I came home to the Moor fairly late last evening after spending a week in Darkest Gloucestershire. It was a good week apart from the death of my oldest friend, who cracked her head in a fall. Janice and I were close friends for over fifty years despite there being thousands of miles between us for lengthy periods. I will miss her badly.
Driving down the M5 last evening I was struck by the number of illuminated signs that seem specifically designed to distract drivers from the chaotic hazards of motorway driving. There was even a series of the ruddy things warning freight hauliers that they might need different paperwork if they are heading for Europe after 31st October.
I passed at least four of those particular monstrosities and on each occasion, my eyes were drawn from the road ahead to the ruddy great sign looming above me and giving me a fatuous message. I am sure every single haulage contractor in the land knows full well that things are going to change after that day. Everyone else does damnit, so why oh why do hundreds of thousands of totally unconcerned motorists have to read such damned silly warnings. It is bad enough in daylight, but at night one really cannot avoid this nonsense.
We want safety on the roads, not propaganda!
I read this morning that Balliol College wants to ban Bunter Johnson – himself a former student at the college – from even setting foot on the premises. Why oh why don’t modern students concentrate on studying. Someone, be it parents, the students themselves or the tax paying public is paying for their years of study and this is all being wasted in stupid protests.
As for Bunter himself, I have mentioned before that I had huge reservations about him but at the moment, I rather admire him for standing up to those idiotic parliamentarians who seem so determined to ignore the will of the People and put an end to Brexit once and for all. They displayed their limited intellectual capacities for all to see when they burst into protest choruses in the Chamber itself at the time of proroguing. Labour sang The Red Flag, the SNP sang The Scots Wha’ Hey and the Welsh contingent – all four of them – sang Bread of Heaven. All it needed was Caroline Lucas with her harp and broomstick but she was mercifully silent.
And we are supposed to look up to these people and entrust them with our future? I have more faith in the kids at Princetown Primary School damnit. Did you know that it is the highest primary school in the country? Well it is so you have learned something not very useful today.
I was talking about Rhodesia and Ian Smith the other day – actually it was an aside in my piece about Mugabe – and I mentioned that despite him being proved correct on every count, Smith had never received an apology from Britain.
I was subsequently directed to a 2016 piece in The Spectator magazine in which a British politician claimed friendship with Hannes Wessels and made mention of Darrel Watt and others of that endangered species, the white Rhodesian male. He said that a great disservice had been done to all Rhodesians and that successive British governments should hand their collective heads in shame.
Let me quote from the article.
Here’s Stephen Glover on the death of Ian Smith: ‘The BBC yesterday gave his corpse a final kick. If the insane Robert Mugabe has ruined Zimbabwe, where there is starvation and an inflation rate of several thousand per cent, the fault is Mr Smith’s, whose reactionary policies allegedly paved the way for this monster…’ The good Mr Glover goes on to say how he had believed much of the anti-Smith propaganda before seeing the real Rhodesia for himself. Once in Salisbury, he found a well-ordered society which, despite having been subjected to 13 years of international sanctions, was much richer than any of the independent African states he had visited. In his hotel there were many black guests and no evidence of apartheid. He went on to write that however flawed Ian Smith might have been, his sins paled beside Mugabe’s.
Many African countries are poorer now than when they received their independence, despite the billions they received from a guilt-ridden Europe, yet it is Europeans who turn a blind eye to the war and genocide practised by African leaders, and to this day condemn the whites of Rhodesia and South Africa for no other reason than the colour of their skin.
Hannes Wessels was born in 1956 in what was then Salisbury and grew up on the Mozambique border. He left school to become a combat soldier and saw lots of action. His book A Handful of Hard Men is a paean to the greatest soldier he got to know well, Captain Darrell Watt, of the Rhodesian SAS and Special Forces. Watt won all his battles but eventually, thanks to Lord Carrington and gang, lost the war. For 12 long years in the cauldron of war Captain Watt never lost a battle, exhibiting Spartan-like bravery and better than Spartan-like ingenuity in combating far, far superior forces. The Rhodesian SAS amounted to just an incredible-to-believe 250 men. In the book Wessels recounts harrowing incidents perpetrated by Zanu and Zapu (Mugabe and Nkomo forces) soldiers on black and white civilians, and even on their own recruits.
Which brings me to the big lie. The pro-black propagandist Christopher Hitchens once made fun of Ian Smith’s facial scars, scars acquired when he was shot down while serving in the RAF against the Luftwaffe. Smith had left Salisbury and volunteered to fight for kith and kin. The BBC never mentioned the fact that Smith volunteered — it wouldn’t, would it? — and Hitchens made fun of it. Such are the joys of siding with the politically correct.
Darrell Watt and his brave band of 250 were a fluid and volatile unit that performed every imaginable fighting role: airborne shock troops, sniper duty, sabotage, seek and strike, you name it, Watt performed it. And managed also to survive. Like the great man that he is, he is now saving wild life on a continent that is being plundered for profit. Hannes Wessels studied and practised law briefly, then became a professional big-game hunter for 20 years. He is now a conservationist and lives with his wife and two daughters north of Cape Town in South Africa.
Although I might sound like some ghastly celebrity phony who declares pride in knowing a scumbag like Russell Brand, I am very proud to be a friend of Hannes Wessels, and to praise a work about brave men who we, the West, betrayed so cruelly. We definitely wish our disintegration as we continue to support rapacious, vicious, corrupt and murdering maniacs such as Mugabe and others of his ilk in Africa, while continuing to paint civilised white men like Watt and Smith as the unacceptable past. Shame on us in general and shame on white liberals in particular.
It was an interesting and well written article, entitled In Praise of Rhodesia which left me feeling that perhaps all British politicians aren’t hypocritical, politically correct pratwinkles, intent only on chasing their own aims and making as much money out of the taxpayer gravy train as they can and to hell with the voters who put them into parliament.
And who was this British politician who impressed me so? Why none other than our esteemed prime minister, Bunter Johnson.
Perhaps I might not vote for the Brexit party after all..