It was a crisp morning, the kind that numbs your cheeks and sharpens your senses, as we drove an hour outside Kharkiv: the frontline city which has faced almost constant bombardment for almost three years.
The road wound through a landscape scarred by war: damaged energy plants, military trucks rumbling to the front lines, and fields pockmarked by shelling. Our destination was a modest rural home, standing resilient in the face of unimaginable loss. In it lived Tetiana – a lady supported by Humanity & Inclusion, one of the charities the Telegraph is raising money for this year.
Tetiana greeted us warmly at the gate, her animated face lighting up as her loyal dog, Cleopatra, barked a welcome. “She was ugly when she was young,” Tetiana said with a wry smile, explaining the name. “We called her Beauty as a joke, but now she’s grown into it. Cleopatra suits her.” Her humour was a brief reprieve from the gravity of her story.
Life, as Tetiana described it, was perfect before the war. She lived with her daughter, recently graduated from college, and shared her home with animals she adored. But on the morning of February 24, 2022, that life was shattered. “By 8:30, the Russians were already in our village,” she recounted. “We were hiding in the basement, eight of us crammed together with my dogs and cats. I overheard their soldiers arguing they had shot at each other by mistake.”
Tetiana’s laughter at the absurdity of those early moments quickly faded. Her tone turned solemn as she described the escalating terror. “By the second day, locals were betraying each other to the Russians. They came for me, saying I had relatives in Russia. They wanted to take me east. I refused. ‘I grew up here,’ I told them.”
Her defiance was met with violence. Twice, she had guns pointed at her – once for speaking her mind and again for criticising the occupation. The second encounter left her with broken teeth. “They dropped me in the basement after hitting me,” she said, her voice steady but heavy with emotion.
Tetiana’s ordeal wasn’t limited to her own suffering. Her village was left without electricity, gas, or water. “We survived on a cup of water a day – one to wash, one to drink. We couldn’t cook outside because the smoke would attract attacks. Even the animals were traumatised. My dog, barely six months old, turned grey from stress.”
It was a crisp morning, the kind that numbs your cheeks and sharpens your senses, as we drove an hour outside Kharkiv: the frontline city which has faced almost constant bombardment for almost three years.
The road wound through a landscape scarred by war: damaged energy plants, military trucks rumbling to the front lines, and fields pockmarked by shelling. Our destination was a modest rural home, standing resilient in the face of unimaginable loss. In it lived Tetiana – a lady supported by Humanity & Inclusion, one of the charities the Telegraph is raising money for this year.
Tetiana greeted us warmly at the gate, her animated face lighting up as her loyal dog, Cleopatra, barked a welcome. “She was ugly when she was young,” Tetiana said with a wry smile, explaining the name. “We called her Beauty as a joke, but now she’s grown into it. Cleopatra suits her.” Her humour was a brief reprieve from the gravity of her story.
Life, as Tetiana described it, was perfect before the war. She lived with her daughter, recently graduated from college, and shared her home with animals she adored. But on the morning of February 24, 2022, that life was shattered. “By 8:30, the Russians were already in our village,” she recounted. “We were hiding in the basement, eight of us crammed together with my dogs and cats. I overheard their soldiers arguing they had shot at each other by mistake.”
Tetiana’s laughter at the absurdity of those early moments quickly faded. Her tone turned solemn as she described the escalating terror. “By the second day, locals were betraying each other to the Russians. They came for me, saying I had relatives in Russia. They wanted to take me east. I refused. ‘I grew up here,’ I told them.”
Her defiance was met with violence. Twice, she had guns pointed at her – once for speaking her mind and again for criticising the occupation. The second encounter left her with broken teeth. “They dropped me in the basement after hitting me,” she said, her voice steady but heavy with emotion.
Tetiana’s ordeal wasn’t limited to her own suffering. Her village was left without electricity, gas, or water. “We survived on a cup of water a day – one to wash, one to drink. We couldn’t cook outside because the smoke would attract attacks. Even the animals were traumatised. My dog, barely six months old, turned grey from stress.”