Stanislovas worked in a dairy centre. He had studied in Germany, Poland and Latvia. Veronika was a housewife. Since Stanislovas had to go to work, Veronika was responsible for the farm. Veronika had basic reading and writing skills. She was able to manage the farm well. She cooked very tasty food.

During the Soviet era, the family changed their residence every six months after leaving the farm. They would go with their younger children who still lived with their parents. Their granddaughter Vilytė suspects that Stanislovas knew someone from the forestry department and with their help he kept finding a new place. Daughter Laima Strimaitytė studied medicine, and during the Soviet era they wanted to expel her from her studies, but presumably the Jews interceded to keep her from being expelled. At the request of the priest Juknevičius, Veronika had gone to Rietavas to help him in his household. During her retirement, she was invited by the priesthood to help prepare for festivals, congresses and indulgences.

From memories

Milda Putnienė

From Book IV Hands that Carry Life and Bread

I, Milda Putnienė-Strimaitytė, was born on 13 February 1933 in the village of Žėčkaliniai, Barzdai Valsčius, Šakiai County. My parents, Stasys Strimaitis and Veronika Strimaitienė, had inherited a farm of about 40 hectares, where they lived until 1946. There were four children in the family: sisters Dalia and Laima, brother Aidas and me, Milda. My grandmother (my father's mother) Petronėlė lived with us on this farm until her death in 1943.

In the summer of 1941, my mother and I often went to the Vilkaviškis market to sell berries and apples. It is possible that my mother's aim was to support the Jews she knew. She also brought foodstuffs, which she didn't sell, but she would drop them off at some people's homes and others and leave them behind. Police and German soldiers would walk around the market. They were chasing those marked with yellow stars off the carts, warning the peasants not to sell them products because their time was up. I was allowed to pour berries and apples without taking money. Our wagon was full of children and elderly people, mostly Jews. They usually did not have baskets with them and they would bring what they had: a hat, a dress stole, take off their underwear and wait for the refilling. The children were very afraid of the policemen taking their food, so as soon as they had poured in the berries or apples, they would run off in one direction or another. Their faces and eyes were filled with anguish. More than once I saw them being beaten up when they were caught by policemen or soldiers, and the food they had received was scattered in the marketplace. Back home, we would talk about everything that was going on, and about the acquaintances we had seen or found out were still alive. I remember very well the day when children and women were shot near the village of Baltrusiai, in the Tilčiai pine forest, about 4 km from Pilviškės. The day was sunny, warm and without wind. The children and women were being driven on foot from Pilviškės, and the road they were taking towards the Tilčiai pine forest was not so far from our house. We could hear the crying and screaming of the children and women coming closer and closer, and as the execution began, guns were crackling, bullets were exploding, and children and women were screaming. I have never experienced anything more terrible.

It is not surprising, therefore, that my parents opened their doors to every unfortunate person and shared with them everything they had.

Now I cannot say exactly when a Jewish woman with a girl the same age as me moved into our house. I only remember that it was a sunny, beautiful day when I first saw them. The girl's mother was very much like a Jewish woman, rather tall, grey, with wavy hair combed upwards, with a comb on either side, with beautiful manners and elegance. The girl did not look like a Jewess, with long, curly blonde hair. On her face, near her little nose, was a prominent dark mole. She was wearing a colourful dress. She was shy and timid. When I asked her what her name was, she said nothing and would not come into the garden to play with me. I asked: "Will you live with me?" - She was silent. Her mother hugged us both and asked: "Would you like to?" Yes, yes. I really wanted to play with her. My mother warned me that if anyone asked me where the girl was from, I had to tell them that she was a relative from Kaunas. The next day my mother told me to take food to them. So we saw each other every day, because I would take them food and empty dishes. Pretty soon we became friends with that girl, we started calling her Irena. I still often call her Irena, not Ranana. In the room where Ranana and her mother lived, there was a double wall, which my parents ingeniously covered up by wallpapering the whole room. In case of danger, one could hide there. Another advantage of this room was that through one window (on the south side) one could see what was going on in the courtyard and through the other (on the east side) one could see what was going on in the garden. If necessary, one could quickly retreat to the garden through the window. Irena and I spent a lot of time together. In the summer we would take food and drink to the shepherd and other workers in the fields. While they were eating, we were picking flowers, weaving wreaths, and occasionally tending the animals. When my mother asked us to, we would run to the town of Barzdai to go shopping, to church, to the post office, and when necessary to visit relatives. In our free time, we would play in the garden or bathe in the pond. We would set up tents made of branches where we could play hide-and-seek, read books, or swing in the swings.

Irena and her mother used to communicate not only with me, but also with my sister Dalia, my parents and the Russian prisoners of war who lived with us. I remember Irena's mother very well: she encouraged us to study, and she herself loved to read books, newspapers and listen to the radio news. She learned to knit and made golf socks for all of us. She would occasionally go for a walk after dark or early in the morning. In the summer of 1943, Irena and her mother were in the midst of a terrible disaster and were taken prisoner. They were taken to Barzdai, but they managed to escape. They crossed a wheat field and entered a farmhouse, and Irena recognised it as our home.

State Jewish Museum of Vilnius Gaon, 2009