When tears ran down her face...

We may never know what sparked Rachel Reeves's visible anguish in the House of Commons on Wednesday but the Chancellor's distress is likely to be remembered long after her tears have dried.

“When the world falls apart some things stay in place” – Billy Bragg, Levi Stubbs’ Tears.

July is a challenging time for the lachrymal glands. As the pollen-count soars, they are forced to work overtime secreting basal tears with which to wash the eyes of nature’s irritants.

Next comes the emotional roller coaster that is Wimbledon. First, our spirits are lifted by the sight of Emma Raducanu, or some other evergreen British hopeful, fist-bumping their way into the second round. The next moment comes the inevitable declension when they fall at the third and are forced to beat a hasty retreat to the locker room.

It was ever thus. But never in July, or any other month, have we seen a Chancellor of the Exchequer reduced to tears in the chamber of the House of Commons in the full glare of their party colleagues and the TV cameras.

Rachel Reeves’ tears immediately spelt turmoil in financial markets as bond traders realised that the “Iron Chancellor” had a heart after all and that, like her carefully crafted fiscal plans, it could be broken in an instant. Reeves was not the first Chancellor to be seen weeping in public – in 2013, during Margaret Thatcher’s funeral, a tear was spotted rolling down George Osborne’s cheek. And who can forget the tears shed in 1991 by the “iron Lady” herself on the steps of No. 10 after losing the confidence of her Cabinet colleagues.

On that occasion, at least, we could see the ministerial daggers extruding from her back. But as I write, what caused Reeves to lose her cool in such a public manner remains a mystery. The official line is that her distress was the result of a “personal matter”. But no one really buys that. This is speculation on my part, but I suspect it was a signal of deep humiliation and, perhaps, political betrayal, and that something essential to her identity had been shattered.

Tears triggered by a bad episode of hay fever are trivial. Emotional tears, by contrast, are “thick” with meaning, communicating something important for both the crier and observer alike. When we weep when a beloved pet dies, we are weeping as much for ourselves, and what the loss of out faithful companion will mean for us going forward, as for the animal we used to walk every day in the park. And when we cry while watching a film about some terrible injustice, or the heartbreaking pictures of Palestinian babies with missing eyes and limbs, it signals to ourselves and others that we are empathetic, moral people.

Tears are also highly symbolic. For Catholics, and those of other faiths, they are a sign of piety and humility before God. And when Paul Gascoigne burst into tears following his booking in the semi-final against Germany during Italia 90, his anguish sparked widespread public sympathy, prompting a shift in male emotional styles that became emblematic of the 1990s “New Man”.

No doubt Gazza would have preferred his tears to have been a private matter. This morning Reeves must be feeling much the same. On James O’Brien’s call-in on LBC radio this morning, many listeners were still incensed by her and Starmer’s plans, abandoned at the last minute, to make it harder for disabled people to access welfare benefits, and sympathy for the Chancellor as the architect of her own misery was in short supply.

Ironically – or perhaps predictably – Reform’s Nigel Farage and right-wing columnists’, such as the Daily Mail’s Sarah Vine, were rather more eager to proffer a “hug”, the better, you might say, to emphasize Starmer’s cool demeanour at the dispatch box where he seemingly failed to notice the anguish his Chancellor was in and provide a gesture of condolence.

Gamely, Reeves turned up for the launch of the government’s 10-year health plan for the NHS his morning, smiling alongside the Prime Minister with her hair freshly brushed and makeup restored. The cynical view is that her appearance was necessary to preserve her reputation with the markets and prevent Labour’s world from falling apart. After all, the last thing Reeves wants is to be remembered as the second woman after Liz Truss to spark a run on Treasury gilts.

For how much longer that carapace will remain in place is anyone’s guess. But for a moment on Wednesday, at least, she showed she was human. That is something the public will likely remember long after her tears have dried.