On the Damascus Road

I learned my politics at the sharp end of life. Raised in a Jewish family in east London, as a teenager I attended counter-demonstrations against the National Front, Britain’s small but venomous fascist party. The dialogue was of a physical nature. In other words, we fought them with fists and feet, and threw bottles and bricks. They hated immigrants and Jews, we rather disagreed. I grew up however, and while I remained opposed to bigotry and hatred, I also matured, went to various universities and then in my mid-20s became a Roman Catholic.

One of the leading figures in the very National Front we so despised was the leader of their youth wing and editor of their magazines, Joseph Pearce. He was infamous, had served time in prison for his racist writings and was at the epicentre of the British far right. It may well be that we actually exchanged blows; difficult to distinguish individuals when mobs collide. Thing is, Joe also grew up and matured, and then as a young man became a Roman Catholic. I have to say it: God be praised!

Joe and I have corresponded and spoken on the phone for years now, and while I had relished his books on Belloc, Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, Shakespeare and others, I had always hoped that he’d write about his youth, experience and conversion. Now he has. And I have to say it again: God be praised!