God Save Me From My Friends: Memoir of a Ukrainian Exile is not just a personal story – it is a testimony for our time. Written with care and documented in detail, it carries the voice of a generation that endured exile, war, and survival. In today’s terrible moment of renewed conflict in Europe, this memoir meets its hour: a thunderclap reminder that history is not distant, but alive in memory, and that witness is our duty.
This book is not about recognition – it is about truth. It is a lens through which readers can see the past and understand the present. To read it now is to stand alongside testimony, and to carry forward the dignity of those who refused to be silenced.
Боже, борони мене від моїх друзів, а з ворогами я буду сам боронитись: Мемуари українського вигнанця — це не просто особиста історія, а свідчення нашого часу. Написані з увагою та ретельно задокументовані, вони несуть голос покоління, яке пережило вигнання, зраду, війну і виживання. У нинішній страшний момент відновленого конфлікту в Європі ці мемуари зустріли свою годину: грім серед тиші, нагадування, що історія не є далекою — вона жива в пам’яті, і свідчення є нашим обов’язком.
Ця книга не про визнання — вона про правду. Це об’єктив, крізь який читачі можуть побачити минуле й зрозуміти сучасність. Читати її зараз означає стати поруч зі свідченням і нести далі гідність тих, хто відмовився мовчати.
“In the beginning, God said, ‘Let there be light,’
and the darkness yielded.
Christ declared, ‘I am the Light of the World,’
and the shadows fled.
In my own night of trauma,
I too dwelt in darkness,
until the curtains opened,
and morning returned.
So the archive is lit:
memory brought into brightness,
testimony shining against concealment.
For evil hides in shadow,
but witness endures in light.”
‘It feels as though my whole life has been waiting for this moment, through all its twists and turns. What once seemed distant history has returned in another form. In such dark and disturbing times, memory becomes not only personal but political: a reminder that witness is our duty.
This memoir was written not only to preserve memory, but to shine light where darkness hides. Evil always seeks to conceal its crimes, but testimony resists erasure. By bringing together my Father’s story, my cousin Oleg’s archive, and my own witness, I have tried to contribute something positive in the never‑ending struggle of light against shadow. The book is my lantern – a reminder that even in dark times, witness endures.’
Announcement
I am delighted to share that the updated edition of my book is now live. This project has been a journey of extraordinary scope: a multilingual, multi‑artefact, multi‑document work that weaves together voices, histories, and perspectives across cultures and time.
From the beginning, my aim was not simply to tell a story, but to create a living archive – a book that reflects the richness and complexity of memory itself. It brings together documents, testimonies, and reflections in several languages, alongside artefacts that carry their own weight of meaning.
Producing such a work has been no small task. The complexity of the format, the challenge of integrating diverse materials, and the responsibility of ensuring clarity and readability have all been part of the journey. To see it now corrected, updated, and available to readers is a profound relief and a source of pride.
This edition represents the definitive version: clearer, more polished, and faithful to the vision I set out to achieve. While no book of such scale is ever “perfect,” it is now fully readable and accessible, and I believe it captures the essence of what I hoped to convey.
Above all, this book is a testament to resilience – both in the story it tells and in the process of bringing it to life. I hope readers will find in it not only history, but also humanity, and a reminder of the values that endure across languages, cultures, and generations.
Apocalypse in the Letniska Forest, October 1944
This battle was the terrifying climax of my Father’s story — the moment when everything seemed to collapse into fire and ruin. After many years of research, I finally located the site he had described so vividly.
When I found the Letniska woods on a Google street view — the battlefield my Father had recounted to me countless times — I was astonished to see only modern highways and bridges, no forest, no Panther tanks lurking in the shadows.
Yet in memory, it remained October 1944, near Warsaw, the climax of his story, when all hell was unleashed. An apocalypse, I have called it: the moment when the world seemed to collapse into flames and devastation.
To stand there, even virtually, was to feel that I was still with him in the woods, carrying his witness into the present. And to think that today there is talk again of war in Europe makes the memory even more poignant.
What I once believed belonged only to the archive of history has returned in another form, reminding us that testimony is never finished, and that the past is always waiting to break through the present.
Welcome
At the heart of my memoir lies a simple truth: the truth is only revealed to those who love enough to search. It has always been there, waiting quietly, until memory and compassion uncover it.
This site continues that search. It is a living archive, where reflections and meditations expand upon this memoir, offering new light on old encounters.
The first reflection expands upon a brief passage at the end of my memoir. In the book, I recorded a fleeting encounter with an old Cossack in London – an exile whose solitude became part of my story. At the time, I scarcely realised the depth of its meaning. Only now, decades later, and prompted by a friend’s comment, do I see how that moment embodied the compassion I have always carried for those who suffered as my parents did. What follows is a meditation on that encounter, offered here as a companion piece to the memoir.
This site is, in its own way, a living archive. Over time, I hope to add further reflections that illuminate the memoir and its context. These will be gathered in a supplementary section entitled Candle in the Window – Reflections of Witness.
A Meditation on the Old Cossack
At the very end of my memoir, I recorded a brief encounter with an old Cossack in London. He was a man who had once served in the Tsarist army during the First World War, and who had come to the Ukrainian Association headquarters to die in exile, far from family and homeland. I was placed with him in a small garret because the student hostel was unfinished, and so, by chance, I found myself in his company.
I scarcely remember what language he spoke to me in, or even the details of his stories. What mattered was not the words but the presence: a young university student, full of energy and hope, sitting with an old man whose life was nearly spent. In that dim room, I offered him only a listening ear and companionship, but perhaps it was enough. For a man who had lost everything, even a moment of recognition could be a kind of home. It was, in its own way, a gift of dialogue – not through eloquence, but through shared silence and witness.
It was only today, after a friend reminded me, that I realised the deeper meaning of that encounter. I have always been drawn to those who suffered as my parents did – faces marked by loss, exile, and endurance. The Ukrainian Association became a refuge for such people, and in their tired, worn expressions I saw the cost of history. Yet I also saw my own inheritance: compassion, and the love my parents gave me, which has always been my true home.
That night with the old Cossack was not just a fleeting episode. It was a fragment of witness, a reminder that suffering and love are bound together. His solitude lives on in my testimony, and by sharing it, I hope to honour him – and all those exiles – so that they are not forgotten.
Postscript
This meditation was prompted by a conversation with my friend Maria, whose own Ukrainian heritage gave her a particular insight into what I had written. A single comment from her revealed to me the deeper meaning of that brief encounter with the old Cossack, showing how compassion for those who suffered has always been part of my nature.
It reminded me that the gift of dialogue is rare and powerful. Sometimes it takes another voice to uncover what has been quietly living within us all along. In sharing this, I feel as if I was called to witness such lives, and now that testimony is recorded for others to see. That recognition makes me feel my life has not been in vain, but part of a larger thread of memory and care.
All feedback and comments are welcome- please share your impressions after reading. Every comment helps keep the dialogue alive.
Scale Modelling and Historical Witness
Alongside writing, I have long been devoted to the craft of scale military modelling. What began as a hobby has become another way of engaging with history — recreating aircraft, tanks, ships, and scenes that carry the atmosphere of past events.
Some dioramas appear in God Save Me From My Friends, where they serve not merely as models but as fragments of witness: visual echoes that support the testimony of the book.
On this site, I share selected builds and dioramas, presented not only as examples of modelling skill but as part of a wider effort to keep memory alive. Whether aircraft, armour, or naval vessels, each piece is an attempt to capture detail, context, and meaning — to bring history into focus on a smaller stage.
Visitors are welcome to explore these works. They stand as a bridge between archive and art, between the written word and the crafted image, and between the memoir and the wider world of historical remembrance.
Acknowledgement
This site, and the work it presents, could not have come into being without the support of my nephew, Paul Bishop. He provided the theatre in which I could speak, the technical stage, the props, and the unseen backup without which I would have been totally adrift. His contribution has been vital, though mostly behind the scenes. Much of my motivation has been to give this work to him as a legacy-our legacy-so that he will have something to hold onto when his Uncle is no longer in the theatre.
Some examples from my modelling collection:
Great work