The Times

  Crimea is fascinating for those interested in military history, but its appeal does not end there. Cath Urquhart explores the area’s key sites

The pretty port of Balaklava was the British supply base during the Crimean War, 150 years ago. Photograph: Douk McKinlay

  “THE whole line of the enemy belched forth, from thirty iron mouths, a flood of smoke and flame, through which hissed the deadly balls. Their flight was marked by instant gaps in our ranks, by dead men and horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across the plain.”

  As I read these words aloud, I gazed out over the valley where, 150 years ago, some 400 British cavalrymen were slaughtered during the Charge of the Light Brigade. It was hard to square the description by William Howard Russell, correspondent for The Times, with the scene before me.

  I stood on the edge of a field bright with poppies, daisies and wild peas, which sloped down to a well-tended vineyard, and beyond that the white buildings of the village of Pervomaika. In front of me, an elderly man cropped the grass with a scythe, and a goat rootled around for food.

  Visitors with an interest in military history are expected to head to Crimea this autumn for the anniversary of some of the key events of the Crimean War of 1854-56.

  But it’s not just military enthusiasts who will enjoy a visit to this diamond-shaped peninsula at the bottom of Ukraine, the country which gained independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. I based myself in the Black Sea resort of Yalta, some 90 minutes’ drive from the battlefield sites. Yalta has its fair share of unattractive concrete block architecture, but the wooded hills behind the town are spectacular, and the jagged coastline is very picturesque.

  My hotel, the Vremena Goda, was basic but clean and had friendly staff, and I found decent meals at Yalta’s many waterfront restaurants — filled pancakes, fried chicken, kebabs and salads, plus the very acceptable Obolon beer. Prices are low and the outdoor tables offer a great opportunity for people-watching: Yalta’s passegiata is conducted as enthusiastically as anywhere in Italy, with families stopping to buy ice-creams or hop on some of the waterside fairground rides.

  Crimea has a delightful Mediterranean climate, and the numerous cypress trees on the slopes above Yalta add to the impression of a Greek landscape. Yalta isn’t over- endowed with tourist attractions, but it’s interesting to tour the well-signed (in English) Livadia Palace, where Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill attended the Yalta Conference in February, 1945.

The Black Sea resort of Yalta has excellent waterfront restaurants and a mild climate

  It’s also worth joining one of the organised tours of Yalta’s Massandra Winery, where you are taken deep into the massive cellars that were bricked up during the Second World War to hide wine from the Germans. Now some of these excellent, mostly sweet dessert wines can fetch thousands of pounds at auction. Visitors are treated to generous samples of nine varieties in a tasting at the end of the tour.

  You need to hire a guide to make the most of a visit to Massandra, as the tours are delivered in Russian, and a good guide is also essential for exploring the battlefield sites.

  Mine, Natasha Delvig, proved to be very knowledgeable as she walked us around the rolling green fields and vineyards by the River Alma where the British and French defeated the Russians in the Battle of Alma (September 20, 1854); and the rocky terrain of the Battle of Inkerman in which the Russians tried unsuccessfully to capture British positions and so relieve the siege of Sevastopol (November 5).

  But it is the Battle of Balaklava which is the most notorious event of the war for us, and whose battle sites most fuelled my imagination.

  Today Balaklava is a pretty, peaceful port lined with pavement cafes and a dive centre. But in 1854 it was the British military base, and the Russians were desperate to capture it. October 25, 1854, dawned fair and William Howard Russell, who was the world’s first war correspondent, bagged a ringside seat for the expected battle, near the British commander, Lord Raglan, up on the Sapoun Heights north of the town.

  Two of that day’s encounters have entered the language. In the first, the Russians advanced, capturing Turkish guns along the way, and came across a shallow hill behind which the 93rd Highlanders were lying in wait, out of sight and lined up only two men deep. Russell recorded: “The Russians . . . in one grand line dashed at the Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their horses’ feet; gathering speed at every stride, they dash on towards that thin red streak topped with a line of steel.”

  The “thin red streak” became known in Victorian England as the “thin red line”, and the bravery of the Highlanders in repulsing this attack became renowned. Later we visited the field where it all happened, another bucolic poppy-strewn meadow just outside Balaklava. But to share the overview of Raglan and Russell, we had to drive up to the Sapoun Heights.

  From this dramatic escarpment, the terrain was laid out in front of me exactly as Raglan would have seen it — the small hills where the Russians massed to the left and in front, and Balaklava to the right. In the second of the famous encounters of that morning, the Light Brigade went down the wrong valley, towards the Russians and disaster rather than towards Balaklava. Historians are still debating whether this was because Raglan sent them in the wrong direction, or because his orders were misinterpreted by his minions.

  But Russell did not try to cover up the disaster — or other shortcomings of the British Army, such as the appalling living conditions for the troops and the failures of leadership. His dispatches, and his private letters to the Editor of The Times, helped turn public opinion so powerfully that he can claim much of the credit for the fall of the Aberdeen Government in 1855.

The Panorama is superb, lacking only the sound of cannon fire for visitors to imagine themselves in the heat of battle

  I left the Sapoun Heights feeling that such an excellent vantage point must be the best way to get a sense of how the battles panned out. But I was to be surprised. In nearby Sevastopol, I was entranced by the Panorama, an extraordinary 360-degree representation of the siege of the city, based on the events of June 6, 1855, when the French unsuccessfully stormed the Russian stronghold on Mount Malakhov.

  Painted by Russian artist Franz Rubo in 1901-4, the Panorama is housed in a circular building, purpose-built to contain the gigantic canvas, 14m high and 115m in circumference. In front of the painting is a wide tableau made of wood and papier-mache, depicting the soldiers’ trenches, complete with cannon balls, sandbags, even lines of filthy washing. The detail is superb, the tableau blending seamlessly into the vibrant painted canvas: it lacks only a soundtrack of cannon fire to help visitors, who stand in the centre of the room to imagine themselves in the heat of battle.

  I was a little surprised not to encounter other British or French visitors during my visit. Ms Delvig was also surprised. “We had many tourists from Britain before September 11. Events in Iraq also affected us. We have several tours planned for this autumn — but we did not have any war tours this month (May),” she said.

  Perhaps would-be visitors wrongly thought Ukraine is still unreconstructedly Soviet in its approach to hospitality. It’s not: it’s a very friendly place. But it was distinctly less wonderful for the British and other soldiers sent there 150 years ago, and this autumn offers a timely opportunity to visit and discover their stories.