Ukrainian migrants here are worried

about the situation there - and rightly so.

I was talking to the son of one yesterday. His father died over ten years ago but his mother, V...., lives on my regular pedalling route. I know her quite well. Her son, a bachelor, has recently returned to the family home to care for her. 

"Mum's not sleeping well. She's worried about family back home. She wanders around the house and the garden just worrying. She talks to herself all the time. I don't know what she's saying because it's all in Ukrainian.You will watch out for her when I'm at work won't you?"

Of course. I know everyone in that street will watch out for her as well - even the new family who just moved in. It won't stop her worrying but it might help a little. If I see her I can at least stop for a moment so she can talk to me. It is one of those many situations which makes me wonder what it must really be like to migrate from one country to another, especially when the language is different.   

My earliest remembered contacts with migrants are of the Polish woman who lived "over the back fence" in the country town where I was born and the Irish woman who lived across the road in the same place. The Polish woman did not speak English but she was still able to give me first aid and a comforting hug when I fell over and took the skin off my knees - an almost daily occurrence. I remember the rough material of the coat the Irish woman always seemed to wear. They were too poor to have any form of heating in winter but it didn't stop her giving me more comforting hugs when all the other children ran off without me.  

And then there was the day that the new Dutch migrants were brought on a visit by my grandfather. They had been "sponsored" by the Presbyterian church and my grandfather saw them as his special responsibility. Even as a three year old I remember their English being strange but the wife, M...., played finger games with me.

The Senior Cat taught the Polish couple English at night. The Irish couple moved on in their desperate flight from the IRA - something we knew nothing about then. Even now the Senior Cat looks back and says how little he knew - and he knew a great deal more than anyone else in that small rural community. We maintained contact with the Dutch couple for the rest of their lives. They always spoke Dutch at home. They would talk to their children - and they would answer in English. I spent a weekend with them once and they spoke to me in Dutch too. They were not being rude. They simply expected I would understand from the context. 

I have given a lot of thought to all this over the years. I know that people tend to revert to the language of their childhood as they grow older. This is particularly the case if they are less well educated or have some form of memory loss. It is something I have no difficulty in understanding but I also know it can make difficulties. V...'s son does not understand Ukrainian at all. He did not learn the language as a child. We have agreed that their neighbours need to be alerted to the fact that V... will need to be encouraged to chat to them - in English. It is something I can alert people of the need for as I see them.

Worries shared may not be worries halved in this case but being able to articulate them in a way others understand may help - help everyone.