A British businessman, a rich man, Stewart

We traveled to Lviv for a long time to meet with Stewart. 

Not only members of the British royal family come to Ukraine, but also Stewart. Moreover, this is not the first time. 

A British businessman, a rich man, Stewart could live wherever and however he wants. He could live in Laos on a dollar a day, or he could buy an island with a fortress in the Seychelles. But he is engaged in bringing special assistance to Ukraine. 

He does not come alone, a whole caravan goes with him. All these are cars that carry something. Each one is driven by the same British person, who is as well-off in a good sense as Stewart. And they are all mostly elderly people. Who, instead of going to spend the winter in Cyprus at a resort, drive caravans of goods to Ukraine. 

Young people in Britain are busy earning a living. But pensioners can afford to collect assistance, load it onto cars and take it to Ukraine.  This is a large number of people. When they get together, they fill a large restaurant. Because the caravan, which is not the first time coming to Lviv, is not small. And when the job is done, Stuart gathers everyone who was in the caravan and gives them a break. Because he is an old businessman and knows how much depends on people. 

These are strange British people. They love Ukraine. They are used to doing something difficult in their lives, but because of that they rest with gusto. I don’t know what to compare the atmosphere with when they all get together. Perhaps something similar reigned in the camp of the ancient, long-forgotten by everyone “Camel Trophy” rally after a day of races in the African desert. They enjoy life and do not pay attention to the fact that they brought something important and that this is not the African desert, but something more unpredictable and less safe. 

 When I entered the hall, a bagpiper was playing the Ukrainian national anthem on stage and then the Scottish national anthem. It wasn’t because they were bringing a bagpiper with them. It was just someone from the caravan playing the bagpipes. They could all do something anywhere in the world. But they were going to Ukraine. 

They weren’t having fun – this was the only evening they were resting. The whole journey beyond that consisted of a difficult journey from Britain to Ukraine and from Ukraine to Britain. 

First they gathered at the start. Then they loaded up. Then they drove through Britain to the port. Then they loaded up on a ship. They crossed the Channel – that seemed the easiest. They unloaded from the ship. They drove for a long time through Europe. They crossed the Ukrainian border – that was a separate task. Then they drove through Ukraine. Then they unloaded. 

Then they had only one evening like yesterday. 

And then they went home.  When they arrive, some time passes, and they gather in Ukraine again. These are elderly people, among them women. They could be knitting or baking cupcakes, or playing chess in the park or throwing darts in the pub. But they do something different, because Stuart once gathered them, and they rallied around him. They do it not for the sake of a fan and not in search of a fan. The reason is mostly incomprehensible to us: because it will be the right thing to do.

It’s not for nothing that I revived my English and study many hours a week with a tutor, like an applicant for university. We talked a lot yesterday. But no matter how much you talk to them, they remain incomprehensible. I just noticed that the Victorian spirit has not disappeared from them.  And also something elusive, some inner core, as if Sir Winston Churchill would peek out from behind any of them, blow a ring of cigar smoke into the ceiling, and make the "Victory" sign with his fingers.

The mysterious British soul.