On Friday night, 4 March 2022, Matthew Bourne’s take on the Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker was performed at the Liverpool Empire. The audience slowly filled the auditorium, greeting friends as they came in with smiles and hugs. Some having taken their seats were waving to catch the attention of friends they saw in the distance. The atmosphere was relaxed and congenial. The hum of voices relaxed and reassuring. The only warning being about the need to take your seats when the programme was “about to start in 2 minutes”.

The lights dimmed, the ballet began. Stunning dancing, breath taking sets and sumptuous music combined to meet all expectations. At the interval the arm of young girl in front of me described an elegant arc, clearly emulating that of the ballerinas she dreamt of becoming.

The second half built on the solid foundations of the first sweeping the emotions of the audience from climax to climax finally resolving in the triumph of true love. The curtain call delivered a much-deserved standing ovation. As the lights rose there was a feeling of happy contentment, of an evening well spent. People began to drift away, praising the wonderful show they had seen as they headed home through the familiar, bright streets of Liverpool. Just as many audiences had done since the theatre opened in the 1920’s.

As we departed just over 1,000 miles to the East thousands of women and children were settling down to a night in cold and crowded underground carparks or cellars. Mothers singing lullabies to distract their babies and children from rumbling and crashing sounds. In Kharkiv and Mariupol a continuous bombardment was reducing the cities above them, that had previously been just as solid as Liverpool, to little more than rubble.

In the blink of an eye someone’s home was torn apart transforming its occupant into a displaced person whose future was no longer that of a teacher, motor mechanic, civil servant or restaurant owner. Rather, a refugee with all their possessions in a single suitcase and whatever else they could carry.

A life, which a fortnight earlier had seemed as solid as the ancient buildings and modern homes of any European city, was changed forever. Whatever their prospects had been, the elegant arc of a rocket had delivered instant equality of misery.

In Liverpool, whilst a theatre full of people were enjoying the exquisite product of Russian high culture in a relaxed and taken for granted atmosphere of peace and stability. A short flight away, with barbaric savagery contemporary Russians were attempting to exterminate a nation.

Whilst in Liverpool the future seemed so solid and certain in Ukraine at the exact same instant the solid and certain was being dissolved in a ballistic instant. Killing and maiming many, terrorising and maiming many, many more.

Arriving home, the News at Ten, heralded by the reassuring chimes of Big Ben remained grim. But one item particularly caught the eye. A small but significant act of resistance. The whole of the staff of the Russian TV channel, TV Rain, resigned on air following the Russian authorities’ suspension of its operations because of its coverage of the Ukraine war. As they all left, one of its founders spoke to camera and said, “no to war”.

Their final act was to broadcast a black and white film of the Swan Lake ballet which had been shown on state run TV when the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991.

A night at the ballet generating a kaleidoscope of emotions, uplifting, sobering, frightening and hopeful. We can only pray that, as in the Nutcracker, against all odds, true love will triumph. The resolute optimism of the Ukrainians is clearly infectious.