Inextricably Linked

I don’t want to forget the house I grew up in. It was an ex-council masionette in a Peterborough council estate. My parents moved from the North during the 1980s housing boom under Mrs Thatcher, only the house prices hadn’t risen up North, so they lost out. There was only 5 of us then, but a 6th came along the following year in the form of Jenny Rachel.

It was a bit of a squeeze in our small 3-bed house. The housing market plummeted, the value of the house halved, and still no one would buy it off us!

Years went by, the little Crawfords grew up and two of them flew the nest. Mum had gone back to work, and my parents could just afford to buy another house and let ours out.

We moved to our beautiful new 4-bed detached on 15th October 1999. Within a few years house prices had risen considerably, the estate had deteriorated and my parents were advised to try and sell the old house.

This time we managed to sell. An offer was made an accepted by an organisation who housed asylum seekers.

Roll on eight years. I sit in Swansea Museum - a long way from home, watching the ‘Asylum Monologues’; drama voicing the stories - in many cases through the exact words - of those who have come to UK to seek asylum. Asylum is a human right, allowing people ‘seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.’1 It was made in 1948 in response to the laws that had prevented persecuted German Jews from gaining entry to other countries.

I hear the horrible stories, and I’ve heard them before. It’s just words to me, I’m thinking to myself. Then I look around the room. It’s not the same sea of white middle-class faces I’m normally surrounded by. There are faces that aren’t from here. I start to wonder what this must be like for them to hear. What it reminds them of.

Peterborough is mentioned: a place where those seeking asylum are often sent. I'm reminded of my old house, and the people who live there now. I have a slightly better idea of their ordeal now. I’m glad they get our house. I feel blessed and privileged to have lived there for 10 years, and to have passed it on those rightfully looking for refuge in another country.

I remember something else I’ve read recently too: ‘The Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. "Get up," he said, "take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him."2 So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, where he stayed until the death of Herod.’ Joseph, Mary and Jesus; the asylum seekers.

I'm thinking maybe this has a bit more to do with me than I thought. What did I do to be born into a fantastic, loving family in Britain? Not a thing.

1. http://hrw.org/doc/?t=refugees&document_limit=0,2
2. Matthew 2:23-15