A father’s hand is placed on the train window. He is mirroring his wife and child, their bodies and futures separated by a thin glass sheet. In just moments his family will pull away on their search for safety while he will remain to fight for his homeland.
A family flee their home, ducking for cover as bombs rain down in the corner of the camera frame. A colourful unicorn is centred on the screen, clutched in the hands of a young child. My daughter has one not dissimilar.
In neighbouring Romania, lines of men queue at a train station, readying themselves to join their compatriots. These aren’t trained soldiers. They are accountants, builders, chefs, architects
