Sergei Korolev and Sputnik

 

Sputnik 1 was launched on 4th October 1957, thus giving the Soviet Union the lead in the superpower space race. This achievement was primarily due to the drive and genius of one man – Sergei Korolev, the scientist who masterminded the top-secret space programme.

Born in 1906, Sergei Pavlovich Korolev was the chief engineer at Russia’s Jet Propulsion Research Institute in the mid-1930s. However, in 1938 he became a victim of Stalin’s purges and was tortured and sent to the eastern Siberian gulag, where he worked in a gold mine and suffered from scurvy. He also suffered a heart attack during his time there.

Released in 1944, he was appointed head of the secret Soviet space programme. It was his idea to launch a satellite that was heavier than anything the Americans could have considered launching at that time. It was a relatively simple craft, comprising a metal sphere containing a radio transmitter and  batteries. For three weeks it orbited Planet Earth sending out a simple beep that was designed to be heard by every territory over which it passed and which chose to tune in, with the United States being the chief intended target.

After the batteries ran out, Sputnik ran in silent mode until 4 January 1958, when it re-entered Earth’s atmosphere and burned up. By this time it had completed 1440 orbits and travelled some 43 million miles.

On 3 November 1957 Sputnik 2 was launched. This was a larger satellite, particularly notable for carrying a dog into space. Named Laika, the three year old female mongrel had been picked off the streets of Moscow to become the first living creature to leave Earth’s atmosphere. There was never any possibility that she would return to Earth, but she actually died sooner than expected when a system aboard Sputnik failed and the capsule overheated.

Korolev continued to have many successes with Soviet space missions, each one having the desired effect of catching the United States by surprise. He designed the Vostock spacecraft that launched Yuri Gargarin into space on 12th April 1961 and brought him back safely. In 1963 Valentina Tereshkova became the first woman in space, and two years later the first two-man crew was able to complete the first spacewalk.

The United States could only play catch-up with the Soviet Union at this time, but all that changed after 1966, when Korolev died. He had suffered poor health for many years as a result of his earlier ill-treatment in the gulag, and he died on the operating table during colon surgery.

Korolev had always been a magnetic personality who was able to control a highly complicated enterprise, but without him everything became embroiled in politics and bureaucracy. The Soviet space programme thus came to a virtual halt while the Americans went from strength to strength, culminating in the Apollo moon missions that landed a man on the moon in 1969.

© John Welford

St Basil's Cathedral, Moscow

 

St Basil’s Cathedral has to be the most recognisable church in the whole of Russia, being a focal point of Moscow’s Red Square. It ceased being a place of worship after the Russian Revolution of 1917 and became a museum, but masses have been permitted to be held in the cathedral since 1991.

The cathedral is officially the Cathedral of the Intercession of the Mother of God, although the dedication to St Basil relates to a holy man who prophesied the Great Fire of Moscow in 1547.

The cathedral was built by Ivan IV (the Terrible) to commemorate his victory over the Tatars in October 1552. There is a legend to the effect that, after the building was complete, Ivan lived up to his name by having the architect blinded so that he would no longer be able to create anything to compare with it. However, given that the same man is recorded as having designed and erected many buildings in other towns after that time, the truth of the story has to be in doubt.

The cathedral has nine main domes, each with a different coloration and shape. The domes are supposedly a reference to the turbans of the Muslim princes defeated by Ivan during his reign. Unlike many Russian churches, St Basil’s is not painted on the outside but has retained a simple redbrick exterior.

The four octagonal towers surrounding the main church indicate the four cardinal points of the compass. Four further square towers standing at the diagonals between these complete the star-shaped layout. Four and eight were considered sacred numbers in the Middle Ages – there were four elements and eight was a somewhat obscure reference to Christ’s Resurrection and the Last Judgement.

The star forward by the architectural elements, connecting earth and sky, points towards the Holy Land and there is a small chapel at each of the eight corners, each commemorating one of Ivan’s battles.

© John Welford

A Volga Boatman Lost in a Russian Forest

My first job after qualifying as a professional librarian was with the British Council’s Libraries Department, which supplies library services to educational and diplomatic organisations across the world. After only one year I was sent to Moscow on a short assignment to establish a library within the Cultural Section of the British Embassy. This was in the summer of 1977 when the Soviet Union was at the height of its powers, led by Leonid Brezhnev.

I was there for a total of five weeks, split between two visits, and was well looked after by the Embassy’s Cultural Attaché. His wife and family were back in England for the first spell of two weeks, so I stayed with him in his flat and was shown around the city and environs during our spare time.

One Saturday he took me to the Embassy’s Rest and Recreation Centre some way north of Moscow, where the main road to Leningrad (as it then was) crosses the River Volga. There was a third person with us, namely a young lady who worked in a different section of the Embassy but with whom the Attaché was clearly on very good terms. It was not long before I appreciated that he would much have preferred my absence to my presence on this particular trip!

The R&R Centre offered a range of activities for Embassy personnel, including taking a rowing boat out on the river. This is what we did, the idea being to spend most of our time on an island half-way across quite a wide stretch of water. I learned later that this island was strictly off limits to Embassy staff for reasons of security, but my host had a reputation for bending the rules when it suited him. This did not stop him from advancing in his career to eventually becoming a British Ambassador.

I was invited to take the oars at one stage, despite having had almost no experience of rowing. It wasn’t difficult when I got the hang of it and I quite enjoyed being a “Volga boatman”, even if only for a short time. I noticed that this gave the Attaché a chance to place his arm across his companion’s shoulder, and she didn’t seem to object.

We landed the boat on a small beach at one end of the island and sat there watching the world go by. The river, despite being 2,000 miles from its final destination in the Caspian Sea, was already broad enough at this point for river cruisers to make their stately way up and down, presumably giving trusted workers and party members a well-deserved day out. Apart from that, there were few sounds apart from those made by the little waves breaking on the beach and the soughing of the wind in the silver birches that covered much of the island.

After twenty minutes or so I got the distinct impression that I was surplus to requirements as far as the Attaché was concerned. Despite being the only non-diplomat of the three people present I did the diplomatic thing and suggested that I might explore the island on my own. So off I went into the forest behind the beach.

It was a truly beautiful place, especially on a fine summer day such as this was. There were silver birches as far as I could see, separated by low-growing grass through which frogs hopped and croaked in Russian. I kept on walking, but the scenery did not change in the slightest – it was exactly the same in every direction I looked.

After a while I decided to turn back, but now I had a problem. Which way was back? I had completely lost my sense of direction and had no reference point to tell me which way I should go. I was lost in the middle of a forest somewhere in Russia.

There was one saving grace, and it was an extremely large one in that I knew I was on an island and not somewhere on the mainland with nothing but forest for hundreds of miles in every direction. All I had to do was walk in a straight line and I was bound to reach the river sooner or later. Once there, I simply had to keep as close to the river as possible until I got back to the beach where my companions were.

The next problem was that this island was shaped like a tadpole, which had been obvious from what we had seen when rowing across to it. In other words it had quite a large head – where the beach was - and a very long, narrow tail. For all I knew it could stretch for a mile or more down the middle of the river. Suppose I was heading down the spine of the island and would not see any water until I was close to the end of the tail?

There was nothing for it but to head off in one particular direction and hope it was the right one. It seemed to take an age, but eventually I was able to see a glimpse of water through the trees.

My next problem was that I did not know which side of the island I had reached, and therefore whether I needed to turn left or right to get back to the beach. If I could get close enough to the river I would be able to see which way the water was flowing and therefore answer that question because I knew that the beach was at the upstream end of the island. Unfortunately, getting close enough was impossible because the intervening ground consisted mostly of a very wet stretch of marsh.

Another piece of guesswork was needed, therefore, and a crossing of fingers. I turned left and kept as close to edge of the marsh as I could, always hoping that I might get a better view of the river before long.

I then heard voices and said to myself that everything would now be OK because I had found the beach at long last. However, when I was close enough to see who was talking I realised that the voices did not belong to the right people. This was another small group of people on another beach. I kept out of their sight – the presence of a strange Englishman turning up among a party of Russians might have led to all sorts of complications – but at least I could now see which way the river was flowing and was relieved that my guesses had been the right ones.

It did not take me much longer to get back to where I had started. The Attaché was living up to his job title by being quite firmly attached to his girlfriend, but the two pulled themselves apart and “adjusted their dress” as I approached.

I must have been away from them for about an hour and I had been quite concerned that they would be wondering where I had got to, but that was far from the case. Had I been gone for two hours, I am not sure that they would have minded – or possibly even noticed.

I had finished my assignment and flown back to London before the Attaché was reunited with his wife, so he had no fears that I might spill the beans regarding his dalliance on the island.

As for me, there were no more foreign assignments because I did not stay much longer with the British Council. My next post was in a slightly less exciting place than Moscow, namely Bognor Regis – although natives of the latter might wish to disagree!

© John Welford