Diaries of the war in Ukraine - stories that will never be told

“We spent 15 days in Hostomel. 14 nights in the basement with 5C outside.

On day 2 we lost internet, on day 3 - power. No power, no gas, no heating, no medicine, no petrol - we were cut off.?

We couldn’t escape, they wouldn’t let us.?

In the village, they shot the whole family. We lost a friend who was volunteering and feeding people.

Our other friend lost her mum. They wrapped her in a black sack and left her on a bench outside. To this day they haven’t buried her.

Our garden got hit by a chunk of shrapnel. In the village, we were trying to destroy several missile beacons as they were flying over us every day.

Our window frames were shaking, threatening to shutter.

I learnt to distinguish different sounds and explosions - vacuum bombs, multiple rockets, fighter jets, military aircraft, and attack helicopters. When it got quiet, we were preparing ourselves for the next air raid.

On the 9th March, they forced their way into our home - 13 armed to the teeth bearded men, with Intelligence service signs on their backs.?

They ripped the front door off its hinges and forced their way into every room.?

They took our phone and a shotgun, they threatened my dad.?

This hell probably lasted no more than half an hour but it felt like an eternity.

It was the last straw, we had to try to leave. We couldn’t stay there any longer.

The scariest thing was actually to set off as there was no agreed corridor and?ceasefire. I understood that it could be the last day of my life and I accepted it.?

And so we left, having fashioned white flags out of bed linen. We drove in a convoy of 4 cars with children, including a newborn, whose mum ran out of baby food and who was on the verge of starvation.?

By some miracle, we got through three enemy checkpoints.?

I saw it all - frozen, burned bodies, shot civilian cars, and destroyed military machinery.?

We pulled over every time an enemy military convoy was speeding towards us. We were driving while multiple rockets were flying above us.?

We prayed.?

Now I can’t listen to music anymore, any loud noise sets me on edge. In silence, I tense and wait for something to explode.?

But despite it all, we have survived.”

I translated this story as close to the original as possible. It sounded like a stream of consciousness.

She needed to write it down, as much as I needed to read it.

This is just one account of a survivor. There are thousands of them out there yet to be written.

But the tragedy is that there are thousands of those that we will never read about. Because there is nobody left to write them.

Yesterday in Mariupol they blew up a theatre, burying 1500 people alive, who were seeking shelter in there.

Deliberate, calculated act of terrorism, personally overseen by Putin.?

We will never read those stories.?

Those lives will become numbers of the casualties of war but we will never get to talk to them and hug them.

There is a pure rage burning somewhere in the depth of the soul of every Ukrainian. We all feel it, no matter where we live.?

I feel it, in a sleepy village in Lincolnshire, as if I was living in the heart of Kyiv.

We are all united in our grief, and driven by our revenge.

The world will never forget this, but Ukraine will never forgive.