Would Jane Eyre come to the Information Desk?

The speaker voice at Heathrow Airport said.

There was I minding my own business.

And when she came near, she was shouting:

My name is Bertha; my name is not Jane Eyre

I come from Kingston, Jamaica. Look here.

Well, they’d placed handcuffs on her.

Ras! She shook her black hair and stamped

Her feet in anger: I have as much soul as you,

She was shouting to the immigration officer,

And full as much heart. My name is Bertha!

And the man was waving a form in her face

Saying sign here, sign here, Jane Eyre, sign here.

Stop shouting, dear, or you’ll end up in Holding.

And Bertha was dignity – quality – know what I’m saying?

I am no bird and no net ensnares me

I am a free human being with an independent will,

She say in a voice come down from century.

Eh eh – for a minute I thought I was dreaming.

But wait! Just as suddenly as she appear

She disappear: pulled across the floor, kicking, screaming.

And a long queue instantly forming

Like a giant question across Terminal Four

And people saying the same thing. Appalling!

The way they treat that woman. Poor ting.

Who was she? Who was Jane Eyre? Who was Bertha?

And the Hinformation people saying over and over,

We are not at liberty to say anything.

We are NOT at liberty! Know what I’m saying?

And it’s ME they accusing of paranoia! Ting ting!