It was standing room only at the village hall, with residents eager to listen to an address given by the newly-appointed Warden of the Ravenswood Unit, as the manor is to be known. The meeting had been called to address the fears, anxieties, myths and misconceptions surrounding the future function of the unit. Simon Guy, characteristically adorned in jodhpurs and riding boots, was the last to take his seat on the stage. Looking left and right, he nodded, stood up and strode regally to the microphone where he tapped it with his finger, sensibly resisting the temptation to mutter ONE, TWO, into it.

‘Can you all hear me at the back?’ he asked.

Clearly not, as much of the audience continued talking.

‘It is my great pleasure to introduce to you this evening, Mister Howard Pettigrew, who is the warden at the new Ravenswood Unit here in the village. He is here this evening to answer your questions about the unit’s work and to try and allay your fears about some of those who will be residing at the unit.’

A hand shot up at the front.

‘Can we leave the questions to the end please?’ Simon asked timidly.

‘No,’ came the determined reply, ‘we cannot leave the questions to the end; I’ve a shop to run.’ Miss Celia McLean, hoisted her ample, tweed-clad figure to her feet and smoothed the creases in her clothes with her large red hands, before glancing around her. ‘Right, my name is Miss Celia McLean. I manage the post office here in the village. Can you tell me, Mister Pettigrew, why I shouldn’t sell up and flee the village before I am both robbed and raped?’

A few members of the public applauded the question, while others laughed.

‘It’s a home for refugees, Celia,’ shouted one of the village lads from the back of the hall, ‘not a home for the blind.’

Laughter rang out again.

‘Thank you, Miss McLean,’ replied Pettigrew, ‘so first of all may I just say there will be one hundred residents in the first year...’

‘In the first year,’ interrupted one of the villagers, ‘how many are there going to be next year and the year after?’

‘Well, I’ll come to that in a moment but I think it’s important to understand the residents have no desire to harm any of you or behave in any illegal way. They are aware of your fears but all they seek now is to live peacefully until their futures are determined by the Home Office. Ultimately, they seek only to contribute to the prosperity of the United Kingdom.’

Lucy Miller stood up, waving her arm. ‘My name is Lucy Miller. As you all know,’ she began, ‘I shall be standing for election to the Parish Council next year so it’s only to be expected that I should take an interest in matters of parochial importance.’ She looked around briefly for some acclamation and approval. There was none, so she continued. ‘Tell me this, Mister Pettigrew, how long are you intending to hold these unfortunate people in Ravenswood?’

Pettigrew looked at Simon Guy for approval to respond to the question. ‘It’s not the government’s intention to look upon the Ravenswood Unit as a long-term solution, but rather as safe temporary lodgings.’

‘Safe for who?’ shouted another resident.

‘Whom,’ corrected Lucy Miller haughtily, ‘not who.’

The indignant recipient of the English lesson was quick to retaliate after this public correction. ‘Listen, you jumped-up cow, we’re facing a crisis in this village where there’ll be far-reaching consequences for our families, our environment and the values of our homes, and you’re giving me English lessons? This is one vote you won’t be getting.’

‘Sit down, you silly man!’ she retorted angrily.

A familiar voice joined the debate from the back of the hall.

‘If you ask me, I think the camp will bring a breath of fresh air to the village because Christ knows we need it!’

Leo Chapman walked from the rear of the hall to the front, where he stopped and, with his hands deep inside his pockets, turned and leant casually against the stage and surveyed the scene in front of him. ‘Look at you!’ He moved his eyes around the assembled villagers. ‘Just bloody look at you all!’ There was silence. ‘You’re in here this evening having ventured out of your comfortable middle-class existences to voice objection to a group of desperate people fleeing another country. Folk who have been hounded from pillar to post and who, for the first time in years, feel they’ve arrived somewhere safe. They feel their families can sleep safely in their beds this evening ...’

‘Which is more than we’ll be able to do with that rabble in the village!’ interrupted Celia McLean.

Another villager joined the banter. ‘Yeah, you’re right, no one sleeps safely in their beds in Dover these days!’

‘That’s because in Dover they’re all in someone else’s bed!’ shouted another.

Retired accountant, Sebastian, shuffled with embarrassment and moved as if to interrupt.

‘And you can sit down!’ shouted Leo. ‘You should be bloody ashamed of yourselves, all of you! This is the same village, if you please, that demands the retention of the village pub to shore up your property prices and yet few of you ever set foot in the bloody place.’

Howard Pettigrew moved to the microphone. ‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, I must say there is certainly a colourful range of opinion here this evening. I can’t help feeling that the residents of the Ravenswood Unit would be more than a little upset to know they had caused so much alarm.’

Lucy Miller was on her feet again. ‘Are they going to be free to roam about the village?’

‘Christ almighty,’ exclaimed Leo, ‘Listen to you, woman, you make them sound like wildebeest!’

Celia was not going to let matters rest and moved to support Lucy. ‘You ask why they shouldn’t move freely around the village. Well, I’ll tell you, we know what these people are like!’ she retorted angrily.

‘But you don’t!’ corrected Melissa, ‘That’s the whole point, none of you know them, yet you judge them so harshly.’

Sophie, sitting next to Lucy Miller, was reading a magazine while eating her way through a box of chocolates. ‘Well, she said, ‘I’d like to know your personal views, Melissa Bailey.’

Howard Pettigrew grabbed the chance to continue. ‘As a matter of fact, the residents will be free to move around pretty much as they want. They’ll not be held against their will. They’re not considered to pose any kind of increased threat either to you or to national security. They are, however, obliged to advise the unit if they intend to stay out overnight, although that’s unlikely as I doubt they’ll have anywhere to go in this village after midnight.’

‘I’m sure Leo Chapman would be only too happy to offer them shelter in his public house,’ sneered Celia, ‘for it’s been open late into the night for months, something it has in common with the public toilets and I’m not sure which is the more desirable venue when it comes to a night out.’

Pettigrew continued, before Leo could retaliate. ‘However, what I really want to say to you all this evening is that the most effective way of helping them at this time is to employ some of them, if you can: gardening, housekeeping, shopping, babysitting, that sort of thing.’

‘There you are, Celia,’ yelled another voice from the rear of the hall, ‘stick a handful behind the counter and we might get served faster!’

There was more laughter and chatter in the hall while the prospect was discussed.

‘I mean it,’ Pettigrew continued, ‘these people have brought with them a multitude of skills. The fact they have had to move from their own homeland in order to find somewhere that offers more opportunity and, more importantly, somewhere that’s safe for their families, does not mean they have lost their self-respect or they’re content to live off state handouts; far from it. All they want is another chance in life. Please, try and help them rebuild their lives while they’re here.’

Melissa walked to the front of the hall to join Pettigrew and Simon Guy. She took the microphone and began to speak softly. ‘Some days ago, Gerry Coster, editor of our local newspaper, and I had the good fortune to visit the lodgings of one of those families destined to come here. We were welcomed into their modest accommodation with open arms and what little they had they tried to share with us. They told us of the horrors and persecution they faced in their homeland and of their terrible ordeal as they moved across Europe looking for somewhere safe. They painted a picture of brutality, hardship and of human endurance.’

She handed the microphone back to Pettigrew. ‘Look,’ he continued, ‘would it surprise you if I told you that among the prospective residents at the Ravenswood Unit are at least two doctors, a dentist, ten very competent musicians and a professional actor? Think back to when Idi Amin expelled the Ugandan Asians from their homes in the seventies,’ he continued, ‘they lost everything and among those who fled to England, were some who became very successful entrepreneurs. The common denominator? A new chance, a level playing field and a determination, born of adversity, to succeed.’

Ellison stood up and, with tears in his eyes, began to clap enthusiastically. Others within the assembled audience of residents soon participated in the applause. The hardened minority of vociferous protesters, on the other hand, remained stony-faced and silent.