The Cost of Living

The first question was about 18^th century Scottish poetry, a question so obscure that Robert was genuinely shocked. He leaned back in his chair and pondered a while over the three multiple choice options before shaking his head. ‘You know, Sissel, I’m not at all sure of the answer to this’ he said, ‘and I studied literature for three years at university.’

The second question was about the English Civil Wars; the one after that about the type of medals issued during the Crimean campaign of 1853-1856. Robert sighed. Sissel looked downcast. ‘I never going to pass Citizenship test’ she said in a soft, deep, languid voice, and Robert had to agree. If he, British born and bred, didn’t know the answer to these questions, then how was a 40-year-old Albanian woman who worked sixty hours a week and was mother to two small kids supposed to know ?

They were sitting in Sissel’s living room in front of her computer looking at past test papers. Sissel, her husband, and children had been living in the house next door to Robert for six months and a friendship had developed. When Sissel did overtime at the food processing factory (every weekend) or her husband was out late delivering parcels in his van (every night), Robert’s daughter, who lived nearby, looked after the couple’s children for a token payment. Now, after learning that Sissel was due to take her citizenship test for the third time, Robert was helping her prepare. But there weren’t enough hours in Sissel’s day for him to fully explain the complexities of British history. She was a manual worker, not an academic. She knew, courtesy of her children, all about Peppa Pig and the Telly Tubbies; Oliver Cromwell and 18^th century Scottish poetry were not on Sissel’s cultural radar.

The following day, while Sissel was at work, Robert continued to examine past papers. Helping Sissel gain British citizenship had become a challenge and he refused to be defeated. After all, each time she took the test the family had to find an extra £50 – a harsh cost of living ‘tax’ that Sissel and her husband could ill afford. If only he could break the questions down - manage, somehow, to make the test less daunting for her - she’d at least have a fighting chance. But he grew angry at the sheer obscurity of the questions - a bureaucratic strategy, he felt, to make life as difficult as possible. Sissel and her husband worked hard. The smug politicians he saw on tv were always saying the economy needed to grow, yet at every turn they penalised the very people who were helping to drive the growth that was required. Robert shut down his laptop. It was unfair; it was immoral. Unable to concentrate any longer, he made himself a cup of coffee and went out into the garden to calm down.

It was later that afternoon when he stumbled on something: a secret code; the ghostly hint of a pattern - an acrostic that began to manifest itself on the page. He took up a notepad and pen. The first letter of the answer to the first question was T. The second question’s answer began with H. The third: I. Robert could barely believe his eyes. ‘Eureka!’ he shouted. A word began to appear – THIS. Then, after he’d jotted down the first letters of the next ten answers, another word revealed itself– GOVERNMENT. There were twenty-one questions in total; two more words emerged…IS…and CRUEL.

This government is cruel.

On the day of Sissel’s citizenship test, Robert spent the morning weeding and digging his garden. His faith in human nature had been restored. A minor civil servant had decided to strike out – decided to subvert the brutal orders handed down from on high. How Robert wished he could thank this anonymous champion - this hidden jewel of humanity - who shone within the darkness of the nation’s civil service.

Sissel gained her British citizenship, receiving a mark of 100%.

And so did the thirty other immigrants who sat the test alongside her.