Each day we drive to the border, collect a ticket, have the passports checked, go to border control, on to customs control, have the minibus checked, hand in the ticket, drive to the next set of checks. Each day, members of the team speed up the process with charm and good humour. Occasionally, a guard recognises us and waves us on. We thread our way through to the front of queues, asking drivers to pull back, move forward; most are obliging, noticing the humanitarian signs on our bus; a few are not. It is agonisingly slow at times; three hours to cross is not uncommon. On one occasion, we don’t get beyond first base; a new document is required! No explanation provided. No document? Turn around. A day wasted; a day when someone needed help and didn’t get it.
Going through the crossing is a new story every day. A border guard, looking down, says: I have a brother in Mariupol; another asks if we can help his sister to leave Ukraine- she is in great danger where she lives; an aid worker has returned from Bucha: I can’t tell you how bad it was, he says breathlessly – I’ve never seen anything like it. A woman asks if we can provide cream for acne! The team is able to provide it, a seemingly small kindness that brings a broad smile.
A border guard asks if we have weapons and ammunition; our protestations are strong. Why do you ask, we enquire. We’re told that the people in the pickup behind us told the guard. They are taken out of the line. When we leave, they are still being detained. Schadenfreude!
Once through the border, the team splits: the border clinic is manned and the rest of us drive to a town where clinics are held for displaced people.
Outside the border clinic, people shuffle by with carrier bags and suitcases. Some have children. Most look weary, some utterly exhausted. Tempers fray; occasionally voices are raised but mostly the atmosphere is calm, dignified. Because I sit outside, I’m approached for requests for a lift.
Next to the medical centre is an aid post set up and run by Vassily and his family. All day, every day they provide food, hot drinks, aid and chat to whoever turns up. There is always someone in there or hovering outside in need of food, a hot drink, water. His family are absolutely dedicated. Each morning, Vassily shares a handshake; his large hands chart the labours of his life. His wife beams and nods and makes me milky tea.
And the trucks keep queuing both ways. Mile after mile, nose to tail. Going nowhere. Drivers in groups smoking, arms folded. Along the central reservations, around the trucks, inches from the cars whipping by.
Old women, babushkas, line the corridors of the schools and other buildings that have become makeshift clinics. Outside, lads practise their pull ups on the play bars in empty playgrounds. The babushkas mutter about waiting too long. They are dressed up for the occasion as though the doctor is a visiting foreign dignitary. They sit on children’s chairs low to the ground while the doctors listen, ask more questions, listen, ask more questions. They are interested, thorough, gentle, compassionate. Can I have some tablets, a creaking babushka asks. When the doctor explains that the tablets she already has are the correct tablets, she is less than impressed.
I sit in the corridor with the patients. Towards the end of one session, a woman, in her forties perhaps, speaks to me. I give her my phone with a Ukrainian translator on it. We strike up a conversation of sorts with the phone, her broken English (which is better than my Ukrainian) and sign language. We ask each other questions. Eventually, how many children? I show her six fingers. Her eyes widen and she expresses surprise. Only in Ukraine, she says. No, I tell her; in England as well. I type that there was nothing on TV. She shrieks with laughter and repeats my response to her neighbour who looks me up and down. When my conversationalist has seen the doctor she wishes me luck and waves goodbye. When I am packing up, I walk out to the foyer and she is there with two other women. They talk over each other and laugh as I pass. Even though I don’t know what they’re saying, I reckon I’ve got a fairly good idea!
There are preparations for a response to war everywhere. Anti tank installations, road blocks, sandbags, camouflage nets – all the paraphernalia recognisable from countless wars I have watched unfold on my television from Vietnam to Bosnia. Soldiers stand and wait. They chat, smoke. They are vigilant: the phone on the dashboard on satnav duty is a threat; “Put it away!” They play with puppies at the border crossing, showing great tenderness.
I have been back in Dorohusk in Poland for a few days when Valerie has sends me a message, I think from Canada. I met Valerie on my previous trip to Dorohusk. She is a director of an organisation called Canadian Medical Assistance Teams, which has been providing medical support in Ukraine. She knows I am back in Poland and asks if I might take a Ukrainian civilian to Salzburg. Andrei was seriously injured in a Russian rocket attack on the centre of Kharkiv. Several civilians were killed. He suffered from multiple shrapnel wounds, five of which have been removed by the hospital in Kharkiv. He needs specialist treatment to remove the rest, one in particular that has caused nerve damage in his right leg. A surgeon in Salzburg has the expertise, the facilities and the opportunity. The challenge is that Andrei is still in Ukraine.
Enter Agnieszka. She has the job of driving into Ukraine, finding Andrei and bringing him to Poland, persuading Ukrainian guards that this is a good idea (men of fighting age can’t ordinarily leave Ukraine). And she does it; cool as you like!
Andrei is able to walk slowly with the help of a stick, but it is clear that he is in pain. After photographs and he has said goodbye to Aga we set off. It’s about 13:15. We arrive at our accommodation in Salzburg at 06:15; 17 hours later! The time goes by quickly; Andrei is not letting life – threatening shrapnel get in the way of his optimistic outlook or his squid ink black humour. His is not a ‘could be worse’ mentality; he talks eloquently about what needs to be done to make things better, about how he is going to play 5 a side football again one day soon. We laugh through the journey: Andrei shows me a Lego model ‘tractor towing a tank’ set; I show him a plastic model kit of the Russian warship Moskva. On the box is a picture of the sea but no ship. It’s hard to drive safely when you’re laughing so much!
Agatha takes the reins in Salzburg. She has organised everything with the help and generosity of contacts. So we have a room in a and there are specialists waiting to see Andrei in hospital which is all accomplished on the same day. Further consultation and tests are required but it looks like the earliest appointment is a month away. Andrei is undeterred. “I’ll need to find a way to stay then” he says as though it’s the easiest thing in the world!
Agatha comes up trumps again; Andrei will be seen this Friday. There is a lot of excitement and relief. Andrei now needs to register in Salzburg as a refugee. We find the place and Andrei goes through a long process over two days, filling in forms, getting advice and so on. In the meantime, a contact in the UK, John, has introduced a potential partner to share the driving. After a telephone conversation, Charlie lets me know he will be flying into Salzburg on Thursday to join me. Perfect timing.
The good news ends abruptly. Andrei tells me he has just received news that his home in Kharkiv has
been destroyed along with all his possessions.
I’ll find somewhere else to live, he tells me quietly. And things? They can all be replaced, he says with a shrug.
Friday 29th April
Andrei is going into hospital today for further tests. He will be staying in Salzburg for the foreseeable future. Charlie and I are going back to Dorohusk on the Polish border.
I have rarely met a person who has such an optimistic view of life as Andrei. We have been together since Sunday and he has maintained his good humour throughout that time. He is in constant physical pain but says nothing; he has lost all of his possessions and his home; whether or not he will heal completely physically remains to be seen but his view has remained that he is alive and others aren’t, that he can find another home and that possessions are the least of his worries. His son is safe in Berlin: his parents are close to the Polish border. He still aims to play football again; after all, he is only 35!
Andrei has joked through the week that it is lucky to be with me and that every time something good happens we should buy a lottery ticket. I point out that a piece of shrapnel missed his heart because of a bottle of water; it’s me who should stick with him while buying the lottery ticket.
At the clinic we say our goodbyes. Don’t forget, he says, when I am mended, you come to Czech Republic and we dance in nightclub. I point out my age and Agatha reminds me that my age is in my head. They turn and walk away.
And don’t forget, shouts Andrei, to buy a lottery ticket.
|David with Keith||A psychologist uses packs we have donated with a refugee|
David and his co-driver Keith are heading back to Poland in the minibus taking aid requested by the centre David visited last time – dried food and folding chairs, warm coats and children’s clothes. They have a contact at the border – Jo, a paramedic – and are still in touch with Adam, the Polish policeman.
Nadya has four children with her: Natalia, Dima, Victoria and Anastasia. Her husband Victor
is in Ukraine. Her other son is already in Spain. They come from a city in the Kyiv district
occupied since February by the Russian army. They have been evacuated and are being
sponsored by a family in Barcelona. Nadya is remarkable; dignified, keeping her children
upbeat, laughing with them as well as keeping baby Anastasia contented on this mammoth
journey. Despite everything, she chats to me about her family, sharing photographs, and
between us and my Ukrainian translation software we manage quite well. Her children are
so polite and well behaved I tell her. Her face falls. “We were a happy family until Putin” she
says. She quickly kisses Anastasia on the cheek and smiles again picking up the chatter with
15 year old Natalia.
Dorohusk to Barcelona? 1600 miles. It takes 33 hours. The weather goes from the ridiculous
to the sublime: snow in Poland, torrential rain in Germany and a stunning evening in
southern France. When we cross the border to Spain, Keith shouts “Espana!” and the whole
family cheer and shout “Espana!”
The reception party of family and friends is wonderful; tears flow, embraces are long and
tight. Nadya hugs the son she hasn’t seen since last September and the kisses smother his
face. Keith and I are included in this outpouring of love and relief. We are invited indoors for
food, warmth and friendship. Relationships are explained, stories told, children run amok,
languages fly: Ukrainian, Spanish, English, Russian, French? I can barely keep up with the
English. Pizzas are ordered and eaten, we are showered with presents and then, well then
it’s time to say goodbye and thanks to our hosts and new friends. And finally to Nadya. A
woman of immense courage and fortitude and a wonderful mother who, despite everything
she has been through with her children, continues to smile.
As I write this, we are driving on the autoroute de soleil.
There’s a garage in Dorohusk. We go into the workshop, Google translate in hand. The boss
looks at the screen, looks at us and says yes. He’ll help. We have to wait for an hour so parts
can be collected and fitted. Bloody marvellous. It’ll be ready by 11am.
Mike and Kelvin turn up at the garage. They are going to the centre at Dorohusk. Picking up
a mother with four children. Going to a place called Barcelona. Barcelona? We tell him
where Barcelona is. He decides that it’s too far.
Keith asks how far it is. I tell him he’s barmy; it’s at least 1500 miles. On the other hand, we
have a ferry to catch on Wednesday, and here is a mother with four young children
including a baby trying to navigate from Dorohusk to Barcelona on trains though cities rife
with traffickers? They can’t even read a railway timetable; theirs is a Cyrillic alphabet.
It’s an easy decision.
We go to the centre and tell them we’ll do it. Marek tells mum that we’ll take her all the
way to Barcelona. She repeats “all the way?” Marek says yes. Her face lights up the room.
She calls the oldest daughter and tells her.
We go through the normal routines: food, police checks, load the bus, collect addresses and
so on. And then it’s goodbye to everyone at the centre. I have already said goodbye to
Renata, the centre manager. “When will you come back?” I tell her that I hope it’ll be in two
weeks if there is still a need.
We embrace Mike and Kelvin and hope to meet again. During such experiences are
enduring friendships forged. Marek, who has greeted us, translated for us, made sure we
are fed, chatted with us; I hope to see him soon.
As we prepare to leave, there are German volunteers arriving, a group of Italians, our two
American compadres. All around us are Polish volunteers, some of whom have been here
for weeks. They labour in kitchens, storerooms, canteens, rooms transformed into reception
areas and dormitories. They make endless arrangements to transport families to sponsors
or relatives in far flung places; provide food to I have no idea how many mouths; sort
through endless supplies and donations and arrange items for people who have little or
nothing but what they left in. Volunteers outside and inside providing warm welcomes,
endless kindness and compassion.
If we return it will be because there is still a need for the centre to be open and needing
volunteers. When we drive away it is with very mixed feelings.
7:26am. The phone buzzes; it’s a message from Mike. He is going to Chelm; he’s had a phone call to
ask if they’ll take a family of six to Gdańsk. Would we like to go with them in their cars as he knows
we are stuck until Monday with the minibus brakes? At 9:10am I’m at the centre with Mike and
Kelvin who are also volunteers who have travelled from the States, hired two cars, put themselves
up in a local hotel and have been ferrying refugees pretty much non-stop since. Mike is a PI and gun
instructor; Kelvin is a fireman, nurse and trainee sheriff! They are gentlemen.
The plan changes immediately. Not Gdańsk; Poznan. 350 miles away! I’ve been there before – twice.
The family is going to stay with relatives. Alona tells us that they are going to stay with her brother
and his family in a 2 bed apartment. They have left a family home in Tokmak. The Russians are
occupying the city. She is travelling with her husband, brother, mother and two children, Matviy and
Zoya. She and the children travel with Mike and me. Before we have left Chelm, Matviy is sick. I ask
Alona how long they have been travelling: five days. 10 minutes later, they are all asleep, Zoya’s
head on her mother’s lap.
In cars, we make good progress and we arrive at 5:00pm. The family are outside waiting to greet
them. There are tears of joy, relief, loss. Dad would like us to join them in a group photograph.
“Smile everyone” he says. “Cheese” he says in broken English and the adults laugh. I am looking at
that photograph now. Zoya is held up awkwardly. She doesn’t laugh or smile. Neither did Vlad,
Zhenya, Maxim, or any of the other children we have travelled with. Why would they?
It’s snowed overnight. We’re taking a family and a single woman on to their destinations, Krakow
and Medyka. The single woman, Katya, was separated from her family and hopes to be reunited
with them today. She is a trainee doctor.
It rains heavily and the roads are like UK ‘B’ roads which is a surprise as almost all the roads we have
been on in Poland so far have been excellent. So, progress is slow.
When we get to Medyka, an hour later than the satnav predicted, we call the aid worker who is
expecting to meet Katya; he is with another group of refugees. He sends us his location and we set
off again and come to a T junction. Looking left we are completely taken by surprise; we are
confronted by the Medyka border crossing. Two weeks ago, 42,000 people crossed here in one day!
We meet Paul, the aid worker, and Katya is understandably excited. It’s short lived; movement
through the border is slow and Paul is expecting the rest of her family to be at least 4-6 hours. We
shake hands, she crosses the road to the refugee centre and is gone.
Olya, mother of Vlad (15) and Zhenya (11) have travelled from Ovruch, a city to the west of Kyiv and
close to the border with Belarus. Dad is still there. The two boys are polite and helpful; Vlad is very
attentive of mama, sitting with her and talking quietly during the journey. Zhenya is travelling with a
little box covered with tissue. A while into the journey he feels travel sick. We stop and he is sick
(outside). We sit him in the front next to us. I am driving; I glance to my left and the purpose of the
box becomes apparent. It isn’t a box at all but Percy the hamster’s house. He is exploring Zhenya’s
A while later, when Keith is driving, I am tapped on the shoulder and Olya hands me her phone. She
says that the film playing on it is of their neighbourhood. It has been taken on a phone; when I ask
who filmed it, Vlad nods at Olya. It is a single panning shot lasting about 90 seconds which is
followed by a second clip. They show a street that is extensively damaged with buildings that have
been completely destroyed. The images are familiar to anyone who has followed the news; what
makes them overwhelmingly powerful is that the devastation is personal to this mother and her
children. Whose house is this, I ask. Our next door neighbour’s, she replies through Vlad who is
using Google translate.
She hesitates, speaks again and then Vlad types “They all died”.
He types again and turns the screen to me: “All that was found was bits of bone and hair”.
In what world does a 15 year old boy write this?
We arrive at the address in Krakow at about 4:30. Olya taps me on the shoulder. She is waving her
phone at me. The address is Dworska but not IN Krakow; NEAR to Krakow. Right street, wrong town.
I ask her where we need to go instead. Oświeçim, she says, pointing to Google maps: Auschwitz.
Eventually we find the correct address but by now time is getting on and its late. The family that are
taking in Olya and her children are old friends. There is much embracing, kissing, happiness, head
shaking. Our hands are shaken enthusiastically and we are offered coffee and food. They want to
know where we’re from, how far away it is, how long we’re here for, why? Will we come back? And
so on. They are wonderful hosts and I could stay all night but the earlier rain has long since turned to
snow and we are about 300 miles away from our base. We make our goodbyes. I take a photo of
Olya and her two sons; the look on Vlad’s face will stay with me for the rest of my days.
It is a long night; we get back at 6am after stopping for a sleep on the way. The snow cuts across
the road sideways. At some point when we pull up for a break, Keith and I look at each other and say
“At least they’re safe”.
Close to Dorohusk, the brake pad warning light illuminates the dimly lit dash. It puts
Weds 30th March
Andrei, Anya, Misha and Maxim have travelled from an industrial city in eastern Ukraine. Anya is a Maths teacher, Misha (11) is profoundly disabled and husband Andrei is his carer. Maxim (5) talks a lot, is a bundle of energy and could charm the venom from a cobra. He takes a shine to Keith and chats to him at every available opportunity; Keith dutifully nods, smiles and chats back in what he imagines are the right places. His Ukrainian is not what it might be. On the other hand, it’s no worse than mine.
It is a very long journey to Munich, over 800 miles, plus Warsaw first for good measure. We travel through Poland, the Czech Republic, Austria and Germany – mostly in the dark. During
stops we discover that Anya’s mum and dad have been separated by the war. Mama is in Poland but I get the impression that she won’t go further. When I ask Andrei about his parents he shakes his head and looks at the ground. I don’t enquire further.
When we finally get to the hotel, the receptionist knows nothing about the family and when she finally figures out who they are, she makes it abundantly clear that they aren’t welcome. The room hasn’t been cleaned, she says. Anya and I say we’ll clean the room. It won’t sleep 4. I tell her that the children will sleep with the parents. You must all wear masks except in your room. Anya puts her hands on her hips and looks set to throw something. The receptionist gives up.
The room is small but well-furnished and will do the job. It has a fridge and hob. We take Andrei to the supermarket and then the bank to change American dollars to euros. The bank can’t do it. We drive eight km to the nearest town with a bank. I ask the bank clerk if he can change dollars to euros and he says yes. Great. What is your account number, he asks. I tell him I don’t have an account with them. He can no longer change the currency. I ask him to suggest where we might achieve this difficult task and he says he doesn’t know. I am taken aback by how unhelpful and uninterested he is. Neither Anya nor Andrei speak any German or English; being Ukrainian, they can’t even begin to read anything because Ukrainian uses a variation on the Cyrillic alphabet. In Poland, every interaction regarding Ukrainians that I have witnessed has been kind, helpful and focused on finding solutions.
Six weeks ago, Anya would have been teaching Maths to a class of secondary age pupils; Andrei would be going through his daily routine of care for Misha. Maxim would no doubt come bursting through the door after school desperate to share the day’s events. Now, they stand in a room in a hotel, in a sleepy Bavarian village 1000 miles from home, not even knowing how to change the only currency they have. They have a profoundly disabled child to look after, no transport and their experience of life until recently has been based around a major industrial city. If someone had deliberately conspired to make their new lives as difficult as possible, it’s unlikely to have been worse than this.
So, the goodbyes are difficult – again. Maxim hugs Keith and won’t let go. Andrei, who up to this point has been all manly handshakes, puts out his hand but immediately turns it into another hug. And when it’s Anya’s turn, she whispers ‘thank you, thank you’ over and over again.
I have a photograph of each family and group in order that I can show that I took them to where they needed to go. There is dignity, courage and defiance on the faces in each picture. But then we have to say goodbye.
When Maxim climbed into the minibus for the first time, he spied Marina the Panda, the soft toy given to me by a girl called Marina on my last trip. He asked if he could hold it. Later, I saw him fast asleep with the panda held tightly in his arm. I’m glad that they took to each other so well, because a minibus dashboard is no home for a Panda called Marina.
We dropped Sasha and Vika at the humanitarian centre opposite Berlin Central station at
The centre is busy with people arriving, sitting at trestle tables eating, being supported with paperwork, gathering to leave on the next coach. Some people are asleep with heads on tables; others play cards or scroll on their phones. Children are playing. Aid workers are everywhere answering questions in Ukrainian, Russian, German, English. I speak to one of them, explaining what we are doing and ask if transport is ever needed to go the other way. She tells me it happens and that a few days ago a Roma family asked to be taken to Warsaw. However, there is no one tonight and other than taking my mobile number, nothing by way of coordination of movement is suggested. Which is a shame as it means we will drive an empty minibus back to Poland. In the meantime, Keith has ensured that Sasha and Vika have accommodation for the next two nights.
Sasha, who speaks excellent English, has talked to us frequently during the journey but mostly she and Vika have chatted, whispered conspiratorially (not that there is any need to, with our Ukrainian not being up to much) and laughed a lot. They have touched on their experiences of the war, their views and their hopes. Keith has joked with them and made them laugh. Now, in the centre, surrounded by the noise and the bustle there is yet another goodbye for the two young women to endure. Vika is silent but hugs me like every other person who has hugged me here; Sasha the same. The optimism, hope, laughter, banter are gone in an instant. We say goodbye and move into the crowd. When I turn to wave, Sasha is crying.
28th March 2022 From David Gaston
We arrive a little after 6pm on Saturday 26th, 36 hours after setting off which, bearing in mind the detour to Hitchin in Hertfordshire to collect folding chairs (requested by the reception centre) isn’t bad. The journey is just shy of 1400 miles and includes an encounter with a Russian in England who wants to make clear that Russia really is saving Ukrainians from ‘Nazis’ who have apparently overrun Ukraine. I suggest that millions of displaced, bereaved, traumatised people appear to have a different view.
Our reception at the centre is a striking contrast to the worst of human nature that has brought Ukraine to its present state. We are greeted warmly by Jo who has been in touch throughout the last week and who greets us as old friends. She clearly understands how to prioritise; she arranges a meal for us immediately and then, acting as translator, introduces us to Renata, the centre manager. Their hospitality and generosity are overwhelming; despite everything they are dealing with every day, they have still found time to arrange accommodation for us. We have the run of the local sports centre! With beds, shower and a kitchen!
We are on the road with three mothers with young children and toddlers.
Tanya and Nicholai have two boys and a girl. When it is time to leave, Nicholai, a bear of a man, kneels down to kiss and hug his children. His little girl puts her arms around him and cries. Everyone cries. Husband and wife embrace. It is unbearable. Nicholai turns, shakes our hands and says thank you. He will return to Ukraine now to fight.
We have been travelling for barely 10 minutes when the phone rings. Can we return to the centre and pick up another family? We go back and collect a mother with her two teenaged daughters and then drive 20 miles to Chelm to the centre in the disused Tescos to pick up a mother with her son and baby in arms.
Our first destination is Poznan, five hours and 310 miles away. From there we’ll go on to Leszno, a further 50 miles, before returning to Dorohusk. Despite having young children on board, there is only the occasional whispered phrase from behind us.
With the attack on Lviv, there is concern among aid workers that there will be a surge in refugee numbers particularly on the border at Przemysl, about 130 miles south of Dorohusk.
Year 11 packing folders
A very full bus
White Cliffs of Dover
|Off the ferry||Holland||
FAIRFIELD HIGH SCHOOL GOES THE EXTRA 1200 MILES!
15th March 2022
Fairfield High School in Peterchurch has sent its minibus to the Poland-Ukraine border packed with aid for people fleeing the conflict in Ukraine. Working with KTS Craft Warehouse in Ross on Wye, the minibus is taking boxes of essentials like nappies, toothbrushes and toothpaste, sanitary towels, baby milk, soup and cereal bars out to the Polish city of Lublin, where the primary school has been turned into a Reception centre. More importantly, it will then be able to go on to the border crossing points and transport people back to Lublin where they can get help. The minibus is being driven by retired headteacher David Gaston and the journey has been funded by donations from the school community and a GoFundMe page set up for friends and family.
Head teacher Sue Gaston said “At Fairfield we encourage our students to engage proactively with the world around them, and I am so proud that we are able to help in this way. I have been blown away by the generosity of our parents, carers, friends and family and in just a few days we have raised enough money for several other trips, using our minibus and also supporting a local shipping company. We will be sharing our progress on our school website and social media accounts and regularly updating students in school so that we can help our children to get a sense of the reality of the current situation for ordinary people near the border in Poland and Ukraine and also to see that sometimes other ordinary people far away can do something meaningful to help, however small”.
|Poland!||City of Lublin, Poland||The school in Lublin has taken the aid and has been taking in refugee children for three weeks so was very pleased.|
|They will pass everything on to Ukrainian families.|
What a day! Yr 8 were set the task to design, build & programme their own robots to fulfil a variety of challenges including rescuing astronauts, moving space ships and navigating their way around outer space!
NMITE presents it’s first Future Skills Fair!! Wednesday 27th April 2022.
4pm – 7.15pm @ NMITE, Blackfriars , Come along and explore your next steps!We will have educational providers offering information on A-Levels, vocational courses , apprenticeships and more at both Further and Higher educational levels.Local employers will also be present with work placement, training and employment opportunities.It’s not just an event for engineers but for everyone and anyone looking at their next steps in a variety of sectors.But if you are interested in engineering come along a try an interactive challenge and find out more information about NMITE.We have the following exhibitors showcasing:HWGTA – Herefordshire and Worcestershire Group Training Association.HCA – Hereford College of ArtsHereford 6th FormAvant GardeKatherine HarrietTaskworthy LTDHartpury College and Hartpury UniversityVisicon LtdHLNSC – Herefordshire Ludlow & North Shropshire CollegeRiverside TrainingNova TrainingNMITE – MEngNMITE – Future SkillsNMITE – Sarah Peers – Royal Academy of Engineering’s Outreach Co-ordinator in Herefordshire (Ideal for any STEM teachers).Halo LeisureThe Green Dragon HotelHereford Hair LTDCatch22 NCSLandauallpay Limited
Celebrating our female Computing, Technology & Construction staff and students on International Women’s Day!
As always, the staff at Fairfield High School got into the spirit of World Book Day and dressed up as story characters. Reading is actively encouraged throughout school and this activity encourages our students to explore a vast range of literature.
Students thoroughly enjoyed the novelty of seeing staff in costumes that they would not normally see the staff wearing and there were many entries in the ‘Name the Character’ competition.
Fairfield’s Recycled fish, made by Year 7 students in Art and Textiles, were the dramatic backdrop to the For the Rivers; Stories from below the surface, which took place at the Rowing Club in Hereford on Friday 19th November.
The night included the Citizen science groups, who are testing water quality, as well as the NFU, the Wye and Usk Foundation, and Avara Foods, as well as poets, writers and music.
The event was to explore how we can improve the health of our rivers across Herefordshire.
Mr Emmett led and designed the event.
Year 7 Art Students dedicated their Summer half term creating textile portraits in the style of the Artist Grayson Perry. A selection of Fairfield Year 7 portraits will be exhibited by Hereford Museum to celebrate the much anticipated arrival of Grayson Perry’s tapestries to Hereford…. details below:-
Date: 9th October 2021 – 18th December 2021 Recurs daily.
Location: Hereford Museum and Art Gallery Broad Street,Hereford, HR4 9AU
Cost: Adults £5, students with ID, and under 18 free
Congratulations Year 8 Students… Ava Simmons, Angaharad Lewis, Tatiana Hales, Evie Dixon, Callum-Paul Leake & Connie Stewart!
Hereford Museum has chosen your artworks to go on display as part of the Herefordshire Gets Creative exhibition. This will be on during the Grayson Perry exhibition 9th October to 18th December.
FAIRFIELD HIGH SCHOOL PRESS RELEASE GCSE RESULTS SUMMER 2021
After 18 months of disrupted education, Year 11 students at Fairfield have achieved an outstanding set of GCSE results.
Staff at Fairfield followed a rigorous internal process in awarding grades; each individual grade for each student was scrutinised four times before being sent off to the exam boards and underwent moderation within the school, across partner schools and by the exam boards, ensuring that the high standards expected in every subject have been consistently applied across the cohort.
The terrific results justified the commitment and effort of both staff and students, with 9 high-flying students achieving 8 or more subjects at a grade 8 or grade 9 (old grade A* or A**).
Sue Gaston, Head Teacher said: “This cohort has been particularly resilient, determined and focused, including through lockdown when they all attended online lessons every day. Their fantastic results are down to their positive, hard-working ethos and really do accurately reflect their ability in each subject. We are enormously proud of each and every one of them. They are all going on to study A Levels, technical qualifications or into apprenticeships and we wish them every success for the future”.
This term BTEC Construction have been lucky enough to regularly visit a local construction site. The site belongs to a local Peterchurch resident who is designing & constructing his own house and very kindly met with the students to talk to them about the build and his own future career path as an Architect Technologist. Thank you so much for inspiring our students, we look forward to the next stage of the build.