Time to read: 8 minutes(s)

A Muscovite created the Moscow Region Coal Basin Museum near Ryazan. It's housed in a closed mine.

Once upon a time, a businesswoman from Moscow Irina Bantush She saw an elderly man digging something out of the ground near the plot of land she'd bought. He'd been digging for a day, then a second, then a week. He was digging out a leaky coal mine car—he wanted to sell it for scrap and get a small pension supplement. The man (a former miner, it turned out) valued the car at 2 rubles, and Bantush bought it. Thus, the Moscow Coal Basin Museum, popularly known as the Miner's Life Museum, acquired another exhibit. There aren't many of them, but they're all impressive. For example, a real waste heap—a pile of earth removed from the mine during its development and development.

"NeMoskva" visited this place—descended underground, climbed a waste heap, and was once again convinced: a provincial museum isn't boring. But it's not always fun, either.

"Martian" waste heaps and a terry robe

Fields, fields, a waste heap on the right. Fields, fields, a waste heap on the left. From a distance, they appear gray-red, slightly otherworldly, almost Martian. This is the Skopinsky District of the Ryazan Region—a land of long-defunct coal mines. Near Pobedinka, the GPS announces a sharp right turn. After driving a short distance, we come up against a tall green fence, from behind which we hear the yapping of a dog. "Beware of the dog!" reads the sign, but a plump mongrel and a teenage dog tumble out of the open gate. Both are wagging their tails like fans.

Irina Bantush leans against the gate, which is reluctant to budge due to the strong wind. A view of her property opens up immediately: the entrance to Severnaya Mine No. 1, closed in the late 1960s, with its memorial plaques; a brick building—it used to be a weaving factory, but it also closed; an old gazebo; and many other things, still unclear. Ponies and sheep roam the yard.

"This museum opened in 2012, and I was lucky: many former miners were still alive back then, and I tried to gather them all. People said, 'What are you talking about? Who needs all this?' And I said, 'No! Put on all your medals, let's meet, talk, take photos!'" — says Bantush.

There are these pictures in her photo album. But the miners themselves are no longer there. Neither the free ones—the local residents—nor exiledAt first, dispossessed peasants ended up there; in the 1940s, Volga Germans and representatives of other peoples suspected of espionage; in the post-war period, captured Germans, Romanians, Poles, and Soviet citizens returning from captivity.

"They lived literally right next door, in Komsomolskoye. In dugouts, behind barbed wire. Stalin was afraid they would betray him, so he exiled them here. Finding work in the mines wasn't easy; it wasn't easy for an unemployed exile to survive. For the opening, I decided to give the miners gifts and asked each one what they wanted. One miner, who had been exiled here with his family at the age of 16, asked for a terrycloth robe. I was surprised. 'Ever since then, I've felt so cold, I'm constantly freezing. I want to sit in a chair and wrap myself completely in it to keep warm,' he replied. I bought a robe." — says Bantush and opens the door to the mine.

Dungeon Treasures

Mines appeared here even before 1917 – they were owned by the Belgian capitalist Gankar.

"Working conditions in the mine were harsh; everything was done by hand, with no machines in sight. Our only tools were a crowbar and a pick. The workings were poorly lit, and a deathly gloom pervaded the tunnels. The primitive light bulb, which the miners ironically called "God help us," was a small bowl, usually filled with oil and fitted with a wick. The bowl smoked terribly, and the workings were filled with an unbearable fumes. Wells were used to ventilate the workings. Pipes with iron caps were installed above them on the surface. Depending on the wind direction, they were rotated to allow fresh air to enter. Needless to say, under such conditions, miners' labor was unproductive. After working 10-15 years in the mine, we, naturally healthy people, would break down and become disabled for life." recalled In 1957, in the newspaper “Skopinsky Shakhtyor”, a pensioner, honorary miner E.B. (full name and patronymic could not be established) Chesnokov.

According to Chesnokov himself, almost immediately after the new government was established, the miners “began to live differently”: "Thanks to the paternal care of the Communist Party and the Soviet government, our Pobedinka has changed beyond recognition. Around what was once a small village with dilapidated huts, mines equipped with the latest technology and well-appointed settlements have sprung up. Every year, more and more young specialists from mining schools, colleges, technical schools, and institutes are joining the mines. Miners in our country enjoy national honor and respect; they are awarded orders and medals, receive financial incentives, and receive annual lump sum bonuses."

Judging by the museum's exhibits, the honored miner was being a bit disingenuous. The same pre-revolutionary pick, sledgehammers, shovels, chains—mining tools—are hung on the concrete walls along the descending steps. When Bantush announced she wanted to open a museum, every other person brought some kind of item. She herself managed to find a unique exhibit while clearing a pond—a pair of wheels from a narrow-gauge railway car.

To the right, on the shelf for exhibits, something unexpected: a wicker birdcage.

— Have you guessed why? — asks Bantush. — The workers took a canary into the mine. It's an old-fashioned "gas analyzer." If the canary stopped talking, they needed to save themselves. That meant methane or carbon dioxide had leaked out, and the canary had died.

Another exhibit that was supposed to be in the ZARA store window was a male mannequin made of black plastic. Her son had a mannequin business, and Bantush "borrowed" two—they were a perfect match for the miners' skin color. One stands at the entrance, wearing a raincoat, a hard hat with a flashlight, but barefoot. Enormous felt boots are placed nearby.

Its "twin" plays a more serious role—pushing a mine cart in the mine's "hall." The mines themselves have long been mothballed, but a small platform remains underground. There's no electricity there, and street light doesn't penetrate that deep. In the beam of a flashlight, the mannequin could easily be mistaken for a real miner, and almost immediately one yearns to climb up to the sun.

Getting closer to the sun is also possible here by climbing the waste heap. It's about the height of a three-story house, offering a view of the entire surrounding area—kilometers of fields, copses, and the remains of the railroad ties from the narrow-gauge railway that transported soil from the mine. You can also see the owner's new house, which she's building for her family and guests. There are many guests here.

At the age of 31, Irina lost her husband, leaving her with two children. She traveled to holy places and one day found herself in the Skopinsky district. Mother FeodosiaShe told her, "Your place is here." Bantush was surprised: she hadn't planned to buy real estate, she said, and didn't need a dacha. But somehow she fell in love with the area and bought a plot of land, along with an abandoned mine and factory building. She's almost finished setting up the museum, but she continues to accept exhibits. She has big plans for the "former factory" building: to turn it into a hotel for pilgrims visiting the grave of Mother Feodosia. The elder passed away in 2015.

There are also plans to create a themed area called "One Day in the Life of a Miner" in the clearing behind the museum. Currently, there are rare trees growing there, and huge stone boulders seem to grow out of the ground. The old gazebo will also be renovated. It has a long table that seats about 20, but even that is sometimes too crowded.

"I always have children here, both from Sunday school and from the local comprehensive school. They go to the museum, talk about the hard work of the miners, take a walk, clean up, bake potatoes over a fire, drink herbal tea, sing songs to the guitar. There are animals, bicycles, ravines and hills here—it's a real treat for kids. This summer, I had some astronomy buffs. They pitched tents on that meadow over there, wrapped themselves in sleeping bags at night, and looked at and photographed the sky." — the interlocutor recalls.

One day, a whole delegation from Switzerland visited her. The businessmen wanted to buy the land of an abandoned collective farm for cheese production. The foreign guests stopped by Bantush and stayed for several hours. "You Russians don't understand the value of your land, your ecology," they said, looking over the Skopin fields from the cliff. They couldn't reach an agreement with the district administration on the land, and the Swiss left empty-handed. Now a Chinese pig farm has been built on that land. constantly reminds of its existence by a stench that spreads evenly throughout the area depending on the direction of the wind.  

Bantush was once offered a partnership with the district administration, but she declined. She was used to doing everything herself, mindful of a commercial organization's offer to design a museum for 1,5 million rubles. “For a million and a half, I wouldn’t build a museum, I’d make a candy!” " she replied, and she keeps doing it, can't stop. Now Bantush has begun collecting antique village household items—samovars, fiber suitcases, cast-iron pots, other oven mitts, and mortars.

"When I was planning to create the museum, all the locals, even the miners themselves, said, 'Irina, who needs this?' I said it was absolutely necessary. It's a reminder of the hard work, a memory of every person who mined coal for heat during those difficult times. And now children come to me and constantly ask their parents, 'Mom, Dad, can we take a piece of coal as a souvenir?' The mothers are like, 'Well, yes, the last thing we needed at home was coal!'" — laughs Bantush. — But we all understand: children have everything now, and yet they're still dissatisfied with something. If the children have been touched by this place, the story, the hard work underground, that's good. It means it wasn't all in vain.