Immigration

Jesus and Mary Magdalene came to England from Australia on Saturday 9th December 2006. UK immigration denied them entry and sent them home the next morning at 10.30am GMT. As far as I am aware, such flights and accommodation while being detained are at cost to the United Kingdom.
Now, it took many hours for the immigration department to process Jesus and Mary, and it made for a late night on Saturday. So the next afternoon, when another Australian hit the desk of Mr Immigration Officer Sir, one might understand that he was a little tired and perhaps a bit wary. Was he being presented with Mary Mother of Christ this time?
No. It was just little ol' me, come to stay for four months on what was obviously inadequate funds if I was to be fending for myself. I knew that I wouldn't be, but Mr Immigration Officer Sir was going to take some convincing.
The initial questions he asked were what I expected, but after a few minutes, and especially after asking a pertinent question about my photographic employment ("Are you freelance?"), Mr Immigration Officer Sir was not convinced I was here for a holiday of any sort, let alone a 'break' to recover from my marriage separation.
Finally he asked me what nature of relationship I held with my potential host. And I just came out with it. "Very good friends with view to romantic relationship". He'd already asked how we had met. And when his shoulders sagged, well, I knew there was a problem.

Mr Immigration Officer Sir took a slip of white paper, filled out some fields, marked and ticked and handed it over (without my passport or return ticket), asking me to take a seat 'over there' and advising that he needed to talk further with me.

And talk we did.

At the counter where we had first met, Mr Immigration Officer Sir had taken the phone number of my "Very good friend with view to romantic relationship" host and after a deeper and more revealing chat with me, he advised that he was going to call the man in question. I think he might have expected me to panic. Instead I was just glad I would no longer be in it alone.

Mr Immigration Officer Sir was gone for over half an hour. In that time I sat and kind of fretted a bit. I was tired and a bit wrung out. Zombified, even. At some stage a guy came and took me downstairs where we recovered my suitcase from the carousel, after which we went through it (not very thoroughly. Turns out he was looking for something specific. 'Work' clothes and a CV). I was returned to the seats upstairs and when Mr Immigration Officer Sir finally came back, he called me over to a different desk and we talked some more. And he was dead serious. And so was I. He asked me questions he'd already asked me. I gave the same answers. He asked me questions about my host and his life. I answered. He asked me more questions about my old job that I had already answered and I gave the same answers again and again. He was having a hard time being convinced that I could go back to my old job if I had left it. I told him that I had no better way to explain it other than that they would take me back if I wanted. I told him I was good at my job, that they liked me, that I liked them, that it really was something that I could just start up again if I was to return.

Mr Immigration Officer Sir looked at me and said that he had to make a decision. That the reality of the situation was that he could decide to send me back to Australia, without any right to appeal. His decision would be final. He said he needed to think some more and that I should take a seat back over there. I didn't take a seat back over there. There were no seats left. They were all being sat on by other detainees. So I sat on the floor and...er...prayed.

Some time later a very tired Mr Immigration Officer Sir came and fetched me. He directed me to a now vacant seat and told me to sit down. He remained standing. I was convinced that I was going home. Mr Immigration Officer Sir had very kind but serious brown eyes. He looked at me on my seat and told me that he had thought long and hard and had decided that he would allow me visit his country for no more than six months. It was at this point I allowed myself to cry. I stood, intent to hug him and he could see this and told me that I was not allowed. I thanked him, with my heart and my eyes and my tears. He then made me promise that I would return to Australia in April as per my ticket and that if I wanted to come back in any sort of capacity to be with my internet lover, that I follow the one and only proper channel available to me to do that. I promised. And he knows I'll keep those promises and what he said next made me realise this for sure. He thanked me and my internet lover for being honest with him. He said it made his job easier. He wished us happiness. He said he wanted two more happy people in the world and that if could help facilitate that, then so be it.
He left me to complete some paperwork, advising he would be about 30 more minutes. I just sat back down and cried for a while.

When he motioned to me from across the room to his border counter, I collected my bags and made my way over. He was with another officer. Together they motioned that I walk through the border. So I did. On the other side the other immigration officer handed me my passport and return ticket and they both smiled the same rather beguiling smiles and wished me, us, luck. I looked squarely at Mr Immigration Officer Sir and thanked him. I told him he had done an excellent job. He got a little embarrassed.

Some time later at the Meeting Point at LHR international arrivals, LB strolled in to find a very tired, very frazzled Suburban Hen slumped in a red chair. In the car on the way home he told me that Mr Immigration Officer Sir had called him three times. I was somewhat startled by this. Yet comforted. They'd put him through as much as they had me and in that I suddenly felt less stressed. He understood. He got it. He had been forced to feel everything as I was feeling it and I did not have to try and make him understand what had just happened. Because it had happened to both of us.