Monthly Archives: October 2016

‘Protect us from zealots’

The ‘Brits At Their Best’ blog, whose link I’ve just added to my blogroll, laments the death of Jimmy Perry, linking to a Telegraph piece on Perry and his contribution.

For those who don’t know Perry’s name, I’ll assume you are not fans of classic British sitcoms. Jimmy Perry was a co-creator and writer of some of the best and most fondly-remembered sitcoms from the 60s through the 80s. Dad’s Army was probably the best-known, especially in the United States. Of that series, the writer of the Telegraph article says:

They wouldn’t get away with it today. No black faces, nor any character remotely ethnic other than John Laurie’s tetchy Scotsman. Women only in subsidiary roles. And certainly no suggestion of sexual ambiguity beyond a wet clergyman. The BBC’s modern cultural commissars wouldn’t give the pilot script a second glance. White. Middle class. Home Counties. Show him the door, Doris.”

They also wouldn’t get away with It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum, another Jimmy Perry series. Although it did have ethnic characters, being set in India and Burma during WWII, it also did not follow today’s politically correct dictates. According to a Daily Express article on the BBC’s banning the show from future viewing,

A TV source said: “The word has gone out the series of It Ain’t Half Hot Mum will never be shown in the future on the channel. The censors feel the undertone of racism and catty remarks about different races and religions has no place on BBC channels. Under the modern [BBC] Trust guidelines it is clear the show doesn’t meet the guidelines given to output controllers and channel heads for presentation of Indian culture.

[…]“When the series was aired in the Seventies it was a different time, and the notions and sympathies of modern cultural Britain were a long way away.”

The ‘notions and sympathies of modern cultural Britain’ demand that certain groups, and certain groups only, be exempted from anything that oversensitive groups might see as ‘insensitive’ or in any way critical.

As the Daily Telegraph article linked at the top mentions, much of the humor on Dad’s Army,  unlike today’s crude and insulting ‘comedy’, displayed the characteristic English understatement, and the notion of fair-mindedness. Those are admirable traits, in a more sane world, but it’s tempting to say that those very virtues are being turned against the British, or more exactly, the English in the present dark times. Being fair-minded to the point of being self-effacing is leaving the country open to exploitation and abuse by the aforesaid ‘victim’ classes, who never cease to press their advantage.

The article says that the underlying message of Dad’s Army, as it poked gentle fun at the Walmington-on-Sea folk, was ‘Protect us from zealots!‘ That’s a prayer that we on this side of the Atlantic should also be praying. Although perhaps zealotry must be met with equal zealotry on our side, lest our desire to be ‘fair-minded’ be used against us to our destruction.

[H/T to commenter AlmostMissouri for the Brits at their Best link.]

Signs of life

Our English kinsmen have taken to the streets in Margate, with a ‘White Lives Matter’ demonstration. The Telegraph covers the event with their usual bias on display, and the last word in the article being given to the ‘antis’, the self-styled anti-racists, with their pro-invasion rhetoric.

The Telegraph article says only a few dozen pro-White protesters participated, and the headline pointedly says the protest was a ‘flop.’ But that’s expected and predictable. However many (or few) people took part in the WLM event, it was a first, and it’s a start. Well done, our cousins.

The lack of WASP advocates online

It would seem that there are enough Americans of English, or predominantly English, descent that there should be more blogs and websites which advocate for the English-descended American. But I’ve found few in my travels around the Internet. And on the many blogs I regularly read, (including comments, of course) there are precious few people who seem to care to speak up for Anglo-Saxon Americans as the latter are being criticized and raked over the coals for their/our supposed failings.

Why is that? The obvious explanation would be that most Anglo-Saxon descended Americans are so demoralized that they believe their own bad press. Many have absorbed all the negative stereotypes and respond by self-deprecation and self-abnegating ‘humor.’

I have come across a few blogs, including one Tumblr blog, which seems to be a compendium of stereotypes about New England Brahmin WASPs. The point of view is that being a ‘WASP’ amounts to wearing certain brand names of clothing (all high-end preppy stuff), playing polo, and what used to be called ‘gracious living.’ All superficial, all about image above substance. I’ve seen other blogs supposedly about WASPs with a similar theme. They have a kind of cookie-cutter quality to the content, as if there is not a real human being behind them.

That’s the stereotype they present, but there is certainly far more to being a ‘WASP’ than that. As I am constantly laboring to point out, WASPs are not necessarily upper-class, moneyed, and at the top of the heap in society. There are a great many more people who are of Anglo-Saxon descent who are ordinary people, not privileged, not snobs and spoiled society types. And can we please dispense with the idea that WASPs only inhabit New England, when it’s been pointed out that New England is not majority English by descent, except perhaps in rural areas?  I’ve cited data here and elsewhere in comment sections that English-descended Americans are a decided minority in most parts of New England, and have been for some time, since the mass immigration began in the early- to mid-1800s.

Anglo-Americans live in all parts of the United States. Boston has long since ceased to be ‘WASP central’. The Brahmins of fable are no longer the influential group they were long ago.

Note: Speaking of the lack of voices speaking for WASPs online, this came up in a comment thread at Steve Sailer’s blog, here. The whole thread is worth reading. I left a comment there in a reply to FKA Max, including the link to this blog, but it remains to be seen whether my comment will be approved.

‘Whitewashers’

On the ‘whitewashing’ or glossing over, covering up the origins of our nation:

“America was a sapling grown from a stately British Yew that stretched all the way back to the Magna Carta and Anglo-Saxon common law. In this culture, happiness meant family, service, and lots of sweat. Its freedom was the freedom to pick a wife, to select a service, and to decide just how much sweat would be exuded for both. Being subsidized to mill around the house was not the British way. America was born out of, and crafted for, the descendants of this tradition: white and Christian. The men of early America could never have imagined how severely their words would be twisted into absurdities.

Some might say that the tradition from which these ideals were born is secondary to the ideals themselves. The problem with this claim, however, is that the founding fathers never intended for these ideals to be practiced by anyone but those like themselves. Being white and having mostly Christian convictions were necessary prerequisites.

[…]
A tradition is not just its ideals but also its people: and the tradition that made America was a tradition of Europeans from a damp and drizzly island in the North Atlantic.

This truth, like all truths, is timeless. It will survive the frantic scribbling of the revisionists who hope to fool us into thinking America was always diverse. We can frame our axiom in this way: swipe a stodgy, pink eraser over American whites and you will erase America altogether. America will linger on as a geographical blob on maps, but America as a living tradition will be left to dust.”

The above quotes are from a piece by Fritz Pendleton, at Social Matter, titled The Great White Suicide.

The excerpts above resonate with the theme of this blog, as have several other recent essays from various members of the AltRight/ethnonationalist spectrum. It’s good to see this acknowledged by more people lately, as it has been denied or simply not acknowledged by most people for so long.

Read the whole piece, as Pendleton explains the role of the ‘Whitewashers’ in what he calls the Great White Suicide. There are more than a few bloggers and writers who have questioned the idea of ‘suicide’ on the part of Whites; did we jump, or were we pushed? I would quibble about how our predicament came about, but it’s open to debate, and I think the blog piece is worth reading.

‘The Fox’s Prophecy’

I thought it was time to re-post this. Regardless of whether you think the message has validity, it’s hard to deny that elements of the “prophecy” required some prescience, so much so that it is uncanny, in my opinion. I’ve bolded some parts that are so relevant today.

Tom Hill was in the saddle,
One bright November morn,
The echoing glades of Guiting Wood
Were ringing with his horn.

The diamonds of the hoar-frost
Were sparkling in the sun.
Upon the falling leaves the drops
Were shining one by one.

The hare lay on the fallow,
The robin caroled free;
The linnet and yellow finch
Twittered from tree to tree.

In stately march the sable rook
Followed the clanking plough;
Apart their watchful sentinel
Cawed from the topmost bough.

Peeped from her hole the field-mouse
Amid the fallen leaves.
From twig to twig the spider
Her filmy cable weaves.

The wavings of the pine boughs
The squirrel’s form disclose;
And through the purple beech-tops
The whirring pheasant rose.

The startled rabbit scuttered
Across the grassy ride;
High in mid-air the hovering hawk
Wheeled round in circles wide.

The freshest wind was blowing
O’er groves of beech and oak
And through the boughs of larch and pine
The struggling sunbeam broke.

The varied tints of autumn
Still lingered on the wood,
And on the leaves the morning sun
Poured out a golden flood.

Soft, fleecy clouds were sailing
Across the vault of blue.
A fairer hunting morning
No huntsman ever knew.

All nature seemed rejoicing
That glorious morn to see;
All seemed to breathe a fresher life –
Beast, insect, bird and tree.

But sound and sight of beauty
Fell dull on eye and ear;
The huntsman’s heart was heavy
His brow oppressed with care.

High in his stirrups raised he stood,
And long he gazed around;
And breathlessly and anxiously
His listened for a sound.

But nought he heard save the song bird
Or jay’s discordant cry;
Or when among the the tree-tops
The wind went murmuring by.

No voice of hound, no sound of horn
The woods around were mute,
As though the earth had swallowed up
His comrades – man and brute.

He thought, “I must essay to find
My hounds at any cost;
A huntsman who has lost his hounds
Is but a huntsman lost”.

Then round he turned his horse’s head
And shook his bridle free,
When he was struck by an aged fox
That sat beneath a tree.

He raised his eye in glad surprise,
That huntsman keen and bold;
But there was in that fox’s look
That made his blood run cold.

He raised his hand to touch his horn,
And shout a “Tally-ho”
But mastered by that fox’s eye,
His lips refused to blow.

For he was grim and gaunt of limb,
With age all silvered o’er;
He might have been an arctic fox
Escaped from Greenland’s shore.

But age his vigour had not tamed,
Nor dimm’d his sparkling eye,
Which shone with an unearthly fire –
Fire that could never die.

And thus the huntsman he addressed,
In tones distinct and clear,
Who heard as they who in a dream
The fairies’ music hear.

“Huntsman” he said – a sudden thrill
Through all the listeners ran,
To hear a creature of the wood
Speak like a Christian man –

“Last of my race, to me’ tis given
The future to unfold,
To speak the words which never yet
Spake fox of mortal mould.

“Then print my words upon your heart
And stamp them on your brain,
That you to others may impart
My prophecy again.

“Strong life is yours in manhood’s prime,
Your cheek with heat is red;
Time has not laid his finger yet
In earnest on your head.

“But ere your limbs are bent with age,
And ere yours locks are grey,
The sport that you have loved so well
Shall long have passed away.

“In vain shall generous Colmore,
Your hunt consent to keep;
In vain the Rendcomb baronet
With gold your stores shall heap.

“In vain Sir Alexander,
And Watson Keen in vain,
O’er the pleasant Cotswold hills
The joyous sport maintain.

“Vain all their efforts: spite of all,
Draws nigh the fatal morn,
When the last Cotswold fox shall hear
The latest huntsman’s horn.

“Yet think not, huntsman, I rejoice
To see the end so near;
Nor think the sound of horn and hound
To me a sound of fear.

“In my strong youth, which numbers now
Full many a winter back,
How scornfully I shook my brush
Before the Berkeley pack.

“How oft from Painswick hill I’ve seen
The morning mist uncurl,
When Harry Airis blew the horn
Before the wrathful Earl.

“How oft I’ve heard the Cotswolds’ cry
As Turner cheered the pack,
And laughed to see his baffled hounds
Hang vainly on my track.

“Too well I know, by wisdom taught
The existence of my race
O’er all wide England’s green domain
Is bound up with the Chase.

“Better in early youth and strength
The race for life to run,
Than poisoned like the noxious rat,
Or slain by felon gun.

“Better by wily sleight and turn
The eager hound to foil,
Than slaughtered by each baser churl
Who yet shall till the soil.

“For not upon these hills alone
The doom of sport shall fall;
O’er the broad face of England creeps
The shadow on the wall.

“The years roll on: old manners change,
Old customs lose their sway;
New fashions rule; the grandsire’s garb
Moves ridicule to-day.

“The woodlands where my race has bred
Unto the axe shall yield;
Hedgerow and copse shall cease to shade
The ever widening field.

“The manly sports of England
Shall vanish one by one;
The manly blood of England
In weaker veins shall run.

“The furzy down, the moorland heath,
The steam plough shall invade;
Nor park nor manor shall escape –
Common, nor forest glade.

“Degenerate sons of manlier sires
To lower joys shall fall;
The faithless lore of Germany,
The gilded vice of Gaul.

“The sports of their forefathers
To baser tastes shall yield;
The vices of the town displace
The pleasures of the field.

“For swiftly o’er the level shore
The waves of progress ride;
The ancient landmarks one by one
Shall sink beneath the tide.

“Time honoured creeds and ancient faith,
The Altar and the Crown,
Lordship’s hereditary right,
Before that tide go down.

“Base churls shall mock the mighty names
Writ on the roll of time;
Religion shall be held a jest,
And loyalty a crime.

“No word of prayer, no hymn of praise
Sound in the village school;
The people’s education
Utilitarians rule.

“In England’s ancient pulpits
Lay orators shall preach
New creeds, and free religions
Self made apostles teach.

“The peasants to their daily tasks
In surly silence fall;
No kindly hospitalities
In farmhouse nor in hall.

“Nor harvest feast nor Christmas tide
Shall farm or manor hold;
Science alone can plenty give,
The only God is gold.

“The homes where love and peace should dwell
Fierce politics shall vex,
And unsexed woman strive to prove
Herself the coarser sex.

“Mechanics in their workshops
Affairs of state decide;
Honour and truth – old fashioned words –
The noisy mob deride.

“The statesman that should rule the realm
Coarse demagogues displace;
The glory of a thousand years
Shall end in foul disgrace.

The honour of old England,
Cotton shall buy and sell,
And hardware manufacturers
Cry “Peace – lo, all is well”.

Trade shall be held the only good
And gain the sole device;
The statesman’s maxim shall be peace,
and peace at any price.

“Her army and her navy
Britain shall cast aside;
Soldiers and ships are costly things,
Defence an empty pride.

“The German and the Muscovite
Shall rule the narrow seas;
Old England’s flag shall cease to float
In triumph on the breeze.

“The footsteps of th’ invader,
Then England’s shore shall know,
While home-bred traitors give the hand
To England’s every foe.

“Disarmed, before the foreigner,
The knee shall humbly bend,
And yield the treasures that she lacked
The wisdom to defend.

“But not for aye – yet once again,
When purged by fire and sword,
The land her freedom shall regain,
To manlier thoughts restored.

“Taught wisdom by disaster,
England shall learn to know,
That trade is not the only gain
Heaven gives to man below.

“The greed for gold departed
The golden calf cast down,
Old England’s sons shall raise again
The Altar and the Crown.

“Rejoicing seas shall welcome
Their mistress once again;
Once more the banner of St George
Shall rule upon the main.

“The blood of the invader
Her pastures shall manure,
His bones unburied on her fields
For monuments to endure.

“Again in hall and homestead,
Shall joy and peace be seen,
And smiling children raise again
The maypole on the green.

“Again the hospitable board
Shall groan with Christmas cheer,
And mutual service bind again
The peasant and the peer.

“Again the smiling hedgerow
Shall field from field divide;
Again among the woodlands
The scarlet troop shall ride.”

Again it seemed that aged fox,
More prophecies would say,
When sudden came upon the wind,
“Hark forrard, gone away”.

The listener started from his trance –
He sat there all alone;
That well-known cry had burst the spell,
The aged fox was gone.

The huntsman turned,
He spurred his steed,
And to the cry he sped;
And when he thought upon that fox,
Said naught, but shook his head.”

– Said to have been found among the papers of D.W. Nash, possibly written around 1870-71.

‘Among the Scotch-Irish’

Some excerpts from a book by Leonard Allison Morrison, Among the Scotch-Irish, or Ulster folk, addressing the question of whether they are in fact ‘Irish’ in the sense that the indigenous, mostly Catholic people of Ireland are Irish (and Celtic):

“The Scotch are called clannish, and were clannish; and the Scotch who settled in Ireland, and their descendants, were clannish. They stuck together, and kept aloof from the native Celtic-Irish. They were sundered by the sharp dividing lines of religious faith and by keen differences of race.

Macaulay says [in Macaulay’s History of England]: “They sprang from different stocks. They spoke different languages. They had different national characters, as strongly opposed as any two national characters in Europe. They were widely different stages of civilisation. Between two such populations there could be little sympathy, and centuries of calamities and wrongs had generated a strong antipathy. The relation in which the minority stood to the majority resembled the relation in which the followers of William the Conqueror stood to the Saxon churls, or the relation in which the followers of Cortez stood to the Indians of Mexico. The appellation of Irish was then given exclusively to the Celts, and to those families which, though not of Celtic origin, had in the course of ages degenerated into Celtic manners. These people, probably about a million in number, had, with few exceptions, adhered to the Church of Rome. Among them resided about two hundred thousand colonists, proud of their Saxon blood and of their Protestant faith.”

And again, in speaking of the early Scotch and English settlers, he says: “One half of the settlers belonged to the Established Church and the other half were Dissenters. But in Ireland Scot and Southron were strongly bound together by their common Protestantism. All the colonists had a common language and a common pecuniary intereset. They were surrounded by common enemies, and could be safe only by means of common precautions and exertions.”

In Speaking of the differences between the races, he says: “Much, however, must still have been left to the healing influence of time. The native race would still have had to learn from the colonists industry and forethought, the arts of civilised life, and the language of England. There could not be equality between men who lived in houses and men who lived in sties; between men who were fed on bread and men who were fed on potatoes; between men who spoke the noble tongue of great philosophers and poets, and men who, with perverted pride, boasted that they could not writhe their mouths into chattering such a jargon as than in which the ‘Advancement of Learning’ and the ‘Paradise Lost’ were written.”

And again, speaking of Scotland, from which the Scotch of Ireland came, he says: “The population of Scotland, with the exception of the Celtic tribes, which were thinly scattered over the Hebrides and over the mountainous shires, was of the same blood with the population of England, and spoke a tongue which did not differ from the purest English more than the dialects of Somersetshire and Lancastershire differ from each other.”

Such being the relative condition of the two classes as eloquently described by the great English historian, it is the height of absurdity to claim that the blood of the distinct races was commingled except in isolated cases. They did not commingle. The Scotch, planted upon Irish soil, were Scotch still, and the Irish were Irish still.”

Note: in the third paragraph of the excerpt above, the term ‘Southron‘ refers to the border English or Anglo-Saxons who were part of the ‘Ulster plantation’, the Protestant settlers planted in Ireland under English rule. It is not referring to the people of the American South there, in case there is any confusion. The term ‘Southron’ was used in Scotland before its use in the South.

And in the next-to-last paragraph, the writer asserts that the Scots population was of the same blood, essentially, as the population of England. This is the opposite of popular belief today, and it is borne out by some recent studies. (Which, no doubt, will be denied by those with an agenda.)

Morrison’s words conflict with the popular belief in America today, especially amongst Southern partisans, that the ‘Scots-Irish’ are more (Celtic) Irish than they are Scots or that the two groups share common ancestry or a common culture, both groups having lived in Ireland for centuries. The strange thesis that the American South is ‘Celtic’ by virtue of the Ulster plantation descendants who came to the Southern states having lived on Irish soil since the 17th century is a new idea, not based in fact as far as I can tell. I put far more stock in the words of the older history books than in the work of recent historical writers with a political agenda.

I will likely post more from this same source or other old sources because this subject is one that recurs and there is so much incorrect information and many false preconceptions.