Letter to 'The Advertiser' uncut version

I am a very prolific letter writer especially to our local paper ‘The Rotherham Advertiser’ whenever I get a bee in my bonnet about something ( which, living in this borough, is most of the time). The problem is, although they do often print my letters, much of the time they like to indulge in a little selective editing which can be quite frustrating.

At the beginning of November I wrote regarding the comments made in the Advertiser by Cllr Turner (Conservative) concerning immigration into Rotherham and how his constituents were concerned about the impact on housing, education and healthcare etc.

The Advertiser again did not publish the full letter so in an effort to relieve my frustration with them here it is in its complete form. Unfortunately I don’t have the original article to give it its proper context but you should get the idea.

Dear Sir

I have been saying the same thing as Conservative Cllr Turner for the last five years and been called racist, we must have a civilised debate about immigration into this country.
The majority of immigrants vote Labour so when will there be enough to guarantee a perpetual Labour Government, can we have numbers please and no porkies.

The EU immigrants cannot be stopped even if we are falling over the cliff edge we are so overcrowded. Conservative traitor Ted Heath lied to take us into the EU and these lies have continued under Labour with a final refusal to let the British People vote in a referendum on their fate.
The Lib Dems want mass immigration and further into the EU so can we trust any of the three main parties to listen to the British People. We will have to concrete over Britain to house this massive influx Thorpe Hesley being a victim of mass building proposed in the town.

The people of this town are angry and afraid but have been silenced by the politically correct brigade. We are told we are work shy compared to foreigners by our own Chamber of Commerce and Cllr Hussain completely misses the point when he cannot understand that to walk up Rorke’s Drift (Wellgate) and never hear your native language is frightening.

In other countries this problem is coming to a head and the indigenous peoples are very angry at what is being done to them without their consent. Every empire ever built has crumbled and the EU will go the same way. We stopped Germany/Hitler in two world wars from taking us over and I hope to God we get the strength and guts to stop the German led EU doing what he failed to do.

Gordon Brown wants ‘British jobs for British workers’ and Cllr Turner wants immigration stopped, all core BNP beliefs, it seems that political opportunism is rife in all government circles.

Yours Sincerely

Jeremy Clarkson

Sometimes I will be adding stuff that doesn't refer directly to or specifically concern Rotherham but will, I hope, be interesting and informative and occasionally amusing.

I hope this somewhat tongue in cheek piece from the Sunday Times by Jeremy Clarkson will amuse and hopefully cause the reader to reflect on the old saying.

'There's many a true word spoken in jest'

From The Sunday Times

November 25, 2007

We’ve been robbed of our Englishness

Jeremy Clarkson

As the nation settled down on Wednesday night to watch England play Croatia, I sensed an air of optimism in the land. A feeling that all would be well. I mean hey, England were holding their own against Brazil when Croatia didn’t even exist as a nation state. So what chance would these swarthy-looking Yugo-ruffians have? They were minnows in a tank of sharks. They weren’t going to be beaten. They were going to be eaten.

Hmmm. I’m afraid I knew we were going to lose moments before the match began. I looked at our players mumbling their way through the national anthem and realised they didn’t really care about playing for England. Because they don’t really know what England is. And truth be told, neither do I.

When I was their age it was crystal clear. Newspapers would report: “Fog in the Channel: Europe cut off.” Peter Ustinov would arrive at JFK airport and, having studied the signs saying “US citizens” and “Aliens”, he’d ask a security guard where the British should go. We were separate, different, better.

We had hardback dark blue passports with a personal message from the Queen on the inside cover “requiring” that foreign border guards allow the bearer to do whatever he or she pleased without let or hindrance. Slap one of those down on a Frenchman’s desk and the crack of invitation grade cardboard would have the greasy little oik sitting up straight; that’s for sure.

We had saved the world from tyranny so often we’d lost count; we’d brought decency, truth and cricket to every continent and every coral pinprick. We’d sailed iron steamships into America when they were still using coracles. We were defined by our brilliance, our superiority, our technical know-how.

Today, things are rather different. Mention the war and you’ll be told by an outreach counsellor that we must empathise with the Germans, who are coming to terms with their mistakes of the past. “And you know, children, it was actually the British who invented concentration camps . . .”

Empire? When I was at school, teachers spoke with pride about how a little island in the north Atlantic turned a quarter of the world pink, but now all teachers talk about is the slave trade and how we must hang our heads in shame.

Right. So we must forgive Germany for invading Poland. But I must beat myself to death every night because my great-great-great-grandad moved some chap from a hellhole in Ghana to Barbados. In fact I can’t even say we’re British any more because then all of Scotland would rush over the border, pour porridge down my trousers and push a thistle up my bottom.

I believe people need to feel like they’re part of a gang, part of a tribe. And I also believe we need to feel pride in our gang. But all we ever hear now is that we in England have nothing to be proud about. In a world of righteousness we are the child molesters and rapists.

Our soldiers were murderers. Our empire builders were thieves. Our class system was ridiculous and our industrial revolution set in motion a chain of events that, eventually, will kill every polar bear in the Arctic.

And it gets so much worse. Because if you say you are a patriot, men with beards and sandals will come round to your house in the night and daub BNP slogans on your front door. This is the only country in the world where the national flag is deemed offensive. Small wonder the England players were disinclined to sing the national anthem with any gusto. It’s in English and that’s offensive too. Unless it’s simultaneously translated into Urdu, for the deaf.

Then there’s our national character. In the past, boys were told in school assembly that their mothers had died and were expected to get over it in a nice game of rugby. Crying only happened abroad. Not any more. We were ordered to weep like Americans when Diana died, and no local news report is complete today without some fat oik sobbing because his house has fallen over. I sometimes get the impression Kate McCann is being hounded precisely because she has a stiff upper lip.

Every day we read obituaries about men who pressed on with the attack on a German machinegun nest even though their arms and legs had been blown off. Today disabled people get a statue in Trafalgar Square just because they got pregnant. Tomorrow all the obituaries will be for those who saved others from certain death by insisting they wear high visibility jackets. Cowardice is the new bravery.

As for that wounded soldier seen recently sporting a T-shirt that said: “I went to Afghanistan and all I got was this crappy false leg,” I call that typically English. But not any more. It’s appalling. A slight on disabled people. And you shouldn’t have been in Afghanistan in the first place, you baby killer.

Do you see? We can’t be proud of our past because it’s all bad, we can’t use British humour because it’s offensive and we can’t use understatement to deal with a crisis because the army of state-sponsored counsellors say we’ve got to sob uncontrollably at every small thing.

I want to end with a question. It’s addressed to all the equal opportunity, human rights, diet carbon, back room, bleeding heart liberals who advise the government: “I am English. Why is that a good thing?”

I bet they don’t have an answer. And until they can come up with one, chances are we’ll never win at football again.

Remembrance Sunday (Lest We Forget)

This is a photo of my great uncle Joe, he left Silverwood pit and joined up aged 18 to fight for his country in 'The Great War'. He was injured and came home from France to recuperate. Then they told him he was not fit to fight again but he insisted and went back to the front line as a stretcher bearer. He went out with his mate to get an injured comrade and was blown apart by a grenade.

They put what they could find of him in his greatcoat and he is buried just inside the Menin Gate war cemetery at Ypres in Flanders.

He was nineteen years and four months old when he died

My Grandmother never got over it and cried till the day she died. I was taken every year to the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday by my Grandad and was told of the sacrifices made so this country could never be overrun with foreigners and could practice its religion, culture and way of life in freedom.

How they have been betrayed all those young lads!

I have written this poem to explain how I feel

click image to enlarge

Joseph Houghton, died at nineteen years and four months, never had a girlfriend, never got drunk, a beautiful Lancashire lad.

He died out of loyalty and love for his country. In memory of this ultimate sacrifice and for the future of my seven grandchildren I fight on for my country in its hour of need.

A country led by traitors who want to give away what this lad and countless others suffered and died for.

Introduction (why I started this blog)

My name is Marlene Guest and I am the British National Party Organiser in Rotherham. I have started this blog hoping to show the people of my town what is really going on and how the media distort the truth often refusing to even print it if it might show the BNP in a good light.

This is an article printed in the 'Voice of Freedom' (the BNP newspaper) about how the local press ignored my helping to raise over £1000 for the Childrens Hospital after they treated my grandson and how myself and another BNP activist John Gamble helped to catch a burglar while we were out leafleting in Thorpe Hesley.

Click image to enlarge

The lady who had been robbed got £2900 worth of jewelery back because we prevented the burglar from making his getaway before the Police, whom I had called on my mobile phone, arrived to take him into custody.

They have good reason not to want the BNP shown in a good light. We got 1149 votes in Brinsworth at the May elections only 366 behind the winning Nu Labour candidate and we polled second or third in the other 5 wards we contested.

Click image to enlarge

I was never a political animal and never voted in local or national elections until about ten years ago. It was then something occured that was to change my outlook and attitude rather dramatically. At this time I was divorced and had a long time friend called Marie whom I used to go out with. One night we went out and Marie met a man called John Cooke and they started a relationship. This went on for quite a while and I saw Mr Cooke a couple of times, then one day was asked to make up a four for a meal with John, Marie and John's boss Garvin.

I was told that Garvin was a millionare businessman and that John was his right hand man.

I didn't particularly want to go, not being used to mixing with millionares and such, but they said it was all arranged and they would look idiots if I cried off, so I agreed to go on the condition that it was a one off. We were picked up by a limo and taken to an hotel in Sheffield and I was introduced to John's boss Garvin. It was immediately apparent to me that we had nothing in common, he bragged endlessly about his money, where he had been and what he had done and he talked about his wife who had died of cancer. I even had to buy myself a sandwich as the promised meal never materialised. After about an hour I'd had enough and left thinking that was the end of it.

How wrong I was!

I opened the Advertiser a few weeks later and there was good old Garvin headlining the front page. Turns out he was the 'Deputy Leader' of the Council and he'd been robbing the town blind (as no doubt many of you will remember). I rang the Police and literally within minutes my front room was full of detectives and I had to repeat all that Garvin had told me of his activities.

Garvin Reed did time for his crime and this Council and it's antics brought the town into disrepute, there followed 'jobs for the boys' enquiries, Councillors expenses came under scrutiny and we watched the Council like hawks.

This is the truth about how and why I started 'Council Watch' and why I became involved in local politics. We all pay Council Tax and have a right to see this being spent honestly and openly, this Council as I intend to show, is anything but "open and honest".

I became a Liberal Democrat or as my mother called me a "liberated democratical" , on reflection more like a DIM LIB. I left the party when I discovered they were totally in favour of mass immigration into the UK and taking Britain all the way into the EU which I was and am completely against.

So, after much deliberation, I joined the BNP and I can honestly say I have never regretted it for a second.