The World Of My Father By TITVS ADVXAS

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.

My father was a sheet metal worker. A good one too by all accounts. A man who, as the industry collapsed around him, always found work, right up to the age of 70 in 1999, when he eventually retired. Dad celebrates his 80th birthday next month, and we will be holding a surprise party for him. Well it would have been a surprise apart from the fact that my Mom is organising it for him, Growing up, Dad never spoke about work much, other than complaining about Welders Flash he occasionally got through not wearing his visor. I always assumed he was in a union, although during the 70s and 80s he worked at about 6 different companies.
He always voted too, with my Mom. They voted mainly Liberal, because they believed that PR was the only way to true democracy, and as always, the minor parties place PR highly and optimistically on their agenda and manifesto.
Apart from weddings, funerals and bar mitzvahs (I am not Jewish, but have had the operation, which in 1962 was one of the first recorded operations involving micro-surgery in The UK), my parents only took me to church a handful of times. Out of democracy or plain respect for me, I don't know? They allowed me to make my own mind without any pressure from them. I chose not to go, so I never went to confirmation either. Well hopefully God will forgive me that massive mistake I made in my youth?
Nowadays both my parents have realised how they have been abused by the state, having gone through the hardships of retirement, yet seeing how eagerly immigrants are welcomed into the country, how they seem to get all the financial help they (immigrants) need and more,-including a £3000 giro for a car, plus £200 giro for a course of driving lessons if you can't drive the car you just bought with the first giro. All this and more from the coffers of the pension funds my parents helped to build. I truly believe my parents are now converted to the BNP. Dad now wears his 'Don't unpack, You're Going Back' and 'Enoch Powell Was Right' badges with pride, and always drinks from his 'Another White Mug'. All purchased from Excalibur, of course. (But as my Dad, he always would wear anything I buy him with pride, hence the statement "I truly believe my parents...")
Dad is always ringing me up, to ask about things reported in the press about the BNP, a notable one being the fake Gurkha leaflet story printed in "The Scum" newspaper. I had to go round to them and text a local BNP activist Mike Bell, before they would believe that it was a lie. At 80 its difficult to comprehend that your lifelong Daily Newspaper tells massive lies. Even worse, they have always lied, ever since being first published in the mid 1960s. He rings me up when The BNP are on TV, like on Sunday morning at 10:30am to say 'Your Boss' (Nick Griffin) was on The Andrew Marr Show. The thing they like about Nick is the fact he is passionate about England and being English, and that he speaks with a great authority about virtually everything. Dad said to me 'He'd make a good lawyer' not knowing that Nick is a good lawyer!
Now in the winter of their years, my parents, like many other peoples parents have worked hard all their lives, many years from hand to mouth. They have struggled to help to maintain and build this Country. My father was too young to fight in WWII, but as a child saw the sacrifice this nation made to fight and keep its identity then. (He proudly served in The RAF for his National Service in 1947).
Dad I will make damn sure that your struggle, our struggle was never in vain. We will keep this land Christain and we will fight off these invaders, in the words of Churchill, at whatever the cost shall be, We will never surrender, as long as the blood pumps through our veins.

©TITVS-ADVXAS XIV-VII-MMIX
As Published