The Forgotten First Woman in Space

Pop quiz: who was the first woman in space? Many of you probably just answered Dr. Sally Ride, who launched aboard the space shuttle Challenger on June 18, 1983. But you would be wrong: Sally Ride was the first American woman in space, not the first overall. That honour belongs to a now scarcely remembered Russian woman who, all the way back in August 1963, became not only the first woman, but only the 12th person in history to rocket into the Final Frontier. This is the forgotten story of Valentina Tereshkova.

On April 9, 1959, the newly-formed National Aeronautics and Space Administration or NASA announced its selection for the first American astronauts. Known as the “Mercury Seven”, its members – Alan B. Shepard, Virgil I. “Gus” Grissom, John H. Glenn, Malcom “Scott” Carpenter, Walter M. “Wally” Schirra, Donald K. “Deke” Slayton, and Leroy G. “Gordo” Cooper – were all drawn from the ranks of military test pilots. Less than a year later on February 25, 1960, the rival Soviet space program selected its own slate of 20 cosmonauts, all pilots in the Soviet Air Force: *deep breath* Ivan N. Anikeyev, Pavel I. Belyayev, Valentin V. Bondarenko, Valery F. Bykovsky, Valentin I. Filatyev, Yuri A. Gagarin,Viktor V. Gorbatko, Anatoli Y. Kartashov, Yevgeni V. Khrunov, Vladimir M. Komarov, Aleksei A. Leono, Grigori G. Nelyubov, Andriyan G. Nikolayev, Pavel R. Popovich, Mars Z. Rafikov, Georgi S. Shonin, Gherman S. Titov, Valentin Varlamov, Boris V. Volynov, and Dmitry A. Zaikin.

In sharp contrast to the very public and civilian-operated American space program, the Soviet program was run by the military and shrouded in official secrecy. Thus, unlike the Mercury Seven, who became instant celebrities fêted across the United States and the world, the names of the first cosmonauts were kept tightly under wraps, only to be revealed after they successfully reached orbit. Over the following year, the two programs raced neck and neck to place the first man in space, until, on April 12, 1961, 27-year-old cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin blasted off from Baikonur Cosmodrome, Kazakhstan aboard the spacecraft Vostok 1, completing one orbit before safely returning to earth. This historic achievement was followed by a flurry of launches from both sides, with Gagarin being followed into space by Alan Shepard aboard Mercury-Redstone 3 on May 5, Gus Grissom aboard Mercury-Redstone 4 on July 21, and Gherman Titov aboard Vostok 2 on August 6. By late 1961, however, it became clear to both American and Soviet planners that new blood was needed – especially as both space programs geared up to launch more complex orbital missions and, eventually, land a man on the moon. The Soviets in particular had suffered significant losses in their cosmonaut corps, with Anatoli Kartashov and Valentin Varlamov suffering serious injuries in training and Valentin Bondarenko dying in a horrific fire in a hyperbaric chamber. By the end of 1963 four more cosmonauts would also be expelled from the program for disciplinary reasons.

The task of selecting replacements fell to General Nikolai Kamanin, director of cosmonaut training, who recommended that an unusual group of candidates be added to the next slate. In 1960 and 1961, a number of articles appeared in the American press about a group of women pilots who underwent the same medical evaluations as the Mercury Seven, with several of them scoring even higher than their male counterparts – and for more on this, please check out our video The Largely Forgotten “Mercury 13” over on our sister channel Highlight History. Though privately funded and unaffiliated with NASA, these experiments alarmed Kamanin, who declared:

“We cannot allow that the first woman in space will be American. This would be an insult to the patriotic feelings of Soviet women.”

The idea of sending a woman into space delighted Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev, who was eager to score yet another “first” over the United States. So, on December 31, 1962, the Central Committee of the Communist Party approved the recruitment of a new slate of cosmonauts – including five women. In order to beat the Americans into space, the women would be selected and trained far ahead of their male colleagues. The Freewill Society for Cooperation With the Army, Aviation, and Navy Support or DOSAAF, a paramilitary sport organization founded in 1927, was given the task of scouting out suitable candidates, who had to be under 30 years of age, no taller than 170 centimetres and no heavier than 70 kilograms in order to fit inside the spacecraft, and have experience in parachuting. Unlike the male cosmonauts, however, no university degree or even piloting experience was required. This was because unlike the American Mercury spacecraft, the Vostok capsule was designed to be controlled via radio command from the ground, the cosmonaut only taking manual control in the case of an emergency. Also, while Mercury capsules splashed down in the ocean, for reasons of convenience and secrecy Vostok capsules landed over the vast territory of the Soviet Union. But since the parachute could not land both the heavy capsule and the cosmonaut inside at a safe velocity, the cosmonaut instead ejected at an altitude of 7 kilometres and parachuted separately to the ground. Interestingly, this design feature was actually kept secret following Yuri Gagarin’s historic 1961 spaceflight because the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale or FAI’s official rules regarding spaceflight records specified that an astronaut must return with their spacecraft. In the end, however, the FAI amended its rules and Gagarin was officially recognized as the first human to make a spaceflight.

When the Soviet government announced it was looking for female cosmonaut candidates, some 800 patriotic women from across the nation eagerly submitted their applications. Of these, DOSAAF compiled a list of 400 names, eventually whittled down to just 58. On January 15, 1962, these 58 dossiers reached General Kamanin, who four days later stated:

“Yesterday I considered the files of fifty-eight female candidates. Generally disappointed and dissatisfied. Only twenty-three will be brought to Moscow for medical tests because DOSAAF did not examine their credentials correctly. I told them I needed girls who were young, brave, physically strong and with experience of aviation, who we can prepare for spaceflight in no more than six months. The central objective of this accelerated preparation is to ensure that the American do not beat us to place the first woman in space.”

A preliminary round of medical testing whittled the 58 candidates down to just 18: Valentina Daricheva,

Svetlana Ivleva, Galina Korchuganova, Galina Korolkova, Tatyana Kuznetsova, Vera Kvasova, Natalya Maslova, Tatiana Morozitcheva, Valentina Ponomareva, Marina Popovich, Marina Sokolova, Ludmila Solovyeva, Irina Solovyova, Valentina Tereshkova, Zhanna Yorkina, Rosalia Zanozina, and two women named Borzenkova and Yefremova whose first names were not recorded. These 18 women were divided into two groups of nine for further evaluations, of which seven – Valentina Daricheva, Svetlana Ivleva, Galina Korchuganova, Galina Korolkova, Tatiana Morozitcheva, and Rosalia Zanozina – were ultimately eliminated. Of the remaining 11, five finalists were selected, the results being finalized on April 3, 1962. These were:

-Tatyana Kuznetsova, aged 20: a secretary and champion parachutist with several world records to her name.

-Valentina Ponomareva, aged 28: a pilot and graduate of the Moscow Aviation Institute. Of the final 5, Ponomareva was the only married woman and the only one with children.

-Irina Solovyova, aged 24: an engineer and champion parachutist who had completed over 2,200 parachute jumps.

-Valentina Tereshkova, aged 24: a textile worker and hobby parachutist who had completed 100 jumps.

-Zhanna Yorkina, aged 22: a schoolteacher fluent in English and German and an avid skydiver.

As the Soviet space program was a military operation, all five candidates were temporarily inducted into the Soviet Air Force and given the honorary rank of Private. Training was set to begin in April 1962, with launches scheduled for August of the following year.

The five women arrived at the Cosmonaut Training Centre outside Moscow – colloquially known as “Star City” – in March 1962, around the same time General Kamanin announced the second slate of male cosmonauts. As Valentina Tereshkova later recalled the women were star-struck by the original cosmonauts assigned to be their guides and mentors:

“Let me tell you, when I entered the Star City of cosmonauts, my heart was about to stop. How will they meet me here? I didn’t do anything great in my life; in fact I didn’t see much of a real life and these were real pilots. And two of them, Gagarin and Titov, were heroes whose names were known all around the world!”

But the male astronauts were less enthused about their new female colleagues, with Valentina Ponomareva later reporting that:

“The men thought we were completely redundant, that there was no place for a woman on a spacecraft.”

Especially incensed was Gregory Nelyubov, who was nominally third in line to fly after Yuri Gagarin and Gherman Titov. However, the joint Vostok 3 and 4 missions were ultimately assigned to Andrian Nikolayev and Pavel Popovich who, being ethnically Chuvash and Ukrainian, respectively, were chosen to represent the diversity of the Soviet Republics. With the Vostok 6 slot now earmarked for a female cosmonaut, Nelyubov risked being pushed further down the flight rotation. In March 1963, Nelyubov, along with Ivan Anikeyev and Valentin Filatyev, was arrested for drunken and disorderly conduct and expelled from the cosmonaut corps, having never flown in space. He soon descended into depression and alcoholism, committing suicide on February 18, 1966.

Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space, was more ambivalent about the female cosmonauts. Though concerned about the selection of Valentina Ponomareva, stating:

“Cosmonautics is a known and unsafe world. Can we risk the life of a mother?”

…he ultimately came around and instructed his fellow cosmonauts:

“Some lady cosmonauts are on their way to join is. Let’s be considerate and helpful toward them. There must be no teasing or anything else offensive to them.”

Training for the five women cosmonauts began in April 1962, and included intensive sessions in centrifuges, thermal and decompression chambers, isolation chambers, and spacecraft simulators, as well as simulated zero-gravity training in a special aircraft flying parabolic arcs – what in American service is known as the “Vomit Comet.” They were also given basic cockpit instruction in MiG-15 UTI training aircraft by Colonel Vladimir Seryogin, who would later die in the same mysterious 1968 plane crash that took the life of Yuri Gagarin. But while the women were encouraged to take the controls and get a feel for the aircraft, they were not permitted to perform solo flights. By December 1962, all five had risen through the ranks, being commissioned as Junior Lieutenants.

But the strain of the training eventually took its toll, and two of the five began to fall behind. Zhanna Yorkina performed poorly during a simulated three-day space mission – reportedly even fainting – while and Tatyana Kuznetsova was ultimately forced to stand down due to illness. This left Valentina Ponomareva, Irina Solovyova, and Valentina Tereshkova in a neck-and-neck race for the Vostok 6 mission. Finally, on May 21, 1961, General Kamanin announced his decision:

“We must send Tereshkova into space first, and her backup will be Solovyova. She is Gagarin in a skirt.”

Valentina Pomonareva, the only one of the five with piloting experience, was shocked by the decision, and complained to Yevgeny Karpov, director of Star City:

“Trying to console me, Karpov said that political considerations prompted the sending of a person ‘with particular roots’, and I had the misfortune of being a clerk.”

Indeed, despite being arguably the least qualified of the final five, Valentina Vladimirovna Tereshkova was chosen largely because she most closely fit the proletarian ideal favoured by the Soviet regime. Born on on March 16, 1937 in the small village of Bolshoye Maslennikovo, 270 kilometres northeast of Moscow, Tereshkova was the eldest daughter of Vladimir Tereshkov, a tractor driver on a collective farm; and Elena Fyodorovna, a textile worker. In 1940, when Valentina was only 2, Vladimir, by then a sergeant in the Red Army, was killed while fighting in the Winter War against Finland. After graduating high school at age 16, Valentina worked first at a tire factory and then at a textile mill in order to support her family. Meanwhile, she became interested in skydiving and joined the local Aeroclub, making her first parachute jump at age 22 on May 21, 1959:

“I did night jumps, too, onto land and water – the Volga river. It’s a very different experience, but both are wonderful… I learned to wait as long as possible before pulling the cord, just to feel the air; 40 seconds, 50 seconds … It’s not really falling; you experience enormous pleasure from the sensation of your whole body. It’s marvellous.”

Tereshkova had also given more acceptable, patriotic answers to questions by the selection board. For example, when asked “What do you want from life?” Valentina Ponomaryova replied “I want to take everything it can offer,” while Tereshkova answered “I want to support irrevocably the Komsomol and Communist Party.” Other strikes against Ponomaryova included her habit of smoking in public and her reputation as a ‘loose woman.’

Strangely, space program Chief Designer Sergei Korolev recommended Tereshkova for Vostok 6 precisely because she was less qualified. At the time, Korolev was designing the next generation of Soviet spacecraft, the 3-man Voskhod, from which cosmonauts would be able to perform extravehicular activities or “space walks.” Such complex missions required the skills of cosmonauts like Ponomaryova and Solovyova, while Tereshkova was more than adequate for the fully-automated “spam in a can” Vostok 6 mission.

In other words, Valentina Tereshkova was everything Perier Khrushchev and the propagandists in the Kremlin needed her to be – no more, and no less.

Originally, it was planned that two women would fly into space together as in the joint Vostok 3 and 4 missions, which were successfully flown on August 11 and 12, 1962. Valentina Tereshkova would launch first aboard Vostok 5, followed the next day by Valentina Pomonareva in Vostok 6. However, at a meeting of the Presidium of of the Communist party on March 21, 1963, this plan was struck down by member Frol Kozlov and Minister of Defense Dmitry Ustinov, who argued that one woman cosmonaut was sufficient for propaganda purposes and that Vostok 5 would be flown by a male cosmonaut. This led to the flights being delayed by two months as cosmonauts Valery Bykovsky and Boris Volynov were hastily trained for their new mission. Ultimately, Bykovsky was chosen as prime crew largely on the basis of weight; a large amount of extra equipment had been added to the capsule to extend its endurance, and Bykovsky weighed 15 kilograms less than Volynov. Volynov, however, remained as Bukovsky’s backup pilot.

In June 1963, the cosmonauts made their way to Baikonur Cosmodrome in Kazakhstan to prepare for the historic dual mission. Bykovsky was the first to be launched, climbing the gantry and being strapped into his spacecraft on the morning of June 14. However, the countdown was fraught with difficulties, with faults in both Bukovsky’s ejection seat and the upper stage of the Vostok rocket causing the launch to be delayed by four hours. Volynov, waiting in the cosmonaut transfer van, was told to put on his spacesuit in case Bykovsky needed to be replaced. Thankfully, all the technical issues were worked out before the close of the launch window, and at 2:59 PM Moscow Time Bykovsky, given the callsign Yastreb or “Hawk”, blasted off the launch pad and rocketed into space. Within a half hour, Vostok 5 had settled into a stable orbit 200 kilometres – 3% lower than expected due to the malfunctioning upper stage. Otherwise, however, everything was normal. Watching from the launch control room, Tereshkova took the opportunity to send Bykovsky a greeting:

“Yastreb, Yastreb, so you recognize my voice? A warm greeting to you…I congratulate you on a good beginning.”

To which Bykovsky replied: “I am waiting.”

While he waited, Bykovsky carried out a light programme of scientific tasks, including photographing the earth and the sun’s corona, performing experiments on fruit flies and pea plants, and measuring his own body’s reactions to weightlessness.

Finally, on June 16, it was Valentina Tereshkova’s turn to make history. She and her backup Irina Solovyova donned their spacesuits and climbed into the transfer van that would carry them to the launch pad. It was then that an incident occurred which could have cost Tereshkova her date with destiny. While suiting up, the fabric near the neck seal of Solovyova’s spacesuit tore, forcing her to switch to Valentina Ponomareva’s suit. Had this happened to Tereshkova, there would have been no replacement suit, for Tereshkova was taller and stockier than her two backups. In that case, Ponomareva would have flown the mission.

In the event, however, Tereshkova’s suit held, and when she reached the launch pad she performed what is still a hallowed Baikonur good-luck ritual. Prior to his launch on April 12, 1961, Yuri Gagarin had urinated on the back left tyre of the transfer van. Before climbing the stairs to the elevator, Tereshkova did the same, becoming the first woman to do so. Unlike with Bykovsky two days earlier, Tereshkova’s countdown proceeded without incident, and at 12:30 PM Moscow Time Vostok 6 blasted off the launchpad. Within minutes Tereshkova – given the callsign Chaika or “seagull” – became not only the first woman but also the first civilian to reach outer space. As she rose higher and higher into the sky, she jubilantly exclaimed:

“It is I, Seagull! Everything is fine. I see the horizon; it’s a sky blue with a dark strip. How beautiful the Earth is … everything is going well.”

And, as promised, Valery Bykovsky was waiting for her:

“When the spaceship Vostok 6 was to be put into orbit, I knew in advance at what time. I had my radio-receiving apparatus switched on at the time, and at the exact time anticipated I heard ground control speaking to Valentina before she was actually in orbit. By that time I was approaching the territory of the Soviet Union, and I was eagerly awaiting the moment when she would finish reporting to ground control that she was in a state of weightlessness and that all was well. I did not interrupt her conversation with the ground, but then, when I saw that she had finished speaking, I cut in. There, actually, our space rendezvous began. It began with congratulations – my congratulating her on her successful launching.”

As the Vostok capsule had no orbital maneuvering capability, the Bykovsky and Tereshkova were unable to perform an actual rendezvous, and though during Tereshkova’s first orbit the two spacecraft came within five kilometres of each other, neither cosmonaut reported visually sighting the other. They did, however, enjoy excellent radio communications, with Bykovsky reporting that Tereshkova was “Singing me songs.” But gradually the two drifted further and further apart, eventually drifting out of radio communications range.

On her third orbit, Tereshkova received a call from an ecstatic Premier Nikita Khrushchev. As Tereshkova later joked:

“Nikita Sergeevich Khrushchev has become a real radio operator; we followed all the radio communication rules in our conversation. We used the call signals and ended by saying “over.””

In recognition of her historic achievement, Tereshkova was also promoted mid-flight to the rank of Captain.

But while Khrushchev could not have known it, not all was well aboard Vostok 6. As the mission progressed, Tereshkova developed an ever-worsening cramp in her right leg, an unscratchable itch beneath one of her biomedical sensors, and a persistent pain where her spacesuit helmet ring chafed against her shoulder. At one point she also became nauseous and vomited in the capsule – though she adamantly blamed this incident on bad food and not space sickness. But the most persistent problem Tereshkova faced during her flight was with communications. In his final report, General Kamanin accused Tereshkova of being out of her depth and berated her for failing to report key information to the flight controllers. Her responses regarding her health were often vague and evasive, and she often failed to answer at all. During one such period of radio silence, ground controllers suspected that her radio receiver might have failed and attempted to relay their messages through Bykovsky aboard Vostok 5. However Bykovsky reported that:

“I have tried myself to contact her without success, but I do not think there is any reason for concern.”

In desperation, the controllers switched on the onboard television camera, only to discover that an ill and exhausted Tereshkova had fallen into a deep sleep. Reluctantly, they awoke her by switching the cabin lights on and off, and reminded her of the upcoming maneuvering exercises. Though the Vostok capsule was designed to be fully-automated, Tereshkova was instructed to practice manual maneuvers in case the automatic systems failed and she was forced to manually align the capsule for reentry. But this, too, went poorly, with Tereshkova struggling to keep the capsule under control. This drew the ire of General Kamanin, who declared Tereshkova inept and out of her depth. Tereshkova, however, tells a very different story. While performing routine checks, she claims, she discovered that an engineer had mis-programmed the reentry sequence, causing the capsule to orient itself in the wrong direction. This meant that the retro-rockets, instead of slowing Vostok 6 down and initiating atmospheric reentry, would have boosted it into a higher orbit and left Tereshkova stranded in space. Despite the seriousness of the error, Tereshkova pleaded that the engineer responsible not be punished. Her request was accepted – but only on the condition that the incident remain top-secret. Over the night of June 18-19, cosmonauts Yuri Gagarin, Gherman Titov, and Andryan Nikolayev along with a team of engineers worked out a set of corrections to the guidance computer, which they relayed to Tereshkova the next morning. With the corrections correctly entered and a potentially fatal mishap averted, Tereshkova prepared to initiate reentry and return to earth.

Meanwhile, Bykovsky was also preparing to return home. Though it was originally intended for him to remain in orbit for eight days, his lower-than-expected orbit was not expected to remain stable for that long. Furthermore, high solar flare activity had caused the earth’s atmosphere to expand, further hastening the decay of his orbit. Thus, on June 17, the decision was made to bring Bykovsky home on the 19th – 5 days after his launch. Though less fraught than Tereshkova’s flight, Bukovsky’s mission had not been without incident. Like Tereshkova, he too had developed a pressure point under his spacesuit’s helmet ring, and found the helmet’s communications headset uncomfortable. He also encountered some minor digestive issues, leading to an unintentionally comedic exchange. On the fifth day of his mission, Bykovsky sent a Morse Code message to mission control reporting that. “At 09:05 had a cosmic stook.” Stook in Russian means “knock” or “bang”, and ground controllers feared that Vostok 5 had been struck by a meteor. Frantically, they compiled a list of urgent questions before contacting Bykovsky about the nature of the impact. Confused, Bykovsky stated he had no idea what they were talking about. When reminded of his message, Bykosvky burst out laughing, explaining that he had meant to type “stool”, not “stook.” After days of constipation, Bykovsky had finally managed to use the bathroom – another triumphant space “first” for the Soviet Union.

Though second to launch, Valentina Tereshkova was the first to head for home. At 9:39 AM Moscow Time on June 19, ground controllers initiated the reentry sequence, using solar sensors to orient the capsule and igniting the retrorocket. Once again, Tereshkova’s communications difficulties returned, and she failed to confirm over radio any of the key milestones in the reentry sequence. Such confirmations were deemed essential, for previous missions had encountered serious difficulties with the reentry sequence – particularly the separation of the main descent module from the instrument module. Tereshkova would later claim that he had indeed transmitted all the required signals via Morse Code, but that no-one had received them. It is now believed that she selected the wrong transmission frequency. Whatever the case, communication with Vostok 6 soon cut off completely as the capsule entered ionization blackout, the sheath of hot, ionized gas forming around the hull blocking out all radio waves as the spacecraft streaked like a meteorite through the atmosphere. Eventually, however, a tracking ship in the South Atlantic picked up Tereshkova’s signal, indicating all was well. Seven kilometres above the earth, the capsule’s parachute deployed and the hatch blew off, and a few seconds later Tereshkova’s ejection seat ignited and launched her clear of the spacecraft. As her own parachute deployed, Tereshkova opened her helmet faceplate to get a better look at the landing site. Though she had been warned not to look up, she did so anyway and was promptly struck by a piece of debris, which left a small cut and bruise on her nose. In a particularly hair-raising moment the wind threatened to push Tereshkova into a nearby lake, but at the last minute it shifted direction. At 11:20 AM Moscow Time, Valentina Tereshkova, the first woman in space, landed safely in a field on the Pavinskiy Collective Farm, 600 kilometres northeast of Karaganda in the Altai region of Kazakhstan. Over the course of 2 days, 22 hours, and 50 minutes – 70 minutes short of three full days – she had orbited the earth 48 times, exceeding the flight time of all American astronauts combined. Her flight also marked the end of the Vostok program and made her the last woman to fly into space alone.

Local farm workers soon arrived at the landing site bearing food, which Tereshkova gladly traded for the barely-touched food inside the capsule – much to the annoyance of flight surgeons who wanted to monitor her caloric intake during the mission. An hour later a rescue helicopter arrived and airlifted Tereshkova away.

Ninety minutes later, Vostok 5 initiated retrofire and reentered the atmosphere. As on earlier missions, the descent and instrument modules failed to fully separate and remained connected by a bundle of cables, causing the spacecraft to tumble wildly until the cables finally burned through. Though the extreme forces caused Bykovsky to strike his face against his helmet faceplate, he was not seriously injured. At 2:06 PM Moscow Time, Bykovsky safely parachuted to the ground some 800 kilometres from Tereshkova’s landing site. He had been in space for 4 days 23 hours, and 7 minutes – setting a solo spaceflight endurance record that stands to this day.

Overnight, Valentina Tereshkova became a celebrity, fêted across the Soviet Union and the world. She and Bykovsky were awarded the Order of Lenin and the title Hero of the Soviet Union and, on June 22 1963, appeared with Premier Khrushchev in Red Square before a crowd of millions. From then on, Tereshkova’s life became a gruelling whirlwind of parades, news interviews, factory visits, and other public appearances, with the “First Lady of Space” visiting an astonishing 42 countries over the next seven years. So tightly did the Soviet state control every aspect of Tereshkova’s life that she was even pressured by Khrushchev into marrying fellow cosmonaut Andriyan Nikolayev. The two had struck up a romance during Tereshkova’s training at Star City, and the Premier believed such a “cosmic marriage” would have enormous propaganda value. The wedding took place at a Moscow registry office on November 3, 1963 – the ceremony being officiated by Khrushchev himself – and was followed by a lavish reception at a former czarist palace in the Lenin Hills. Nine months later Tereshkova gave birth to a daughter, Elena – the first person born to parents who had both travelled into space.

Sadly, the “cosmic marriage” was not to last, and Tereshkova and Nikolayev gradually drifted apart, finally separating in 1977. And while Tereshkova’s achievement served as inspiration for millions of women around the world, it did not, as she had hoped, pave the way for other women to follow in her footsteps. Her selection and mission had been little more than a piece of propaganda, a means of claiming yet another spaceflight “first” over the Americans. The situation was no better across the Atlantic. Despite the exceptional performance of the women pilots known as the Mercury 13, NASA in the early 1960s had no intention of recruiting female astronauts. Though sexism certainly played a role in this policy, there was also a large practical component. Early on, NASA had decided that astronauts should be recruited from the ranks of military test pilots – an occupation not open to American women. Indeed, even if the Mercury 13 had been men, they would still not have qualified. Thus, thanks to these barriers and the accelerating pace of the Space Race, it would be another 20 years before another woman flew into space.

But it would not be for lack of trying. On July 17, 1962 members of the Mercury 13 persuaded Representative Victor Anfuso to convene public hearings before a special subcommittee of the House Committee on Science and Astronautics on the subject of gender discrimination in the space program. Yet despite two days of testimony from members of the 13 as well as the Mercury 7 astronauts, the committee returned no recommendations and no action was taken. Meanwhile, in the Soviet Union, rumours were circulating that another woman would soon follow Valentina Tereshkova into space. The woman in question was Marina Popovich, wife of cosmonaut Pavel Popovich and one of the original 18 finalists for the first woman cosmonaut group. Despite being an accomplished pilot with an engineering degree, Popovich had been disqualified because at the time General Kamanin was only looking for parachutists. In 1964, Popovich enrolled at the air force test pilot school in Akhtubinsk and began training under Stefan Mikoyan, nephew of Artem Mikoyan of legendary aircraft design bureau Mikoya-Guerevich AKA MiG. By the time she graduated, Popvich had qualified on the MiG 16, 17, and 21 fighters, logged over 6,000 flying hours, and risen to the rank of Colonel in the Soviet Air Force. And on June 10, 1964, she broke the sound barrier in a MiG-21, becoming only the third woman to do so after American pilot Jacqueline Cochran and French pilot Jacqueline Auriol.

Upon completion of her training, Popovich applied again to become a cosmonaut candidate, and was subjected to a gruelling battery of tests over the course of 40 days. She passed every single one, only to be informed that she was ineligible because she had a child. Her husband Pavel was furious, demanding to know why his wife had been allowed to take the tests if she had already been disqualified. Yet despite this moment of loyal support, in reality Pavel Popovich was intensely jealous of his wife’s aviation career, and grew increasingly bitter as time went on. This simmering resentment came to a boil on April 11, 1966 when cosmonauts Popovich, Yuri Gagarin, Viktor Gorbatko, Andriyan Nikolayev and their wives were in Kiev entertaining delegates from the 23rd Communist Party Congress. At the reception, Marina spotted Pavel embracing Gorbatko’s wife Valentina and confronted him, whereupon Pavel lashed out angrily, striking Marina and berating her. This, in turn, prompted Marina’s brother, also in attendance, to punch Pavel in the face, giving him a black eye. Unsurprisingly, the couple divorced soon after. But Marina’s career only prospered, for in 1978 she accepted an invitation from Ukrainian aircraft designer Oleg Antonov to become the Soviet Union’s first female test pilot. Until her retirement in 1984, she flew more than 40 different types of aircraft and set nearly 100 flight records – many of which stand to this day.

Their propaganda mission accomplished, the first woman astronaut group was dissolved in 1969. It would be another 13 years before another woman flew into space, when another Russian, 34-year-old Svetlana Savitskaya, blasted into orbit aboard Soyuz T-7 on August 19, 1982. She was followed the next year by the first American female astronaut, Sally Ride, while on July 17, 1984 Savitskaya returned to orbit aboard Soyuz T-12, becoming the first woman to fly into space twice and the first to perform an extravehicular activity or “spacewalk.”

As for the First Lady of Space herself, Valentina Tereshkova, she hoped to fly again and graduated from the Zhokovsky Air Force Engineering Academy in an attempt to re-qualify for spaceflight. However, following the tragic death of Yuri Gagarin in a plane crash on March 27, 1968, the Soviet government made it clear that they could not risk the life of another national hero, and Tereshkova was permanently grounded. Upon the dissolution of the first woman cosmonaut group in 1969, Tereshkova remained in the Soviet space program and became a cosmonaut training instructor. That same year on January 22, she narrowly escaped death when one Viktor Ilyin, bitter over his recent conscription into the Soviet Army, attacked a motorcade celebrating the successful rendezvous and docking of the Soyuz 4 and 5 spacecraft. Hoping to assassinate Premier Leonid Brezhnev, Ilyin opened fire on a limousine which he believed held the Soviet leader, but which was actually carrying cosmonauts Valentina Tereshkova, Andriyan Nikolayev, Aleksei Leonov, and Georgy Beregovoi. While Ilyin succeeded in killing the car’s driver and seriously wounding a motorcycle outrider, he missed the cosmonauts, who while superficially wounded by flying glass were otherwise unharmed.

In her appointed role as national hero and global ambassador, Tereshkova took on a variety of political roles over her career, serving as a member of the Supreme Soviet of the Soviet Union from 1966 to 1975, the Central Committee of the Communist Party and Presidium of the Supreme Soviet from 1969 to 1991.

She was also leader of the Committee for Soviet Women, a member of the World Peace Council and the International Woman’s Democratic Federation, and led Soviet delegations to the 1975 UN Conference for the International Women’s Year in Mexico City and the 1980 World Conference on Women in Copenhagen. By the time she retired from the Air Force in 1997 she had also attained the rank of Major General – the only woman in Russia’s history to do so.

In 1977, Tereshkova earned a doctorate in aeronautical engineering, and when in 1978 it was announced that the Soviet space program was once again accepting female cosmonaut candidates, she underwent medical evaluations to re-qualify for spaceflight. Unfortunately she failed the tests and never flew into space again, though during the evaluations she met and fell in love with physician Yuliy Shaposhnikov. The two married in 1982 after the granting of Tereshkova’s divorce from Andriyan Nikolayev, and remained together until Shaposhnikov’s death in 1999.

Despite the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Tereshkova remained active in politics, being elected to the regional Duma or parliament of Yaroslavl Oblast in 2008 and to the national State Duma in 2011, 2016, and 2021 as a member of Vladimir Putin’s United Russian Party. She currently serves as Deputy Chair for the Committee for International Affairs and Deputy Chair of the Committee on the Federal Structure and Local Government.^[65]

Like many former and current astronauts, Tereshkova claimed that her experiences profoundly changed her perspective on life, the earth, and politics, stating that:

“[The earth is] a planet at once so beautiful and so fragile… When you are up there, you are homesick for Earth as your cradle. When you get back, you just want to get down and hug it. Americans, Asians, everyone who has seen it says the same thing, how unbelievably beautiful the Earth is and how very important it is to look after it. Our planet suffers from human activity, from fires, from war; we have to preserve it…People shouldn’t waste money on wars, but come together to discuss how to defend the world from threats like asteroids coming from outer space.”

Nonetheless, Tereshkova has remained an ardent supporter or President Vladimir Putin, voting in 2020 to lift presidential term limits and stating that:

“An awful lot depends on leaders. Putin took over a country that was on the brink of disintegration; he rebuilt it, and gave us hope again. You only have to see how he is received, how people respond to him. He’s a splendid person.”

And in 2022, Tereshkova voted in favour of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. In response, both the European Union and the United States Department of the Treasury added her to the Specially Designated Nationals and Blocked Persons List, freezing her foreign assets, preventing her from entering member states, and preventing American and EU citizens from doing business with her.

Yet in spite of her politics, Tereshkova remains a pioneer and an inspiration to millions, her historic 1963 mission opening the door for women around the world to pursue their dreams of outer space. Of the 500 people who have flown in space since 1961, around 11% have been women – though this number is steadily growing and includes such luminaries as American astronaut Peggy Whitson, who currently holds the American and world female record for most days in space at 665. Though originally chosen to be “Gagarin in a skirt” and a tool of Cold War propaganda, Valentina Tereshkova nonetheless proved that for women as well as men, the sky is not the limit.

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