Checking up on every immigrant’s status is clearly a huge task, but it was so much more labour intensive before the advent of computers and the internet. When I arrived in the UK from Iran on 5 August 1979, I was granted a three-year student nurse visa, registered as an Alien, and required to make annual contact with the Aliens’ Registration authorities. After we were married the following May. I moved to Glasgow and applied for British citizenship.Late one evening on 6 August 1980, James was out on-call at the hospital, and the doorbell of our tenement flat rang loudly. I wondered who it might be at this late hour, and opening the door I was shocked to be confronted by a police constable in full regalia standing on the stairs. I thought James had been run over by a bus, was lying unconscious in the road or bleeding to death on a hospital trolley. Why else would a policeman come to one’s door so late at night? Visions of impending widowhood rose before my eyes, and for a moment I thought I was going to faint in the doorway. The policeman took out a little black notebook, flipped over a few pages, and began:
Are you Farifteh Valentine Hafezi, citizen of Iran, date of birth 7 February 1950, entered the United Kingdom on 5 August 1979, lately living in London? I assented, and he continued lugubriously, Well you didn’t report your whereabouts to the Aliens’ Office yesterday. We managed to trace you to Scotland. any reason why you didn’t report?
“Oh, is that all? I said, flooded with relief. I had indeed forgotten the proviso of my initial entry permit. You see, I’m now married and I’ve applied for British citizenship. I guess I just forgot”.
You may have applied for citizenship, Madam, intoned the bobby, and your application will be given due consideration. However, it is not a foregone conclusion. And despite having become the wife of a British subject, until such time as you receive a positive response from the Home Office your status remains that of Alien. Kindly ensure ensure that you report to the Aliens’ Office of Greater Glasgow Constabulary in Sauchiehall Street forthwith.
I almost kowtowed with relief at this anodyne request. After taking down my new surname and noting all James’ details for good measure, the police constable courteously doffed his crested hat and bid me goodnight. I’m sure neighbours watching from their windows had not missed this intriguing night visitor!
[read about this incident on pp.200-201 of my memoir]
