Ivan, six years old, sits in the classroom and draws in a tank with a green pencil. Behind him, eight-year-old Sophia is biting her lower lip in concentration, drawing a rabbit.
There are 20 children in the class, and they hang on every word of their teacher Larisa, who is called mom, not because they are presumptuous or arrogant, she explains later, but – her voice is catchy – because they are orphans and feel the lack of motherly love, especially in the war time.
“These kids are the most vulnerable in all this madness,” she says, pointing to workers delivering sandbags to protect the school basement windows.
Larissa is right, of course. Now everyone knows the scenes of babies clinging to their mothers at windy border crossings and on station platforms escaping Russian tanks. who, but Vladimir Putin could he remain indifferent?
Sofia 8, an orphan evacuated from Severodonetsk in eastern Ukraine.
Yet out of place in this world even before the invasion, these sad-eyed orphans from Severodonetsk in southeastern Ukraine draw even more from our store of pity.
Some of the older children had to endure the worst during the 2014 war in Donbas between pro-Russian separatists and Ukrainian forces. Natalia, for example, was seven years old when Putin’s rebels blew up her home in Lugansk, killing her parents.
Another boy, Andrew, then two years old and living nearby, lost his mother and father in the same attack. For this reason, there is a close connection between them: Natalia, now 15, takes care of the youngest child.
Then, 12 days ago, Natalia, Andrey and others found themselves in the midst of this much larger war that threatened not only their pocket of Ukraine, but the entire country and possibly beyond.
“Not again,” we thought. I had to pull them out,” says Larisa. “There was no other way out.
Larisa and another teacher, Svetlana, agreed to lead a dangerous escape, leaving behind their families. Svetlana packed lightly, filling only her backpack with the essentials.
When Russian artillery bombarded Severodonetsk, two teachers, with the help of two other colleagues, rescued all 76 children from the orphanage in the dead of night, herding them first into a bomb shelter, where they endured an agonizing three-hour wait. to the sound of explosions above – then onto buses and finally onto a specially ordered train.
Kirill 10, an orphan evacuated from Severodonetsk in eastern Ukraine, draws a tank in class.
In total, they traveled more than 800 miles across the war zone, from one end of the country to the other, before eventually ending up in the relatively safe Lvov in western Ukraine, 50 miles from the Polish border.
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Also on the train were four nurses and 18 babies from a nearby infant shelter — thankfully empty when it came under fire a few days later, killing a 54-year-old woman in her apartment.
For hours, even the teachers were unaware of their final destination. Kyiv was possible at some point, but the idea was quickly abandoned.
“We told the children to listen very carefully to what we were saying, that we would take them to a safe place,” recalls Svetlana. “They were scared, but we teachers were very, very calm so they wouldn’t be so alarmed.
“The youngest are six years old and they knew something about what was going on. And older children have mobile phones so they can follow the news. This is a very close-knit group, they all know each other and care about each other.
“The older kids were great and helped look after the babies, fed them and held them.”
As they crawled inexorably across the Ukrainian steppe, stopping near the town of Khmelnytsky for seven hours, educators struggled to find them shelter and kept in touch with Svetlana by cell phone.”
Finally, an empty school was discovered near the Stryisky park not far from the center of Lviv. It usually has 170 students, but now they are studying remotely due to the war.
Arriving at the Lvov railway station at 3:30 in the morning, the older orphans helped carry the kids out of the train.
As diplomats and officials moved from Kyiv to Lvov after the occupation, the Severodonetsk boarding school in exile became a new home for children.
It’s where they go to school, where they sleep, eat and play, and where, when we visited last week, The Mail on Sunday found out, children take refuge when the insistent howl of air raid sirens drives them underground.
However, judging by the carefree demeanor of some, it could very well be the ringing of a school bell. Most of them plop down on mattresses in the tunnel-like basement room and lie on their backs and chat.
“They are used to it,” says deputy director Maria Voznyuk. “They even gave us advice about air raids.
“There was a cleaning lady cleaning the floor when the siren sounded and they insisted she join them, saying it was important to act quickly. Another time we were in the city with the older students and they offered to hide in the church, which we did.
“The younger ones are a little anxious, especially at night, but we manage it. We don’t fuss and it soon becomes part of their routine.”
Children sleep in dorms, and their teachers are nearby.
Teachers from the host school were called in to teach the lessons. “We want them to have their usual [a time] as much as possible,” Maria said. “Discipline is important and they are responding well, especially after they were forced to leave their homes under difficult circumstances.
“It can be very emotional. The other day, a little girl called me “mom” and asked me to take her home. What do you say to that? It’s heartbreaking. It’s also touching when they ask about people they know in their city. They are worried about them.
Volunteers in the city deliver toys and clothes, but the deputy principal says older students are often at a loss and ask about soccer balls, basketballs and chess.
The next day, we bring a little of each of them, and a class of 14- and 15-year-olds thank us in chorus in English, sitting at their wooden desks during a lesson in Ukrainian literature.
Their teacher then warns them not to play with balls in the hallway or they could be confiscated. One of the boys, 14-year-old Kolya, later tells us about his future plans to become a professional basketball player. As he leaves, Maria says, “He’s nice and comes to my house every day to chat before class.”
In the neighborhood, children of eight or ten are watching a cartoon about the mythical dragon slayer Kirill Kozhumyak, a symbol of the might of the Ukrainian people. Endowed with great physical strength, he kills the dragon that captured Kyiv.
A basement that serves as a bomb shelter for a sanatorium school for orphans evacuated from Severodonetsk in eastern Ukraine.
“It won’t hurt us with Kirill now,” one of the teachers whispers with a smile. When the film ends, the children stand up and sing the national anthem of Ukraine. “There is a strong emphasis on patriotism,” explains the head teacher.
Soon there comes a break, and, despite the sub-zero temperature, the children go to the playground under the supervision of, as always, Larisa. She hopes that her family, including grandchildren, will soon be able to join her from the east.
“I can’t think about the future. Who knows if we’ll have anything to go back to? she said.
“It used to be such a peaceful country. Older children follow what is happening in Severodonetsk, hoping that the orphanage will survive.
— While the windows are broken, but nothing more.
I ask Svetlana about her family and she flinches, her eyes filling with tears.
When she speaks again, she explains that her son has joined the volunteer army fighting against the Russian invaders. “It’s been five days since I last heard from him and I’m very worried,” she says.
So, the mother of not only school orphans, but also a soldier in the war. “Sometimes I walk around this beautiful city to relieve stress,” she says, “and, of course, my work and children distract me.”
We ask about 18 babies, many of whom, as we will learn later, were born with health problems and are in a nearby shelter. At the main entrance, a succession of cars and vans deliver donated diapers, toys, food and clothing, which pile up in the vestibule under the shrine of the Virgin Mary.
Director Galina Kachanovskaya says the orphanage usually holds 40 babies, but after the Russian invasion, she took in 45 more babies, including 18 from Severodonetsk.
“Now you can see some of them,” she says. “But you have to be quiet because they are asleep.
We are led to a room at the end of a long corridor. Everyone is asleep, except for the boy, who is rocked by the nurse in his chair. Closing the door quietly, Galina says, “It’s a miracle they survived, but now they’re safe.”