It is the very place where the need for a woollen face cover, beloved of bank-robbers was born. I was told that a strong wind used to whistle up between the hills in winter and during the Crimean War, the soldiers asked for some protection, so the ladies back home got busy with their knitting needles and produced the ubiquitous garment. The entrance to the Soviet-era submarine pen under the hills is just to the left and is now accessible apparently, but not when I was there.
The periscope is yours, sir.
