The thunderous explosions of Russian Grad rocket launchers, staccato blasts of approaching gunfire, and the screeching whirr of air raid sirens have been the soundtrack to Yevhen and Vlad’s childhoods during four years of war in Ukraine.

Both teenagers have suffered immensely as a result of Russia’s invasion, recalling to The Independent their grim personal anecdotes including a civilian minibus torn to shreds by Russian gunfire, the kidnapping of family members, and the total destruction of their home towns.

Now, for the first time since 2022, the 17-year-olds no longer need fear the sound of a passing aircraft, tucked safely away in the Italian coastal town of Lignano Pineta alongside 30 others, for a camp aimed at alleviating the psychological toll of war for Ukrainian children.

The boys say that the ‘No Sirens’ camp, run by Hope for Ukraine, means everything to them. “Here I feel safe,” says Vlad. “I go to bed peacefully, knowing that I will wake up the next morning. I hear airplanes in the sky, but they are ordinary passenger planes. They are not frightening.”

But they know these rare weeks of bliss will not last. When they go back, Yevhen makes clear, “the reality of the war will still be there”. It is a traumatising reality that has produced scarring memories for many young children.

Yevhen recalls one especially bleak night during their escape from Russian-occupied territory, as they queued to exit a checkpoint manned by Russian troops. A man had attempted to drive through the checkpoint without waiting, before soldiers opened fire at his vehicle.

“I remember waking up because of gunfire,” Yevhen recalls. “The next morning, we saw his minibus completely riddled with bullets and covered in blood. He and the people with him had been shot after trying to pass the checkpoint without waiting in line.

“Seeing that was one of the most terrifying moments of my life.”

Vlad, meanwhile, was forced to flee with his family from Orikhiv, in Ukraine’s Zaporizhzhia region, and has since witnessed its destruction by Russian forces from afar.

“It is shelled every single day with guided aerial bombs, artillery, and drones,” he says. “Recently, a three-ton bomb was dropped on the town. My home was destroyed, and there is almost nothing left of it.”

Hailing from the frontline regions, Yevhen and Vlad are among a large group of teenagers taken on the 10-day retreat to Italy by charity Hope for Ukraine, where they have visited Venice, spent time on the beach, played with their peers, and most importantly, escaped the ever-present threat of Russian attacks.

Organisers say the camp is vital for giving the children back their childhood.

They are often quiet and withdrawn when they arrive, some struggling to make friends when they arrive, to freely express their emotions, or to relax around a group of strangers. Those who come from near the frontline often arrive emotionally overwhelmed.

The children are also highly sensitive to loud sounds, says programme coordinator Ruslana. “Even something as natural as thunder during a storm can trigger fear and anxiety,” she says, recalling one night when a nearby storm “brought back memories of explosions and air raid sirens”.

But it takes just days before organisers say they begin to see changes in the children.

Anastasiia, an organiser hailing from the Russian-occupied city of Melitopol who now works with children in Kyiv, says: “They start smiling, talking to one another, taking part in creative activities, and behaving like children again.”

Days after it began, Yevhen, who comes from Henichesk in Ukraine’s war-ridden Kherson region, was already speaking glowingly of the camp in an interview with The Independent.

“I really don’t want to leave this camp yet because I truly like being here,” he says.

“Here there are no air raid sirens. Everything feels peaceful and calm. I have friends to spend time with, and I can simply enjoy being a teenager without constantly worrying about what might happen next.

“Returning home is difficult to think about. I know that when I go back, the reality of the war will still be there.”

Vlad says that for the first time in years, he feels safe. “I go to bed peacefully, knowing that I will wake up the next morning. I hear airplanes in the sky, but they are ordinary passenger planes. They are not frightening.

“In Ukraine, every loud sound can mean danger,” he continues. “The sound of an airplane, a helicopter, a missile, or a drone immediately makes you think about another attack. You never know when an air raid siren will begin or when missiles or drones might be flying toward your city. Living with that uncertainty every day is exhausting.”

Choosing which children join the camp is, for the organisers, the toughest part of the job. Children deemed to have suffered the most are prioritised, including those who have lost their homes, whose parents are serving on the frontline or have been killed, and those struggling with serious financial hardship. Yevhen and Vlad were clear choices.

“The war has changed my life completely,” says the former. “We had to leave our home behind, and now we don’t even know if we will ever be able to return. Our house in occupied territory has lost almost all of its value, and everything about our future feels uncertain.”

Yevhen also recalls the kidnapping of his uncle, Hennadii, a Ukrainian journalist captured in occupied Henichesk in 2022. His family are aware that he has been beaten and tortured, and can only hope that he will be part of one of the ongoing future prisoner exchanges between Moscow and Kyiv.

Vlad says he joined the camp “because I wanted to feel safe again”.

“I wanted to experience peace, freedom, and a chance to forget about the war, even if only for a short time,” he adds.

“That is why this camp has been so important to me. It has given me a chance to experience what it feels like to live without fear, even if only for a little while.”