Who is on my side?

Who is on my side?

    I’m an English man of some age. Many years ago I was talking to my dog as we walked out one early morn. I said to him, 'we need a good war to find out just who is on our side.'

    This was about forty years ago when I was not long out of the safety of school. The reason I asked was that lots of people seemed to be living a different life to me. Outside the law sometimes, or outside the lore, the lore of being traditionally English, a way of life with which me, my family and friends were brought up.

    I asked myself, who would fight for our country if it was threatened? Bear in mind the landscape was very different (as was the condition of my hips). Back then, I concluded that enough people would be prepared to put themselves in the firing line to keep England English. Of course, for various reasons, some would not fight, the worst of these being, ‘you’ve got to be joking, it’s your battle, I just live here.'

    I guess one point is that when I was twenty, we were only thirty-five years past the end of a world war. Memories of the horror and hardship were still fresh with our senior generations. Those that survived. In fact, food rationing officially ended only four months after my wife was born.

    Would it have depended on where the invaders hailed from? Europe, Asia, the Far East, across the pond? To some degree of course. To ask someone to fight against their relatives or heritage, one, two, three generations back, is unrealistic. But, whoever sailed up to our coastline, there would have been enough defenders to at least try and repel an attack.

   Fast forward forty years to 2023 and its very different. The question of who would fight for England is not the only question. Is England worth fighting for? Is the country today good enough for us to try and preserve it in its present form?

    Would the noisiest, most influential section of our society, the various incarnations of the liberal left, fight? That includes the generations who wish to deny we old farts our history. The statue-topplers. The generations, aged loosely between fifteen and forty-five, who think England is so sullied by its sordid history, that they would only consider taking up arms if their forebears, ancestors who’d fought for their very freedom, were expunged – or had frozen to death because they couldn’t afford logs. Of course, there would be a few exceptions. But the majority wouldn’t consider for long, most of them simply wouldn’t sign up. They would fight their war on the internet, on social media, or through the left wing media or with placards and flags with a prism of colours.

    Should the rest of us heed a call to arms from our government, our legislative and sovereign rulers? Do we respect them enough? All political parties these days are little more than groups of puppets doing the bidding of a few well-funded, masters. Few MPs are allowed individuality of expression, nor do they have the worldly experience to thrive in a commercial world. Some are parachuted into safe seats to solely be their masters voice. The vast majority represent their constituencies with lip service only. Repair a pothole if the budget allows, but voice opinion against things that really matter and they follow the party line, replying with pre-prepared rhetoric created by central office, true or not.

    This is applicable of course right from the elite all the way down to the lowliest local councillors who, throughout the pandemic, spouted establishment propaganda week on week, almost fanatical in its adherence to party policy. Advice that was wrong, lazy and unresearched. No excuse that they were ‘doing what they were told’. Most heinous is the neighbourhood stuff, because the local politicos actually looked their constituents straight in the eye as they gushed forth. They looked into the eyes of friends and acquaintances, as they dished out deadly advice – with a smile.

Do any of them deserve our support when they have catastrophically mishandled and mismanaged our battle with the virus. A few dissenters have been prepared to voice an alternative to the deadly pathways that were chosen. In the minds of those who are open-minded and prepared to debate, these pathways were contra to all scientific sense. They listened not to specialists with forty years in the virus game, but modellers and money. The very worst aspect of it all is that the majority of them knew the truth and lied.

    They continue to lie and deny. (How’s that for a soundbite?)

    A few doctors speak out, but many, many more stay silent. Of those who do speak out, most are ‘vigorously’ silenced. Then they stay silent because they are threatened. If they don’t conform to the mantra, they will lose their license to practice. The General Medical Council will strip them of their livelihood. Very few stay the course of opposition. But deep down, how many actually stand up for the doctors first and most crucial rule, ‘First, do no harm.’ Gone during the pandemic was individual consultation and care, replaced by a blanket policy, whether it was suitable or not.

    Of course, the injections worked - that’s why we needed 4, 5, 6 even!

    An increasing number of us have lost trust in the most important people who are meant to be looking after our welfare, namely government and health care providers. We expect our politicians to lie, but our medics? This sickening cowardice is literally making us sick. It was not the pandemic that made us sick, it was our treacherous reaction to it.

    Ultimately, do these people really deserve to have me fighting for them?

    Morally, is there anything worth fighting for?

    If I went into battle (slowly!) what kind of country and what kind of people would I be defending.

    Who would I be keeping England safe for?

    England was built on a vast number of ideals and ideas from a multitude of sources. Our towns and cities are not grid-delineated, they are higgledy-piggledy, alleywayed and intriguing with dark corners and sunlit parades. Structurally and emotionally, we have a ramshackle collection of puzzle-pieces that have come together to create the wonderful framework within which we live. From year dot till recently we have built our past stone by stone. Now a new doctrine is threatening to shout down everything for which we have suffered. As is often the case, the few who shout loudest gain advantage over the majority. Shouting can involve sitting in trees, sitting on roads, anywhere but the fence because the fence separating us from our history has been reinforced and we can no longer see over it.

    Would I fight? Probably. I would fight for my seniors who are unable to fight for themselves. The folk who made us and allowed us to live free. I would fight for the few freedoms we still enjoy like walking and talking with my friends without fear of incarceration, as long as I don't talk too loud.

    I would also fight for our children. Youngsters not yet influenced by leftist drudge. I would hope that the next generation could begin to turn the ship and get us back on course. The course I believe we should return to is one of community and decency and respect. Because all three of these have been poisoned.

    I would also fight for those too cowardly to fight. Not for them directly, no they would be collateral beneficiaries of my fighting for those who deserve it.

    How to ensure the kids get back on track? I would get rid of the internet. It’s a great learning tool but there is too much bile and hate and regurgitated rubbish. It’s been hijacked by people who, as far as I can see, want to destroy my generation’s ideals. I would ban mobile phones for anyone under twenty, except for emergency use, which doesn’t include ordering a take-away. Let people learn to communicate and speak face to face. Let that notion be engrained so there is at least a grounding in person to person communication before people disappear into the miasma of the virtual world. Let’s teach youngsters to be accountable for themselves and have respect for everyone else. Is that too much to ask?

    Of course it is.