Can you take us back to the first time you were deployed to Ukraine and your initial impressions and expectations about how the war might pan out?
To be honest, when I took up a foreign posting in the London bureau, I really didn't think I'd end up covering a war — let alone one in Europe. By the time I flew into Ukraine, two days before Russia launched its full-scale invasion in February 2022, the writing was on the wall. Moscow had massed tens of thousands of troops on the border and serious warnings were coming from western intelligence.
But when I arrived in the western city of Lviv the mood was surprisingly calm. I think ordinary Ukrainians had grown used to tension and Kremlin threats over the years and hoped the latest escalations would all blow over. I met some women who were learning how to use weapons, and some men signing up for the military reserves, but they spoke about a war as if it were a distant possibility, one they were preparing for "just in case". Of course, their lives were about to change forever.
In the early hours of February 24, I got a 4.50am call from ABC News International editor Dee Porter in Sydney. Even in my groggy daze, I knew before I picked it up that it was bad news. "It's happening," she said, "I'm watching TV coverage now, I can hear explosions in Kyiv."
My London colleagues Nick Dole and Adrian Wilson were trying to leave Kyiv, among hundreds of thousands also trying to escape. We were worried about them.
It's easy to forget, but in those first hours, no one knew what was coming. There was a real fear that regime change could be imminent, and convoys of Russian tanks headed for the capital were deeply unnerving. The chilling sounds of air raid alarms sounded across the country. For me, it was hearing this unfamiliar wail that made it all feel real. For Ukrainians, that noise has now become a part of everyday life.
For the next few weeks, I worked around the clock with the ABC's Middle East correspondent, Tom Joyner. We did a lot of live crosses to Australia, met a lot of traumatised people and watched the country transform. I certainly wasn't sure what was coming back then, but I don't think anyone really could've predicted how the next 12 months would play out. It was the beginning of a seismic global shift, still moving under our feet.
All up I think I've spent about nine weeks in the country over three deployments. Each trip has been vastly different, but each time, I've met many incredible people who have really left an impression on me. The first trip was reporting on that enormous period of upheaval as war broke out, the second was largely about the Russian withdrawal from Kyiv and the war crimes that were being uncovered. The third assignment, just this last month, was different altogether.
We were reporting on 12 months at war and looking at the struggle of people in the country's east. It was astounding this time around to stand in Kyiv and see a buzzing city. Peak hour traffic, busy cafes, street vendors and buskers. But all that can change in a moment as air raid sirens sound or as night falls. In the evenings the city is dark and eerie, and you can't forget this country is at war. Few public lights are switched on, buildings are dark, curtains re-drawn due to fear of attack.
What are the challenges of reporting in a war zone?
The challenges are endless! Where do I begin; safety threats, road closures, language barriers, fatigue, deadlines, no internet, fuel shortages, military escorts, curfews, checkpoints. Throw out the ordinary reporting rule book, it's a new ball game.
Those first few weeks were the most difficult. The situation was evolving and we were trying to find translators, drivers and vehicles. Locals we engaged to work with us often couldn't commit for long: they either needed to flee the country or felt a sense of duty to help the war effort.
Like much of the world's media, we were building our local team on the fly. We were trying to do all this while reporting around the clock too.
In the early days, our hotel wasn't getting their food deliveries from across the border. Our dinner offerings were cold meatballs, cold chips and boiled eggs. The same was offered for breakfast … and lunch. Thankfully, their food supply issues were resolved quickly.
How do you find the story while staying safe?
Truly, the work the ABC does in Ukraine would be impossible without the amazing team we've built. Usually, we are moving as a crew of five. I've worked with Middle East correspondent Tom Joyner on my three trips into Ukraine. He's a brilliant and talented colleague. We collaborate on everything but mostly he manages filming, photographs, editing and media management, while I do the on-air reporting, scripting, story planning and logistics.
All ABC foreign correspondents undergo specialist training in working in high-risk environments before starting our postings. On the ground in Ukraine, we are always very careful about safety and have strict protocols in place for each assignment. In consultation with our ABC managers, we do an extensive risk assessment before going and revise this during daily check-ins while in the field.
We have worked with several local producers who help line up stories, translate interviews and communicate with authorities and people on the ground. Most recently we worked with a fantastic fixer named Tetiana — she was a true lifesaver and the reason we got anything to air.
We have a security adviser, Michael, who regularly travels with our teams. He helps us navigate the safest way to work in hostile environments. Then there's our beloved Eugene — a local driver who never stops making us smile. He likes to start journeys by saying: "Let's go party," or "Welcome to Ukraine, baby". At mealtimes, he regularly tells me "meat is good, but chicken is not meat, it's salad".
He also insists I try every bit of food he orders, whether it be some of his steak at dinner or a service station hot dog. I've stopped fighting him, he doesn't accept my plant-based diet. You end up eating almost every meal together and spending most of your day with this team for weeks on end.
On our latest job, we stayed in nine hotels, moving every few days. While it's challenging, the team's camaraderie keeps you going on these long assignments. We have some absolute belly laughs on the road. Often everyone relies on humour to process the day's events. I think it is a powerful tool for managing the stress and trauma of the job.
What have been the memorable moments and stories?
There's so many moments and experiences in Ukraine that will stay with me forever. It makes you realise we so often take our safety and security for granted in Australia. I saw so many people lose the life they'd worked for and dreamed of due to foreign forces.
Watching so many families and couples say goodbye to each other in those first few weeks was heartbreaking. I saw a middle-aged father sobbing, clutching his teenage son, as he forced him onto a train to safety. He was bound for war and worried it was his final goodbye with his boy.
It's still hard to comprehend the atrocities inflicted during the Russian occupation in parts of the country. It's difficult to see humans can do such things to each other.
But my overpowering memories of Ukraine will be the generosity, trust and goodwill ordinary people offered us. Twelve months on, and the strength and resolve of Ukrainians is still there and, perhaps, fuelled by a devilish sense of humour because through every trip, despite the circumstance, I always end up laughing with the locals. And all of Eugene's hilarious one-liners will not be forgotten!
