Starman_ The Truth Behind the Legend of Yuri Gagarin - Jamie Doran [67]
Gagarin is a brave man, the symbol of one of the greatest scientific feats ever achieved. Yesterday, after two days of stuffed-shirt panic over the correct procedure, the British government at last figured out how they would welcome this world-wide hero. And who are they sending to greet him in the name of the entire British people? Not the Prime Minister, Mr Macmillan. Not the Foreign Secretary, Lord Home. Not even the Minister of Science, Lord Hailsham. Britain’s spokesman on this unique occasion will be an unknown civil servant, Mr Francis Fearon Turnbull, CBE, aged fifty-six. The reason given . . . is that Gagarin is not a Head of State.
Harold Macmillan did eventually meet Gagarin (though not at the airport) and described him as ‘a delightful fellow’. In fact, Gagarin’s visit to Britain had been sponsored largely by the Foundry Workers’ Union rather than the government, but the ordinary citizens of Britain turned out in force to welcome him. The Times reported that he ‘received a welcome that sometimes bordered on hysteria. Cheering crowds lined the route into London all the way from the airport.’ He arrived by motorcade into the vast Earl’s Court Exhibition Centre in West London to address a crowd of students, then gave a press conference in front of 2,000 journalists from Britain and around the world. Quickly the establishment revised its plans for him. He was summoned to the Admiralty, the Air Ministry and the Royal Society, and finally to Buckingham Palace to meet the Queen. Yaroslav Golovanov, the approved journalist ever in attendance, says that an extra day had to be found in Gagarin’s schedule to make room for this meeting, which raises the fascinating possibility that the royal reception was not planned in advance. Rather, it was a hurried response to circumstances. The Times seemed to confirm this on July 12, with its report that ‘Because of the Palace invitation, Major Gagarin will now return home on Saturday, instead of on Friday as originally planned.’
During an informal luncheon encounter on July 15, the Queen was gracious, particularly when Gagarin ran into the perennial problem of an unversed visitor in the Palace at mealtimes: how to handle the vast array of cutlery. Golovanov recalls the scene. ‘He said, “Your Highness, you know this is the first time I’ve had breakfast with the Queen of Great Britain, and it’s very difficult to know which cutlery to use.” He smiled, and the Queen didn’t hold back. She said, “You know, I was born in this palace, but I still get mixed up.” After that, the meeting went very warmly and sincerely.’
The Queen asked Gagarin all kinds of questions – simple human curiosity breaking through the pomp, as always – and at one point he said tactfully, ‘Maybe you have me mixed up with someone else? I’m sure there are many other pilots like me in your own Royal Air Force.’ In all, the First Cosmonaut was turning out to be an extraordinary asset to Soviet diplomacy, but, as he confessed to Golovanov in a quiet moment, the strain of playing the perfect ambassador was beginning to wear him down. ‘A lot of articles are being written about the flight. Everyone is writing about me, and it makes me uncomfortable because they’re making me out to be some kind of superhero. In fact, like everyone else, I’ve made mistakes. I have weaknesses. They shouldn’t idealize people. It’s embarrassing to be made to seem like such a good, sweet little boy. It’s enough to make one sick.’
When he grew weary of the adulation at his news conferences, one of Gagarin’s favourite ploys was to remind his listeners that his Hero of the Soviet Union medal was stamped with the number 11,175. ‘That means 11,174 people accomplished something worthwhile before me. I disagree with any division of people into ordinary mortals or celebrities. I’m still an ordinary mortal. I haven’t changed.’ (Once, in Moscow, he