Coleen Rooney says Unicef support for Ukrainian families is a ‘lifeline'
Coleen Rooney, right, talks to Yuliia Karpenko in a park near Krakow main train station (Unicef/Brykczynski/PA)
She said: 'I can relate to being a mum and the first thing (you would do) in that situation is to get out of danger, to make sure that the kids are OK and we can find somewhere.
'I couldn't imagine what was going through their heads… the emotions.'
While in Krakow she visited the Spilno Hub, which helps families find accommodation and offers access to a range of services such as psychosocial support and legal assistance.
The Unicef-run centre has helped people such as Yuliia Karpenko, her sister Olisia and Yuliia's four-year-old daughter Anastasiia 'Nastia' who were forced to flee Ukraine with just one bag on an evacuation train.
She said: 'Hearing about the lasting effect the war in Ukraine has had on Yuliia and her family will stay with me for a long time.
'Her determination to create a safe and supportive community for her family in Poland really shone through.
'Thanks to Unicef, she's been able to meet other mums, learn Polish and find work in a kitchen.
'And her daughter, Nastia, has been able to make friends with other children and spend time playing, just as any four-year-old should.
Coleen Rooney with children and workers of the Sun Centre during classes (Unicef/Brykczynski/PA)
'It was a privilege meeting Yuliia and her family and to see how money raised by Soccer Aid for Unicef really is changing lives.
'Leaving their home and not knowing when they'll be able to return was so hard for them.
'But spending time at the Spilno Hub has helped them to feel safe.
'It supports families who've fled the war in Ukraine in so many ways.
'It's a very special place.'
During the trip, Rooney visited the Education Rehabilitation Centre, a specialist school funded by the children's organisation which supports young people with disabilities.
There she met a young autistic boy, Murat, who could not talk when they first left Ukraine and has since been able to say a few words.
She said: 'It's such a calming place and the teachers there are so supportive and caring.
Coleen Rooney (right) with Murat during a sensory therapy class (Unicef/Brykczynski/PA)
'Kateryna (Murat's mother) told me that the changes she's seen in Murat have been incredible.
'When they left Ukraine he wasn't able to talk but he's now started to say some words and can communicate with other children too.
'She said that when they arrived in Poland she felt hopeless but, thanks to Unicef, she can now see a future there for them.'
Donations made to Soccer Aid for Unicef will be doubled this year up to £5 million thanks to the Children's Investment Fund Foundation.
Rooney said: 'As a mum myself, I couldn't help but think of my own boys when I met children like Nastia and Murat.
'Seeing them smile and play despite everything they've been through was incredibly moving.
'Hearing their stories really reminded me how important it is that we stand with families who've been through so much, every child deserves a safe space to play – as a parent this is all you want for your child.'
To donate to Soccer Aid for Unicef and support children around the world, visit socceraid.org.uk/donate.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
.jpeg%3Fwidth%3D867%26crop%3D16%3A9%2Csmart%26quality%3D75&w=3840&q=100)
Cambrian News
5 days ago
- Cambrian News
Tumultuous history and cultural legacy of Penrhos revealed
A report commissioned as part of planning conditions for a housing development at the site, last used as a home for expatriate Polish which grew out of the disused RAF base and its buildings, details the history of Penrhos Polish Village. It stood 'as a vital cultural, social, and historical refuge for displaced Polish nationals in Britain after World War II,' the report states.
Telegraph
13-07-2025
- Telegraph
The tortured Ukrainian veteran turning shrapnel into a war museum
Instead of an entrance hall, 'Grandpa's' war museum makes use of the dusty, weed-strewn pavement by the side of the road. A Russian tank, an armoured personnel carrier and a howitzer barrel are displayed to lure in visitors heading east from the Ukrainian city of Pavlohrad. On the floor lie a row of Kinzhal and Kalibr cruise missiles with their tips pointed out at the passing cars. These are only a handful of the treasures collected by the museum's founder and proprietor, 67-year-old Anatoly 'Grandpa' Tokarev, a former reconnaissance commander in the Ukrainian army. 'That was the first Kalibr that hit Pavlohrad,' says Mr Tokarev, pointing at a flower pot shaped from the missile's base and painted with licks of fire. 'We went out and collected it as a souvenir.' Formed on the site of a roadside cafe, 'Grandpa's' may lack the prestige of the Imperial War Museum, but it is shaped by the same desire to honour the memory of the dead and inform the next generation, as far as possible, of what they went through. In Mr Tokarev, it has an overseer as resourceful and dedicated as any of the great collectors who set up the Natural History Museum, Ashmolean or Getty. In its way, his own body could be an exhibit: both his legs were broken, and one shot through, during a month-long stint being tortured by the FSB after he was captured in Russian-occupied Ukraine in 2014. Before leading The Telegraph on an impromptu tour of the facility, he hands everyone a bottle of water and a cup of machine coffee. The day is hot, and a Ukrainian flag hangs limply on its pole. 'Have that first, then we'll talk,' he says. When Mr Tokarev retired from the military in 2016, he set up a cafe here along with his wife, a sniper in the Ukrainian army. But over time, the business began to irk them. Customers would come in to chat and unwind, seemingly unbothered by the war that continued, with tit-for-tat exchanges of artillery fire, less than 100 miles away to the east. 'My wife saw people relaxing, drinking and everything else. She said: 'Enough'. And, in 2019, we decided to make the museum,' says Mr Tokarev. Some of the first exhibits were items he had squirrelled away in service. But his deep connection with the Ukrainian military provided a small army of helpers, scouts and sources to broaden the collection. Since the full-scale invasion in February 2022, the archive has mushroomed. Russia's war has left traces across the country, from Shahed drones to stingers, mortars to mines, howitzers to hand grenades. It has also left a trail of death, which Mr Tokarev endeavours to chart in his own way. On the pavement outside the museum stands a cross fashioned from 350kg of shrapnel, bearing the dog tags of local Pavlohrad soldiers who died before 2019. A falling bombshell has been welded to the front. Behind it, on the wall of the museum, are memorial plaques for around 400 more soldiers, many of whom Mr Tokarev knew personally. 'He was a martial arts expert,' he says, pointing to one young man's picture. 'He died when the Russians took Kherson,' he adds by another. A large portion of the wall lies blank, waiting for the next death to be painstakingly confirmed. 'I hire people to make the plaques. It's a never-ending process, unfortunately,' he says. Children's drawings have been stuck to one side of a corridor. Entrance to the museum is free, and several busloads of school pupils arrive per week. In the drawings, there are pillboxes, helicopters, machine guns and stickmen soldiers, all sketched with the diligent madness of the under-10s. 'Every morning I see soldiers outside school,' one boy has written, 'I pray you will be alive when the war ends.' 'The most important thing is that I teach the children never to forget these guys who died, and always to stand up for them,' says Mr Tokarev, whose gruff demeanour, bright-blue eyes and sometimes cryptic way of speaking make him almost like a character from a children's book himself. To be sure, the curiosity of youth runs through his veins. 'War is always changing and always the same,' he says, showing off a rack of uniforms, including Nazi, Ukrainian and Russian, in one dingy corner of the museum. He is reluctant to move into the next room without ensuring his guests have appreciated an old Cossack sword, which he draws from its sheath to wield. Then there is a pack of playing cards featuring the Russian elite, with Putin as the six of spades and General Sergei Shoigu as the ace of clubs. Would he like to kill them all? 'Well, they'll get themselves killed,' Mr Tokarev says. 'The thing is, if you kill them, nothing will change. 89 per cent of the population in Russia is completely brainwashed.' To this day, Mr Tokarev keeps in touch with members of the Salty Hedgehogs, the reconnaissance group in which he served and whose logo his T-shirt bears. At one point, he brings up a desperate text message on his phone from a soldier facing encirclement. 'We helped get them out,' he says, not long after proffering a signed flag given to him as a gift by General Valeriy Zaluzhny, the former commander-in-chief of the Ukrainian army. Some things he refuses to divulge. Why is his left hand missing its fingertips? How did he get hold of a decoy Shahed? Or a British-made NLAW missile? 'I asked nicely,' is all he will say of how his collection came to include a border post from the invaded Russian region of Kursk. On the way out, Mr Tokarev beckons to a small garden. Shrapnel has been turned into thin sculptures of flowers. As the sun sets, he insists he has never paid for a single weapon on show, nor the fresh haul of wrecked metal that lies in an alleyway. But the collection as a whole is priceless. 'My museum,' he says, 'is worth more than my life.'
Scotsman
12-07-2025
- Scotsman
How Scotland's state-sanctioned child marriage is at odds with all Europe
Sign up to our daily newsletter – Regular news stories and round-ups from around Scotland direct to your inbox Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to The Scotsman, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... The globally accepted definition of child marriage is clear. Unicef describes it as 'any formal marriage or informal union between a child under the age of 18 and an adult or another child'. The harm caused by child marriage is equally as stark. According to the UN agency, girls are six times more likely than boys to marry before their 18th birthday. Early marriage robs them of their childhood, forcing them to drop out of school. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Girls who marry young are more likely to be victims of domestic violence. They have worse economic and health outcomes than their unmarried peers, and their children often suffer too. It is hardly surprising then that there has been a steady decline in child marriage across the world, as governments realise that it is a human rights violation. READ MORE: Scottish Government consults on raising legal marriage age over grooming fears Young girls in Lebanon dress as brides during a protest against child marriage (Picture: Anwar Amro) | AFP via Getty Images 'Sexual exploitation of children' In recent years, many low and middle-income countries with a tradition of early marriage have introduced legislation to protect their young people. For example, the Marriage Act of Malawi in 2017 makes it illegal for any girl under the age of 18 to marry and holds parents and other family members accountable and liable to prosecution. Last year, Colombia agreed legislation to eradicate child marriage. The law, dubbed They are Girls, Not Wives, was finally passed after nearly two decades of campaigning by advocacy groups and eight previous failed attempts. 'We do not want to continue seeing the systematic violence and sexual exploitation of children,' said congresswoman Jennifer Pedraza, a co-author of the Bill. 'So it is a great message, not only for Colombia in terms of respect for the rights of boys and girls, but also for the world. Colombian childhood is important, we have to protect it and we have to care for it.' Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Yet there are still some countries where child marriage, usually with parental consent, persists. Girls as young as 13 can marry in Iran, and in the Lebanon, where religious laws often govern marriage, girls as young as nine can be wed. The US campaign group Unchained points out there are four US states where there is no minimum age for marriage: California, Mississippi, New Mexico and Oklahoma. Here in Europe, there are a few countries where marriage at 16 is allowed, but only with parental or judicial consent. Marriage at 12? But one country is an outlier, not only in Europe but across much of the world – Scotland, where child marriage between a boy and a girl or a same-sex couple is legal provided both parties are 16. No parental or judicial consent is required. Historically, early marriage was normal in Scotland. In the 18th and 19th centuries, girls could marry as young as 12. It wasn't until 1929 when the law was changed to increase the legal age to 16, where it remains to this day, despite the efforts of campaigners such as Together, an alliance of over 400 organisations and children's rights experts, and the charity Barnardo's Scotland. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad This could be about to change, however, as Siobhian Brown, the community safety minister, has this week confirmed that the Scottish Government is finally going to consult on raising the legal age for marriage and civil partnerships to 18, in line with England and much of the rest of the world. The announcement came in a parliamentary answer to Ash Regan, Holyrood's sole Alba MSP, who is arguably Holyrood's most successful campaigner for women's rights of recent years. She is currently steering a Private Member's Bill through parliament to criminalise the purchase of sex and was a leading critic of the Gender Recognition Reform Bill. She describes child marriage as a 'hidden crime' and wants to see new safeguards to protect youngsters. The definition of a child It remains something of a mystery why successive SNP governments, which have carefully positioned themselves as progressive, have been so reluctant to outlaw child marriage. It is not enough to argue that Scotland has a long-standing tradition of 16 being the age of consent. By that crude argument, child labour would still be the norm. Nor was the decision to drop the voting age for Holyrood and local elections to 16 a justification for maintaining child marriage, given that it was arguably nothing more than a deeply cynical move to shore up the nationalist vote. Indeed, in Scots law and wider society, the generally accepted definition of a 'child' is anyone who has not yet turned 18, as set out in the 2014 Children and Young People (Scotland) Act. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad And it was only last year that the Scottish Parliament unanimously incorporated the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) into Scots law. Article one of the convention defines a child as 'every human being below the age of 18'. Do the right thing At the time, the Scottish Government boasted that incorporating the UNCRC helped make Scotland the best place in the world to grow up, conveniently forgetting to add that while it was the first devolved government in the world to directly incorporate UNCRC, it continued to sanction child marriage. My own mother, who died recently, married a fortnight before her 17th birthday. In 1950s rural Scotland, teenage brides were a common feature, particularly among poorer families, where marriage was considered an aspirational career choice for a girl.
