My late father loved 'kutia' and made it for us one year. He and some other conscripts in the Red Army shared a different holiday memory:
"Christmas Day, 1941, and New Year's Eve, 1942, went by digging trenches as usual from six a.m. until six p.m. Some of the men scrounged a chicken for Christmas supper and, while reminiscing about their homes and loved ones, they grew quite emotional and shed a few tears. A political officer who had entered their hut while they were eating attempted to make them look foolish. He mocked the group of men, whimpering, "ubyli kurku i zaplakali, ubyli kurku i zaplakali," and implying, with sarcasm and derision, that they were crying over a dead chicken. Later, he continued to repeat this to anyone who would listen. That winter was one of the coldest ones ever recorded in Russia's history."
From "In the Soviet Union without Toilet Paper" by Roman Skulski
--- In Kresy-Siberia@yahoogroups.com, Eva Dryanski <ebard55@...> wrote:
> Did you ever envision this group would be such a wonderful source of
> information? In 1977 in London my godmother talked about her first Christmas
> Eve after being deported.. They made "Kutia" with very little poppyseed and an
> abundance of dried seeds and some bartered honey. Everyone had a spoonful and
> wished/ prayed for a sweeter year. For that moment Polish spirit and tradition
> dimmed their brutal environment.
> Ewa D.