Teachers protest in Tehran in 2004

Three years ago teacher Alia Kehoni smuggled her two children out of Iran following persecution from the government. It took four months to reach their destination, Leicester, where Alia applied for asylum and set about trying to get her children into good schools.

Below are extracts from letters she wrote home to her sister. All names have been changed for their safety.

Dear Susan, I am so sorry it's been so long since you last heard from me but I have at last arrived safely in Britain. Yesterday morning the three of us - me, Reza and Sima - were driven into Leicester by the smugglers I'd paid so much money to get here, more than �30,000.

As soon as we reached the refugee centre the smuggler left us. I never knew his name and yet I've made the longest journey of my life with him - more than 3,000 miles in a small car. Most days it was unbearably hot with all of us crammed in the back. It didn't help that Reza was growing all the time. By the end of the journey he was nearly bursting out of most of his T-shirts.

When I knew that my claim for asylum had begun, a funny thing happened to me. I was standing in the street and all of a sudden it was like all my senses came alive. For the past four months I've been sitting in the back seat of car, cut off from the outside world. Then, as soon as the danger passed, the sounds of the street began to fill my ears, the smells of the car fumes my nose.

Crackdown on the dress code

It seems a long time since I was in Tehran teaching in my classroom. I remember how I first started talking to some of my pupils about free speech, how we should separate religion and politics. I thought I was being so careful, only telling those who seemed open to my ideals. I never thought I would have to leave the country I love because of my actions.

But when the police came looking for me, I knew I couldn't stay. It wasn't fair to the children to always be in hiding. Besides, no matter how many times I moved and tried to hide from the authorities, they always seemed to track me down.

So this is a letter of celebration. We're safe at last. Sometimes I doubted we'd ever make it. Sima was such a good girl though. She knew that she had to keep quiet and always helped with Reza. Most evenings it was so hard for him to settle but she'd always calm him down. I don't know what I'd have done without her.

Dear Susan, how are the girls? Both Sima and Reza are still at school and I've done all the housework so I'm at a bit of a loose end.

It's so cold here. It's a different type of cold from the mountains which made us shiver when we were girls. That I could stand but this, it goes right through you. I'm wearing three layers at the moment and it's still not enough.

Write and tell me about Tehran. I want to feel the warmth on my back - maybe a story full of sun will warm me up.

Dear Susan, after a long winter, things have started to look up for us. I've just come back from Sima's primary school where we found out that she's got in to the secondary school of our choice.

It wasn't easy though, I had to write so many letters to the council. I even ended up asking her friend Nina's parents to write on our behalf. Come this September, she'll be going to one of the best schools in Leicester. I'm so happy for her.

I'm so angry. The moment I manage to get us settled then, boom, we have to move on

It's funny, at the end of the day, when I'm helping the children with their homework, my journey to Britain seems worth it - all of the running and the hiding in safe houses.

Last week I was reminded of the safe house we stayed in for two months whilst travelling from Iran to Britain. Sima brought a book back from school called The Diary of Ann Frank. It's a story of a Jewish family who hide from the German soldiers during World War Two. They have to keep so quiet locked up in an attic all day. Ann describes the nerves of the adults. I saw myself in some of their actions. Things like that make me realise how much I've fought for my family's freedom.

Dear Susan, how quickly things change. No sooner had we celebrated Sima's success then we received a letter from the Home Office telling us we had to move house away from Leicester. Something about our housing no longer being available.

I'm so angry. The moment I manage to get us settled then, boom, we have to move on. You tell me to keep strong but sometimes it seems like everything is set against me.

Dear Susan, thank you for your sweet letter and no, I don't think it's a good idea if we e-mail. I've heard the government scan online messages and I don't want to cause you any more trouble than I already have.

Things are a little better in Nottingham now. I've been accepted in to a women's group where I can take English and computing classes. It's so good to use my mind again. I'm beginning to feel like the old me, the teacher, an adult who gets things done, contributes.

Every day I wake up and I miss Iran, from the familiar faces of friends and family right down to the bread we eat

I'm looking out on to the street and it's really dark - 3:30 in the afternoon and it's nearly black outside. I really can't get my head around the lack of sun in the winter time. How can you get anything done when there's no light?

Every day I wake up and I miss Iran, from the familiar faces of friends and family right down to the bread we eat. You don't know how much I'd give for a piece of our stone-baked bread! Here they have this funny oblong bread that's baked days in advance; it doesn't fill you up at all, it's just like puffs of air.

But more seriously, I miss being able to work, I miss you and I miss the rest of our family.

I miss breathing the air; it's not the smell but more the relaxation you feel when you're at home. Your breath is shallower when you're far from home. I like going down to the local Kurdish mini-market, the products of the shelves remind me of home but it's not the same.

Sima misses your girls too. She's painted a special picture of our new home for them this week. I'll include it with this letter.

Hello Susan, it's been a week now since Uncle Kourosh died. How are you holding up? Is mother OK?

I'm still shaken. Over the past few months Reza and I've being praying hard but now the worst has happened. He doesn't really know what to make of it all. He never really knew his uncle, just a baby when we left, but he saw me praying and wanted to help. It's hard grieving when I'm so far from you all, there's no one to talk to.

Dear Susan, do you like the picture on the front of this postcard? It's Bridlington and I'm sitting on the beach watching the children play on the beach. Coming here is good for me as the waves remind me of the sea at home.

Bridlington: Reminder of home

I watched the news last week and I saw that they've been arresting women in Tehran for having their headscarves too far back on their head.

It made me worried, will things ever improve? I don't know the answer but if this continues it doesn't look good. I'll keep writing to you and praying for change. Anyway, if I ever want to feel at home I now know where to go: Bridlington.

Keep safe and tell me how your daughters are doing. I love you and miss our chats.

Alia