Chapter One - Morning Events

    As I boarded the early train to Carlisle that Friday morning I had only one thing on my mind.  
Strictly speaking, one person.
    More precisely, one woman.

    Jane Harris.

    I was wondering whether I should buy my wife of some 20 years emerald earrings, or an emerald necklace. Jane had been hinting that I should get her some jewellery for years, and as Christmas was approaching, I suddenly realised that I had never once bought her any sparkling jewels since our wedding day. There had always seemed a good reason not to do it. The earrings were worth four weeks of groceries - not an insignificant sum, especially in the earlier years of our married life. But our financial circumstances had changed and I could afford it now.
    I couldn’t help thinking that I had been sending Jane unintended, yet subtle messages. Messages which said, ‘you’re not worth the money to me.’ The truth was that she was worth more to me than anything in the world - as the Scriptures say, ‘an excellent wife is more precious than jewels’. So I had repented of my long held practice of unwittingly being a miser and now intended to show my wife something of what she meant to me by buying either a) the emerald necklace, or b) the ear-rings. I remembered something Wendell Berry had written once. Namely, that it is men who let women know they are beautiful. The truth of that statement resonated with me. But still, I didn’t know which gift to get her. At the time it seemed like the most difficult decision in the world to make.
    I know better now.

—————————————————
    The train had not long left Appleby station when I noticed him. The man was wearing a red cap with ‘Scotland’ emblazoned on the front; a light-grey, hooded, sweatshirt with ‘BattleReady’ written in navy-blue across it, and blue corduroy trousers.
    ‘Once’ I thought to myself, ‘Well, once is just life. Twice, is a coincidence. Three times though, that’s a pattern. Four times, and this is a curious phenomenon.’ It struck me as something out of the ordinary that four different men would wear exactly the same clothes; on the same train; on consecutive Fridays; four weeks in a row.  
    I snatched glances at the fellow as we headed north. Because it was the early 6.33 train the carriage was mostly empty, and naturally I followed the policy of British people everywhere, which is to say, I gave him a decent amount of personal space and sat some distance from him.     
But I watched him.
    He was reading a book too, which was unusual. The few others on the train were all looking at their phones. On closer inspection, I saw the man was reading a Bible.
    ‘I might just try and strike up an acquaintance with this guy when we change at Carlisle’ I thought to myself. However I felt a bit bashful. I mean, how does a man approach a complete stranger and say;
‘Hi there, we don’t know each other. But did you know you’re wearing exactly the same clothes that another guy was wearing last week, and a different fellow the week before, and someone else the week before that as well?’
    Unfortunately the train was delayed just outside of Armathwaite and I had to rush to get my connection at Carlisle. I only had time to see the man with the red cap on the platform shaking hands with another man. The second man was wearing a blue flat cap, and as I rushed past them, making my way over the footbridge to platform 4, I overhead him say, ‘good to meet you. Was the trip up alright? Do you think you were followed?’
    Before I could hear the red cap’s reply I was past them running for the Edinburgh train which was arriving into the station at that very moment.
———————————————
    I spent the next part of my journey reading my notes for my morning economics lecture at the university. I got on pretty well with my students, often writing a verse from the Bible on the whiteboard to illustrate the economic principle I was teaching that day.
    Of course, I relied heavily on the work of Gary North, and always introduced the first-year students to the principles of Honest Money, which North had written some decades before. Today, in the last week before we broke up for the Christmas holidays, I was finishing the chapter called ‘The Contagion of Inflation’. There was a quote from the book of Isaiah to start.

“Your silver has become dross,
your best wine mixed with water.
Your princes are rebels
and companions of thieves.
Everyone loves a bribe
and runs after gifts. They do not
bring justice to the fatherless,
and the widow's cause does not
come to them.”

    My notes read; “If there is any tampering with the monetary unit, and the government allows such fraud to continue, then the whole economy is threatened with a progressive debasement. It is not simply the monetary unit that will be debased, but also many other products. Any seller or producer who finds that his customers are unwilling to accept price increases is forced to consider using cheaper, shoddier materials, just to stay in business. This explains why goods, over a period of time, become flimsier, less substantial, more prone to breakage and so forth. This is sometimes called inbuilt obsolescence.”  
Hmm, I thought. That might explain why our recently purchased kettle had so quickly given up the ghost. The thought of the kettle suggested to me that I should get a cup of tea from the buffet car. I usually feel rather parched around 8.00 AM so I made my way through the train. A headline in a newspaper in the cafe caught my eye.
    “Would you like milk in your tea?” the girl asked.
    “Yes, please,” I replied.
    “Anything else?” she asked.
    “Yes, may I please have a copy of The Daily Telegraph?”
    She passed it to me and I paid her for the tea and the paper. Due to an experience I had a short while ago, I paid cash.
    Returning to my seat I sat down, opened up the Telegraph, and couldn’t believe my eyes. “Teacher sacked from Primary School for denying Santa Claus’ existence.”
    The story proved to be as I feared.
    Thomas Arnold, (46), was sacked from a school in North London because he had told his primary school class that Santa Claus wasn’t real, but was based on a legend that had sprung from the life of Saint Nicholas. The Head Teacher had said it was necessary for Arnold to go because he had gone against the prevailing state-promoted philosophy - that young people must be encouraged to believe in their own dreams and stories. If they wanted to believe in Santa Claus they should be encouraged to believe in him. There was no comment from Arnold, but the Head-teacher had said in a further statement that she had always had some doubts about him because he had frequently written Biblical proverbs on the white-board. “As a state-run school we don’t promote any single religion over another - we recognise all are equal. So the proverbs were potentially subversive as they might encourage the children to prefer one religion over another, or to suggest that one course of action is wiser than another.”
I felt a shiver run down my spine as I read that. The article went on to say that Arnold had the option of being assessed by health professionals, to see if any undue stress or other medical problem had caused him to not fully comply with the school’s broad policy of inclusion.
    I must admit that the article disturbed me. It reminded me of a brief conversation with my Head of Department at the university Christmas party, just a week previously.
    “Next year Harris, we shan’t be having Christmas nibbles, nor a Christmas party,” Lewis had said.
    “Why ever not?” I replied, aghast. “Everyone loves this party. It’s a chance for us all to mingle, bring our spouses along to meet our colleagues and various graduate students.”
    “Relax,” Lewis had replied. “The party’s still going to happen. It just won’t be called a Christmas Party. It might offend those who don’t believe in Jesus Christ you see. Jews, Muslims, Hindus, atheists etc. So it’s going to be re-branded - nothing to worry about, I can assure you.”
    “But we normally do some carol singing” I said. “Will we still do that? I mean, most of the carols are about Jesus, you know. ‘Joy to the World, the Lord is come’ etc.”
    “Oh we’ll continue with the carols, although we may have to ditch one or two. It’s all in the name of being inclusive” Lewis had replied. “We’ll probably do that one from Band Aid ‘Do they know it’s Christmas Time?’ and ‘Santa Claus is coming to town’ is always popular.”
    I was stunned at hearing that. We were ‘permitted’ to sing songs about people who didn’t really exist - like Santa. But we weren’t to sing about Jesus Christ, a real figure from history, whose life and teachings had changed the world, saving vast swathes of people from the Barbarian practises of war and slavery.
Lewis must have seen my face. “Oh come on Harris, it’s not as bad as all that. It’s not like we have to say we believe in Santa Claus, we just have to be a little more careful to make sure we aren’t suggesting the ways of Jesus Christ are better than anybody else’s. We only need to believe in the rule of law, the duty each one of us has to King and Country. You agree with those principles, rule of law and allegiance to the king, don’t you?”
    I thought Lewis looked at me slightly curiously when he asked me that.
    “Well, I believe in them, up to a point” I said. “I mean, we all want to belong to a community, we have a need for it. From the beginning it hasn’t been good for man to be alone. We all want and need the support of family, friends, and colleagues. But to belong to a group means the group must have a definition, likewise with a nation. Historically one of the things that has defined England and Scotland, is that they are Christian nations. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    “Well, the times they are a-changing,” Lewis replied, side-stepping my question. “Ultimately it’s the State that gives us our daily bread. After all, we’re employed by the State to teach these youngsters. There’s no point rocking the boat. By the way, did you get the memo about the new university ID system? You’ll need to download the App and upload your finger-prints and take a photo of your face, so that the doors can open automatically for you next year. That’ll be handy if you’re carrying a lot of books. Some of the faculty are thinking about getting a micro-chip directly embedded in their hand - much more convenient they say, because you might leave your phone at home, whereas you’ll always have your hand with you. But I think that’s taking things a bit far.”
    As I sat in the train, recalling Lewis’ comments, I couldn’t help but pray, “Oh Lord, who will deliver me from this woke madness?”