'The Dunkirk migrant jungle is a lawless world within France.' 

It is a lawless place, controlled largely by dangerous Middle Eastern gangs. Many of the people here own nothing beyond the clothes on their backs. 

Charities supply almost everything the migrants need to survive. Makeshift market stalls offer what passes for luxury: hot food, phone-charging points, life jackets, counterfeit cigarettes and a range of other goods. 

Deeper into the jungle are distinct sections known as “camps”, each typically overseen by a camp master, often believed to be operating in tandem with the illegal smuggling gangs. 

Set against the industrial backdrop of a nuclear power plant and oil refinery, gunfire sometimes rings out during the day and almost always through the night. The paths between the camps, the charity hub and the nearby supermarket are strewn with litter and human waste. 

'As I lie beneath a tree old enough to have witnessed conflicts from the world wars, dawn breaks to the sound of cockerels crowing through the woods.' Rats are common, more often heard than seen, while chickens and cats rummage through the waste in search of scraps. 

In the migrant jungle, emotions vary widely. Some people appear content, others seem lost. Many move with visible caution but every migrant here shares one thing in common, their main goal is to travel illegally to The United Kingdom of Great Britain.