Seneca III sends a retrospective on Labour-governed Britain from the end of the Second World War until the present.

Memories and Cycles

by Seneca III

The early impressions of childhood take on a permanency that later experiences of places, people, smells, patterns of sound and memorable events impressed during the journey of life do not, because as time passes those things register in the back rooms of the mind, whilst the memories of childhood become a sort of mental book cover that outlasts all of the pages it holds together. Thus it is that I, as I enter into the late winter of my years, can clearly remember the Air Raid Shelters in the middle of my terraced street, the Anderson Shelters in the back gardens and the burnt-out factory opposite that had fallen foul of a stray Luftwaffe incendiary intended for the railhead shunting yards a mile to the north.

Most vividly of all I remember VE day and the street party when the wives and mothers of those still serving overseas in the BAOR or the Far East of those KIA or WIA and still lying in hospitals had laid out trestle tables piled high with cakes and savouries of all shapes and sizes baked from hoarded and probably black-market flour, sugar and spices. I remember as if it was yesterday the yards and yards of Union Jack bunting fluttering and chattering overhead in the gentle breeze of a warm early May, competing with the chirrupings of the flock of house sparrows that descended in a flurry upon the crumbs that had fallen from our eager young hands.

However, no matter that the cycles of history move slowly, they do so inexorably, and thereafter my time of growing up in a post-war world would become one of revelations, of the taste of real butter and the end to rationing, of taking my carefully horded pennies down to the corner shop and buying as many gobstoppers and sherbets as I could afford. I remember a frenzy of digging and cable laying in the street outside which my mother told me was to bring ‘AC’ to replace the old ‘DC’, a piece of meaningless information to me then but one which was to lie inert in my childhood memory until later in life.

But time never rests in one place, and those few short years of innocence continued after my father had been demobbed and we were a family at last. There followed primary school, secondary school, an eleven plus exam and a grammar school. Beyond the confines of those institutions it was by then a world of Teddy Boys, of drainpipe trousers, crepe-soled blue suede shoes, Elvis haircuts, a time of the daily horse and cart deliveries of milk and bread being replaced by electric floats that didn’t drop heaps of steaming fertiliser for our vegetable patch and then they in their turn were eventually replaced by the early ‘supermarkets’ which were small enough to fit in a far corner of one of the enormous emporia we shop in today.

I missed the ’60s in their entirety, being overseas and up to my neck in mud, blood and beer, but the resultant slippery slope that the ’60s created slid us into cultural decline that was inescapable and was the precursor the toxic, hedonistic ‘wokeism’ that now permeates every aspect of our existence and is having a similar but far more deleterious effect. History does indeed repeat itself, mostly in different ways, but repeat itself it does.

Thereafter, despite being rather apolitical at the time, I gradually became aware of the intermittent series of Labour governments that had taken office following the dissolution of the wartime coalition. First came the Clement Atlee government of 1945-1951, which brought with it a not unreasonable incarnation of relatively benign Socialism, staffed as it was in the main by people who had experienced the deprivations of at least one world war and in some cases two, and who wanted no more of it.

Atlee and his confederates had come into power in 1945 determined to improve the lot of the common man. Their objective was to bring about full employment, a mixed economy and a greatly enlarged system of social services provided by the State, and on the whole they were successful. To that end, they undertook the nationalisation of public utilities and major industries, implemented wide-ranging social reforms, including the passing of the National Insurance Act of 1946, the National Assistance Act of 1948 and the formation of the National Health Service (NHS), also in 1948. However, what Atlee and his comrades didn’t foresee was how their Labour successors and their Union puppet-masters would, over time, distort, manipulate and use those successes in order to create this oppressive draconian abomination of a country that Starmer and his Thought Police now seek to rule with a draconian fist in the name of that fatal oxymoron Diversity Equity and Inclusion. But, before we address that, let us have a look at Atlee’s successors in order of their appearance.

First out of the blocks came the two term Prime Minister Harold Wilson (1964-1970 and 1974-1976) the pipe-smoking, allegedly philandering, outwardly genial man-of-the-people who was as much a puppet of the Trade Unions and the far left as Starmer is today. During his first term as Prime Minister Wilson initiated and participated in the infamous beer and sandwiches meetings with Union leaders in Number 10. In the five years from 1964 up until the last increases made by his first administration, supplementary benefits went up by 26%, and sickness and unemployment benefits by 153%, sowing the seeds for the burden created now by the millions happily living on benefits and contributing nothing to the commonweal.

His Minister of Overseas Development, Barbara Castle, then went on to set a standard in interest relief on loans to developing nations which resulted in changes to the loan policies of many donor countries, saying it was “… a significant shift in the conduct of rich white nations to poor brown ones.” It’s almost as if Castle was prescient, and was sending encouragement to a future crop of illegal parasites and predators invading our shores.

Wilson was followed by Leonard James Callaghan, that elastic man of all seasons who later became Baron Callaghan of Cardiff KG, PC. He served as Prime Minister from 1976 to 1979 and is the only person to have held all four Great Offices of State, having also served as Chancellor of the Exchequer from 1964 to 1967, Home Secretary from 1967 to 1970 and Foreign Secretary from 1974 to 1976. Born into a working-class family in Portsmouth, Callaghan left school early and began his career as a tax inspector, before becoming a trade union official in the 1930s; he also served as a lieutenant in the Royal Navy during the Second World War and was later known as the “Keeper of the Cloth Cap” for maintaining close ties between Labour and the trade unions. Although he remained personally popular in opinion polls, Callaghan led Labour to defeat at the 1979 election and was replaced by Conservative Margaret Thatcher. That 1979 defeat marked the beginning of 18 years in opposition for the Labour Party, the longest in its history.

Callaghan was followed in 1997 by the dissembling, messianic, Sir Anthony Charles Lynton Blair KG. who opened up the country to alien hordes simply for the pleasure that he and his cronies enjoyed by rubbing our noses in what they insinuated was the ordure of our white privilege. Blair also incorporated the Human Rights Act in 1998 which brought forth unaccountable waves of so called ‘Human Rights’ Lawyers to gorge at the trough of legal aid as they sought to pervert or neutralise the course of justice. By a not-so-strange coincidence, his wife, Cherie, was a senior partner in Matrix Chambers, a legal practice toiling in the field of — you guessed it — Human Rights!

Blair in his turn was followed in 2007 by James Gordon Brown CH, Hon.FRSE, the curmudgeonly shyster who had previously flogged off our national gold reserves at well below their market value. Brown introduced rescue packages to keep banks afloat during the 2007-2008 financial crisis, and caused national debt to increase whilst he, in a fit of hubris, claimed that he had “saved the world”, or words to that effect. Brown also passed the world’s first Climate Change Act and introduced the Equality Act 2010. He belatedly signed he EU Reform Treaty, the Lisbon Treaty, because he had missed a ceremony attended by leaders of the 26 other member states having supposedly delayed his trip to Lisbon so he could appear before a Commons select committee scrutinising his government. He promised the committee there would be a full debate in Parliament on the 250-page text (which he may or may not have read) but no referendum. Members of the opposition claimed that Brown’s “diary clash” did not reflect well on him, making him appear “gutless” whilst the Shadow Foreign Secretary William Hague said “If he believes this treaty is the right thing for the country then he ought to have the guts to go to the actual signing ceremony.” And now, finally, after that parade of horrors we have before us the anti-white indigenous, non-reflecting surface that is Starmer, who is arguably shaping up to be the worst of them all.

A long time ago in medieval Italy there arose ruthless mercenary companies known as Condottieri (meaning ‘contractors’) who sold their services to the ruling elites. The ‘Condotta’ was the contract between them, the details of which were known only to the buyer and seller, and by which they put themselves in the service of the Rulers of the time in exchange for a form of Dane-geld, most often raised from the citizenry by means of harsh taxation and the forced seizure of privately owned lands and other property. The modern day, dark-skinned Condottieri now in the bound service of the current administration are recent newcomers attempting to build their Islamic ‘paradise’ on the crumbling ruins of the old British State; they are not in search of Dane-geld, however, but something far more valuable, taxpayer-funded fully autonomous zones controlled and policed by the Imamate and completely closed to the uncompensated original owners of the land and property therewithin.

Evil is not solely a metaphysical concept, as it can also manifest itself as physical entity. The pages of history are littered with stories of evil despots. They record that evil in human form has an unusually casual sureness of step about it and it is not just the eyes that are so cold and pitiless or the way they ignore or respond to seminal questions or the aggressively casual body language, but the menacing aura of ruthlessness and absolute power and their habit of surrounding themselves with or travelling with an entourage of adoring sycophantic acolytes and bodyguards.

Hence, that summation brings us to the point where Sir Keir Rodney Starmer KCB KC, who has served as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom since the 5th of July 2024, enters the current psychodrama from stage left attended by his retinue of like-minded sociopathic drones, often known as a ‘Cabinet’, ready to implement his diktats, U-turns, lies and impositions upon those of the long-suffering native proletariat who have not donated to his cause through the political incubus of Trade Unionism nor shared beer and sandwiches with him or his acolytes in Number Ten.

Moreover, the psychopathology of political tyranny and its immoral crutch, sociopathy, are well understood, and why, down all the days, they have been responsible for every form of treachery and atrocity known to man. Consequently, a full understanding thereof will have to be the starting point, the sine qua non, for any commencement of a Reconquista with or without the appearance of a modern-day Santiago Matamoros or similar.

I say that because in this sociopolitical milieu Starmer often gives me the impression that in some ways he resembles a soul brother of Maximilien Robespierre, who, together with Jean-Paul Marat, was one of the architects of the Great Terror. In the end however, Robespierre was kissed by Madame Guillotine after the coup d’état of 9 Thermidor and Marat was ventilated by the kitchen knife of Charlotte Corday as he was taking a bath, and I cannot help wondering if there might be a Thermidorian or two or a Corday quietly waiting in the shadows of these turbulent times — metaphorically speaking, of course.

Finally, in closing, I would emphasise that I remain of the opinion that things are not only changing too quickly but also in the wrong direction. People simply cannot absorb the substance and rate of change of this febrile socio-political abomination that is being imposed upon us, a change that condemns the long heritage indigenous population to a fate that is known as the “Great Replacement”. Yet, history teaches us that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction and, whilst Labour persists in sowing the Dragon’s teeth of our genocide, other people, ominously quiet in the background, are becoming consumed by a burning anger that is capable of forcing the gates of their tolerance wide open and creating an avenue into a time of insurrection and civil war. Whether that time will come as an explosion or an implosion remains a moot point, but either way it will come. ‘Qui nos usurpabunt, ipsi usurpabuntur’.

Nota Bene: Sociopaths are the product of traits such as a lack of empathy, manipulativeness, narcissism, impulsiveness, superficial charm, absence of remorse, and shallow emotions and they use these characteristics to manipulate others in pursuit of personal objectives without showing any remorse for how these actions bring harm and distress to their victims. These traits are most often found in politicians and the elite class whose future on the winds of time now awaits the slow, fine-grinding Mills of the Gods.

— Seneca III, still in a surrounded Middle England on this nineteenth day of August in the year of our Lord 2024.

For links to previous essays by Seneca III, see the Seneca III Archives.