Month: March 2022

When I first spoke to John Dolan, the Features Editor with The Echo, about writing this column, his only instruction to me was to keep the content light. He said people starting back to work after their weekend didn’t want to be digging into anything too heavy on a Monday. That suited me just fine.

That was six years ago, and I have tried to adhere to that brief as much as possible, but sometimes it can be difficult. I’m struggling to be light-hearted at the moment while a friend of mine is in Ukraine, fighting for his country’s survival. I had been wondering about him since the war started but I didn’t know where he was exactly until he sent me an email and told me he was in Kiev.

Since then, the deliberate destruction of Ukraine and the growing number of dead and injured, has become more personal to me. I haven’t been able to communicate with him for over a week now and I have no way of knowing how he is, so all I can do for the moment is hope for the best.

Sergii Mishchyk was a Captain in the Ukranian Army when I first met him in 2014. He was based in Camp General Stefanik (CGS), a military base in Famagusta on the northern part of Cyprus. He was working as a Duty Officer with the United Nations, with responsibility for maintaining the integrity of the Buffer Zone, the strip of no-mans-land that divides the island and separates the Turkish Cypriots in the north from the Greek Cypriots in the south. Keeping the peace essentially.

I was based in Dherynia, on the other side of the Buffer Zone but after a couple of months, I took a position in that same base, CGS. I had no idea what to expect. My job was to liaise with the military and foster good relations with Turkish Cypriot Police and Greek Cypriot Police. All I had to do was attend meetings, talk to everyone and be friendly. Nothing too complicated.

I shared a small office with three duty officers. While I worked from 7am to 3pm. they worked in shifts to cover the twenty-four-hour period so there was always one of them present. Lieutenant Colonel Juri Stipic from Croatia, Captain Edina Bagi from Hungary, who now lives with her family in Cork and has recently become an Irish citizen, and Captain Sergii Mishchyk from Ukraine. He has since been promoted and is now a colonel.

One of my memories of Sergii is how he was always trying to improve his English, constantly asking about the correct use of words and phrases. He regularly apologised for not speaking properly and often got frustrated with his pronunciation. He sounded funny at times, and he would get annoyed if I laughed but his English was better than he thought.

He was good at his job too. They all were. Whether they were on or off duty, they were always close by and ready to lend a hand or offer advice if needed. We worked well together and became friends.

Sergii wasn’t the only Ukranian working with the UN at that time in Cyprus. There were several police officers too. In fact, the head of the police component on the island, my boss, was also from Ukraine. It’s difficult not to be concerned for all these people now. Ukraine is a beautiful country. I’ve been there and have seen for it for myself. I’ve experienced the hospitality of the people, the same people who are suffering.

I’ve been to Belarus and Western Russia many times too and there is a difference. The atmosphere feels more intimidating, more oppressive but while officialdom is far from welcoming, I have never received anything but hospitality from the ordinary residents of Belarus and Russia, even those who didn’t have much. This war will not be supported by those citizens who are decent, hospitable and generous people.

What is happening in Ukraine is nothing short of criminal but the responsibility for that lies squarely at the feet of Putin, Lukashenko and their respective henchmen, not the ordinary people. It’s important to make that distinction.

The Ukrainian people are suffering loss of life, destruction of their property and mental torture. They will have to recover from that when this nightmare is over, but they have shown how tough they are. They are decent and honest too so they will prevail.

Back in the noughties, I travelled to Lviv with Simon Walsh on behalf of The Chernobyl Children’s Trust. We went there at the request of Olga Shevchenko, a Ukranian now living in Cork. Olga’s mother is a doctor in Lviv and the hospital she was attached to needed medical support so we went to see if we could help.

We met our contacts in the city centre, in the outdoor area of a local café beside a busy street. A couple of hours later, while we were strolling around, admiring the sights, we realised we had left a knapsack on a seat outside the café. There was a considerable amount of cash in the bag, so we took off in a panic. We needn’t have bothered because when we got there, the bag was exactly where we left it.

Lviv is a university city, full of young people and it feels modern and civilised. We stayed in a hotel in the city centre overlooking a huge square surrounded by late night bars, cafes, restaurants and ice cream parlours so we were expecting a noisy night. The only sound we heard though was the occasional tooting of car horns as taxi drivers greeted each other.

Unfortunately, the air is filled with a different noise now, but hopefully peace will be restored again soon.

Myself and my buddy, John O’Connor, met for our regular Tuesday morning coffee recently. We were chatting away when we noticed two women sitting behind us. They had a child with them, and he or she was sitting in a highchair. What drew our attention to them was the mess the child was making.

He or she was tearing open the little sachets of sugar and emptying the contents onto the floor, then throwing the bits of paper down as well. Now you might say, so what? A child making a mess is what small children do and maybe the women didn’t notice so what’s the big deal?

Well, the deal is that the women saw what the child was doing and not only were they completely unconcerned about it, but one of them maintained a supply line to the child. Making sure he or she had had an ample supply of sachets.

When they were finished their coffee, or maybe just ran out of sugar, they got up and left without making any effort to clean up their mess. As soon as they were gone, a young lad arrived on the scene and tidied up after them. That got us wondering about what that child is going to be like in the years to come if he or she is being taught from an early age that it’s ok to do what it likes.

It’s not the child’s fault, that responsibility lies with the parents. From speaking to people involved in the teaching profession I’ve learned that many children they deal with on a daily basis are, let’s say, challenging. They push the boundaries of behaviour to the limit and when they are pulled up for crossing the line, they go home and complain to their parents, then the parents confront the teachers.  

Children need to learn about boundaries; behaviour that is acceptable and behaviour that isn’t.  Otherwise, they grow up to become the kind of people who only think of themselves, and we already have enough of those.  

Like the guy who sits alone in the café, at a table for four, tapping away on his laptop for an hour with his cup of coffee beside him. Occupying that amount of space shows the world how important he is, so important in fact that he can’t be done without for five minutes. That’s annoying but not as bad as the zoomer, the guy having a noisy online conversation so everyone can hear how busy he is at running the world.

I remember an Australian lady who was a regular visitor to a particular bar/restaurant one time. She always sat in the same seat, also a table for four, next to an electric socket so she could plug in her laptop. She would buy a pot of tea and sit there for hours using the bar Wi-Fi, talking loudly to family and friends back home. The manager was known to be a bit fiery, so I knew it was only a matter of time until his fuse was lit, and I was there the day it happened.

If she hadn’t been so self-absorbed, she might have seen what was heading her way because it was easy to detect. The atmosphere changed like it does just before a hurricane, cold and very still. He marched over to her and asked her how much value she expected to get for the price of a pot of tea. He gave her a lecture about making a serious contribution to his running costs after which, she packed her laptop away and wasn’t seen there again.

Sometimes the only way to deal with these people is to be upfront and direct because they don’t understand subtlety. My wife and I stayed overnight in a hotel last year and Covid restrictions meant we had limited options for entertainment, so we didn’t wander too far. We kept to ourselves and finished off our evening with a drink in the room. No bother.

Around 2am I woke to the sound of glasses clinking and loud voices. It was coming from the room next door. There were five people there and it sounded as if one of them was leaving the room every now and then and returning shortly afterwards with fresh supplies from the bar.

Around 4am they ended up in the hallway singing. It was a small corridor and the five of them were standing beside one another, but it was like they were trying to communicate with each other on an oil rig in the middle of a storm in the North Sea.

By then, I had had enough, so I went out and suggested that maybe they might want to keep the noise down as there were other people trying to sleep. They were about my own age, so they weren’t youngsters, but they weren’t too bothered. They had a lot of drink on board, and I knew from my thirty-five years of policing that trying to reason with drunk people doesn’t work so I didn’t push it.

They had a bit of a laugh before returning to their rooms for the night completely unconcerned about the inconvenience they had caused to anyone else. Obviously, some guests feel that because they are paying for the room, they are entitled to behave as they like and everyone else can like it or lump it.  

Consideration is not for everyone. Some grow up believing the world revolves around them and they are incapable of thinking about anyone else. By the time they reach adulthood, they’re beyond redemption so it’s important to mould them when they’re young. Teaching children about the unfairness of creating a mess and leaving it for someone else to clean up might be a good place to start.

It’s over twenty years since I first went to Belarus and Western Russia. It was in the aftermath of the accident at the nuclear power plant in Chernobyl and over the following ten years, I became very familiar with Gomel, where the recent talks between Russian and Ukrainian delegations took place. I have also been to Kiev and Lviv, two beautiful, civilised cities currently featuring regularly in the news.

It’s difficult to watch what’s happening there now. The loss of life and the destruction of property is obscene and the attack on the largest nuclear power plant in Ukraine brought back some horrific memories. The sight of a fire at that facility sent a shiver up my spine. We’ve seen the devastation that can be caused when these places are damaged, and we don’t want a repeat of that.

Everyone over a certain age will remember the nuclear accident at the reactor in Chernobyl in Ukraine. National Geographic give a good account of it for anyone who needs reminding about the worst nuclear accident in history and how it unfolded. More than 36 years on, scientists estimate the zone around the former plant will be uninhabitable for up to 20,000 years.

On April 25, 1986, routine maintenance was scheduled at the plant, and workers planned to use the downtime to test whether the reactor could still be cooled if the plant lost power. During the test, however, workers violated safety protocols and power surged inside the plant. Despite attempts to shut down the reactor entirely, another power surge caused a chain reaction of explosions inside. Finally, the nuclear core itself was exposed, spewing radioactive material into the atmosphere.

Firefighters attempted to put out a series of fires at the plant, and helicopters dumped sand and other materials in an attempt to quench the fires and contain the contamination. Radiation spread as far as Sweden, where officials at another nuclear plant began to ask about what was happening. After first denying any accident, the authorities finally made a brief announcement, and the world slowly began to learn of the horrific consequences of that incident.

The world rallied round. Hundreds of charitable organisations sprung up to offer help to those affected as a result of the fallout. Humanitarian aid in the form of food, clothing and medical supplies was collected and delivered to Belarus, Ukraine and Western Russia by convoys of all shapes and sizes. We rose to the challenge too in this country.

The nuclear plant was in Ukraine close to the border with Belarus, but following the explosion, the wind took most of the radiation into Belarus, so they suffered more than most which is why much of the relief effort was focussed there. They had other problems too though.

There was blatant institutional neglect, lack of funding and complete mismanagement of childcare facilities. Thousands of children were housed in institutions and orphanages in terrible conditions. President Lukashenko’s regime cared little about the welfare of those children, so it was left up to other countries to do what they could, and many Irish people did.

Humanitarian aid worth millions of Euro, was delivered to Belarus and Western Russia over those years and was gratefully received by the ordinary people, but all the volunteers got from Lukashenko was obstruction. Customs officials in particular were a complete nightmare to deal with. They made life very difficult with mountains of red tape and volumes of paperwork. Endless checks were required before the aid could finally be delivered to where it was needed most.

Customs officers in Gomel were particularly difficult. On one occasion, a group of us with truckloads of aid, were locked in a compound for over twenty-four hours until they found time to deal with us. Delays like that were normal. Lukashenko’s officials certainly didn’t lay out the red carpet, so it struck me as ironic that Gomel was chosen as the location for peace talks.

Lukashenko is by no means the people’s president. He rules by fear and intimidation, and you can feel that oppressive atmosphere once you cross the border from Poland into Belarus. Allowing the Russian President to use Belarus to access Ukraine for his invasion will not be supported by the ordinary citizens of Belarus who, like Ukrainian’s, are decent, hospitable, and generous people.  

I have many friends in Belarus and Ukraine. People I met during my Chernobyl days and during my time working with the United Nations. I shared an office with a guy in Cyprus who is a Colonel in the Ukranian Army. I received an email from him the other day from his base in Kiev and he’s worried about his family. He’s also disturbed about the number of civilian casualties and the destruction of his country. He is wondering what the future holds.

He has every reason to be worried about the future. A ceasefire has just been announced by the Russians, but it is being met with distrust after two previous ceasefire attempts in the besieged southern city of Mariupol collapsed at the weekend. It was reported that families were killed as they tried to leave. They’re running out of food and water.

The latest ceasefire proposes the opening of humanitarian corridors in several areas, but as of now Russian armed forces continue to pummel Ukrainian cities. But even if the Russians do honour the ceasefire and allow people to leave, the humanitarian corridors don’t offer much in the way of refuge.

The Russian defence ministry said in a statement that under Moscow’s ceasefire proposals, civilians in Kyiv will be offered safe passage to Gomel in Belarus while those in Kharkiv, the second biggest city, will have a corridor leading only to Russia itself.

Sounds like out of the frying pan and into the fire to me.

Supporters are the life blood of sports clubs, and we know all about that in this country. Just look at our national football team. They’re not the most successful outfit in the world, but our supporters are up there with the best. They’re generally well behaved and always receive favourable comments from the host countries they visit.

Our world ranking isn’t the most important factor. The main thing is to support the team, respect the opposition and have some fun along the way. The same can be said of our rugby fans. It’s a great attitude to have and we can be justifiably proud of our reputation. Not everyone sees it that way though and sometimes trying to watch a game can get a bit complicated.

I was in a large pub in Cyprus one evening watching Liverpool playing in the Champions League. The place was practically empty when a middle-aged guy, a lady and a young lad came in and sat next to me. There were plenty of available tables, but they sat right beside me. They were watching the Tottenham Hotspur game which was being shown on an adjacent screen and they were obviously Spurs fans.

The dad was an opinionated guy with a strong London accent, and an expert on football – in his own mind anyway. The young lad was texting some friends trying to organise a kick about at the weekend. He asked the dad if Sullivan had one ‘L’ or two. The dad was sure it was one. The son then asked him to spell ‘Aaron’ so he helped him out; “Aran’, are you fick or wot?”

Dad was passing the odd comment on the Liverpool game. He laughed when Mo Salah missed the target and shouted, “18 yards wide” and declared loudly that Liverpool would never win anything with the two ‘deadheads’ Henderson and Milner in the team. (He’s since been proven wrong on that score.)

I was getting a little hot under the collar and I got the impression he was trying to wind me up. It was easy to establish that I was a Liverpool supporter, but it didn’t bother him that his silly comments might be annoying. I left as soon as the match was over, glad to be free of dad.

I went to that same pub on another occasion to watch Ireland playing England in the Six Nations. There were only seven other people in there besides me but when I looked at the TV screens, I was beginning to panic. Skiing was one of them and a Chelsea football game was being shown on the other two.

I approached the guy behind the bar and asked him if they were going to show the rugby match. He told me it wouldn’t be a problem. He grabbed a handful of remote-control units and began a very complicated procedure of switching screens, swopping programmes, and providers until he found what he was looking for. The rugby appeared on one of the screens, the football was back on the other one and the skiing occupied the third.

I was still standing at the counter when suddenly, this elderly guy piped up from behind me and started giving out to the barman. He also had a London accent and had been sitting with his wife watching the Chelsea game. He was annoyed that his viewing was interrupted.

The barman, a Greek Cypriot, explained that the match was almost over, but the old lad was having none of it. He was pointing at me and complaining that I had just walked in off the street and the regular customers were being ignored to facilitate me. He wasn’t a happy camper, and the wife was backing him up.

I got a drink and went over to them to explain that there was no intention on my part to disturb anyone, but they didn’t give me a chance. They just got up and left. If I had known that changing the channels was going to be so disruptive, I wouldn’t have asked in the first place. I would have gone somewhere else.

Contrast that with an experience I had in Killarney recently. Kerry were playing Donegal so the streets were deserted. They take their football seriously down there and people were either gone to the match or were watching it on the telly. Liverpool were playing at the same time and I was struggling to find a place that was showing anything but GAA. I was running out of options when I came across a sports bar that was actually painted green and gold. I figured I was wasting my time, but it was my last hope.

There were five or six televisions showing the Kerry game. Kerry were only slightly ahead of the opposition, so the tension was mounting. There was a good crowd in there and I was afraid to ask about the soccer after my Cyprus episodes. I was cold and wet from roaming the streets, so I decided to stay where I was and have a pint.

Suddenly, a guy called to the barman who immediately changed one of the tellys and Liverpool appeared on the screen. There wasn’t a single complaint.

It was difficult to get to the counter so when I called for a pint it was passed back to me in relays. The money went forward in the same way and my change came back to me. One lad in the chain spilled a tiny drop and another guy told him he was banned from the relay team.

A Corkman in the middle of a bunch of Kerrymen, watching a soccer match while their county was involved in a tight battle with Donegal was made feel very welcome. That doesn’t happen everywhere.