A note was slipped under my bedroom door the other day. The first from the hotel that had nothing to do with the war. Previous messages have called for food conservation at mealtimes – “Please take only what you can eat” – or imposed restrictions imposed by martial law. Don’t film Russian bombardments from the roof lest you help the enemy aim.
This one is more optimistic: “Please note that starting Sunday, 3 a.m. Ukrainian time, the whole country will switch to daylight saving time.” Up to a point.
It’s snowing outside as I write this. Before that, there was an inexplicable sandstorm that blanketed the cobblestones. But there are reasons to be happy. Or at least there are attempts by Kievans to restore something resembling “normal” at the beginning of this second month of conflict.
Between snow and sand, a man is cutting a hedge under my window. It’s an oddly uplifting sound – reminiscent of a sleepy suburban August – in this deserted city, the stillness broken only by sirens, explosions and handgun drills in nearby parks.
Performers, including a volunteer in military garb, perform for pedestrians in central Kyiv
Volunteer fighter of the Ukrainian Defense Forces Maxym (with a beard) and a colleague with a destroyed Russian tank on the front line around the capital Kyiv
We are invited to an outdoor concert – perhaps the first of the war – on Andreevsky Descent. A woman named Vlada sings a lament on an electric piano. Inevitably, the air raid sirens kick in, but it doesn’t stop and a saxophonist joins in to defy the apocalyptic wail.
The next cast member is a member of the Territorial Defense Units, dressed for battle in his combat fatigues. He has a sweet, soulful voice and a sentimental repertoire: “When I look at these marigolds/ can I see my old mama/ can I see your hands, my mama.” Those tears in the audience’s eyes? Grains of flying sand, honestly.
Another cafe has reopened on the historic Velyka Zhytomyrska Street. Bebop jazz pours out the front door as we walk by. The nearby military checkpoint is notable for having a piano built into its defensive structure. Thelonious Monk would have agreed.
More good news. A pillow with President Zelensky’s face emblazoned on the cover reaches me via the Ukrainian post, which is still working. In a tight spot? With a Zelensky pillow you are never alone. The manufacturer tells me that most of its production is sent to soldiers on the front lines.
Babushkas at an outdoor soup kitchen run by Czars’ Village restaurant staff receive soup and bread from volunteer Viktoria
An army of civilian volunteers are sandbagging monuments and statues in central Kyiv
And today, like the first spring cuckoo, I hear a car horn blaring in a traffic jam at one of the countless tank barricades that have swept the city streets. A sign that at least one Kyivan is slipping back to peacetime impatience levels.
But try as you may, the war cannot be ignored. The sounds of heavy bombing awaken the northern quarters of this city and continue sporadically throughout the day. Contrails weave crooked patterns overhead as missiles seek their targets. A northern neighborhood of 100,000 people lost power over the weekend after a Grad rocket hit.
I received an extraordinary series of pictures from the Kiev front from a Territorial Defense volunteer I met almost a month ago.
Maxym drove a forklift in a meat processing plant in rural Ireland before returning to his native land to fight the Russian invasion.
In recent days, his unit – which includes other Ukrainians stationed in Ireland – has attacked and destroyed a Russian tank formation on the outskirts of the capital.
More good news. A pillow with President Zelensky’s face emblazoned on the cover reaches me via the Ukrainian post, which is still working
The front lines with badly damaged buildings around the capital Kyiv
Graves of the fallen in a cemetery in Kyiv
Maxym sent me footage of himself walking among the smoking wreckage of Russian vehicles. They captured at least one Russian tank, he says.
In a video – made for the Mail – he is seen wearing the Irish tricolor on his combat fatigues standing next to a comrade who says in English: ‘Hi guys, this is the former Russian checkpoint that was destroyed by our Irish battalions Unit.
“So here you can see that 48 hours ago a battle took place and our soldiers here destroyed several tanks and other military machines and killed about 40 or 50 Russian soldiers.”
Maxym’s images provide further first-hand evidence of the Ukrainian military’s recent successful efforts to stem Russian advances and, in some cases, regain ground. The mayor of the devastated front-line satellite city of Irpin declares it “liberated” from Russian occupation.
These victories come at a price. In a corner of the Lukyanivska cemetery, among bare, branched coniferous oaks and willows, there are nine fresh graves. The Ukrainian flags flapping in the wind confirm that these are the youngest war casualties.
Performers, including a volunteer in military gear, perform for pedestrians despite the background noise of air raid sirens and shells in central Kyiv
An army of civilian volunteers are sandbagging monuments and statues in central Kyiv
Major Oleksandr Boichenko was a highly decorated paratrooper officer from the Sumy region. He had a wife and a son and was killed by shells this month while defending Kyiv. In a framed picture on the grave, Major Boichenko wears an uneasy smile, as if knowing that he and the portrait would one day end up in such a place.
Ihor Rul was 51 years old when he was killed in battle. He originally served in the Soviet Army but was a manager in several trading companies before rejoining the military to fight in Donbass. His wife was an elementary school teacher. The decision to leave it all behind hadn’t been easy, but Ihor had said it was the right thing to do.
With the ground attack held at bay, Kyiv prepares for a new Russian tactic – shelling the city center. The large statues gradually disappear behind sandbags. Samson, fighting his lion in Podil’s main square, has already disappeared under a protective hill. One more day and we also say goodbye to Princess Olha and her two companions in front of our hotel. Only the 203-foot-tall Motherland Monument — a Soviet-era sword-wielding stainless steel goddess — defies this kind of protection. She will have to take her chance if and when the time comes.
The first dawn of summertime, behind Kiev’s historic golden-domed Monastery of St. Michael
A month after the start of the war, the Ukrainian armed forces now have more tanks than at the beginning, thanks to the successes of their frontline troops
Flesh-and-blood Ukrainian women nearby are also in a defiant mood. We come across an outdoor soup kitchen set up by the staff at the historic Zarendorf restaurant to cater for the retirees who stayed. The babushkas – grandmothers – in line are a garrulous bunch. “Hey, you need some of this, you’re too skinny,” says one of them. “A typical babushka,” remarks my translator.
“Who do you call a babushka?” she demands. “I’m too young for that.” She will be 80 when she is one day.
Another complains: “They gave us borscht (beetroot soup) for the third day in a row.”
“You’re going to ask for black caviar next,” grumbles the young woman who offers her free lunch.
“I’ve lived here for 100 years,” volunteers a third old lady with a cozy hat. “Putin tried to knock us out. He failed! If I were at the front he would be in real trouble.’ She makes this claim while leaning on her Zimmer frame.
Then the sirens go off again. Yes, it’s officially daylight saving time. But life here is far from easy.