Showing posts with label Englishness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Englishness. Show all posts

Thursday, 13 April 2017

Deep England

One of the things the English once liked to pride themselves on was their tolerance and sense of fair play. Within the bounds of common decency, British society used to be both liberal and disciplined; it was said you could pretty much do what you wanted behind your own closed doors as long as you did no harm, but in front of others you also knew how to behave. Live and let live; mustn’t grumble. We queued, for heaven’s sake! Where did all that go?

In many extra-urban hamlets and small market towns the spirit of England still exists with local life revolving around village schools, community centres and the pub. But viewed through the multicultural lens of ‘diverse’ and ‘vibrant’ and sometimes quite aggressive city dwellers this rural idyll is something to be sneered at, to be ridiculed, to be labelled regressive and ‘insanely white’ in the kind of reverse racism peddled in articles such as this.

Yes, of course it’s The Guardian, although guardian of what you may well wonder. The ‘Deep Britain’ of the article is a backwards-facing, timid world, afraid of foreigners and fearful of progress. The supportive comments are just as indicative of whom this piece is aimed at entertaining. Funny, then, how so many of those jeering from the side-lines will aspire to buy up property and inflate its price beyond the pockets of the local-born in an effort to later enter into that world they despised so much from their metropolitan strongholds. Hypocrisy is a cruelly ironic teacher.

So often those who fly the flag for mass immigration and rule from Brussels are the least affected by the negative effects and have the most to gain from subjecting the general population to its less desirable spin-offs. The Kinnocks and Peter Mandelson spring, unbidden, to mind as examples of those who have profited from the cynical selling off of Britain’s sovereignty; failed politicians who have nevertheless fallen off the fence and into the trough. Michael Caine said he would rather be a poor master than a rich servant, for which he received an outpouring of scorn from the usual, bien pensant sources.

The motives of vocal enthusiasts for the EU’s supranational supremacy and uncontrolled movement of people are highly suspect. The demonstrable effects of our 40-year dalliance with this nightmare are evident. The low wage economy pushed lower, welfare dependency becoming endemic for some, a rise in gun and knife crime and everywhere communities under stress. Yes we also have highly skilled foreign worker in high-tech industries, banking and the hospitality industry. And yes, they work in our health service too, but we could have this anyway.

Is this really so bad?

Britain has long been open to immigration; to say otherwise is simply a lie. But we have also long held a strong national identity, which is now sorely challenged by the intransigent and near-sighted who want to limit our prospects outside the EU; in effect to punish those of us who still remember and cherish Britishness for our failure to be brainwashed by the siren call of big state, big brother socialism. We're watching you. Deep England? Oh yes. Our sense of belonging is far deeper ingrained than your shallow, superficial, naïve fantasy of a rainbow world. Watch and learn, children, watch and learn.

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.