Woolworth’s in P boasted two irresistible lures for the pre-pubescent scuffing down the High Street with severely limited financial resources (5p pocket money every day in my case initially, although at the time, as I occasionally point out to my son’s amazement, this was sufficient to purchase a comic and four ha’penny chews, usually Highland Toffee) in the grip of ennui: the pick and mix and the photo booth. Now that regimented rows of near-fluorescently bright treats beckon in every cinema foyer complete with generous scoop and large striped bags and stalls in the sanitised, air-conditioned blandness of malls replicated in every city centre put the same temptation on offer the novelty is impossible to recapture. It was the mind-boggling wealth of choice (in the days where supermarket cheese sections trained the eyes of budding artists by lining up every subtle shade of orange whilst selling only Scottish cheddar) coupled with the sheer anarchy of being permitted to pop in a white chocolate mouse next to an aniseed ball instead of the sweets being dispensed by a stern, starchy woman behind a counter who would creak her woolly-stockinged way up the ladder to reach for the jar of Soor Plooms with a curdled expression as if she had been compelled to suck a handful herself, carefully measured by the quarter, the only hint of randomness to be found in a poke of Mixed Boilings.

The photo booth was situated at the very back, after the toy section. A single adjustable metal seat to lend the height you might have lacked, the mock intimacy of a curtain to deflect the curiosity of casual browsers, the slot for fifty pence pieces. The pictures came in sets of four and were intended for insertion in passports, driving licenses or student passes. The fascination came from the speed at which the machine disgorged them, still damp, hot air blown over them to stop our grubby fingers from causing the image to blur (the black and white option was the cheapest, indeed at the outset colour was not available). After the Saturday matinee we would giggle our way along the pavements, sneaking in through the glass doors at the rear to squeeze in and make faces, collapsing with laughter at the results.

For some, the posing in the booth became a rite of passage, a record of the snog, fitting snugly in the purse, irrefutable evidence of going steady. Such frivolities, I claimed, were beneath me, yet another exclusion as the classmates passed them round. The teasing, as it did within a few days of Valentine’s (I never once received a card) would subside, the scar invisible. Twenty years and more stones than I care to contemplate later, the Hungarian and I sat in the deserted station whiling away the thirty-five minutes before the next train. The relative warmth of the waiting-room was out of bounds due to the presence of a deranged occupant pacing up and down, flailing his arms in an impassioned frenzy, bawling his tribulations down the lughole of his invisible interlocutor. I spotted the pristine booth near the top of the escalator and we looked out the four euro fee. Technological advance had not improved reliability, however, as the machine sullenly spat out every variation on the required sum we could conjure up in metal. Quite apart from the painfully obvious recognition that the cramped space in front of the screen was not designed to accommodate two of our girth, let alone one of his substantial height another, unforeseen aspect marred our prospective amusement: the killjoy factor. Now that scanners scrutinise out every wrinkle and blemish (ostensibly to weed out terrorist suspects before they can board the plane) we have to sit still and not fidget, our countenances sapped of emotion, a lifeless stare de rigueur. Perfect compliance, perfect uniformity on pain of being trapped within the confines of one country. The flash would only go off twice, so that if you were overcome by a sudden urge to sneeze, you could reject the non-regulation shot (though maybe not wipe off the spatter). Only one picture would be printed in four identical copies. The total dearth of imagination numbed me with depression. The booth only existed for one purpose and was efficiently conceived to deliver. No protruding tongues, no awkward immortalisation of a fleeting lust, the merest flicker of fun or harmless mischief banished. Of course, with adequate forward planning in the form of a supply of coins the obstacle can be surmounted, yet much of the pleasure resided in the reckless and hedonistic spontaneity involved. The spur of the moment. We are supposed to have suppressed such puerile impulses, to walk at an inconspicuous pace to avoid attracting the attention of the CCTV cameras spying from every street corner. Stepping out of line was always frowned upon, yet when signs warn us our takeaway coffee may scald us and schools remove climbing frames from the playgrounds for fear of litigation the elimination of risk constricts our capacity to roam free in every sense. What a drab and petty environment we have created for ourselves.

[The panel discussion on the theme of "Integration of Women of Turkish Descent in the European Union Member States" took place on 7th March at the Representation of the Free State of Bavaria to the European Union in Brussels]

Introductory statement: The integration of women of Turkish origin in the European Union in general or in specific Member States in particular is a more topical and serious issue than ever. It has various dimensions, being a women’s political issue in the sense that an emotional, capricious, aggressive and anti-constitutional bias in favour of men persists, leaving vast resources of human capital untapped and also being a matter of human rights. According to a Commission report (dating from 24th February of this year) the gender pay gap continues to yawn wide across Europe with women earning on average 15% less than male colleagues. In some sex-specific sectors, wage differentials have actually increased over the last five years in a number of countries, including Germany and Belgium. Ongoing support must be given to countries imminently about to join the EU as well as to potential candidates for fully-fledged membership to enable them to implement the acquis communautaire. Before a debate can be launched on the subject of a new wave of immigration into the EU, integration has to be highlighted and an adequate solution to the problems encountered by Turkish women found. In this context, the prospect of Turkish accession has to feature prominently, irrespective of the political stance adopted on the question (Bavaria giving preference to a form of privileged partnership as opposed to full membership as it has existed thus far). All candidates must comply with the Copenhagen criteria, one of the classic preconditions of membership being adoption and implementation of the acquis. These common rules include equal treatment of men and women in society and at work.

[The relevant passage in the Commission's report to which the opening address referred makes for sobering reading, even in the arid, bland, dispassionate and bureaucratic language in which such a document must, of necessity, be drafted: "The favourable trend in female employment has led to a narrowing of the gender gaps in employment and unemployment. Nevertheless, major imbalances persist while the high pay gap shows no significant signs of narrowing.
[…] Against this favourable backdrop [of a drop in unemployment amongst women], it must be acknowledged that the main areas of growth for female employment continued to be concentrated in activities and occupations already predominantly feminine. This has reinforced segregation in the labour market. Indeed, both sectoral and occupational segregation continue to rise in the EU, respectively to 25.4% and 18.1%. More than four in ten women work in public administration, education, health or social services, compared to less than two in ten men. In the private sector, however, business services remain an important source of job creation both for women and men, with an increase of employed persons in excess of 5% between 2000 and 2004.
A further source of concern is the persistence of the gender gap in part-time work, which is done by 32.6% of women in employment against only 7.4% of men. Although recourse to part-time work may reflect personal preferences and may help people to (re-)enter and stay in the labour market, the high gender gap is also evidence of differences of time use patterns between women and men and of the role of carer predominantly assumed by women and the greater difficulties they face in trying to reconcile work and private life. Participation in employment and the amount of time worked by women is closely linked to the number and age of children; this is less the case for men. For women aged between 20 and 49, having a child pushes the employment rate down by as much as 14.3 points, while it drives up men’s employment rate by 5.6 points. Similarly, the recourse to part-time work by women increases with the number of children, which is not the case for men. One-third of women with one child and half of women with three or more children work on a part-time basis, while the number of children has little effect on the proportion of men working part-time.
Work-life balance tensions combined with stereotypes and gender-biased remuneration and evaluation systems continue to affect the women’s career and perpetuate the vertical segregation of the labour market. Within enterprises, women account for only 32% of managers. Only 10% of members of boards and 3% of CEOs of the larger EU enterprises are women. In education and research, women outnumber men as graduates (59%), yet their presence decreases consistently as they progress on the career ladder, from 43% of PhDs down to only 15% of full professors.
The pay gap between women and men remains at unacceptably high levels and shows no significant signs of being closed. On average, women earn 15% less than men for every hour worked. This results from both non respect of equal pay legislation and from a number of structural inequalities such as labour market segregation, differences in work patterns, access to education and training, biased evaluation and pay systems and stereotypes” (emphasis in original)]

Cornelia Bolesch (Brussels correspondent of Süddeutsche Zeitung, chairing the panel): Women living in Europe have rights on paper, but do not enjoy them fully in practice, as was mentioned a moment ago in conjunction with the gender pay gap. This discrimination is “light” compared with the kind of discrimination practiced and suffered elsewhere in the world where patriarchy is more heavy-handed. Today in Europe women such as Serap Cileli and Ayaan Hirsi Ali have mustered the courage to stand up and talk about their experiences and transform problems that have previously been hidden from public view into problems of relevance to us all. Alongside Serap the other members of the panel are Dr. Vladimír Špidla, Commissioner for Employment, Social Affairs and Equal Opportunities, who has just returned from a three-day visit to Turkey, and Christa Stewens, Bavarian State Minister for Labour and Social Welfare, Family Affairs and Women. The discussion will focus on three main areas: What are the current realities? What laws are called for to bring about improvements? And what practical measures can be introduced to remedy the problems? The most authentic information comes from an individual who has experienced the difficulties first-hand, Serap Cileli.

Serap Cileli: I am an author and women’s rights activist. At the age of fifteen my own family forced me into marriage in Turkey (I had been forcibly engaged in Germany when I was twelve). I stuck out the marriage for seven years and the best way to find out more is to consult my home page. When I was 23 I returned to Germany with my children and I took refuge in a women’s shelter. My current husband is the man of my own choice. In 1993 I started writing about the sufferings I had endured, initially as a kind of therapeutic exercise. I published my book cataloguing my experiences as a case study, the story of an individual fate, but the more I probed, the more I investigated the issue, the more apparent the degree of violence became. Somebody had to speak up, so I went public. Between 1994 and 1999, however, the journalists and television channels I approached turned down my offers of interviews, claiming that I would only stir up xenophobia with my views, but since 2005 I have been able to speak openly about the problems that continue to beset Muslim women immigrants although such communities have been living in Europe for over 50 years. Through my home page I have been able to help over 200 young women and 20 men affected by forced marriage. It is not a problem restricted to any particular age group: the youngest girl I have helped was only 12, the oldest victim 52. German women who have converted to Islam have also been affected. They have lived in polygamous arrangements and been subjected to abuse in the form of domestic violence. The youngest girl I helped was Turkish and had been living in a traditional marriage for one year already without anyone at her school noticing. Another Turkish girl of just 13 became the second wife of a man who already had eight daughters. Yet another girl refused to enter into a forced marriage and paid an appalling price for her disobedience: her own father decided to kill her, tying her to her bed at five in the morning, pouring spirits all over her and setting her alight. She lay on fire for 45 minutes leaving 60% of her body burned. It is of the utmost importance to speak out publicly about such cases in Turkey as well as in Europe and it is important to keep goings on in Turkey under close scrutiny, not just to keep tabs on Turkish immigrants.

Cornelia Bolesch: Can you tell us a little about how you came into contact with such problems minister?

Christa Stewens: The first time I was confronted by such problems was when an aunt of mine married an Egyptian. Hers was not the only marriage between a German and an Egyptian in which difficulties ensued. When things went wrong between the spouses, the women discovered that they had no rights to custody of their children, which meant that even before I entered political life I was aware of what could happen. Once I entered the political arena living near Munich, women got in touch with me, told me their life stories, how they wanted to be given the opportunity to learn the local language, take part in sporting activities and in reading groups, but whose husbands refused permission to do so. I started thinking about how we could reach such families. Only low-level intervention held out any prospect of success. Two programmes in particular proved useful. As Minister of Social Affairs, I am interested in women’s shelters. In Bavaria, 50% of those who have recourse to their services are of foreign extraction, mostly Muslims. Then there are the women’s emergency help lines, right there in the thick of things. The whole issue is extremely sensitive within German society. Muslim families have a very pronounced patriarchal structure and women attach a great deal of importance to it. They do not want their family structures to be undermined or destroyed. We need to promote language learning and help the women to get out of the home. Of the third generation immigrants, 30% speak Turkish at home, in other words the German language represents the most important bridge in improving the situation.

Cornelia Bolesch: Commissioner Špidla, can you say a few words concerning your visit to Turkey? What were your impressions and were the problems encountered by Muslim women in Europe crop up in debate?

Vladimír Špidla: I was still in Ankara this very morning. It was exactly a year ago that a demonstration by Turkish women in Istanbul was brutally suppressed and my official visit was intended in part as a signal that women’s rights are not a peripheral issue of little relevance to enlargement, but have played and will continue to play an important role. I stated this point very clearly when I took the floor at public events and when I met representatives of women’s NGOs. There is a divide in Turkey between the small, but prominent elite of highly educated women willing to fight for rights through the NGOs and the rest. Women do occupy management positions, in fact, at the very highest level there are twice as many women in Turkey than in the EU holding their own [The Commission's report on equality between women and men for 2006 mentions the following figures: "In the economic field, it appears that, in 2004, women represented 32% of managers in Europe. However, women's share of top management positions in firms (i.e. membership of the daily executive bodies of top companies) was 10%]. This is one layer, but there is another world where quite different conditions hold sway, in which honour killings and forced marriages are quite normal. I also met members of the Commission against Honour Killings in the Turkish Parliament. Approximately 40% of women in Turkey are in favour of domestic violence, whilst 98% accept the right of husbands to mete out physical chastisement to family members. Only 24% of women in Turkey are in remunerated employment, compared to the European average of 56% and many of these work in the informal sector without decent conditions or any social security benefits. There is a great deal of catching up to do. I am convinced that there is – to an extent – an awareness of the problems, certainly of honour killings, but not so much of forced marriages. The very fact that a Commission to tackle honour killings has been set up in the Turkish Parliament stands as proof that it is being taken seriously by the leading lights in politics. What goes on at a high level is one thing, however, whereas day-to-day life is another kettle of fish. A great deal remains to be done.

Cornelia Bolesch: In Germany a major debate has been launched as to whether the testimony of women like Serap is relevant or whether it simply reflects the problem of a minority within the Turkish community. Do you as a Commissioner perceive a problem of information? Is what we are confronted with dramatic enough to warrant your taking action or do you want better statistics? It is all very well for Eurostat to compile information about the number of dairy cattle in the EU, but should it not also be gathering data about the educational situation? About how well Muslim women speak the languages of the countries in which they live?

Vladimír Špidla: It is definitely a problem. It is difficult to know exactly how many Muslims are living in Europe at present, 15 million being the approximate figure. What we do know is that by 2030 we will have 20 million too few workers, even including today’s immigrants in our calculations, so there will continue to be an influx of new migrants in the future. You are correct to suggest that we require more detailed statistics, but you must also bear in mind that when dealing with statistics the method applied determines the results. We certainly need to study the problem, but I don’t think that statistics alone can provide the answers. What we really need are targeted studies. It is extremely delicate and sensitive. Perhaps the European Gender Institute can be charged with the task of carrying out research of this type.

Cornelia Bolesch: It is due to start work next year and will address issues of women’s rights across Europe.

Vladimír Špidla: We do lack proper data, so there is no doubt that studies are needed and meticulous work has to be done.

Christa Stewens: Whenever you attempt to gather information you are still left with a certain unknown quantity in the sense that you cannot encompass everything. The advantage of the Internet is that it allows for a certain degree of anonymity. Women who pluck up courage to raise their voices in public and complain about being denied equal opportunities are often stigmatised within their families. The Turkish community is about 1.8 million strong, comprising many thousands of families. That integration has not yet been achieved is demonstrated by indicators such as the number of Turkish women fleeing to women’s shelters. More and more women are making a public stand, however, which raises awareness at a political level, enabling us to start getting to grips with the problems politically. At the various language and integration courses 60% of the participants are women. Funding from the European Social Fund allowed publication of a brochure entitled “Mummy speaks German”. Mothers bring up their children, which means they play a key role in the education of the upcoming generation in their formative years. Given the current demographic trends it is important for us to take action to avoid the creation of parallel societies before we allow more immigrants in. Women’s role in integration terms is absolutely critical.

Cornelia Bolesch then gave the audience an opportunity to ask questions. The first contributor was interested in obtaining a response on the wearing of headscarves. A letter had been addressed to all of the German Federal States calling upon them to explain how a ban on the wearing of headscarves could be deemed as compatible with the prescription concerning neutrality of world view. Some Federal States had no specific provisions and the speaker was curious to learn what the Bavarian reaction had been and whether, if penalties were applied, more far-reaching ones than was the case with Baden-Württemberg would be envisaged.

Vladimír Špidla: As a result of the introduction of new anti-discrimination legislation, the Commission has to monitor implementation. Headscarves are a highly sensitive matter in terms of human rights. I broached this issue with the Turkish government and by way of response was informed that the headscarf ban in universities in Turkey did not constitute a breach of human rights. More letters will follow, but I have not made a statement implying that discrimination has indeed occurred. Currently, the Commission is ascertaining how the new laws are being put into effect.

Serap Cileli: Headscarves are a red rag to me. Let me be very specific: they go beyond the limit of my tolerance. If they are nothing more than a piece of clothing then it should be possible to ban them at public institutions. Wearing them in private is the choice of each individual. My grandmother wore a headscarf. If you support the right to wear it then you are supporting a violation of human rights. In the Koran, the wearing of the headscarf is not a duty, but a commandment. Liberal and democratic Muslims differ in their views on the subject compared to orthodox Muslims. If we favour wearing it, we are supporting the orthodox camp. In certain families in Germany young girls are shaved bald before they are allowed to go on school trips because of the fear that if the headscarf slips someone might catch a glimpse of their hair. Girls as young as six, seven and eight undergo this in an effort to conceal their charms from men. This is what women’s sexuality boils down to: it has to be protected against men. In Turkey girls are not permitted to wear headscarves to school. The same should apply here if we want to defend human rights.

Christa Stewens: Bavaria is a liberal state and my firm conviction is that the headscarf is a religious symbol, which means that teachers should not wear it. The decision to ban wearing it is therefore correct. It represents a form of discrimination against women. Let me reiterate. It is my firm conviction that teachers should not be allowed to wear it at school, whereas pupils may do so. Baden-Württemberg takes things a step further than Bavaria. The argument is that if wearing the headscarf is tolerated at school this has nothing to do with equal rights for women, since many girls do not wear it voluntarily.

The next speaker from the audience pointed out that it was all very well for Bavarian politicians to harp on about secularism and the separation of state and religion, but that crosses hang on classroom walls in Bavarian schools. Religious symbols have no place in schools, regardless of whether they are Catholic, Protestant, Jewish or Muslim. Conservative politicians stress that we live in a Western culture and call for integration into that culture, but what does integration mean? Does it always mean that minorities should adapt without any leeway for innovation? Twelve per cent of the German population consisted of immigrants, leaving the arguments put forward in tatters. In Berlin, in the block of flats where the young woman lived, fellow residents painted their nails with bright red varnish, teetered on high heels, yet wore the headscarf and when challenged would reply that they didn’t give a shit, they wanted to mix and match symbols as the mood took them. The headscarf really is merely a piece of clothing and should be de-ideologised accordingly.

Serap Cileli: There is a new trend emerging, exactly as described, with young women dressing in white, see-through dresses and headscarves by way of being deliberately provocative whilst representing Islamism. It is a paradox. Eyes with eye shadow appeared more erotic combined with the headscarf. I have talked to some of these girls in Berlin, telling them they looked very oriental. They replied that it makes them feel good. Wearing the headscarf in schools is quite a different matter from wearing it in private or on the streets. At schools it is part and parcel of the oppression of women.

Christa Stewens: There is a huge difference between displaying a crucifix and the wearing of the Muslim headscarf. Displaying a crucifix on the wall of a classroom in Bavaria is linked to the Bavarian constitution and to fundamental values. If the crucifix bothers anyone they are entitled to ask for it to be taken down. Children living in the Christian West know what their values are and these values do not include the oppression of women.

Cornelia Bolesch: What laws do you think are needed at EU, national or Federal State level to help women overcome the dual discrimination they face? Do you think, Serap Cileli, that if an appropriate law had been on the statute books it might have helped you?

Serap Cileli: It is extremely important that we give a clear and strong signal that in a democracy where the rule of law prevails we will not tolerate certain behaviours. With the young girls I help, these victims are let down by the law. They are too frightened to press charges against their families. I can find a temporary refuge for them, I can also report their families to the police for unlawful duress, but the girls themselves are terrified when it comes to reporting crimes. Very often they are not even aware that a crime has been committed. They say that their families only wanted what was best for them. Eight out of ten of the girls I help return to their families. We need to be able to get into the families when the children are of nursery school age onwards. When I help a girl escape she will often lapse into a state of distress, of absolute helplessness and powerlessness because the family bonds exert a very strong pull. The girls’ outlook is very traditional and family-oriented. Sometimes when I intervene and explain how the girl feels to the families the experience is positive. Awareness-raising and education are the be all and end all. We have to reach the women who bring up their daughters.

Cornelia Bolesch: Should forced marriage be recognised in law as an official offence? If a forced marriage takes place should it be possible to press charges without the victim’s consent, going over their heads?

Serap Cileli: Both. One of the demands I have put forward along with women’s organisations is that forced marriage should be considered a criminal offence. Girls are placed in extreme situations, yet in spite of it cannot summon the courage to press charges against their families. We need to be able to report the families to the police. On innumerable occasions I have been forced to move the girl from location to location because the families have resorted to various ploys to uncover her whereabouts, all of which could be avoided.

Vladimír Špidla: The Commission has adopted an action plan covering the period up to 2010, which has come under fire from the European Parliament [the Roadmap identifies six priority areas: equal economic independence for women and men; reconciliation of private and professional life; equal representation in decision-making; eradication of all forms of gender-based violence; elimination of gender stereotypes and promotion of gender equality in external and development policies. Point 1.6 pertains to "Combating multiple discrimination, in particular against immigrant and ethnic minority women" and reads as follows: "The EU is committed to the elimination of all discrimination and the creation of an inclusive society for all. Women members of disadvantaged groups are often worse off than their male counterparts. The situation of ethnic minority and immigrant women is emblematic. They often suffer from double discrimination. This requires the promotion of gender equality in migration and integration policies in order to ensure women's rights and civic participation, to fully use their employment potential and to improve their access to education and lifelong learning". Point 4 relates to "Eradicating gender-based violence and trafficking" and states: "The EU is committed to combating all forms of violence. This is a breach of the fundamental right to life, safety, freedom, dignity and physical and emotional integrity. Violation of these rights cannot be tolerated or excused on any ground. Prevention is essential and requires education and knowledge, the development of networking and partnership, and the exchange of good practices. Urgent action is needed to eliminate customary or traditional harmful attitudes and practices, including female genital mutilation, early and forced marriages, and honour crimes". The Commission undertakes to "issue a Communication on the establishment of a system for comparable statistics on crime, victims and criminal justice in 2006 and monitor progress at EU level", which would at least clarify the extent of the blight of forced marriages and honour killings and to "support Member States and NGOs in their efforts to eradicate gender-based violence, including customary or traditional harmful practices, by promoting awareness-raising campaigns, supporting networking, exchange of good practices and research, and by implementing programmes for victims as well as perpetrators, encouraging Member States to establish national action plans"].

Hiltrud Breyer (MEP, Greens/European Free Alliance Group): Its wording is very vague and it does not contain any proposals for legal initiatives. Moreover it is also extremely vague on migrants and Muslim women. Wouldn’t it be a good idea to try to remedy the problems with legislation?

Vladimír Špidla: That is a very clear and a very good question. There are different levels of legislation. European legislation is very general in nature. More detailed legislation can be adopted in accordance with the principle of subsidiarity, at Member State level in other words. New anti-discrimination law has just entered into force and has to be implemented rigorously. Germany has not yet done so, nor has the Czech Republic. Other countries have with varying degrees of success and failure. Our task is to ascertain the level of implementation. Europe cannot be like a leopard skin with certain spots where there is no equality of opportunity. We have to make sure that implementation is effective and open up new opportunities for legislation to come into being, drawing up new directives. I want to see a good analysis carried out. Checking up on implementation takes time, but is necessary. As far as forced marriages are concerned, the terms of the debate have not been precise. Laws already exist in the Member States that can be used to combat and prevent forced marriages from taking place. Laws possess a symbolic dimension. Let me be clear: condemning crime is more than trotting out tired old clichés. I do not shy away from drafting laws, but I have to be certain that there is a point to them. Unnecessary laws are worse than no laws at all.

Cornelia Bolesch: If we take the example of domestic violence, which can involve everything from physical violence through to manslaughter. It is committed in private, where there are flowing boundaries, but in the interests of giving off the kind of signal you alluded to would it not be good to make clear once and for all that it is unacceptable by passing a European directive outlawing it?

Vladimír Špidla: Let me sketch out the contours of the process. Tonight’s debate is very important and it can open the doors to a debate at European level, but ultimately the decisions have to be taken by the Member States. One good legal system setting out the parameters of offences was the Code of Hammurabi. It listed the crimes without legal abstractions. In some cases it is good to have definitions, but what we need here is a debate at EU level and the open method of coordination. It is feasible to tackle the phenomenon in this manner, but impractical to pursue the course of setting out a specific offence. That would not be the correct approach and it would also prove difficult to enforce.

Cornelia Bolesch: What about increasing the age at which family members are allowed to join their relatives in the EU as a means of preventing forced marriages? Mr. Schäuble has expressed sympathy for the Dutch law increasing the age to 21. Do you think that Germany should follow suit in an effort to erect a barrier against forced marriages?

Christa Stewens: Yes, I am in favour of it. In Bavaria the directive on family reunification provides for this. It is intended as a barrier to forced marriages. We must avail ourselves of the room for manoeuvre that exists in law from provisions prohibiting unlawful duress through to prosecuting criminal acts. So I agree with Mr. Schäuble.

Cornelia Bolesch: Should it be possible for women sent to Turkey by their families for the purposes of forcing them into marriage to have restrictions on their return to Germany eased?

Serap Cileli: Yes. The right to return should not be subject to restrictions. At the moment, the residence permit expires after six months. When they arrive in Turkey the women’s passports and ID cards are taken away. We have to adjust the right to return as this constitutes a very important means of improving the situation. On the other hand, however, we must also support more women’s shelters being opened in Turkey. For the whole country there are 14 or 15 and scarcely a refuge for girls. Many women might have wanted to escape, but not had anywhere to escape too. We need to engage in talks with the Turkish government about this. The German consulate could help these girls, but they do not have German citizenship, so the consulate has its hands tied. Raising the age to 21 is good, but we must not forget that the children born in polygamous marriages are not registered. A 14-year-old girl can officially come to Germany by claiming that she is 18 and there is no way that her real age can be verified.

A further speaker from the audience reminded listeners that rape and domestic violence did not feature on the political agenda in the past and that political change had to come from self-confident women. One problem was that insufficient room for manoeuvre was available to those affected. The example chosen was headscarves. The women had to choose between wearing it and keeping their jobs. Neither option was particularly emancipatory. In Denmark it was no longer possible to start up a family freely, which is a fundamental human right. How can we avoid exacerbating the situation further? By prescribing emancipation from above? The next audience contributor commented on Mr Špidla’s reserved attitude. It had slowly become apparent that law prohibiting violence was an indispensable complement to liberalised divorce laws. Education was called for and the state should offer assistance rather than focusing exclusively on sanctions.

Mary McPhail (Secretary-General of the European Women’s Lobby): There is very little information I can add to the debate, but as far as the issue of data is concerned, the European Women’s Lobby has been putting pressure on Member States government’s to compile comparable data for over a decade. In 1999 we published our own research in Unveiling the Hidden Data. It encompassed police records, public health records and the testimony of women in shelters. One in five women in Europe experiences violence from her intimate male partner. These results were backed up by a WHO study, which concluded that for women between the ages of 15 and 49 the biggest cause of death and injury was precisely partner violence. These problems are compounded where harmful traditional practices affect migrant women. We need an EU-wide directive on violence against women, since such violence is a major barrier to women achieving their full rights. A law which protects the victim and penalises the perpetrator is required, as well as support and services. The evidence is compelling and it behoves the EU and the Member States to take more direct action and accelerate the pace of change. National action plans mean better monitoring as part of the road map.

Vladimír Špidla: On the question of the road map, I am not afraid of drawing up legislation, but improved implementation of existing laws could deliver results. Current laws are being shoddily enforced. My most important task is to work for consistent implementation.

Hiltrud Breyer (MEP, Greens/European Free Alliance Group): How can you deal adequately with female genital mutilation, forced marriages, headscarves and pupils being banned from taking part in swimming lessons on the basis of anti-discrimination legislation? The European Parliament is calling for a directive. We need tough measures to bring about genuine change. You need to make recommendations and put the issue on the agenda rather than hide away and claim you have a clear conscience. It is precisely this kind of attitude that creates the leopard skin you were talking about earlier. This is misunderstood tolerance and we expected more of you. Last year we asked for a report on Turkey in the wake of the demonstration. We also want initiatives on the registration of girls’ real ages so we can tell how old they really are when they come to Europe. The fact that this has been overlooked is proof of bankruptcy.

Vladimír Špidla: Let’s put it on the political agenda. We cannot maintain anti-discrimination law is being properly implemented. Female genital mutilation is a clear breach of bodily integrity, guarantees of which are clearly set out in European legislation. Honour killings are simply murder. You cannot insist that a Member State has to tackle murder. Conventions and directives have to be implemented and made a reality. We can draw up a directive on forced marriages, but what good would it do? It would be up to the Member States to enforce it. As things stand not a single Member State believes that forced marriages are good or that honour killings are anything other than murder. What you need is courage and a heart, not simply rules. I have done a great deal, even if my heart is not quite pure.

Cornelia Bolesch: This brings us neatly on to the final topic, that of practical policies. Traditions, culture, religion and private constraints have an influence. The European Women’s Lobby statistics show that one in five women is a victim of domestic violence. The perpetrators are men. We can only move forward, if we want to change the situation of Muslim women if we work together with the local Turkish communities.

Serap Cileli: Recently a postcard campaign was launched by two Turkish boys and two Turkish girls with the slogan “My honour is to fight for the freedom of my sister”. It is an encouraging sign that at least two Turkish boys are standing up and being counted, fighting in public for their sisters’ freedom. It would be good if more were to lend it their support. I don’t know how many Turkish migrants are in the audience tonight. Very few Turkish migrants attend my lectures, but we need to broach the issue of forced marriages and persuade leading Turkish community figures who can influence opinions to air it in public and to discuss how it can be prevented in our own community. I often receive calls from teachers who don’t know what to do about their girl pupils. This helplessness is similar to that felt by social workers in shelters when they encounter problems. Turkish associations and organisations have a role to play. How can we help these women? In Berlin the Central Council of Muslims says it is responsible, that it will go into families and if the husband attacks and beats his wife it will intercede and act as a mediator, that Muslim law does not condone violence. We don’t need to call in an imam if we have law and the police, however. The girls are too frightened to call the police or to press charges. If imams are used as go-betweens it can lead to a positive outcome.

Cornelia Bolesch: How much by way of compromise is possible or acceptable for a state? Schools are confronted with practical difficulties if pupils are not allowed to take part in sex education classes or swimming lessons, or they are only allowed to attend the sex education classes if boys and girls are taught separately. Is it reasonable to accept such an approach?

Christa Stewens: We have a victim protection law. In Bavaria counselling facilities need to be attached to shelters to help women. We need networked assistance, involving social workers, doctors, schools and the police. In order to eliminate domestic violence we have to develop a manual, put help on offer and rope in all relevant actors as well as making it clear that this is a task for society as a whole. I am opposed to compromises in a state where the rule of law holds sway. Such a state cannot turn a blind eye, cannot look the other way. We have to stick to the letter of the law, including in schools. Turkish girls must take part in swimming lessons. Integration has to be the order of the day from nursery school age onwards. We also have to make sure there is a proper mix between German, foreign and Turkish children, as there are some nursery school classes where 70% of the children are of foreign extraction. We will have to introduce weighting to guarantee a proper spread in nursery school groups, which is to be welcomed from the point of view that when the children make friends with each other, the foreign children will be invited to play with the German children, will communicate in German and have a different grasp of the values and the language. This will lead to considerably less recourse to violence. These are important paths to integration.

Vladimír Špidla: The most important word in this context is integration. At EU level our opportunities are restricted. The Treaty only allows for certain options. We need a “triad” of integration in language, education and employment, as difficulties have beset all three. I agree that we need a good mix in nursery school so that the children enter primary school properly equipped, which will assist in labour market integration later on. 30% of Turkish women are in remunerated employment, the rest stay at home. Integration and having a job create independence. Earning money provides an income, which in turn opens up new opportunities, and boosts independence and self-confidence.

Cornelia Bolesch: What about the role of men? Why are men not seen as victims? They do enjoy privileges, but they too can be victims of forced marriages, suffer from occupying a low place in the hierarchy and being forced to live lives in confinement. We should also encourage men to see themselves as victims of the system.

Serap Cileli: How many men out there freely admit to having weaknesses? A man has to be a real man, at least according to the macho culture prevalent in the Turkish community. In the course of one of my school visits I met a 15-year-old boy who, shortly before the summer holidays, admitted that he had been forced into an engagement. He showed great bravery in doing so. In a school in Düsseldorf, I spoke to a group of pupils aged between 16 and 17. Hartun Sürücü cropped up in conversation. She had refused to wear a headscarf and was murdered. One of the boys said “If my sister behaves like a whore, I’d kill her too”. I tried to talk to him afterwards. He thought it was perfectly acceptable for his father to hit him or his mother if they stepped out of line or refused to obey the rules. This attitude was deeply ingrained in him. Outwardly, many Turkish girls might seem to be very emancipated, yet they zealously defend their traditions, so before we start reaching out to men, we have to sort this out first.

One final audience participant pointed out that men would not emancipate themselves alone, but only along with the rest of society. Such a project only stood a chance of success if an integrated approach were adopted. In other words, public awareness would have to be raised and certain trendsetters would have to show the way to the rest.

Cornelia Bolesch: Tonight’s debate has concentrated primarily on the double burden of discrimination on immigrant women, but all women are adversely affected by it. We need to continue to draw attention to the problems and launch a debate. The spat between the Member of the European Parliament and the Commissioner shows that we are not just dealing with anaemic directives, but issues of the utmost relevance to making social progress.

[Chameleon's disclaimer: The above does not pretend to be a complete transcript, but a reconstruction based on notes jotted down. Any inaccuracies or lacunae are neither deliberate nor malicious, but due to deficiencies in my note-taking technique]

[For Waterhot]

“‘Death is a great price to pay for a red rose,’ cried the Nightingale, ‘and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?’”
Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose

In desolate hours of loneliness with the curtains still open I would sit on the bare floorboards of the flat, tears trickling down the side of my nose before losing themselves in the warm folds of tissue, the telephone taunting me with its silence as the daylight gave way to the orange glow of the streetlights, shadows of the leaves dancing on the wall. Brooding a rare luxury squeezed in between my lover’s departure and my son being dropped off with the nanny after their weekend at her boyfriend’s. The intoxicating intensity, every ounce of passion spent only to have him torn from me. Nausea would flood me at the thought of him returning to the bosom of his family after he had announced flatly that the best solution would be for her breast cancer to have spread to her lymphatic system (which would mean that he could both inherit her considerable wealth and abscond with me guilt-free). In my selfish agony, the sheer callousness of his statement did not sink in.

I do not shudder back to the present from warm daydreams of what might have been. Even THAK does not haunt my waking thoughts (although he occasionally intrudes on my dreams) since I faded unobtrusively from his life (my preferred, non-confrontational resolution to relationships as opposed to a violent caesura). I have no curiosity about what has become of my past loves, with the exception of the briefest of my liaisons (Graham) and the admirer who languished after me during our secondary schooldays without my noticing (or at least consciously acknowledging his interest), IM, too preoccupied was I pursuing another in vain. The mere thought of bumping into one of them accidentally makes me queasy (though as I live in exile the likelihood is remote). My instinct would be instant appraisal, had he outperformed me? Does he outearn me? Had whatever creature he had in tow aged better than me? Was she wittier or had he deliberately selected less of a challenge?

The best scenario would be from the Human League’s song Louise describing former lovers crossing paths: “When he saw her getting off the bus, It seemed to wipe away the years, Her face was older, just a little rough, But her eyes were still so clear”. There is no sign of enmity: “She took a moment just to recognise, The man she’d known so well before, And as he started to apologise, Lose any bitterness she bore, She gently put her finger on his lips, To let him know she understood, And with her suitcase standing on the floor, Embraced him like a lover would”. They part with hope and the tantalising knowledge of possibility: “And though they talked for just a little while, Before she said she had to go, He saw the meeting as a tiny sign, That told him all he had to know, And so Louise, Waved from the bus, And as she left, She gave that smile, As if they were still lovers”.
However, the last twinge of longing ceased long ago when the train pulled into the station at Luxembourg. I used to stare along the platform in case he was waiting. If he had abandoned his flat and could tolerate being placed under constant surveillance he may well have moved back home, after all he did protest that his love for her had been mysteriously rekindled.

Again I look to Kosztolányi, more profound than Wilde, a shrewder judge of human foibles, whose worldly sophistication is preserved in exquisite poetry and prose. His character, the student, reveals how wistfulness can fester and become pathological, how grief can be confused with its comforting simulation, how when all yearnings have been condensed into an erotically charged fantasy the sheer banality of real life can never compete, never surpass the sublime torture conjured up by our imagination. What is lost can never be recaptured. Nor would we really want it back if we had the choice.

Dezső Kosztolányi, Krisztina Hrussz’s Miraculous Visit (1911)

The cabaret singer Krisztina Hrussz was buried on 7th January 1902. The funeral took place at three in the afternoon. The frost had set in and it had grown completely dark by the time the coffin was brought out into the courtyard and placed on top of the timber catafalque for the last rites to be performed before putting it on the hearse. The priest’s nose had turned cherry-red from the cold. An aftertaste of lunch lingered in his mouth, the slightly acrid bouquet of the Badacsony wine. In the mist he could now see angels and roses. With a stiff movement, he lifted the aspergillum onto the coffin. Medical student Vidor Tass, the singer’s sweetheart, stood by his side, the centre of attention in his careless black attire, elegantly retaining his composure, not betraying his grief. Around him a few second-rate thespians, a proper actor and the cabaret director. Almost all of them felt good, here, in the midst of mourning and they were thinking of their lunch. Lascivious and opulent feelings lent a hint of piquancy to the seriousness of the heartfelt emotion. Later, once the service had ended, and the horses had set off for the cemetery, the black plumes of mourning attached to their brow bands vibrating, between the torch and lantern-bearers, freezing rain began to fall, which coated the coffin with a delicate film of ice creating the impression from the outside that it was made of glass. The top hats also became encrusted with a thin glassy layer. This cold and sparkling covering spread over everything, transforming objects to glass and sugared chestnut, the tarmac into an ice rink and then it melted away like an apparition, leaving cold feet to stamp in the chilly puddles of slush. The funeral cortege had almost begun winding its way up the hill. The student gazed at this blazing and dark procession, as if it were a procession in the hereafter, in the early afternoon. He was gawping and marvelling at the sight of it all rather than mourning. The whole spectacle appeared so incredible. Three days previously Krisztina had fallen ill with pneumonia. Now she had quite simply been snatched away from him, swiftly and brutally, like when someone is blindfolded during the night, manhandled by an abductor, bundled into a coach and wakes up somewhere else in the morning. It left the student in a daze. He did not really believe in death. He listened to the melancholy singing, the lamentations in Latin and his thoughts drifted to his afternoon tea with cocoa. The masons sealed up the crypt. They slapped thin mortar on the fresh bricks. Then he came down the hillside alone. He let his arms swing by his side. He was thinking about the girl. Whimpering a little inside. Once again the sense of disbelief seized him with painful vehemence. He was looking for Krisztina and she – oh yes – she was no more.

But later on he wept. He collapsed on to the little table, which stood in front of the opaque window and convulsed with bitter sobs. He did not even undress at night. For three days he hardly slept. The minutes, hours and days passed by in a blur for him. When light peeped in through the shutters he did not know whether it was dawn or dusk.
“If only she would come back!” he sobbed into his pillow.
Towards spring he calmed down slightly. But his face became even more deathly pale. Now he could not even weep any longer and his tears flowed inwardly. This subsided grief of his only made him appear more dreadful, however. Those who saw him fell involuntarily silent.
“If only she would come back!” he sighed to himself.
In the evening he would lay out her clothes, her shoes and the yellow scarf which she could wind around her neck so daintily. He would imagine that she was sitting next to him. By the fireside, or on the chair or on the floor, her delicate, slightly freckled face turned towards the red warmth. Many times he could see her on the bed as well. He could hear her voice. If the doorbell rang he would rush to the door and was astonished that it wasn’t her who had come. On such occasions he would withdraw into the room and picture every minute detail of the tryst in his mind’s eye. Krisztina would walk through the door. He would help her off with her coat and offer her a chair. The girl, however, would cling to his neck, nestling her head against his chest and laughing loudly. He would play like this with the girl right through until dawn, listening to her laughter, gazing into her eyes. After these agonising and lethal embraces he would wake up the next morning with an ashen face and a bitter taste in his mouth.
Every day he would also go to the cabaret. He would look for her on the seedy little stage amongst the coloured footlights and would fail to find her. He would wait until midnight and then head homeward. At home he could not settle down. To his alarm, he realised that time was not the great healer for him. The girl was becoming ever more beautiful. Through the veil of the years her freckles shone at him, fair and charming, these sweet, erotic little speckles. Her mouth glittered like an enormous ruby and he could even taste the warm moisture of her silver saliva.
“If only she would come back!”
This sigh lingered within him like a sacred desire, the distilled essence of regret and mourning. He did not want to renounce it. He would have given his life if he could glimpse her – just for a moment. In his mind, he separated that moment into a million parts and felt as if in that moment he had experienced ecstasy’s every conceivable nuance. From day to day his desire grew more obsequious. He thought that if only he could see her coffin just once and could take a fearful glance through the glass, or if he could catch sight of the shadow of her dress in the mirror without ascertaining for certain whether it was made of clouds or lace. For such a moment he would have walked for years, without so much as a hat to protect his head and with bare feet bleeding. When in company, when good spirits tumbled exuberantly, in the middle of a dance this thought often sent shivers down his spine. His attempts to flee from it were futile. It stalked him. The student quietly surrendered. He wasted away into the shade of the deceased. Pale and gaunt he yearned for her to come back in the moonlight. He spoke without emotion. He dressed coldly and lustrously. On his breast, like the white slab of stone on the crypt, the immaculate shirt-front was always to be seen, gleaming, glinting and whoever set eyes on it thought of a corpse, of a girl, of the sorrowful head of a girl, who was palely slumbering beneath dreaming her unknown dream.
“If only she would come back!” his heart quivered.
His face said the same. Suffering etched its way into this soft countenance of wax. Even with the passing years it still mirrored the initial terror and alarm that had set rigid upon it and became hard as stone and cold as a death mask.

But one day Krisztina did come back.

After a bout of pagan revelry the student went home one torrid May afternoon.
Along the Boulevard the acacias deliriously poured out their heat. They protruded out of the asphalt, swayed and stretched and screamed their overpowering, resounding fragrance towards the heavens.
The student felt faint in this cacophonous riot of perfume. His stomach churned. Far away in a corner of the sky coiled sulphurous wisps of cloud, obscure lights, like when somebody plays with a mirror in the dark. He went onwards in the direction of his flat.
The maid met him in the hallway: “You have a visitor”.
“Who is it?”
“A young lady”.
Vidor Tass was astonished and could not think who might be seeking out his company because he had not received a female visitor since Krisztina’s death.
He opened the door to the room.
The girl was sitting on the bed. The yellow scarf around her neck. Her expression was placid, almost cheerful.
“Krisztina,” he said softly.
“Darling,” said the girl and caressed him. The student was not remotely surprised. He looked for a match and lit two candles. Now he could see Krisztina clearly. Death had definitely done her good. She was far healthier than she had been when alive. She had even put on a little weight in the coffin. But she was elegant, fresh as a daisy. Her white dress was the same one she had been buried in and it gently snuggled up to her face. It really suited her. Its fringe was slightly tattered, here and there it was decorated with green blossoms of mould, but it was barely perceptible, down the sides it sparkled the diamond of the grave, saltpetre. She reached out her hand to him.
“Look, my ring”.
“The old ring”.
The student looked at her inquiringly nevertheless.
“Don’t ask any questions,” the girl said in a choking voice, “I’m here, you can see me after all, fresh and resplendent. Don’t think of the short stories by Viktor Cholnoky in which ghosts come back from the dead. I am neither a spirit nor a spectre. But I don’t have time for idle chatter. I can only stay with you for thirty minutes. Then I have to go back. Take out your watch. It is now three o’clock. At half past three I will no longer be here”.
“Only thirty minutes,” sighed the student with feigned pathos.
The girl was slightly offended by this.
“Don’t put on an act, darling,” she said, “Every minute is worth its weight in gold”.
“A thousand pieces of gold!” cried the student, “Your kiss…your kiss…is worth a thousand times more…”
“You have been calling out for me every day for eight years. Now your wish has come true. What is your heart’s desire?”
Krisztina opened her arms and her lips cleft in two, red and fresh, as she awaited his kiss in a swoon.
The student kissed her.
Afterwards they sat opposite each other.
The student on the tabouret, the girl on the couch. They gazed at each other for a short while. But it was as if they had been disappointed by the kiss. They grew sad and the student hung his head. This, then, was the encounter he had so ardently dreamt about. What a reuniting. It seemed as if it had come somewhat abruptly. What was he to do now? Silence descended on the room, his heart was pounding, the hands of the watch crept forward. Only five minutes had gone by. Twenty-five minutes remained. The time seemed to stretch ahead interminably. The silence became more and more awkward.
The student coughed.
“How are you?” he asked, “That is to say, what’s new?”
The girl goggled at him, eyes wide. After all it did constitute an indiscretion to make such an inquiry of a dead person.
“Shall I put the kettle on?” he asked quickly.
“No, thank you”.
“Did you,” he gabbled “that little Herman has got married? Three years ago already. They even have a child. A strong, healthy little boy”.
“How interesting,” the girl replied in a bored voice.
“A lot has happened in the meantime. My Father died of stomach cancer. He suffered a great deal, the poor fellow”.
“How interesting”.
“You’re not interested? Since then I have obtained my medical degree. Next year I’ll be opening a surgery and I’ll be buying a flat in the neighbourhood. With three bedrooms, a living room, a bathroom, kitchen and electric lighting”.
“How interesting”.
“Nusi was a flop on the stage”.
“How interesting”.
”But Ili has been a runaway success. The audiences are crazy for her”.
“How interesting”.
The student felt a cramp in his throat. He sneaked a look at the watch and noticed that a mere seven minutes had elapsed since the girl’s arrival. He fumbled for words in deadly embarrassment. Every minute seemed like an eternity. First of all he wanted to say something cheerful, then something very serious and doleful, but he did not deem either option appropriate and so preferred to keep silent. Krisztina sat on the sofa with downcast eyes and stared at the pattern in the carpet.
In the meantime it started raining.
“It’s raining,” said the student quietly.
“Yes,” replied the girl.
“It was a nice day yesterday, though”.
“Yes”.
“What a storm”.
“Yes”.
He had a sudden flash of inspiration.
“Are you not cold in that thin dress?”
“No,” laughed the girl.
Another few words, another strained effort and they suddenly fell silent.
They both stared into space. The student got up as if he wanted to extricate himself from the embarrassing situation. Still only nine minutes had ticked by. Krisztina leaned back on the couch. The student stood by the window. Then something dreadful happened. The girl felt as if her jaws had clamped, she would have liked to have yelled aloud how fed up she was and run, run out of this room. She struggled against it in vain. Her ligaments tore open her mouth and she, like a little automaton, and – this was not a trick of the light – , gave a wide, healthy yawn. She yawned once. She yawned twice. She yawned a third time. Then she picked up her umbrella from the table and made her way to the door. Perhaps she still wanted to say something, but when she reached the handle, she was again overwhelmed with the desire to yawn and she disappeared from the room without uttering a word.
The student found himself alone again. He felt a sense of relief, of release. He drummed his fingers on the table for a while. He looked at the street, the umbrella, the storm and the streaming window panes. He shrugged his shoulders. He too yawned. He looked at his pocket watch. It was ten past three.
They could still have had a whole twenty minutes together.

Translation copyright © Chameleon 2006. May not be reproduced in full or in part without express prior permission.

The skeleton of a nestling on the veranda pane slid down the incline before being tenderly blanketed by snow. The gruesome reminder of mortality and nature’s cruel indifference had gone unnoticed for months. Spikes of green emerge once again as the covering retreats, paw print evidence of feline intrusion by the hedge likewise melting. Sleep has evaded me, chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath, eyelashes caked in the morning with stale secretions, the knowledge of five hundred ineluctable pages awaiting my attention driving me back upstairs where triple layers of clothing do not afford sufficient insulation.

Thoughts drifting back towards a spring less harsh, my paper on discourses of social class in Hungary between the two World Wars stowed safely in my luggage I looked through the condensation-misted windows of the minibus winding through picture postcard villages in stark contrast to the campus, last unapologetic bastion of Marxism. The Bed and Breakfast establishment had been included on the official list as within easy walking distance. On the phone the owner had seemed perfectly personable, if a tad starched-collar stiff. It was located on the outskirts, stranded amidst a desert of roundabouts and bypasses, pedestrian crossings always inconveniently placed. A nondescript modern house awaited in a cul-de-sac of brick clones. My room was on the first floor just along from the master bedroom with its en suite. No wash basin, a wooden dressing table deep scratches testifying to years of constant use, blankets as opposed to duvet. The nearest bathroom accessible via the landing, past the teenage son’s den. None of this dismayed me, although the couple made my flesh creep.

I have avoided churches, shrinking away from them as the Devil is reputed to do from holy water. The congregations, with their hands stretched upwards in a gesture of surrender to channel the Spirit’s grace, eyes tight closed to cut out distracting stimuli, always cheerful for to be downhearted makes a mockery of the Lord’s mercy extended to the elect, His flock of the saved, swaying in time to the amplified upbeat tunes of contemporary songs of worship, the abandonment of self to a superior power. I recognised the mixture of suspicion and condescension that greeted me. Potentially I could be converted (unlikely, though, as I was an academic visiting the most godless university in the country). Potentially I could be a source of contamination, spreading my sinful ideas like a miasma. Then again, they could always console themselves with my inevitable damnation. As I sipped tea on their flower-upholstered sofa they probably pictured me roasting on a spit, a pack of devils gleefully jabbing away at my seared skin as my trailing locks caught fire. My first encounter with Little England, the red cross of Saint George on a white background fluttering in the landscaped garden as we feasted on cod and chips, gospel channel sermons cajoling and threatening in equal measure. I made my excuses early and sought refuge in the privacy of rented space. The militant middle-class whose sense of entitlement, bolstered by their god-fearing conformism, will forever remain alien to me, their interests confined to monitoring the value of their property, satisfaction tinged with smugness. No throwing caution to the winds, always sensible, no outbursts of anger or joy. They reminded me of exhibits at a taxidermist’s, glass eyes unnaturally bulging, a hint of formaldehyde clinging to their garments. For me the cliff edge, hair lashed by the wind, the thrill of the brink, of oblivion.

After the conference I relaxed in the company of the organisers and contributors bathed in the scent of exotic spices, tearing hunks of garlic nan. I suspected my hosts would retire before midnight and after frantic note-taking and fielding questions was not in the mood for a late drinking session. Two glasses of red, the most I permit myself, adequate to fortify me for my return to the sedate(d) surroundings for polite but vacuous chit-chat.

They dropped me off at the entrance to the road, where only the eerie orange of street lamps staved off the shadows. The silence of the righteous, law-abiding. No abandoned trolleys, no crushed beer cans littering the pavements, not a leaf out of place in the privet. A twinge of panic as I reached the back door, no welcoming light. I checked. It had only just gone ten. I did not want to disturb them, to make him trudge down in slippers and dressing gown. No key on the windowsill or even beneath the mat on the doorstep. Should I check in at the nearby hotel? Some intuition prompted me to grasp the handle and push. To my astonishment the door opened. Such trust would be rewarded by a living room stripped bare of television and furnishings or the chill of a knife blade against the throat in my home environs. Every creak of the stairs reverberated in my ears like a gunshot. I deposited my briefcase, slipped off my shoes lest a trace of mud sully the carpet and headed for the toilet, paranoid that the flushing would cause them to stir.

I could not drift off, too buoyant on the thrill of outshining the opposition, on the display of erudition and the assurance that my article would be included in the volume of proceedings. My bladder filled again within what seemed like seconds. I would not be able to ignore the ache until morning. My alarm clock informed me that only an hour had hauled itself wearily by. I switched on the bedside light, head throbbing with indecision. The tumbler on the dresser beckoned. Surely I could not produce enough to fill it? Crouching, toes gripping on the luxurious fibres to assist in keeping my balance with the shifted centre of gravity, I concentrated on directing the gush, chill glass against my skin. Once the stream picks up momentum aiming is a simple affair, only the grudging initial trickle liable to treachery. So it was that the dribble expanded to a patch before the predictability of the jet, confident and true, permitted greater accuracy. Perilously close to the brim the sour liquid kept obstinately flowing. I clenched hard to break off, terrified of knocking the glass over, uncomfortably aware of the dampness and the absence of toilet paper. Rummaging around in my bag I excavated a half-empty packet of Kleenex, still straining my muscles to hold back the thwarted cascade. I had no choice but to cross to the bathroom yet again, my best intentions foiled. There were no pot plants where I could pour a little off unobtrusively to facilitate the task of transporting the contents of the tumbler to the thirsty porcelain gape. Wiping the bottom and sides of the glass, I checked the coast was clear before venturing out again, no snoring to give me reassurance that I would not suddenly be plunged into the rude light of the hallway bulb and forced to explain myself. Progress was tortuously slow, as I could not afford to spill a single drop. I imagined the boy with his first bristling of stubble being similarly drawn in the direction of the Armitage Shanks, his intimacy with his home territory allowing him to swing open the door and blunder forward as if on remote bumping into me, the ensuing waterfall drenching his pyjamas, my inept apologies awakening his parents who would see me kneeling and dabbing at his nether regions. Cringing, I continued. As I slid the bolt shut behind me relief flooded me.

Back in the room the stain stared at me accusingly. I frantically rubbed it with the paper handkerchiefs, praying that the boasts of super absorbency were not idle. It refused to dry. I had filled the tumbler with tap water so that if the worst came to the worst I could plead clumsiness. Then it occurred to me that one factor jeopardised my intricate deception: the smell. Mind numbed with the prospect of the embarrassment of coming clean, I sat hunched with gloom on the edge of the bed. There was nothing for it, I had to resort to Hugo. Hugo Boss, Woman, that is, a fragrance with an undertone of musk (Gy having advised me that I was too old to wear the lilac perfumes of which I am so fond) in unpretentious packaging. Having sprayed enough to anaesthetise a cat, I abandoned myself to slumber.

After a hearty plate of sausage, bacon and eggs the wife kindly drove me to the bus station. As we parted, she smiled and requested once again that I recommend their humble home to my colleagues at the institutions (their Euroscepticism not so vehement that they would refuse an official’s cash). I have no idea whether they discovered my guilty secret, but in future, no matter how late or how distant the bathroom, I have resolved to avail myself of the facilities provided.