“You were and are worth it.”

John Ryan journals during his journey helping Ukranian refugees

John Ryan is a contract employee who has worked at Cook Ireland for the last three years as an engineer.

15MAR2022

I’m heading to the Polish-Ukranian border with a Transit Jumbo Van full of medical supplies, food, and anything else that can be gathered and could be needed.

Straight up, I am doing this trip for myself, as I have the resources, the finances, and the time available. Also, straight up, I will not put myself in harm’s way by entering into a “hot zone.”

I know that if I don’t assist when I am well capable of doing so, that I will end up with a heavy heart and conscience. Allowing such a thing to happen because of inaction is just not in me.

This trip is a lot of effort and I am happy to make the effort. I check in with myself daily to ensure that I am still happy and try to remember that when things are hard, I’m on the right track.

Right, the meat and potatoes of this trip.

I have a large Transit Jumbo Van that I have been slowly converting to a camper van for the last three months so I can tour Ireland and go to various festivals. There is a four-day weekend for St. Patrick’s Day and I am happy to take a number of days off to extend it. I also mentally committed a fine budget of monies to Ukranian assistance at the start of the conflict, some of which will be set against this trip. The balance has already been handed over to the local Ukrainian aid charity at Loreto House in Nenagh, Ireland.

As for prep on the van, it got a set of new tires, new front power belt on the engine, oil change and service, and the diesel particulate filter (DPF) had to be deep cleaned. There were loads of other bits that needed doing and were attended to. Now, with all this work done on a van that has 185,000 kilometers (115,000 miles) on it—what could go wrong?

I purchased seven transit minibus seats on DoneDeal and Craigslist last week and they are stowed under my bench/bed, just behind the driver’s seat. I will get them assembled and welded together so I can load people in the van and drive them from the border to local cities. Then, if a group wants to, bring back anyone that wants to come to Ireland. Even if they don’t fancy listening to Irish diddly eye music for two or three days, or think I have not showered enough, I will take them to a suitable airport, fly them to Dublin where they will be processed and aided by the Irish government, and I will bring back their important belongings in the van.

To be honest, I have NO idea what is going to happen on this trip, but I know I am resourceful enough to deal with whatever comes up. I come from a family of undertakers, in the profession for 150 years, since 1871. So yes, I am prepared for anything.

The aid I have in the van was all collected by a local community charity headed by Fiona, with assistance from the large local Polish, Ukranian, and Irish communities, and the community that is Cook Medical. I did several pick ups of donations—three in Nenagh, Ireland and three at Cook Limerick. The van will be jammers.

I will travel light, with half the amount of clothes I need and double the amount of money. Except of course for underpunders and toe mittens (underwear and socks) (lots of them). Passport is up to date, vaccine certificate is available, my driver’s license, organ donor card, and debit cards are on me, two M50 Irish tolls have been paid on line. Here I’m thinking, “Am I missing anything?”

Feck, my ferry has just been delayed from 4:00 pm to 11:30 pm. At least I will get a night’s rest. I did not fancy driving the whole way on my own, so I got on to someone, who got on to someone, who got on to someone who said that he, Callum, was heading over in his semi 16-wheeler truck along with three other lorries (trucks) to the Ukrainian border. He told me the ferry details and I’m booked on it for this eve.

We are going in convoy to Przemyśl (a Polish town near the Ukrainian border) where there is an Irish lad on the ground coordinating supplies from Ireland. Tommy is the man with the plan and he is a likeable rogue. I had a number of chats with Tommy. He goes to the refugee center first light, does what needs doing for the full of the day, picks up a six pack, drives out of town to a village, sucks on his barley brews, and crashes on an air mattress in the back of his SUV. He showers and shaves and does his other business anywhere suitable. He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask much. Oh, on that matter, I have brought a wee Tetford porta potty for use by any passengers on long trips. And, I have ear defenders (head phones) and ear plugs if there are toddlers crying in the back.

I’m back down to Loreto to pick up more supplies and make a run into Cook Limerick during lunch to pick up tourniquets and other Emergency Room (ER) supplies. It’s when I realize what tourniquets are used for that this gets real.

 

 

The drive up to Dublin is sloooowww as I can only accelerate from zero to sixty in infinite seconds because of the material in the back. Then at the port I find out I’m over weight. (Not me personally, the transit.) I got weighed in at Dublin Port and the full van weighs in at 4,000 kilograms (over 8,800 pounds). I can feel the effect when I accelerate and I have to make sure I take corners slooooowly, then make sure I keep well behind other vehicles in order to avoid rear ending them.

On this sailing, I find out that there are six semis of aid going to the same town, Przemyśl. These lads are volunteering their services and trucks to get donated supplies over. It really is some effort on their behalf. They are all networked in with Tommy, which is some achievement by Tommy.

I am cautious of driving my van on the right-hand side of the road. So, I decide to convoy with these lads to Aachen (a German city near the Netherlands), where there is a truck stop, showers, etc.

This is a big mistake as the truckers are all on tachographs and will drive for nine hours and 45 minutes with a 45 minute rest and fuel stop. That means that we pull up in Aachen at 6:00 am, by which time I am completely shot. The Cherbourg to Aachen drive just killed me and threw my sleep pattern off for the rest of the trip. The thing to do would have been to convoy with the truckers until midnight then leave them off and rest up for a full eight hours before going again. Lesson learned, but then again, I won’t be doing this trip again—ever!

I got the fright of my life on the Cherbourg to Aachen leg as the van started to show a “service engine” warning as I was climbing a hill. I was thinking of “plan Bs” for the delivery of the supplies and how to get the motor fixed in France. As luck would have it, the error cleared once I came to a halt, stopped, and then restarted the engine. This happened two more times on the trip and will probably necessitate a new turbo. (I was warned!)

I could not leave the van alone for any length of time, until the goods were delivered. I had a bunk set up just behind the driver’s seat in the van and crashed there for most of the trip out. It was really comfortable but was no hotel, for sure. At Aachen, I slept from about 6:00 am until 11:00 am, then headed down the road. However, I felt like I had jet lag and pulled over to sleep for two hours when I got a fill of diesel around 5:00 pm. I still felt terrible, but I had a timetable that I needed to keep, so with the help of “Mr. Red Bull” and caffeine, I plowed on.

You don’t realize how big Europe is until you have to drive it—especially Germany and Poland. They are huge countries and the motorway just seems to go on and on and on. About midnight, I made it over the Polish-German border and headed for my friends Renata and Mirek. The GPS directions were correct, but the road I was directed onto ended up being a forest track with no paving. I thought I was going to burst a tire at one stage and had to turn around after 10 minutes of pure hardship. My trip computer was showing I was running out of diesel, so I found the nearest service station, filled her up, and crashed for a few hours.

I ended up having only four hours of sleep before daylight woke me. I felt terrible with the jet lag being worse and feeling all sticky from lack of showering. I made it to Renata and Mirek’s. It is a fine house, which has a one hectare (2.47105 acre) site bordering and overlooking a river. They were delighted to have a visitor from Ireland. I only stayed with them for four hours and had a good breakfast and attitude-saving shower before I hit the road for Krakow, Poland.

Motorways in Poland were all built in the last 10 years and are first class with excellent rest stops. To be honest, I’d say they are the best roads I have ever used. Plus, the tolls are not at all bad given the distances.

I was meeting a good person in Krakow, in the guise of Izabela. She worked in Nenagh a number of years ago and really took to Ireland. She even learned Irish dancing and sent me a clip of herself, in full costume, doing a Riverdance number with a small troupe on St. Patrick’s Day in Spain a number of years ago. It was brilliant. Izabela insisted that I stay with her family, and I started to insist that I needed to stay with the material in the van. The compromise was that Izabela used her contacts to have the van locked in the atrium of the local state-run radio station, Radio Krakow. Not a bad compromise at all.

Izabela is a professional interpreter and it was agreed that she would do the road trip with me to Przemyśl and assist as best she could. I was happy with her company and we stopped off for lunch at her grandparents’ house and met her aunt and cousins. It was great craic (a good time). You could see her grandparents, aunt, and cousins looking at me like I was something exotic. I noted this to them and said to the kiddos, (translated of course), “When you travel, don’t go anywhere exotic. Go where you are exotic.”

Then on to Przemyśl with Izabela over hills that looked like they were a hill stage for the Tour de France. I drove the transit really slow going up because it wouldn’t go fast, and slow on the way down because it wouldn’t corner on the hairpin bends. It was some relief to get to Przemyśl and Tommy Byrne’s depot.

Tommy is as Galway and Tuam, Ireland  as you can get, with the Tuam-er accent and strong personal connections to The Saw Doctors (an Irish rock band). Tommy has organized 40 truckloads of aid since the Ukranian war started. He has trucks constantly arriving. He is full-time at this effort and it is all voluntary. I got his contact details from Fiona Ryan at Loreto House. One of the truckers, Darren, and his son were in the depot with Tommy. The lot of us unloaded the transit into a storage container for collection by Ukranians that evening.

The story here is that no Ukranian males are allowed out of the country, except for those collecting aid and supplies. Even this was being curtailed as there were a few lads not returning. Essentially, Ukranian males are being “volun-told” to fight. It’s a pretty good definition of being caught between a rock and a hard place. So, for our loads, what had to happen is that vans would collect these supplies at various depots, take them to the border, and hand these vans over to waiting drivers in a neutral zone. The drivers on the Polish side would then return in empty vans that were waiting for them.

The next phase of the trip was now in play. Tommy had made contact with two families that were supposed to be over the border. However—and this is what wrecks my head—they were delayed because shelling had them sheltering in their basement. Tommy said it so matter of factly that it came across as normal. Imagine, getting shelled and sheltering in a basement is normal in Ukraine.

They were due over the next day but could be further delayed. My position was that I would stay in Przemyśl for as long as it takes for them to cross. Or I would bring another group back to Ireland with me. This meant that I could drive Izabela back to Krakow in the evening and return to Przemyśl Sunday morning.

The drive from Przemyśl to Krakow was lovely as the pressure was off after unloading the material and the banter was good fun. The weather in Poland was just fantastic but it was pointed out to me that the Ukranians want rain, lots and lots of rain, to create lots and lots of mud so that Russian convoys have to stick to the main roads and are easier to attack. Imagine, this is the banter on the street, how best to kill fellow humans. It’s just nuts/crazy/mad.

The trip north to Krakow with Izabela was the pivot point of the trip.

There was a bit of trepidation on the trip back to Przemyśl as Tommy had confirmed that my group had crossed the border and were in the displaced persons’ camp. They were anxious to get out of there as they were cold and had only basic services. I had brought the set of transit seats and they needed to be set up so that my group could be safe and comfortable. I understood that it could be done, but it would need a welder and angle iron.

I got to Tommy’s depot and the four of us, (Tommy, Darren, his son, and myself), got stuck into “McGyvering” the seats. There would be a group of four: two mothers with a teenage child each. So, we took four of the single transit seats, flipped them over, and welded two lengths of angle iron to their base’s, front and back. I had a screw gun and self tappers (sheet metal screws) to screw the seats into the floor of the van. Then we had to figure out how to release the safety belts so that my passengers could use them. Darren’s son took to this particular task with an attitude and approach that surprised me for a 16 year old. Then again his dad was the main “McGyver” for setting up the seats. “Apples not falling far from trees” came to mind.

Once this was done and everyone was happy with the result, I had to head up to the refugee registration center to register with the United Nations (UN) that I was taking people to Ireland. When I was completing the documentation on the UN app, I was thinking how absolutely desperate the group I will be transporting must be to load into a complete stranger’s van and travel thousands of kilometers to a country that they don’t know at all. It’s just crazy.

The registration center was a Tesco (European grocery store chain) taken over for the task. This was a place to behold. There were vehicles, volunteers, and displaced persons everywhere. Thousands of everything. There were about a dozen 24-hour kitchens giving out free meals. There were free clothes, toys, medical assistance, SIM cards, fluids, transport, etc. The volunteers were from every corner of Europe. You think of a country, and they had volunteers there.

One thing that I forgot to say is that the roads are full of aid convoys heading to the Ukranian border. You could see them in France as a trickle, then in Belgium there were a few more, in Germany the number of identifiable aid trucks got noticeably bigger, then on the Polish motorways, there were a tremendous number of vehicles heading to the border. It was awe-inspiring. I passed a number of ambulances in a layby (rest stop) and I’m sure I saw Irish regs (license plates) on them. It seemed to me that most of the aid convoys were “D”/German. Big “ups” to them. I cannot impress enough on you how witnessing this world-wide mobilization gave me comfort. Amazing.

The first time I met any number of displaced people was at the registration center, mostly women and children. As I said, any 16-to-60-year-old males had to stay and fight in Ukraine.

I remember my father taking me as help to the funerals he was directing and telling me that some of them just crushed him internally. He told me that the death of a spouse is the erasing of a future and that this loss was really manifested as grief. Being in the company of so many females and wives at the UN registration center, I felt an overwhelming sense of grief and fear. Fear because they may never see their husbands again and grief because their future together could easily be erased.

I will say this, once this trip is over, I will never ever willingly take myself into a situation like this again. I just can’t handle it.

There were a number of older men looking shell-shocked, picking through donated clothes. You could see a few of them chatting to a volunteer, but the volunteer could not speak Ukranian, Polish, or Russian. Then the lads started tugging at their waists and pointing to their feet. The volunteer just shrugged and pointed to the pile of clothes. I had my backpack of basics and documents with me, and sure, what could I do? Only give the lads the remainder of my underpunders and socks on the basis that I could wash and dry the ones I had used back at Tommy’s depot. However, this never happened as once I got back to Tommy’s, my passengers were ready for pick up at the camp. I was sticky all the way home. Yuckkkkkkkkkkk.

Tommy, Darren, and company did a good job with the seats. They were back to back with the driver and “shotgun” seats, which meant that they were safer if there was an accident. For sure, if the Feds stopped me and had a look at what we had come up with, I would have not passed their inspection. However, priorities were priorities.

I drove behind Tommy to the border outside Przemyśl where one of the camps is located. The actual border where people walk across is quite amazing. There is a path of about 400 meters between the border gates and the road. This is lined the whole way, on both sides, with stalls from every aid organization, from most religions, and from most corners of the world. If you can think of a religion or aid organization, they were there. So, when someone comes across the border, they are inundated with toys, drinks, food, clothes—it’s like nothing I have ever seen before. When I say things were being thrown at mothers and children, I mean this literally. However, all of this assistance could not erase the look of anguish on the faces of the adults. But at least the aid brought home that they were safe on the Polish side.

I am not being facetious here when I say that it resembled a Ryanair (Irish airline) boarding line. This is because all anyone had was a holdall bag and a small suitcase. Imagine, all a distraught mother has for her and her children is what you take on a Ryanair flight. The reality of this was tremendously shocking to me. I wanted to load up my passengers and get the hell out of there ASAP.

So, I met my passengers. They were two mothers, Tetiana (Tanya) and her daughter Anistasia, and Olena and her son Artem. I could see them looking at me with trepidation and confusion. I mean, really, would you entrust yourself and your child to a complete stranger? Both their husbands are in the Ukranian military and I guess the two families understand that you can’t get much further away from Putin than Ireland! So, they were forced to make the decision to emigrate, in a van with cobbled together seats, with a stranger driving, and not knowing anything about where they were going. It was pure mad!

Tanya and Olena were in really poor shape emotionally.

While we were getting organized, a local lady and her daughter came over to us as they could see my Galway registration. Turns out she lived in Suncroft, on the Curragh of Kildare, in Ireland, married an Irish man, and returned to Przemyśl as she has a child that is disabled and she believes her child gets better care in Poland. She communicated with Tanya and Olena and gave as much reassurance as possible with regard to their decision to immigrate to Ireland.

And we are off.

The four of them are in the seats in the back and I drive straight for the motorway north. I tell Tanya that I will stop at the first McDonalds for food and to fuel up. We stop off and start to set off again. However, there is no heating in the back of the van and my peeps’ feet are freezing. So, I got my camping mattress, lay it on the floor and have them swaddle with my duvet and fleece blankets. They are as “snug as a bug in a rug” after that.

To be honest, I found the drive with the ladies and lad really hard as I would start to choke up when thinking about the hardship they had gone through and the anguish they were feeling when leaving their husbands and fathers behind. I was also starting to get really tired from the long drive. At 11:00 pm I booked two hotel rooms, one a family room and a single for myself. This was not the best booking I have ever done as the hotel ended up being way off the beaten track because not many hotels have family rooms for four. Anyhow, we got to the hotel and after getting everyone sorted, I crashed and was out like a light.

Breakfast the next day was just excellent and you could see a bit of life coming back to the group. However, it all went to dust as the news came on the TV and it was all about the war. You could see the four of them looking up at the TV and talking among themselves with fear returning like a dark cloud over the group. My God, I nearly broke down crying in their company. I literally bit the inside of my lower lip in order to distract my emotions. Look, no one said this was going to be easy, and I signed up for this so I needed to concentrate on the task at hand and get everyone back to Ireland safely. In order to do this, the less emotion the better.

Outside the hotel, I went through the options of getting the group to Ireland. My first option was to bring them in the van, on a ferry. This could not be done as I traveled as a commercial vehicle and having five people in the van was not allowed. Then I tried to get them on my ferry as walk-ons. The ferry was fully booked and no walk-ons allowed. Then I decided to have them fly over from ANY European airport. This ended up being Charles DeGaulle Airport (CDG) in Paris to Dublin on Wednesday morning, and I would take a ferry from Cherbourg, France to Rosslare, Ireland. The peeps would need to meet with the Irish authorities anyway for Personal Public Service (PPS) numbers and would get accommodation for the night. I would meet them in their lodgings and bring them to Nenagh where Fiona Ryan was sorting lodgings. Either way, they were going to be sorted with all the necessaries.

At this point, Tanya was on a Facetime call with her husband and she introduced us. The communication wasn’t the best, but I was looking at a pretty hard-looking fella in a Ukranian Army uniform whose sole goal right now was to mess up Putin’s day by the cold method of inflicting death on fellow humans. Just that thought shocked me. What also shocked me was thinking about Liam Neeson in the movie Taken and his special skills when it came to protecting his family AND that I better get these peeps to Ireland safe and sound.

At this point it is worth noting that there was a ton of support work going on in the background. I was constantly in touch with Tommy’s trucker WhatsApp group, Fiona in Nenagh, Alice O’Dwyer at Cook Limerick, Izabela in Krakow, and other friends in Ireland and France. I was not at all alone on this portion of the trip. It was a really interesting group dynamic with everyone’s goal to get our group safe and sound to Ireland.
I would like to thank Alice for her assistance with the flights for all.

In years to come, I am sure that both Anastasia and Artem will think that the world is against them and may see little value in themselves. I hope that they understand that a large group of people saw and see tremendous value in them and if they are willing to ask, there is help in the world.

Anyway, Tanya speaks English well and will be my communication conduit for the group. The two kids are really quiet and were quiet throughout the trip. Although they can understand English because they know the lyrics of many songs, they really never communicated, and that’s grand.

On Tuesday night I got a family room in Frankfurt for the group and I crashed in the van as we were only going to be staying over for a few hours. I would shower just before the room was vacated. I have found out that I’m no good driving long distances and long hours. I get really fatigued. I am a safe enough pair of hands that I will pull over and nap for as long as needed. However, I end up feeling all jet lagged and, on this trip, I tried to do too much in too short a time.

Driving from Frankfurt to Paris was pure hardship as I had very little sleep that night and it was in the van. I pulled over twice for a nap and gave up on trying to make my ferry in the later afternoon. This decision took all the time pressure off of me.

This meant that we could get off the motorway and have a decent breakfast. So, we went to the first town that we thought would have food other than McDonalds. This ended up being Verdun. Not the best town to be stopping in, given its history and where my passengers have just come from. However, I was just too bloody tired to think. It was a lovely, lovely stopover and well worth it.

Tanya commented to me that Anastasia talked for the first time in English to her the night before. I said, “She has mentally accepted her future in Ireland.”  Tanya’s response floored me when she said with tears welling up in her eyes, “My daughter has a future.”

I had to get up and head for the toilet to keep my composure. Anyhoo, I had a family room booked at a hotel within the Paris/CDG airport complex. The peeps were all excited to be in Paris and were going to see the Eiffel tower.

I booked them into the hotel and we said our goodbyes—for now. I was in a position to make sure that they had a good evening and trip into Paris, and I left Paris behind with a weight off me as the two parts of the trip were now complete: I had delivered the goods for distribution and the peeps were safely ensconced in their hotel with flights in the morning.

At this point I had re-booked as freight from Calais to Dover (ferry crossing between France and England) for 12:30 am Wednesday. I pulled up at the first rest stop and crashed for three hours. Then off to Calais and on to the ferry. I was taken aside five times by United Kingdom (UK), French, and Irish customs and immigration. Either I’m very popular or my van is very suspicious on the way back.

Then I had to crash for another six hours on the UK side and was fresh enough to get to Holyhead in Wales mid-afternoon. In the meantime, I was communicating with Peter from Virginia, County Cavan in Ireland. He had gone to the Polish-Ukranian border and got really upset with what he experienced. He made contact and said that he was arranging to meet the group in Dublin Airport and would accommodate them at his home. As I still had the group’s main luggage in my van, I would meet them that weekend in County Cavan and drop off their belongings. This would square off all ends and I was a happy camper.

Then, when I got on the Dublin ferry, who was on it? Only Peter, and we could do the transfer outside Dublin port. I got back to Nenagh at 3:30 am and just FELL into bed, then up at 7:00 am to head into the Research and Development (R&D) lab as there are devices to build. I got home Thursday evening and hit the hay at 6:00 pm and woke up 13 hours later a new man.

So, that’s the story of my trip. I am happy and glad that I did it, but I will NEVER do it again. At least, not on my own and in such a tight timeline. It is interesting as well because for the most part, I had never met Fiona, Tommy, Darren, or Peter in my life, and we all pulled together for one positive purpose.

I do believe that good things happen to good people because they hang out with good people. Only good will happen for me out of this trip, of that I am positive.

03MAY2022 Update

I traveled up to Virginia County Cavan last Tuesday for a dinner with Tanya and crew. Tanya’s mother-in-law came over to Ireland in the meantime. All the adults are working and the two kiddos are in school.

My thanks to my teammates on this, in no order or ranking:

Fiona
Tommy
Darren
Peter
The Cook community
Alice O’Dwyer (vice president, Cook Group Europe, Human Resources)
Norma McCormack (senior Environment Health & Safety specialist at Cook Ireland)
Seamus Lloyd (Facilities and Environment Health & Safety manager at Cook Ireland)
Michelle Crowe (Environment Health & Safety specialist at Cook Ireland)
Izabela 
Renata and Mirek
The Loreto House team
Timmy and David

Tanya, Anastasia, Olena, Artem, you were and are worth it.

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