CreativeConnection and The Worldwide Tribe have worked together to create Zeinah and Yaman, two animations that describe the terror that refugees face when they are forced to leave their homes. We hope that these two videos can be shared to help raise awareness of the refugee crisis, by showing the stories of those who have lived through it.

We have set up this page to create a positive and understanding space for people to come together in support of the hundreds of thousands of people affected by the refugee crisis. We invite you to contribute your stories and experiences of meeting or working with refugees, or of being a refugee yourself. This is an open space, where you can share your experiences without judgement or negativity.

Through this collection of stories, we hope to create a community of supporters who show that love is greater than hate.

Please share this page and the animations on your own social channels to spread the word and stand #WithRefugees.

If you would like to contact us directly, please email

Or if you would like to find out more about how you can help, please email

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  1. Steve Sharples says:

    I was born in 1941 in the north west of England in a Mill Town of some importance, at least that what we were told, it also made airplanes and had a dock, But lots of Back to back houses and smoking factory chimneys of the many cotton mills.

    In 1945ish my dad came home from his POW camp and went back to work in’t mill.

    My mother worked in a very specialised textile mill as a factory manager. A lot of her highly skilled workers were refugees from the Baltic States. Most of them didn’t speak any english, were men whose families were in their home country having swapped the German suppressors for the Russian yoke

    The people who my mother worked with were very cleaver people PhD’s seemed two a penny

    But here they came to earn low wages, live freely and become part of our society or so they thought.

    Two things I vividly remember

    Firstly, my mother took me too the town centre church every sunday evening. In the centre isle there was always a man standing – I asked her about this ‘Ah this is they way they worship in their country’ A new insite for a six year old.

    One sunday mother took me to see some of her workers in their own homes.

    I still, after over 60 years fee sad that we don’t welcome people from other countries and cultures

    We walked down a side street full of dingy two up two down houses. she knocked at a door – it was opened and we were welcomed in – I was given a piece of chocolate – wow I was in heaven.

    I looked around, it was dark, dingy and someones bedroom. I was told to sit and be quiet.

    Around me were people bawling away in languages that I didn’t understand and looking different from us with their slavic looks and the men with their hair swept back from their forehead like a 1930’s footballer. and the air pungent with strange tobacco smoke.

    After a while mum told me it was time to go I looked and there were tears in her eyes. When we were out side I asked her why she was crying – her reply was emotional as she explained that there were eight men living in the house, their families were a long way away and would probably never see them again. I gripped her hand and as we walked down the street there was a notice in a window. I could not read and I asked mum what it said

    In a very sad voice she read it out ‘Bring back the Irish at least they don’t eat Kit e Kat butties’

    I asked what it meant – ‘don’t ask’ she replied

    So what happened to this community? A lot went to the US a few stayed but never really integrated.

    Things don’t change. I left preston a few years latter and really never went back