It is very emotional to think of the little children.’ĭisaster Tourism offers a unique experience for those who have exhausted the normal mundane package holiday. Then one of the Germans steps in front of me, crouching down to get his own shot. I photograph the doll, its hair bleached grey, the rubbery plastic of its head weathered to a sort of sickly puce. The level is 7.71, about seventy times the background level this morning in Kiev. Nearby, at the base of a tree, lies a plastic doll, missing one leg and both its arms, half buried in yellow leaves like a little murder victim. On the ground outside the nursery school is a rusty toy truck. A few paces further on the level is 2.89. If I stood by the soldier for an hour, my body would absorb 0.59 microsieverts of radiation.

As I walk down the path behind him, the dosimeter begins to beep. A fresh wreath has been laid at the feet of the youthful bronze soldier, who wears a pensive expression, as if he’s aware that the world has become more complex since the heroic days of the Great Patriotic War. The village war memorial stands in a grove of maple trees.

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