Why We Donated Our Caravan To Calais - by Jessticulate Calmly via Caravans For Calais Facebook Group: 28th September: 2015

Our caravan, bursting full of memories, of trips down to the coast where we took the kids walking and playing in the sea, of sitting out with friends in the awning and having a beer and a chat, of toasting marshmallows on the fire and stories with the kids snuggled in their sleeping bags on our laps, has been collected to go to Calais where we have donated it to the refugees.

Some people have called me crazy for doing this, because we could have had a few more holidays in it, because we don’t know them so why should we help, so here is why we have done it.

It wasn’t because of the terrible pictures of drowned babies, though they made me sob and hold mine close; it was because of the pictures my friend Liz Clegg put up of “the Jungle” when she drove across to take thousands of wellies there and I saw how wet it was, how they were camping and sleeping in puddles.

It got me thinking about when we used to go for a walk with the kids and some days we would walk just that bit too far, or maybe get a bit lost, and it would start to rain. Hunger would start to nip at the edges of my temper as they became grizzly, and cold - because we hadn’t planned for the rain, and their legs were sore because the salty seawater and sand has rubbed on their heels and knees .

“It's okay I would say, just a little bit longer and we will be back, safe in the caravan. We can get dry and put on warm clothes and I will make you a hot chocolate, yes?” Anything to placate them whilst we remembered where we had left the car.

Back then we knew that we had our little box on wheels that would give us shelter from the storm.

And now I think but what if we hadn’t? What if there had been no car and we had just had to walk? What if we hadn’t know where to find shelter? What if the best we could have offered our children was a wet tent and with luck a bowl of food that wouldn’t fill them up? What if we had seen the snotty screaming tantrums stop, and become the trusting big eyes of fear and hunger and hope that, we, their parents, could keep them safe.

What if that little tickly cough had each day become a little worse and in desperation we had had to lie down by the side of the road, huddled together trying to sleep - our arms wrapped around our children, to share our body heat, yes, but so much more to feel that their hearts were still beating, that the rattle in their chest that sent cold dread through our guts at least meant they were still breathing.

What if, even as we had lain there wondering why this was happening - what had happened to our world, there still remained some hope, some belief that the kindness of strangers somewhere might mean we would be welcomed, given medicine and food and dry clothes, smiled at, hugged.

Well, I imagine there would have been tears of shame at our abject desperation, intermingled with joy at receiving respite from the constant companions of hunger and fear and of knowing that we could be safe, that we might yet live and rebuild all that was lost ... because someone saw in us, that we were the same.

Our caravan, our little Bailey Chieftain, which always gave us sanctuary from the outside world, which was home from home will not house all the refugees, after all it is small and built for just four,

Yet when I think why we were given it, (by my mum because she realised how desperate we were to escape the humdrum of our daily lives, to have an escape, a little island of sanity, when we were so broke that life felt pretty bleak,) it feels right that this could be a true escape, a sanctuary, a beacon of the warmth and dry, and maybe it will go to a family or some teenagers or other desperate people, so they can have that little safe space to put down their sorrows and be welcomed with a smile and a hug and a greeting that says we are the same.

Power to the Jungle Library! Posted by Rowan Farrell on FB: September 27th 2015

Yesterday was a very good day for the Jungle Books Library Calais - . We got the new generator working, three laptops on the go and the lights on! So we are now open till 9pm instead of just when the sun goes down. 
Great response from the software, perfect for beginners. After I had taught one guy how to use a mouse, he was on it for hours. One of the kids who hangs around knew exactly where to find the games. And I am talking with an Ethiopian friend (who recently finished a masters in data mining) about how to improve and what other software to add. 

We do need something else for the more advanced students. Many say their reading is fine it's just talking and listening. I guess nothing replaces real language practice. 

The next challenge is internet.

My Trip To Calais - September 21st 2015 : by Dawud March via FB

Just wanted to feedback on my recent trip to Calais to volunteer with Clare Moseley and her team and to support our neighbours stranded in community there.

Me and my son went over with three other volunteers and despite having read up on Facebook everyone's feedback, we were not prepared for what we saw and experienced.

Warm, friendly, welcoming and proud people who want for a better life where they and their families can work, study and grow up safe from war and oppression. That is what we hoped to see.

But what surprised us was a bustling community with an economy, shops and cafe's and a rich network of volunteers and small organisations doing incredible work in extremely difficult circumstances.

What also surprised me was how affected I was by seeing proud men bending over boxes sorting through trousers to find the right sizes, queuing in the morning and throughout the day for provisions they would have just gone to buy for themselves if the circumstances were different. I cried - I cried because of how blessed I am to have what I have, I cried seeing these wonderfully peaceful people reduced to doing this each day and I cried because ultimately I could not help them - I could not get them out of this place but I could hand out blankets, food, shoes, trousers and coats.

There are some amazing people on the ground doing their best to provide support in a way that preserves our neighbours' dignity on the one hand, whilst liaising with well meaning, but often ill informed people coming each day unannounced and trying to hand out items in an unorganised way that descends into chaos and argument leading to some very distressing and dehumanising scenes. Sometimes it works, but to have people arrive with egos the size of planets just makes those working hard there everyday so very angry.

My trip has been overshadowed by the events of today and the evictions and destruction of tents, property and personal items, including passports and important papers but still I feel I saw enough to know what I could do to help. What is needed is hands, people, people with skills and time to devote to supporting our neighbours - not tourist charity drops!

Firstly, I want to echo what has been said so many times before - do not, just do not go over unannounced to hand out stuff that is not sorted, not needed and not appropriate. I worked in the warehouse and I can't tell you how many vans we saw pull up with junk - dirty, torn, broken, stained and smelly clothes, sheets, coats, shoes etc - and used underwear! I did distributions inside the community and saw the chaos that is caused by unannounced drop offs that are poorly planned and insults the people they are trying to help.

Don't just turn up for one day to help out and then go round the community taking pictures and selfies and videos of people who would gladly welcome you into their tent for tea and food to tell you their story but deserve far more respect than such tourist visits give them. In the warehouse, training someone to do so sorting for a couple of hours before they have to leave is just a waste of time.

Liaise with a recognised contact on the ground way before you go - not an hour before you pull up with 30 vans, flashing lights and walkie talkies! Its not about you - its about our neighbours and what is best for them. Don't just drive through the community, stop, get out of the vehicle and talk to people. Find out about them, smile, be friendly hug them, ask them how they are and connect with them. They have mental and physical needs as well and getting to know these wonderful people in such a way will give them such a lift - to know you really care.

What do we plan to do? We will look to organise groups of volunteers to go over, hopefully with different skill sets and different times to do different things. To do this we will liaise with those working on the ground - not the big personalities, but the people rolling their sleeves up and getting struck in to make sure we go at the right time to do the right thing. We will also be looking at the local distribution centres where we live and try to share our knowledge about what is needed, how it needs to be prepared and to just keep some stuff back until it is needed. To do that we will network as much as we can.

For me and my son, it was a privilege to share our time with people who welcomed us with smiles, conversation and warm hearts. What upsets me most is that the one thing that costs us nothing, nothing at all - which is to return this welcome without prejudice, is sadly lacking in the way some of us are responding to this crisis.

Please take my post in the spirit in which it is written. I just felt the need to share how I feel about my time there and about what I believe is important - standing shoulder to shoulder with our brothers and sisters in need.

Derbyshire's Visit To Calais - posted by Andy White on FB: September 19th 2015

It’s called ‘The Jungle’: there is no electricity, no running water, no rivers or wild animals and it is but five minutes from the ‘normal’ world in Calais, France.


Conventional laws of modern society are pretty much abandoned here, although the Gendarmerie patrol its perimeter regularly to offer some semblance of control. Yet, here the residents do not run wild, but work on a social system built on a shared hopelessness and respect for others and their meagre belongings. They actually help each other without expectation of reward but with a genuine sense of making life for your fellow human being that little bit easier.

Be under no illusion this is not utopia in the 21st century; it is a dangerous place and if you are hungry, cold and wet, desperation can kick in with the resultant loss of order, and this can be witnessed in the minor chaos that can break out when distributing the absolute necessities of life – be it clothing, shoes or a tin of soup. 

But somehow, with a little guidance, these people retain a dignity and acceptance of their lot which is rarely seen in the western world. At night in the darkness of the natural world it could be a different story where your only comfort and company may be the close proximity of friends (if you have them) and the continuous background noise of movement around the camp, with darkness concealing the intent of the perpetrators. It is a frightening world.Eight of us went to distribute aid, and thanks to the past experience of our mentor, Rebecca Goodall, we were well prepared. Food had been divided into 100 shopping bags, provided free for the purpose, and they contained the very basics of what we would call 3 or 4 ‘square meals’ but which desperate people who had no idea where their next meal was coming from would probably make last for a week for several of them. They are resourceful, and 1 poor meal a day is better than no meal at all. Indeed the group that helped us only ate once a day if their luck was in and had no supplies at all until we arrived. 

a kitchen for 10 people - Calais 2015

The camp divides itself into ‘kitchens’, where groups of individuals band together to pool any resources they acquire during the day from scavenging and reliance on donations from generous people all over Europe who arrive to distribute what they can. We saw people from Belgium, Germany, France and the UK.

Before we arrived we had contacted a lady who regularly visits the camp, knows many of the long term residents reasonably well and lives close by. She had arranged for a local working party to be with us who could speak a range of languages, French, Somali, & Arabic variations, and who could interpret our instructions and help to keep the crowds in some form of order. As soon as anyone pulls up at the camp their vehicles are surrounded by expectant and desperate people who are grateful for any new possession they are given, and without preparation this can turn into a ‘frenzy of need’.

Although we initially had the same response our camp guides and interpreters soon made it clear that we were not distributing to individuals from the back of the vehicle, this was to avoid both the indignity and chaos that can ensue with hundreds of people striving to benefit from the donations.

The way we operated was for our volunteers to identify ‘kitchens’ and carry a bag of food and a bag of toiletries to individual kitchens, in that way we believed we could reach the maximum number of people in the fairest way. We tried to distribute as widely as possible, but inevitably there is never enough to go round and many were disappointed. The heartbreak of turning away starving people because quite simply you have nothing left cannot be described by this writer.

The anger can – an anger at modern governments for their failure to react in any meaningful way over such a prolonged period and in the full knowledge of the suffering that past actions have caused fills me with contempt for those so called ‘leaders of the developed world’. To cry that we can’t afford, or we have no room rings hollow when you have witnessed the huge variation in living conditions between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’. The answer to this humanitarian disaster will never lie in more barbed wire and fencing, or more physical deterrents; it requires empathy, understanding and a willingness to share resources on a scale previously never seen in this global village we call Earth.

I would like to thank all of those who donated to our cause and those who may do so in the future, (believe me every penny really does count) for as well as the food and hygiene products we were able to distribute directly on this trip we took 60 tents, 100 sleeping bags, 50 ground rolls, 8 suitcases of shoes, 10 water containers, numerous cooking utensils and pots and pans, all of which are desperately needed. Much of this is now being distributed by those on the spot who can much better identify those in greatest need, and who have a little more time that we had. Our next trip will contain warm clothing for the coming winter, and of course more food and other vital survival items.

Please donate, if you can.

My First Trip To Calais- By Cassy Paris: SEPTEMBER 2015

I think that the running theme that seems to come out of a visit to Calais' sprawling new jungle refugee camp is that it's a place that verges on being inexplicable in words alone.



I consider myself to be a really emotionally strong person and yet my very short visit there to drop off the provisions that many of you kindly paid for has shaken my understanding of myself to its very core.
I consider myself to be compassionate: I am not compassionate enough.
I consider myself to be informed:I am not informed enough.

I believe that I see everyone as equal: I realise it is not enough to just “believe” this.

I think I question everything I read in the media: I now know that I don’t even come close.

I always thought that my values rested firmly in equality but I know now that my version of equality is completely wrapped up in my own little bubble of experience.

I have proudly called myself fearless, but I am yet to truly know what fear is.

I don’t think of myself as materialistic, yet the safety of my expensive car was predominant in my thoughts as I drove down the dirt road of Chemis Des Dunes.

I thought I was fairly worldly, yet I met people who had fled from countries that I didn’t know existed to escape genocides that I didn’t know were happening.

I thought so much and one by one my misconceptions and my pre-conceived ideas got knocked down like toy soldiers.

Where a person is born is nothing but circumstance, luck, a roll of the dice. For the first time in my life I truly know that we could be them and the following people could be us:
The 3 year old Sudanese girl with the big smile standing in a pile of rubbish hungry, dirty and cold but who still managed a massive grin at me could have been my daughter. How did she get to Calais? Why did they leave? How many of their friends and family died on the way?

The sweet and seriously funny man from Kosovo who managed to giggle with me as he hobbled around on ill fitted crutches, and type his name into my phone so I could see how smart he is on his Facebook photographs before all of this happened. As he sat with his plastered leg resting on oil cans surrounded by rusty metal, and half a shopping trolley, he had nothing but positive things to say about the doctors at the hospital, and the people from the UK (the place he called home for over 10 years before he got deported back to somewhere he can no longer build a life.) The only time he didn’t smile was when he talked of his friend who got electrocuted and died jumping on the train. “He was so desperate he didn’t think. You have to think first.” he declared, as he drew me a map in the sand of the Eurotunnel stop points. 

The man from Mauritania who gently stroked his chicken by his feet as he wearily told me he had been here 4 months. I foolishly asked why he wanted to come to England. “England, no, no, not to England, France is my home now.” He showed me his art work, which was not only insanely good but paints a story that no one should ever have to paint.

 The words on the reclaimed blackboard out his home, by far the most creative and inviting home on the camp, read simply (in French ) “ Vaccine for racism sold here”

The man from Pakistan who offered me the last of his tea from a battered plastic bottle.

The man who asked me to help me get his phone back from the police station so that he could call his family.

The girl with the pretty headscarf but no shoes.

As you walk through the camp, it is evident that you are walking through different countries:Sudan and Afghanistan, Pakistan and Syria, and on and on and on. The lines are blurred. People have made shops where the smell of amazing food cooked on waste wood fires is sold, but to who and with what money? Coca cola has found its way into the camp and its blistering red cans are a stark contrast to the bare feet sticking out of a tent made of bin liners.



The lack of infrastructure is insane.

I wish with all of my heart that I had taken a pitch fork. If I had had a pitch fork I could have spent a few hours putting holes in the ground to drain the puddles. The one bag of rubbish that I took to the skip at the far end of the camp angered a tag team of wasps as I threw it in amongst a putrid smell.



This may seem to be a story that we have heard before - but this is no typical slum. or shanty town. Slums are not full of Law graduates; teachers; people who until recently owned their own homes; children who merely look at the colouring pencil offered as a present by a well meaning woman from middle England as they try to adjust to life threatening poverty.




As I drove to the Eurotunnel, I waved at every person making their way to the fences. I couldn’t bring myself to photograph them, just wished with all my heart they would make it. I realised that I have I never given much consideration as to how horrific their lives must have been for them to have got on a boat to make their escape. They are fleeing genital mutilation, religious “cleansing”, unimaginable poverty, slavery, civil war, rape, murder, kidnapping and still people insist they are merely in search of benefits.

P.S: To the the Customs Officer who decided to make my life hell on the way back "**** you! "

PPS David Cameron, you have just donated £10,000,000 pounds to help keep some of the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure to meet out of our country. May you sleep easily in your bed at night!

Good Practice When Delivering Aid In Camp - Via Chez Kaur on Facebook: September 2015

If you're heading to Calais, please watch this video. Random, unorganised distributions only cause chaos. Liz, who is explaining how to distribute, is amazing and knows the best ways to do it through a lot of experience.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH VIDEO

We Were Humbled Posted by Suewan Kemp on FB : September 2015

I have a British passport. I didn't choose it. I've never really thought much about the value of it. However having spent the weekend at the refugee camp in Calais I now know that I have an amazing level of freedom because of it and thousands of people do not.

This weekend we went to the refugee camp known as 'the Jungle' in Calais. We were going to help with clearing up the camp with around 120 others from the UK.

Despite being prepared and having read lots of people's reports of what we would face there it was still a shock to see the state of the camp. There are no bins in the jungle so there was rubbish everywhere. The council has provided a few skips in the camp but there is no regular collection of rubbish that is not in the skips and the refugees we met didn't have any bin bags so it seemed people would just pile it up all around the camp.

We met some lovely volunteers who really did change the camp over the weekend by taking away stinking great mounds of rotting and sodden trash. People who were willing to get their hands dirty and show the refugees that they care.

We were humbled by the welcome and gratitude shown by the refugees. Lots of them wanted to help us and asked us for litter pickers/shovels/bin bags so they could join in.

One special person we encountered was Harun. A 10 yr old boy from Afghanistan who was so excited to get a shovel and join us. He had an open wound on his leg but didn't want that to stop him (despite our best efforts!) He was shovelling maggoty, rotting food, tins, wet clothes (unsuitable donations mainly) and didn't complain apart from telling us that it smelt bad. He seemed to enjoy the time he spent clearing up but I couldn't help thinking that a 10 yr old should be playing. Hanging out with friends. Not scooping up rubbish in a refugee camp where he has little freedom. I've been praying he finds a way to reunite with his family. He told me his dad is in England and hopes he will come back in a few days for him.

I don't want to get into the politics of whether or not these people should or should not be allowed to claim asylum - we all have our own opinions and I'm not looking for an argument. What I know is that they are people, like you and me. People who didn't choose where they were born.

They don't have the freedom most of us do and how can that be fair? My brain is still struggling to process it all.

How Do You Give them Hope? by Toby Caruana

Sunday.

Woke up at 8am to find a photographer outside my tent who wanted to take my portrait - so half asleep I agreed. Did my normal litter pick around the 5 water taps for 4,000 humans until some 20 English people turned up not sure if they had arranged anything with NGO. They had a long drive back to Manchester so couldn't wait for help. I advised them what to do but it turned out their van was full of unsorted clothing. I knew it wouldn't go down that well so didn’t wait around to see yet another failed distribution as I’m still upset about some Belgians who over the weekend just opened up their vans and made a mess of the site with loads of wasted stuff and, of course, removed all dignity in giving and receiving aid.

I did try to chill but new refugees are constantly arriving at the moment so I am forever chasing blankets and tents. I say “I will try” “inshallah”.

In the after noon I agreed to be quickly interviewed for some Dutch thing- a question the reporter asked has really stuck in my head: "How do you give these people hope?"

Sadly ,I don’t give them hope - I just make them slightly better in a shit situation... after this I forced Riaz to have lunch and we talked about how it was nice to have a quiet day and not much on so we could relax. ... Unfortunately, this quiet was broken at about 4pm with a massive van turning up containing some 1500 water bottles and 3000 sneak bars. As these weren't the most amazing supplies only those most in need queued and so we moved around the camp until 8.30.

Next I ran around camp looking for last few people I had told I would get tent and blankets to. Around 10pm I found a guy trying to sleep under a motorway bridge -with nothing. I took him back to my tent and gave him a tent and blanket and pointed him to the growing Syrian part of camp.

I got into bed and turned Facebook on and found out some rather depressing news - a caravan was being delivered to "The Jungle" between 2 and 3am and I would have to meet them outside and help get it in .

The caravan finally arrived and I was back in bed about 5am;(

Monday.
3 Syrians turned up at 10am. One guy proudly told me he was a designer and showed me the most amazing pictures of his wedding dress pictures and clothes on his phone. I took his number and promised I would phone him when I found more tents and blankets. While looking for these I found 2 English girls handing out clothes.. I asked if they were OK and if they could give me blankets and sleeping bags. Sadly they didn't lock their driver door, It got opened by refugees and I slightly hurt a refugee by slamming it shut. That made me feel guilty so once they locked door I left them to it.

Finally, I ran into a couple from Liverpool who helped me out by supplying me with the tent and blankets I needed.

It’s hard walking around with stuff when it’s all pre-allocated as everybody is cold at night and EVERYBODY NEEDS IT. But everybody respects it when I say its for new people.

Finally, I met up with Maya and got 5 sleeping bags YAY! The excitement didn’t last long as at about 10.30 pm 10 new Syrians turned up. A few had blankets and stuff so I only needed to give out 4 sleeping bags. I suggested maybe they should sleep in the "Doctors of the World" tent (which I'll get In trouble for) as it was raining. One of them asked for food so I borrowed a bike and rode to my tent to get biscuits ,bananas, bread, 1 orange and some snack bars -almost all my food.

My Second Trip to Calais by Cassy Paris: SEPTEMBER 2015

Britain finally got some truth from the media and the photograph of a toddler face down in the water has divided the country into two camps....



Within these two camps there are lots of things that may be universal but mostly fear, compassion and lack of understanding are leaving us squabbling among ourselves as to the best way forward from here... Across Europe it is still being referred to as a “migrant crisis” -which it is - (but) it is slowly becoming the norm to accept that within this mass migration is a large percentage of genuine and desperate REFUGEES.



The excuses that I have heard for why people won’t take action have ranged from “they are abled bodied men who left their families behind” to “well they should have stayed at the first safe country they got to”




...Ultimately, they have done what they thought was right under the TRULY horrific circumstances that they faced, and whilst we bicker about who did what to who they are still being electrocuted trying to jump on the trains, or dying in lorries or just drowning quietly in the sea and not being washed up where anyone cares enough to photograph them.

I am really starting to feel like I have blood on my hands because no matter how many tents or sleeping bags we send over they are going to keep trying until there is a change in the way asylum is processed. 

I'm sick of explaining to people that they asylum process in France can take up to a year - a year of being homeless,;a year of being starving; a year of being an outcast; a year of not seeing your friends or your family who are in the UK; a year of sleeping on the steps of a church (or) in a slum that is so bad is has been given the name “The Jungle”; a year of having nothing, literally nothing. ..

So I went back to Calais, this time to try and understand just one person, to try and put a human being at the front of my mind because when you talk about them all its so overwhelming….. so for today I just want to focus on Syria and the Syrians in Calais.

At the moment hundreds of thousands of wonderful British people are packing up boxes and sending aid to Calais... and whilst we are busy doing the job the government should have been doing ,they have been busy chatting about who we will and who we won’t help from Syria, for how long and from where.

It seems you forgot about Calais David Cameron…..

There are thousands of refugees in Calais:there are thousands of migrants in Calais, but you don’t want to help them…. you have used really clever language to disguise the fact that you are being bitter about helping those in Calais because you don’t want to look like you have changed your mind! At the last count on Sunday there were only 269 SYRIANS IN CALAIS... What are you going to do to help THESE SYRIANS? Why is their need any less than anyone else’s? Because they were desperate enough to make the journey this far under the false hope that we would stand up for them?

You have made out you couldn’t possibly help the people in Calais for all sorts of reasons, and yes its complicated - there are people from so many different countries there and at night they emerge from under canvas and walk en mass to the fences where tear gas is used to stop them going any further…. but out of all these people less than 300 are from Syria.

We all KNOW they do not have a home to go back to; we all KNOW that they are not here for the economy...They are mostly hard working, educated, patriotic, English speaking people whose lives got wrecked in a country that only a few years ago was considered to be “immune” from any problems that broke out around them. This this COULD have been the UK.


I spent 24 hours with a 26 year old Syrian. He has spent 6 weeks sleeping on the steps of a church by the Ferry port in Calais. He is an English teacher (and) he is a photographer. He is so bright, funny and articulate and sounds like an authentic American when he talks. He has filmed most of his journey on his go pro that he bought with the money he earned in his old life where he was considered an equal person to you and to me.

He has been jailed twice in Syria and has had both arms and a leg broken for peaceful protest in Syria - he can never go home. He can NEVER go home. Imagine that.

Many of you donated coats and the residents took them gratefully, so so gratefully. And I stood there leaning against my Audi watching them wearing your clothes and I just felt so sad…. of course we are all scared of change.

I'm not ashamed or afraid to say that I am really scared of an Islamic England, but I also know I'm being really silly…. we have always let in refugees and we haven’t suddenly been overtaken. Unjustifiable fear is also not a good enough excuse to stay quiet and do nothing.

Whilst I stood there, Hassan and his friends made me lunch and told me about how they had thought that England would let them in, how there are less than 300 of them and that their family and friends are already there… did I know what David Cameron would do to help them because they have no support in France.

I struggled to swallow my food as I realised that the Syrian aspect of the refugee crisis in Calais could be solved with 2 coaches…

Together we walked the dangerous walk to the fences - crossing motorways and jumping ditches; talking about family, friends, photography and food; enjoying the connection between human and human. And when we arrived he just stared at the trains in silence, his eyes brimming with the story of everything he had been through to get this far, and the horror that comes with knowing it's still not over; Britain doesn’t want him.

As night fell, his anxiety became really palpable. I begged him to wait, to stop trying to get here, to please, please wait for the British people to do something so that we can come and get him. We ate our dinner by the beach in silence. He offered to pay… "look here, I have 20 euros, please let me pay."

And then he cried.
He cried because he is so scared.
He cried because he is so alone.
He cried because he just wants to be in the UK with his extended family and people who understand him when he speaks.
He cried because he is drained of all hope.
He cried because he was embarrassed.
He cried because he was ashamed to need our help.

What could I do but hold his hand and tell him "Please wait and we will do something. We will all try and do something."

The people there are all Hassan (with a different name) and we owe the people who have travelled as far as Calais our relentless solidarity. There is no dispute over whether people feeling Syria are refugees or not - they are! That counts for those in France as well as those on the borders of Syria. They have made it to Calais but THEY ARE SYRIAN TOO!

I got home last night and today my heart feels battered. I am so proud of everything that everyone is doing but it's not just about keeping them safe in Calais - it's about letting them start their lives here, too, without being so pig headed about the fact that they shouldn’t have gone to Calais. They are refugees who did what they thought was best.

And when the Syrian problem in Calais is solved then there is Dunkirk and other smaller makeshift refugee camps nearby, not to mention the remaining problems of people who have fled Iran, Eritrea ,Sudan, Pakistan and so on…. but it has to start somewhere and right HERE right NOW we have a list of 269 SYRIANS who NEED BRITISH HELP.

Please, let's try and help them.

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