I don’t know about you, but it’s not every day you get accused of fraud.
Staring at an email, not even addressed to me personally, with £541.40 inscribed into my laptop screen in an ominous red font, I couldn’t believe that Greater Anglia was seriously proceeding with the claim.
It all started just over a week earlier when I saw a threatening email from Greater Anglia’s fraud department about my activity on the Trainline app.
“We have been investigating industry data and have been led to believe you are potentially not paying full fares on Greater Anglia services,” it said. “This activity has been highlighted as potentially fraudulent.”
Jack Walters outside Chelmsford Train Station
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Horrified, as if I was being hunted down by Tom Hanks in Catch Me If You Can, I told my Dad the news.
“Is it a scam?” he asked, prompting me to give Greater Anglia customer services a call.
“That’s the correct email for Greater Anglia’s fraud department,” the Scottish Greater Anglia employee told me. He gave me a number to call.
I tried several times but every single call went straight to voicemail.
A few days later, I received another email from Greater Anglia’s fraud unit.
“We require you to send us a copy of your 16-25 saver Railcard, to confirm your date of birth,” it said. “Also could you please explain your journeys?”
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A Greater Anglia sign at Liverpool Street Station, London
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I was lost for words. I was going to have to explain my whereabouts to a rail company masquerading as an Orwellian-style police force asking: “Where are your papers?”
What was I expected to tell them? Did they want to know who I was seeing? Did I need to tell them I was, on one occasion, picking my girlfriend up from the airport? Where would the questions end?
After being warned my response could result in a fine being issued or the “case” being taken up by the British Transport Police, I shakily opened up my Railcard app.
“Screenshot not valid,” a message flashed up. I had no choice but to inform Greater Anglia of my birthday, attach the code attributed to my Railcard and explain that my journeys have increased since moving home.
But this wasn’t enough. They demanded I either send email confirmation or a picture of my Railcard.
Commuters board a Greater Anglia train
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I did. Then I waited four days for a reply.
“Please send in the same format your 16-25 Railcards for the period that falls between January 2020 and November 2024?” the request said.
My initial trepidation was being replaced by cynicism. Rather than smelling a rat, I was sensing a phish.
“I’d appreciate a discussion about this over the phone,” I wrote.
Despite still failing to provide any evidence for an “investigation” a leading member of the fraud squad wrote: “There is no need for a telephone conversation.”
My blood was boiling. Who keeps an expired Railcard in their possession like it's a memento from yesteryear?
I’m not a hoarder but I emptied my stash of undergraduate documents in search for a pass issued in 2018, when Britain was still locked in the European Union, Princess Eugenie tied the knot and the Bank of England made the now comical decision to hike interest rates to a mammoth 0.75 per cent.
Graduation certificate? Check. A guide to a module on the English Civil War? Check. Railcard? Nowhere to be seen.
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A broad view of Chelmsford Train Station
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And then, a breakthrough. I scoured through my phone and found a slightly blurry photo of a weathered Railcard. I could clear my name!
But in a blow to what was increasingly becoming a crusade, there was no way of sending photos of my expired passes in the format.
I was left with only one option. “You’ve reached Greater Anglia customer services,” came Caledonian Connor’s voice. “How can I help you?”
After flagging my concerns about a potential phishing exercise, I furiously wrote: “Given I have been unable to reach you via phone on numerous occasions, I’ve spoken to customer services about this whole ordeal.”
I even explained that I still have copies of two expired Railcards which cannot be shared in the format asked for and a photo of my Santander-authorised Railcard which expired in 2022.”
However, just minutes later, I bit the bullet and separately sent two images of my expired digital passes.
And then, the bombshell. “Please find attached the settlement letter for the period January 2020 to September 2022.”
The fine, itself penned in a sinister scarlet font, knew the exact places I was travelling to, on exact days and at exact times.
Jack Walters outside Chelmsford Train Station
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My digital footprint was being built up in real-time and it was being seen by a bunch of unnamed pen-pushers looking to score a buck in Liverpool Street.
And, for many, it’s not even a choice. Online ticket purchasing services like Trainline - which I used - have become increasingly common for one major reason, it’s cheaper.
Train fares purchased online were more cost-efficient around three-quarters of the time, and on average same-day journeys cost 52 per cent more from machines.
Machine prices can even soar to 154 per cent more than tickets offered by the Trainline app in some cases.
“I told you I have a Railcard from that period,” I sternly wrote as a photo of my baby-faced mugshot gleamed back at me.
While the “case” was dropped, I couldn’t leave it at that. After eight days, seven unanswered calls, six emails, and five chats with customer service, I needed to do more digging.
I asked myself: “Who on Earth keeps a Railcard that was issued seven years ago?” I asked myself. “Can they even ask to see it? What are the terms and conditions?”
But who do I call? Citizens Advice? Greater Anglia customer services again? No. I’ll give National Rail’s Railcard hotline a buzz.
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The platform at Chelmsford Train Station
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“Is it a part of the terms of conditions to keep an expired Railcard?” I queried.
“No, it’s certainly not mandatory, it’s a choice,” came a rather helpful reply.
National Rail was able to confirm the exact date I’d purchased all of my Railcards since 2018 following the most limited background check of all time.
“You purchased your first Railcard in October 2018 and it expired in October 2022,” National Rail’s voice of reason confirmed. “You renewed your Railcard in 2022, 2023 and 2024.”
So, just like that, I found a way for Greater Anglia’s illustrious fraud squad to complete its investigation in around 10 seconds.
After collating the information I needed, I sent a final, and thus far unanswered, email to Greater Anglia’s fraud squad.
“I just called National Rail,” I informed them. “They had access to my Railcard information from 2018 to 2025 within five seconds of me giving my name and address.
“Given you have access to my Trainline information, do you have access to National Rail information?”
Another photo of Jack Walters outside Chelmsford Train Station
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I now understand that Greater Anglia provides a tick box for customers to share information about their Railcards with the soon-to-be nationalised rail company.
However, rather than rummaging through documents half a decade old or searching through an email inbox about as clogged up as the M25 in rush hour, surely customers should be told to call National Rail for confirmation of purchases?
What happens if you don’t have a copy of your almost decade-old Railcard? Are you expected to see the threatening email and just pay up?
What if I had just bought paper tickets? Surely, I would have not been flagged as participating in “potentially fraudulent” activity.
Onboard Greater Anglia ticket inspectors regularly request to see a copy of my tickets and Railcard and I have been more than happy to share that on every single occasion.
What bureaucratic barriers have been erected inside Liverpool Street that mean it is so difficult to know when a Railcard has been seen alongside a ticket on the 11.55pm from Stratford or the 5.56am from Chelmsford?
In a records office resembling Recdep, information has already been stored on the movement and purchases made by Britons every single day.
The realisation isn’t just frightening, it’s concerning. People are effectively being forced to hand over their data, with faceless pen-pushers tracking our every move.
