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 There are historical references in the article, and I hope that you covered the subjects in school.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.  

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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