Councillor Doug Pullen returned from the Ukraine/Poland border, where he helped transport people to safety and deliver essential supplies as part of humanitarian efforts to help those fleeing the war in Russia.
Friday 18 March
Feeling utterly sickened, yet helpless, watching the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I’d decided a couple of days ago to fly out to Poland, and had booked a cheap flight, car hire and hotel.
But I was nervous – I’d never been to Poland before and was very unsure about what I’d find there, and even if I could be of any help.
I drive to the main humanitarian aid camp in the border town of Przemysl. Nothing is formally organised here and there’s a real mix of people.
Public sector organisations sit next to organised charities and volunteers sleeping in their campervans.
I ask about registration, and eventually find an unmarked tent staffed by Aleks, a scout. They have cobbled together a hi-tech registration process using QR codes, SMS verification and passport scanning, which results in me being given a purple wristband.
As I’d later find out, this wasn’t entirely adequate, and not recognised by the Polish police, but it did help to partly reassure some people I was genuine.
“The decision to flee Ukraine is not one anyone takes easily”
Saturday 19 March
At Przemysl train station, Teanna, a US citizen living in Poland, has ‘Eng.Rus’ written on her hi-vis and is liaising in English and Russian. I approach her, show my wristband, and say I can take four people and their luggage anywhere in Poland.
Teanna finds four people for Warsaw – Lydia, Julia, Margarita and Nikita. Lydia is going to take the train from there to stay with friends in Germany. Julia and her children are going to stay with relatives until they work something else out.
Conversation is slow – they are tired, you can see the exhaustion in their faces.
It becomes clear we are on the edge of a war zone. We see a Hercules-type transporter plane overhead, a transporter loaded with UN jeeps passes us in one direction, a convoy of tanks passes us in the other.
Julia is having an animated phone conversation in the back of the car and Lydia translates. A friend is angry at Julia, asking her “how dare you leave your husband… you are splitting your family up, you should have stayed here in Ukraine”. Julia is crying.
The decision to flee Ukraine is not one anyone takes easily. Many people have had their bags packed for weeks but are in two minds about leaving or staying. It’s heart-wrenching.
Sunday 20 March
After 10 minutes of asking around at Przemysl station, I meet Nik, his wife Natasha, and their two neighbours, Yelen and Oksana. They are all in their late-60s, there is no mutual language, so plenty of hand gestures and Google translate.
As I walk towards the train station doors, four policemen block my way. A translator arrives – apparently, they want to do some checks, as there have been reports of people trafficking at the border. I’m grateful they are doing a good job and spend 45 minutes with them as they check my details.
Monday 21 March
I head to the supermarket to buy supplies from a list the scouts gave me at the station. An hour later, I arrive at Przemysl station with a car full of supplies, confident that I’m bringing only what they need, only to be turned away by Gzregorz, who is running a makeshift warehouse.
A quick call to the humanitarian aid centre and it is immediately redirected!
A volunteer tells me about Olga, Aleks, Dianna, Anna and Lui the dog. Olga is a vet, with her 14-year-old son Aleks going to stay with friends in Warsaw. Dianna and Anna are mother and daughter, escaping to friends in Spain.
Small talk in the car feels odd, being lighthearted when they have left their family in a war zone.
Tuesday 22 March
I see a tweet about a family who need a lift, so I respond confirming I can do the drive, later today. As I’m leaving, a volunteer tells me about an orphanage for Ukrainian refugees that need supplies. She sends me the list and, after a drop at Krakow, I head to Carrefour and on to the orphanage in remote southern Poland
Wednesday 23 March
It’s a hot day in Krakow, as I head for the train station. There is a huge soup kitchen and camping beds – maybe 200 beds and 400 people eating food, 200 lining up for clothes.
I find Janek and Dorota, city council officials, who need supplies. We spend £400 in Carrefour Express. Cereals, juices, baby wipes, sanitary products, toothpaste, coffee, biscuits.
As we deliver supplies to the distribution point, I see two young boys, maybe aged eight and 10, looking longingly at the trolley while queuing politely. I ask them what they want. “Sok.” I pass him my phone and he expertly finds Google Translate, changes the language and types in “sok” – “juice”. I hand him two juices; they are so happy.
As I head for the airport, there’s no sense of personal relief or achievement, just an emptiness and a worry about when these families will be able to return home.
