Scars have still not healed in Crimean city that saw 14 sons pass away
SEVASTOPOL – When the nuclear submarine Kursk exploded Aug. 18, killing all 118 sailors on board, the world’s attention was transfixed on Russia. Condolences – and criticism – poured in from all corners of the world.
But in the Crimean port city of Sevastopol, approximately 4,000 kilometers from where the submarine went down, the tragedy took one of its greatest tolls.
In this Southern Ukrainian city with a population of 390,100, 14 families lost sons.
The Bochkov, Romanuk, Celogava, Pshenychnikov and Sablin families are just some of those who lost their sons. The list goes on.
Five months after church bells rang in memory of those lost, this seafaring town still reels from the tragedy.
In the home of Tykhon Bagryantzev, whose son Volodymyr was chief of the 7th Submarine Division on the Kursk, shelves are crowded with sea coral and the walls are covered with pictures framed in plastic anchors. Family photos reveal boys and girls with oversized sailor hats and long blue sailor coats dragging on the ground. One picture features Volodymyr and Tyhon. Standing side-by-side in matching sailor uniforms, the two look eerily alike.
Bagryantzev didn’t want his only child to be a sailor. But Volodymyr insisted, and next to his family, the sea became his life. Volodymyr wasn’t supposed to be on the Kursk. He was scheduled to be on another submarine, but at the last minute he was reassigned. It is a twist of fate nearly impossible for a parent to bear.
Bagryantzev, once a master storyteller, can’t find the words to tell his own painful tale. He moves from one topic to another, never quite finishing his thoughts.
“Do you know how death comes [in a submarine]?” he asks morbidly. “When there is not enough oxygen you become faint and fall asleep and never wake up.”
Sergey Ukhanyov, deputy head of press at the Russian Black Sea Fleet, has talked with these families and understands Bagryantzev’s apparent acceptance. Seafaring families understand that the sea is uncontrollable.
“It [the sea] is out of people’s hands, it is destiny,” he says.
Oleg Rodionov uses the same word – destiny – to explain his 27-year-old son Mykhailo’s fate on the Kursk.
When he was small, Mykhailo was frightened by the sea. “I think this fear was an omen for him not to deal with water,” Oleg said, impulsively peeling a pear.
Oleg, a man who describes himself as a natural fighter, can’t sit still. When he talks about his
| Yura Shchepetnov |
son, he prepares fruit, pours coffee and constantly leaves the room on some errand.
He never uses the past tense.
A piece of bread rests on a shot glass in the living room, a memory to the dead. Before the tragedy Mykhailo wanted to quit his job in the Northern Fleet. He was tired of the cold and dark, the delayed salaries and the harsh living conditions. He wanted to join his parents in Sevastopol and work in the warmer waters of the Black Sea.
“I told him to be patient,” Oleg recalled. “I said, ‘Wait until you’re 35 and get a pension, and then quit.'”
Those words now haunt him.
Oleg came to Sevastopol in 1969 and served 32 years in the Black Sea fleet. Mykhailo, his only son, became a sailor because that was all he knew.
“He did everything I did,” Oleg explained.
The sea and sailors can be seen from nearly every vantage point in Sevastopol.
Before the Kursk exploded, few of the families knew each other. Now most are in regular telephone contact. They all attended the funeral of midshipman Mikhail Bochkov – the only local seaman whose body has been retrieved.
“We buried him as if he was our son,” said Kateryna Shchepetnova, mother of Yura Shchepetnov, also killed on the Kursk.
Despite the loss of lives, the lure of the sea remains strong in this southern port. Ukhanyov, of the Black Sea Fleet, thinks interest in the navy has actually increased. He calls the upsurge “an unexplainable phenomenon.” Even the families of the dead remain supportive of the navy.
“In those families who lost a son, the children still want to continue their fathers and grandfathers service,” Ukhanyov said.
That’s what 18-year-old Dmytro Bagriantsev plans to do. Like his father, Volodymyr, and his grandfather, Tykhon, Dmytro is studying at the St. Petersburg naval school. His father’s death has not changed his career choice. He will become a sailor just like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather.
Almost 50 years ago, Shchepetnova’s husband, Tykhon, became a hero when the battleship he was on, the Novorossiysk, hit a German mine and capsized, killing 611 of the 1,600 crewmembers. Tykhon survived.
Shchepetnova holds up a picture taken last year of her son, Yura, at a memorial to the Novorossiysk crew.
“A month later he was memorialized.”
Sevastopol, home of the Black Sea Fleet, was, is and will remain a seafaring city. Most residents will continue to define themselves by the sea.
