I thought you might be interested in learning some of the background which provided the early inspiration for Cossack Bear.
In the spring of 1986 I was in the 3rd year of a 4 year course in Russian and Soviet Studies which I was enjoying at Portsmouth Polytechnic. Part of the course involved spending a month in Kiev, the capital city of Ukraine. Earlier that year I had missed out on/ avoided the alternative 3-month trip to the industrial and provincial city of Kharkiv, much further to the east of Ukraine. I remember being disappointed at the time. However, with hindsight, Cossack Bear has been born because I never visited Kharkiv.
In Kiev I found myself with a group of about 90 other students from universities and polytechnics around the United Kingdom and America. An interesting and fun bunch of characters! We stayed in one of Kiev’s central hotels and attended a course designed to improve our Russian language skills. In addition, there was the chance to deepen our understanding of life in the Soviet Union, through guided tours of the museum dedicated to Lenin for example! We were also encouraged to get to know some of the Ukrainian students. Things didn’t quite go to plan however…
The explosion at Chernobyl, in Reactor Number 4, happened at 1.23am on Saturday April 26th while we slept, blissfully unaware of what was happening about 80 miles north. For the next 3 days we carried on with our studies as normal. We spent the weekend enjoying so-called green lessons (zelenyy yrok) in the city parks, attending university lectures and watching Dynamo Kiev beat their fierce rivals, Spartak Moscow, on Sunday evening in the rain.
We first began to hear rumours that there might have been some kind of accident at the previously unheard of Chernobyl nuclear reactor on Monday 28th April, through a few brief conversations with concerned parents, before the telephone lines began to be disconnected in an attempt to prevent any news reaching us from outside the Soviet Union. In 1986 the internet was not even a twinkling in the eyes of its inventor, Tim Berners-Lee. Furthermore, the Iron Curtain was very much a thing and the government, although promoting a policy of ‘glasnost’ (openness), still enjoyed jealously guarding its secrets.
Despite reassurances from our Soviet hosts that there was nothing to worry about, we did receive some advice from the British consulate in Kiev that, as a precaution, we should remain in our hotel and avoid drinking tap water. An early experience of lockdown! Consequently, we spent the next 3 days in our rooms playing Trivial Pursuit and drinking beer. I’ve always enjoyed beer so this advice was surprisingly easy to follow.
Early on the morning of Thursday 1st May, our student spokesman (a tall American whose name I’ve forgotten but if by chance you’re reading this, please get in touch.) reported that following conversations with the Soviet authorities (almost certainly from the infamous KGB) we were to pack immediately, as we were leaving for home. A rumour quickly began to circulate that we would be heading to the Black Sea before embarking on a leisurely cruise through the Mediterranean.
The rumour was very quickly quashed and replaced by an exhausting train journey to Moscow. What followed was farcical. We waited patiently to provide urine and blood for stern-looking nurses to take away for testing. I have a vague recollection that the same razor blade was used on more than one individual to produce blood. The samples we produced stood untouched, as we were all handed ‘certificates’ of good health.
Finally, we headed out to Sheremetyevo airport. There we were told to change into tracksuits provided by British Airways and seal our clothes into transparent bags before boarding a plane bound for London Heathrow. The plane appeared to have been wrapped in plastic from the inside in an attempt to ward off the effects of radiation…how ironic, considering the vast concrete sarcophagus which now encases the remains of reactor number 4.
As we flew west, the captain announced over the tannoy that we had left Soviet airspace. The remainder of the flight home was a champagne-fuelled party with much dancing in the aisle.
When we landed in the evening we were met not only by relieved families, but by a pack of journalists hungry for the next story.
My father, David, was never one to miss an opportunity to make the news. And that is how we came to be interviewed by Anne Diamond and Nick Owen on their BBC settee the next morning. On the other hand, my mother, Pat, was far less keen on any publicity and remained in the green room, where she enjoyed chatting with Chas and Dave!
Fond memories.
Thanks for reading. Until next time.
Neil
