All This Needed Was a Bit of Organization

This video gives a different view of what went on when the soldiers came marching home. I’m so tired of the MSM’s obsessive focus on parasitic Muslims’ protests when they could be showing the average person’s revulsion at such behavior when soldiers come home.

All it needed was a bit of organization for these patriots, and someone to do the cheerleading. Maybe something like this resounding through the streets?

When Britain first, at heaven’s command,
Arose from out the azure main,
Arose, arose, arose from out the a-azure main,
This was the charter, the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang this strain:

Rule Britania!
Britannia rule the waves.
Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.

At the very least, the singing could deafen that Beeb reporter you can see in the video, busy taking pictures of the Muslim protestors. Or maybe the hymn would simply drive him away, like sunlight on a vampire.

Those “journalists’ are allergic to patriotism. Freedom of the press has come to mean “freedom to distort anything we want”.

Rise up, England, resume your patriotic stance.

[post ends here]

7 thoughts on “All This Needed Was a Bit of Organization

  1. This seems more fitting for the attitude in the UK up until now.

    Homage To A Government

    by Philip Larkin

    Next year we are to bring all the soldiers home
    For lack of money, and it is all right.
    Places they guarded, or kept orderly,
    We want the money for ourselves at home
    Instead of working. And this is all right.

    It’s hard to say who wanted it to happen,
    But now it’s been decided nobody minds.
    The places are a long way off, not here,
    Which is all right, and from what we hear
    The soldiers there only made trouble happen.
    Next year we shall be easier in our minds.

    Next year we shall be living in a country
    That brought its soldiers home for lack of money.
    The statues will be standing in the same
    Tree-muffled squares, and look nearly the same.
    Our children will not know it’s a different country.
    All we can hope to leave them now is money.

  2. We had a very nice parade recently in the town of Holstebro, for soldiers returning from Afghanistan. Very uplifting to see. These people have been defending Danish interests the hard way, and the appreciation we give them upon return is vital.

    One may compare this to those who have been in ex-Yugoslavia, which is certainly not a clear Danish interest, but rather an ‘International effort’. Many of these suffer severe psychological problems, and just two days ago one went berserk and assaulted two policemen who had come to check his situation.

    There are important points here. One is that defending your own country is natural and good, and leads to much less trauma than being sent to a conflict one does not understand. Another is that clear public support and appreciation is very important. These people put their lives on the line, and need our unconditional support.

    Military activism in remote theaters is not my cup of tea. I think we should concentrate more on defence of our own turf and direct interests than on ‘peace-making’ in remote areas.

  3. For several years we’ve politely stood by waiting for these people to show common decency. It’s the English way of things.

    With apologies for the length (and the fact that I keep quoting it)…

    Et Dona Ferentes

    In extended observation of the ways and works of man,
    From the Four-mile Radius roughly to the Plains of Hindustan:
    I have drunk with mixed assemblies, seen the racial ruction rise,
    And the men of half Creation damning half Creation’s eyes.

    I have watched them in their tantrums, all that Pentecostal crew,
    French, Italian, Arab, Spaniard, Dutch and Greek, and Russ and Jew,
    Celt and savage, buff and ochre, cream and yellow, mauve and white,
    But it never really mattered till the English grew polite;

    Till the men with polished toppers, till the men in long frock-coats,
    Till the men who do not duel, till the men who war with votes,
    Till the breed that take their pleasures as Saint Lawrence took his grid,
    Began to “beg your pardon” and-the knowing croupier hid.

    Then the bandsmen with their fiddles, and the girls that bring the beer,
    Felt the psychological moment, left the lit Casino clear;
    But the uninstructed alien, from the Teuton to the Gaul,
    Was entrapped, once more, my country, by that suave, deceptive drawl.

    As it was in ancient Suez or ‘neath wilder, milder skies,
    I “observe with apprehension” how the racial ructions rise;
    And with keener apprehension, if I read the times aright,
    Hear the old Casino order: “Watch your man, but be polite.

    “Keep your temper. Never answer (that was why they spat and swore).
    Don’t hit first, but move together (there’s no hurry) to the door.
    Back to back, and facing outward while the linguist tells ‘em how –
    `Nous sommes allong ar notre batteau, nous ne voulong pas un row.’”

    So the hard, pent rage ate inward, till some idiot went too far…
    “Let ‘em have it!” and they had it, and the same was merry war –
    Fist, umbrella, cane, decanter, lamp and beer-mug, chair and boot –
    Till behind the fleeing legions rose the long, hoarse yell for loot.

    Then the oil-cloth with its numbers, like a banner fluttered free;
    Then the grand piano cantered, on three castors, down the quay;
    White, and breathing through their nostrils, silent, systematic, swift –
    They removed, effaced, abolished all that man could heave or lift.

    Oh, my country, bless the training that from cot to castle runs –
    The pitfall of the stranger but the bulwark of thy sons –
    Measured speech and ordered action, sluggish soul and un – perturbed,
    Till we wake our Island-Devil-nowise cool for being curbed!

    When the heir of all the ages “has the honour to remain,”
    When he will not hear an insult, though men make it ne’er so plain,
    When his lips are schooled to meekness, when his back is bowed to blows –
    Well the keen aas-vogels know it-well the waiting jackal knows.

    Build on the flanks of Etna where the sullen smoke-puffs float –
    Or bathe in tropic waters where the lean fin dogs the boat –
    Cock the gun that is not loaded, cook the frozen dynamite –
    But oh, beware my Country, when my Country grows polite!

  4. Dymphna – surely the most uplifting aspect of this incident is that it wasn’t organised. It was a spontaneous and natural reaction – the worm is turning.

  5. The pure revulsion from ordinary people was heartening to see.

    Two of the British people were arrested though, and at least one charged, for ‘shouting abuse at the Muslim protesters’.

    Needless to say none of the latter was arrested or charged, because they’d pre-arranged the demo with the police!

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