Pushkin

1854, a gently sloping valley near the village of Balaklava in Crimea, on one side of the valley,

Russian troops with cannons, on the other side of the valley, Russian troops with cannons,

at the far end of the valley, yes you've guessed it, Russian troops with cannons.

This is the Crimean War, the same grim conflict we heard about earlier this season when Florence's

Nightingale treated sick British soldiers. The war was the global standoff of its day,

the British, French and Turks were all worried about Russia's growing influence.

Balaklava is just outside Sevastopol, a strategic port on the Black Sea, and the situation

is delicately poised. With all their cannons, the Russians are firmly in control of the valley,

they've just captured a bit more land and a few British cannons.

But now the commander of the British forces, General Raglan, has ordered his cavalry

to take those cannons back. General Raglan watches to a telescope

from his viewpoint on a distant hilltop, as his men on horseback ride towards the valley,

so far so good. Now they should turn and climb the slope to surprise the small

bound of Russians who are hauling off the heavy British guns, but they don't.

They keep on going, further and further down the valley, between the Russians on both sides,

towards the Russians at the end. What on earth are they thinking?

Cannon to the right of them. Cannon to the left of them.

That's how the poet Alfred Lord Tennyson famously described the charge of the light brigade.

Generations of British schoolchildren learn from his poem about the 600 horsemen

and their suicidal charge into a valley full of guns.

Into the valley of death rode the 600.

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