An essay from the stand of the Poetical Genius, by Paul Ursell
The English are the most peculiar people. Something unusual and unique in the air of the islands and, perhaps, in addition from the long centuries of peace at home unknown to other nations has caused them to develop an extraordinary idiosyncrasy and native diversity in the expression of the members of species.
There are many great novelists but none who reveal such a gallery of weird and wonderful characters as Charles Dickens. Nowhere else on Earth could there be such bizarre expressions of Man as we find drawn between the pages of Tristram Shandy and Gormenghast. But actually it is the same seven centuries before when we contemplate the humans portrayed in the Canterbury Tales and care to compare it with other great works of the Middle Ages.
If you say to the English – you are the heirs to a great civilization and the highest attainments of Man – they would look at you puzzled and uncomprehending. It would seem they were unaware that they possess a literary and theatrical tradition unmatched and in prodigality beyond the range of any other nation.
With respect to the arts of the Word it is in English that Man has most gloriously and with none such eloquence represented himself and explored the heights and the depths of being human. The whole world goes down the South bank of the Thames (or used to) to pay homage to William Shakespeare. The whole world recognizes if not the English the master Poet of the human race. In epic poetry no one has exceeded the miraculous and torrential eloquence of John Milton.
No country possesses such wealth and amazing blooms in the whole field of Lyric Poetry. There is no other Poet on Earth more singular or more extraordinary than William Blake. He wrote the anthem of England and the English sing it apparently with little faith in or sense of its intimations, mystery or sublime implication. It would take even the most zealous inquirer many lifetimes to absorb the Book of English Literature. It is the glory and honour of the nation.
There are others. The English as we can observe from these tragic days sleep as to the knowledge of their tradition of Law. English Law represents the highest attainment of Mankind in the understanding of and in the value placed on being human. If it should be looked into – it will be found that the ground of the Law in England is the everlasting Gospel of Jesus Christ both in the Letter and the Spirit.
Every Englishman is indeed by Law the King of his own castle and may not be lawfully dictated to or ordered about by any power, Lord or Baron, minister of monarch where no harm has been done by him or the Peace disturbed. The Queen of England swore in 1952 to uphold the laws of God and maintain the Gospels of Jesus.
In Britain by extension, every servant of the Crown is under an Oath to serve the People as the People of God. We now have no queen because the Queen – if she ever occupied her throne in truth – in any case long since vacated it and left the seat untenanted.
Today every Crown servant is an imposter and recreant. Have all of them forgotten who they are? That their grandfathers espoused valiantly the underdog and in their simplicity really believed no one was above the Law. They believed in the Peace and that the Rule of Law was worth dying for. Their fathers were outraged by Hitler and what he did to Jews and like Davids foolishly took up and cast their pebbles at Goliath because that was the only decent thing to do.
Today Julian Assange is in prison and David Noyes was and Craig Murrey has just been locked up for reporting the truth whereas despicable hypocrites and world historic murderers like Tony, Jack and Gordon are feted and allowed platforms to spout their sewage of lies and treachery. So much for the Rule of Law. So much for the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. There are such rogues in Wonderland. How is the glory of the nation travestied and apostatised.
Is there any nation other on Earth which takes such care of its gardens? Englishmen look out on or sit in their gardens among the dahlias and roses, begonias, geraniums and wall flowers or nod in approval of their tomato plants or bean trellises – and never guess they are occupying the nearest approximation to or recovery of Eden ever likely to be attained.
There may be dim surmise when Mr and Mrs Smithy visit Greenwich park or St James’ that they are promenading in the most beautiful cultivations and fruitions of our planet. Everywhere in England are village greens and cricket squares strangely occupied on Sunday mornings; where bowlers hurl blood red stones at batters armed with willow wood and into long afternoons carry out a ritual of sublimated war be it balmy or there come cloud rack to excite discussion of the imponderable weather.
Whilst on one side there will be found invariably a public house for convivial exchange and on another the parish church where worship used to be conducted before the natives gave up praying and the vicars became business operators. This was he glory and honour of the nation.
What is left but a final Lilliput? One can observe its working as within a glass sphere where goose step along with vulgar business is conducted by a legion of mini emperors without any clothes obscenely displaying their private parts for all to admire – what idiots the size of mice running about their quaint but grubby manses.
The once steely Scots and Welsh and Irishmen once with Gaelic fire are shrunk the same to ludicrous contortions and travesties.
Because no one loved God or the truth or their neighbours or the refugee and stranger it was England’s boast of hospitality to welcome and care for.
Because they had no love or any respect for truth and loved only money and ease – they succumbed to strong delusion and the wand strokes of the sorcerers of modernity, the behavioural psychology egghead experts in lying of Oxford University. It seems all that is left of England is a few eccentrics, luddites, refuseniks and failures of adaptation who foolishly object to the doctrine that “we are where we are” and must like it or lump it because the march of progress halts for no man or nation.
What’s left to be done but round up, quarantining and genteel putting to death of the refuseniks and deviants who decline to be homogenized and made fit to be inhabitants of the New World Order or the One State?
No man is great who is not singular and eccentric. The reason for any nation is to produce out of its soil great men and women. England is great because it has produced the most singular and the most eccentric men and women of genius, bright spark, vivid colour, alarmingly sincere and with embarrassing intensity. Such are men worth the name of Man. That we embarrass, are ostracized and persecuted is to the final honour and glory of the nation.
It has escaped the notice of the English that they are a people especially chosen and beloved of God. They do not recognize that they were given the greenest land on the Earth; running with milk and honey so bathed in miraculous currents of the western sea; a demi-paradise, another Eden none so rich in the song birds of God. They do not grasp that the courts of Heaven delight and receive their aliment in the praise of human voices and choirs. To produce this music is the rent England has paid to God.
The English do not comprehend their peace to have been a divine gift in return for the service of prayer, for the veneration of the Mother of God, for the study and exercise of her wisdom and the Law of God; for the works of righteousness; for the making of new songs of praise and revelation of the mysteries of both Man and God.
They do not recognize and are not grateful for all the benediction lavished on them by God and by the sons of David his most beloved. They do not recognize that the throne of David established in England is the revelation and the glory of the Holy Spirit of God. They do not recognize that they are the People of new Israel, new Abraham, new Isaac and new Jacob; that they are the People of Shakespeare, Milton and Blake.; that everything they have and cherish by divine gift is the fruit of the Poetical Genius which is the working of the Holy Spirit in Man and in time.
The English do not realize and are not grateful for the special eminence accorded to them by divine grace or it has lapsed from their memory altogether – so that they do not grasp how their entitlement is being robbed from them as the underdog is put to death in front of their blinking eyes.
They do not notice how their crown jewels are being raided and carted away by larcenists when the holy men of the street are hunted down and the freedoms of the street destroyed. Your refusenik is your holy man – that you allow him to live is your law of extending tolerance. If you prevent the vagabond and gypsy you prevent the breath of your own life. The streets of London are like the wild hills of Judah ranges of freedom for miraculous meetings.
Where there is no tolerance there is no freedom. Where there is no freedom there is no Law and Order or Peace. All these are degraded by the apparatchiks of the One State, by bureaucrats on fat arses in their grey suits and skirts religiously inflicting ever more restrictions, ordinances, mandates of nothing and all spider’s webs to bind limbs and suffocate all intercourse of life – proliferation of sick spawn Covid marshals, lets talk about vaccine friendly helpers, Street Enforcement operatives, jab injectors, toilet carers, hanging about doing nothing dummies, community support dogsbodies, street wardens, degraded, prostituted and brutalized Police Constables and all else the multiplying legion employed for nullity.
Nero looks across the despatch box at Domitian and jousts with him for possession of the Empire. Nero lounges on the throne sloshing champagne and knocks about with his zanies indulging in blather about architecture and demolition objectives – how to inflict more torture and excruciation on the populace and animals of the farm.
What fun being Big Brother! This toddler’s play room has dumper trucks, snow-ploughs, steam rollers, wrecking balls and 60 million toymen to play with and how many did Shylock say liquidate the asset? He doesn’t want to know his days are running out and the controller behind the scenes is about to stab him in the back and fetch on a Domitian – the type to plot more rationally insane elimination and selection. There are pieces on the board. Pieces are sacrificed readily as things of no essential dignity but only as weapons and agents of strategy. Time on the board by a pitiless rationale is strictly limited.
The English have forgotten the God that blessed them; who gave them the bountiful land and the ages of peace, who afforded them protection of his wall from invasions and conquest, enslavement, plagues, famines and revolutions all known to less happy lands.
They have forgotten to pay homage and be grateful and keep the covenant of blessing. They have become entirely complacent, stubborn, gross, blind, deaf and senseless idiots.
They are entirely neglectful of their prayers and the inner life.
They have forgotten even how to pray.
They have entirely neglected to be vigilant on their coasts and headlands.
They sold off their family silver for a song.
They surrendered themselves to the frauds of banking magnates until they owned nothing – not their rivers and water courses, their forests, mountains and hills; nothing of the inheritance they were actually only stewards of.
They sold off what they never owned and offered their children as collaterals for imaginary debts.
When Shylock asked for 50 million pounds sterling hearts of debt – they agreed with him to save their own skins from the great powers before England triumphed over.
They thought the word of Aliens and Shylocks was creditable – and they could expect even 10 millions worth of mercy from the Inimicus, the spirit of envy and revenge.
They went to sleep for decades on end.
They failed to notice the aliens who by gradual invasion and subtlety laid siege to and took over their Parliament, their municipal chambers, their law courts, their schools and colleges, their police stations, their football clubs, their chapels. churches and cathedrals, their businesses, their hospitals and doctors surgeries, the minds, even the minds, hearts and the bodies of their children – until it could seem entirely reasonable to offer up all of these children on the altar of Molech – that they should be injected with abominable substances, with necrotic stuff from chickens and monkeys, with synthetic particles to cause contamination of the temple of the body; to wreck its order, function and wisdom; to cause their children to be sterilized, violated, possessed and entirely subjugated forever.
The enemy they recognized before behind the king of Spain, the tiny Emperor of France and the Fuhrer of Germany – they did not notice creeping up upon them and buying up or blackmailing one by one all their public men and women, their civil servants, judges and magistrates, superintendents, directors and generals – until there was not one left who had not been disarmed and possessed.
Never such infamy. Never such hypocracy. Never such abomination. Never such Sodom. Never such Grmoorah.
Truly the whole head is sick. The whole heart a cold and dead organ. The body an infestation of tumours from head to foot. They deserted God. God has deserted them.