Travels with Spaniels: 200 thousand crosses and a scramble round a Soviet missile base

On a hill outside the city of Šiauliai in northern Lithuania are two hundred thousand crosses, ranging from several metres high, to tiny crucifixes and rosaries. Their story is a complex mix of pagan tradition and Christian identity, anti-Soviet resistance and Catholic emancipation. It's a place of pilgrimage and a stop on the tour bus routes.

Myths and legends about the hill have obscured the true story, but it's thought there have been crosses here since the fourteenth century. They were added to over the years, as symbols of faith, commemoration, or thanksgiving. During the Soviet era anyone planting a cross could be arrested, but they continued to multiply in memory of those being killed and deported, despite being cleared away at least three times. In 1961 the hill was bulldozed by the Red Army, all access tracks were sealed off and ditches were dug around the site. The next morning crosses had returned. They were destroyed again in 1972, but by 1990 there were estimated to be 40,000 crosses. In 1993, soon after independence, Pope John Paul II celebrated mass here, and gave a cross of his own with the inscription: "Thank you Lithuanians, for this Hill of Crosses which testifies to the nations of Europe and to the whole world the faith of the people of this land."

An ever growing field of crosses

We had not been in Lithuania long before we started to notice roadside shrines, and statues of the Virgin Mary. About 80% of the Lithuania's population describe themselves as Roman Catholic, a stark change after Estonia and Latvia where we've become used to seeing a Lutheran and an Orthodox Church in each town. Lithuanians were staunchly pagan, and held out against Christianity until 1413, but once adopted it became deeply engrained in the culture, even more so when persecuted under the Soviets. For that reason this morning's walk around the Hill of Crosses touched us a way that other places of pilgrimage have not. It is about more than religious faith, it's about autonomy and intransigence in the face of unstoppable force. And it's also about the souvenir shops selling wooden crosses to the visitors so they can leave their own contribution.

Plateliau Lake in Žemaitijos National Park

It's been an emotional couple of days. Before arriving at the Hill of Crosses on Friday evening we had visited a Cold War Museum within the Žemaitijos National Park. We'd spent the night beside the lake, and taken the spaniels for a lovely walk, stopping to chat to a couple of people out collecting mushrooms. We must have confirmed all their preconceptions about the English when we immediately remarked on the glorious weather. I was unable to help the woman on her hands and knees taking pictures of one fungi in an effort to identify it with her phone app. She already had a good collection in her bag, so let's hope she was a little more certain about those.

The Cold War Museum

Zdravstvujtye!

It was a short drive around the lake from our parking spot to the museum. Nowadays there are picnic areas, hotels and cafés along the shore, and it comes as quite a surprise to turn a corner and see four ranks of barbed wire and electric fences and a concrete gatehouse. The welcome inside was warm, and we were given instructions and sent to explore what soon becomes obvious is a former Soviet underground bunker and missile silo. Wax figures in uniform sit at control panels, there is a well constructed account of the development of the Cold War from Hiroshima onwards, and there are explanations about the routine and some of the technology surrounding the base. The most extraordinary moment comes when you walk along a corridor, metal floor panels clanging under your feet, and step up a short ladder, to find yourself staring down into a nuclear missile silo.

Staring into the abyss

The base housed three active and one reserve missile. The course on which they could be set was determined from books containing calculations made in advance. The trajectory had to be accurate to within two seconds of arc. The books containing those instructions were only taken out of the safe once at this site. During the Prague Spring in 1968 preparations were made to fire on Czechoslovakia. The missiles are no longer here - they were apparently relocated to Belarus and Irkutsk before Lithuanian independence.

As you walk back along the underground corridor you enter a room about the consequences of nuclear weapons. On one wall are technicolour pictures of mushroom clouds, on another the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. The wall ahead shows video of the beauty of planet earth: elephants in the savanna, wildflowers, cool rivers. It's a good opportunity to pause after the shock of what comes before.

After leaving the Hill of Crosses this morning, we took the long way round towards Kaunas, one involving more major roads with fewer bumps. The weather had broken overnight, and we drove through a steady downpour until mid afternoon, when it finally began to clear as we reached the Neman river with its collection of castles and stunning autumn colours. We had a brief look at the Panemune Castle, principally so we could take the spaniels for a walk through its lovely parklands, and parked up for the night on the bank of the river. Tomorrow we will aim to balance the intensity of the last couple of days with a trip to the Museum of Devils.