As the news becomes more strident and fearful, Horatio Clare’s ‘We Came By Sea’ tells migrants’ stories with humanity, writes Sue Brooks.
In the winter of 2022, against the background of what is being described as a “migrant crisis”, Horatio Clare sets out on a three-year journey to see for himself what was happening on the front line. He takes lodgings in Dover and asks, “How do you feel about the small boats?” Only a few are willing to speak (even the RNLI instructs its volunteers to say nothing to the press), but those with the courage to do so, express sympathy: “They must be desperate, mustn’t they?” There seems to be no indication of the stories in the papers about Dover being “overwhelmed” by migrants.
In Calais, he meets the people who work for the charity Care4Calais, and set up distribution centres to provide support for the rough sleepers. He visits some of the camps — the Jungle, and Old Lidl — with Gess, one of the key workers, and sees how the French police raid the rough sleepers and remove their tents and sleeping bags. He hears how the distribution centres are also moved on by the police in a cat and mouse game with the charity’s lawyers. There is no wood for lighting fires because the scrubby trees have been cut down by the police. It rains and the mud deepens. The rough sleepers are suspicious of journalists, but he is able to meet to meet a few (from Sudan, Afghanistan and Romania) and ask “Why do you want to go to Britain?”
“Because it’s a fair country. Because it’s not racist about the colour of your skin. Because it’s better than all the other countries I have passed through. Because English is the best language in the world.”
Gess warns them that even if they are lucky with the boats, it won’t be easy in Britain. “I tell them the truth, but they don’t believe it. Nothing can stop them. Even the truth doesn’t stop them.” An image takes shape in Horatio’s mind of a once great nation which left versions of its highest beliefs and stories, its courts and hospitals and schools in a hundred million minds, “with every doubt and detail driven out of it by the flood of mighty hope on which it rides.” Surely, he thinks, this is an honourable image, one to be proud of.
What happens to the migrants once they are in the asylum system? Bibby Stockholm — the madness of it — captured brilliantly in the writing as “this strange, half-ship thing” disintegrates. As in Dover, Horatio discovers kindness and generosity in the local people. The fair-mindedness of Portland Global Friendship Group which arranged activities to help the men from Bibby Stockholm integrate into the community, and later raised funds to pay for the body of an Albanian man who committed suicide on the ship to be repatriated to his family.
He follows the trail to Merseyside and meets Cosi Deorfel Hill, the equivalent of Clare Moseley at Care4Calais. Heroic, tireless women who devote their lives (around the time in Merseyside, of the violent protests outside Grove House Hotel) to helping migrants and asylum seekers find their way through the labyrinthine system. At last, there is a place where Horatio can sit with men who really want to talk about their experiences. Rockpoint Records, New Brighton, Wallasey. Jiwani is one of them. A Turkish man from Iran who has been on the move for twelve years. He waited in the Jungle camp for a signal from the smugglers. There were six attempts and each time the smugglers took everything he had. On the seventh, he was in a boat with 56 people during the night. Five hours with a single outboard motor, hoping and praying that the English would come. When he saw the Coastguard boat with the English flag: “I have done it.”
“At Dover, they took our wet clothes and gave us dry clothes and shoes. They gave us some sausage. I thanked them from my heart. They took me to Luton. It is a beautiful city! You can never get a better place. It is perfect. The next day I was moved to Wallasey.”
Why Britain? “You are not safe in Germany. Not safe in France. In Britain you have law and order. The police will protect you. This is where I am free. This is where I feel safe.” Jiwani showed a letter from the Home Office, saying that he has passed the third test and his asylum claim will now be processed.
There is such humanity in the writing. Horatio has a way of telling another person’s story, which is unlike anything I have come across in all the welter of news, and I felt proud to read them. Gratitude that he had the courage and determination to seek them out and to Little Toller for creating an exceptionally fine book. A pleasure to hold in the hands and notice how it begins and ends with a page from Horatio’s notebook. Almost indecipherable writing on the first and a drawing of heartbreaking beauty, by a young man from Eritrea, on the last. We Came By Sea contains the stories of people who risk their lives for an idea; believing that they have something to offer, and that Britain will treat them kindly.
As the other news becomes more strident and more fearful, and Union Jacks are appearing, even in this corner of rural Gloucestershire, this book carries a different flag. Stories of a greater Britain. Please read it.
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Published by Little Toller, ‘We Came By Sea: Stories of a greater Britain’ is out now and available here (£19.00).