As National Refugee Week gets underway, Women's Editor Christen Pears visits a group of female refugees in Sunderland.

AT eight months pregnant, Ruth exudes a rare serenity. Calm and unruffled, her hands rest on her bump as she talks. There is no trace in her gentle demeanour of the loss she suffered in her home country of Sri Lanka. Her deep brown eyes give no indication that her pregnancy is the result of a terrible ordeal - repeated rapes by the men she trusted to help her find a new life in Britain.

Ruth is just one of the 900 to 1,000 asylum seekers and refugees currently living in Sunderland. Among them, her story is terrible but not unusual.

Now 43, she used to live on a small plantation with her husband and two sons. Money was scarce, she says, and her husband began campaigning for more rights for plantation owners. His political activities earned him enemies and one night, soldiers burst into the house while the family slept and dragged him away. Ruth has heard nothing of him since and can only assume he is dead.

The police refused to investigate and, not knowing what else to do, she returned home to run the plantation with her teenage sons. But last year, they too were seized by armed men in the middle of the night. After spending several days hiding in her neighbours' house, Ruth sold the plantation and fled to India, where she found an agent who said he could help her start a new life in another country.

With no idea where she was going, Ruth spent several months on a cargo ship. She was gang raped by the crew and used as a sex slave until she arrived in Britain in January, pregnant and utterly alone.

She was dispersed by the Home Office to Sunderland, where she heard about a women's group, run by the Sunderland Refugee and Asylum Seekers Support Network. The group has provided a lifeline for her and she now has friends and access to medical support.

The women's group was started last year by network co-ordinator Marion Goodfellow.

She says: "We ran a drop-in on Wednesdays but that attracted mostly men and I think a lot of the women felt quite intimidated coming into a room full of young, single asylum seekers. I felt as if they were missing out, stuck at home finding it difficult to make friends."

Around 25 to 30 women attend the group from countries as diverse as Ethiopia, Poland, Iran, Iraq, Lithuania and Eritraea. When the group first started, the women huddled together in little cliques according to their nationality but they're now all firm friends. They greet each other with hugs and kisses and some meet each other outside the drop-in, providing company and mutual support.

"The women really need support. They come to Britain and seek asylum because they've suffered in their own countries but they're kept down south for a few days and then they're dispersed across the country. Most of them haven't a clue where Sunderland is. They don't know anyone and they're not made welcome. There's constant racial harassment," explains Marion.

During the session, Marion spends time with a young Iranian woman who is being victimised by racists. She's had bricks thrown through her window, dog dirt pushed through the letter box and the previous night, her house was broken into and her child's pushchair and toys stolen.

"This is happens all the time and there's very little anyone can do. They just have to put up with it - it's not as if they haven't got enough to cope with in their lives," says Marion.

It's a common problem. Many people resent asylum seekers and are ignorant of their circumstances, believing they come to Britain for an easy life. Marion admits there are some who do abuse the system but the women at her centre are genuine cases, all in need of help.

Fatima came to Britain from Afghanistan four years ago and has been granted refugee status but even now, she's afraid to give me her name in case she's traced by members of the Taliban.

University educated, she worked as a teacher in Kabul until the Islamic fundamentalists seized power in 1996. Now in her 50s, she remembers events as clearly as if they had happened yesterday. "One day, I went to school and the road was full of soldiers carrying guns. They were young people. Some were just boys of 13 and 14 with guns. They shouted at me and asked why I was going to the school. They told me to stay at home and cover myself up. They said my dress was no good, I had to wear a burka."

She was one of thousands of educated, professional women forced to give up their jobs when the Taliban seized control. Many of them left and those who remained lived in constant fear.

"My city was dangerous. The Taliban were very bad people. When a woman left her home, she was hit with cables and bits of wood. Lots of people were executed."

She retreated, afraid to leave her house, but unable to come to terms with the new way of life forced upon her. Following the death of her husband, she fled to England with her son and daughter.

"I knew no one but I came here for them. I wanted them to be educated and they are at university now. I am happy in Sunderland but I miss my country. It's a very beautiful country but now it is so poor. There is no water and no electricity. I would like to go back in some years but not yet."

Husna comes to the women's group every week and she enjoys the sense of camaraderie. The women sit round tables chatting, drinking coffee. Marion has brought fruit and cakes for them because she knows they can't always afford to eat properly. Some of the younger ones bring their children and the others fuss over them. They talk about everything from housework to George W Bush.

As well as providing the women with friendship, there is also a wide range of practical support.

Two volunteers teach English lessons and there are health workers on hand to provide advice. Marion is always available to help with any other problems, whether helping fill out Home Office forms or deciphering the junk mail that comes through their letterboxes.

The network is a charity and receives no Government funding but Marion tries to provide a range of activities. Some are trying massage and reflexology. They've also had sessions on jewellery making, flower arranging and silk painting.

"It's important to keep their minds busy and stop them thinking about their problems. We can't even begin to understand what some of them have been through. Some of their stories are so awful it's like something you'd see in a film. You can't believe it's real," says Marion.

But the problems don't automatically stop once the women reach Britain. Some have been granted refugee status, others are waiting anxiously while their applications are processed.

Most of them are living on £38 a week from the Government. They're often isolated, especially if they have children, and are usually housed in the most deprived areas of the city.

"People think they come here to scrounge off the state. They think they have an easy life but nothing could be further from the truth. No one leaves their home or their family unless they absolutely have to," says Marion.

"We should be doing all we can to help them, not leaving them to fend for themselves or subjecting them to racist abuse."

l The names of the women have been changed to protect their identities.