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Call No Man Happy Until He is Dead

It is generally believed that the saying “call no man happy until he is dead”, attributed to Herodotus [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herodotus], was originally uttered by Solon [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solon]. Perhaps. Many believe that the saying dates back only to the 19th Century. At any rate, the saying has stood the test of time. The basis of it certainly has.

How often have we seen the spectacle of the “famous”, the wealthy, the “happy” or those we perhaps imagine should be happy, brought crashing down, often to obscurity as well as ruination? It was ruminating on this that caused me to write today. Some may think (assuming much, as many do) that I am thinking of myself, once a barrister, once living in (at various times) a Little Venice house, a penthouse apartment, a Caribbean villa, a large English country house with 26 bedrooms, but now cast down and living in extremely reduced circumstances, on a limited income etc and having to give thought to what things cost and so on.

I am sorry to disappoint those who hate me (usually without reason). My life has been one of considerable ups and downs, particularly financial. Every one of my luxurious habitations was supported, as by bookends, by relative and occasionally absolute poverty at each end. Such irregularity fosters a philosophical and perhaps stoical and/or fatalistic attitude missing in those who, having always known wealth and entitlement (or who achieved the same from humble origins) find their lives as well as livelihoods swept away by Fate. These are those who jump off buildings, massacre their families before shooting themselves etc. People with my attitude just think “tomorrow is another day”.

If even my thoughts and feelings are not truly me, in the Egoic sense, if my body is not me, then how little is my bank balance me, how little are my cars, former dwellings and (now long gone!) Rolex watches “me”? Scarcely at all; not at all.

A few examples:

  • Terry Ramsden, now completely obscure (and, presumably, broke, or maybe not: you never know with his type) but “famous” in the 1980s, and so wealthy that he could bet £500,000 each-way on his own horse at the 1986 Grand National (it came fourth; Ramsden profited by £1 million).

https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2004/apr/03/horseracing.comment3

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_Ramsden

  • Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, born into a wealthy family and with every possible material advantage. Judging purely from what I saw occasionally on TV, I thought her useless and brainless, but others thought quite highly of her, I am told. It was reported that she died alone, having not seen anyone for days.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tara_Palmer-Tomkinson

  • Various national leaders: Gaddafi (killed by a mob of Libyans, who first shoved a pipe up his rear end); the Shah of Iran (deposed and everything he had worked for destroyed; died in exile); Adolf Hitler (shot himself when the forces of East and West, that is to say Sovietism and finance-capitalism, burst into his capital, having battered down by air and land everything he had built); Stalin (died surrounded by sycophantic ghouls who feared and hated him; a ghastly death, dragged down by unseen forces).

I think too of others, people I have known personally. For example, in my own class and year at school, there have been a variety of outcomes (to date: that is one race still not at the finishing post).

One boy became a police officer, at least one an Army officer; a third became a helicopter pilot and later the Captain of the Queen’s Helicopter Flight and, later still, the personal pilot of King Hussein of Jordan. I suppose several became office bods, accountants etc. One unacademic but amusing fellow became a banker in Switzerland, of all things; another one, actually part-(francophone)-Swiss, became a structural engineer with his own firm in Paris. Another became, eventually, a chartered surveyor who has written a series of property-conversion manuals. Several no doubt inherited their families’ businesses. A number became BBC producers etc. Some did time in prison (all for GBH, oddly: was it something in the water?) or so I heard. In fact, that last sentence is wrong, because I did read in the Daily Telegraph about one boy (an Organ Scholar, if I recall aright, who used to play the massive school organ), who became a music teacher and (hence the interest of the Press) when in his thirties was convicted of sexually assaulting one of his piano pupils.

Life is always surprising. Who knows where my next port of call will be?

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Accept No Imitations: Fake Movements

Introduction

In the past, by which I mean as far back as you want to go, but particularly the 1920s, 1930s etc, the primary method of opposing a political movement or tendency was to do so directly. Political battles on the streets, electoral contests involving propaganda and shows of strength etc; books might be written, too. One thinks perhaps of Trotsky’s book Terrorism and Communism, largely a polemic against the social-democrat Karl Kautsky. That was then. Today, while elements of the former methods still exist, new ones have come to the fore. One of these, applied particularly to (deployed against) the nationalist wing of politics, is the fake party, fake movement, fake tendency (call it what you will).

Fake Movements: example

It may be that the modern “fake movement” tactic had its genesis in the repressions of the Russian Empire in the period before the First World War. The Tsarist secret police, the Okhrana, established agents as “dissident” voices, attracting to those agents genuine dissidents. Thus society had “safety valves” and could blow off steam safely, with no danger of serious damage to the overall society or the government’s hold on the people.

There were many examples. The famous Father Gapon became one such, though it seems that, like his even more famous predecessor, Judas Iscariot, he started off as an “honest dissident” or believer in social justice. Likewise, the assassin of Stolypin was another “double agent” or double player, being both a revolutionary and an agent of the Okhrana.

Fake Movements Today: UKIP and how it was used to beat down the BNP; the Alt-Right fakery now joins with UKIP to prevent the rise of any new and real social-national party…

It is of the essence of a “fake” movement that it starts off or seems to start off as a genuine manifestation of socio-political frustration. UKIP was like that. It started life as the Anti-Federalist League, the brainchild of a lecturer at the London School of Economics, Alan Sked, whose first attempt at electioneering led to a 0.2% vote (117 votes) at Bath in 1992. UKIP itself was created in 1993. At that stage, UKIP’s membership could be fitted into one or two taxis.

By 1997, UKIP was able to field 194 candidates, yet still only achieved 0.3% of the national vote, perhaps equivalent to 1% in each seat actually contested, the same result as had been achieved in the 1994 European elections. In those 1997 contests, the Referendum Party funded by Franco-Jewish financier James Goldsmith was its main rival (beating UKIP in 163 out of 165 seats). The BNP was another rival, on the more radical, social-national side. However, the votes of all three would have amounted to only a few percent in any given seat.

It is at this point that an early joiner, Nigel Farage, emerges as leader. Alan Sked left UKIP, fulminating about “racism” and Farage’s meetings with BNP members etc. Farage had been the only UKIP candidate to have saved his deposit in 1997 (getting 5% at Bath, Sked’s old test-bed). Goldsmith died; most of the Referendum Party joined UKIP. “Major donors” emerged too.

In the 1999 European elections, UKIP received 6.5% of the vote; not very impressive, but enough (under the proportional voting system in use) to win 3 seats in the EU Parliament. From that time on, UKIP slowly gathered strength. In the 2001 general election, it still only had 1.5% of the national vote, but 6 of its candidates retained their deposits.

On a personal note, I missed much of UKIP’s rise. I was living out of the UK for much of 1990-1993 (mostly in the USA), again in 1996-97 (in Kazakhstan) and after I left Kazakhstan again spent much time overseas (many places, from North Cyprus to the Caribbean, the USA, the Med, the Canaries and Egypt, among others). In any case, I was not much interested in UK politics at the time. I had lunch with a girl in a pub at Romsey in Hampshire in the Spring of 2000. She told me that most of her time was spent “working on behalf of something called UKIP. Have you heard of it?” Answer no. When it was explained to me, I have to admit that I thought, secretly, that something like that had no chance. I suppose that I was both right and wrong at once.

Now, at the time when UKIP was gaining strength, after 1999, the BNP under its new leader, Nick Griffin, was also gaining strength and –in Westminster elections– doing better overall than UKIP at first. In 2001, it got over 10% of the vote in 3 constituencies (16% in one).  It is important to note here that the BNP was a genuine party, proven as such by the hatred it engendered in the “enemy” camp(s): Jewish Zionists, “antifascists” (many of whom are also Jews, though some are naive non-Jews), and the System (a wide term but certainly including existing MPs, the BBC, the journalistic swamp etc).

The anti-BNP forces were trying constantly to repeat their success in destroying the National Front in the 1970s. It lived on after the 70s, but as a shell. Internal factionalism was aided and abetted by skilled enemies. Akin to cracking marble in Carrara.

Whatever may be said of Nick Griffin (and I am neutral on the subject, though certainly more sympathetic than hostile), it cannot be denied that he gave the BNP its only chance of becoming a semi-mainstream party in the manner of the Front National in France. A strategic thinker, he managed to bring the BNP to the brink of success by 2009.

Within UKIP itself, there were social-national elements as well as what I would call conservative nationalists and others who were really Conservative Party types who, being anti-mass immigration, anti-EU etc, had defected. Two of the last sort later became UKIP’s 2 MPs, both initially elected as Conservatives: Mark Reckless, Douglas Carswell. Their kind of pseudo-“libertarian” “Conservatism” was exactly the wrong position for UKIP to take and positioned UKIP somewhere near but beyond the Conservative Party, when, to really break through, it needed to go social-national.

When the BNP imploded after the disastrous post-Question Time 2010 General Election, UKIP was able to get the votes of most of those who had previously voted BNP, if only fuelled by frustration or desperation, or “better half a loaf than none”.

UKIP beat all other UK parties at the 2014 European elections, getting 27 MEPs. OFCOM then awarded UKIP “major party” status, enabling it to get huge amounts of airtime (and people still talk about Britain’s “free” mainstream media…).

UKIP however, was unable to beat its way through the British fair-seeming (but in fact as good as rigged) “First Past the Post” electoral system. 12.6% of national vote (nearly 4 million votes), but only 1 seat (Carswell’s, at Clacton, Essex). Meanwhile, the BNP vote had collapsed even from its 2010 level (1.9%, 563,743 votes) to effectively zero (1,667 votes).

I myself had already tweeted and blogged from 2014 that UKIP had peaked. I paid virtually no attention to the BNP, which by that time was already yesterday’s news. The 2017 election brought UKIP 1.9%, whereas the BNP bumped along with statistical zero (despite having tripled its individual votes to 4,642).

Douglas Carswell, the “libertarian” Conservative faux-nationalist resigned before UKIP’s 2017 failure to take up lucrative “work” in the City of London. His work with UKIP was done, let us put it that way. As for Farage, he reinvented himself as a touring talking head, while keeping his hand in as a “nationalist” by referring to his concerns about the “US Jewish lobby” (strangely, he failed to mention the Jew lobby in the UK or France…).

Today, in 2018, with neither main System party commanding firm support, we see the System, the Zionists in particular, “concerned” about the “resurgence” of the “far right” (i.e. worried that the British people might awaken and turn to a real alternative).

So what happens? The System “operation” revs up a little: the “Alt-Right” talking heads –who rarely if ever criticize the Jewish Zionist lobby– are now flocking to join UKIP! Milo Yan-whatever-he-is-opolous, “Prison Planet” Watson, “Sargon of Akkad”, “Count Dankula” etc…all the faux-“nationalist” fakes and fuckups are going to UKIP, have in fact gone to UKIP, have all suddenly joined as members of UKIP.

Conclusion

Naturally, all this could be co-incidence, but it is very odd that the events that I have chronicled seem to have happened at just the “right” time:

  • UKIP rising at the same time as the BNP which was, at that time, a rapidly-growing potential threat to the System;
  • Nick Griffin ambushed on BBC TV Question Time;
  • BNP marginalized in msm while UKIP was promoted as a “threat” to LibLabCon;
  • UKIP given endless msm airtime so long as it was “non-racist” (it now has quite a few non-whites as prominent members and is pro-Israel etc…);
  • Conservative Party MPs defecting to UKIP and so (in the absence of any elected UKIP MPs) bound to take leading roles in UKIP and steer it into capitalist, “libertarian” backwaters;
  • as the people look ready to follow any new credible social-national party (were one to emerge a little further down the line), suddenly dead-and-nailed-to-its-perch UKIP gets a boost from those fake “Alt-Right” figures…;
  • Former msm “radical” talking heads such as Paul Mason turn up shouting about the UKIP/Alt-Right convergence as if the SA were marching down Whitehall.

It is just all too convenient.

Still, God moves in mysterious ways. Maybe the System, in its cleverness, will score an “own goal”. After all, that’s what the Okhrana did in pre-revolutionary St. Petersburg…

Notes

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/politics/ukip-alt-right-members-paul-joseph-watson-mark-meechan-carl-benjamin-a8418116.html

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/lostinshowbiz/2018/jun/28/neil-hamilton-ukip-supergroup-supremacist-a-team-infowars-breitbart

https://www.newstatesman.com/politics/uk/2018/06/ukip-s-turn-alt-right-warning-sign-we-need-fight-back

https://archive.org/details/storymylifebyfa00gapogoog

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/UK_Independence_Party

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_National_Party

C64bh5XW0AIWYgyhttp://altrightnotright.com/

 

 

The Leadership Principle v. the Attitude of the Prima Donna

Nick Griffin

I suppose that most people reading this will have heard of Nick Griffin, formerly of the British National Party. For the benefit of those who have not, this is what Wikipedia says about him:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nick_Griffin

I have never met Nick Griffin, I have never spoken with him. My view of him is, in a nutshell, that he did very well with the BNP to make a large part of a silk purse out of what was mostly a sow’s ear. He made the BNP at least half-credible (up to 2009). He and Andrew Brons got elected as BNP MEPs. He has courage. He has intelligence, too.

On the more doubtful side, Griffin was naive enough to think that he had been invited onto BBC Question Time because the BNP had all but broken through into the magic circle of “major parties” and was being treated as such; instead, he was ambushed and trashed in a totally planned way. All those who took part in that ambush are enemies of the people. That finished the BNP.

As to what Griffin writes, I agree with much of it and in particular with much of his recent attack on the corrupted “Alt-Right” and other [what some call] “kosher nationalists”.

Griffin has reposted one or two of my tweets (though I am now expelled from Twitter) and GAB posts. I must have retweeted or reposted a couple of dozen of his.

I think that Griffin is basically right to say that the purely political fight, in the manner of the BNP, UKIP etc in the UK (he says throughout Western Europe) is now not possible. He has a point. Encroaching State/ZOG repression, Jewish Zionist influence and control, the ever-increasing hordes (armies?) of blacks and browns in the urban areas. Still, God works in mysterious ways…

Mark Collett

I had not heard of Mark Collett until this year, or possibly, peripherally, 2017. He once worked with Nick Griffin and was tried –and re-tried– (and acquitted) with him:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mark_Collett

I have read The Fall of Western Man, Collett’s book. I agreed with almost all of it, though I was slightly underwhelmed. I do not think that Adolf Hitler, Alfred Rosenberg or Oswald Spengler have much to worry about.

I have from time to time reposted and (prior to my expulsion) retweeted Collett’s comments online. He, however, has (as far as I know) never reposted any of mine.

Leadership

Nick Griffin led the BNP; Collett led part of the BNP (the “youth wing”) and, obviously, wants to be seen as a nationalist leadership figure generally. Both men do seem to take the view that they must cultivate a slightly aloof persona in order to achieve their purposes. I have no quarrel with that, so long as the attempt does not look silly. At present (again, as far as I know) they are both generals without troops, and the fact that they both have about 35,000 Twitter followers means almost nothing. I myself, not a leader of or even a member of any party or group, had 3,000. I wonder how many of my 3,000 Twitter followers would follow me into battle– or even to a meeting in a pub? Not too many, anyway.

My point is that a political leader must of course have the aura of leadership, of slight mystery, of slight aloofness (as ever, we look to Hitler), but that must be based on the real, not merely or only that which is the result of cultivation.

Kameradschaft

In the past year or two we have seen numerous social nationalists persecuted by Zionist Jewry. I myself was disbarred in 2016, then questioned by the police in 2017, at the instigation of connected packs of Zionist Jews. Others have to date suffered more: satirical singer-songwriter Alison Chabloz; Jez Turner of the London Forum. Turner is right now sitting in Wandsworth Prison and will not be released until Autumn.

I have seen no word of support from either Nick Griffin or Mark Collett for any one of the above-named people.

Leadership demands fealty and loyalty: the leader demands both fealty and loyalty from his troops. However, loyalty works both ways. The leader must give more than he receives. Those who would be first must be the servant of all. The duty of those who would lead social nationalism is to support all social nationalists who remain true.

Afterword

In the short time (about 5 hours) since the above was published, I have been made aware that in fact both Mark Collett and Nick Griffin have expressed support (on Twitter and GAB) on at least two occasions for Alison Chabloz, though not (as far as I know, to date) for Jez Turner. Anyone knowing differently is welcome to comment in the Comments section below.

A Day Out in Cambridge

Introduction

This is another vignette from my time at the Bar, specifically from my first six months (of a year, split up into two segments, in 1992 and 1993, with six months sojourn in New Jersey and New York in between) as a Bar pupil, which is a trainee barrister. I have, in a previous blog post, introduced the slightly comical figure of “the pupilmaster”, the anxious little Mauritian Indian barrister who was supposedly supervising me (we were the same age, 35). This account tells the tale of our day out in the university town of Cambridge.

Town and Gown

I had been to Cambridge a couple of times before. The first time was when I was about 25, with my then girlfriend. She was 32, a graduate of Cambridge University, and had contemporaries who were establishing themselves in academia and elsewhere. We stayed for a day or so with a couple who still lived in Cambridge; one of that couple was having his PhD thesis published as a book, and worked at the famous Scott Polar Research Institute.

My second visit to Cambridge, a decade later, was again University-connected, this time invited, by a friend at the Bar doing a Master’s degree, to Queen’s College, to the annual dinner of something called the E Society, a society which existed only to give its annual dinner; a club reminiscent of that written about by G.K. Chesterton in The Queer Feet [http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/QueeStep920.shtml].

That dinner took place in the richly-panelled rooms of the Dean of the College, a pleasant though cunning-seeming host and fellow (or should that be Fellow?), who later became briefly famous in the tabloid Press for two things: firstly, fulminating against “guests” of undergraduates (i.e. girlfriends/boyfriends) staying overnight in College; secondly, having a young woman actually living with him! (I believe that, by tradition, his office was reserved for bachelors living alone). The dinner was for about a dozen and was black-tie.

I also remember the dinner for other reasons: the Wagnerian-themed menu (“Valkyries on Horseback” etc); also the administrative slip when my “vegetarian request” (put in by the person who had invited me) turned out to have been lost in action. I was then ceremoniously served by the butler with a couple of poached eggs on toast! OK for me, but a hard-core veggie or vegan would have had a fit. I also recall the shock with which a fellow guest received my account of a TV programme I had seen about Filipino “psychic surgeons”. Turned out that he was the Something-or-Other Professor of Cardiac Surgery (and was unamused)!

Cambridge Crown Court

I saw Cambridge Crown Court on TV news recently. A horrible building which might be described as “public loo meets nuclear bunker” (with a nod to the Guggenheim in New York, in my opinion Frank Lloyd Wright’s least-successful conception).

https://courttribunalfinder.service.gov.uk/courts/cambridge-crown-court

However, in 1992 Cambridge Crown Court was still held in the ancient-seeming Guildhall (in fact built only in 1939).

It soon became clear that Cambridge was a little behind London in attitude. In London, when someone on bail “surrendered to custody” on day of trial, the “surrender” was nominal: he checked in with the Usher and his name was ticked off a list. In Cambridge, the defendant checked in and, despite having been on bail for months, was shoved into a cell! So it was that pupilmaster and I, having robed, found ourselves witness to an argument between two court guards and our defendant, who had arrived not long beforehand and had been roughly pushed into a cell with an injunction to “get your arse in there”… Having pacified the ongoing argument, we settled down (well, stood there– no furniture) to hear the defendant’s story already read in the brief.

According to the defendant (who was of “gypsy”, i.e. Irish tinker or, in today’s politically-correct terminology, “traveller” origin), he had been invited to travel with his friend (co-defendant) to Cambridge, far from their homes in Shepherd’s Bush, West London, in order to see a used car which the friend wanted to buy. While walking in the centre of Cambridge, he encountered a person described by him as “a hippy”, who had offered him a cigarette. Well, that cigarette “must have been drugs”, said the defendant, because when he regained consciousness he was in the back of a car which was being chased by a police car. He had been unable to understand why the police car, blue lights flashing and sirens sounding, was trying to chase the car in which he was now a passenger. The chase ended and, despite his having tried to explain himself, he had been arrested. Unlikely that he had ever read Kafka’s The Trial, but his surprise echoed that of Josef K.

The police account, which formed the case for the prosecution, was different. In their view, a car had been stolen by the co-defendant and defendant, had been sighted and chased and our defendant had exited the car on a bend and rolled under a parked car. His attempt to hide had been brought to a swift conclusion by a police dog.

This depressing and hopeless case might have caused pupilmaster to think a little unclearly. Never very punctual [see https://ianrmillard.wordpress.com/2018/06/19/home-and-away-or-neighbours/], pupilmaster was in danger of yet again irritating a judge by appearing late in Court (a massive discourtesy if the judge has already taken his seat). He poo-poohed my warning about this, saying, “Don’t worry– I know a short-cut into this court; it’s up those stairs. I’ve been here before”, indicating a dark stairway not far away. The defendant was bid au revoir for the moment, and we ascended the stairs.

In the words of Victorian novels, “imagine my surprise” when, instead of emerging outside the courtroom, we found ourselves in the dock! Worse, the judge was seated, looking livid, and the court was packed to such an extent that it reminded me of the famous courtroom scene in the old black and white film of A Tale of Two Cities. This was not good. Pupilmaster hissed at me to find the (hidden) catch so that we could exit the dock and take our proper place. After some fumbling, this was done. The judge, quite the Judge Jeffreys type, had turned that odd red-purple colour which might be called Judicial Livid, and which I myself may have triggered a couple of times in succeeding years. Not good.

The barrister for the co-defendant was there and all we now awaited was the putting-up of the defendants. It was at this point that it turned out that the co-defendant had exercized his non-existent right not to turn up for his trial. As a result, the trial collapsed, the defendant was bailed again and a warrant was issued for the arrest of the co-defendant.

So it was that another day in the pursuit of Justice ended.

Home and Away, or Neighbours?

Prologue on the Stage [with apologies to Goethe’s Faust]

At the belated age of 35, in early 1992, I embarked upon a Bar pupillage (which, for anyone reading outside England and Wales, means being a trainee-barrister for a year broken up into 2 6-month parts). The system was archaic. Having acquired a law degree and completed the 1-year Bar Finals course, and having passed all exams, you were expected, as a “pupil”,  to trail around after a barrister (“pupil-master”) from whom you were expected to learn not so much the law as the practical procedure and habitude of the Bar and the courts.

The pupilmaster was the same age as me (a source of many a joke from him) and was a Mauritian of Indian descent, by name Raj N., whose father had been Minister of Justice, I believe, back home. At short notice, the pupillage had been set up by a friend of mine who shall be nameless (now that I am apparently “notorious” as a “far right” “extremist”– if you believe the “Lugenpresse” aka msm liars). I had to take what I could get. Having said that, Raj N. was basically a very decent little chap and we became quite friendly. His practice was an odd mixture: partly civil law with quite a few High Court judicial reviews; the rest, Crown Court criminal trials ranging from armed robbery to blackmail and almost everything else.

The first six months were unpaid (in those days, but not so now, when most if not all pupils are subsidized); not even unavoidable expenses such as travel were covered. The only expense that could be relied upon, if the pupilmaster were decent, would be a supply of drinks at the Cittie of York pub in Holborn or at Daly’s wine bar in Fleet Street (in Rumpole of the Bailey, “Pomeroy’s”), at the time called something else, a change which the Bar did not accept (and the Bar won that one, because I noticed recently that Daly’s is now called Daly’s again…).

I had come back from the USA to do the pupillage and had very little money. I got by, God knows how…I may have forgotten to pay my Underground fares at times, and one day, en route to Wood Green Crown Court in North London, I noticed, while ascending the escalator at Bound’s Green Underground Station, where –ticket-inspectors permitting–the pupilmaster usually picked me up, if our case was in North-East London or beyond, that the soles of my expensive handmade shoes were starting to part company with the uppers. I was not allowed to do my own cases (initially, “rubbish” cast off from barristers in my Chambers) and so make any money at all until I was in the second six-month period of pupillage. It was hard. Steps had to be taken. They were. However, that would be another story in itself.

One thing that made the first six months of pupillage bearable was the degree to which the pupilmaster got himself into amusing pickles, often in Court. Here is but one example.

The One Where Home and Away was the Alibi

So to that Rumpolian staple, Inner London Crown Court, situate halfway between London Bridge and Elephant and Castle. A rather grim old setting for many a case of serious and often “heavy” crime. In this case, serious rather than heavy. In legal terms, robbery; in lay terms, a mugging. The primary facts were that, on the ghastly North Peckham Estate in South London, a young man was hit in the face and money stolen. What distinguished this case from the many was that the victim had actually met and been introduced to the alleged robber some months prior to the robbery, a fact that (presumably) the defendant had forgotten, but (unfortunately for the defendant) the victim had not. There had been an identity parade, what the Americans call a line-up. The robber had been picked out.

Now, on the facts as stated above, you might think that the best course would be for the defendant to hold his hands up, plead to it and hope that his Counsel might mitigate the sentence. In any case, the Court is supposed to knock a third off for a guilty plea, though that is of course notional, because the guidelines for judges have latitude built in. In this case the defendant insisted on pleading Not Guilty. So there we were: an alleged robber whose victim knew him personally or at least had met him, and had identified him. What did the robber have to say?

The defendant was a rather large West Indian, a former amateur boxer of about 30, with a considerable criminal record for theft, robbery, drug misuse and so on. His alibi was that he not only was he not guilty and not at or near the scene of the crime but that he could not have done the crime, because every single day, without fail, he and his girlfriend (also West Indian) and her sister sat down at (I think it was, about) 5 pm to watch the Australian soap, Home and Away. Needless to say, such an alibi was thin, even with a supporting witness (the girlfriend). He thought, God knows why, that he had a good chance of getting off. In the meantime, he was being held in custody at “high security” Belmarsh Prison.

The first day of trial was absurd, with the perenially-late pupilmaster being told off not once but twice for tardiness. On the second occasion, after lunch, the plump-faced but not unattractive lady judge also waved her beringed fingers in front of her (the middle finger housing a massive rock that looked like it belonged in the V & A) and had taken the trouble to procure a printed copy of a page which she pointedly invited the pupilmaster to “peruse at your leisure, Mr. N.” It turned out to be the responsibilities of Counsel not to waste court time and the power of the judge to recommend that his (Legal Aid) fees be docked accordingly.

When the Defence opened on the second day, it turned out that the judge required that both sides should agree on when Home and Away was screened. Much quiet amusement from public gallery and jury box, but the judge and all Counsel had no idea of the timings. Judging from looks and smiles, the jury already knew the timings. Prosecution Counsel, a jolly fat little man, acquired copies of Radio Times and TV Times. These were perused. At that point, it was discovered that Home and Away was screened twice on every weekday afternoon, once at 5-something and, before that, at 2-something. These were, apparently, identical episodes, so it would have been possible for the defendant to see the first showing and still be free to mug the victim.

In the event, the sole Defence witness, the girlfriend (the defendant did not give evidence) scarcely came up to proof. Prosecution Counsel’s killer question asked whether, if she and defendant watched the first showing on any particular day, they would sit down again 3 hours later and watch it all over again. Her angry “YES!” carried little weight. The jury took little time to convict. When it was all over and the Prosecution Counsel was leaving, he jovially remarked to us, “well, I’m off home, home to watch Home and Away!”, to which the family and girlfriend of the defendant, having heard the remark, addressed a few choice epithets before scurrying off.

When we saw the defendant in the cells below (they are always below…), he was happy enough, despite the pretty stiff 5-year sentence that he had received about an hour before (the pupilmaster liked to give convicted defendants time to cool down…). Defendant’s formerly vice-like handshake was limp, explained by his “Ah’m OK, man. I can do a 5 on my ‘ead. Ah’ve just ‘ad a smoke, ani-way”…Where he got the stuff (cannabis) from, God knows. Better not enquired after.

So there we have it. Justice a la mode. Followed by a drink at a convenient hostelry.

[this little remembrance forms part of an occasional series on the absurdities of Bar practice as it was for me between 1992 and 2008]

 

 

Fake News, Fake History and Fake Memories: the UK in the 1970s etc

The Story

I went to school on the train endless strikes waiting on cold platforms for hours. Then returned home to a house with power cuts no heating hot food it was a nightmare for at least 10 years“— who can guess on what the lady I quote was, in a semi-literate fashion, commenting? The Second World War? Surely not: that only lasted for 6 years. The Siege of Leningrad? No, that lasted for a shorter period yet— 2 years, 4 months. What, then? In fact the lady in question was commenting, in the online Daily Mail, on the UK railways and, in the wider sense, on the UK generally in the 1970s.

Well, it certainly sounds like it was awful. The problem with that, though, is that it is in fact not true. The trains in England (where I lived; Wales and Scotland were similar) were not subject to “endless” strikes (though there were certainly far more than is now the case) and the station platforms were no colder than they are now. What about “power cuts”, “no heating [or] hot food”?

The Reality

The “Three Day Week” only lasted for 3 months (January-March 1974) and only commercial users of electricity were cut off or required to cease using electrical power. Most domestic users were unaffected. Newspaper printing, supermarkets and hospitals were also exempt. In other words, if the lady quoted at top is not simply making up her story of hardship (or failing to remember accurately), the reasons must lie elsewhere. Maybe her parents failed to pay their electricity bill! Only joking…In fact, two years before that, there had been announced (on 16 February 1972) a rolling programme of area outages (including domestic users) but peace broke out 2-3 days later (midday on 19 February 1972) so, again, few domestic users were affected, though a minority had seen limited outages earlier, in early February.

There was, also, the “Winter of Discontent”, which occurred in the winter of 1978-79, but in fact (in its acute phase) was only effective in January and early February 1979. In reality, we are talking about weeks rather than months. Neither domestic nor commercial users of electricity lost power; gas and coal users were likewise unaffected.

So there we have it: the lady commenting on these matters at top seems to be a victim of selective amnesia when she regards a decade of her childhood as having been an awful ten years without rail travel, heating, lighting etc. The “decade” in question turns out to have been affected for about 2-4 months out of 120…

In fact, the amnesiac lady is not alone. Time and again we read about how the UK spent much of the 1970s in the dark, in the cold, without public transport, without food, rubbish uncollected and dead bodies unburied. It’s nonsense, but many really believe it, even those who were there, which is worrying…I should add that I myself was there, having been born in 1956; by the way, those “dead bodies unburied” did exist briefly (for a few days) in the winter of 1978-79, but only in two or three small areas of Liverpool and Manchester. Less noxious rubbish did pile up, but not for very long and not everywhere.

This fake history, that the 1970s were a decade of “socialist” chaos and dislocation, is quite entrenched now. This canard has wings! The various “Conservative” newspapers in the UK repeat it as an article of faith.

Other Fake Memories

No, I am not going to blog, here anyway, about the “holocaust” scammers and delusionals. I want to focus on a few other things. One persistent idea (which I have even seen said and written by journalists and TV talking heads older than me) is that Britain had no decent food until about 20 years ago! It’s just nonsense! Another is that life was harder for people in the 1960s, 1970s, 1980s than it now is. More nonsense. In, say, the 1970s, people mostly had secure jobs, which paid enough to live on; there were no such things as foodbanks; social security was far better overall, the disabled and unemployed were not bullied by DWP jobsworths; the mass immigration which is making the UK (especially parts of England) into a human zoo had not really begun to snowball; workers had fixed hours, which included decent lunch breaks of 1 hour (often interpreted generously); there was no such thing (for most employees) as being on call after hours, in the evenings or on weekends and holidays. In addition, it was far easier (for anyone qualified) to access higher education.

Conclusion

There is a wave of unreality around. I have a –perhaps idiosyncratic– theory that the various kinds of lies or lying fake “facts” that people are often now expected to believe (“holocaust” fakery, the idea that races and peoples are all somehow “equal”, the idea that National Socialism was “evil” etc) have affected the general sense of truth in society, so that many cannot detect lies, and indeed often lie to themselves as well as others about recent history and even about their own experiences.

Notes:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three-Day_Week

http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/february/16/newsid_2757000/2757099.stm

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winter_of_Discontent

 

Reply to David Dimbleby

I have just now watched a BBC TV show, Putin’s Russia with David Dimbleby. In the programme, Dimbleby goes around Moscow interviewing a variety of people and asking their opinion of V.V. Putin. He started off by interviewing a lady who has had, I think, 10 children, thus ensuring her a medal, significant State financial benefits and a title which is different from but in essence the same as the old Stalin-era one, Mother Heroine of the Soviet Union. Fairly predictable opening gambit.

Dimbleby interviewed a number of dissidents: Yevgenia Albats, a fairly obvious Jewess and anti-Putin journalist; then another woman, who was arrested for 5 minutes, then released without charge, for going to the Duma (Parliament) with a satirical cardboard cutout of a pro-Putin politician accused informally of sexual offences. Hardly Stalinist repression: the same could happen in the UK. Finally, he interviewed an anti-Putin think-tank personage, who says that, while there probably was government interference in the recent Russian Presidential election, Putin would have won anyway. The dissident political figurehead Navalny was mentioned by Dimbleby. Navalny’s poll ratings have usually been well below 20% and his electoral showing as Presidential candidate was about 1%.

On the pro-Putin side, Dimbleby interviewed a smoothly duplicitous Russian Orthodox prelate who would not have been out of place in the Roman Catholic Curia c.1600. It should come as no surprise that the Russian Orthodox Church supports the Russian state. After all, the slogan of late-Tsarist official Pobedonostsev was Orthodoxy, Autocracy, Nationality [Православиесамодержавиенародность]. The Russian Orthodox Church Church (that is, the small part not repressed during the Jewish-dominated years of the Revolution, Civil War, 1920s New Economic Policy and 1930s Stalinism) supported Stalin –or pretended to– during the 1940s, though ignorant peasant Khrushchev again repressed the Church during the late 1950s, the “Thaw”, a period otherwise thought of as “liberal”.

Dimbleby also visited a class of children being taught weapons handling and maintenance, mixed with some patriotism and religion, an ironic twist on non-urban America. Dimbleby went on to talk with others: one ultra-nationalist whose interview was short and not-so-sweet; a group of young people, all Putin supporters. However, his most telling interview was with an Englishman working for RT, who was comfortable with his job and role.

It was pretty irritating to see Dimbleby, mouthpiece of the BBC, which is itself a mouthpiece for the UK Government and (like the UK government) riddled with Jew-Zionists, criticize lack of journalistic and individual liberty in Russia. He himself was party to the planned ambush of (arguably, naive) Nick Griffin on BBC TV Question Time, which (again, arguably) finished off the BNP, until then on a roll. Dimbleby was scathing about what happens in Russia to those who say the “wrong” things. Perhaps he missed the several recent criminal trials in the UK of anti-Zionist dissidents such as Jez Turner of The London Forum (sentenced to 1 year’s imprisonment for making a speech partly about Jews), or Alison Chabloz, convicted of singing satirical songs about the “holocaust” scam and the Jewish fraudsters who make money out of it. Ironically, Alison Chabloz is in court in London tomorrow, for sentence. The last two people named have also had their Youtube channels taken down. Alison Chabloz has also (like me) been expelled from Twitter. “Long live freedom”…

Anyone who was in Russia or the Russophone area in the 1990s (I was: a week in Moscow in 1993, a year in Almaty, Kazakhstan, in 1996-97) knows that, at that time, Russia was a wreck of a state, looted by (mainly) Jews. People starved by the million, especially the elderly. Yeltsin was a corrupt puppet. Putin may not be the perfect philosopher-king, and he does have both personal and ideological flaws, but his rule was and still is necessary.

Postscript

Dimbleby also criticized the lack of an independent judiciary in Russia. I was unable to compare that to the English system, in particular to the Alison Chabloz case, in which the defendant, a satirical singer-songwriter persecuted by the Jewish-Zionist lobby, was in court for –in effect– singing songs, because the matter was still before the court. Now that she has been sentenced, I can mention the fact that, at first, she was before the Chief Magistrate for London, one Emma Arbuthnot. The latter is married to a Conservative Party MP who, like 80% of such, is a member of Conservative Friends of Israel; the couple have been on all-expenses-paid trips to Israel. Alison Chabloz, via her lawyers, objected to Mrs Arbuthnot presiding, and she recused herself (stepped down from the case). Arguably better than Russia, but not much.