As a youngster, growing up in a white working class area of Birmingham, known as Acocks Green, in the sixties, I was happy. I was oblivious too. Oblivious to the trends creeping through our nation, to the incipience of Islam within our shores, to the decay and decline within The Church Of England and to the corruption of both the political system in general and the big three political parties in particular.
I can remember Jeff Astle’s goal for West Brom winning the FA cup, I can remember watching Supercar, and I can even remember watching Churchill’s coffin being led on the gun carriage at his state funeral. I can remember that I used to sit on my grandfather’s knee listening with awe to his stories of youth that he told. He told me about Pongo Waring scoring 49 goals in one season for Aston Villa in the thirties, He told me about hardships his family suffered in the twenties. He told me about the war.As a member of the 1914 British Expeditionary Force, he was one of the first men to fight in The Great War. He was in it from the start. He was ‘An Old Contemptible’ winning amongst other medals ‘The Mons Star’. He was captured by The Germans around Christmas in 1914. As a prisoner of war, his battle continued for four more gruelling years as he was forced to dig coal in the mines of the German heartlands. He tried to escape three times. After the first attempt, he was publicly flogged. Following his second attempt, he had all of his teeth pulled out, but only halfway, and without analgesic or anaesthetic. Finally, following a third attempt and to prevent this brave young man from causing further nuisance to The Kaisers Army, he had his ankles ‘clubbed’ in the most barbaric punishment ever.
Although I can always picture him in my mind as a powerful young soldier, fighting for freedom and democracy, I can only remember him as a frail old gentleman, who always had to wear supporting ankle boots, and who always leaned upon his walking stick. He always wore a shirt and tie, even, I’m told, when he was at work, making gas meters in Windmill Lane, Smethwick. I can to this day remember that he was thoroughly delighted one summer afternoon in 1966, when England beat Germany in The Football World Cup Final. I remember sitting with him that afternoon; he must have kicked every ball that day, watching on the little black and white TV in his living room in his little house in Sparkbrook. In fact I’m sure he scored the one that hit the cross bar and bounced out off the goal line. My Grandfather was a real hero.
He’s not the only one. My father and my father-in-law (who never met until 1976) were both too young to join up in the second war. Like many other teenagers of the time, they both tried to join up by giving false birth dates. My father in law succeeded and saw active service in Palestine as a proud kilt wearing member of The Black Watch. My father didn’t and was a Private Pike in Dads army, before doing his “National Service” in 1947. They were heroes too.
All three of them were heroes.
What can I do to follow in their footsteps? And how can I be a hero too? I’m now too old to fight for my country, too old to play for Aston Villa (probably not for The Small Heath Alliance though).
But how can I help stem the flood of Islam in Britain and restore Christianity as The main religion in our Cities?
And how can I help restore honest democracy to Britain?
Like my Grandfather, I can be in A British Expeditionary Force. I can be a New Contemptible. I can support a non-corrupt British Party. I can support The British National Party. I can help my local BNP teams win in local elections, win in Euro elections, and win in The General Election. My parents and grandparents fought for freedom and democracy. They didn’t fight for the erosion of their values. They didn’t fight for Lesbian Minority Groups and they certainly didn’t fight for The Islamisation of our towns and Cities. If my grandfather and father in law were alive today, I’m sure that they would support The British National Party. I know that my father who is still alive will support The British National Party too.
Mister Shakespeare coined two phrases in his plays Henry V and Julius Caesar, that when put together ring as true today as well as they did when written over 400 years ago:
Cry, 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war!
Cry, 'God for Harry, England and Saint George!'