I suppose it’ll now just keep on happening, keep occurring until we are all gone from this world, until the new age rushes in to engulf the old and a new order begins, today another of us departs this world, another of us leaves behind all they have known and rushes to the next life or perhaps none at all and it is the end. What can I say really some people are just made of superior stock, of something wholly intangible, utterly magical and when they are gone the world has lost a certain something, an element irreplaceable, yet it still turns. Its not enough is it, for a life, for a whole life summed up in an order of service, for a few hymns and then the committal, for them to leave those who will forever mourn them to an uneasy fate.
Today a lady nationalist left us, her life unknown and conventional but all the more solid for it, this a woman who brought up her children alone, supported them and indeed the nation and comprehended the nations plight. She realised she once told me, the situation whilst driving to market, once all of the children at the bus-stop were white, now few are ,today ironically enough her hearse drove past those self-same bus-stops empty now of children, as if in tribute to a terrific person, god himself had cleared the way, prevented her witnessing once again the nations fate. Still it was time that had a hand; the children were already in school as we drove past, a solemn cortege winding its way through the tightly packed traffic.
The service, for me at least, didn’t seem to sum up the worth of a person and indeed I believe it cannot, yet it was for all that a Christian service, an ebbing to do within this land, not far from the little chapel, the tiny place of worship and mourning, an ancient church vied for supremacy against a much larger mosque, yet in the end Christianity can now never win, whilst minarets shine brightly. A short service ,punctuated by the occasional sob, the sniffing, as if all the congregation had a light summer cold and all the men endeavouring bravery, with trembling lips her sister looked on, looked on as her sibling made her last journey and her bereaved son wore sun-glasses yet not with any desire to be cool.
Her granddaughter and grandson looked on, it is their world now and such a terrible one, behind them I stood, breaking heart and summer cold, the trick is at funerals I have learnt, is not to look to the distressed, to the weeping, lest you join them in solidarity. In any event behind me stood my son, owner of all he surveys but inheritor of nothing, government policy has put paid to that and he must join those others prior mentioned in the race for resource, for him and indeed all of my children, struggle and disinheritance and perhaps augmenting conflict.
We die, we die, each generation giving over to the next, souls so very full of life cease and the game goes on a pace, she is gone now, no longer I hope, in pain, no longer to worry but we are here and the worries she held for our generation we now pass on, we now fear for our own. Travelling back, I past those bus-stops and she was right, right, no white faces or few ,at least I saw none, although who can know in traffic, the young milled and yet not the young of us, of this nation but of others ,their parents sent here by the despicable actions of capitalism within their lands and landing here to partake of our assets.
Their children gain but mine and others lose, yet we must say not a thing, not one word must we utter, not one act of dissent, we must all it seems, merely await our final journey, our final peace, our final unworthy service and committal to the here after. It is hard to believe she has gone that such a good and honest person is no more, that this world will not now hold such a person whilst evil-doers do lunch in our prisons. She was I am afraid one of those really quite awful single parents, that much maligned species, at least by those who purport to be of the right, yet she ran a small business until the Asians wiped it out, she unable to match their prices and indeed their hours of opening, she once told me that they had almost complete control of the warehouses and that other non-Asian retailers had little chance of profit because of it, they sticking to their own and we out in the cold. Still she worked for so very long, paid her due and more , although what the worker pays in this country is not really their debt ,they pay on another’s behalf, indeed never were any people as exploited as the common man, never so used and abused, lied to and worked so hard.
Still they must have their duck-houses and we must buy them, they must throw our hard-earned away in foreign aid whilst the indigenous worker at the end of his or her life shivers through winter, if indeed they last through it at all. It seems so very unfair, so heartless, that they work, work and work and then when granted freedom from toil they seem to simply fade away, illness besets them and then in a blink they are gone, their best years spent servicing money. Is that it, is that life, we live, we die and that is all ,beings in service to the money-powers and that is all, can none see, can none, listen, do none see, perhaps if they do not we deserve our fate ,our end, our now undoubted destiny.
So to you who has gone ,you who can never hear me say it, I will miss you, your commonsense advice ,your total kindness and your green-fingers, your love of children and animals and your undying love of country, never once did you fall for their lies, never once did you tire of stating it is wrong, never once did you become as many others. We do not and cannot win out, because we are not like you, like you and your generation, my generation, holds few nationalists and the next still fewer and the queues at the bus-stop grow ever longer and the great and the good depart this world, whilst parties leave us suffer, so rest now, your toil is done, I will miss you.
Today a lady nationalist left us, her life unknown and conventional but all the more solid for it, this a woman who brought up her children alone, supported them and indeed the nation and comprehended the nations plight. She realised she once told me, the situation whilst driving to market, once all of the children at the bus-stop were white, now few are ,today ironically enough her hearse drove past those self-same bus-stops empty now of children, as if in tribute to a terrific person, god himself had cleared the way, prevented her witnessing once again the nations fate. Still it was time that had a hand; the children were already in school as we drove past, a solemn cortege winding its way through the tightly packed traffic.
The service, for me at least, didn’t seem to sum up the worth of a person and indeed I believe it cannot, yet it was for all that a Christian service, an ebbing to do within this land, not far from the little chapel, the tiny place of worship and mourning, an ancient church vied for supremacy against a much larger mosque, yet in the end Christianity can now never win, whilst minarets shine brightly. A short service ,punctuated by the occasional sob, the sniffing, as if all the congregation had a light summer cold and all the men endeavouring bravery, with trembling lips her sister looked on, looked on as her sibling made her last journey and her bereaved son wore sun-glasses yet not with any desire to be cool.
Her granddaughter and grandson looked on, it is their world now and such a terrible one, behind them I stood, breaking heart and summer cold, the trick is at funerals I have learnt, is not to look to the distressed, to the weeping, lest you join them in solidarity. In any event behind me stood my son, owner of all he surveys but inheritor of nothing, government policy has put paid to that and he must join those others prior mentioned in the race for resource, for him and indeed all of my children, struggle and disinheritance and perhaps augmenting conflict.
We die, we die, each generation giving over to the next, souls so very full of life cease and the game goes on a pace, she is gone now, no longer I hope, in pain, no longer to worry but we are here and the worries she held for our generation we now pass on, we now fear for our own. Travelling back, I past those bus-stops and she was right, right, no white faces or few ,at least I saw none, although who can know in traffic, the young milled and yet not the young of us, of this nation but of others ,their parents sent here by the despicable actions of capitalism within their lands and landing here to partake of our assets.
Their children gain but mine and others lose, yet we must say not a thing, not one word must we utter, not one act of dissent, we must all it seems, merely await our final journey, our final peace, our final unworthy service and committal to the here after. It is hard to believe she has gone that such a good and honest person is no more, that this world will not now hold such a person whilst evil-doers do lunch in our prisons. She was I am afraid one of those really quite awful single parents, that much maligned species, at least by those who purport to be of the right, yet she ran a small business until the Asians wiped it out, she unable to match their prices and indeed their hours of opening, she once told me that they had almost complete control of the warehouses and that other non-Asian retailers had little chance of profit because of it, they sticking to their own and we out in the cold. Still she worked for so very long, paid her due and more , although what the worker pays in this country is not really their debt ,they pay on another’s behalf, indeed never were any people as exploited as the common man, never so used and abused, lied to and worked so hard.
Still they must have their duck-houses and we must buy them, they must throw our hard-earned away in foreign aid whilst the indigenous worker at the end of his or her life shivers through winter, if indeed they last through it at all. It seems so very unfair, so heartless, that they work, work and work and then when granted freedom from toil they seem to simply fade away, illness besets them and then in a blink they are gone, their best years spent servicing money. Is that it, is that life, we live, we die and that is all ,beings in service to the money-powers and that is all, can none see, can none, listen, do none see, perhaps if they do not we deserve our fate ,our end, our now undoubted destiny.
So to you who has gone ,you who can never hear me say it, I will miss you, your commonsense advice ,your total kindness and your green-fingers, your love of children and animals and your undying love of country, never once did you fall for their lies, never once did you tire of stating it is wrong, never once did you become as many others. We do not and cannot win out, because we are not like you, like you and your generation, my generation, holds few nationalists and the next still fewer and the queues at the bus-stop grow ever longer and the great and the good depart this world, whilst parties leave us suffer, so rest now, your toil is done, I will miss you.
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