In Lviv, the mood is inspiring – and fanatical

On the Ukrainian side of the Polish border, near a place called Shehyni where the refugee crisis is brewing, an old black man approaches us. ‘Am I in Moldova?’ he asks gently in French, pointing to the fence. ‘No,’ I tell him. ‘That’s Poland.’ Moldova is 250 miles away. The man shrugs and returns to the endless queue of North African migrants. Several young men tell us that they have been there for four days waiting to cross. The Ukrainian guards hold baseball bats. British newspapers have reported ‘shocking racism’ at the border, and of course it is easier to get into Poland if you have a European or British passport and white skin. Yet we witness no ill-behaviour. It’s just a very cruel situation.

I’m with my colleague Paul Wood, the veteran war reporter, and Adam Holloway, an ex-army captain and a Tory MP. Adam is in trouble because ITV – his old employer – has done a story saying Downing Street has ‘criticised him’ for ‘travelling to Ukraine against government advice’. ‘It’s complete bollocks,’ says Adam. We stay in Lviv, Ukraine’s most western (and nationalist) major city. The citizens are highly anxious, though not as hysterical as many Brits on Twitter. Lvivians are eager to convey the sense of a great war effort to visiting journalists and it’s hard not to be won over. Old men stop and say ‘British? Yeass!’ and give a thumbs-up. When we say ‘If you win the war’ they interrupt: ‘When, not if.’ They call Putin ‘Hitler’ and ‘Bin Laden – a terrorist’. They insist that every Ukrainian will fight to the death. And they tend to well up as they say so. It’s inspiring. It’s also fanatical.

Lvivians are also paranoid – understandably – about Russian ‘saboteurs’ infiltrating their city and sowing disinformation.