ABSTRACT
The ritual of announcing the death of a soldier to the next of kin is never comfortable. But when the war is officially not being waged or is almost universally disowned, the tragedy can almost approach farce. In the Soviet Union, the news was brought by officers from the local military commissariat, caps held over their left elbows in sign of mourning, accompanied by a local Party activist and, ideally, a friend or neighbour of the bereaved. Tales abounded in the early years of a flat refusal by parents to believe that their sons could have died; why, after all, Sasha was in Mongolia, or Vanya was serving in the Far North. In due course, though, a coffin would arrive, usually a plain zinc casket, but sometimes just a wooden box. Whether the infamous 'zinc box' or a plain wooden crate, it would be handed over to the parents with little ceremony. As is standard practice with any army, the coffin was often sealed shut and contained nothing more than an appropriate weight of sand, there being little left to parcel after stepping on a mine or being caught in a burning tank. With the coffin would come a brief typescript acknowledging the death of a 'serviceman on active duty' and a chit for, in the early years, one hundred rubles: a soldier's life for the price of a pair of jeans.
