When Kiev Passed Through the Bosporus
The Cold War was often described in terms of strategy, diplomacy and the movement of fleets across the world's oceans. For the sailors who actually served through it, however, it was also experienced through much smaller and more immediate moments. Sometimes the great confrontation between East and West appeared not as a political crisis or a major exercise, but simply as an unexpected sight from the upper deck of a Royal Navy warship.
One such moment occurred when HMS Glamorgan was in the Bosporus and the Soviet helicopter carrier Kiev, accompanied by two escort vessels, passed through on her way from the Black Sea towards the Mediterranean.
From a naval perspective, the appearance of Kiev was significant. She represented a new generation of Soviet naval capability and was exactly the sort of vessel that interested maritime observers. A ship of that size and type naturally attracted attention.
On board Glamorgan, however, the reaction was rather more immediate and practical.
The tannoy announcement was made, and suddenly everyone who possessed a camera had a reason to get to the upper deck quickly.
In an era before mobile phones and instant digital photography, taking a photograph of an unusual sight required preparation. Cameras were personal possessions, film was expensive and opportunities could not easily be repeated. If a significant warship appeared unexpectedly, sailors either had their camera ready or they did without.
At the time, a new camera had recently been purchased from the NAAFI manager. It was a Halina, a budget camera that looked rather like an attempt at an SLR. It represented a serious investment and, in the excitement of the moment, appeared to offer the possibility of capturing something genuinely impressive.
The opportunity seemed ideal.
Two new rolls of film were obtained at considerable expense, and the camera was taken rapidly to the upper deck. With Kiev approaching, the scene had all the excitement of a major naval encounter. Cameras appeared across the ship and sailors crowded for the best possible view.
The Soviet sailors, however, appeared rather less enthusiastic about the attention.
From the Royal Navy perspective, the sight of a Soviet warship passing through such a well-observed area was fascinating. From the Soviet perspective, the collection of cameras appearing along the side of a NATO warship was presumably rather less amusing.
The photographs were taken.
Many photographs.
In fact, the expectation was that the result would be a superb record of a significant Cold War encounter. There was even, perhaps, a small hope that such photographic achievement might receive appropriate recognition.
Unfortunately, the camera had other ideas.
Not a single frame survived.
The entire photographic mission had produced nothing except disappointment and a lasting suspicion that the expensive new camera had been considerably less impressive than the ship it had attempted to photograph.
For everyone else aboard, however, the cameras continued to operate. The passing of Kiev remained a shared shipboard event, the sort of unusual occurrence that interrupted the normal routine and brought sailors together on deck simply to see what was happening.
This was one of the more human aspects of Cold War naval service. The strategic importance of Soviet naval movements was understood, but the sailors observing them were still ordinary people responding with curiosity, humour and a desire to capture the moment.
The Royal Navy and Soviet Navy were watching each other carefully, each aware of the significance of the other's ships and movements. Yet from the deck of a destroyer, part of the experience was simply the excitement of seeing something unusual pass close by.
Years later, the failed photographs perhaps became almost as memorable as the ship itself. The Soviet carrier continued her career, the Cold War continued and the strategic importance of such encounters remained. But for one sailor aboard HMS Glamorgan, the enduring memory was also of rushing for a camera, taking dozens of photographs and discovering that none of them had survived.
History often preserves the movements of ships and the decisions of governments. Less often recorded are the small human moments surrounding them: the sailor on the upper deck hoping for the perfect photograph, the expensive camera that failed at the crucial moment and the shared excitement of watching a significant Cold War vessel pass by.
That was how the Cold War was sometimes experienced at sea—not only through strategy and surveillance, but through sailors leaning over the side with cameras in their hands.
Primary source: RN-006
RN-E-133
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