FORMER teacher, Maggie Tookey, who lives in Farnhill, has been a voluntary International Air field officer for 23 years. Her first aid trip was in 1999 when she joined a convoy to war torn Kosovo, in a van lent by John Midgley, of Grassington.

Maggie, 72, has been working for small international charity Edinburgh Direct Aid (EDA)  ever since and has spent most of last year and the first three months of this year on the front line of Eastern Ukraine in the Bakhmut area. In 2012, she was awarded the MBE for services to humanitarian aid.

Here, she describes being on the frontline in Ukraine. 

I CROSS the border from Poland and arrive in Kharkiv. Near blackout conditions greet me. No water, no internet, no electricity, no heating. I am carrying a small backpack: a few clothes, toiletries and 10,000 dollars in cash. EDA is buying a van for a young Ukrainian humanitarian organization, ITC. It will be used to deliver aid to desperate civilians trapped by the war in shell torn towns and villages. Later, the van will be needed by EDA volunteers.

I ask why conditions are so severe in Kharkiv. They tell me of a major multiple Russian missile strike in the early hours of the morning. At the time I’d been on the Kharkiv night train from Lviv, blissfully ignorant.

This damage is very severe and repairs will take some time. My plans go out of the window. Without internet, ITC can’t register the van or carry out important Ministry of Transport checks on the vehicle and its previous owner. The process might drag out another six days. I’m glad I haven't booked my travel back West.

I learn that Rob, our occasional Australian EDA volunteer, will be in Kharkiv the next day. He is dropping off medical equipment at the city’s main hospital. This solves a residential problem for me. We arrange for him to take me east to Kramatorsk where he has the use of a flat belonging to a Swedish NGO.

Kramatorsk is around three hours east of Kharkiv. Much closer to the front lines, but still not quite within artillery range - yet. It means no hotel bills for the next six days.

I know the Swedish group. They had lent Rob a tipper truck back in January and he and I had used it to deliver wood and water to front-line towns in the Donbass. What was relatively safe in January is no longer the case. The Russians have moved closer.

Back in September 2022, EDA supported the brave men of the Fire/Medic Station in Bakhmut. Their base was reduced to rubble by Russian shelling and the team pulled back to Chasiv Yar, a small town a few kilometres west of Bakhmut. That town was also under frequent shelling, but the team had important rescue work to do. They even found time to help us distribute 30 tons of fuel wood.

I discover that our Bakhmut firefighters are no longer in Chasiv Yar. Their 'new' base of last January is another pile of rubble and they've had to pull back to Konstantynyvka, itself now being targeted by artillery on a daily basis. The Russians seem to be throwing everything at these towns.

In January, we had bought them three propane cylinders for cooking. Two of these were destroyed in Chasiv Yar, but they salvaged one from the rubble. EDA has replaced one cylinder and we take it to them in Konstantynyvka. Good to see them all. Alive!

They describe the perilous existence of Chasiv Yar residents. Many civilian deaths. They tell me that it will be overrun if Bakhmut falls. They were forced to abandon a school gymnasium full of vital UN aid. They ask if Rob and I would risk a dash into Chasiv Yar to retrieve what we could of these valuable stores.

Rob quickly agrees. I hesitate but feel obliged to join. I feel slightly sick! I know that if all goes well, we will probably be asked to go again the next day.

I don’t sleep well. In the very early morning, Rob and I set off. I’m told the Russians are late risers, but I'm not sure I believe this. I wish we had left even earlier. I wriggle into my body armour and adjust the strap of my helmet. I have taken a crash course on how to use a combat medic kit. I glance at it hoping that the lid will stay shut for the next few hours. There must always be two or more in a vehicle in case of an injury. If Rob were to be hit, and I failed on the medical side, at least I knew how to drive fast.

Outside Konstantynyvka, we meet up with an armoured car which will escort us into Chasiv Yar. Our road runs parallel to the Russian line and leads to Bakhmut.

We are very exposed and could easily be targeted. It is a beautiful spring morning. The sky is clear brilliant blue. Perfect for Russian drones looking for large white vans! I constantly scan the sky but Rob tells me there's no point. ‘You’d be dead before you saw the drone,’ he says with a half-smile. What is also worrying is the number of Russian jets flying above us. Unsettling.

We arrive safely and I have seen no drones! I am shocked at the ruins of the Fire Station. Rob and I had sat with the team and eaten breakfast with them on many occasions in January during our EDA wood deliveries.

There is no time to lose. We deliver some food parcels and drive fast to the gymnasium. We begin loading the UN aid into Rob’s van. Everyone works at panic speed. We stop to shelter against a wall as artillery falls close by. At last the van is loaded to the roof - every tiny space used. We ready to go – and we do. Fast.

That was yesterday. Now it’s today and we’re heading back to Chasiv Yar. I don’t bother looking up for drones. We drop off food for those staying in the town and load more of the precious aid into the armoured fire truck and our van. We return safely to Konstantynyvka. We reckon one more trip into Chasiv Yar will see the operation finished. Third time lucky? Hope not for the Russians, I think to myself.

Another lovely spring morning. We arrive at the last checkpoint just outside Konstantynyvka. But this time it’s different. We are stopped and warned. Barrages of Grad missiles are being fired into Chasiv Yar. We pull over and can clearly see missiles landing and exploding in the town. A random merciless onslaught. Will our gymnasium be hit, I wonder.

Artur, the lead fireman, new father of a baby boy, tells us we must wait ten minutes until the Grad rockets have been fired. We will then have 90 minutes of safety until the next 50 are ready to launch. Can I believe this? They seem to know what they're talking about. Will there be time to deliver food? 90 minutes seems too short even though there will be another vehicle turning up to help.

Suddenly we're off and heading straight for the gymnasium. We pass unexploded rockets stuck in the road and a large smoking shell hole. Ten minutes earlier and we would have been – I stop thinking. Our gymnasium still stands.

I have never worked so hard lifting heavy boxes of medical aid into the vans, checking my watch all the time to see when 90 minutes had passed. Super fear gives me super strength! The other van arrives and we get the place cleared.

Our last run along the exposed section of road. It’s hard to believe the front line is so close. Small arms fire coming from wooded areas to the east convinces me, and I hold my breath. We arrive safely back in Konstantynyvka. The fire team thank us and present us with a badge and a slap up lunch. They write EDA on their large Ukrainian flag.

It is morning in Kramatorsk. I am having breakfast alone. The air raid sounds but I ignore it. Air sirens are always wailing in this part of Ukraine. I hear a ‘whoosh’ outside my window followed almost immediately by an explosion. A missile has passed by and buried itself in a block of three apartments just across the road. The Kramatorsk firemen are on the scene almost immediately. Three dead and 15 wounded. They had probably been having breakfast just like me.

Life here is a lottery.

Postscript: A few days after we moved all the UN aid from the warehouse in Chasiv Yar, the place was totally destroyed by a Russian missile. But it was empty.

To donate online to the charity Maggie is working with, go to: www.edinburghdirectaid.org