It is still dark.
When an early train pulls.
Into the station.
In central Ukraine.
And aid workers crowd expectantly.
Around one of the carriages.
The doors then open.
And a small child steps into the platform light.
Hands stretch out to help her down.
As her mother follows.
Carefully passing her baby.
In a tiny pink carrycot to the helpers below.
No-one says so.
But everyone here knows.
There is a chance they will not see.
Their homes again.
And that is why.
Despite enduring daily.
Danger and discomfort.
Some did not want to leave.
These are Ukraine’s newest war refugees.
Last week, the authorities ordered.
The forced evacuation of children.
From 31 towns and villages close to the frontline.
This train has brought.
Several families from the Donetsk region.
To relative safety.
Further west.
As volunteers unload bags, boxes and suitcases.
Others usher the new arrivals.
Bewildered and exhausted.
Into the warmth of the station.
No-one says so.
But everyone here knows.
There is a chance they will not see.
Their homes again.
And that is why.
Despite enduring daily.
Danger and discomfort.
Some did not want to leave.
Here, three teenage girls.
Sit on the benches.
Faces blank.
With shock.
A loud meow comes from.
A basket at their feet.
“The last time a shell hit our house.
It was the tenth time.”
Their mother says.
The family then moved.
To an apartment.
In the same village but.
As strikes knocked out.
Communication and energy links.
Her daughter’s online schooling.
Became impossible.
Her husband.
Has stayed behind.
With his father and her mother.
Who refused to leave.
She is uncertain.
About her family’s future:
“We travelled.
Here blindly.”
As the family wait for a bus.
Which will take them to their accommodation.
Aid workers hand out coffee.
And state officials hand out cash.
No-one says so.
But everyone here knows.
There is a chance they will not see.
Their homes again.
And that is why.
Despite enduring daily.
Danger and discomfort.
Some did not want to leave.
It is up to people like him.
To persuade them.
He is one of the so-called.
‘White Angels’.
Special police unit responsible for.
Getting humanitarian aid in.
And people out.
Of Ukraine’s most dangerous places.
“Everything has to.
Be done really fast.
The danger is always there.
Because ‘orcs’ do not stop shelling.”
Getting families with children.
To safety presents.
A particular challenge.
Every crew carries toys in the car.
“Someone has to talk.
With the children all the time.
Distract them from the dangers.
On the road or any other stressful moments.”
It is still dark.
When an early train pulls.
Into the station.
In central Ukraine.
And aid workers crowd expectantly.
Around one of the carriages.
The doors then open.
And a small child steps into the platform light.
Hands stretch out to help her down.
As her mother follows.
Carefully passing her baby.
In a tiny pink carrycot to the helpers below.
*Because I read “Ukraine war: Russian attacks force evacuations of children” by Jenny Hill on 1 Nov 2023, and also “Why are Ukrainians calling Russians ‘orcs’?” by James FitzGerald on 30 Apr 2022, on the BBC news.
So, I wrote this poem as a story of Liliya and her three daughters, and a story of Pavlo.
Please read the original story on the BBC news:
Ukraine war: Russian attacks force evacuations of children – BBC News
**My friend shows you this poem with another poem on the Ukrainian website for their children and others!
Please join them!
