Standing in front of the tower again I remember that the Russo-Turkish War that gave birth to Bulgarian national independence also produced an enduring term for high-Victorian imperial sabre-rattling and subsequently for any blind, chauvinistic patriotism: jingoism. Derived from a stanza of a music hall song in favour of intervening in the war. The doggerel runs as follows:
    We don't want to fight but by jingo if we do,
    We've got the ships, we've got the men, we've got the money too,
    We've fought the Bear before, and while we're Britons true,
    The Russians shall not have Constantinople.

By anchoring a navy squadron in front of Constantinople to protect the Ottoman Empire the British government made the symbolic gesture. The Russian ambassador’s laconic comment on the situation: ‘The British have challenged us to a duel; the weapon of choice — rapiers at fifteen paces.’

But the strategy worked, from the British point of view.

Outside, mist still swirls coldly though occasional breaks give us glimpses of blue sky. Just as frequently there are heavy showers accompanied by strong winds. The route to the next monument takes us past a number of monumental sculptures, but the eye always seems to be led up the hill to Buzludzha.  We arrive there in a squall. According to the notice at the customs-post barrier we can spend just over an hour here. The car climbs slowly upwards but it is not till we actually get out of it that something of the monument’s real size can be judged. Our little (red) car looks lost in the wide expanse of memorial territory.  The building is a huge, concrete oval raised on a tapering base, a Captain Nemo invention stranded, ark-like, by the receding waters of history. Around its waist there are regular ‘porthole’ windows on the same scale as the building itself.