Yuri Gagarin Comes to Manchester

This really happened. It’s not made up.

July 12, 1961, three months after becoming the first human in space, he stepped off the plane at Ringway (now called Manchester) Airport. There was little time for the world’s first astronaut to rest, as he was bundled into a car and whisked along the streets of Wythenshawe, towards Manchester centre. Wythenshawe, a post-war new build estate, in 1961 was in its hey day. The largest housing estate in Europe, it was designed along the principles of a garden town, with shops, pubs, churches, and other amenities nestled at conveniently-distanced intervals between the twee red brick houses, still maintained lovingly by the municipal council. And it was that municipal socialism that welcomed Yuri with open arms as a statement of comradeship and love. 

It was only a year later, in 1962, that Wythenshawe became twinned with Leningrad. In 1971, when the civic centre leisure centre opened, it sat within the spacious and grandly named Leningrad Square, a name it technically keeps to this day, although this is not widely publicised (even though Leningrad was officially renamed St. Petersburg in 1991). 

The anticipation of Wythenshawe receiving Yuri was so great that children were released from school early. People lined the streets and cheered the cosmonaut with all the fervour of a ticker tape parade, although instead of paper, heavy clouds and a "ferocious downpour" lashed the tarmac at Ringway Airport when his plane landed around 10:00 AM. It was a real Manchester welcome for the lad, a typically sunny day in July, assailed by tantrums of angry showers. 

Unfortunately for Gegarin, he was transported in an open-top Bently to greet the thousands, and so got soaked. His sojourn through Wythenshawe was actually part of a lengthier procession to Old Trafford, to the Headquarters of his hosts, the Amalgamated Union of Foundry Workers (AUFW). There, in solemn solidarity with the working people of Manchester, he was made an honorary member of the AUFW and presented with a shiny medal engraved with the words “Together, moulding a better future”.

My gran and grandad lived in a house with a wide view of Woodhouse Lane, one of the main arteries along which Gegarin paraded. They loved their house and really looked after it. They had a grim upbringing in the slums of Salford, and were moved out into the suburbs when they were demolished. This fact, was their own personal ‘post-war miracle’, a reward for all their austere years of grinding abject poverty, and they deserved it. They had worked hard. They deserved a slice of success. 

Not all of our family were so lucky. Some were shoved into high-rise flats in Salford, where living compressed on top of each other like the dusty pleats of a forgotten accordion packed away in a dark attic, too its toll. Took its toll on their physical health, but also their mental wellbeing. In one small flat there was my great gran, her daughter (my aunty), and two sons Gay Georgie and Robert, who had learning needs. I remember bleak drizzly days visiting them as a kid in the grey clouds of the high-rise, in a cramped humid flat that always stank of cabbage. It felt brutal, institutionalised, in a strange way medical. I could never reconcile the great improbability of how high we were up. 

On the day of Yuri Gegarin’s visit people were swarming everywhere along the roads, gathering in pockets and generally ambling around either side of Gegarin passing by. My gran got home at some point during that melee, it is not known if she even saw the great hero, or whether she had taken the opportunity to do a bit of shopping in civic, a stone’s throw away from Woodhouse Lane. What is known is that by the time she arrived home, there had clearly been a break in: things all over the place, piggy banks broken, the lot. 

Asking neighbours & friends, my grandparents asked if they’d seen anybody. They said it had been a busy day with Major Gegarin coming down Woodhouse Lane to go to the airport, but that by coincidence at the same time his car passed their house, a photographer had taken a photo of Gegarin travelling down Woodhouse Lane, and it so happened that Gay Georgie and his girlfriend were snapped carrying my gran & grandad’s suitcases down the road; full of the family silver. 

Anyway, Gay Georgie’s day in court came, and he was handed his due punishment in the form of a fine, and permanent black sheep status in the family for shitting on his own doorstep. It turns out he was working in a gang, and “Gay Georgie’s girlfriend” was actually the gang leader. On the day of the court hearing, my gran was waiting in the foyer and approached a woman asking for a light for her cigarette. The woman pulled out a lighter… GRANDAD’s LIGHTER right in front of her and sparked it up. GAY GEORGIE’S GIRLFRIEND??? My mum recalls gran’s reaction that day and put it succinctly thus: “It’s a wonder that girl nearly got her arm back, me mother nearly killed her”.

Some of the non-biographical details of Major Gegarin’s visit were drawn from Gurbir Singh’s book: Yuri Gagarin in London and Manchester (2017), which apart from some media archival remnants, is one of the few resources available on Gegarin’s visit to Manchester. 

Reference

Singh, G. (2017) Yuri Gagarin in London and Manchester: A Smile that Changed the World? AstrotalkUK Publications.

Manchester to Köln

I was able to get the following information from ChatGPT just by showing it the photos from my flight, and it did the rest. I was intrigued by which part of the channel I was traversing, and the very short time in passing over from UK to France. If you can get a clip of the ground below, you might be able to discern peculiar features of your journey by running a similar inquiry. 

"Given your timestamps (9 September 2025 at 16:11 and 16:14), photos, and the classic Ryanair route crossing the English Channel, you most likely departed the UK coastline at the area around Dover, in Kent, and then flew over the northern French coast near Calais and Boulogne-sur-Mer.

Details with Timestamps

UK Coast Departure (Photo nearest 16:11):

This area is characterized by agricultural land, gentle inland slopes, and broad bays, which matches the Kent coast near Dover and Folkestone. This spot is the start of the Channel's narrowest crossing—the Strait of Dover—where the famous White Cliffs are a major feature.

Continental Europe Flyover (Photo nearest 16:14):

The broad, gently curving shoreline and patchwork fields correspond to the French coast in the Pas-de-Calais region. Cap Gris-Nez and the town of Calais align directly with the UK’s Dover area and are the shortest crossing route.

Route Confirmation

Most commercial flights (including Ryanair) heading from London area airports or southern England to destinations in Western Europe cross the Channel here, following the historic Dover–Calais axis, which is only 34 km (21 miles) wide at its narrowest point.

On a Ryanair flight from Manchester to Köln (Cologne), the typical route crosses the English Channel at its narrowest point, which is between Dover (UK) and Calais (France), known as the Strait of Dover. Your flight would have left the Kent coast, near Dover, and crossed over the northern coast of France, likely just east of Calais or near Boulogne-sur-Mer.

UK Coast Departure

Kent Coast (near Dover): This is the standard crossing route for flights between southern UK and continental Europe, especially those heading towards western or central Germany. The coastline visible in your first photo at 16:11 corresponds with the agricultural patchwork, estuary, and position of Dover and Folkestone in Kent.

Continental Europe Flyover

Pas-de-Calais, France: Your second photo at 16:14 shows the French coast around Calais and Boulogne-sur-Mer. This is the typical landfall for flights heading to Köln from the UK, following the direct air corridor between these cities.

These two regions are the usual departure and arrival points for the Channel crossing on flights from Manchester to Köln, matching your flight path and timestamps.

Typical Flight Metrics

Altitude: 35,000 ft (≈10,700 m≈10,700m)

Speed: 520 mph (≈837 km/h≈837km/h or 452 knots452knots)

These are average values for Boeing 737 flights at cruise over this region; your flight likely matched these figures during the times corresponding to your photos and timestamps.

Insektchau vs Butterfly House

There is something delightfully old-fashioned about a serious interest in insects. Long before wildlife documentaries and macro photography brought the miniature world into our living rooms, Victorian naturalists were filling drawers and cabinets with butterflies, beetles and moths, marvelling at the extraordinary inventiveness of nature. To visit either the travelling exhibition Insektenschau: Kunstwerke der Evolution, which came to Mendig last year, or the Schmetterlingsgarten Eifalia is to tap into that same sense of scientific curiosity and aesthetic wonder.

The Insektenschau was, in many ways, a modern version of the Victorian cabinet of curiosities. Thousands of specimens from around the world were arranged in display cases, each one revealing some new variation in form, colour and pattern. Under the intense lights, metallic beetles gleamed like polished jewels, giant moths spread their intricate wings, and tropical butterflies looked almost impossibly vivid. The exhibition was fascinating, and anyone with even a passing interest in natural history could spend hours peering into the cases, appreciating the sheer diversity of insect life and the astonishing ways evolution has shaped it.

There was a genuine scientific pleasure in seeing so many species gathered together. Viewed side by side, the insects became more than beautiful objects: they were evidence of nature’s endless experimentation. Every wing pattern, every antenna and every iridescent carapace seemed to tell a story about adaptation and survival. Yet there was also something slightly unsettling about the display. However impressive the specimens were, they remained pinned, preserved and motionless. The exhibition had the faintly morbid air of a collector’s trove, beautiful but static, a world of wonders arrested in death. The presentation was educationally questionable to say the least!

At Schmetterlingsgarten Eifalia, by contrast, those same wonders are fully (and literally) alive. Rather than standing at a respectful distance from glass cases, visitors enter a warm tropical environment where butterflies flutter freely through the air. They drift past your face, settle on leaves and flowers, and occasionally choose to land on a visitor. It is impossible not to feel a thrill when a butterfly alights gently on your hand or shoulder. In that moment, the encounter becomes personal and immediate in a way that no display case can ever replicate.

What makes Eifalia so compelling is that it offers a more holistic experience. You are not simply looking at insects as specimens; you are immersed in their world. The humidity, the lush vegetation, and the constant movement create an environment that engages the senses as well as the intellect. You can observe butterflies feeding, courting and emerging from their chrysalides, and in doing so gain a fuller understanding of their lives. The scientific interest remains every bit as strong, but it is complemented by a direct, embodied connection with living creatures.

Both attractions deserve praise for rekindling the spirit of the old naturalists. Each inspires admiration for insects as some of evolution’s most intricate and beautiful creations. The Insektenschau impresses with the breadth and beauty of its collection and offers a fascinating, if slightly macabre, glimpse into the diversity of the insect world. Schmetterlingsgarten Eifalia, however, ultimately provides the more memorable experience. By surrounding visitors with living butterflies and allowing moments of unexpected contact, it transforms scientific curiosity into something richer and more emotional.

A pinned butterfly can certainly be admired. But when a living butterfly lands on you, however briefly, the wonder becomes tangible. In that instant, nature ceases to be an object of study and becomes a shared experience. And that is why Eifalia leaves the deeper impression.

Below are a selection of photos from both exhibitions. Can you tell which ones belong to which event?

Frühstück mit John Sanders & Alex Seele

This was an enchanted way to spend a Sunday morning, on 1st July 2025 at the picturesque Villa Krain Atelier-Cafe. We got there slightly early (unusually for Germans, Frühstück being held after 10am!). Perhaps it was the moderating influence of my fellow countrymen and folk musicians, Jon Sanders and Alex Seel, that led to the laid back vibe. They played sublime tracks as we were served coffee on the terrace overlooking the mighty Mosel, with the moody, grumbling clouds overhead. The air was cool and the forest exhaled an easy, moss-scented hush. That was, until the heavens opened and we were treated to a dramatic thunder storm, which sent us rushing for cover. As we stood sheltering, the roof of the delicate performance area buckled and in flooded the volume of a small swimming pool of water. This led to great confusion, protecting of electronics and musical instruments, and eventually abandonment of the scene, with helpers carrying a variety of guitars, fiddles, and all sorts. I think I had a mandolin. Once inside the grand old villa, we were treated to a hearty breakfast as we dripped dry (and in some cases clothes were wrung dry), with the musicians hardly dropping a note. Such consummate professionalism, and love for the music. The show, as they say, went on!

Träumen in der Morgendämmerung

Träumen in der Morgendämmerung
A Journey Through the Pastoral Psyche of German Progressive Folk

What will you do, God, when I die? 

I am your jar (if cracked, I lie?) 

Your well-spring (if the well go dry?) 

I am your craft, your vesture I— 

You lose your purport, losing me. 

When I go, your cold house will be 

Empty of words that made it sweet. 

I am the sandals your bare feet 

Will seek and long for, wearily. 

Your cloak will fall from aching bones. 

Your glance, that my warm cheeks have cheered 

As with a cushion long endeared, 

Will wonder at a loss so weird; 

And, when the sun has disappeared, 

Lie in the lap of alien stones. 

What will you do, God? I am feared. 

Vineyard, pasture, old apple orchard, 

field that misses no spring, 

fig tree that even in ground as hard as marble 

bears fruit a hundredfold: 

Scent exudes from Your round branches. 

And You do not ask if I am watchful; 

fearless, dissolved in juices, 

Your depths rise quietly past me.

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 – 1926) 

From: The Book of Monastic Life (1899) 

Translated by B. Deutsch, A. Yarmolinsky, and C.L. Cingolani 

“Träumen in der Morgendämmerung” (Dreaming at Dawn) is not merely a compilation; it is an invitation to drift through the mist-veiled landscapes of German progressive folk and kosmische music, where poetry, protest, and pastoral beauty merge in luminous harmony.

Opening with the melancholic introspection of Hölderlin’s “Waren wir”, the journey begins in the half-light of memory and reflection. From there, we set out with Witthüser & Westrupp, whose warm acoustic textures and gentle psychedelia in “Lasst uns auf die Reise gehn” encourage us to wander, spiritually untethered.

The spectral reverie continues with Bröselmaschine’s “Gedanken”, a raga-tinged meditation that blurs the lines between inner thought and outer space. Carol of Harvest follows with “Put on Your Nightcap”, an English-language lullaby draped in melancholic electric folk, further deepening the dream.

A playful interlude arrives in Ougenweide’s “Der Fuchs und der Rabe”, whose medieval folk-rock retelling of Aesop's fable injects whimsy and charm. Emtidi’s “Touch the Sun” then lifts us into celestial realms with crystalline vocals and synth-laced serenity, before Gila’s “This Morning” steers us into a darker, more experimental awakening; quietly intense and emotionally raw.

Zupfgeigenhansel’s “Es dunkelt schon in der Heide” roots us again in folk tradition, a haunting evocation of twilight fading into night. Hölderlin’s “Requiem für einen Wicht” follows, echoing with poetic gravitas, a lament not just for the small or forgotten, but for the fragile spirit of a fading era.

The penultimate stretch brings social commentary wrapped in theatrical funk-folk via Floh de Cologne’s “Sei ruhig, Fliessbandbaby”, a sharp yet playful critique of industrial life. Emma Myldenberger’s “Unter der Linden” then unfurls like an ancient ballad rediscovered, its winding woodwinds and modal melodies casting a spell of tranquil nostalgia.

Finally, Denise Krüger’s “Hier lebst du” offers a quiet conclusion; an intimate, grounded reflection on presence and place, sung as if whispered into the first light of dawn.

Together, these twelve pieces form a lucid, undulating soundscape; a dreamscape where the utopian visions, earthy harmonies, and poetic souls of 1970s German folk-prog commune. It is a world best entered slowly, with open ears and a quiet heart.