Tale guide

On the brink...

We are only a few days past the summer equinox in the Northern Hemisphere. Spring has sprung early in Wales with temperatures rising over mild, sunny days.

Walking through the fields that surround our little rural village, one can but be amazed at the beauty of Springtime on this island. Suddenly the trees that were cold and bare throughout the winter have burst into an emerald green, or cherry blossom white and strawberry pinks and reds that blanket the hedgerows across the rolling green valleys to the distant hills.

The air is filled with the songs of hundreds of birds just arriving from distant lands and squirrels poke their noses out from hibernation and inhale the fresh fragrance of a thousand daffodils that seemed to appear in full bloom everywhere from nowhere!

The villagers walk their dogs along ancient, cobbled roads, hand-built bridges and stone walls from many hundreds of years ago and tall castles that tell of centuries of internal conflict that shaped this nation into an unassuming, bold and tenacious beast that consistently brought its unsought enemies to their knees time and time again.

Residents are returning to their places of work after two years of isolation from an illusive enemy that killed more than one hundred and sixty thousand, maimed many more and marginalised many more again, as it wreaked havoc across the land.

Their children make their way to school and pensioners stroll the country lanes and fields soaking in the promise of another warm embracing summer.

No one appears unduly threatened or anxious about the violence, murder and wonton destruction that has been going on for three weeks now not one thousand miles away.

One senses a certain strength; a quiet confidence drawn from history, that sheds no panic and breaks no sweat. Even the occasional warnings of a nuclear onslaught don’t raise an eyebrow.

As I wander the newly seeded fields towards the winding river Dee, these thoughts lead me to reflect on my Father’s days and I imagine there must be many similarities between those early days of Hitler’s rhetoric and his testing invasions of his neighbours before the world took note, and Putin’s inexplicable determination to challenge the world to try and put an end to his ferocious, illegal and inhuman war games.

The contrast of the utter misery, death and destruction of Ukraine’s millions of peace-loving people and the quiet beauty of the Welsh springtime must track my Father’s experiences just before the second world war fully erupted. But I sense a difference this time around.

Highly advanced war ships from multiple nations, on which equally trained and prepared sailors command the seas both above and below the waves, have silently encircled the enemy. Sophisticated and equally huge airplanes from across the Atlantic, fly across our skies every day and conduct practice sorties with British and European air forces in the dead of night.

Secret, powerful and accurate missile defense systems are being installed all along the borders shared with Russia. And moreover, the Western leaders hold their place, patiently avoiding triggering World War three and awaiting the moment when the madman is stopped in his tracks.

This time around, there are millions of Russians who do not identify with Putin’s war. They need the space to fix the problem.

In the meantime, however, we witness a British humanitarian reaction.

Hundreds of millions of pounds raised from millions of Britons, many of whom can hardly afford it, are being sent to the front line to help the displaced refugees.

Over one hundred thousand British homes have volunteered to take in Ukraine families that have lost everything and give them a second chance at life.

Military aid is finding its way continuously into the hands of brave Ukrainian nationals who are putting up an incredibly effective fight, and so much more.

It’s the spirit of Dunkirk all over again and it’s inspiring.

It delivers the strongest message to the Kremlin bully; ‘If you mess with Britain or its allies, you will meet the same end as that Hitler madman of ninety years ago, but this time we won’t wait too long’.

No one on the ground is concerned. They are much more focused on helping out.

It seems to me that as quiet and unassuming as they may appear to be, the British are never to be underestimated. They are a formidable force in spirit as much as they are in means.