The train from Sumy to Kyiv runs close to the front lines: through villages where residents are offered emergency assistance to leave, through Bilopillia, where nine civilians had been killed the week before, when a Russian drone slammed into their evacuation bus.

It had been an early start in the city, after a noisy night of explosions which felt a bit too close: at the station there was a tiny narrow shop beside the track which sold paper cups of coffee for sixteen hryvnia, around 30 pence. The train was punctual and like all Ukrainian Railways services, left exactly on time.

An hour or so into the journey, the train was chugging slowly through Bilopillia, around 4 miles from the Russian border: the station building was neat and clean but if you looked again you could see that the windows were broken and boarded up. It was spring and the fields were lush and green, but in a grey zone not far away the Russians bombard everything they see into dirt and dust.

View from the train at Bilopillia

The telegram channel with news from Sumy pings constantly with warnings of death: RAKETA blares out in fiery red letters, ‘Ballistics to Sumy region! Border be careful! Drones!’

But trains go through this area twice a day, on their way to the capital early each morning, north from Kharkiv late at night. The train driver, the young woman conductor, the older lady, neat in her uniform, who brings round cups of tea: they take this journey daily, passing four miles from the Russian border, under heavy and treacherous skies.

On the day we travel, this is the daily military report from Sumy:

“The enemy actively used guided aerial bombs, MLRS (artillery) and dropping explosives from UAVs. ( drones)

▪️ almost 20 strikes by KABs; (guided bombs)

▪️ almost 40 MLRS strikes;

▪️ over 30 munition drops from UAVs.

The enemy also carried out UAV and FPV drone strikes on the territory of Sumy region”

Two men got on the train in the next village, piling their bags and cases on the top bunks in the carriage, and taking up residence on each of the bottom bunks, which a young woman and I had technically booked for the whole journey. One of them constantly scanned the air alarm app on his phone, which buzzed every few minutes with new alerts. ‘What does it say this time, ballistics?’ ‘Yes, ballistics, it says from Kursk, but the threat is not in this direction’. ‘What about now?’ ‘KABs on the border.’

There was a knock on the compartment door - it was the conductor, asking what kind of tea we wanted. My green tea was fragrant and welcome after the double strength station coffee.

We began moving slightly quicker towards Konotop: ahead of us was Kyiv.

The night after our trip, Ukrainian railways reported a drone strike on the railway line in Sumy region, which damaged part of the track. The report continued, proudly - ‘traffic on this section continues without delay.” Iron bravery, they call it. There is no train company like this in the world.

Sumy station