Border Control

Border Control

The football fans had been to an important match in France. Now it was time to return to the UK. Dougie had just been to see Lyons playing Glasgow Rangers. It had been a good trip; plenty of alcohol, including French wine. A lot of fun! There had been a couple of little scuffles with Lyons fans, and he’d heard there was some trouble with the French, but unfortunately he’d missed that. He heard about it, but couldn’t get there in time. Anyway there’d been plenty of fun. They’d all had a laugh about it afterwards.

They were now in Calais on the coach, waiting to get back on the ferry. The coach driver announced, “We’re going to have to disembark the coach to check passports. Then they’ll let you back on and we’ll proceed to the ferry. Obviously you’ll need your passports.”

There was a quick scrabble for passports. Most of the guys and gals had them ready already. Dougie travelled light anyway. He didn’t need much clutter on his trips. The passport was in his backpack. He took it out and followed the other guys into the flat roofed building.

“It’s unusual,” he said. “They don’t normally do this. Maybe they are trying to keep the immigrants out at last! They used to jump on the coaches, or pay lorry drivers for the privilege, and there were very few checks done. No wonder we’ve had so many of these foreigners landing on us. Even Glasgow; its filling up with them. I don’t mind the occasional kebab, but we’ve got blocks of flats filling up with ‘em now.”

They quickly joined the queue, which went down quickly. A few passport officers checked people in turn. There were British police there too, and some French.

“Seems a bit heavy,” said Tweedie, one of his pals.

“Maybe they’re lookin’ for someone,” said another.

“Hey watch out Tweedie! You were in that disturbance with the police in Lyons, weren’t you,” said another.

“Yeah, of course. Bit of fun that!” said Tweedie.

“Well maybe they’re looking for fans involved in that scuffle,” said the other.

“You never know,” said Tweedie, laughing it off. But the thought seemed to knock him down a few pegs and he went a whiter shade of pale. Only Tweedie knew exactly what he’d got up to in that scuffle with the French police.

Tweedie went before Dougie in the queue, which went down rapidly. Tweedie was quiet, while Dougie playfully asked him, “Well, wha’ did ya do to that Frenchie copper. Tweedie stayed quiet. He wasn’t saying anything, not her in that hall, with the immigration officials watching. Dougie thought it was funny, and so did the other lads.

Another fan from the coach; Dougie didn’t know him personally, he was a big man with a big mouth, a tough guy. You wouldn’t mess around with him, but if he liked you you were alright. He’d been with him at that bit of baiting with the Froggie fans in Lyons. A tough guy, quite effective; he was a bit of a hero from the Manchester match, where they’d cornered that copper and knocked him over. They’d broken his arm. It served the bugger right. He should’ve stayed with his coward friends instead of acting brave. He’d have been alright then. Dougie and the big man, and others, and Tweedie of course, had been there too. They’d all been heroes among the Rangers gang supporters in the locals for weeks. They had all spent weeks laughing at the English news stories, the Manchester Police and the puffy presenters, the do gooders who thought it was such a shame the ‘poor coppers’ suffered. They hadn’t been there so they didn’t see that policeman asked for what he got.

The Big Man showed his passport to the UK immigration official and let the British policeman look. A French policeman looked at it too and compared it with some kind of list. The British policeman nodded. He had a list too in his hand and pointed to the French policeman. The Big Man, his name was Robbie, Dougie remembered now – the Big Man looked a bit surprised. Dougie didn’t think the Big Man had thought anything about the policeman being there until now.

“Can you come this way to answer some questions,” said the Immigration official. Dougie could hear it; everyone could hear it. You could have heard a pin drop all of a sudden. Tweedie looked even whiter, and Dougie could see his hands shaking and sweat on his collar. Dougie felt uneasy himself. Could they have his name on those lists too? He had been where the Big Man had been – Manchester and Lyons. But the Big Man was a real hard nut; he probably had a criminal record as big as his biceps. Probably the police interest was to do with something else. Big Robbie went through the barrier and into another room with the British policeman and one of the French. Another Rangers fan, a friend of Big Robbie was detained also – the second French policeman was checking the list. He too was asked to go into the other room. Another UK policeman came back with the list and checked the next few names when the Immigration official took their passports. Each one had their passports returned and was waved through. These were Rangers fans too. They progressed on as normal to get back on the coach. Dougie breathed a sigh of relief. Probably they just had it in for Big Robbie and his friend. Tweedie seemed a little calmer now.

Tweedie was next in the line. The Immigration official passed Tweedie’s passport to the British policeman who stood overlooking him. The policeman quickly scanned his list and calmly motioned to the Immigration official. “Can you come this way to answer some questions, please?” said the official. The British policeman motioned for him to come through the barrier into the room behind and followed him in. Dougie could see that Tweedie was sweating again around his collar. Indeed Dougie was sweating himself now. It really wasn’t funny any more!

The Immigration official gestured him forward. Only a French policeman stood beside the clerk now. Dougie felt a sudden urge to run straight past and into the ‘out’ door beyond, the one which would take him to the coach and across the channel to Britain. But he couldn’t do that of course. They’d be straight onto him then, whether his name was on that damned list or not. They’d surely be asking questions of him then. Dougie wondered whether Tweedie had done anything beyond the law in Lyons, and was not sure. He didn’t think he himself had done anything particularly serious at Lyons so maybe if Tweedie had that was why he was being questioned. Probably he’d be out soon enough and back on the bus with the rest of them. He tried to tell himself he’d be alright. He’d committed nothing criminal in France, so why should he worry?

“Passport please,” said the Immigration official. It was all in a day’s work to him. He took the passport Dougie offered, surveyed it thoroughly and passed it to the French policeman who began to look down the list left by the British policeman who had led Tweedie into the other room.

The Frenchman took his time looking at the list, it seemed to Dougie. That made him sweat all the more. He knew they were all looking at him, behind in the queue, just like he’d been watching the Big Man and Tweedie. It occurred to him, most of them were rather quiet now. Normally a queue or a border control would be a place for humour and noisy banter, but it seemed the noisiest characters were just a bit worried about the disappearance of their comrades, like Dougie was.

The French policeman nodded meaningfully to the Immigration official. Dougie felt something in his brain explode in panic, but he tried to control it. He had to stay cool in front of his mates, and maybe it was just a few questions and nothing too serious .“Can you come this way to answer some questions, please?” said the official.

“I did nae try to kill the guy. Give me some credit please,” explained Dougie, in response to the questions.

“You are quite clearly on film, jumping on the policeman’s arm.”

“I was pushed. I didnae mean to break his arm. It probably wasnae me who broke his arm. Anyway I’m sayin’ no more! I know my rights.”

“I think you’ll find sir,” said a very English police officer, “that your rights have changed quite a bit recently!”

“Oh yeah. So you’re not going to take me before the court. You’ve got to prove your accusations and sentence me if you must. That’s been the British law for centuries. I know my rights I’ll have you know!”

“Your rights have changed quite a bit, as I say. You’re guilty of football rioting, hooliganism, grievous bodily harm towards a police officer, and a number of other vandalism offences. Those offences are very serious. If proved guilty, which is easy to prove because we have you on CCTV camera, you are no longer able to claim the rights of a British citizen, and you become eligible for either deportation or imprisonment. As you have voluntarily left the country your passport will no longer give you the rights of a British citizen and will not allow you entry to the UK. We don’t want you Mr Campbell. You are no longer a British citizen!”

“What? Man I have never heard such rubbish. I want a solicitor,” said Dougie, reacting instinctively. “The law says you must allow me to have a solicitor. If you want to charge me for those offences you will have to prove it in a court of law.”

“I am afraid Mr Campbell, under new legislation we have the power to keep you out. It will be for you to prove your innocence of this kind of crime, but we do not need to wait for you to collect such evidence. We are very confident that we have enough evidence to justify the removal of your British citizenship, so that is what we have done.”

“What if I was to agree to serve a prison sentence in the UK?” suggested Dougie, sweating profusely at the strange statements the police officer was making. He half imagined the bobby was having him on. It all sounded like a load of rubbish. If there was anything you could trust in this world it was that British law didn’t change much. It could always be relied on not to change. The trouble was the other half of his rationality was listening to what the police officer was saying and thinking, ‘This guy’s serious. He means what he’s saying.’

“Too late Mr Campbell! You’re already outside the UK and you cannot reenter. Your voluntary departure from the UK has saved us the bother of having to punish you in Britain. We are not offering you a prison sentence.”

“Och man,” Dougie threw his hands up in frustration and banged his fist on the table violently. “What’re ya telling me. Don’t you know I have a wife and family in Glasgow. You’re telling me I cannae go back to them?”

“That is correct Mr Campbell,” said the policeman calmly. “Unless you can somehow persuade or finance your family to meet you somewhere you may never see them again. There is more. The French police are also wanting to question you in relation to incidents in Lyons this weekend. If they feel you are involved in any related violence you may find yourself swiftly deported from France also.”

(This piece may well be continued further some day)