053 - Chapter 53

(Illustration: Photo by Kieron Mannix on Unsplash: a window in dark room emphasises the shape of a cross, as light floods in)

I was surprised when Fatos, the father of a family from our church seeking asylum, turned up at Bob’s dad funeral, to show his respect and his friendship towards us as a family. I thought that was lovely of him, considering he had no means of getting to the crematorium, except by public transport. How on earth did he know where it was? Bob and I had just attended his family’s hearing that morning, as they were seeking permission to remain in our country.

By becoming part of the Willington Team, I really had my eyes opened to the plight of asylum seekers, whose journeys of escape were so worrisome and difficult they either could not discuss such experiences or were afraid to talk about them. The one or two homes of asylum seekers then, showed how little they had to call their own, and it seemed to me that they still seemed to live with fear, so much so, that their curtains were often permanently closed in day time. What they did possess had all been donated. I wonder if we can appreciate what an asylum seeker has to endure, in order to feel safe and to live a normal life.

Those being assisted, and befriended, by volunteers in our local Community Centre then, in Battle Hill, were from former Yugoslavia, Albania, Africa, and Russia. Those seeking help at St Luke’s Church in Wallsend were from Iraq and Iran, and were being assisted by Captain Ian Ferguson, a former church army chaplain. Support was set up in offices at the Forum Wallsend too, and buses would ferry clients back and forth, to a block of flats in Gateshead, where they were helped further by legal teams.

I really admired support centres in our area, doing their best to help such people in trouble, and the Wallsend branch evolved into a scheme called ‘Walking With’. Carol Parkins took the leadership role eventually and it was later run by Joan Hurst. These team leaders were ably supported by teams of willing volunteers. But long before these leaders took charge, initial efforts at supporting clients were problematic. This was bound to be the case.

I had gone along to the asylum centre at the local community centre in Battlehill, just as a befriender as part of my outreach work when I arrived in the Willington Team, and I met with some truly lovely people from overseas, who were desperately seeking help with application forms and housing information, and they were so grateful for the help given to them by the volunteers. I couldn’t speak any of these foreign languages, but somehow with pencil and paper, sketches and in singing popular songs with my guitar, I made many friends there, both adults and children.

I got to know one family really well; a father, mother and three children; (two sons and a daughter) because they attended our church. They said they were from former Yugoslavia. They asked me to help them with their request, to sort forms out and check letters, in preparation for their case to be heard. I so much wanted to help them, but I’d had no experience of such work, just a willing heart.

They had been directed to an office block in Gateshead, a town some eight miles away, so I went with them to meet the solicitor who was handling their case. As it turned out, those they thought were their solicitors were merely people who spoke their language, refugees themselves in some cases. Maybe it was a language problem, but one of these helpers had led the family to believe he was a solicitor, and he wasn’t. There were about thirty such assistants and no-one at the reception desk could supply me with the full names of the official solicitors; they would only tell me their first names. As a result of me enquiring about their status, we were told we must collect the files and leave the office, as the ‘solicitor’/client relationship had broken down!

I was horrified, and feared for the family’s future. I felt I had let them down big time! Had I been right to interfere? I began asking myself, why did I get involved? On the other hand perhaps I was meant to witness all this hardship? Fortunately, or miraculously, that same day, in Newcastle, I managed to find them a bona fide solicitor willing to take the case on, pro gratis, which was a huge relief, believe me.

However, even with his help, our family’s 'request to remain' was turned down, and so a new appeal had to be written; what a busy time this was. I even went to a few of their neighbours and asked them to offer their support too, by way of a small petition. One elderly neighbour said to me, “Which family are you talking about ‘pet’? . . . Oh you mean that lovely family? I’ll certainly sign for them. The husband always puts my bin out for me and they always say hello to me, not like that sh—t of a family that live next door who do drugs!” I quickly found that our family were well liked in the area, as well as in church.

A strange coincidence happened round about then. It was very strange indeed.

I remember writing in my prayer notes one morning, that the Home office lawyer at the hearing had been like ‘Goliath’ compared with our ‘David’! He was proud, extremely confident and very eloquent, whereas our family were small fry and timid in comparison. All this offical had to say in court was that he didn’t believe their story, and that was that!

That following day, when I was in hospital with the mother of our family, another patient in our waiting room asked me to keep an eye on her son, while she went in to see the doctor. So I asked her little boy to fetch me a book from the small library shelf in the waiting room, so I could read or show pictures to him, and he brought one book back to me. It was a small hardback cartoon style book entitled, ‘David and Goliath’, an amazing coincidence! But then on the news that evening, when I was relating all this to a friend of mine on the telephone, she told me that the news reader on TV, just before we spoke had just referred to a world situation as a David and Goliath experience! I could hardly believe these coincidences; it was as if God was letting us know it was going to be a battle, it might take some time and effort, but everything would ultimately turn out well for them in the end. The battle was the Lord’s, but the responsibility to act on behalf of the disadvantaged was ours.

Bob and I even travelled to London to support the father in his appeal sometime later.

It had been a long struggle for this family, they had by this time, put down deep roots at church and at school, but once again their appeal was turned down. It all seemed so heartless and cruel. The Home Office representative stated that the father of the family had not given sufficient explanations or believable answers to his questions in court. This was the end of the road for them and it was painful to see their disappointment., They were told they would be deported at some point in the future, but were not told exactly when.

Two months later, early in the morning, the mother of the family phoned me to say officials had entered their home that morning to take them and their three children away. She has been allowed to make only one telephone call, and she called me. These men had ordered them to put all the possessions they wanted to keep into two black plastic bags! The officials stood there in the lounge while they all went off to get dressed, and they collected their belongings. Everything in their flat that our church members had given them such as bedding, pots, pans, carpets and TV had to be left behind! They were taken to a holding centre in North Shields in a van, like stray dogs being rounded up! I was furious and really concerned for them. I phoned the officials, informing them that my husband and I were coming down to the station.

Once we arrived, Bob and I were led into a room, and we were told that we had to understand that we would not be able to see the family, or talk to them as they were in a van ready to be taken to an establishment on the south coast of England! 

I asked the officer in charge to allow me to speak to them one last time, to pray with them and give them money for their journey before they were taken away, but he refused to give his permission. He explained to Bob and me, “Nothing can be done I’m afraid, you see we have ‘a duty of care’ for these people!”

I struck the table hard with my hand in frustration, and raised my voice to him saying, “I have seen to this family’s needs for two years now as their priest. I’ve prayed with them, supplied their needs, they’re members of our church. Do I not have a duty of care for them too?”

Nothing could be done. To be fair they had to follow guidelines, or they would have been in trouble! I was devastated, but I was given the address of where they were being taken. I discovered that it wasn’t far from where my son-in law's family lived, so I decided to phone Margery, his mother to see if she could help in some way.

Margery did respond; she and a friend of hers, Mary, travelled sixty miles to the address I’d handed on to them. They asked to see the family, explaining how far they had travelled to be there. They were allowed access, following search procedures, and were able to visit our lovely family, pray with them and hand over some money, so they wouldn’t be without some support when they eventually arrived at their destination. The compassion of our congregation at the Church of the Good Shepherd Battlehill, was evident too, a few days later, when more money was raised to send to them.

They had told me they were originally from former Yugoslavia, and because of their brutal treatment there, they did not wish to return to that country, so they asked the authorities send back them to Albania. This change of venue must have made the authorities feel vindicated, that their story had been a lie.

Whether that had been their country of origin, I don’t know; whether their story had been true to the letter, I don’t know; whether they simply looked to a Christian church for help, but were really of a different faith, I still don’t know, nor do I need to know. Destitute people were in need of a neighbour, and ‘the creed and the colour and the name didn’t matter’. Our church had been there for them.

What I do know is that, with the money they’d been given, they were able to travel on to Italy. There, they gained refugee status, and ended up living in Naples, where they are now. It did turn out well for them, and they established a settled life there. However, the place where they had been sent by our authorities, had been nothing more than a rubbish dump. How on earth would they have survived there without the support they were given?

This was just one family’s story, how do others manage? This one story highlights the fact that families who seek asylum, are real people, human beings with real needs, who are often treated according to ‘rules and regulations’ in a regimented manner by the authorities, but who are loved and well supported by kind hearted volunteers and by the church.

Later a Russian couple, who were members of our congregation, asked for support too, but I felt too ‘out of my depth' trying to offer support once more!’ There was so much information needed for their Home Office forms and documents, and my head was in a spin trying; besides I could hardly understand what this couple were telling me in their broken English.

Thank goodness for asylum centres like, ‘Walking With’ today, where expert assistance, specialist care, and better advice can now be offered to clients. Way back then in 2022, it was a nightmare. I had tried my best, but my best wasn’t good enough. So many more asylum seekers were on their way and public sympathy was beginning to wane, as it became apparent that far more single young men, and economic migrants were arriving and far fewer truly destitute families.

But let me ask this. How might we manage, if we were the ones having to flee for our lives from oppressive regimes? How might we cope arriving in foreign countries where complicated forms needed to be filled accurately if very few understood our language? And what desperate measures might we be prepared to take to preserve the lives of those we loved and cared for?

The Bible says; ‘Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.’

(James 1.27)

While all this was going on, I took time to write to the Times, in protest against our involvement in the war with Iraq! Many in our country did protest, questioning at the time whether reports of Iraq’s so called ‘weapons of mass destruction’ could be verified, and could such reports about them be trusted? But protests and petitions were not listened to; marches in London and in major cities were given publicity, but largely ignored.

I hate war!