avowal, consent, token, word of honour

When I married my wife, some forty-six years ago, we married in Church. We married by exchanging vows before the symbols of God. Over our heads was an invisible sign which stated “Be still, and know that I am God”. We promised to love and honour each other all the days of our lives, until ‘Death do us part’. Implicit in this ceremony was to acknowledge the fact that we would be having a family, because marriage and the conception of children have been inextricably linked, both in and out of religious belief, for almost three millennia; from the earliest days of what has become to be known as civilized society. I do not look upon the past nearly half-century as anything other than a testament to my own good fortune, in meeting, courting and finally persuading my wife that we should marry. I knew, approximately ten seconds after we first met, that she was the one for me; and the delay in our marriage of nearly two years was mainly due to the fact that I left England to join my last ship for a thirteen-month trip some four weeks after we first met. We have seen great happiness, and also great sadness in the long years together, but my view is simple; we made a promise together, and I would be a poor imitation of a man if I ever broke that promise. 

So don’t ever let a set of mealy-mouthed politicians, who have joined with another, and larger set of scheming liberals and socialists equate the joy, the wonder, the sadness, the happiness and the hope of my marriage, along with millions of similar marriages; to the ‘union’ between two mincing queers as the same thing: because it is not, will not, and cannot be anything but a pale imitation of our promise that day, in that church; some forty-six years ago

Your voice…. Your vote

As we approach the day when we, as the people who are supposed to count; supposed to have been consulted; and supposed to be satisfied with the results of previous endeavours; finally have to chance to actually VOTE,  just pause for a second and ask yourself if you are indeed content with the ‘status quo’ of Local and indeed National Politics over the past few decades?

Because of decisions taken by a very few, we no longer hold control over much of our local assets, over how they are handled, or indeed mis-handled. We have seen large swathes of matters which used to be held under local control grabbed by Central Government; and indeed much of our Sovereign identity handed over to a bunch of bureaucrats in Brussels without so much as a murmur raised at the wholesale looting of the public purse which has been the result. One glaring example of the ‘Looting’ was seen as it emerged that my uncle died in Normandy, and my father served throughout 1939-45 whilst Great Britain, alongside its Allies, were fighting the European Civil War.

So go to the Council Election Polls tomorrow, and vote; but think well before casting that precious token. I would not dream of attempting to tell anyone how to vote, but just take a wry look back, and then attempt to reassure yourself that your vote has been well spent in years gone by. I shall be voting tomorrow, but not one of the candidates who stand behind any of the three main Parties’ banners shall get my vote. I shall be voting for any candidate brave enough to hold to an ‘Independent’ banner. We do not have a UKIP candidate in our local constituency, so the Independent Candidate shall get my vote.

But whether you take my advice, or listen to your own mind and experience, it does not matter which: as long as you go and vote, that is what men have fought, bled and died for; so that you can tread the boards into the booth, and choose!

“We who are living in the west today are fortunate. Freedom has been bequeathed to us. We have not had to carve it out of nothing; we have not had to pay for it with our lives. But it would be a grave mistake to think that freedom requires nothing of us. Each of us has to earn freedom anew in order to possess it. We do so not just for our own sake, but for the sake of our children, so that they may build a better future that will sustain over the world the responsibilities and blessings of freedom.”

Margaret Thatcher.

A final word, perhaps.

Taking full advantage, as one does, of modern technology I recorded the whole broadcast of the Baroness Thatcher funeral for two reasons; I was unable to be home for the first sector, and I wished a permanent reminder of the ceremony afforded my long-time political heroine. We are not often able to claim that we lived through a defining change in the history of this Nation of ours, but with those eleven years in which she bestrode the Westminster and indeed the World stages, I reckon that it is indeed a justified claim. She was a strange mix; a scientist, a deeply religious person, heavily involved in politics from a comparatively early age; and of course the largest handicap of all, for most people who have been involved in either local or national politics: she was, obviously, a woman.

Many people danced and sang as she was slowly carried onwards to Wren’s masterpiece for a final farewell, and they expressed hatred for both the woman and her politics, and I regard them with a quiet pity, mainly because it is obvious; to myself at least, that they refuse to simply take one step back, and view her policies, politics, actions and beliefs with a dispassionate gaze.

Yes, her economic policies and ‘who governs’ approach to the stranglehold held on the British economy by the Unions generated massive antipathy, but she was supported in her endeavours by the ordinary working-class voters who saw, in her and her approach to the ‘British disease’, possibly the only saviour of a once-proud Nation slowly sinking into decay. Remember, she won three General Elections in a row after winning the Tory leadership from a moribund crew of no-hopers who had not an original idea between them.

When she was told of the invasion of the Falkland Islands by the Argentinian General’s forces, her immediate response; after ensuring that the Armed Forces were ready and available, was to order a Taskforce south to re-establish the right of the Falklanders to choose their own Government; nothing more and nothing less. The rights of that issue can be tested by viewing the results of an Island-wide Referendum held on March 10-11 this year, where the replies were an overwhelming 99.8% in favour of remaining a British Overseas Territory.

In the decade of Thatcher’s domination of British politics, she oversaw changes to many things which we, today, consider normality. Imagine a country where, if you wanted a telephone with a private line, you went on a six-month waiting list; and if you simply agreed to a ‘party’ or shared line, you maybe got a phone after three months. Imagine a country where the majority of the trucks and cars were built by a State-run organisation; and most products were so badly made that the call went out, ‘please ensure my car is made on a Wednesday’. Also imagine a car industry virtually run by its Unions, with feather-bedding rampant, quality control non-existent, management useless; and where a delivery date was routinely scheduled ‘give-or-take a month’, due to the strikes which were routinely scheduled. Imagine a shipbuilding industry where the agreement and presence of eight different types of artisans had to be arranged before a single weld, hole or bolt could be made, burnt or tightened; and where a six-week strike was called over a disagreement as to which type of artisan plucked the string of a chalk line marking a steel plate.

We have maybe lost some of the fires which were lit in the heady days of Thatcherism, but we are considerably free-er in a thousand different ways. The world is different because of Baroness Thatcher, and we should be proud of her achievements. As I have noted before, she was not perfect; with her negotiations which became the Anglo-Irish Treaty, she began the disgraceful process which resulted in murderers and their lackeys sitting in Stormont; she pushed through acceptance of the Single European Act without understanding the implications of that devious document, which resulted in the various Treaties which have removed so much of our National Sovereignty  and handed to Brussels, but as a Leader, as a Conviction Politician and a Prime Minister, she was, simply, without peer!

Ah-hh-hhh; the price of everything, and the value of nothing!

I want to echo the rising chorus of complaint regarding the cost of the funeral of the late Baroness Thatcher. I think that, in these days of austerity, of cutting costs, of reducing deficits; of slashing Welfare benefits to the needy, the deprived, the disabled: to spend an estimated £10 millions of public money on the funeral of this ‘divisive politician’ was appalling.

Some claim that to spend such an amount of cash on the Security, the gathering of members of the Armed forces, the many aspects of this, the largest ceremonial funeral for a politician since Sir Winston Churchill was wrong amd indefensible.

 

Personally, I would have brought over the Red Arrows and the Battle of Britain Memorial flight; I would have marched the massed bands of the Guards, the Royal Marines, the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force along the whole route, and literally rubbed her very name into the noses of that sorry band of losers who ‘protested’ against the Nation’s salute to a truly Great Lady.

 

£10 Million?

I would have made it £20 Million, and every penny well spent!

 

Passports please.

Alongside most people who look upon the world from a right-wing perspective, I have always taken the BBC for what it is; which is an institution populated and dominated by Left-wing and creepily liberal minds, bound by Charter to be independent, but seeking always to inculcate its audience towards its own ‘common purpose’ mindset. But I have always also believed that some of the finest journalism and exposure documentaries have also made their way onto the BBC screens and airwaves, mainly because you cannot always keep the talent from making a solid programme. But I now feel that the BBC has not only overstepped the line in terms of deceit in  pursuit of a story, but also placed unsuspecting students in grave danger from the most oppressive regime in this world.

Allow me to explain. BBC Panorama producers were desperate to obtain good solid footage of life as it is ‘lived’ within the paradise which is the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. As all foreign reporters are barred from entering the People’s Paradise, they forged official documentation to state that John Sweeney and two colleagues were on the teaching staff of the London School of Economics, and so joined a students tour of DPRK organised by the LSE’s Grimshaw Club. During their stay in the dictatorship, Sweeney was continually called ‘Professor’ by the North Korean guides and military minders.

The BBC’s Sweeny writes of his experiences in the Mail today, and brushes away his lunacy with false documents by writing ‘North Korea doesn’t allow journalists here so I’m going in with a group of holidaymakers.’!

Just imagine what would have been the fate of the unsuspecting, and probably rather naive students from the LSE’s  Grimshaw Club if the regime had discovered that three of the party were actually engaged in making a documentary for BBC Panorama?

The empty benches!

Watching the tributes spoken within the Palace of Westminster as they were broadcast, the truths about the Labour Party, its whole approach to present history, its truly appalling attitude towards the late Lady Thatcher were laid bare. Over half of this collective group of time-serving slime couldn’t even abandon their vitriolic hatred of this dominant personality to the extent of turning up for the tribute she so rightly deserved; so that the empty green leather benches showed their disrespect for a Lady who had adorned to such purpose the same House which they did not enter today.

We watched with disgust as the morons danced drunkenly in celebration on the streets of Brixton and Glasgow yesterday, so typical of a belief system which defies all polite thinking when opposed by anyone who knew that they were wrong both in actions and beliefs. There may have been silence on the Opposition benches because the Labour MPs were absent, but that very silence was so noisy that it reverberated around the whole House. The small minds which represent so many Labour constituencies, by their absence, showed more about the fractious nature of these clowns than any acid speech which they may have spoken during this Tribute.

We were well served by the Lady during her time in office, just as we were betrayed by the jackals who attacked her and brought her down and voted against her in her own Party. Those same jackals whose voices are echoed by her enemies in the BBC, who of course consistently refer to this amazing Lady as being ‘divisive’. Rich indeed, those words coming from an organisation whose very Charter requires independence of thought; but that very independence is shaded and ignored as shown by the total lack of right-wing opinion and voice. They all seem to forget that to be ‘divisive’ requires two parties, and both parties should be heard from.

Lady Thatcher was that rare thing, a politician who believed that Her Country should be shown and led on the correct path, and all programmes, projects and policies should lead towards a better life for all of the inhabitants. She knew what she wanted; yes, she made mistakes both in policy and politics, but she made more progress towards the real freedoms than any of her predecessors or the inheritors of her Office.

It all depends what you mean by ‘odd’.

The Prime Minister has previously referred to UKIP members as “fruitcakes, loonies and closet racists”,

 

“There are some pretty odd people,” he said on the BBC’s Andrew Marr Show.

Eastleigh By-election results:-

• Mike Thornton (Liberal Democrat) 13,342
• Diane James (UKIP) 11,571
• Maria Hutchings (Conservative) 10,559
• John O’Farrell (Labour) 4,088
• Danny Stupple (Independent) 768

 

So there appear to be 11,571 Fruitcakes, Loonies, Closet Racists, and a whole lot of ‘Pretty Odd People’ within the Eastleigh Constituency, Mr. Cameron.

Do you still believe in your previous statements regarding the UKIP members and supporters?

Publish, and be Damned

I want to write about a man. A famous man. Alternatively, an infamous man. His name was Daniel Ellsberg, and he was the single source for the greatest story about lies, compounded felonies, corruption and treason this world has ever known about. But it is not the story, not the lies or the alleged treason, it is about the Law of a Nation; it is about the freedom of the Press; it is about courageous men and women who decided that ‘enough is enough’, that the phrase ‘publish and be damned’ was an American Institution.

Ellsberg was an American ‘Hawk’ as far as Vietnam was concerned, but in his job as an analyst for the Rand Corporation, in a huge military ‘think-tank’ with global reach and influence; he kept getting confused signals in regard to one statistic, which was ‘the body count’. The bodies counted, all of which were supposed to be dead Viet Cong, were a vital part of the American Military’s strategy to convince their ultimate pay-masters, the American people; that America was winning the war. Some say that the whole science of statistics is based on a computation of lies, and Ellsberg, unused to being puzzled, determined that the only way to figure out truth from fiction was to go to the battlefields of Vietnam, where Americans and, hopefully, the Viet Cong, were being killed. He stayed for over six months, being one of the very few ‘observers’ who actually did some observing, and came back to America convinced that America should never have entered the war on the side of the since-deposed and assassinated President Diem. But the trouble was he still believed that, although America was wrong to back a dictator, he also believed that America could ‘win’ this dirty, bloody war which was chopping Americans into bloody garbage which could only be transported back home in waterproof body-bags.

Then came the great revelation. He had heard through the Rand’s grapevine that there was a super-secret study, of America’s historical intent and involvement in the Far East, in existence, and discovers that his research and writing had been part of this document. Ellsberg persuaded his boss that he should be able to read the complete document, so as to study and best advise Rand, and thence the White House, regarding future strategic policies in the Vietnam area, and is amazed to learn that all 47 volumes, some 7,000 pages,are now stacked on his desktop. The only security requirement is that all the documents be secured in a high-security safe each night. He reads all through the ‘Pentagon Papers’ and discovers to his horror that the American people have been systematically lied to since 1945 by all the Presidents and Administrations, from Roosevelt & Truman onwards, through Eisenhower, Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson; regarding America’s intent, involvement and strategy in the Far East. In amongst the many hardly-believable sections of this massive document, comes the facts that Ho Chi Minh wrote some 15 letters to President Truman,simply stating that the Vietnamese simply wanted what had been agreed in the famous Atlantic Charter between Roosevelt and Churchill. That all peoples ruled by foreign powers should be free. The Vietnamese simply asked that Truman live up to those words, and help get the French, the Colonial Power before WW2, out of Vietnam. Ho Chi Minh was ignored, commenced guerilla warfare against the French, and the rest is history.

So after trying the legal route, which was attempting to discuss or broadcast the existence of the ‘Papers’ with everyone from Senator Fullbright, Foreign Relations Committee Chairman downwards, he embarked upon the perilous course of copying all 7,000-odd pages, collating and storing the copies of something which, if broadcast, could and would be regarded as treason; for the very simple reason that if he did not do this act, he would really be committing treason.

We all know the happenings which followed the publication of the Pentagon Papers by firstly the New York Times, and then the Washington Post. We know the treacherous behaviour of President Nixon’s staff, firstly to attempt to bar the publication of those damning documents by the ‘Times’ and then the ‘Post’, and when that track failed at the Supreme Court, they attempted to blacken Ellsberg’s character through knowledge gleaned from transcripts stolen from Ellsberg’s psychiatrist’s office during a break-in. Unfortunately for Nixon and his team, the bunch who stole Ellsberg’s papers also attempted to ‘bug’ the offices of the Democratic Party in the Watergate complex; the judge deemed Ellsberg’s basic rights had been fatally injured by the prosecution’s use of illegally-obtained personal documents, and all charges were dismissed.

The real reasons for this writing should now of course be obvious. Knowledge of activities which had never been declared to either the American people nor their elected representatives, and publication of those activities was not deemed to be an unlawful activity. This was stated to be part of the Constitution upon which the United States was formed, and ‘Freedom of the Press’ was confirmed as overriding any call for the truth, or indeed any part of that truth, to be either silenced or muzzled in any manner whatsoever.

 

Now transfer your minds across that same Atlantic which was named in the Charter, insert the words ‘Leveson Inquiry’, and see where you are lead!

So, am I offered Thirty-One?

One of the best definitions of Government is a body or group which dedicates itself to the defence of the Nation-State. In these troubled times, we hold a small standing Army, a very-much reduced Navy and a Royal Air Force which must be checked under a microscope to find its component parts. These three arms of the Services have been treated savagely by Labour, and much the same by the Conservatives; both in terms of funding of manpower and equipment, as well as in direction. We are an Island Nation. We depend upon free passage for our imports, as well as the ever-diminishing flow of exports from our harbours and ports. We have surrendered much of our Sovereignty to foreigners, and we, or rather the various bunches of lying thieves and vagabonds masquerading as politicians have not only decimated our capability to defend ourselves, they have arranged things so that those decimations are permanent.

One of the driving forces behind a good defence structure is the ability to provide fuel for your aircraft, for your ships; and of course for the various methods of transporting large numbers of soldiers into harms way, if that is what is deemed necessary. To depend upon others, to allow your very power and motive infrastructure to be controlled by someone other than a sworn officer, is to accept that your very core is capable of being compromised. If you cannot refuel your aircraft, if you cannot run your trucks, tanks or mobile artillery, if you cannot be certain that your warships can be refuelled ahead of all others in a queue; you have arranged for surrender without the purchase of a white flag.

So one can understand why the bunch of lying thieves who masquerade under the title of the Coalition Government have slipped out, well-hidden in the fairly small print of the Energy Bill, itself further evidence of that  sheer lunacy known as the Climate Change Act, the most expensive piece of legislation probably introduced in this country since the Welfare State; the proposed sale of the only hardware specifically designed to keep safe the means of refuelling all our Armed Forces , safe as in protected by both guns as well as Statute. The ConDoms are proposing to sell off the Ministry of Defence (MOD) held asset that supplies aviation fuel to military airbases in the UK, as well as a number of civilian airports.

This asset, known as the the Government Pipeline and Storage System (GPSS) was established to provide a secure oil distribution network for the United Kingdom at the beginning of World War Two in 1939. Over many years the pipeline route has been extended and amended until it now covers approximately 2,500 km of pipe and associated storage depots, pumping stations and other sites. The GPSS distributes about 40 per cent of the aviation fuel within the UK and is used to supply important commercial airports such as Heathrow and Gatwick, along with Royal Air Force (RAF) and United States Air Force bases in England and Scotland.

One presumes the price will be slightly in excess of the statutory Thirty Pieces of Silver, but not by much!

and the difference is?

In the present somewhat amateur attempts at mass assassination by the terrorists of Hamas, and the more qualified and targeted killing responses by the Israeli Air Force, I have noticed a somewhat telling similarity in the reporting of the conflict, not only from the entirely-predictable BBC (Israelis….really nasty, brutal and bad); and the Palestinians (noble, hard done-by and forlornly waging a war against a brutal oppressor): but also from such as Sky, CNN and others.

Let me tell you a story, and see if it sounds feasible!

You are living in a country which has been at war for over four years, your Nation’s leaders have made some really bad judgements, but there is still an overwhelming support for the war to be fought, and won. Your Armed forces, alongside your Allies, have crossed the narrow waters which separate your lands from the Occupied Continent; landed successfully along a broad beachhead, and have broken through heavy defences, and are making headway towards the enemy’s borders. Your Eastern Allies, who indeed have suffered more than any other are moving ever westwards, seeking revenge. The nightly raids, the incessant terror-bombing of your cities and towns, which destroyed so much, and killed so many, is now but a distant memory, because your Country’s bombers are heading outwards at night, along with your Allies’ bombers during the day.

You live in a quiet street in a West London suburb called Chiswick. You have heard the enemy bombers as they drone menacingly overhead, you know when to take cover, or hasten to the shelter areas. The air-raid sirens’ wail is still well-remembered, and your relatives have drilled it into your head that any warning is better than none at all. So you are as relaxed as is possible, as there are no alarms, or warning noises, or indeed official broadcasts or warnings. You have no warning before being blown into smithereens, along with two others, together with 22 injured; the explosion also demolishes 11 houses, and seriously damages a further 22. The crater measures 30 feet across, and is 8 foot deep. You are the first victims of the V2 ballstic missile, the V standing for  Verwaltungswaffen, or retaliation weapon. Boosted by a sixty-five-second explosive burn from an rocket engine, the V2 soared some fifty miles into the stratosphere in a parabolic arc which ended with the detonation of just under a ton of explosives upon impact. There was no defence, as the missile was faster than the speed of sound; no defence, as radar could not possibly interrogate the path of this terror weaponry. If your Nations’ main enemy can manufacture enough missiles, they can strike anywhere. The only means of retaliation is to destroy the means of missile production.

If Hamas gets a new delivery of more sophisticated Iranian weaponry, Tel Aviv and Jerusalem will come under daily bombardment, despite Jerusalem being the third holiest place for all Muslims.

Is Israel willing to move? Is Hamas suicidal enough to continue encouraging their rocket attacks on Israel?

Place your bets!

All Hail the 25th Amendment!

 

I wonder how much guilt the various Irish politicians feel when they read of the death of a woman whom they condemned to death by a combination of inertia, superstition and ignorance?

I doubt very much if Enda Kenny feels anything more than a momentary annoyance at the stupidity of a woman who held the belief that she was in a country which would protect her against that same ignorance, superstition and inertia, but there again, she must have forgotten she was in a country which just doesn’t care!

Tell it like it is.

I am a member of the Tell the Telegraph community, and I thought I would copy my response to a panel query on when a poppy symbol should appear on the website:-

The topic under debate is one of when the Royal British Legion Poppy symbol should be shown on the Telegraph masthead. Surely the more appropriate debate should be centred around the tragic loss of lives in that dusty hell-hole commonly known as Afghanistan; and perhaps more importantly a discussion of the possible fate of all the politicians who sent, and continue to send, British Services personnel into harms way in order to establish a ‘Democratic State’ in Afghanistan.

The other ‘purpose’ of this multi-billion pound endeavour is alleged to be ‘keeping us safer here at home’ because of the sacrifices of those bright shining spirits in the drug- and blood-soaked sands of Afghanistan. The sheer lunacy of even believing in the very idea of a ‘democratic Government’ in Afghanistan should give all sensible people a pause for thought.

We tried it, to govern Afghanistan that is, over a century ago, and we eventually scurried out over the bodies of the sixteen-odd thousand British members of the column from Jalalabad. We went in again, time after time, to prevent influence from France, from Russia, and it got us absolutely nowhere.

We should have taken to heart the warning of the latest Russian occupation which was to support their Afghan proxy, an occupation which was total, brutal and unswerving, but which eventually came to nothing after the Mujahideen gained superiority through the advent of the Stinger missile supplied by America. Was the NATO-led invasion justified after 9/11? Most certainly yes, but instead of ‘nation-building’ by force, which has ever been a fruitless exercise wherever it been tried, we should have handed over to the Afghanis, told then that the next time the West would be coming, we would be coming to make their ‘country’ a smoking radio-active car-park, and to mind their manners; and then left.

Western politicians have yet to learn that you cannot make a Nation out of ten thousand villages, soaked in the beliefs of muslim autocracy. But we saw Bush, and Blair, and all the other guilty parties, including the fool John Reid, with his forever-remembered ‘British Forces could leave Afghanistan without a shot being fired’, prate, and parade, and posture.

We saw them line up beside the Cenotaph, with their wreaths of poppies, while not understanding that what they had signed the British Army up to achieve was just unachievable. And let us not forget that none of these posturing, primping princes of political thought have ever served one single day in uniform, of any colour or rank, at all.

We do not retain, in Britain, the ability to legally kill someone who has committed treason, but I for one would sign any petition to restore such a power, and then the first ones to be tried would be every politician, of any Party, who has expressed the slightest desire to extend, for one second, our presence in the corrupt stagnant pool of drugs, grand-scale larceny and murder which is the alleged country named Afghanistan.

to form a more perfect Union!

The usual uproar surrounding the very word ‘Abortion’ commenced about five milli-seconds after the announcement that Marie Stopes was opening an abortion clinic in Belfast.

Firstly, I would like to clarify my own position on this extremely touchy subject, which is that whilst I dearly wish the mothers-to-be would not seek to terminate the new life which is inside their bodies, I hold the belief that their bodies are their own to control, and if they wish to terminate that unborn life, so be it! My reasoning has nothing to do with any religion, or indeed a belief stemming from any religion; it is just that if that future child is indeed unwanted by its mother, a life which is begun in hate, rejection and loathing bodes badly for that life.

I listened to the voice of Jim Allister this morning as he placed his views on record that the proposed Clinic has no place in Northern Ireland because of the Province’s culture, and this is maybe where I part company with Mr. Allister, partly because of the many statements by the T.U.V. which encourage ever closer links and ties with the mainland of the British Isles. I would say to Mr. Allister that you cannot pick and choose which parts of the United Kingdom’s Laws should be held to a higher standard in Northern Ireland than on the mainland. Abortion is a fact of life in England, Wales and Scotland, why should there be any difference in the Province of Northern Ireland? The Law is more strictly controlled in Northern Ireland, is much more restrictive, and the question which should be asked is simply ‘Why is Northern Ireland so special?’ Is life, or future life, looked upon as more precious than in, say, London, Bristol or Arbroath? I would also ask Mr. Allister if he likes being of one mind with Sinn Fein on this, or any issue of individual judgement or morality?

I am a great believer in having one set of laws for everyone, with no special dispensation or caveats for ‘certain areas, cultures or creeds’. If we all have to obey the same Law, then the same facilities, legal and lawful, should be available to all the Subjects of the Crown, wherever that Rule pertains!

An alternate view of that Report!

In the earlier part of my life, whilst I lived in England, I used to hold the Police as, generally, a friend. My support for the Police has decreased over the years as they have steadily become more and more politicised and political; in their structure, their controlling philosophies, their attitude towards civil liberties and the Rule of Law. It is a fact that the vast majority of law-abiding British people accept the Police, but don’t really trust them. The failures of Policing over the past thirty years are both well-known and substantial, and many of these failings stem from a grasping of the ‘politically-correct’ attitude at all times. But some of the failures are also known because they literally tried too hard, knowing that the accused were guilty, and therefore attempting to gild that same lily with evidence not manufactured but ‘embellished’.

But after going through the ‘Report’ from the ‘Independent Panel’ ( and you can well believe that the title was given them by the last Labour Government without a single blush), I can see that the Police are being hung out to dry. I did not listen to the nauseating self-justification of the Bishop of Liverpool on the BBC this morning, but I would lay good odds on the inclusion of the phrases ‘Justice for the families’, as well as the well-worn words of ‘the truth finally emerging’ about the deaths of 96 football fans at the Hillsborough ground those 23 years ago.

These questions, after the production of this truly self-serving and nauseatingly-righteous report, should be asked:-

What was the common identity of the clowns who massed against the fences, crowding so much that a mounted policeman on his horse felt unable to move? Answer…Liverpool ‘fans’.

The layout of the fencing and manner of static control within the ground had been made necessary by much previous riotous and threatening behaviour by whom?  Answer………..Football club ‘fans’ of all shirt colours and hues, whose behaviour could best be described as animalistic.

What was the mass identity of the crowd who literally tried to smash the fencing around the entry gates?                Answer……….Liverpool ‘fans’.

Did the ‘alterations’ of police and witness statements provide evidence that any one of those people who died that day could have been saved?  Answer………Probably not!

Did the actions of a panicked senior policeman by ordering the opening of the access gates contribute to the crowd packing into the tunnel?  Possibly yes, but the police were simply outnumbered by an aggressive, booze-fuelled crowd of Liverpool ‘fans’.

What has been the driving force behind the eternal call by the ‘victims families’ for a re-opening of Inquiries etc.   Was it Justice? Was it that the truth finally come out? Was it revenge on a Police Force which, they believed, contributed to the deaths of those ninety-six people?

Or was it just for the Money?

A very personal view of a very personal problem

When one trawls through the website of Plymouth College, the first thing which catches your eye is the news that this Independent School had four pupils competing in the Olympics, one of whom, Ruta Meilutyte, won Gold for Lithuania; and another was a certain Tom Daley, winning a Bronze Medal for the United Kingdom. The website, however, does not delve deeply into the history behind Tom’s presence at Plymouth, nor of the deeply-personal bullying he experienced at his previous school Eggbucklands ‘Community College’, where he was threatened with having his legs broken, primarily because he was well-known as a diver and athlete. I have to admit that I watched the progress of the diving contest at the Olympics, as I was mildly interested in the progress of the British representative, Tom Daley; mainly because of the fact that this young man overcame the bullies, and went on to win a Medal.

The very concept of bullying is the domination of the weak by the more powerful. In the terms understood by millions of kids, it is the imposition of a deliberate terror for the sheer gratification of the larger or more aggressive person who wants, above all, to dominate and to terrorize. The attitude of the British education authorities in modern times is worrying in the extreme, as they insist that the perpetrators of the bullying be “talked to”, and “counseled”, and that all concerned must “understand” that bullying is wrong!

When I was a youngster in an English grammar school, I was smaller in stature than most of my school class being only four foot ten inches tall when I was fourteen; growing to five foot ten by the age of eighteen, as I received my growth later in life than most. So the ATW reader might understand that I was a natural target not, as one might guess, for my fellow classmates, but for a minority of the teachers, as they surmised I was less likely to answer back. I was regularly humiliated in front of the class, and also subjected to a denigrating regime of minor physical abuse. This abuse culminated in my being knocked unconscious because I opened my desk before the teacher had left the classroom, thus “insulting” the teacher in question! He jumped back across the classroom, caught me with the side of his hand and knocked me clean out of my seat and crashing into a cupboard door at the side of the room! I was unconscious for maybe two or three minutes. The form master was informed, but apart from establishing that I could walk and talk when I regained consciousness, nothing much was done! The reader must understand that, as there were very few limits on this side of the teachers’ activities, they tended to express themselves physically rather than verbally!

My travails were ended very shortly afterwards when my father, who learned of my problems at school, visited the school and came to my class when this teacher was present. My Dad, who was not that tall, but was well-built and extremely strong, just caught the teacher’s tie and pulled his head down level with my Dad’s; and explained that if he (the teacher) ever hit me again, there would be immediate and violent retribution! No histrionics, no attempt to “understand”, just a solid promise that the teacher in question would regret ever laying either a word or a fist upon his son again! Needless to say, for the rest of my time at school, I was left severely alone.

At one time in my engineering career, I was in charge of an installation project on a South African gold mine, and I used to travel down with the rest in the shaft cages to the six thousand feet level. One of the men travelling with us was an Afrikaner, an immensely strong man and an ex-wrestler. A man of limited intelligence, he used to amuse himself by grabbing his victim from behind, and squeezing their chests between his arms. As one of his victims was a friend of mine, a small wiry Welshman who really was in pain from this Neanderthal attack, I moved up, told this clown to stop and “Pick on someone his own size, strength and mental capacity!” He stopped his attack, only to become semi-hysterical with anger at some ‘Redneck Englishman’ who dared to tell him what to do, and that he would smash me into the dust of the shaft entrance, as we were now out of the cage.

I faced him, and said quietly that he might well beat me down, but I would break him in civil court, I would break him in criminal court, and that he would never work down a goldmine again! He backed away, but was in tears of anger and frustration as his friends led him away, To the best of my knowledge, he never assaulted anyone in “fun” again!

My stance regarding bullies and bullying is plain; the only thing which bullies respect is physical violence, and the stronger the retaliation, the better! All bullies are cowards, and it is only by facing down a bully, whether it be a single schoolboy armed with his fists, or a country armed with sophisticated weaponry, that they will realize that they are faced  with superior force and the will to use that force, and will cease their depredations!

..Because their lips are moving!

It is a certain truth that, in order to guarantee failure to a project, an idea or even a belief; one must import the voices of politicians who wish to place their ownership of aforementioned idea firmly before the public (and of course, voters) gaze.

If anyone believes that they can jump higher, run faster, row more vigorously than their fellow athletes, they will have had that belief for a long time. Some might even state that the impetus to do better is in their genetic make-up. Speaking purely personally, I don’t believe I have a competitive molecule in my entire D.N.A system, and whilst many might try to compete in a multitude of endeavours, without the basic genetic make-up which pushes them further than mere mortals; I just don’t comprehend that drive at all. In short, Sport, and sporting endeavours, and more exactly watching sports, bores me stiff. But I can understand that I am in a miniscule minority, especially when it comes to major sporting activities such as the Olympics.

My late brother, who was himself the sports fanatic in our household, said as much one day after he asked me if I had watched some (to him) very important World Cup match. When I replied that I had in fact been watching a documentary on the African Fish Eagle, his reply was to the effect that ‘I had no soul’!  But that’s just me!

However, I commenced this small diatribe with regard to politicians trying to muscle in on anything which they believe will give them leverage, or votes, or both. So it is with all the tiny-minded so-called  leaders, or would-be leaders, of our various political parties. We watch as Mr. Slippery himself, our unlamented Prime Minister, welcomes the victorious Mohammed Farah into his ‘hunger summit’ in Downing Street. As I have never met M. Farah, nor am I likely to, all I could give him are these words of warning when he listens to David Cameron; ‘Always get everything down in writing; every promise, every theory, every extravagant guarantee; whether it be about sport in general, or the supposed hunger in the Sahel region of Africa’. Then, when disappointment arises, as surely it will, because all politicians use people, and then discard them if they are inconvenient, he can point to the words he wrote down when those extravagant promises were made; and be able to call our slippery Prime Minister a liar to his face. Next we watch Ed Miliband as he makes a complete fool of himself next to two students as he prepared to lie to several thousand voters in Corby. Someone should have reminded our Ed that that type of gesture is frowned upon by the Party he professes to lead. And of course there is Nick Clegg, who has won new praise for winning the title, against strong opposition; of Britain’s most Untrustworthy Political Leader.

As with athletics, or rowing, or any other of the multitude of sports highlit in the past fortnight, I hope to remind you, dear reader, that they are only in politicians’ eyes, because of the hope that some of the glory, or the soundness of the individual athlete’s campaigns, rubs off onto the shoulders of the politician in question. Having watched with a cynical eye for many years the antics of our political class as they once more prove that, as a class, they are amongst the most untrustworthy in the Universe, I trust that all of our athletes come away from the brief encounters with politicians whilst using the same gesture; which of course is wiping their hands to get rid of the slime!

G.D.K.P; P.K.P.!

My favourite film actor is Charlton Heston, with possibly Clint Eastwood and Orson Welles coming joint seconds. In his field of excellence, few can compare with Charlton for both the range of roles he played, and the emotions he passed across the screen to the viewers. But, as with many movie heroes, he has a favourite subject; and for Mr. Heston, his is on the subject of Gun Control. Who has not seen the famous clip where he brandishes a rifle whilst declaiming, “From my cold, dead hand!”? If he had not waved that weapon around whilst making his speech of defiance, he might, just might, have made a few more converts to the cause of the defence of the Second Amendment. These days of course, speeches such as that one are classified as ‘Top Spin’, and filed away in memory as the time when Mr. Heston came down a bit in some fans’ expectations.

From about five milliseconds after the news of the Colorado cinema ‘Batman’ shootings took place, the ‘Spin’ merchants commenced selling their bullshit across the radio waves, the web pages and the print pages of the West. Its all too obvious that the great stress placed upon the ‘facts’ that both guns and the enormous quantity of ammunition were ‘legally purchased’, is being targeted to a single goal, and that goal is the smallest chink in the so-far impenetrable wall placed around America’s Second Amendment.

The whole realm of liberal and anti-gun thinkers and legislators must be having wet dreams on the hour and every hour at the very thought of launching yet another attack upon the one American ideal which has proved impenetrable to their wheeling-dealing and blandishment; namely the right of every American, providing he has obeyed the Law, and has no warrants outstanding, to arrange the purchase and delivery of enough portable hardware to commence a private war on his neighbours.

I carried a revolver for around ten years, during the time I spent in South Africa, but once we returned to England I had no need, primarily because we live in a Society which, for the greater part, was crime- and violence-free.  Apart from Cloud-Cuckoo Land, which of course is otherwise known as Northern Ireland, the general population had no need to routinely check who is either knocking on their doors, or following them down the street; because we obey the Law. Not so much these days, partly because the police themselves have become so politicised that many believe that Justice is reserved for Guardian readers! (But I digress). I carried a gun because I lived in a truly violent country, where life was cheap, and I was fairly certain that my life, as well as my family’s life and well-being, ranged much higher than some scum who thought he deserved my money or my possessions.

Consider the following tale, and then make your mind up about how dangerous life was in South Africa. My friend’s wife ran a bakery in Cape Town, and the staff all had to travel very early to commence work on time. This particular staff lady, on a Saturday, had to catch two buses, with a walk through an overgrown area of scrubland between the two buses. It was dawn, and she walked as briskly as possible, because the area was known to be dangerous. She came into a small clearing, and she saw maybe four or five young men leaning up against trees. She marched bravely towards them, and called out ‘”Morning” in Afrikaans. As one, the young men replied, “Morning, Mother,” and she passed by safely. Some ten minutes later, another early-morning worker walked into that same clearing, and lost his life as he was stabbed some ten times over a total of Fifty Cents from his pocket!

Don’t tell me what I have to do to protect mine, and I won’t tell you what to do to protect yours.

Enemy Coast Ahead!

As I am a proud child of the Second World War, I take great solace in the unveiling, in two days time, of the long-overdue Salute to the 55, 573 members of R.A.F. Bomber Command who did not live to return, with the unveiling of the Memorial in Green Park. As an Englishman, I care nothing for the calls and speeches which attempt to denigrate the sacrifice of those young lives whilst serving their Country as foolish, spiteful and even inhuman. We sent those men and boys out for a purpose, to kill the enemy, and to destroy the Nazi war machine, the support structures and the Nazi supporters. The same supporters, never forget, who cheered and saluted their great Fuhrer in the innumerable rallies and marches where that same Adolf Hitler had so foolishly promised that their Third Reich would last for a thousand years.

Winston Churchill, in one of the very few of his actions which deserve censure, pointedly omitted any mention of the sacrifice of the thousands of lives lost by Bomber Command during the War, seemingly motivated by the speeches and writings of the ‘Chattering Classes’, of the Liberals and the Churchmen who just thought we mustn’t be nasty to the people who, just a few short years before, had attempted to annihilate whole cities in the United Kingdom with the very same means as they now denigrated. Ask the people of Coventry if retribution should be stayed, because a particular city was less than useful to the German war effort, and hear their responses. Ask the people who lived through the bombs which hit Jarrow, Liverpool, Birmingham and dozens of other ‘targets of opportunity’ of the Luftwaffe why we should perhaps not have bombed a single place in Germany? I know what their answer would be. Why didn’t we drop more bombs, more often; in memory of those who died, and of the sacrifice of innocents like the 600 who died in a single attack on a school in London’s East End.

Salute to the men who flew, those who died; and those who came back, exhausted. Salute to the men who guided them, who serviced and repaired those Lancasters and Halifaxes, and watched as they began to roll down those runways, heavy with death for the enemy.

 

Acknowledgement to the BBMF and Bomber Command Memorial Appeal

Olympics Ahoy!

I glanced at the latest Internet craze, which is NeverSeconds, a Blog from a young schoolgirl who lives in Argyll. Seems that this enterprising young lady had decided to become a journalist, and therefore thought she needed writing practice; so wrote about her school dinners, including photographs. Her initial efforts were seen by a few, then more, until her photos of soggy croquettes and a stodgy piece of pizza went viral around the world. An unfortunate juxtaposition of a headline alongside a photo of young Martha caused the Council to ban her taking photographs of her food on School property. The reverse came within twenty-four hours as a torrent of abuse and comment landed foursquare on top of the Council.

So, all’s well that ends well? Not really, because I read some of Martha Payne’s blog postings, and you can see, within one small section of that unspoilt young lady’s prose, an underlying fear of the dead hand of officialdom, of legalistic bully-boys, of an autocratic elite who uses the Law to defend what they believe is theirs to control. She was maybe guided to write the words which she wrote by an adult, such as a teacher or her father, but the facts remain, she qualified her writing to avoid the possibility of upsetting or offending a group which should, in my own opinion, should not even be in existence.

The line which young Martha wrote, including the title was :-

Mini Olimpicz

If you think I have spelt Olympics wrong I haven’t! The word Olympics is copyrighted so the school would get a fine if we used it.

 I rest my case!

I’d like to see them try and shut me up!

Author Mike Cunningham states he does not support Olympics 2o12!

Author Mike Cunningham states he does not approve of London 2012 Olympics

Author Mike Cunningham is proposing alternatives to the 2012 Games in the form of extended paint-drying watching, or sitting watching old films.

And where did you say they came from?

One of the foremost pivotal points in the history of Great Britain was the semi-miraculous recovery of 338,226 British and Free French soldiers from the beaches, moles and bombed and smoking piers of Dunkirk harbour in late May and early June 1940 . The leaders of a stricken Britain had attempted, hopelessly they thought; to rescue the shattered remnants of a beaten British Expeditionary Force  before they were either killed or made prisoner of the Nazi Wehrmacht. Under orders, two French Divisions remained behind to cover the evacuation, they were all either taken prisoner or killed. The hundreds of small ships, cabin cruisers, skiffs, launches, even a lumbering Thames barge, they were all marshalled by the Royal Navy; some came crewed by owners, many had volunteers at their helms. They came from all over, they motored across the Channel, guided by the larger

The soldiers, those tens of thousands of desperate men of a beaten B.E.F., saw a strange sight as they climbed over the Dunkirk dunes. They saw long lines of patient soldiers which stretched out over the shallow waters, ending at a point which was established by the simple measurement of how deep a man’s body could be immersed in water before he lost his footing and floated away. There the small ships sailed in, loaded their human cargo, most of whom still carried their weaponry, which was then ferried out to the larger ships which stood in deeper water. When they were loaded, the larger ships headed for Dover and freedom, the ‘Small Ships’ returned to find more and ever more from those long, wet, patient lines of soldiers. Destroyers came to moor at the harbour piers to rescue even more of those men who thought that they had been forgotten, some of those same destroyers were sunk by German bombs, but more survived and made that perilous trip. The ‘Small Ships’ made history in those nine days; nine days which transformed a defeat into the strangest of victories. Some of those same ‘Small Ships’ were themselves destroyed, but most made it back to England’s shores, the same as those soldiers;  to fight again and eventually to hear the solemn words of victory after the signing of the Surrender documents at Luneberg Heath.

Strange, is it not, that not one of the Celebrities and Staff Announcers alike, of the BBC coverage of the Jubilee Pageant, could not even remember what these ‘Small Ships’ achieved when Her Majesty was still a young woman; could not even remember what they had done! Jubilee ‘sick bags’? Yes; but the true Heroines of Dunkirk? Never a sound!

Empty bedrooms; or Empty Heads?

Some time ago, I posted upon the fatuous and puerile suggestion, made by an alleged ‘Tory’ Housing Minister, Grant Shapps, that the Government was proposing that ‘the elderly’ amongst us, who live and have lived in large houses, should be ‘encouraged’ to give up their homes, which of course come with lots of empty bedroom space; so that the ‘underprivileged’ amongst us might gain access to those same large houses and all those empty bedrooms.

Notice the calls by Community Secretary Eric Pickles that ‘Granny Flats’ should be freed from Council Tax so that self-contained ‘annexes’ could be filled by elderly relatives (who are of course literally begging to move in with their reluctant families), and the then-empty houses could be either re-let to the ‘hordes’, or sold off to the newly-buoyant property market?

To my cynical mind, Labour’s Hilary Benn has got it about half right by stating that it is all Tory ‘spin’, as Granny Flats are exempt from Council Tax anyway, if the occupant is over sixty-five, but I fear that this announcement is yet another step along the winding road towards ‘Compulsory Purchase’ of large homes from single people whose only crime is that they have lived longer than their dead husband or wife!

Call themselves F****ing Tories! They all need a short dose of Mme DeFarge’s medicine, and I would volunteer my services to sharpen the blade!

Eve; not Steve

The heading to this post is taken from a man/community/nation with whom I have a great deal of affection, namely Middle America. He was being interviewed, ‘vox pop’ style for t.v. news, about the statement made by his President on the subject of ‘gay’ marriage, or to place it in its rightful context, Homosexual Marriage. He stood firm when asked the question, baseball cap pushed back on his head, grizzled and slightly greying, and replied “God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!” I personally have never heard that statement before, although one presumes it was not coined that morning. His stance reminded me, an elderly Englishman, of only one other time when America, and all who lived there, were so comprehensively misunderstood. That time was when the Japanese military began preparations for war, and they didn’t even consider America to be even a threat on their horizon. Once the Pacific Fleet was destroyed, the mongrel nation America would see sense, fold their cards and leave the game; so ran the thoughts of the politicians/military ‘geniuses’ who planned Pearl Harbour. The massive fleets which darkened the seas, which absorbed the ‘kamikazes’ without flinching; the sheer, overwhelming military might of the greatest industrial nation the world had ever seen gave those ‘geniuses’ their answer.

Just two steps behind Prime Minister Cameron stands the awful Lynne Featherstone, Minister for so-called Equalities. One presumes that she is tearing handfuls of blankets apart after the silent revolt against homosexual marriage, orchestrated by senior Tories, Churchmen and ordinary Tories who were just plain ‘fed up’ with the ‘on message’ stance of their leader; and hit Cameron and his Coalition with a broadside which rocked Downing Street because they were so completely unprepared for it. Here was trendy Dave, trying to tell the electorate that he sympathised with a tiny handful of weirdies who couldn’t understand why they still felt ‘apart’ from life, and who also demanded the ‘right’ to marry; as if the repeal of that last legal barrier would provide ‘completion’ or ‘fulfilment’, or whatever buzz-word turns the bent crowd on these days, and his Party turned around and stated, ‘Enough’!

True, the ‘Gay marriage’ bit is being quietly shelved, and the Lib-Dems are being told to ‘shut it’, but have you ever considered what will happen when the sheep, who have never ever lifted their eyes higher than ‘Eastenders’ or ‘Coronation Street’; whose lives are complete now they are watching ‘Britain’s got Talent’ or some equally soulless show on another t.v. channel, whose children comprise the feral and the fearless; ever consider what happens when they will vote massively for Labour because they dislike the reality which is the core behind the Coalition? You will see Harriet Harman, even worse in my mind’s eye than Featherstone could ever be, standing at the Despatch Box pushing that same ‘Homosexual Marriage’ agenda through with a majority which doesn’t need Lynne to bolster it.

Update:-

Following from the post in Cranmer, I too am reproducing the advert,

just in case someone is not offended!

Dear Advertising Standards Authority; please, please; just PISS OFF!

 

“The noise, dear boy; and the people!”

The noise, of death and destruction; the people, who were annihilated or who fought to prevent such annihilation, were prevalent all over the world in the years 1939-1945: because those were the years of possibly the greatest test of true democracy ever envisaged.

To use the words of King George the 6th “ but we can only do the right as we see the right, “. We in the British Isles, along with France, declared war on Nazi Germany, on Italy and later on, of course, on Japan. One of our allies was of course Stalin’s Russia, the Nation who perhaps suffered most both at the hands of the Nazis as well as at the hands, or rather the bayonets, of Stalin’s ruthless rule.

For six years, war tore apart Europe, large portions of Africa and the Far East; millions died in the cause of defeating the Axis of Nazi Germany, Italy and Japan. The oceans of the world were darkened with the oil and blood of sinking ships and dying men; the air was filled with the noise of aircraft, bullets and shells.

But you won’t see or hear much about this titanic struggle if you visit the House of European History in Brussels.

Strange, but true!

Updated.

Most people of my age simply do not know that we actually fought in the European Civil War during 1939-1945!

The ‘Real’ Jubilee Speech from Her Majesty

To my Loyal Lords and Commons, Greetings on this day which is to celebrate my Jubilee.

I was invited to address you upon the unveiling of the window which is draped behind me, the same window which was funded by both My Houses of Parliament.

As this is indeed a special day, We thought that, instead of issuing the usual platitudes which I have been handed to read as in times past, We thought that it might be a treat for my many millions of British subjects to hear my speaking a few home truths to the people who have been entrusted with the Governing of my Kingdom.

We find that we have been betrayed by a succession of, We hesitate to use the term ‘Governments’, as the last thing which has been done in Our Name is governing. Beginning with the traitor Heath, who lied, lied and lied again to achieve his goal of membership of the European Common Market, and moving on from that tragedy. Our Sovereignty was diminished from that day, and the effects of this traitor’s actions, as the decades have proven, have proved to be truly disastrous for the British Isles and for this United Kingdom.

That succeeding Governments, of both Conservative and Labour Parties, have both continued and increased the levels of intrusive and totally-undemocratic intrusion in British affairs by the cancerous and totalitarian European Union, to such an extent that there is hardly anything left that My Government can achieve without reference to their political masters in Brussels.

It is true that a very few of the politicians who served in Government were against further involvement in the machinations of the Brussels elite, but even the best of my Prime Ministers, my good friend Baroness Margaret Thatcher did little to defend My Realm against the remorseless advance of the ‘Colleagues’ from the organisation which an acquaintance has titled the E.U.S.S.R. Perhaps she spoke truly when she stated that she had been misled over the true effects of the Single European Act, but unfortunately the Act was placed before Me, and We had to sign it, because it was a lawful piece of legislation from My Parliament.

But the most significant damage to My Realm was achieved under the governance of the traitor Blair, under whose hand and rule came forth the damaging legislation of Devolution, and now We see the results, as the demagogues have snatched the majority in Edinburgh, and are threatening the dissolution of the United Kingdom. We have also seen the lunacies perpetrated by the inclusion of a foreign Court as arbiter in our own judicial system, the slow strangling of our remaining industries under the dead hand of a Brussels bureaucracy which never, ever forgets; not forgetting the strange sights of terrorists, murderers and rapists allowed to stay in these lands because their ‘rights’ might be damaged if they were deported.

We also had to sit and watch as the same murderous scum who murdered my wonderful uncle were welcomed into the devolved Assembly of Northern Ireland, and We were forced to welcome their representatives into our own House of Commons, instead of watching happily as they were swung high from gibbets.

We, as the Constitutional Monarch, had to watch as the Labour Government altered the whole nature of many of our towns and cities with the importation of millions of foreigners under the guise of immigration rules which did nothing but dilute and destroy the very essence of what it is to be British. They have given passports to any who asked, and to many who did not deserve; but the greatest crime is the importation of a whole bloc of adherents to a religion which despises the very freedoms which We have espoused and welcomed.

Our Governments have sat and betrayed our Armed Forces, by both action and inaction. They have left our servicemen and women without protection from danger by the purchase and distribution of ineffective armoured vehicles when what was needed was available but totally ignored. The Royal Navy, once the most effective and feared in the world, has been reduced to little more than a coastal defence force, and for not a large length of coast either. Through the machinations of an overpaid clique of so-called civil servants masquerading in the Ministry of Defence, Our Air Force has been sliced almost to the bone, with aircraft worth billions sent to the scrap[yard before even being flown in anger.

We have watched in quiet horror as a succession of illiberal Laws have passed across our palace desk awaiting My signature, a signature which was written but grudgingly, and under a mute protest. We watched as a Labour Government wasted billions on computerised projects which could and would never have worked, as well as divining Laws which would reduce the freedoms evolved and enjoyed over many centuries. We also watched as this present so-called Coalition Government also took steps to reduce those same freedoms, all in the sacred name of ‘security’.

In ending this short speech, I would like to thank the caterers for the food and drinks provided for the reception which preceded this event, but regret that they are based in South-Eastern Romania. This last is of course because my Houses of Parliament have to comply with E.U. requirements that all such events be sent to tender in all member nations of the European Union. The food itself was unremarkable, but somehow I do not feel that the Romanian catering company fully understands what a ‘Cucumber sandwich’ actually represents to any Briton, in that We always wish to see the cucumbers sliced.