Saturday, April 13, 2024
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On the Eve of Destruction


CHANGE is both a constant and a variable; a constant because it is always with us, a variable because its flavour and intensity changes over time. In itself this is not a bad thing, but when change takes a wrong turning in the road and descends into an age of national decay and suicidal lunacy, such as that which is now upon us, we must either return to the start line and begin again or accept that we will have to sacrifice our integrity, honour, way of life and independence . . . and our country as well. Barry McGuire got it spot on in 1965. The song is old, but it doesn’t age.

More than half a century ago I swore an oath, the same oath that all persons enlisting or commissioned into the British armed forces (except Royal Navy officers for historical reasons) are required to attest to or affirm:

I swear by Almighty God (or do solemnly, and truly declare and affirm) that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, Her Heirs and Successors, and that I will, as in duty bound, honestly and faithfully defend Her Majesty, Her Heirs and Successors, in Person, Crown and Dignity against all enemies, and will observe and obey all orders of Her Majesty, Her Heirs and Successors, and of the (admirals / generals/ air officers depending on the particular Service) and officers set over me. (So help me God.)

Her Majesty is not immortal and her time will come, as it will for all of us, to shuffle off this mortal coil in order to make room for the next lot. The sad thing is that her immediate successor does not inspire confidence in me, to put it mildly, and this causes me seriously to reconsider that part of my oath that refers so repetitively to ‘Her Heirs and Successors’.

Yet there may be hope for the second in line and his charming, duty-conscious family if they have not been too badly afflicted by the verbal ramblings, divided loyalties and ideological circumlocutions of the current heir apparent. I do hope so; our constitutional monarchy is a wonderful thing and serves as a safe harbour for all of our hopes and custodian of much of our physical and historic heritage that the Wokists are doing everything in their power to rub from the pages of history. I also have nightmare visions of a Republic led perhaps by a President Blair or Johnson or Starmer.

So where now do we find ourselves? Not, I suspect, necessarily looking out across blood-stained foreign fields and barricades again, but inward, to our homelands, to the cities, the occupied territories mostly beyond the control of an overstretched Woke and Common Purposed constabulary carrying out selective law enforcement and led by incompetents who are supported by a judiciary fully on board with the same agenda.

This could lead to nationwide violence or, to be precise, war. We would learn more about the reality of survival in a month of combat than during a lifetime of reading books, believing the disinformation peddled by the media or studying in a Woke Academia and then going on to a lucrative future in a polluted Cesspit-on-Thames. Combat means death, pain, blood, fear, comradeship, filth and boredom and the sheer wonder of it all is that what pounding a human being can tolerate and still maintain his or her sanity. Some, sadly though, do not.

For obvious reasons war is mostly the domain the young for it is they who fight battles. They have the energy and a subliminal sense of immortality; their world, this world, is young to them like they are and they want to seize it. As we grow older we begin to wonder if it is or was really worth it; there is always a search for answers but few if any come easily.

We must not give up no matter what happens, but treat each morning as the beginning of another day no matter how gruesome that day turns out to be and accept that in the time of Homo sapiens sapiens acquisitive aggression is the norm and can be contained and repelled only by an opposite and more than equal force.

We must soldier on to the end as best we can, serviceman or civilian, male or female alike. That is the way of man, always has been and ever more shall be so. There is no new thing under the sun.

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Brother Antony
Brother Antony
Brother Antony is a retired British and Commonwealth military officer. He is a widower with a grown-up family scattered to the winds and is a serving Brother of a small, closed Christian Military Order in the USA. He writes because he is no longer allowed a sword, but is yet to be fully convinced that the pen is mightier. Old habits do die hard.

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