I am writing this in June 2002 when
aged nearly 64 and for an unknown audience. I would like to
think that my grandchildren particularly would be interested in
how my times affected my way of thinking,
and that they would try and understand why things will be very much
different for them long after I have gone. The difference will be
so diverse and profound in their lifetime, that by the turn of the 22nd
century, if I were to come back, I would not recognise anything of what
I was born into. The reader, I know, will be dying to say that the
same comment could be made of my own great great grandfather had
he returned when I was a boy. Not
so! Of course he would have been be totally amazed at all the advances in
technology, medicine, travel, social engineering,
communication/entertainment, but he would at least have know that he was
still in Britain because of the colour of skin and the way of speaking,
plus the Britishness around him manifest in our home-grow customs and
traditions. Were I to come back, I would marvel at the advances, but I would find my
country an alien place with the diversity which will have wrecked the
way of life I have always associated with being British but more
correctly, English.
There are historical
references in the article, and I hope that you covered the subjects in
school.
It seems strange that as far as we
know there have been just two world wars and both of them in the 20th
century, the cruelest period ever known to
mankind. Most deeply involved in that cruelty was Germany,
who, as the axis {the relation between countries regarded as a common
pivot on which they revolve; especially the political associations of
1936 [becoming in 1939 a military alliance] formed between Germany,
Italy and Japan; still later to that between other allied countries}
protagonist
caused millions upon millions of human lives to be given up
unnecessarily, closely followed by Japan [but only in the second world
war and in China from the early 1930's.] These two nations alone
brought mayhem to the world and were the root of such coined expressions
as "mans inhumanity to man", "the scourge of the
swastika" and "yellow devils." The lands of the rising
sun [Japan] and fatherland [Germany] were cursed the world over whose
many and diverse populations had been called upon to fight these demons
to stop their vile aspirations of world dominance by their
sadistic and sub-human plunder. Even to this very day, both Japan
and Germany are guilt-ridden and the subject of war is taboo in their
countries. Their armed forces are restricted to domestic military
duties and the youth of the countries who should be exonerated from
blame are not: they too are fully conscious that their countries
still have many 'skeletons in the cupboard'. It is often said that had
it not been for their past, they would be world players in today's
global affairs, but instead they limit their influence to the parochial
back yards of Europe and the Far East. As I write this, any
influence Japan had, has been greatly reduced because their economy has
collapsed and they are riddle with unemployment, deflation, corruption
and uncertainty. Germany is in a similar position with high
unemployment, poor tax returns, high inflation instead of deflation, and
much criticism about the loss of the Mark in favour of the Euro by the
German people. The current German power base is a joint endeavour with France
into imposing their wills on the many countries now forming the European
Community. Old people in Japan and Germany cannot complete their
lives with dignity for they carry the sins of their age group in a most
tangible way. Both countries will not shed their wicked past until
all who took part in the wars have departed this life which, when
considering longevity statistics and arbitrarily choosing the age of 20
for a German in 1939, the German now aged 73 could have many years yet
to live.
If you are wondering what
qualifications a person not quite 64 years of age has to talk about a
war which finished 20 years before I was born [1918], and a second which
finished when I was just 7 years old [1945], let me tell you. As a boy,
I was besotted with WW1 [1914-1918] for many reasons, and I can
vividly remember two large books about the war and a book about the
politics of that time, and of the twenties and the thirties, which
I often looked at: to this day, WW1 haunts me! Very early in my life I
had sensed a "family-divide" where my paternal
grandfather did not go to war whereas my maternal great uncles Herbert, Wilfred
and Charles had served in the front lines, in the
thick-of-it. Wilfred was a talented artist, and before he was
horribly maimed, he painted some beautiful oils of west country sea scapes, two of which have pride of place in my drawing room
today. Wilfred was critically injured in Belgium at
Passchendaele [a battle
fought during WW1] and after the war, with a metal scalp and metal
chest-plate, I would see him earning his living as a gardener in Wharfe
Meadows gardens . My mother would occasionally, and almost reluctantly
mention uncle Wilfred after one of us [my siblings] had mentioned
seeing him, and it wasn't until I was a teenager and in the Navy, that I
realised how naive my mother was in not knowing of the history of the
Great War [as she would have know it] and the plight of the men
who did come home. Strangest of all was that uncle Herbert,
a stretcher-bearer on many battle-fields, was, like so many of his
peers, reticent and untelling, even to the point of not overtly
recognising his brother, uncle Wilfred, who was dreadfully injured
but survived and was employed but a short distance away from
where uncle Herbert and auntie Gertie [his wife] lived.
There was a total lack of comradeship between them, no sign of esprit de
corps, and the stand-off affected me. We as children, visited
uncle Herbert's house just about every Sunday morning after Sunday
school, and to do so, involved us crossing the park which uncle Wilfred
helped to maintain! Because my mother was estranged from her
widowed father [see Godfrey FAQ], but had been befriended by uncle Herbert, her father's brother and auntie Gertie who kept themselves unto themselves, she obviously chose the
option of sticking to them at all costs without running the risk of
upsetting a situation, where clearly, her uncle and his wife,
had become her only family, indeed, a second, if you wish, adopted
father and mother. Such a position cemented a lasting and much needed
anchor for my mother who had been abandoned at birth; had been adopted
by a childless couple who, according to mum had administered a
Dickensian up-bringing often resulting in a harsh 'tap' with the
yard broom in their home at Albion Street, Otley, West
Yorkshire; to then witness her mothers death [her adopted mother of 27
long and caring years from baby girl to womanhood] from cancer
whilst herself pregnant with her first child. Poor mum was to lose
that child as a still-born girl and the events of 1934 with the death of
her mother clearly was a contributory factor. As a result of my
mother's loving association with uncle Herbert and auntie Gertie, we
were denied access to uncle Wilfred and whatever family he may have
had. I have always deeply regretted not knowing him, and his
pictures [painted in 1910] are VERY SPECIAL to me.
Just like my paternal grandfather,
my maternal grandfather didn't go to war. That worried me
as a boy, even though my paternal grandfather, Bennett, had a medical
reason for not being enlisted in that, some years before the war
started, he had broken both hips by falling
off a ladder whilst pursuing his trade as a painter and decorator.
Virtually every Christmas throughout
my childhood, we would spend either Christmas Day or Boxing Day with
uncle Herbert and auntie Gertie, either at their home in Chippendale
Rise [yes! named after Chippendale who was born in Otley in 1718 next
door to where my grandfather had his painting and decorating premises
which my father bought from him after he left to live in Morecambe.
The premises are shown decorated for the Coronation of King George
VI in 1937. Note that the top of the street lamp has been removed
so as not to spoil the lamp light on top of the awning. In addition to
what you see, the shop to the right of the yard entrance, Nicholson's jewelers
plus all the cottages you can see inside the entrance were owned by my
family. In the early days, my grandparents lived above the shops
hidden behind the splendid decorations which must have cost him a bob or
two - a bob was a shilling coin worth 5p.
Sadly, the whole complex
was pulled down in 1980 and in its place came the Skipton Building
Society]
or at our home in Park Terrace. I cannot recall ever having my
paternal grandparents, who lived no more than 100 yards away, in my
house at Christmas to join in with the party fun. This is a plan
of the area clearly showing the proximity of Park Terrace to Grosvenor
Terrace
I have a
definite theory for that which has grown with me over the many years
since childhood. Uncle Herbert was a small rotund man who was
always presented as though he had just come out of the wash-tub; not
immaculate though neat, but always very clean. He was a factory
worker, had a broad and welcoming smile but spoke little. Auntie
Gertie was also small but very thin. She did the talking
[when it was necessary] and she was visibly nervous and over
averagely highly-strung. She had a ready laugh which nearly always
terminated with an utterance like "well, I never!" Their house
was basic, a council house and their life style was simple. They
were not church goers. They were devoted to each other, and
although childless, I often thought that they would have made good and
loving parents. My grandparents were church goers more socially
than spiritually I think, had a nice house and a business situated in
the very middle of a busy market town. Their life style was
clearly more sophisticated than that of the Perkins' and grandma was
always very well dressed. They either were, or perceived themselves
to be, leading members of the towns elite as well as being socially
towards the top of the worshippers in the large and central Methodists
church. Therefore, outwardly, they would not have made natural
friends with the likes of uncle Herbert and auntie Gertie. Notwithstanding
their social differences, to be with grandchildren at any time but
especially at Christmas would be an event booked many months before
hand, irrespective of the poor social credentials of other adults being
in attendance for the same event. I have no doubts whatsoever that
my grandparents and my aunt Mabel [my father's sister] were snobs and
readily looked down on people not of their 'class', but this snobbery
was not the cause of their absence! The cause of the absence, and
indeed of any association or recognition of uncle Herbert and auntie
Gertie was caused by embarrassment born out by not being a combatant in
the Great War. We know from history, that combatants kept their
dreadful experiences to themselves, occasionally erupting at night time
in disturbed sleep patterns, and generally avoided discussion even with
other bona fide combatants let alone those who, for whatever reason, had
not served. Many men who had not fought had a 'cross to bear'
particularly through the twenties and the early thirties and had to
endured many many years of talk; of published documents; of
"reasons for", with the Great War as centre stage, and all
alien to their life. It must have been some kind of relief to them
when WW2 came along [for which they were too old to fight in] when WW1
became old news and was more or less side-lined to make way for a new
round of horror, and yes, not being a combatant!
Thus, although it was plainly
dangerous to mention it at that time, and therefore my siblings do not
know of my feelings, I began to feel ashamed of my grandfathers both of
whom had missed the war, a war that has held [and continues to hold] my
interest. However unjust of me to think that way, any man, but
particularly a man of the family who had been to war was my hero, and
hence uncle Wilfred uncle Herbert and uncle Charles became my icons. I also believe
that this period of my life [aged around 7/8 in 1945/46] was the early
seed of wanting to be a man of the family who fought in a war for his
country, a seed which took a long time to germinate, but which did do so
eventually in Egypt during the 1956 Suez War when I was just 18..
WW1 was to me, all about the beastly
Germans, and even if WW2 had not occurred, I would still to this very
day, despise the German nation, whose modus operandi was bestality..
Growing up is difficult enough, and
I had my fill of that difficulty, what with sibling pressure, peer group pressure,
the strong discipline of that time and the deprivation caused by WW2, of
which more in a minute. At about aged 10 [in 1948] my longing for
a WW1 close family hero was compounded by the lack of a family WW2 man! Here I
will choose my words very carefully to avoid upsetting my siblings some
of whom may not understand why it is important and honourable to fight
for one's country in times of war.
Park Terrace, in itself, was a
pleasant and spacious small row of houses with generous back gardens,
but of little merit otherwise. However, it was in a good part of town
virtually in open country situated on the main road out of town heading
for Harrogate. Immediately opposite our house was another terrace
surrounded by a rugby ground, a cricket ground, a church and a separate
graveyard i.e., not associated with the church, the lot taken together
forming the letter D with the straight part of the letter the actual
terraced houses. Here lived several middle-class families
including the Minister of our church, in what the Methodists call the
Manse - owned by the church. Literally, immediately opposite lived
Captain Barker and his family. He was a mill owner whose large
premises in the town, a tannery, employed a large number of towns
people. He had been a soldier on active duty during the Great War, and
after leaving the army he ran the business, slowly turning it over to
his three children Tony, Brian and Maureen all of whom, although
older, were on speaking terms with us as children. At some
stage in the early part of the war shortly after the birth of my brother
Vernon [August 1939] when my mother had 4 young children, the kind and
well connected Captain 'arranged' it so that my father wouldn't be
called-up to fight for his country because of his large family
commitment, this despite that many others in a similar position were
probably sent off to the 'killing fields.' In return my father
joined the Auxillary Fire Service [AFS] and as its title suggests, it was
a SERVICE just like the navy was a SERVICE.
[This picture shows my father -middle row right hand man - with his AFS
colleague fire fighters]. Being in the AFS had
four obvious advantages. The first being that he wouldn't have to leave
the country and the second that he stood a good chance of being
stationed close to home: the third was that he could get home more
regularly than would have been the case if he had gone into the armed
services, and the last being that statistically he stood less chance of
being killed. My father served his country well, and thankfully
the four advantages mentioned above all came to fruition. He could
[and did] hold his head high and more than did his share to save lives
and property from the ravages of the Luftwaffe [German air force]. However, to a
young boy desperately seeking a family hero, the AFS for all its
meritorious service was not a 'fighting service', at least in my
opinion. The seed was continuing its long journey towards
germination, and although nearly five years had to pass before I joined
the Royal Navy, I became the first 'man' in the family after Uncles
Wilfred and Herbert to join and to don the uniform of the armed forces.
However at this point I must enter subsequent knowledge of
people who many years later became members of our family. One was
Maurice Dykes [Army] a half brother to my paternal grandfathers
family [same father and different mother]: Arthur Stott [Army] husband
of my blood maternal grandmother who gave my mother away for adoption
when a baby, and Thomas Hartshorne [RAF] my mothers blood first cousin
belonging to her blood mother's family of the Hartshorne's. All of these
are shown in my family file [war service edition].
As stated, by 1945 [at the end of
the war] I was aged 7 and the whole of my short life to that point had
been influenced by the war. 
It affected me because it denied me good food, and what food was available to the civilian population was
rationed. Presents, as children of today know them, were rare and
things like sweets at the top of the luxury chain - a true treat by any
standard requiring money and coupons [they were rationed] to purchase
them. There was limited fuel for open fires to keep warm in
northern weather, and lack of paper denied the proverbial beano or dandy
comic not to mentioned such routine things as toilet paper.
Washing soap was made from highly dubious material, chiefly from animal
waste products not fit for anything else. When one considers that each
and every part of a slaughtered animal [and Otley had a slaughter house]
was almost fought over at the towns butchers shops, one can see that
soap was not plentiful. Although I was lucky when compared with boys
whose fathers were away fighting enemy soldiers and who lived in
industrial areas/major cities being bombed, I nevertheless had my father
taken away from me to fight the enemy by extinguishing the fires their
bombs started in the east coast city/port of Hull, then in East
Yorkshire, now in Humberside. My father served in the NFS which was
disbanded sometime after the war, and served in the town of Beverly a
short distance from Hull itself. I did have a happy childhood
which [post war] included going to the fire station to play on an engine [under
dad's supervision] and often watching the fire engine race away on a
real call-out with dad as part of the part-time crew as driver, but
every game we played of hide-and-seek or goodies and baddies, meant that
the baddies were always Germans, and one hated being cast in that
role. Moreover, my home town of Otley, whilst not bombed despite
it having good targets, had four overt war support functions as well as
a major war manufacturing company nearby, which is now part of the Leeds
and Bradford airport complex. These functions were ubiquitous and
not a day passed without me seeing somebody in army uniform. We
had a hospital which treated many war wounded; a large German
prisoner-of-war camp at Farnley whose incumbents paraded around the high
wire fence as we passed with my mother and my Auntie Gertie whilst out
walking. I broke my arm whilst playing with friends and the German
POW medics set my arm in plaster, and when better, subsequently remove
the cast and administered physiotherapy. We had a large British army camp
around Farnley Hall whose itinerant population came and went and whose
bugle calls across the river Wharfe could be heard clearly in my bedroom
at the front of the house, and finally, Otleys main road which was
either blocked by cycles [Otley was famous for the two-wheel fraternity
and they came in their low thousands on each event in those days, using
Tommy's cafe as their centre , later, after the war, to be championed by Sir Jimmy Saville - I
understand that the town is still very popular with cycle racers] or was
busy with army tanks, brengun-carriers, armoured personnel carriers and
a whole host of mechanised infantry/artillery tracked and wheeled
vehicles going hither and thither. The army requisitioned much
land around Otley to be used for training and there were many no-go
areas, shut off to us children. Even though I had a busy childhood, mainly
based around the church, Sunday school, cubs, scouts and school proper,
my recollections of the war take centre place in most of them. As I grew
older I was aware of other problems namely that some boys and girls in
my class[es] had no father because they had died in the war and brave
though they were, traumatised, which affected the whole class and
school. The hate theme for Germans and Japanese grew in intensity
as more and more Hollywood movies were released depicting the war battles
from the American perspective. I was of an age, now 10/11 or so,
to be mesmerised with all anti-axis hate and had two options to model my
fantasises on. On the one hand I was a devotee of the cowboy and
Indian film's [that's proper cowboy movies, without women and loads of scalps
and dead 'injuns] and on the other, screens full of machine-gunned and
bayoneted Germans would be a good alternative, given half the chance to
see it. Such films came thick and fast throughout my 12 to 14
birthdays and by the time I had joined the navy I was a seasoned viewer,
critic and guru of all things WW2. I did take a break from
constantly reading about it, and cinema visits to view the defeated Hun
and the Jap, when I discovered Doris Day and realised that women could
be as watchable on the screen as a zero diving to its death with John
Wayne piloting a US navy fighter right up the Jap tail. I am
pleased to be able to tell you that shortly before my 15th birthday
Hollywood released 'Moonlight Bay' starring Doris Day and Gordon McRea
and I was caught hook-line-and-sinker. Even now to this very day I
am madly in love with Doris.
At the time of me joining the navy,
just 8 years after the end of the war, virtually all my instructors had
been through the war in some way or other and the majority wore WW2
campaign medals. The perceived enemy throughout my training [and
indeed at times during my career] was the Hun. Every target on the
small arms range where I fired 9mm pistols, was a German soldier and
every enemy ship was a Kraut. I joined the navy in mid October
1953 and witnessed my first Remembrance Day service less than 4 weeks
later - it was a very serious event and we were expected to have the
same feelings as our Chief Petty Officers and Petty Officers who were
quite literally mourning their lost ship mates. I learned that
lesson of dignity [and it stuck for all time] whilst my erstwhile school
chums were arguing with their parents about the time at which they
should be indoors after a night out - it appeared that I had grown-up,
almost overnight and that they were still children!
It should now be obvious to the
reader that when aged 16½ I cannot ever remember being free of my
disgust and hate for Germans and Japanese people. However, it
should be noted that from that time, my hatred was more mature and
measured because now I understood the sheer magnitude of what
collectively the German and Japanese people did to the rest of the
world.
For the majority of my career
[1953-1983] Britain and the West [NATO - North Atlantic Treaty
Organisation] were technically at war with Russia [USSR] and her
allies in a period known as the 'Cold War.' Russia and her
satellites/allies had formed the Warsaw Pact and we trained continuously
for the dreaded time when WW3 would start. The situation was
fraught and very serious, and Russia was dubbed the Great Bear in
recognition of its size, ferocity and unpredictable nature which could,
if we were not constantly alert, catch the West off-guard. I was
married [August 1962] and had children [Steven September 1963]
[Phillip December 1965][ Matthew April 1969], and I lived in fear of
never seeing any of them again. Such a threat polarised my mind,
and my close family were all that mattered - I would sacrifice
everything else but those four people! It never dawned on me [or others
I suspect] , that Russian submariners were thinking the same
thing. We were all very sad and unhappy sailors conscious that our
actions could [and would] bring about the end of the world. All
diesel submariners called their beds/bunks, their carts, such were the
less than adequate conditions afforded to a human being even in the
1960's [note: A- boats had been designed during the war for service in
the Far East to kill the Japs]. The war was over before A- boats
were let loose in those far off yonder places, and although they were
modified greatly to fight wars of the post 1945 era, the conditions in
them were little better than their design data criteria: they were at
best mini [because of their limited size] microwaves [because of the
heat and deprivation inside them.] Now, whilst away from the far
east and as a patrolling unit of the Atlantic fleet [based in Halifax, Nova
Scotia, Canada] our submarine story nearly did see the end of my love
affair with human beings! At one point off Cuba, there was an instance
when Russia was transporting nuclear missiles to her bases in Cuba, the 'back
garden' of the USA. The Cuban President, General Fidel Castro, was an
ardent communist and had granted Russia the use of his land. The
American President, John Fitzgerald Kennedy [JFK] had received naval intelligence
that the Russian ships were at sea and their land-fall in the
Caribbean was well calculated/documented. President Nikita
Khrushchev of Russia was not going to back down, but he miscalculated
JFK's stance. JFK made his views known internationally and the
international community was in no doubt that he would attack and sink
the Russian flotilla without hesitation. We, in our submarine,
would have been a major part of the units used to sink those Russians
and we were on full standby to execute such an order. The severity
of those times has lessened over the years but be in no doubt that we
were ready, able, but perhaps not willing to send their ships to the
bottom of the Atlantic, for the retaliation would have been
devastating.
The Russians backed down
and turned their ships about.
Fortunately no such near-miss
episode occurred again, and in the 80's/90's, the cold war cooled and
faded away, the Warsaw Pact countries broke away from mother
Russia and chose self governing status, and a state of real peace has
now replaced the threat of global war.
I will add that the small wars are
on-going and specifically in the old Warsaw Pact areas [Bosnia, Croatia
for example] but unlike the potential for the 'cold war' becoming 'hot
war' we in the West have no cause to fear the erstwhile Great
Bear! We have a new threat and this time Russia is fully on our
side against that new enemy.
It might surprise you to know that
at no time during my life have I ever had cause to dislike the
Russians. I certainly have good reason to despise some of
her leaders for what they have done to their own people in the internal
purges, but paradoxically, I like one of their leaders [Stalin] for what
he did to the Germans after they had raped and burnt many parts of
Russia. Indeed, he is one of my HERO'S for what he vented upon
GERMANY , especially upon Berlin - I sleep easy with that absolute
punishment.
Thus, throughout the 'cold war' I
continued to focus my detestations on the Germans and Japanese rather
than on the Russians or any other group. I have total empathy with
the Russians in the loss of their nuclear submarine Kursk. The
outcome is now clear [as far as the Russians want it to be known] and we
should now respect their dead and offer our love and commiserations to
families of the bereaved. Believable or not, I have more in common
with these Russian submariners than I have with British politicians, be
they local or national, for once elected after promising us 'the earth',
they become unrepresentative OF ALL, and
therefore, by implications are not worthy of my time - be gone you parasites,
especially you prime parasites who would pre-empt our Queen, for you
are not worthy of the respect of this fair land.
Equally, you will know [or should
know] that the
media is still saturated with tales of the war with tens upon tens
of documentaries being shown and the occasional war movie being
made. The Royal British Legion is as strong as ever and the
Cenotaph Service will last well into the next century. Millions of
people my age still carry controlled hate for what Germany and Japan did
to our father's and our grandfather's generations, and those
generations below me should feel free at not having to carry the need
for revenge, a burden which can never be fulfilled.
I am a product of my time and
experiences and cannot change it. Not only did the war affect my
childhood and the way in which I valued 'men' [notwithstanding my love
for and understanding of my fathers position vis-a-vis other fathers who
had to go to war to fight, which came about in later years] but it
affected my teens, and then my early adulthood right through to me
attaining the age of 45 years when I left the Royal Navy after a 30 year
career, a career devoted to keeping the likes of Germans and Japanese
under heel. By that time, my opinions, reactions, aspirations and
loyalties were set in stone, immutable and not for discussion, in any
forum, save from one which had a quorum, nay, a near 100% majority of like
minded people. When I recall that I saw my first coloured person
when I was 15 years of age whilst in London transferring from a train
newly arrived from the north, to cross London to a train leaving from
the east and bound for East Anglia, and I served in a service where few
[if any] were other than indigenous white men from the United Kingdom,
and even they were sons of such exalted people like the Maltese who had
witnessed almost unbelievable scenes of carnage during the siege of
Malta. Londoners, indeed many big city incumbents, were justly
proud that they had withstood the might of the German air force, and
their death-tolls were commensurate with their suffering.
Nevertheless, what Malta suffered was infinitely greater than what
mainland UK suffered. This suffering was manifest in the award of
the George Cross by King George VI in recognition of their [the Maltese]
sacrifice, a sacrifice which allowed us, the British, a base from which we could attack the Italians in the north
and destroy the Germans in the south, a spring-board which helped us to
win the war in southern Europe and ultimately achieve the Victory in
Europe, now referred to as VE-day - the victory against the Japanese
later in 1945 which was referred to as VJ-day.
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Throughout history the innocent have
suffered, the weak have been oppressed by the strong, the power-crazed
maniacs have gained power at the behest of the honest administrator, and
the rouges have benefited greatly out of war. Japans destruction
though horrific, was much less of an event than was the destruction of
Germany which was total and unforgiving. Japan was bombed, especially
Tokyo whose paper-houses were no match for thousands of incendiary
bombs. The atomic bombs are legend and need no further cover save
to say that the people of Nagasaki and Hiroshima were sacrificed by the Japanese
government whose intransigence at not heeding the Allies calling for a
Japanese surrender led to those outlaying and distant cities being
destroyed. The Americans could have so easily targeted Tokyo where
countless thousands would have died [following the mentality of Hitler
in the destruction of London] instead of just a group below the 100,000
mark [as disgusting a human count that it is]. However the
Americans did not go for the 'sweet target' and by not doing, saved the Emperor
and the Throne, which was long known to be the very glue of cohesion for
Japanese culture. Save the Emperor and he will control his
people to bring the war to a timely and organised end. This is exactly
what happened, and the atomic bombs saved countless allied lives who would have
perished had the war continued. I have read many books about
Japans involvement in the war from the very early 1930's [their
worst atrocities by any measure were on the Chinese mainland before
Pearl Harbour and not in Malaya or Burma for example unbelievable though
it was] and it is difficult to ascertain the role of women in the war
other than providing the labour for the war machine as happened in most
countries. Here, I am suggesting that the war was planned and
fought only by male combatants with their woman folk subservient, and,
as it were, of no consequence. Certainly, many books suggest that
the war effort was based on the honourable warriors of old, the Bushido,
and to die was a manly thing to do with dignity - hence the intolerance
with captured enemy soldiers - and not a fitting place for
females. So, since their modus operandi was to kill or be killed,
the fate of the Japanese male combatant was sealed irrespective.
The fate of all children, young boys and old men and the majority of
females [of whatever age] who took part in the politics of the war and
who were coerced into war manufacturing [or worse things] is of
concern and the group at large is to be pitied. In war it is not
uncommon that this group suffers more than do combatants and the
residents of Nagasaki/Hiroshima are no different to women and children in
London or Dresden [for example]. However, if you
understand history, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE do not feel sorry for the
Japanese dead: they died instantly, most of them, with others dying a
controlled but undignified death of radiation. Look at the history of the
RAPE OF NANKIN in 1937. There 260,000, yes 260,000 Chinese were
butchered by Japanese soldiers, whilst 10's of thousand of women and
girls were repeatedly raped many times per day and died in DISGUSTING
CIRCUMSTANCES. Make no mistake in your interpretation of the
Japanese by reading "politically correct" history, for they
were beasts of the worst and lowest order ever known to walk on earth.
Certainly, when in my presence, think twice about voicing an opinion on
the merits of the destruction of Japan. The only difference is who caused or
started the war, for surely, they will reap what they sow at all levels
of their society. Japans fate, though terrible but warranted did not
involve hordes of enemy marauding troops looking for revenge
against the inhumane Japanese. One big and often overlooked difference was the fate
suffered by the women, old men and children of Germany. Their fate,
far more horrible than all put together in Japan, was sealed in
that they would suffer horrendous and sustained bombing all day long
which would kill hundreds of thousands, and then, after capitulation,
those who remained alive would be subjected to untold horrors.
Many died very slowly, the women raped
repeatedly, and all starved of basic food rations, tortured and
humiliated in retaliation to what their men folk had done to the
Russians. Russian soldier became animals and uncontrollable, but
their actions were understandable at the time, which ultimately led on
to a presence in Germany for many a long year [decades] manifest by the
building of the Berlin Wall and the difficulties, circumvented by the
Berlin Airlift of 1947, which literally fed the people of West Berlin
for nearly a year, after the blockade and denial of food to the City by
the Russians. It was the fear of the spread and power of communism that
provoked the West's reaction, and not for pity of the deposed and
wretched German nation. However, the large contingent of US,
French and UK troops stationed in Berlin were also fed and provisioned,
so the airlift had a domestic connotation, without which, the Russians
would have won a domestic battle as well as a strategic battle.
This historic document in 3 parts, shows the route for British soldiers
into Berlin travelling through East Germany. Note the Union Flag
is drawn wrongly!  
On the third and last picture one can clearly see that Berlin is deep
into East German territory and the road/rail route which was
blocked by the Russians, necessitating the need to fly over the denied
route directly into West Berlin. Flying in their air-space without
permission nearly led to war just two years after the defeat of
Germany.
It is easy to side-line the Russians today as turn-coats, a nation who had
jointly defeated Germany and who subsequently chose the lions share of
the divided city and land, which became known as East Germany. In truth,
the Russians suffered the most at the hands of the German army and
Luftwaffe and over a longer period. Clearly, when revenge time
came, they above all others deserved first-stab at giving the Germans a
'bit of their own', and to me, however dreadful it was, they did it
well, and they laid Berlin low in fair retribution as a pay-back to the
sub-human German soldier who had so eagerly and so triumphantly
destroyed virtually all of Eastern Europe.
Here, I will rest awhile, but please do not lose
touch with my story that I am what I am because from being a small boy
to becoming a mature man of middle age years, my life has never been
separated or divorced from the actions of Hitler way back in the 1930's.
Moreover, apart from a threat, at no time has my life been affected or
even influenced by the Russians, a nation I respect more than I do the
German or French nations.
I am a man of my time and of my experiences!
Today, the early years of the 21st century, sees
our traditional 19th and 20th century enemies as allies with the
European Commission seen as the catalyst of Union and understanding
whereby war would be unimaginable. That in itself is commendable
were it alone to be the reason for such bonding. Regrettably,
there is an agenda that endeavours to put Germany and France in a lead
position where their joint effort as European leaders is designed to
either ostracize or to suck-in the UK into a situation where Britain would
be marginalised in a large and unified Europe. This clearly is a
ploy, and obvious to many that what cannot be defeated in battle, could,
with an enormous amount of hype, be subjugated and made to comply with
the rules of a club [Euro] that many UK residents do not want. I
am willing to 'bet my shirt' that the UK, often justly the victors in
battle, will vote with 'their feet' when a referendum is called, and be
again a victor, but his time against our dilly dally politicians who at best are
European arse-lickers, and at worst, traitors to the UK cause!
We shall see!
From being aged 45, things, if
anything, deteriorated! Why? Because for the very first
time in my life [statistically, from longevity forecasts for a man, a
life span of 74 is to be expected] when 60% of my life had gone, I
entered a very strange world called 'civvy' street, and the cliché,
that you can't teach old dog's new tricks, was never truer! From the day
I left my mothers arms to go to school when 5 years old in
1943, to the date of my discharge from the Royal Navy in June 1983 I had
been a member of an "organisation" whose modus operandi had
followed the time honoured way of being English, with our Kings and
Queens exalted and with our own set of champions like Baden Powell,
Winston Churchill, Rudyard Kipling etc., too many to mention here; and yes, the men of the wars, who, in brutal
times, gave everything for their country. Some would argue
that I was cosseted in the arms of the old empire, of being out of touch
with fellow countrymen, of being brainwashed and unrepresentative of my
generation, largely civilian. Were that the case, the civilian's
lot was infinitely better than mine, serving at sea and particularly in
submarines, never better described than by Prime Minister Harold
McMillan, who stated that "you have never had it so
good". Civilians of those time and probably those of
today, demanded much of the state, and give little back in
return. President Kennedy of the USA summed it up for me when he
said at his Presidential Inaugural Address on the 20th January
1961, "ask not what your country can do for you - - ask
what you can do
for your country."
That
said, I became a bread-winner in a new and often uncomfortable
environment, and when 'needs must' one puts aside prejudices. It
wasn't just a simple case of swapping "uniform" but of trying
to unlearn that which I loved and respected and understood, with that
which I had to regard as an expedient, necessary to feed and clothe my
wife and family. I entered into a world where values were
different from those of mine, where pay, promotion ,'dog eat dog' ruled
the roost and where at all costs, the material value was more important
than the values of belonging. Whilst it sickened me, I was
determined to follow the line that if I couldn't [and wouldn't join
them] I would certainly beat them at their own game. If owing a
nice house with a posh car and an up-market life style had become the
sole aim of my civilian generation group whilst that of my own life
style was subjected to duty and a much lower social rung on the
proverbial ladder, then so be it: I would endeavour to
trounce these people and mark my words, I would transcend all their
ambitions and aspirations, and in effect, rubbish their life style as
false, hollow and empty. This I did, albeit after a great struggle!
Apart from making my way in what was
called civilian life, I had also to cope with being in the 'outside'
world where mixing with people not of my choosing, had to be the norm,
otherwise, I would have perished. This meant that I had to become
an 'actor' and show respect, even affection, for somebody or something I
loathed whilst in their company/environment, and then, when back in my
private circumstances, being violently sick [metaphorically of
course] because I had prostrated my principles for money or financial
gain. Fortunately, there are always more good apples than bad in
the barrel, and I rapidly learnt that being selective to make genuine
like-minded associations far outweighed the need to temporarily accept
'present company.' True to form of course, the like-minded people
to which I refer were of the type I was familiar with whilst in the
navy, indeed, many of them had been in the Services, so the belonging to
a lifelong "association" continued into civilian life.
Whilst in the navy I had been
stationed in the middle east, and at one stage ashore in Iran [formerly
Persia] at Bandar Abbas, teaching the arrogant Iranians naval
telecommunications, and either side of that, a further misfortune of
being in Saudi Arabia with more arrogant people, this time the
Arabs. Iranians are not Arabs but they are Muslims, so there is a
religious bonding and not a tribal bonding. Both sects are devout, but
the Iranians are also fundamentalist, which one day, you will understand
to be of a direct comparison to Hitler's brown shirts; thugs spreading a
perverse form of Islam just like Hitler's thugs spread the weapon of
anti Semitism. Just as decent Germans shunned and were
actively opposed to the brown shirts in the early years, they became the
masses with the eager Nazi salute in later years, so will the decent Muslim be
involuntarily dragged into fundamentalism and by and by, endorse
the call of Allah, which to hear them [the fundamentalist] is to rid
the world of anything and anybody who is not pure Islam in
orientation. We were fools in the the mid 1930's to be taken-in,
and we will be fools again if we do not heed the warning of time.
If the 11th September 2001 is not a registered date of history in your
mind and the massive influx of illegal Muslim immigrants led by young
males from distant and alien countries not of concern, then join the
naive group of Englishmen who joined the Chamberlain cause of
appeasement. They will turn against you and your issue [I,
hopefully will be gone] and as we so-called Christian's [that way
because experience shows us that our clerics are as evil as the rest of
us, so what of salvation] will be supplanted by the devotee of a
God, their Allah, who does not and will not tolerate our liberal and
laxed way of life. Be that as it may in a Muslim country, but in
our country, their adopted country as an immigrant, they have to
understand that most of us see that Islamic edict as a TOTAL AND UTTER BLOODY
ARROGANCE. Being a so-called multi ethnic country
doesn't detract from the established pattern that 'When in
Rome........' is, after all, plain good
manners. Whether the politically correct like it or not, we are
first and foremost a white nation; a Christian nation; a secular
nation and a democratic nation, and if you want to reside in this
country, bear those criteria in mind first. Don't come here
shouting and bawling the odds because you will upset a great number of
people. Not
surprisingly, there are many issues with our society that I find
difficult to tolerate or accept, and I regularly, much to Berly's
annoyance, voice an opinion not always couched with civil words. I
do not incite people of my ilk to take up arms and kill the disbeliever,
nay, I just rant and rave and have a good swear about the filth which
daily invades my country; am I a bad man for that?
Predictably, the youth will say yes for they too are liberal today, but
just like liberals of the 30's, they will one day regret their actions.
Many years ago, certainly before my
time though in my time too, the bible punching minister held his
congregation spelled-bound by the promise of doom and gloom, threatening
all who deviated from the path with hell and damnation. Few stepped
out of line and the minister became the stalwart of society: few
challenged his authority. Time went on and the ignorance of child
birth was dispelled by caring doctors and clinicians, and would-be
parents were encouraged to use a protection against pregnancy whilst
enhancing the genuine act of love between caring adults. We moved
on and life became visibly better.
Now, almost as though from a repeat
documentary, comes immigration in its most unacceptable form. The
Imam [a Muslim cleric] has replaced the Christian bible puncher, not
with virtuous overtones, but with rallying calls to overthrown all
authority which stands in the way of the spread of Islam, and the birth
rate of immigrants, legal and illegal far out stretches that of our
original and indigenous population. I fully accept that many immigrants toe
the line and integrate with UK society, even enhance it, and for that we
are grateful especially in the world of science and medicine. I
have observed a pecking-order of immigration, and just like a MORI
survey which pleases and displeases, I have come to the opinion that
immigration is absolutely nothing to do with colour, but with belief,
culture and the ability to change-direction once domiciled in the UK
from their former country of birth. My findings are so profound
and strong, that I would categorically state that no matter what your
colour, [and that is often used as a immigration barrier to acceptance]
being a Muslim and a 'devout' Muslim at that, given over to the excesses
of fundamentalism, is a major stumbling-block in the process of being
accepted as a legal immigrant. Being an illegal [economic] young
male Muslim immigrant is to me, totally and unacceptable unless that
person denies his racist religion and acquiesces whole-heartedly to
maintain and obey the law of our country, implicit and explicit,
financial and domestic, pragmatically orientated and with the good of
the land foremost in his mind. Nothing, other than that is
acceptable.
Since non acceptability is really
what I am talking about, it disturbs me that, as I write [June 2002]
there continues to be a major influx of these illegal immigrants,
and the Government seems powerless to stop them. I spoke earlier of the
French nation, a nation of charming people living in an outstandingly
charming country, but a nation not to be trusted as borne out by
history. The route through France to the UK is almost planned by
the French : 'don't stop until we tell you to and that is the entrance
to the tunnel': what an Ally!!!!!!!!
Since the time of me leaving the
navy in June 1983 until now, June 2002, I have witnessed an ever
increasing influx of immigration [legal - part accepted because it can
and does bring in skills and professions we do need] but also an
unprecedented influx of what I would call undesirables.
Now, from my revealed record of
school, church[!] and navy, add my experiences described in these latter
paragraph, add my now mature detestation of anything which dilutes,
perverts, rubbishes the land into which I was born, and at least try to
see why I am what you would call a Xenophobic.
Xenophobia is a noun meaning
MORBID dislike of foreigners. From the very beginning, I can
hardly be a Xenophobic for having seen most of the world, there are VERY
FEW foreigners that I disliked at point of contact. Indeed, I have
met and liked more foreign people than most of my readers can count as
fellow town's or city dwellers. Being foreign: one-to-one, means
that we are different by birth and culture, and therefore a product of
our time and experiences. Vast amounts of the globe are foreign,
indeed, anywhere that is not the UK, but hundreds of millions of people
react together in a civilised way, the vast majority acknowledging
their differences, accepting them, with but a few [an agreeable few]
choosing to come to live in our land, the UK. Of these voluntary
and acceptable immigrants there is a ground-swell of blacks, people of
Africa and the Caribbean, and for the most part, these people are not
only fully acceptable, but have enriched our lives and culture in just
about every avenue of our daily life. In all social orders, there
are 'top boys' and 'underdogs' and it is sad and indefensible that
socially deprived black boys perform less well than socially deprived
white boys, where black boys are in the majority of deprived
people! They paint an ugly picture of immigration which,
fortunately even for a hawk like me, ever seeking the demerits of
immigration, sees as a reaction to just authority that is not in
sympathy with their cause, and more importantly, a reaction which has
not been explained to them in their own language. I have no fears
about black people even though I do not understand their customs and
traditions. They are, by and large, Christian people [remember
that I am a declared agnostic] and they bring to our land traditional
standards, albeit impressed by latter day missionaries.
Notwithstanding my agnostic posture, I nevertheless welcome the rich and
'colonial' cultured people of Africa and the Caribbean even though I see
their presence as a threat to my England - the land into which I was
born and for which my heroes [died in their hundreds of thousands] long
before such immigrants touch the shores of our home land.
Even to the the most critical
reader, it must be obvious than I have already divided the immigrant
sect into Christians and non Christians, where non Christians, who do
not integrate fully into our society, are persona non grata.
Like all issues; domestic, national,
personal, local; international [whatever], the nicest way for an
immigrant to live is
without fear of misunderstanding, and a firm understanding that
by virtue of you choosing the UK to live in, you should agree to comply
and accept that
the nation has a history, customs and laws which were made by us
originally for the overall good of us and if they are not to the liking
of the new comer, the new comer should not seek to ignore or alter them,
but to leave and seek a country which best fits his/her customs and
aspirations. Where and when your imported history and
customs are relevant, and fit easily into the British way of life
without attempting to alter our beliefs and customs and without causing
affray, they will be accepted or tolerated and even integrated into our
customs. There are hundreds of such integrations in every form of
activity be it sport, theatre, Christian religion, commerce etc.
But most of all, for very obvious
reasons [with but a few exceptions] immigration is one way: from poor
countries to better-off countries, and there is only a finite number of
resources be it food, accommodation, health, education etc. The
argument that as the economy expands we require a larger work force
which fits hand-in-glove with immigration is not sustainable. The
economy is dictated by peaks and troughs [bears and bulls] and latterly,
very bearish! Moreover, as technology advances, it, itself seems to put
fewer and fewer jobs on the market, and despite what we read, surely
these fewer jobs can be filled by our own home-grown worker. If
the rationale were immigrant workers to a buoyant economy [like that of
the UK now - second quarter of 2002], then surely, Germany and France
with a lack-lustre economy and high unemployment should be deporting
their many migrants, back to Algeria, Turkey, Iraq, Afghanistan and many
other mid to far east impoverished states. But no! Whilst
unwilling, though duty bound to 'feed their masses', Germany tolerates
the swilling numbers of immigrants hoping for a 'better day' [but little
hope of turning their economy around] whilst France, conscious that
their beloved "standard of living" is now in danger of a
nose-dive, has engineered a conduit through which they will
actively encourage illegal immigrants to travel through their country,
through the ill-thought out channel tunnel, to the UK. By so
doing, France has played the PONTIUS PILATE
card, and had washed its hands of the problem, a problem which will one
day, backfire. The French, unless you are
particularly found of them [and they are delightful people after
all] are a nation which still laments the results of the Battle of
Waterloo. They, like so many footballer-minded nations and
included England in their numbers [hate the opposition with the greatest
of venom] and have a parallel date, fluid and flexible, available on
command, which is second only to Bastille Day, but where the French
demonstrate their most cherished aim, namely to beat the British; such
is their anguish. It must be frustrating to know that a
country of less than a third of yours in size, can, beat and humiliate
you in just about everything - except for the
last world cup!!
I am now approaching the end of this
page, and thank you for reading thus far and for sticking with it!
If you were truthful unto yourself,
you would readily see that what you do and think today, if of a direct
consequence to your birth, your upbringing, your time and your
experiences. Were you yourself to write a page relevant to your case,
you would be rubbished for your 'out of touch' and irrational thoughts,
this despite that you could have thousands of supporters, were you to
seek their support. Regrettably, they are not out there, and there
is really no need for them, because the beauty of having your own web
site, is that, like immigration, it is one way; they either bother
to read or not, but unless they have their own web site [for emails are
inadequate] they have no voice piece, at least, one which will come
anywhere near to agreeing with you.
Hence, I am a man of my time and
experiences. I shall die that way and court no verbal intercourse
into the why's and wherefore's of my thinking by those who would seek to
tell me that I am wrong and to try and get me to change my mind.
Take it or leave it, this is how I
think, how I react to all things anti-British, anti Monarchist, and the
reason why I am planning my funeral arrangements which, as far as I can,
will guarantee that my remains remain British for a long time yet to
come.
P.S.
I spent all of the 1960's at sea in submarines stationed in Canada,
Singapore/Hong Kong and the UK [Scotland/Portsmouth]. It was a very
violent time and affected me and my colleagues greatly. But of all
the things that happened at that time, non was more shocking and non
affected us more that the murders in the USA - we, Beryl and myself
lived in North America at the time of JFK's murder. I collected several
articles in those day and here are just a few.
and .
In that same period, the dreadful and hated US NAZI leader
George Lincoln Rockwell was murdered at Arlington Virginia. Malcolm X a
world famous black Muslim activist was murdered and riddled with bullets
in his chest in New York .
Martin Luther King was murdered in Memphis .
Robert Kennedy was murdered in Los Angeles
and this is a rare view of President Kennedy's homicide report after
his murder in Dallas .
Men of my age in those days honestly [but secretly] believed that it was
now turn for our generation to fight a third world war. I often
thought about dying in-situ without ever coming home again; a submarine
as my coffin without having said goodbye to the people I loved so
much. You may hear of the 'swinging sixties', but behind that
charade, was a real threat to society, which, sadly, is still lurking to
this very day in 2002.
To be continued; to be amended; to
have additions added - whatever!!!!!!
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