

Father works - mows hay. My brother works, hauling hay. And Malchish himself either helps his father or his brother, or simply jumps and plays around with other boys.

The spy crossed the swamp, put on his Red Army uniform and went out onto the road.

The girl was collecting cornflowers in the rye. She came up and asked for a knife to trim the stems of the bouquet.

He gave her a knife, asked her name, and, having heard enough that people had fun on the Soviet side, began to laugh and sing funny songs.

Works are divided into pages

The stories of Arkady Gaidar are a real treasure trove for children all over Russia. The reason for such popularity is simple - the main characters in his works are ordinary courtyard children. They are the ones who do good deeds, help people, and accomplish great feats. Therefore, for Soviet children, such heroes as Timur and his team, Chuk and Gek, as well as Malchish-Kibalchish were the main role models! The main qualities possessed by the protagonists of Gaidar’s stories were devotion, honesty and courage. And the antagonists, as usual, did nothing but betray and play dirty tricks.

The reality that surrounded them was difficult and harsh: the October Revolution and the Civil War forced the parents of the heroes to go to war, and as a result, the head of the family was left to the children, who quickly realized the full responsibility. They blamed their problems, which were not at all childish, and yet successfully defeated the bad guys and their leaders, took patronage over the weak and helped improve their homeland. And even now, when a child begins to read Gaidar’s stories, the brightest feelings awaken in his soul.

PART ONE

Bumbarash fought with Austria as a soldier and was captured. Soon the war ended. The prisoners were exchanged, and Bumbarash went home to Russia. On the tenth day, sitting on the roof of a freight car, Bumbarash cheerfully drove towards his native land.

The locomotives hum incessantly. Long trains are leaving. These are your fathers, brothers, relatives, acquaintances going to the front - where the brave Red Army is waging a battle with the enemies that has never been equal in the world.

Frontline essay
Rear railway station on the way to the front. Water tower. Two straight old poplars. A low brick station surrounded by thick acacia trees.
The military train stops. Two village children run up to the carriage with wallets in their hands.

A curly blond head looked out from the grass, two bright blue eyes, and an angry whisper was heard:
- Valka... Valka... crawl on the right, you idol! Crawl behind him, otherwise he'll smell it.
The thick burdocks began to stir, and from their swaying tops one could guess that someone was carefully crawling along the ground.

It's very boring in winter. The crossing is small. There is forest all around. It will be swept away in winter, covered with snow - and there will be nowhere to get out.
The only entertainment is to ride down the mountain. But again, you can’t ride down the mountain all day. Well, you rode once, well, you rode another, well, you rode twenty times, and then you still get bored and tired. If only they, sleds, could roll up the mountain themselves. Otherwise they roll down the mountain, but not up the mountain.

Previously, children sometimes ran here to run and climb between the squatted and dilapidated barns. It was good here.
Once upon a time, the Germans, who captured Ukraine, brought hay and straw here. But the Germans were driven out by the Reds, after the Reds came the Haidamaks, the Haidamaks were driven out by the Petliurists, the Petliurists - by someone else. And the hay was left lying in blackened, half-rotten heaps.

Above the slender snow fortress with forts, battlements and towers flutters a flag - a star with four rays. A fortress garrison lined up at the open gate.
Timur, the commandant of the snow fortress, comes out of the gate. He turns to Kolya Kolokolchikov and firmly says:
– Starting today, the guards at the fortress will change every hour, day and night.
– But... what if they won’t let them in at home?
– We will select those who will always be allowed in.

Kolka and Vaska are neighbors. Both dachas where they lived stood nearby. There was a fence separating them, and there was a hole in the fence. Through this hole the boys climbed to visit each other.
Nyurka lived opposite. At first the boys were not friends with Nyurka. Firstly, because she is a girl, secondly, because in Nyurkin’s yard there was a booth with a feisty dog, and thirdly, because the two of them were having fun.
And this is how we became friends.

Once upon a time, my father fought with the whites, was wounded, escaped from captivity, and then, as commander of a sapper company, went into the reserve. My mother drowned while swimming on the Volga River when I was eight years old. Out of great grief we moved to Moscow. And here, two years later, my father married beautiful girl Valentina Dolguntsova. People say that at first we lived modestly and quietly. Valentina kept our poor apartment clean. I dressed simply. She took care of my father and did not offend me.

Fantasy novel
Saying goodbye to Vera Remmer was not like everyone else. He laughed loudly, loudly, walked up to the table several times, poured cognac into a glass, excitedly tossed it into his mouth and repeated, smiling:
- Well, make sure that no one and nothing, otherwise we may fall apart.

My mother studied and worked at a large new factory, surrounded by dense forests.
In our yard, in apartment number sixteen, there lived a girl, her name was Fenya.
Previously, her father was a fireman, but then he immediately learned at a course at the plant and became a pilot.

CHAPTER FIRST

Our town of Arzamas was quiet, filled with gardens surrounded by shabby fences. In those gardens grew a great variety of “parent cherries,” early ripening apples, blackthorns and red peonies. The gardens, adjacent to one another, formed vast green areas, restlessly ringing with the whistling sounds of tits, goldfinches, bullfinches and robins.

I
There lived a lonely old man in the village. He was weak, he wove baskets, hemmed felt boots, guarded the collective farm garden from the boys, and thereby earned his bread.
He came to the village a long time ago, from afar, but people immediately realized that this man had suffered a lot of grief. He was lame and gray beyond his years. A crooked, ragged scar ran from his cheek across his lips. And therefore, even when he smiled, his face seemed sad and stern.

Federal Agency for Education

MINISTRY OF EDUCATION AND SCIENCE OF THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION

Federal State Budgetary Educational Institution

higher professional education

"Chuvash State Pedagogical University named after. AND I. Yakovlev"

Faculty of Russian Philology

Discipline: "Children's Literature"

Essay

"Creativity of A.P. Gaidar in the circle of children's reading"

Completed:

4th year student s/o

Khorolskaya S.N.

Checked:

Kosyakova E.Yu

Cheboksary 2012

Introduction

The process of realizing and accepting values begins from the very early childhood. Children's literature has always been the most important means of shaping the value system of the younger generation. As you know, children's literature is works written specifically for children with the aim of shaping their worldview, aesthetic needs and broadening their horizons. Strictly speaking, children's literature is something created specifically for children. But young readers take a lot for themselves from general literature. Thus, another layer arose - children's reading, i.e. range of works read by children.

The educational value of children's literature is very great. Its features are determined by educational objectives and the age of the readers. Its main distinguishing feature is the organic fusion of art with the requirements of pedagogy.

Being closely connected with the specific historical, socio-economic conditions of the era, children's literature, being an independent field of art, develops in close connection, in interaction and under the influence of other types of art and spiritual culture, which are the oral and poetic creativity of the people, written (handwritten and printed) literature, education, pedagogy, science and art, including theater, painting and music.

Creativity a. P. Gaidar for children

Gaidar (pseudonym; real name Golikov) Arkady Petrovich. Years of life: 9(22). 1.1904, (Lgov, now Kursk region) - 10/26/1941.

All his life he remembered the number 302939. This was the number of his first rifle. He took it into his own hands as a schoolboy to defend the revolution.

Arkady Petrovich Golikov, whom we know as the writer Gaidar, was born in the city of Lgov, not far from Kursk. He had to hide his true age when he, tall beyond his years, volunteered for the Red Army. Fought on many fronts civil war, at the age of sixteen he already commanded a regiment. Only a serious injury forced him to leave the army. Commander Mikhail Vasilyevich Frunze received a desperate letter from Gaidar asking him to leave him in the Red Army.

On the advice of Frunze, who guessed the talent of the future writer, Arkady Petrovich took up literary work. Soon he began to sign: Gaidar. This pseudonym is explained differently. One version says that this is what Mongol horsemen once called a rider who rode as a sentinel far ahead of the detachment. Gaidar said: “Let people someday think that there lived people who, out of cunning, were called children’s writers. In fact, they were preparing a strong red star guard.”

So Gaidar, with his books, helped raise the brave and hard-working guard of young sons and daughters of our people. The guys loved Gaidar’s books: “School”, “Far Countries”, “ A military secret", "The Fate of the Drummer", "Chuk and Gek", "Hot Stone". But Gaidar’s story “Timur and His Team” and its main character, Timur, won the special love of all boys and girls.

Gaidar himself was like the heroes of his books - brave, honest, who knew no fear in battle. In the very first days of the Great Patriotic War, he went to the front as a special correspondent for Komsomolskaya Pravda. In the fall of 1941, he was surrounded behind enemy lines and became a machine gunner in a partisan detachment. On October 26, Gaidar walked as a sentinel ahead of a small group of partisans. On their way, the Nazis ambushed them. Gaidar was the first to see the fascist machine gunners and managed to warn his comrades. But he himself died. Died the death of a hero. He was buried in Kanev, where a monument to the writer was erected. Movies have been created based on Gaidar's main works. Gaidar's books have been translated in many countries around the world. The writer was awarded two orders and medals.

In 1965, Arkady Petrovich Gaidar was posthumously awarded an honorary military order - the Order of the Patriotic War, 1st degree.

Fairy tale by A.P. Gaidar about Malchish-Kibalchish occupies a special place among Russian works. This work is directly related to socio-historical themes; it tells about the high ideals of the revolution, the heroism of the young participants in the civil war, their friendship and fortitude. Moreover, this fairy tale is written poetically, seriously and at the same time with a boyish vision of the events taking place.

Working on this wonderful work requires a special approach, a special attitude, not only because of its artistic originality, but also for another reason: by the time children begin to study it, it most often turns out to be familiar to them.

The children saw a cartoon, watched a film and film about Malchish-Kibalchish, and had this fairy tale read to them at home. The students learn that Malchish is brave, courageous, they feel sorry for him because he dies. They feel a sense of hostility from Plokhish and the servants of the bourgeoisie.

The children rejoice that the Red Army defeated the “damned bourgeoisie.”

When preparing for this work by Gaidar, the teacher should try to present it to his students in such a way that they discover something new in it for themselves, perceive it as an exemplary work of verbal art, and the main character Malchish-Kibalchish as a typical image of a little hero, a patriot, revolutionary.

Literary and historical notes of a young technician. Stories of Arkady Gaidar

Essay

Creativity a. P. Gaidar for children