I was born in Hungary, in a small town hidden in the mountains. Socialism was still in full swing. I was 9 years old when I saw Him. With a boyish smile on his face, he sang in an angelic voice: “When I was young, my father said”. I wanted to know who he was. I wanted to live where he lived. For the song went on, “Then I will get married have a wife and a child” I wanted to go there and find Him to marry me. It was childish innocent fan love, but from that day on, I read everything, I watched everything, I wanted to know everything about the UK. I knew parts of London by heart. The geography of the country. I knew the royal family as if they were my neighbours. The Union Flag decorated the wall of my room. I collected his songs and tried to understand what he was singing about. I couldn’t understand much of it, but I could always hear : I love you.
I knew the royal family as if they were my neighbours
The years went by. It’s hard to try to follow your dream when somewhere in your heart you don’t really believe. I met a real boy and I never heard that voice again. I didn’t listen! I buried it deep in my heart for good when I started carrying another little life under my heart. Wonderful years came. I was happy. I travelled a lot and finally made it to London. I remember the moment I got off the train. I went up the stairs and turned right… Buckingham Palace. I walked around and I knew everything. It was like coming home. … and then I heard again… the sound, the voice. Strong and clear. I want to live in the UK. Unfortunately, the little struggles of everyday life have not been good for my marriage. We separated and I started a new journey…with him. With him, who heard my plea and moved out with me to Birkenhead in 2013. Why here? It didn’t matter where. Just here. We chose Birkenhead because my partner’s niece lived here. We carefully planned every detail of our move. The plan: my husband would come out and I’d follow in 3 months. He’ll start our life here, I’ll close the home in the meantime.We didn’t know much about what was in store for us. We planned to open a bank account, rent an apartment and look for a good job.
I was caught up in a strange whirling, vicious circle
And then came the questions. NI number? What is it? Oh, that you can’t do anything here without it? Right, let’s have a look, how to obtain such an NI number. Do you have to call them? Really? Seriously? I barely speak any English. I won’t even understand if they ask me. What is your name? Fortunately, there have been many people who have been down this road and able to help with lots of tips and ideas. I’ve been looking forward with great excitement to the day when I would have to go into their office, answer their questions and finally start my life here. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it was for me. It meant something to me. The first step. The most important step. I successfully passed the hurdle and got my own official NI number.
Step two. Rent an apartment. They said it was easy, just have the money. Simple? Really? Nothing is simple here. Why should it be easy, life is only exciting if you have obstacles to overcome. You need a job. You’ve got money, you’ve sold your house in Hungary, the sale price of which you can comfortably rent an apartment. You should have a job, so that you can earn enough money each month to pay the rent. Obviously, this is a legitimate expectation. But man! I have enough money to pay the rent a few months in advance. We sat around a big table with friends and relatives and started brainstorming. In the end, there were two solutions to choose from. The first was to move into someone’s house and rent a room. The second: as impossible as it seems, you find someone who will vouch for you. You pay 6 months rent in advance and rent yourself a small flat. I’m not the anti-social type, but the first option didn’t work for me. There was no other solution, we had to do it the hard way. To this day, we are grateful to a friend for standing up for us, for guaranteeing us. It was not an easy road. We were turned down in several places, even though we had enough money to pay 6 months’ rent. Then the first miracle happened. When you’re about to give up, luck smiles down on you from above. Upstairs, in the administrator’s office on the 3rd floor. We rented a nice little apartment not far from downtown. I loved living there!
Okay, if that’s done, we’re ready for step three. Bank account. No problem with that, I thought. Oh… yes, it will. I was caught up in a strange whirling, vicious circle. You can only open a bank account if you have a legal address. Well, I do, so let’s get started. Green bank said, bring in a utility bill. I did. Bring another certificate for this and that. I did. And then Bank still turned me down. Blue bank said, if you have a job, we’ll open an account for you. The third bank, I didn’t even know what kind of certificate they wanted me to give. They need my grandmother’s DNA or a certificate of my school exams? It went on like that – seriously, for weeks. I had been to every bank branch in town. Some more than once. There was one where the clerk said, you’ll bring this or that document and we’ll open the account. By the time I got there, it was no longer the same clerk sitting on the other side of the counter and the new one, of course, didn’t want to know anything about the agreement we had with the previous one. On a normally rainy English summer day, the clerk at the red bank said OK and opened a bank account. What happened? Why is it different now? There must be some higher power at work here, it’s another miracle. I was beginning to feel I had come to the right place. Miracles do happen. It didn’t matter why it happened, it was time for the next step.
Step four. Workplace. In the meantime, relatives introduced us to many Hungarians living here, who all worked in the same factory. THE FACTORY! Nobody really liked working there, but they didn’t have much choice. They said, try there. You can get in with poor English. Of course don’t try to get a full-time job at first, go and be an Agency worker. Of course, someone, somewhere has heard of a case of someone advertising a full-time job, but that also falls into the miracle category if an immigrant is hired that way. I know of such a miracle today. My husband. He was hired on the first try. Here I wonder a bit whether the previous miracles actually happened to me or rather to my husband? If I look at the fact that I am his wife, I accept that he is the lucky one with whom miracles happen. I took the easy way out and applied to the Agency. It was really not difficult to get in. I filled in some papers – to this day I don’t know what I signed – they showed me where the factory gate was and I could go to work. It was not easy! It was cold and smelly. I didn’t understand exactly what I had to do. I watched what the person working next to me was doing and imitated it. I didn’t feel good. I was at the bottom of the factory hierarchy, which was made to feel every day. I barely dared to look up from work, yet you endure the humiliation day in and day out, because you need money to make a living. I had many bad things to say about my job, but my pay was always paid on time. I worked as an agency worker for 5 months when I decided to try full-time. I heard many bad things about the recruitment process. It’s hard! – they said. They ask questions and the recruiter speaks terribly difficult to understand English. Many people have failed this hurdle. If you do get through, it’s the medical exam. Like a horse…they look in your mouth to see how your teeth are. If your blood pressure is high, if it’s low, they don’t hire you. I went to the admissions with a fair amount of trepidation. But I had no problem at all. It was almost 8 months since we had moved to the UK and I’d managed to build up an English vocabulary enough to get me through the interview. My health wasn’t been a problem either.
That was 8 years ago. I’ve learned a lot and I am constantly improving and doing work – yes, still at THE FACTORY – that I love.
I need to take the fifth step. Maybe next year. Yes! Next year! I’m going to try to fulfil the dream of the 9 year old girl who heard Cliff Richard’s song in Hungary, in the harshest socialism, and set off on a 40+ year journey to gain British citizenship.