appropriate and worldly, even though he has never really read a newspaper, save the comics on the occasional Sunday. He buys a paperback book, some sort of horror story, but he can’t concentrate. He watches the people walking through the terminal, a very cosmopolitan display of people. He has never seen such a variety of cultures and classes, and he finds it fascinating.
And that is how he spends his time: studying the people, guessing where they are from and where they are going.
The late afternoon eventually comes, and he boards the plane that will carry him over the ocean to the parts of the world he has longed to see.
It is the first night home for the baby, a girl named Samantha Marie, born in an Aberdeen hospital to Petty Officer Third Class Frank Beasley and his wife Monica, both from Norfolk, both children of career Navy men. They are a young and handsome and innocent black couple.
Frank is proud to follow in his father’s footsteps, performing the same job as is father, and wearing the same uniform.
The baby is brought to their little cottage inside the village of Lutherkirk, a small structure made of stone, heated solely by a coal-burning fireplace. Monica is nervous and scared. Her family is back in Virginia, and there is no one to help her with the baby, no one to give her advice, no one she can talk to, really, except her husband. And it’s Christmas. That makes the desolation even more intense.
It is about 2 a.m. and the house is silent, as is the village of Lutherkirk. The pubs emptied hours ago, and the village is asleep. The baby has just fallen asleep, and so, too, do Frank and Monica.
No one in the village hears a vehicle rolling quietly through, searching for the Beasley home.
Nor does anyone see the vehicle’s driver and passengers, two young men dressed in black from head to toe, camouflage paint covering their faces.
The vehicle parks about a block away from the Beasley home. The two figures, one portly, the other thin, run to the Beasley home. Each has a can of spray paint. They decorate the front door and stucco exterior of the house with swastikas and “NIGGERS LEAVE” and other vulgarities.
They throw a brick through the front window and dash back to the car before anyone detects them. They have attached a note to the brick:
This is just a warning. Our next visit will end in fatality. Scotland is not the place for the scum of the earth such as you. The white race will reign supreme, but not until the lower races are destroyed. This means you!
The Eastern Scotland Trinity of the
Great White Brotherhood
The Beasleys run out of their lone bedroom and step on the broken glass in their living room. Frank reads the note and hides it from his wife. A few neighborhood lights flicker on and then off. The night is silent again save Samantha crying loudly and the sound of an Austin Allegro speeding out of the village of Lutherkirk.
Chris’s journey to Scotland consists of a transatlantic flight from New York to London, with a three-hour layover at Heathrow and a connecting flight to Aberdeen.
He will take a cab the thirty miles from Aberdeen to the base in Lutherkirk.
The flight to London is long, long enough for an in-flight movie. Chris feels worldlier still, vaguely glamorous, traveling long and far enough to be entitled to an in-flight movie, a romantic comedy that Chris really doesn’t enjoy, but since he paid three dollars to rent the headset to hear the movie, he suffers through it anyway.
Due to the five-hour time difference between London and New York, it is early morning as Chris arrives at Heathrow. He strains his eyes, trying to catch glimpses of the English landscape through the low and thick early morning cloud cover. He sees nothing but a gray sky and highways and buildings and cars. From the air, it doesn’t look any different than the landscape of his suburban Detroit.
As the plane lands at Heathrow, Chris is thrilled with the realization that he has crossed
And that is how he spends his time: studying the people, guessing where they are from and where they are going.
The late afternoon eventually comes, and he boards the plane that will carry him over the ocean to the parts of the world he has longed to see.
It is the first night home for the baby, a girl named Samantha Marie, born in an Aberdeen hospital to Petty Officer Third Class Frank Beasley and his wife Monica, both from Norfolk, both children of career Navy men. They are a young and handsome and innocent black couple.
Frank is proud to follow in his father’s footsteps, performing the same job as is father, and wearing the same uniform.
The baby is brought to their little cottage inside the village of Lutherkirk, a small structure made of stone, heated solely by a coal-burning fireplace. Monica is nervous and scared. Her family is back in Virginia, and there is no one to help her with the baby, no one to give her advice, no one she can talk to, really, except her husband. And it’s Christmas. That makes the desolation even more intense.
It is about 2 a.m. and the house is silent, as is the village of Lutherkirk. The pubs emptied hours ago, and the village is asleep. The baby has just fallen asleep, and so, too, do Frank and Monica.
No one in the village hears a vehicle rolling quietly through, searching for the Beasley home.
Nor does anyone see the vehicle’s driver and passengers, two young men dressed in black from head to toe, camouflage paint covering their faces.
The vehicle parks about a block away from the Beasley home. The two figures, one portly, the other thin, run to the Beasley home. Each has a can of spray paint. They decorate the front door and stucco exterior of the house with swastikas and “NIGGERS LEAVE” and other vulgarities.
They throw a brick through the front window and dash back to the car before anyone detects them. They have attached a note to the brick:
This is just a warning. Our next visit will end in fatality. Scotland is not the place for the scum of the earth such as you. The white race will reign supreme, but not until the lower races are destroyed. This means you!
The Eastern Scotland Trinity of the
Great White Brotherhood
The Beasleys run out of their lone bedroom and step on the broken glass in their living room. Frank reads the note and hides it from his wife. A few neighborhood lights flicker on and then off. The night is silent again save Samantha crying loudly and the sound of an Austin Allegro speeding out of the village of Lutherkirk.
Chris’s journey to Scotland consists of a transatlantic flight from New York to London, with a three-hour layover at Heathrow and a connecting flight to Aberdeen.
He will take a cab the thirty miles from Aberdeen to the base in Lutherkirk.
The flight to London is long, long enough for an in-flight movie. Chris feels worldlier still, vaguely glamorous, traveling long and far enough to be entitled to an in-flight movie, a romantic comedy that Chris really doesn’t enjoy, but since he paid three dollars to rent the headset to hear the movie, he suffers through it anyway.
Due to the five-hour time difference between London and New York, it is early morning as Chris arrives at Heathrow. He strains his eyes, trying to catch glimpses of the English landscape through the low and thick early morning cloud cover. He sees nothing but a gray sky and highways and buildings and cars. From the air, it doesn’t look any different than the landscape of his suburban Detroit.
As the plane lands at Heathrow, Chris is thrilled with the realization that he has crossed
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