p10 line 10 A Bear
Called Paddington by Michael Bond, publisher Collins 1958.
“Yes,” said the boy. “I emigrated you know.”
A sad expression came into his eyes. “I used to live with my
grandmother in Basra, but she died and there was no one else who cared for me.”
“You don’t mean to say you’ve come all the way from Iraq by
yourself,” exclaimed the lady from Kent Social Services.
The boy nodded. “Granny always said she wanted me to
emigrate when I was old enough. That’s why she taught me to speak English.”
“But whatever did you do for food?” asked the Reverend Brown
from The Refugee Council. “You must be starving.”
Bending down, the boy unbuckled a battered black rucksack
and brought out strips of what looked like wood. “I ate jerky,” he said rather
proudly. “We liked Jerky, it came with the Red Crescent food parcels, that and
packets of almonds. I finished them when I was still in the lifeboat.”
“But what are you going to do now?” said the Reverend Brown.
“You can’t just sit here on the beach waiting for something to happen.”
“Oh, I shall be alright … I expect.” The boy bent down to
buckle up his bag again. As he did so the lady from Kent Social Services caught
a glimpse of a photograph in a plastic ID lanyard around his neck. As it swung
free she saw the writing on the back of the picture. It said simply, I WILL
LOOK AFTER YOU ALWAYS.
She turned in some concern to the Reverend Brown. “Oh dear, what shall we do? We can’t just leave him here. There’s no knowing what might happen to him. He says he wants to get to London. We can’t allow that and anyway London’s such a big place when you’ve nowhere to go.”
The boy overheard these last few words and turned to the concerned
adults.
“Don’t worry about me, I have somewhere to go. I will go to
my father’s house.”
The adults looked surprised.
“Surely your father would have made arrangements to meet
you? Does he even know you’ve left Iraq?” the lady from Kent Social Services
asked glancing sceptically at the rubber dinghy the skinny boy had washed
ashore from in after crossing The English Channel. “Is that your father?” She pointed at the photograph dangling from
his neck.
“Yes,” said the boy, “do you know him?” He held out the
photograph for the lady from Kent Social Services and the Reverend Brown to
look at.
The man and the woman met the gaze of the man in the
photograph. It was faded, but in colour. He wore a kufiya, but despite
his head-dress he was clearly no Arab. He stared out the the photograph with
clear blue eyes, his beard was sandy brown and on his shoulder was a military
flash; two wings either side of a dagger and the insignia “Who dares wins.”
“My father,” whispered the boy, “but I never knew him. My
mother translated for the British after the invasion. They were married but
they had to keep it a secret.”
The two adults exchanged a glance and stood silently. Nearly
everyone in Britain knew the sign and motto of the SAS*.
“When were you born?” asked the lady from Kent Social Services.
Gently.
“2006 – October,” replied the boy.
“Just 14, my son’s age,” reflected the Reverend Brown.
“Not quite,” said the lady, “it’s still August. He’s just 13.”
“Your mother?” she enquired.
“My mother is dead. She died a long time ago.” The boy
straightened up, hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and made ready to walk
off.
“Whoa,” chorused the two adults, “You can’t just go like
that. You’re a child.”
The boy stared at them without comprehension and repeated
their last words as a question. “A child?” he echoed.
“A child,” they replied to the boy whose life had probably
been marked by more adult trials and hardships than they would ever know.
“What is your name?” they asked together, again.
“Pabel al Bahri**,” he replied. “I must go. My father will
help me now I am here. I have a letter. My granny always said the letters we
wrote to him were returned to Basra unopened because we didn’t pay the right
postman. She gave me a letter to deliver to him, myself, when I got to England.
It was written some years ago because no-one knows when death will call ... Inshallah
…”
“Would you show us your letter? Please,” asked the Reverend
Brown, “Perhaps we can help.”
Reluctantly Pabel unfolded an envelope from a deep pocket in
his jacket. Clutching it tightly, he held it out for them to read the address.
It read,
Anthony
Charles Blair***
69
Oxford Street****
London
W1
UK
“I’m not sure you will find him there tonight,” said the
Reverend Brown with a sigh. “Why don’t you come home with us tonight whilst we
sort out what to do next?”
THE END
*Special Air Service – an elite undercover and commando regiment of the UK military forces
** Pabel (little one) al Bahri (by the sea) ~ Many apologies to Arab speakers and readers. I googled to invent an Arabic sounding name which sounded something like ‘Paddington Bear’. I arrived at Pabel al Bahri which seemed an affectionate name for a baby born in Basra, an ancient seaport and home port to Sinbad the Sailor; a baby who would take to the sea in search of his father and a better life!
***the British Prime Minister at the start of the Iraq invasion and war (2003-2011)
****a well-known shopping street in London
More information about refugees:
- Half of all refugees are children.
- The UK is home to about 1% of the world’s 29.6 million refugees.
- Most refugees are given sanctuary in ‘next-door-neighbour’ developing countries.
- Turkey, Pakistan and The Lebanon are the top three nations housing refugees. Only one ‘G7’ wealthy nation appears in the ‘top ten list’. That is Germany (#8) which has provided sanctuary for around 1.5 million people.
- 4.9 million British citizens departed the UK to live/work elsewhere ~ the tenth largest source of migrants to the rest of the world and the largest migrant population from any European country.
- 149.9 million passenger arrivals (mainly British citizens travelling)
- 3.1 million visas were granted (75% for visitors, 10% for students, 6% to work, 2% family, & 7% ‘other reasons’.)
- Asylum applications numbered 35,099
- Asylum protection was granted to 20,339 people
- 1,892 of asylum seeking refugees arrived by small boats crossing the treacherous English Channel.
- Since official routes for refugees to enter the UK were suspended in March 2020 because of COVID 19 restrictions, several thousand more refugees than normal have attempted the dangerous English Channel sea crossing.
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