Podcast
Culture
S&U interviews
Weirdness
5 min read

My conversation with... Tom Holland

Noticing that Tom Holland is the star of The Rest Is Politics Christmas special, Belle Tindall is remembering her conversation with the historian earlier this year.

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen and co-host of its Re-enchanting podcast.

A man sits at a table speaking into a microphone but looks into the distance. Behind him, through the window and beyond a wall is Big Ben
Tom Holland recording the podcast at Lambeth Palace Library.

In a festive one-off, two worlds have collided. Tom Holland, of the beloved 'The Rest is History' podcast, has joined Rory Stewart and Alistair Campbell in their 'The Rest is Politics' parallel universe. They spend a merry hour talking through religion, politics and the way in which they have both shaped our modern world... plus dinosaurs, always dinosaurs. 

And it got me reminiscing - my mind drifted back to earlier in this slightly odd year, on the eve of the coronation, when we had the one and only Tom Holland on our podcast. We called that episode of the podcast - Re-Enchanting History and the Coronation - but for me, it could just as aptly be entitled Re-Enchanting the Weird.  

Below is a reflection that I wrote immediately after that fascinating episode was recorded. If you've enjoyed his appearance on The Rest is Politics, you may just enjoy his appearance here too. 

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Re-Enchanting the Weird

Let me start in the proper place, with introductions.  

If you are a fan of history, Tom needs no introduction. But, for those of you who are not yet acquainted with his wonderfully infectious expertise, Tom is the co-host of the beloved podcast, The Rest is History (alongside Dominic Sandbrook). He is also the best-selling author of Rubicon, Persian Fire, Dominion, and the up-coming book for children, The Wolf-Girl, The Greeks, and The Gods. Justin Brierley and I recently had the pleasure of soaking up a little of Tom’s extensive knowledge when we interviewed him for a Coronation special of Seen and Unseen’s Re-Enchanting podcast.  

Tom’s most recent book, Dominion, charts the mighty impact that the Christian revolution has had; beginning with its unexpected origins and following its cultural reverberations through to the present age, highlighting its very present influence. We are, to borrow Tom’s own phrase, a society of goldfish who are (perhaps unknowingly) swimming in a distinctly Christian fishbowl. And so, our conversation began there – as he pointed out that, like it or not, the West operates in the residue of the Christian revolution. Christianity has been hidden in plain sight all along. For the sake of eloquence, I’ll let Tom explain:  

‘The conceit of the West is that it’s transcended Christianity to become purely universal, purely global. But its values, its assumptions, its ethics remain palpably bred of the marrow of Christianity’.  

Throughout our conversation, Tom took us on a whistle-stop tour of what was, what is, and the thread that can be drawn between the two. And while I don’t wish to spoil things for you, I imagine you can guess what the thread is. This conversation touches upon the origins of democracy (as we perceive it), the Reformation and the Nazis, to name but a few. I couldn’t recommend it enough. But I must warn you, you cannot un-hear Tom’s observations. The things he points out, you simply cannot un-see. Christianity will no longer be hidden; it will just be in plain sight.  

Seen as it is within in touching distance, we also wanted to get Tom’s thoughts on the Coronation. And this is where the re-enchantment of the weird began. At least, for me.  

The very notion of this upcoming Coronation is odd. It is a distinctly peculiar event.  

Firstly, it is incredibly old. We are the only country in the world that still does this particular thing in this particular way. What we will see unfold before us is derived from the 10th Century, when King Edgar was coronated by St. Dunstan, and yet it goes back further still - its roots actually lie in Bronze Age Israel.  

During the Coronation, the ancient and the modern will converge. As spectators, we will be peeking into times gone by; as Tom (rather excitedly) said, watching this ceremony, and everything that will surround it, will be like ‘seeing a dinosaur… still alive… in a zoo’. I wrote that last week’s conversation with astrophysicist, Dr. Jennifer Wiseman, made me feel small – small in time and small in place. Well, in many ways, so did Tom’s thoughts on the Coronation. The ritual is so very old, and we, so very young.  

But there is more. Tom reminded us that the Coronation is not only old, it’s weird. It places the mystical, the supernatural, the sacred, and the down-right strange on centre stage.  

Nick Cave, who will be sitting in Westminster Abbey on the day despite not being much of a royalist, explained that he accepted the invitation purely because of its bewildering oddness. In his Red Hand Files, he wrote  

‘what I am also not is so spectacularly incurious about the world and the way it works, so ideologically captured, so damn grouchy, as to refuse an invitation to what will more than likely be the most important historical event in the UK of our age. Not just the most important, but the strangest, the weirdest.’  

Both Nick Cave and Tom Holland have allowed themselves the fun of being curious. Curious about the fact that something profoundly supernatural is about to be taken incredibly seriously in the heart of a so-called secular society. And whatever pragmatic questions I may have about the place of monarchy in the here and now, I think I will allow myself the fun of being curious about that too.  

My conversation with Tom re-enchanted the parts of Christianity that, as someone who grew up as a Christian, I used to be quite embarrassed by. Namely, the weirdest parts.  

As a teenager, my instinct was to minimise (at least in public) the aspects of the Christian faith that cannot be explained by rationalism. I used to keep quiet about the parts of my faith that outed me as someone who believed in things that are supernatural. I would try my absolute best to blur the details of the most obscure facets of Christian thinking. But, as Tom said, ‘a Christianity that has bled itself of enchantment is a pallid thing.’ And if there is one thing that the whole Jesus movement was not, it’s pallid.  

If you, like Tom Holland, crave enchantment, this episode will be for you. Afterall, what better place to go looking for the wonderfully weird than in the ‘greatest story ever told’?  

Review
Culture
Film & TV
Trauma
5 min read

Unforgivable: Jimmy McGovern’s brave storytelling

Intelligent, understanding, and compassionate stories of a family affected by abuse

Henry Corbett, a vicar in Liverpool and chaplain to Everton Football Club.  

  

A family sit together watching a trial in a court.
BBC.

Jimmy McGovern would rather be called a storyteller than a writer. 

And what important, life-changing stories he has told. 

His 1996 TV film Hillsborough told the true story of the disaster in which 97 Liverpool supporters lost their lives. His 2014 story Common was written after he received a letter from a woman whose son was in prison unjustly under the Joint Enterprise Law. His 2017 BBC series Broken showed a caring priest dealing with a mix of situations, including the often hidden, catastrophic effects of gambling addiction. 

In those, as in all the stories he has told over the last 45 years, he seeks to serve the story, to be each character’s best barrister where possible, and to help an understanding of the often-complex situations the characters find themselves in. 

Brave, important stories, and here is another extremely brave story. 

A psychologist who worked with sex offenders contacted McGovern with the stories she was encountering in her role, and she mentioned the disturbing fact that so many people who abuse children have themselves been abused. A story that needs to be told? So to Unforgivable

Joe, played by Bobby Schofield, is in prison for sexually abusing his young nephew Tom. Tom blames himself for not saying more at the time. Joe’s sister Anna, played by Anna Friel, is trying to cope with her son Tom’s silences that are only interrupted by a “Yes” or a “No”. She has to go into school after Tom has been involved in a fight and amidst all this her and Joe’s mother dies, “from a broken heart”. Who broke her heart? Joe, surely. Joe’s father Brian, played by David Threlfall (the cast are all brilliant), agrees with his daughter Anna: they are both furious with Joe. His mother was the only person from the family who visited Joe in prison. Joe cannot come to his mother’s funeral. And young silent Tom has an older brother Peter who sits at the table with a stressed mother Anna and a non-communicative younger brother Tom. The whole family is blitzed. 

The mother’s funeral happens, and then Joe’s release date from prison comes. Where can he go? Right safeguarding procedures are put in place and he goes to St Maura’s, a place under the caring watchful eye of Katherine, an ex-nun, played by Anna Maxwell Martin. 

Joe is ashamed, penitent: “I am just a piece of s**t”. He gets spotted as he walks alone by the River Mersey and gets beaten up. In hospital the nurse asks “Why?”. He tells her that he is a child abuser and wonders if the nurse will continue to help him. She does. Is his life worth living, shunned by family, beaten up by lads who know him? 

Two things move him to action. The ex-nun goes with him to therapy sessions and tells him of her breast cancer. He is sorry to hear that. And he tells her the story of his abuse at the hands of Mr Patterson the football coach of his very successful under-12 team, and not only of his abuse but of one of his team mates too. 

The case against Mr Patterson goes to court, the family hear of Joe’s abuse, and Anna has another level of stress to deal with: if the abused often become abusers, then what about her Tom, will he become an abuser? Of course, not necessarily, and the other abused player tells Joe he didn’t go on to become an abuser. 

Not for one moment is the drama being soft on the horrors of child abuse. Joe was wrong, totally wrong. His act of abuse has and is affecting the whole family massively and tragically, and he should go to prison, serve his sentence and when he comes out there should be vigilant, effective safeguarding measures put in place to stop any repeated abuse. And child abusers can be very manipulative, can put on acts of contrition, and go on to abuse others. Not for one moment should we lower our guard. 

So where does this leave us? Many of us at some stage may be in the company of a family where a shocking, shattering act of child abuse has taken place. How do we respond? Do we blank the offender, wish them dead or in prison with the key thrown away? Are they inhuman monsters, just “pieces of s**t” as Joe describes himself? But Joe is a human being, he does seem penitent, and he was himself abused and he has taken his abuser to court to stop that person abusing others. What of others in the family? Anna’s hate, the father’s hate, the older brother feeling side-lined, Tom’s monosyllabic “yes” and “no”s, the desperate burdens they are carrying. How do we respond to them? 

A story-teller’s role is sometimes to ask awkward questions. Here is a final awkward question: is Joe forgivable or unforgivable? 

It’s also an ancient question. The unforgivable sin that Jesus talks of is the sin against the Holy Spirit, and that is calling good evil and evil good. Joe calls out his abusive act as the work of a piece of s**t. He goes after the person who abused him to prevent others suffering from a horrible, wrong, bad, traumatising act. 

I’ll finish with thoughts from people who know something of abuse, torture, injustice. 

Bryan Stevenson, the American lawyer and activist who has worked with many people on death row, says: "Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done." 

Desmond Tutu and his daughter Mpho who lived through the atrocities and abuses of apartheid say in their Book of Forgiving that forgiveness is not easy, is not a sign of weakness, is not forgetting, and is not quick. They suggest a fourfold path: telling the story, naming the hurt, granting forgiveness, and, depending on the situation, renewing or releasing the relationship. 

Jimmy McGovern tells the story and names the hurts movingly, bravely, and compellingly. 

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