But it proves impossible to prevent contact for the whole visit. Every few yards, there is a guard in a blazer, with his first name on a lapel badge followed by a number, pacing and watching. The nationalities held at Campsfield reflect where there is trouble in the world. Currently, this means people from Afghanistan and Somalia, Iraq and Sri Lanka, Turkey, Iran and the former Yugoslavia. But the corridors hardly boil with chatter.
People are bored.
The guards and Group 4 staff, often ex-military, with very English tattoos and moustaches, do not speak these languages. They are contracted to run the centre, not to advise on immigration status. So most of the day detainees make calls to lawyers, if they have them, and to government departments in impossibly distant London. Phone numbers are scribbled on the wall behind each payphone like desperate graffiti. Phone cards can be purchased at the Campsfield shop, along with chocolate bars.