Blog 1/4 From Norwich to Uzhhorod, via Medyka: A Journey of Grit, Heart, and Horsepower
It’s almost unfathomable to begin writing this. Just 14 days ago, two firefighting appliances that had left Norwich some 30 hours earlier, carrying a team of four dedicated current and former firefighters, and a retired NHS CEO as well as Diss & District Rotarian, arrived in Medyka, Poland. They had crossed Europe through days, nights, and days again – driving and sleeping in shifts—finally pulling into our base at ‘84’ with blue lights and sirens blazing.
There to greet them were Simon Massey, founder of Actions Beyond Words, together with our very own ABW Viking Robin Yssen, fresh in from Oslo, and Jonathan (Lubecky) Lubecky, one of the project’s most generous donors, whose personal commitment has been truly extraordinary. We were equally thrilled to welcome Lubecky’s son, Joey, on his first-ever international trip, celebrating his birthday by riding on top of a fire engine in Poland. Enjoy Joey’s effort from the top of P1 Uzhhorod – until we forgot to switch off the 8K mode and ran out of memory. Classic!
After a couple of well-earned, and very cold, beers, everyone got their heads down and grabbed some much-needed rest. Despite the sheer number of hours spent on the road, you couldn’t believe this was only the beginning of the journey.
People found their own spaces to settle in, and the day became a blur of sleep and wakefulness. One toilet door was still lacking hinges, but thankfully, with an all-boy crew on this gig, we let the privacy slide – more to follow. By evening, we gathered around the table, sharing stories, laughing, reflecting, and starting to form relationships and friendships that we suspected might last a lifetime, though only time will tell.
If we shared every story from those first hours, you’d still be reading this in 2028. Let’s just say the challenges started early – Dover, to be exact. In a twist of industrial-strength bureaucracy, our team was refused boarding the ferry because the fire engine, carrying firefighters and emergency kit for Ukraine, had portable fire extinguishers (shocker). Deemed “dangerous” – Naturally!
In the first of many “adapt and overcome” moments, calls flew up and down the UK – people pulling up old contacts and command-and-control centre numbers out of well-worn hats. Within minutes, our fire engines were at the local firehouse in Dover, dropping off the so-called “dangerous goods,” making friends faster than the ‘ring of a doorbell’, spinning the shortest version of the story possible to make sure we didn’t miss our ferry crossing, and promising to collect the kit in a few weeks with our third appliance. We were set. Apparently, next time we’ll be armed with a piece of paper that makes the exact same fire extinguishers “safe.” Go figure.
Crisis one averted. All aboard. Only 1,300 miles and four countries stood between us and bed. What could possibly go wrong?
The Medyka team had done a stellar job prepping for our arrival, except for one crucial detail: food. It was Easter Sunday in Poland, and with every shop closed, we knew exactly what we were facing. So, we’d come prepared, relying on an “oldskhool” (spelling intentional—internal joke) recipe from Simon’s “Summer Camping” childhood, a dish firmly rooted in tinned goods straight out of the ’80s. The ingredients, purchased in Sainsbury’s in the UK, had pushed us well over the Ryanair baggage allowance – definitely not ideal. Thanks to some fair wind and a breeze through Customs and Immigration in Poland, they all made it through the “Green Channel” unscathed. The only thing left was cooking it.
Enter Neil, our unlikely head chef. His rise to culinary leadership had nothing to do with skill, but everything to do with necessity. With dramatic flair, he embraced the role. Surrounded by a pile of cans – Sainsbury’s chicken in white sauce, sweetcorn, mushrooms, pasta, and a heavy shake of black pepper – we got to work. Michelin stars? Not in sight. But hearts and tummies were filled, and I’m sure Simon’s mum would have approved! There was laughter, mild panic, and a few questionable techniques, but somehow, the final spread was a carb-heavy, balanced feast any firefighter would be proud of.
The evening was short-lived, however. The next part of our journey was already around the corner, chasing us down and only hours away, and we had to be ready. So it was back to the racks, preparing ourselves for what the next day would bring.
As dawn broke in Medyka on Easter Monday, the team was raring – and raging to go. Preparations were in full swing: vehicles needed checks, equipment had to be packed and positioned, and loading the engines and support trucks kept a lively crew figuring out packing requirements and placements. It felt like a cargo port! Additional new liveries were applied (a quiet secret). It was a hive of activity.
Ready to go, our convoy was joined by the ever (sometimes) faithful Actions Beyond Words support vehicle, Bettie – Res II. We set off with a vision, a plan, and a touch of optimism—convinced we could conquer both the system and the Ukrainian roads.
As we arrived at Krościenko—our favourite and usually preferred crossing—the realities of 2025 vs 2022 border rules swiftly shattered our Smile and Wave mantra. Despite hundreds of successful crossings and some earlier warnings, we learned (to our peril) that this particular crossing had a 7.5-tonne weight limit. On this day, the management was neither smiling nor waving. That meant we’d have to backtrack to Medyka -not exactly the most glorious start to our Ukraine leg.
As the day dragged on and the hours slipped past, Medyka border agents added to our growing “full border experience.” Did it break the spirit of the “Standley Sabres”? Not a chance.
We eventually crossed into Ukraine. The roads, let’s just say, were not always kind. At times, they resembled the surface of the moon—truly cratered and chaotic. But to avoid misrepresenting Ukraine, we should say that at other points, the roads made UK potholes look like the Sea of Tranquillity—that’s the phrase I was grasping for earlier.
Still, the forced change in route had consequences. Time slipped through our fingers. Fatigue crept in. The real possibility of not reaching Uzhhorod before curfew loomed over us, not to mention we were running on empty stomachs—no time to stop for anything other than diesel.
Stand up, Brian, a volunteer and Rotarian from Diss, Norfolk and riding truck two!! Thanks to his long-standing relationship with Volodymyr—a local Rotarian from Uzhhorod and all-around miracle worker—the story took a turn. Volodymyr, whom Brian has worked with for years, managed to convince one of his local haunts to keep their kitchen open late, just for us.
And so, with just 30 minutes to midnight, we arrived at a rock star greeting:
The food was incredible, and the company was even better. Whether our eyes were open or shut at that point, I honestly couldn’t say. I can reassure you that the beer was cold. Pub House Uzhhorod
That night, we finally laid our heads down in Uzhhorod—briefly—and readied ourselves to deliver the engines the next morning. It was another short night.
The Reality Is: It Was Worth It
This could easily be the start of a blog. But the truth is, it deserves more than that. The work put in up to this point needs to be recorded and referenced. The sheer effort it took to get us here is worthy of the word count. Every step, every pothole, every closed shop, late-night laugh, and freezing beer. It matters.
If you’ve followed us this far, thank you.
If you donated, thank you from the bottom of our hearts. You helped make this happen.
Keep reading. Keep sharing. See what happens next as we deliver our first appliance to a Ukrainian fire station and continue a journey driven by action, solidarity, and heart.
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