Tuesday 3 March 2015

On England

After much deep thinkings I have come to the conclusion that England is now nothing more than a collection of noble notions which exist only in the half-remembered past. Did I really grow up in the land that invented fairness and tolerance, the stoic endurance of hardship, make-do-and-mend and leaping to the defence of the underdog? Or was the propaganda so good that the Albion we were brought up on half a century and more ago was a mere figment of the fevered imagination of several hundred years’ worth of deluded historians, writers and thinkers?

Whether by the over-writing of that glorious history by the Marxist destroyers of inconvenient facts, or by the constant erosion of shared values in favour of a loose collection of un-earned entitlements, that land, real or otherwise, is lost. English, British values are no longer prized and the upcoming generations are being force-fed a utopic vision of a federal super state which will deny them the freedoms that forebears so vigorously contested. Theirs will be a future bland in substance but dazzling in ubiquitous, mind-dulling technologies; the machines are winning after all.

I’m not really angry; more disappointed. The promises of a future worth having are now torn up and thrown away, but there’s no point in getting angry – the time for that is gone. Better, I think, to hang on to one of those lost English values of stoicism, bide my time and time my exit. Yes, I can kick up a fuss, if the occasion warrants, but ultimately it is easier to absorb the slings and arrows and make the decision to rise above them. I do get exercised about the loss of the country I used to belong to and that used to belong to me but I realise that in the end England is really just a piece of land I have to share with millions of others who are increasingly not like me at all.

The young? I never liked them. Foreigners? Not that I dislike them for their origins, far from it; I applaud those who uproot and travel to better themselves, but why should I personally attempt to accommodate those who have no understanding of or allegiance to the scrap of land I used to think of as England? The old? I never understood the old and now I’m nearing old myself I still see nothing I have in common with them. Life can brutalise a man, but not me. I‘m no brute. True I need little in the way of comfort but that is simple resilience, not lack of sophistication. I’ve seen sophistication and comfort and idleness and I’m not sure I want much to do with it.

Cry God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
'Urry up 'Arry!

I still have things I want to do but if I want to try and do them while living in the UK I have to work seven days a week to merely stand still financially. So in the end I shall leave it behind without much of a backward glance. I can take my insular English self-reliance with me and I can retire elsewhere in the world. My land may have been forfeit to the forces of political correctness and uncommon sensibilities, but I can take England, my England wherever I roam.


  1. "How Soon Hath Time..." x.

    How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
    Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year!
    My hasting days fly on wtih full career,
    But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
    Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
    That I to manhood am arrived so near,
    And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
    That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
    Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
    It shall be still in strictest measure even
    To that same lot, however mean or high,
    Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
    All is, if I have grace to use it so,
    As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.

    John Milton.

  2. IF I should die, think only this of me;
    That there's some corner of a foreign field
    That is for ever England. There shall be
    In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
    A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
    Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
    A body of England's breathing English air,
    Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

    And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
    A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
    Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
    Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
    And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
    In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

  3. Best thing I ever did, not sorry for whats left is memories from afar instead of tears for not getting out. Return is no longer an option, I want to die in peace and enjoying the fruits of my labours not supporting those parasites that would drink for free, I want to be able to the last to defend myself not locking my door, increasing my security and hoping that the police when called don’t have a HSE meeting before picking up whats left. The only English left are few and far between, most left years ago, the country no longer Albion my forefathers spilt blood to defend and build, instead England a failed state and country part of the united european experiment, over run by socialists and muslims.
    Yorkshire still lives in this distant land, renewed and breathing free.

    1. Yes. Most of all I will take Yorkshire with me when I leave.