ROBERT HARDMAN: Rocks, petrol bombs and cries of Allahu Akbar - and proof Starmer's new deal to stop the small boats is already doomed
With repeated cries of 'Allahu Akbar', they hurl a 20-litre plastic tank of petrol next to the car and then throw flaming projectiles at it in the hope it will explode.
Roland runs out from behind the police lines, kicks the tank aside and manages to drive his car to safety as the battle rages on. This is not some lawless inner city sink estate. It is Gravelines, a sleepy (and, at 5am, sleeping) French seaside town which happens to be one of just 287 in all of France to boast the highest four-rosette rating in the nation's annual 'Ville Fleurie' contest for the prettiest communities.
Right now, though, it is more like a jihadi war zone. And it's all because of a rubber dinghy. These rioters have been trying to launch an illegal inflatable and sneak 70 migrants across Britain, netting another six-figure sum for the human traffic gangs who despatch up to a dozen of these boats each day.
The smugglers are currently enjoying their best year ever – with more than 22,000 illegal entries to the UK thus far.
With this punctured boat confiscated and on the back of a police truck, the rioters finally concede defeat and vanish into the dunes (with no arrests).
Sadly, though, yesterday's police victory was very much the exception, not the rule, as I have learned during my trip to Gravelines this week.
The town is a pocket of old-world charm next to the vast industrial complex of Dunkirk. This year is the 85th anniversary of Operation Dynamo, the heroic evacuation of the British Army after the fall of France. Now, a new fleet of 'little ships' are back on the coast around Dunkirk performing exactly the same role, but with a very different clientele.
They used to call these migrants 'les clandestines' back in the days when the smugglers hid them in the back of a lorry. There is nothing remotely clandestine about them any more. This is brazen lawlessness on an epic scale.
Rewind to the same part of Gravelines the previous morning. I have been here for all of five minutes when an outburst of Middle Eastern shouting is followed by the 'thwup!' of a 30ft inflatable people-smuggling boat with a huge outboard engine being dropped in the water.
The first passengers jump aboard. This is not happening on some remote stretch of windswept beach either. I am in the town centre on the banks of a canal between a main road and the smartest restaurant in Gravelines, L'Eclusier.
It is too early for breakfast here but this £1,500-per-person boat will be in Dover in time for brunch, having stopped off en route at a nearby beach to pick up more fare-paying passengers, including plenty of Afghans (the current nationality du jour) plus assorted Vietnamese, Sudanese, Palestinians and Eritreans.
They will include four women and two young children but this will be, overwhelmingly, a cargo of young male adults. 'We are all the world!' shouts one passenger, and he has a point.
It's why this service has a new name, one which is instantly understandable in every language the world over. They don't call this a 'boat'. They call it a 'taxi'.
To listen to last week's bullish tones at the Franco-British summit between President Macron and Sir Keir Starmer, you might imagine that sights like this were a thing of the past.
We have been assured French police will now intervene up to '300 metres offshore' to 'stop ze boats'. This is in addition to a 'one-in, one-out' scheme whereby Britain can return rejected asylum-seekers to France in exchange for equal numbers of pre-approved asylum-seekers.
On which point, I find miraculous agreement across the board, from the migrants, the charity sector and the French police to Nigel Farage.
All are adamant: it is not going to make the slightest difference. So say the locals, too. Expert migration lawyer, Olivier Rangeon, tells me that the new '300 metre' rule still needs European Commission clearance. And, besides, the police have told him they cannot enforce it.
'It's not safe and the migrants are too numerous.' I meet Bertrand Ringot, who has been mayor of Gravelines for 25 years through multiple migrant crises on this coast.
'The only way to resolve the situation is for Britain to reduce its attraction to the migrants and to become more like France,' he says. Nor is he some hardline Right-winger, but a proud member of France's Socialist Party.
'We believe in humanity but with firmness,' adds this 59-year-old ex-member of the French rowing squad. 'Britain needs more severe rules. And, of course, identity cards.'
Back at the canal, I seriously wonder if this latest boat will ever reach the sea, let alone to England. The skipper is an utter moron. He reverses the boat straight into the canal wall and it bounces off again just as two men try to jump in. They land in the water inches from the propeller and there is much Arabic shouting.
Captain Calamity is still trying to circle round for another go when a blue flashing light tells us the cops are finally on their way. He realises it's time to head for sea. Pronto.
We know exactly where the boat taxi is going next – up the canal, out to sea and round to Plage de Petit-Fort-Philippe. This is two miles of beach next to Gravelines and France's largest nuclear power station. It is flanked by sand dunes and bushes, a perfect waiting area for the migrants.
Even as we wait to see our boat, a much larger overloaded migrant dinghy is setting off with around 100 on board.
Its engine will have enough petrol to get the boat into UK territorial waters whereupon the fuel supply will deliberately run out, forcing the UK authorities to rescue them.
A coastguard speedboat keeps an eye on them but makes no effort to intervene, let alone uphold French maritime law. This clearly states that anyone operating an outboard above six horsepower must pass the test for a boat licence called a 'permis bateau', on pain of arrest and/or a fine of €1,500 (£1,300). This engine is at least 40 horsepower.
As Reform leader Nigel Farage tells me later: 'Every dinghy should be stopped by the French as any private person would be.' However, the coastguard just waves them off. There is absolutely no chance that Captain Calamity has a 'permis bateau'. But, as he comes into view, the coastguard makes no attempt to check him out either.
Whereupon a small army suddenly comes swooping down from the dunes – instantly visible in bright orange lifejackets fresh from the local supermarket. Three smugglers are in charge, each covering his face with a black and white Arab keffiyeh, and trying to keep a semblance of order.
As the taxi boat gets within wading distance, a smuggler waves the first group forward, including all the women.
Far behind them all, I suddenly spot a family of four coming across the sand. Karwan and Sara Izadi, and their two children, Mohammed, six, and Alina, four, have none of the gung-ho confidence of the young men. Sara is in tears. Karwan appears to be hesitating.
They briefly explain they are from Iran, have come via Turkey and Germany, and have spent more than a week living in the dunes waiting for their taxi boat. Either they have paid well over the £1,500 entry-level price or the other migrants are being chivalrous but the Izadis go straight to the front of the queue.
Two smugglers hoist the children on their shoulders as the parents follow, their mother now up to her armpits in water. It takes half an hour to fill the boat but there are no police to be seen throughout. As Calamity points his bow vaguely in the direction of England, the coastguard crew come alongside.
Are they actually going to check Calamity's papers? Of course not. They want to hand extra lifejackets for the migrants who never got round to buying one.
The dozens of punters who failed to get on board today trudge back to the dunes. Some try to remonstrate with the traffickers but there seems little in the way of a complaints department at People Smugglers Inc.
I try to talk to those who must wait for another day. One is Kuwaiti. A trio are Palestinian. Where from? 'Gaza.' I ask how they managed to get out of there and they bristle instantly. 'Are you Hebrew?' asks one, before a smuggler barks orders that no one is to talk to the press.
It is 6:37am French time and the action is over for another day. Captain Calamity clearly manages to get picked up in British waters because, at 10:35 UK time, the Mail spots the Izadi family stepping off the Border Force patrol boat, Defender, at the Jetfoil Terminal in Dover Harbour, the reception point for migrants. It's been five hours door to door. That's not dissimilar to a Calais-Dover ferry crossing in high season by the time you add in the queues and customs checks.
The British Government later confirms today's arrivals: six small boats and a total of 398 new 'irregular migrants' in need of board and lodging.
Back in France, I still want to see if Sir Keir's 'crackdown' is hitting morale. It seems not.
'I will be in England soon,' says Ahmed Babeker, 24, from Sudan, who arrived here via Turkey. He is buying food at the makeshift camp in the woods near Loon-Plage. It's a rough spot. A Yemeni migrant was shot here the other day and a British photographer was chased off at knife point last week. But Ahmed is cheerful.
'Each week my family pay a little more,' he tells me, explaining that he has been here since November, waiting for his loved ones to pay a gang the requisite sum via the ancient money exchange system, 'hawala'. Once the account is settled, he'll be on his way.
His plan? 'I want an education and then I want to be an electrical engineer,' he says, 'maybe in Liverpool or Birmingham.'
At a smaller camp in a disused Calais loading bay, I find another Sudanese migrant, Salah Abdul Salam.
He has already been granted asylum in Sweden where he has lived for six years and had a pre-Covid job at McDonald's. He shows me his Swedish residency papers and ID card. However, he's had enough of Malmo.
'Sweden is too cold. I want to go England. The English system is good.'
As Gravelines mayor, Bertrand Ringot argues that is the root of the issue.
He talks me through the problems in his town, where the daily mess left by the migrants requires six extra cleaners, costing €300,000 (£260,000) per year; where many women and girls are too scared to travel on buses, which are free to all and often full of gangs of foreign youths; where people are fed up with strangers in their gardens gathering firewood and peeping through windows.
'My message to Starmer is: change the conditions for staying in England. Work with us in Europe and make it harder to work in England without a permit. This situation is a time-bomb.'
In the meantime, the French could at least enforce their own laws. As mentioned earlier, their rules ban unlicensed use of engines over six horsepower, meaning they could simply apprehend illegal 'taxi' drivers and tow their boats back to port.
That's just what happens in European waters, as I know to my cost. Last year, on holiday with my family in Sicily, I sailed my rented boat into an unmarked exclusion zone.
I was suddenly apprehended by an Italian patrol boat, held for an hour and ordered to pay a €320 fine or else face arrest. I duly coughed up.
We have all heard of 'two-tier' justice. But it is certainly not confined to Britain. It's alive and well here in northern France, too. Welcome to the 'deux etages plages'.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Sun
19 minutes ago
- The Sun
French farmer who sprayed travellers with manure in his tractor was driven to breaking point as cops refused to step in
THE French farmer who sprayed a group of travellers with manure in his tractor said he was forced to take action when cops refused to help. Astonishing footage showed the furious workers spread faeces over their farm in Hautes-Vosges, France as caravan dwellers battled to stop the onslaught of excrement. 3 3 Local farmers said they were driven to boiling point after cops refused to step in and remove the "illegal gypsy camp" residing on their land. Loic Madre, the man behind the video, claimed the travellers moved onto the field - which was meant for animals to graze on - without permission. With harvest due in just a few weeks, he said the farmers tried to negotiate with the group to leave but "they refused to listen" so they turned to local authorities for support. When they were refused help, they decided to take matters into their own hands. "So they handled it on their own! As you can see in the images," he told the Mail Online. Farmers jumped into their tractors and circled the stationary white caravans, releasing streams of the brown sludge liquid. Loic's now-viral footage shows members of the community running after the vehicles in a bid to stop them as one man desperately jumps onto a moving tractor. In the minute-long video, some six tractors are seen covering the land in the stinking slurry - a mixture of manure and water. Last year, a similar tactic was adopted by Brit farmer Jack Bellamy when he caught a camper on his land. Shocking footage shows angry Jack Bellamy spot the tent and say: 'I tell you what, these ***** will set up anywhere.' Fed up farmer arrested by cops for kidnap after he bound two trespassing teens to his quad bike He then jumps in his tractor and drives up alongside the trespasser unleashing a 15-second blast of slurry. The campe r, dressed in a red top and a white sun hat, is seen desperately trying to zip up his tent before diving behind it as a wall of excrement is showered on him. Jack, 29, is heard saying: 'I'll tell you what chap, have a bit of this.' The hapless cyclist is seen cowering for shelter as his entire tent and bike are covered in the brown stuff. This came as another farmer was captured covering Mercedes Benz with slurry after a driver illegally parked on his land "to go to the beach" and enjoy the Bank Holiday sunshine. In the video, the tractor driver points to a car parked up near a gate on a farm in Cornwall. He can be heard saying: "The beach is nice and busy today - everyone social distancing I suppose. "That busy, they've decided to park in the field." Speaking to an inquisitive child he said: "I've nearly finished mate, I'm not stopping" - before coating the car in slurry.
The Sun
2 hours ago
- The Sun
I felt sick when a scammer stole £2k from my bank despite writing about fraud for 20 years – the red flags I ignored
DRIVING home from an emergency vet trip for my miniature schnauzer, Luna, and my phone rang. I pulled into answer and my mind was racing. It was two days before we were due to go on a two-week family holiday to France and I was juggling picking up the kids from nursery. 1 'Hello? Is that Ruth Jackson-Kirby…', a calm man said, with a professional voice, 'I'm from Santander's fraud team. There's been a suspicious payment on your card'. My stomach flipped. This is the last thing we need, I thought. He knew everything - my name, my credit card provider, the exact product, the colour of the card, and even the last four digits of a card that I'd cancelled months earlier due to fraud. 'In order to reverse the transaction, I need you to approve it in your app,' he said. He asked me how someone could've got my card details. Had I used it somewhere dodgy? Responded to any texts from HMRC or the police? We spoke for around 20 minutes — he waited until I got home, as I didn't have the card with me. Then he told me the transaction was with a car hire firm in Spain, Discovery Cars. He said he could reverse it — but I'd need to approve it in the app first. I hesitated. But he reassured me that it was just a step in the refund process — and that only a Santander staff member could trigger the app notification. I was flustered and distracted. I tapped approve. Despite my two-decade long career as a financial journalist where I write about scams for a living, I didn't question it. It was only when he started talking about a second transaction that I realised and hung up. But it was too late - £2,059 disappeared from my bank. I had become a victim of an impersonation scam – where criminals pose as your bank, the police or HMRC – are the most common cons around. 'Despite the rise of AI, what we're seeing right now is criminals continuing to use tried and tested methods,' a National Trading Standards spokesperson told The Sun. 'These include impersonation scams that see criminals bombard consumers with texts, emails or calls that appear to be from banks or other trusted organisations like the NHS, HMRC or parcel delivery firms.' While I was on the phone to Santander – having dialled the number on the back of my card – he rang back five times. When I finally got through, the real fraud team confirmed I'd been scammed. A payment to Discovery Cars for £2,059.99 had gone through. I felt sick. I couldn't believe I'd fallen for it. I've written about scams for 20 years. Now I was the victim. Thankfully, Santander refunded the money four days later. But I barely slept in the meantime. I thought I'd lost the money. 'Scammers are ruthless – and impersonation scams are rife,' says Michelle Pilsworth, head of fraud and customer experience at Santander. 'Scammers use personal data that they have taken from interactions with the individual or via the dark web to convince them to trust them, and in turn, part with their money.' Someone at Santander told me that it often starts with a text saying you need to pay a fine or unpaid bill. You click, tap in your details, hear nothing more. Then a year or two later, a scammer uses those details in a call like the one I received. The red flags I ignored LOOKING back there were red flags on the call, I just didn't notice them. The second time he called, my husband overheard and picked up on something I'd missed: the scammer used my maiden name. I haven't been great at updating my name everywhere, but my bank would use my married name. He also mentioned a credit card I'd cancelled — but that card wasn't from Santander. A real Santander employee wouldn't have had access to that. And when I started hesitating, he turned up the pressure. 'We need to act now to reverse the payment,' he said. Creating urgency is a classic scam tactic, and I fell for it In my case, the scammer put the charge on my credit card. Santander refunded it quickly, but if they hadn't, I could've claimed under Section 75 of the Consumer Credit Act. This law means credit card providers must refund you if the goods or service don't arrive, which they wouldn't have done, and they cost between £100 and £30,000. If I'd paid straight from my current account, it would've been a type of Authorised Push Payment (APP) fraud. Since new rules came in last year, banks must refund victims of APP scams — up to £85,000, though they can deduct a £100 excess. But if you ignore your bank's warnings or wait too long to report the fraud, you might not get your money back. The same scammer has called me twice since. Now I know what to do. 'I'll call you back,' I say, and hang up. That's my advice to everyone. If someone calls saying they're from your bank or card provider – don't even listen. Don't argue. Don't let them draw you in. Hang up. Then find the right number and call back yourself. If it's genuine, they'll tell you. And if it's not – you've just saved yourself a lot of money. .
The Independent
2 hours ago
- The Independent
UK-France migrant returns deal on verge of sign-off
The UK's 'one-in-one out' returns agreement with France for Channel migrants is reportedly set to begin within weeks, after sources told The Times that home secretary Yvette Cooper will sign the deal on Wednesday meaning. Under the agreement, for each small boat migrant returned to France, an asylum seeker will be permitted to enter the UK legally from France. The treaty allows for the immediate detention and return of small boat arrivals. Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer has described the deal as a 'breakthrough moment' to tackle people smugglers. The government has also committed an additional £100 million to enhance enforcement against smuggling gangs and introduce new offences for advertising illegal crossings.
