Week-long nightmare of Polish girl in London

TENS of thousands of immigrant eastern European workers have been forced into the black economy by a government registration scheme, the Conservatives have claimed.

More than 200,000 are thought to be working in Britain without registering under the Home Office system introduced when nine new member countries joined the European Union last year.

The Tories warn that although many of them are working in bars, restaurants, factories and service industries without paying taxes, others may be put in danger by being part of the black economy.

An Evening Standard investigation has uncovered evidence of how immigrants are exploited when they come to London, many being offered jobs as prostitutes.

The Standard asked a Polish journalist to pose as a poor, unqualified arrival. In the course of a week she was: . Offered work as a prostitute .

Given a factory job at less than the minimum wage without proper breaks .

Conned out of cash and offered accommodation in appalling conditions .

Threatened with violence by a middleman Here, ANNA MACHOWSKA recounts the week she spent pretending to be searching for a better life in Britain...

Saturday

I arrive at Victoria on the coach from Warsaw and head straight to Hammersmith, home of the notorious "wailing wall", as new arrivals call it. A newsagent's window by the Polish Cultural Centre in King Street is full of advertisements in Polish for everything from call girls to nannies.

One looks promising: "We're looking for workers, women and men. We have work for everyone right now!!!" I ring and the young Polish man on the phone says it is a job picking raspberries.

He can only say it is "outside London". It is a phrase I will hear a lot: to many poor Poles newly arrived, Britain's geography is "London" and "outside London".

The man, Piotek, says I'll earn Pounds 35 to Pounds 60 a day on a three-month contract. But I'll have to pay Pounds 300 in advance for Home Office expenses, insurance, a 10-hour English course and job training. Added to that is Pounds 80 for two weeks' accommodation and Pounds 20 for travel.

Why do I need a course on picking raspberries?

"The course is necessary," Piotek snaps.

I turn down the job and go to search at a nearby internet cafe, where I see a job for a "hostess". In Polish this means handing out promotional products at supermarkets. I email and am surprised to be asked for a photo.

The search for a job has taken all day and I have nowhere to live. I call distant friends and they let me stay the night. Exhausted, I head to the East End.

Sunday

At the internet cafe I find an advertisement offering work on a flower farm.

A woman called Krystyna answers my call and tells me to go to Slough. After an hour and a half at Slough station, two Polish men pick me up. One, Marcin, says I'll start work on Tuesday, not tomorrow as had been promised.

Pay is Pounds 200 to Pounds 220 a week.

We arrive at a house on an estate in the town and an Asian man of about 60 called Mohammed invites us in. Speaking in Polish, he says the rent is Pounds 40 a week. "You will live with a few Polish people in my other house down the street," he adds. I pay him the Pounds 40. Marcin - clearly the middleman - tells me I have to pay him Pounds 200 for collecting me and fixing me up with work.

He phones someone and hands me the mobile, telling me it is "the boss". The voice insists that I pay Marcin - and that I will work seven days a week, between 60 and 70 hours. Reluctantly, I hand over the money.

Mohammed's other house is full of young Poles, including a couple with a small child. There is no living room, only bedrooms divided by wooden partitions. The furniture is old and dirty and there is one small bathroom for 12 people. I am to sleep on a fold-down bed in a room with two other girls. Everyone is working for less than the minimum wage.

Monday

Angelika, a Polish woman from the hostess company I spotted on the internet, rings me. She says I will be based in Kent, earning Pounds 70 an hour and Pounds 200 if I work at an all-night party.

But what will I do? "You'll be a prostitute," she says. "You'll sleep with guys. But they are white British guys, they are all right."

I turn that one down.

Marcin takes me to photocopy my passport. As he drives off, he says: "Sorry. No work tomorrow, but I promise I'll get you something on Wednesday."

At the house I meet Pawe, a Polish guy who hands out phonecards for a firm in Hammersmith. I take its number. He also suggests I work in a local print factory.

Tuesday

At 7am I am standing on a corner in Slough with five Polish women. A minibus, driven by an Asian guy called Muhtar, takes us to the print factory.

The other workers are from small villages deep in the Polish countryside and speak little English. I ask them about the work: it pays Pounds 2.50 per hour, 10 hours a day, seven days a week. They get three unpaid 15-minute breaks and half an hour for lunch.

We are given new uniforms and start work, packing leaflets into envelopes for a high-street bank. It is monotonous, we are watched constantly and my legs and back ache. After two and a half hours we have our first break. I tell one boss the wage is too low and I want to leave. He gives me Pounds 6.25.

After waiting in vain all day for Marcin to tell me if he has work, I realise I have been cheated out of Pounds 200.

I call Krystyna, who had sent me to Slough. She apologises, saying she'll take care of my problem and I should call her tomorrow.

Wednesday

Krystyna doesn't answer her phone all morning. I call Marcin, who says the usual: we'll get work tomorrow. I tell him to give me my money back. "Shut up," he answers. "If you want to carry on being a brave girl like this I'll arrange for someone to slash your face." I head back to London.

Thursday

On the internet there is a Polish ad for "hostess work" that says "no sex involved". I ring and agree to meet a man at a fast-food restaurant near Tottenham Hale station. Darek, a Pole in his thirties who looks like a bodybuilder, offers me a job in his Latvian friend's club in Dalston.

All I would have to do is drink, be nice to clients and play pool with them.

I would work from 6pm till midnight for Pounds 160 to Pounds 200 per week. On the other hand, Darek says, I could be a stripper as he has "connections" to clubs in Liverpool Street. Or I could be a prostitute, which is the easiest work and pays Pounds 100 an hour. He would, of course, take half my income but would provide "security". If I wanted to earn money straight away I could go on a date with a Turkish client. This is not prostitution, Darek explains, it is "sponsoring".

"His Polish girlfriend left him not so long ago," he adds. "He's very, very sad.

He can take you for dinner, to the cinema. You can ask him for the money for your rent. Try to get as much as you can and I'll take half from you."

Just as I'm about to agree, the phonecard people ring.

Friday

I go to the "wailing wall" to find somewhere to live. One ad offers a "safe, clean, quiet room in a family flat" in Poplar. I arrive at an old, dirty block of flats and find an old woman cooking something that looks like a dead rat. I would share one bed with another girl for Pounds 50 a week. I say no.

The interview at the phonecard company is at a Hammersmith business centre.

The job, for Pounds 4.25 an hour, is handing out cards in the street offering "free overseas calls".

Customers are conned into spending Pounds 15 on a bogus access code. Technically, this scam is legal. I would have to write invoices for the cards as if I was selfemployed and buying and reselling them myself, the interviewer says.

He adds: "But don't worry, we'll write the invoices for you."

It is, of course, a trick on me as well.

After a week in London I have seen enough. I am able to leave this world of middlemen and pimps - but for many there is no escape.

(c)2005. Associated Newspapers Ltd.. Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.