The Silent Wanderings

"You say, "But He has not answered." He has..."

2012-01-27T19:30:00.005-05:00

You say, "But He has not answered." He has, He is so near to you that His silence is the answer. His silence is big with terrific meaning that you cannot understand yet, but presently you will. Oswald Chambers

North West Frontier/Flame Over India (1959) Film Poster

2012-01-25T22:25:00.000-05:00

American title...

British title...

"It Would Be Well To Remember..."

2012-01-23T22:39:00.000-05:00


"He did not save the country from invasion or disaster, but among the British heroes of all ages, there is perhaps no other who stands out so prominently as an individualist, a man ready to die for his principles. Here was one man among men who did not do what he was told, but what he believed to be right. In a world moving inexorably towards conformity, it would be well to remember Gordon of Khartoum." Michael Asher

If you, as a servant of your god, must use one hundred thousand warriors to destroy me, a solitary servant of my God, then you whisper to me Muhammed Ahmed: who will be remembered from Khartoum, your god or Mine?(Gordon, from the 1966 film Khartoum. He probably did not say this in real life, as Gordon never personally met the Mahdi, but still, the quote is an inspiring one.)

The 133rd Anniversary of the Battle of Rorke's Drift

2012-01-22T08:36:00.001-05:00

On January 22, 1879, during the Anglo-Zulu wars, at the little mission station of Rorke's Drift, 124, including wounded, British soldiers held off and defeated 4,000 Zulu attackers, causing around 1,000 causalities among the enemy, before dawn. 11 Victoria Crosses were awarded for the gallantry, courage, and heroism shown at Rorke's Drift.You can read an excellent summation of the battle here, at The Mad Monarchist.

To-day, then, is the 133rd anniversary of the little battle that once again showed the heroic nature of the British army.

"...A Unique Person, Neither A Philosopher Nor a General, Important Though They Are...."

2012-01-20T11:38:00.000-05:00

Credit to James Docherty

Interception

2012-01-16T11:38:00.001-05:00

"...and it has been saved, but not for me."

2012-01-15T22:24:00.002-05:00

“But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.”

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King (or so Goodreads Quotes says...)

A Confession of a Book Lover #2

2012-01-13T17:25:00.000-05:00

My new books are here! I was given a Chapters gift card as a present from my boss, and with it I bought these three lovely books. Believe you me, I had a hard time deciding which ones to buy, and there was one that I shall have to buy as a sister book to the one on the Napoleonic warfare (this book I could not buy was entitled Fighting Techniques of the Colonial Era....)

"Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide..."

2012-01-13T08:02:00.000-05:00

Once To Every Man and Nation
James Russell Lowell, 1819-1891

Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide,

In the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side;

Some great cause, some great decision, offering each the bloom or blight,

And the choice goes by forever, ’twixt that darkness and that light.

Then to side with truth is noble, when we share her wretched crust,

Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and ’tis prosperous to be just;

Then it is the brave man chooses while the coward stands aside,

Till the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.

By the light of burning martyrs, Christ, Thy bleeding feet we track,

Toiling up new Calv’ries ever with the cross that turns not back;

New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth,

They must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth.

Though the cause of evil prosper, yet the truth alone is strong;

Though her portion be the scaffold, and upon the throne be wrong;

Yet that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown,

Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own.

Edmund Burke

2012-01-12T15:43:00.000-05:00


Happy Birthday, Edmund Burke! January 12, 1729 – July 9, 1797

All persons possessing any portion of power ought to be strongly and awfully impressed with an idea that they act in trust and that they are to account for their conduct in that trust to the one great Master, Author, and Founder of society. ~Edmund Burke

"Each man has his particular weak spot of sentiment, I suppose..."

2012-01-10T12:40:00.001-05:00

"Well," and with some hesitation he made that confidence which he hadrepressed on the day when they sat upon the foreshore of the Nile. "Eachman has his particular weak spot of sentiment, I suppose. I have mine. Iam not a marrying man, so it's not sentiment of that kind. Perhaps youwill laugh at it. It isn't merely that I loathe this squalid, shadeless,vile town of Omdurman, or the horrors of its prison. It isn't merelythat I hate the emptiness of those desert wastes. It isn't merely that Iam sick of the palm trees of Khartum, or these chains or the whips ofthe gaolers. But there's something more. I want to die at home, and Ihave been desperately afraid so often that I should die here. I want todie at home—not merely in my own country, but in my own village, and beburied there under the trees I know, in the sight of the church and thehouses I know, and the trout stream where I fished when I was a boy...."

"Conversation..."

2012-01-07T22:11:00.003-05:00

Conversation enriches the understanding, but solitude is the school of genius. ~Edward Gibbon

"We in our day ought well to guard, as highly to honour, the parent stem of England..."

2012-01-02T21:19:00.001-05:00

.There was a saying, not heard today sooften as formerly . .

"Whatdo they know of England who only England know?" It is a saying which dates. Ithas a period aroma, like Kipling's "Recessional" or the state roomsat Osborne. That phase is ended, so plainly ended, that even thegeneration born at its zenith, for whom the realisation is thehardest, no longer deceive themselves as to the fact. That power andthat glory have vanished, as surely, if not as tracelessly, as theimperial fleet from the waters of Spithead.

And yet England is not asNineveh and Tyre, nor as Rome, nor as Spain. Herodotus relates howthe Athenians, returning to their city after it had been sacked andburnt by Xerxes and the Persian army, were astonished to find, aliveand flourishing in the blackened ruins, the sacred olive tree, thenative symbol of their country.

So we today, at the heart of avanished empire, amid the fragments of demolished glory, seem tofind, like one of her own oak trees, standing and growing, the sapstill rising from her ancient roots to meet the spring, Englandherself.

Perhaps,after all, we know most of England "whoonly England know". So the continuity of herexistence was unbroken when the looser connections which had linkedher with distant continents and strange races fellaway. Thus our generation is one which comeshome again from years of distant wandering. We discover affinitieswith earlier generations of English who felt no country but this tobe their own. We discover affinities with earlier generations ofEnglish who felt there was this deep this providential differencebetween our empire and those others, that the nationhood of themother country remained unaltered through it all, almost unconsciousof the strange fantastic structure built around her - in modernparlance "uninvolved".

Backward travels our gaze,beyond the grenadiers and the philosophers of the 18th century,beyond the pikemen and the preachers of the 17th, back through thebrash adventurous days of the first Elizabeth and the hardmaterialism of the Tudors and there at last we find them, or seem tofind them, in many a village church, beneath the tall tracery of aperpendicular East window and the coffered ceiling of the chantrychapel.

From brass and stone, from lineand effigy, their eyes look out at us, and we gaze into them, as ifwe would win some answer from their silence."Tell us what it is thatbinds us together; show us the clue that leads through a thousandyears; whisper to us the secret of this charmed life of England, thatwe in our time may know how to hold it fast.

"What would they say"?

They would speak to us in ourown English tongue, the tongue made for telling truth in, tunedalready to songs that haunt the hearer like the sadness ofspring. They would tell us of that marvellousland, so sweetly mixed of opposites in climate that all the seasonsof the year appear there in their greatest perfection; of the fieldsamid which they built their halls, their cottages, their churches,and where the same blackthorn showered its petals upon them as uponus; they would tell us, surely of the rivers the hills and of theisland coasts of England.

One thing above all theyassuredly would not forget; Lancastrian or Yorkist, squire or lord,priest or layman; they would point to the kingship of England, andits emblems everywhere visible.

They would tell us too of apalace near the great city which the Romans built at a ford of theRiver Thames, to which men resorted out of all England to speak onbehalf of their fellows, a thing called 'Parliament'; and fromthat hall went out their fellows with fur trimmed gowns and strangecaps on their heads, to judge the same judgments, and dispense thesame justice, to all the people of England.

Symbol, yet source of power;person of flesh and blood, yet incarnation of an idea; the kingshipwould have seemed to them, as it seems to us, to express thequalities that are peculiarly England's: the unity of England,effortless and unconstrained, which accepts the unlimited supremacyof Crown in Parliamentso naturally as not to beaware of it; the homogeneity of England, so profound and embracingthat the counties and the regions make it a hobby to discover theirdifferences and assert their peculiarities; the continuity ofEngland, which has brought this unity and this homogeneity about bythe slow alchemy of centuries.

For the unbroken life of theEnglish nation over a thousand years and more is a phenomenon uniquein history, the product of a specific set of circumstances like thosewhich in biology are supposed to start by chance a new line ofevolution. Institutions which elsewhere are recent and artificialcreations appear in England almost as works of nature, spontaneousand unquestioned.

From this continuous life of aunited people in its island home spring, as from the soil of England,all that is peculiar in the gifts and the achievements of the Englishnation. All its impact on the outer world in earlier colonies, in thelater Pax Britannica, in government and lawgiving, in commerce and inthought has flowed from impulses generated here. And this continuinglife of England is symbolised and expressed, as by nothing else, bythe English kingship. English it is, for all the leeks and thistlesgrafted upon it here and elsewhere. The stock that received all thesegrafts is English, the sap that rises through it to the extremitiesrises from roots in English earth, the earth of England's history.

We in our day ought well to guard, as highly to honour, the parent stem of England, and its royal talisman; for we know not what branches yet that wonderful tree will have the power to put forth.
The danger is not always violence and force; them we have withstood before and can again.
The peril can also be indifference and humbug, which might squander the accumulated wealth of tradition and devalue our sacred symbolism to achieve some cheap compromise or some evanescent purpose.

Enoch Powell (Speech to the Royal Society of St. George, on April 23, 1961)

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T00:32:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year, everyone! May 2012 be filled with life changing events, and for my family, in a long hoped for sort of way...

God Knows

by Minnie Haskins

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

So heart bestill:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.

2011: A Year In Review

2011-12-31T12:00:00.000-05:00

2011: A Year in Review

Film
Favourite Film Characters of 2011

Captain Carruthers, The Drum (1938)
Colonel Nicholson, The Bridge over the River Kwai (1957)
General Clive Wynne-Candy, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)

Film quotes of 2011

"We can teach these barbarians a lesson in Western methods and efficiency that will put them to shame. We'll show them what the British soldier is capable of doing." Colonel Nicholson, The Bridge over the River Kwai

"One day the war will be over. And I hope that the people that use this bridge in years to come will remember how it was built and who built it. Not a gang of slaves, but soldiers, British soldiers, Clipton, even in captivity." ~Colonel Nicholson, The Bridge over the River Kwai

Commander Shears:You mean, you intend to uphold the letter of the law, no matter what it costs?
Colonel Nicholson:Without law, Commander, there is no civilization.
Commander Shears:That's just my point; here, there is no civilization.
Colonel Nicholson:Then we have the opportunity to introduce it. ~The Bridge over the River Kwai

"Do you remember, Clive, we used to say: "Our army is fighting for our homes, our women, and our children"? Now the women are fighting beside the men. The children are trained to shoot. What's left is the "home." But what is the "home" without women and children" Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff, The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp

Films of 2011

The Young Mr. Pitt (1942)
The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943)
The Drum (1938)
Jane Eyre (2011)

Film Poster of 2011

Books
Books of 2011
The Abolition of Britain by Peter Hitchens
The Rage Against God by Peter Hitchens
The Cameron Delusion by Peter Hitchens
The Road to Serfdom by F.A. Hayek
Before the Lamps Went Out by Geoffrey Marcus
The Bully Boys by Eric Walters
The Tragedy of the Korosko by Arthur Conan Doyle
Kim by Rudyard Kipling
John Macnab by John Buchan
England 1870-1914 by Robert Ensor
A Spirit Undaunted: The Political Role of King George VI by Robert Rhodes James
Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End Slavery by Eric Mexatas

Book Quotes of 2011
On the Christian Faith of the Victorians

"Of course the biography of a figure from the past escapes time in a more overt sense, too, by seeming to resurrect the subject of the biography. Inside the small eternity of the book the subject is once again brought to life, and in a kind of flipbook illusion he again disports himself through the trompe-l'oeil decades- and then, of course, dies once more. But his death at the end of the book comes to us afresh, as if we had just read about it in that morning's newspaper. We mourn his passing, and wish that we might see him once more alive, might have him with us for a few more pages, our new friends. And so it is that we sometimes find ourselves stumbling through such things as are called epilogues, looking again for the one just lost."

"Who among us doesn't at some time long to re-enter the past, to touch and hear again what is lost? No human impulse is more fundamental than our desire to transcend time, and none argues better that time is not the medium for which we are finally meant. And in the case of such as Wilberforce, we strain for some link, some palpable connection, whether to stand where he stood or touch what he touched, or perhaps even to speak to a living descendant, and stare at their faces. Whether via relic or relative, we seem to await that fairy tale moment when the dead, grey façade of years between us at last cracks and crumbles and falls away, revealing the real thing hiding beneath: eternity, fresh and green."

Eric Metaxas, in the epilogue of his book Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End the Slavery

~*~

"There are a good many Englishmen who are asking themselves that question," remarked Cecil Brown. "It's my opinion that we have been the policemen of the world long enough. We policed the seas for pirates and slavers. Now we police the land for Dervishes and brigands and every sort of danger to civilisation. There is never a mad priest or a witch doctor, or a firebrand of any sort on this planet, who does not report his appearance by sniping the nearest British officer. One tires of it at last. If a Kurd breaks loose in Asia Minor, the world wants to know why Great Britain does not keep him in order. If there is a military mutiny in Egypt, or a Jehad in the Soudan, it is still Great Britain who has to set it right. And all to an accompaniment of curses such as the policeman gets when he seizes a ruffian among his pals. We get hard knocks and no thanks, and why should we do it? Let Europe do its own dirty work."

"Well," said Colonel Cochrane, crossing his legs and leaning forward with the decision of a man who has definite opinions, "I don't at all agree with you, Brown, and I think that to advocate such a course is to take a very limited view of our national duties. I think that behind national interests and diplomacy and all that there lies a great guiding force,—a Providence, in fact,—which is for ever getting the best out of each nation and using it for the good of the whole. When a nation ceases to respond, it is time that she went into hospital for a few centuries, like Spain or Greece,—the virtue has gone out of her. A man or a nation is not here upon this earth merely to do what is pleasant and profitable. It is often called upon to carry out what is unpleasant and unprofitable; but if it is obviously right, it is mere shirking not to undertake it."

~Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in his book The Tragedy of Korosko

~*~

'FitzGibbon stopped at the sound of horses being driven hard, hooves pounding against the ground. We both stood and hurried out of the tent in time to see three horses being reined to a stop directly in front of us. Their riders leaped down and rushed over to where we stood.
"Do you have news?" FitzGibbon demanded.
"The Americans have been spotted, sir."
"Who saw them?"
"A patrol of Caughnawagas."
"And did the Americans see our patrol?"
"They don't think so, sir."
"How many Americans did they believe were in the party?"
"At least four hundred, possibly five hundred men. And cannons."
"I was not expecting cannons. A most peculiar tactical move. How many?"
"Three."
"Where are they?"
"They're about ten miles south of us at-"
"South!" FitzGibbon interrupted. "Are you sure of that?"
"Yes sir."
"Then we don't have much time. Not that much is needed. We're badly outnumbered and they're supported with cannon. We have only one choice."
There certainly seemed like only one choice to me. I should get back to the tent and pack my-
"We have to attack."' ~The Bully Boys by Eric Walter

~*~

"I have always been in favour of preserving both the British relation with Egypt and the Egyptian relation with the Soudan. I trust both British and Egyptian statesmen and administrators will work together with goodwill and for the common advantage for centuries to come. These views are, however, highly controversial. A generation has grown up which knows little of why we are in Egypt and in the Soudan, and what our work there has been. Uninstructed and ignorant impressions colour the decisions not only of parliaments but of cabinets. It is my hope that the story which these pages contain may be some help and encouragement to those young men and women who have still confidence in the destiny of Britain in the Orient. They may learn how much harder it is to build up and acquire, than to squander and cast away."

~ Winston S. Churchill in the introduction to the third edition of his work The River War

" He looked up, angrier than ever. 'Sir Humphrey, why was my request for a further discussion, and the Prime Minister's reply, not minuted?'
Sir Humphrey was ready for that one. His reply was an object lesson. I recall it perfectly.
'While it is true that the minutes are indeed an authoritative record of the Committee's deliberations, it is nevertheless undeniable that a deliberate attempt at comprehensive delineation of every contribution and interpolation would necessitate an unjustifiable elaboration and wearisome extension of the documentation.'
Hacker stared at him. The Committee stared at him. The Foreign Secretary told me later that he wished he was at the UN where he'd have had the benefit of simultaneous translation. What he had said would have been crystal clear to most people, but politicians are simple souls." ~Bernard from Yes, Prime Minister

~*~

Music

Best News of 2011
Return of the Royal Canadian Navy and the Royal Canadian Air Force
The Royal Wedding

Poems of 2011

Pro Rege Nostro

by William Ernest Henley

WHAT have I done for you,

England, my England?

What is there I would not do,

England, my own?

With your glorious eyes austere,

As the Lord were walking near,

Whispering terrible things and dear

As the Song on your bugles blown, England --

Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful Sun,

England, my England,

Match the master-work you've done,

England, my own?

When shall he rejoice again

Such a breed of mighty men

As come forward, one to ten,

To the Song on your bugles blown, England --

Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,

England, my England: --

'Take and break us: we are yours,

England, my own!

Life is good, and joy runs high

Between English earth and sky:

Death is death; but we shall die

To the Song on your bugles blown, England --

To the stars on your bugles blown!'

They call you proud and hard,

England, my England:

You with worlds to watch and ward,

England, my own!

You whose mailed hand keeps the keys

Of such teeming destinies,

You could know nor dread nor ease,

Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --

Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,

England, my England,

Is the fierce old Sea's delight,

England, my own,

Chosen daughter of the Lord,

Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,

There's the menace of the Word

In the Song of your bugles blown, England --

Out of heaven on your bugles blown!

Recessional by Rudyard Kipling

God of our fathers, known of old—

Lord of our far-flung battle line—

Beneath whose awful hand we hold

Dominion over palm and pine—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies—

The Captains and the Kings depart—

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away—

On dune and headland sinks the fire—

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust

In reeking tube and iron shard—

All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding calls not Thee to guard.

For frantic boast and foolish word,

Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Amen.

The Soldier

Rupert Brooke

If I should die, think only this of me:
   That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
   In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
   Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
   Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
   A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
      Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
   And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
      In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

The Fox's Prophecy

by D.W. Nash

Tom Hill was in the saddle,
One bright November morn,
The echoing glades of Guiting Wood
Were ringing with his horn.

The diamonds of the hoar-frost
Were sparkling in the sun.
Upon the falling leaves the drops
Were shining one by one.

The hare lay on the fallow,
The robin carolled free;
The linnet and yellow finch
Twittered from tree to tree.

In stately march the sable rook
Followed the clanking plough;
Apart their watchful sentinel
Cawed from the topmost bough.

Peeped from her hole the field-mouse
Amid the fallen leaves.
From twig to twig the spider
Her filmy cable weaves.

The wavings of the pine boughs
The squirrel's form disclose;
And through the purple beech-tops
The whirring pheasant rose.

The startled rabbit scuttered
Across the grassy ride;
High in mid-air the hovering hawk
Wheeled round in circles wide.

The freshest wind was blowing
O'er groves of beech and oak
And through the boughs of larch and pine
The struggling sunbeam broke.

The avried tints of autumn
Still lingered on the wood,
And on the leaves the morning sun
Poured out a golden flood.

Soft, fleecy clouds were sailing
Across the vault of blue.
A fairer hunting morning
No huntsman ever knew.

All nature seemed rejoicing
That glorious morn to see;
All seemed to breathe a fresher life -
Beast, insect, bird and tree.

But sound and sight of beauty
Fell dull on eye and ear;
The huntsman's heart was heavy
His brow oppressed with care.

High in his stirrups raised he stood,
And long he gazed around;
And breathlessly and anxiously
His listened for a sound.

But nought he heard save the song bird
Or jay's discordant cry;
Or when among the the tree-tops
The wind went murmuring by.

No voice of hound, no sound of horn
The woods around were mute,
As though the earth had swallowed up
His comrades - man and brute.

He thought, "I must essay to find
My hounds at any cost;
A huntsman who has lost his hounds
Is but a huntsman lost".

Then round he turned his horse's head
And shook his bridle free,
When he was struck by an aged fox
That sat beneath a tree.

He raised his eye in glad surprise,
That huntsman keen and bold;
But there was in that fox's look
That made his blood run cold.

He raised his hand to touch his horn,
And shout a "Tally-ho"
But mastered by that fox's eye,
His lips refused to blow.

For he was grim and gaunt of limb,
With age all silvered o'er;
He might have been an arctic fox
Escaped from Greenland's shore.

But age his vigour had not tamed,
Nor dimm'd his sparkling eye,
Which shone with an unearthly fire -
Fire that could never die.

And thus the huntsman he addressed,
In tones distinct and clear,
Who heard as they who in a dream
The fairies' music hear.

"Huntsman" he said - a sudden thrill
Through all the listeners ran,
To hear a creature of the wood
Speak like a Christian man -

"Last of my race, to me' tis given
The future to unfold,
To speak the words which never yet
Spake fox of mortal mould.

"Then print my words upon your heart
And stamp them on your brain,
That you to others may impart
My prophecy again.

"Strong life is your's in manhood's prime,
Your cheek with heat is red;
Time has not laid his finger yet
In earnest on your head.

"But ere your limbs are bent with age,
And ere yours locks are grey,
The sport that you have loved so well
Shall long have passed away.

"In vain shall generous Colmore,
Your hunt consent to keep;
In vain the Rendcomb baronet
With gold your stores shall heap.

"In vain Sir Alexander,
And Watson Keen in vain,
O'er the pleasant Cotswold hills
The joyous sport maintain.

"Vain all their efforts: spite of all,
Draws nigh the fatal morn,
When the last Cotswold fox shall hear
The latest huntsman's horn.

"Yet think not, huntsman, I rejoice
To see the end so near;
Nor think the sound of horn and hound
To me a sound of fear.

"In my strong youth, which numbers now
Full many a winter back,
How scornfully I shook my brush
Before the Berkeley pack.

"How oft from Painswick hill I've seen
The morning mist uncurl,
When Harry Airis blew the horn
Before the wrathful Earl.

"How oft I've heard the Cotswolds' cry
As Turner cheered the pack,
And laughed to see his baffled hounds
Hang vainly on my track.

"Too well I know, by wisdom taught
The existance of my race
O'er all wide England's green domain
Is bound up with the Chase.

"Better in early youth and strength
The race for life to run,
Than poisoned like the noxious rat,
Or slain by felon gun.

"Better by wily sleight and turn
The eager hound to foil,
Than slaughtered by each baser churl
Who yet shall till the soil.

"For not upon these hills alone
The doom of sport shall fall;
O'er the broad face of England creeps
The shadow on the wall.

"The years roll on: old manors change,
Old customs lose their sway;
New fashions rule; the grandsire's garb
Moves ridicule to-day.

"The woodlands where my race has bred
Unto the axe shall yield;
Hedgerow and copse shall cease to shade
The ever widening field.

"The manly sports of England
Shall vanish one by one;
The manly blood of England
In weaker veins shall run.

"The furzy down, the moorland heath,
The steam plough shall invade;
Nor park nor manor shall escape -
Common, nor forest glade.

"Degenerate sons of manlier sires
To lower joys shall fall;
The faithless lore of Germany,
The gilded vice of Gaul.

"The sports of their forefathers
To baser tastes shall yield;
The vices of the town displace
The pleasures of the field.

"For swiftly o'er the level shore
The waves of progress ride;
The ancient landmarks one by one
Shall sink beneath the tide.

"Time honoured creeds and ancient faith,
The Alter and the Crown,
Lordship's hereditary right,
Before that tide go down.

"Base churls shall mock the mighty names
Writ on the roll of time;
Religion shall be held a jest,
And loyalty a crime.

"No word of prayer, no hmyn of praise
Sound in the village school;
The people's education
Utilitarians rule.

"In England's ancient pulpits
Lay orators shall preach
New creeds, and free religions
Self made apostles teach.

"The peasants to their daily tasks
In surly silence fall;
No kindly hospitalities
In farmhouse nor in hall.

"Nor harvest feast nor Christmas tide
Shall farm or manor hold;
Science alone can plenty give,
The only God is gold.

"The homes where love and peace should dwell
Fierce politics shall vex,
And unsexed woman strive to prove
Herself the coarser sex.

"Mechanics in their workshops
Affairs of state decide;
Honour and truth - old fashioned words -
The noisy mob deride.

"The statesman that should rule the realm
Coarse demagogues displace;
The glory of a thousand years
Shall end in foul disgrace.

The honour of old England,
Cotton shall buy and sell,
And hardware manufacturers
Cry "Peace - lo, all is well".

Trade shall be held the only good
And gain the sole device;
The statesman's maxim shall be peace,
and peace at any price.

"Her army and her navy
Britain shall cast aside;
Soldiers and ships are costly things,
Defence an empty pride.

"The German and the Muscovite
Shall rule the narrow seas;
Old England's flag shall cease to float
In triumph on the breeze.

"The footsteps of th' invader,
Then England's shore shall know,
While home-bred traitors give the hand
To England's every foe.

"Disarmed, before the foreigner,
The knee shall humbly bend,
And yield the treasures that she lacked
The wisdom to defend.

"But not for aye - yet once again,
When purged by fire and sword,
The land her freedom shall regain,
To manlier thoughts restored.

"Taught wisdom by disaster,
England shall learn to know,
That trade is not the only gain
Heaven gives to man below.

"The greed for gold departed
The golden calf cast down,
Old England's sons shall raise again
The Alter and the Crown.

"Rejoicing seas shall welcome
Their mistress once again;
Once more the banner of St George
Shall rule upon the main.

"The blood of the invader
Her pastures shall manure,
His bones unburied on her fields
For monuments to endure.

"Again in hall and homestead,
Shall joy and peace be seen,
And smiling children raise again
The maypole on the green.

"Again the hospitable board
Shall groan with Christmas cheer,
And mutual service bind again
The peasant and the peer.

"Again the smiling hedgerow
Shall field from field divide;
Again among the woodlands
The scarlet troop shall ride."

Again it seemed that aged fox,
More prophecies would say,
When sudden came upon the wind,
"Hark forrard, gone away".

The listener started from his trance -
He sat there all alone;
That well-known cry had burst the spell,
The aged fox was gone.

The huntsman turned,

He spurred his steed,

And to the cry he sped;

And when he thought upon that fox,

Said naught, but shook his head.

Thanks to An Englishman's Castle.

Quotes

For better or worse — fair and foul — the world we know today is in large measure a product of Britain's age of empire. The question is not whether British imperialism was without blemish. It was not. The question is whether there could have been a less bloody path to modernity. Perhaps in theory there could have been. But in practice? - Niall Ferguson, "Empire"

"In the end, history, especially British history with its succession of thrilling illuminations, should be, as all her most accomplished narrators have promised, not just instruction but pleasure." - Simon Schama

We live in an age when to be young and to be indifferent can be no longer synonymous. We must prepare for the coming hour. The claims of the Future are represented by suffering millions; and the Youth of a Nation are the trustees of Posterity. ~Benjamin Disraeli

Above the ebb and flow of party strife, the rise and fall of ministries, and individuals, the changes of public opinion or public fortune, the British Monarchy presides, ancient, calm and supreme within its function, over all the treasures that have been saved from the past and all the glories we write in the annals of our country. - Winston Churchill

I find the Englishman to be him of all men who stands firmest in his shoes.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"The world was clearly made of English parklands, mountains in less important corners, and admirals, generals, secretaries of state at the directing centre of the universe. To artists the task was given of using easily comprehensible symbols to convey the vital force of this straightforward world." J. Steven Watson in his book The Reign of George the III as part of the Oxford History of England series

"We must not turn from the path of duty. If the British Empire is fated to pass from life into history, we must hope it will not be by the slow processes of dispersion and decay, but in some supreme exertion for freedom, for right, and for truth. Why is it that from so many lands men look towards us today? It is certainly not because we have gained advantages in a race of armaments, or have scored a point by some deeply planned diplomatic intrigue, or because we exhibit the blatancy and terrorism of ruthless power. It is because we stand on the side of the general need. In the British Empire we not only look out across the seas towards each other, but backwards to our own history, to Magna Charta, to Habeas Corpus, to the Petition of Right, to Trial by Jury, to the English Common Law and to Parliamentary Democracy. These are the milestones and monuments that mark the path along which the British race has marched to leadership and freedom. And over all this, uniting each Dominion with the other and uniting us all with our majestic past, is the golden circle of the Crown. What is within this circle? Not only the glory of an ancient, unconquered people, but the hope, the sure hope, of a broadening life for hundreds of millions of men." ~Sir Winston S. Churchill in his speech entitled The King's Dominions, given at the Canada Club in the honour of the Right Honourable R.B. Bennett, 20 April 1939

'He determined to go "home". Kingston, capital of Canada as well as of the Midland District, was satisfactory enough; but beyond Kingston, and Canada, and British North America, lay another world, imperial and international in scope, remote, and splendid, and vastly more exciting than anything he had yet known.' ~Donald Creighton in The Young Politician

"We may teach the enemy this lesson: A country defended by free men devoted to the cause of their king and constitution can never be conquered..." -Major General Sir Isaac Brock KB

Images of 2011

Blog Banners of 2011

Happy Christmas!

2011-12-25T15:48:00.002-05:00

Book Review: Raiders of the Mohawk: The Story of the Butler's Rangers

2011-12-22T11:40:00.001-05:00

Raiders of the Mohawk: The Story of the Butler's Rangers was originally written sometime in the 1950s by author Orlo Miller. It is not a deep book, and I was able to read through it in a matter of hours. However, it is quite engaging and entertaining. I read it with my younger brothers in mind, and in a few years I shall no doubt lend them this book.

The narrative follows in part the story of real life Loyalist Daniel Spring, who fled with his mother and brother their home in New York state, after their father, the local reverend and supporter of the King, is murdered by rebels who disagree with his views. After the three remaining Springers flee, they come in contact with Colonel Butler and his Butler's Rangers, and eventually Daniel and his brother Richard join the Rangers. Part of the narrative follows Daniel as he grows from a young boy into a man, whilst fighting for God, King, and Country. The other part of the narrative follows the overall exploits and the daring raids on rebels , by the Rangers, and in many of these Daniel is involved. This second part is a more general, broad sweep of the time period in which the Rangers fought, which I think was a necessary part of the book, in order that those who are first encountering the brave Loyalists, the courageous Butler's Rangers, and those who remained loyal to the King, could understand the narrative of Daniel's life with a greater clarity and depth.

Ostensibly the majority of all the characters in this book are real and true to life, which makes the tale an even greater one.

So, in conclusion, a fine novel for anyone who loves British History. Americans probably wouldn't like it much, but it made my heart stir with pride as I read it.

O Holy Night

2011-12-20T16:01:00.002-05:00

Can it be said that when compared with such music as that above, all else pales in comparison? Aye, I think it might.

On a side note, I am currently preparing for... my first social event of the year, family gatherings aside. And no, I do not mean of 2012, but rather of 2011. My Mom and sister have been baking all day; all that has gone well, the best part was no doubt the flaming cookie. We quickly put pains to that cookies idea of being one of those foreign dishes which involve large amounts of flames. I think those are rather silly, anyway.... who wants to eat food that is on fire? But I suppose it comes from the Continent, or something of that sort. Silly, silly.

EDIT: There is a youtube video posted there, my apologies if it is not working correctly.

Considerings

2011-12-18T18:41:00.001-05:00

My siblings and I agreed about the following:

When others played pirates....we were the Royal Navy chasing down the pirates.

When others played cowboys and Indians...we were the Northwest Mounted Police bringing law & order.

When others played Anglo-Saxons...we were the Normans with William the Conqueror.

When others played Americans in the Revolutionary War...we were the Loyalists.

When others played Americans in the War of 1812...we were Lt. Fitzgibbon's British men in his Green Tigers.

When others played Roundheads in the English Civil War...we were the Cavaliers, defenders of the Crown & Monarchy.

When others played Napoleon...we were with the Duke of Wellington defeating the French at Waterloo.

When others played characters in Ancient Israel and area...we were the Roman soldiers.

As you can see, we had a very normal childhood.

Secondly, the question arose after dinner tonight about when and where we would go back in time, if we could. Aside from the obvious answer, I decided that I would go back to before the Agadir crisis, and stop it, as it was one of the events which set off the First World War. After some discussion about the causes of the First World War, we ascertained and agreed that even if we caused both the Agadir crisis not to occur and also stopped the assassination of the Archduke, that would not necessarily stop the Great War, even though it would change its shape somewhat. Alas, stopping the Agadir crisis and the assassination would only be treating the symptoms, and not, to a large extent, the underlying reasons for the Great War.

But, as Sir Robert Ensor, in his excellent book on Britain from 1870 to 1914, said about the War, all this is a matter for speculation....

Tis Almost Like...

2011-12-15T13:36:00.000-05:00

Spring! It's a gorgeous day out there- the sun is shining, the wind is blowing, the blue sky is a light blue only to be found after a long winter. I was out there in a t-shirt to-day (admittedly I like wearing t-shirts out of doors when it's still a teensy touch cool, too cool for the rest of the populace), and it was lovely. It felt just like spring, except, of course, it's almost the middle of December, with only ten days to go until Christmas. No doubt we shall get one of those lovely green Christmases. Or a winter like those in the Motherland (a friend who hails directly from England said that this type of weather we've been having is very English. Hurrah, said I!).

But alas, it is not spring. It is not my favourite time of the year. At all. No matter, it still gives me hope.

P.S.: I learned something shocking about a book I read once, which made me very, very glad of my original opinion of the book, and also my original stance on certain characters, and also the original side I took in the conflict. I am now glad of this as it shows that I have been a real conservative and a real monarchist for much longer than I previously thought, and much longer than simply the past few years when I have been pointedly examining and deciding my beliefs on matters of right and wrong. I also wonder how anyone sensible can like the characters I disliked, due to certain role models which they uphold, but perhaps it proves that common sense is not so common now a days, which is something I've known for a while.

P.P.S.: Also, shall I have the freedom to be insulted that a website listing the different milestones of 2011 listed the Royal Wedding as "entertainment"? Entertainment?!? That I thinkest most decidedly not. People just do not get it these days.

"I have loved you dearly More dearly than the spoken word can tell..."

2011-12-12T23:32:00.000-05:00

There's a ship lies rigged and ready in the harbor
Tomorrow for old England she sails
Far away from your land of endless sunshine
To my land full of rainy skies and gales
And I shall be aboard that ship tomorrow
Though my heart is full of tears at this farewell

For you are beautiful, I have loved you dearly
More dearly than the spoken word can tell
For you are beautiful, I have loved you dearly
More dearly than the spoken word can tell

I've heard there's a wicked war a-blazing
And the taste of war I know so very well
Even now I see the foreign flag a-raising
Their guns on fire as we sail into hell
I have no fear of death, it brings no sorrow
But how bitter will be this last farewell

For you are beautiful, I have loved you dearly
More dearly than the spoken word can tell
For you are beautiful, I have loved you dearly
More dearly than the spoken word can tell

Though death and darkness gather all about me
My ship be torn apart upon the seas
I shall smell again the fragrance of these islands
And the heaving waves that brought me once to thee
And should I return home safe again to England
I shall watch the English mist roll through the dale

For you are beautiful, I have loved you dearly
More dearly than the spoken word can tell
For you are beautiful, I have loved you dearly
More dearly than the spoken word can tell

"Whether via relic or relative, we seem to await that fairy tale moment..."

2011-12-11T18:28:00.001-05:00

"Of course the biography of a figure from the past escapes time in a more overt sense, too, by seeming to resurrect the subject of the biography. Inside the small eternity of the book the subject is once again brought to life, and in a kind of flipbook illusion he again disports himself through the trompe-l'oeil decades- and then, of course, dies once more. But his death at the end of the book comes to us afresh, as if we had just read about it in that morning's newspaper. We mourn his passing, and wish that we might see him once more alive, might have him with us for a few more pages, our new friends. And so it is that we sometimes find ourselves stumbling through such things as are called epilogues, looking again for the one just lost."

"Who among us doesn't at some time long to re-enter the past, to touch and hear again what is lost? No human impulse is more fundamental than our desire to transcend time, and none argues better that time is not the medium for which we are finally meant. And in the case of such as Wilberforce, we strain for some link, some palpable connection, whether to stand where he stood or touch what he touched, or perhaps even to speak to a living descendant, and stare at their faces. Whether via relic or relative, we seem to await that fairy tale moment when the dead, grey façade of years between us at last cracks and crumbles and falls away, revealing the real thing hiding beneath: eternity, fresh and green."

Eric Metaxas, in the epilogue of his book Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End the Slavery

"Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die..."

2011-12-10T15:20:00.001-05:00

The Charge of the Light Brigade

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

1.Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

2."Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3.Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

4.Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

5.Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

6.When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

As For Me...

2011-12-10T07:47:00.001-05:00

"As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness." ~Psalm 17:15

The Life of an Amateur Film Director Part the First

2011-12-08T12:19:00.001-05:00

Clean Jeans + making football films + stunts + half frozen ground = bad idea.

On the Christian Faith of the Victorians

2011-12-06T16:11:00.001-05:00

"New fashions in ideas and conduct were not popularised then so quickly as now; and down at least until the queen's first jubilee in the year following the sixteen with which this chapter deals, the mass of her subjects, high as well as low, lived much the same mental life as they had done when the Prince Consort died. At the core of it was religion. No one will ever understand Victorian England who does not appreciate that among highly civilised, in contradistinction to more primitive, countries it was one of the most religious countries that the world has known. Moreover its particular type of Christianity laid a peculiarly direct emphasis upon conduct; for, though it recognised both grace and faith as essentials to salvation, it was in practice also very largely a doctrine of salvation by works.* This type, which had come to dominate churchmen and nonconformists alike, may be called, using the term in a broad sense, evangelicalism. Starting early in the eighteenth century as far back as William Law, author of the Serious Call, coming down through the Wesleys and Whitefield, Johnson and Cowper, Clarkson and Wilberforce and the Clapham 'sect', great schoolmasters like Thomas Arnold and Charles Wordsworth, great nobles like the Greys on the whig side and the philanthropic Lord Shaftesbury on the tory, not to mention the eighteenth century preachers and divines, it became after Queen Victoria's marriage practically the religion of the court, and it gripped all ranks of conditions of society. After Melbourne's departure it inspired nearly every front-rank public man, save Palmerston, for four decades. That does not mean that they were all Evangelicals in the sense of being ... for the low church, as Shaftesbury and Cairns were- Bright was a quaker; Gladstone and Selborne and Salisbury were pronounced high churchmen; Livingstone, like many another, was reared in Scottish presbyterianism. But nothing is more remarkable than the way in which evangelicalism in the broader sense overleaped sectarian barriers and pervaded men of all creeds, so that even T.H. Huxley, the agnostic, oozed it from every pore of his controversial writing.... Even Disraeli, by nature as remote from it as Palmerston, paid every deference to it in politics, and conformed to all its externals in the Hughenden church.

The essentials of evangelicalism were three. First, its literal stress on the Bible. It made the English the "people of a book", somewhat as devout as Moslems are, but as few other Europeans were. Secondly, its certainty about the existence of an afterlife of rewards and punishments. If one asks how nineteenth century English merchants earned the reputation of being the most honest in the world (a very real factor in the nineteenth century primacy of English trade), the answer is: because hell and heaven seemed as certain to them as to-morrow's sunrise, and the Last Judgement as real as the week's balance sheet. This keen sense of moral accountancy had also much to do with the success of self government in the political sphere. Thirdly, its corollary that the present life is only important as a preparation for eternity. Exalted minds in abnormal moments may have reached that feeling in al ages, and among primitive peoples it has often moved mass enthusiasms. But the remarkable feature of evangelicalism was that it came so largely to dispense with the abnormal; made other-worldliness an everyday conviction and, so to say, a business proposition; and thus induced a highly civilised people to put pleasure in the background, and what it conceived to be duty in the foreground, to a quite exceptional degree. A text from the Epistle to the Hebrews, 'He endured as seeing Him who is invisible,' has often and very aptly been used to commemorate General Gordon. It might equally have been applied to Livingstone's lonely heroism in midmost Africa, to Gladstone laying daily before God the issues of right and wrong in national politics, to Shaftesbury championing oppressed classes who could never conceivably repay him, to Clarkson and Wilberforce in an earlier day climbing their 'obstinate hill' to end the slave trade and slavery; and no less truly, though on a lower spiritual plane, to the common conscientious Victorian:

Staid Englishman, who toil and slave

From your first childhood to your grave

And seldom spend and always save-

And do your duty all your life

By your young family and your wife.

This is not the place to evaluate Victorian evangelicalism on religious or theological grounds. But to ignore its effect on outward life would be to render much of the period's history unintelligible. It is often accused of being gloomy, but it seemed less so at the time of its votaries; who for their self denials had compensations not visible to their latter day critics. Certainly, however, it was anti-hedonistic. To-day's passion for pleasure would have shocked it profoundly. Its own corresponding passion was for self-improvement; and perhaps there never has been an age and a country in which so many individuals climbed to outstanding excellences or achievements of one sort or another across the most discouraging barriers.

This religion was sustained by a vast amount of external observance. The evangelicals set relatively little store by sacraments; to communicate only twice a year (the practice of the prince consort and Queen Victoria) was quite normal even in the church of England. But they spent a remarkable amount of time on organised prayer, praise, and preaching. The pulpit dominated. In typical English villages in the seventies and eighties practically all the inhabitants above infancy attended either church or chapel every Sunday, many of them twice or even three times. The children also went twice to Sunday schools. Apart from cases of necessity, the only exceptions to this universal worship would be, here and there, a few known village ne'er-do-wells. In addition, the chapels held prayer meetings during the week, and the church often a regular week-night service- both numerously attended. In towns of moderate size there was almost a strictness, though different regions showed a prevalence of different sects. Thus in many Lancashire manufacturing towns a low-church anglicanism predominated; in their Yorkshire equivalents, dissent. This was reflected in politics, where parts of Lancashire developed a conservative and Yorkshire a liberal tradition. Local distribution varied similarly among dissenters themselves; e.g. primitive methodists would preponderate in some regions, and weslyans in others. Only in the dozen largest English cities were there considerable areas, whose growth neither church nor chapel had overtaken, and extensive 'heathen' populations who attended no place of worship. In London these areas and populations were of enormous size, and from the middle of the century onward much devoted but quite inadequate missionary effort was spent on them by both the anglicans and the nonconformists. But public worship was not all; a great feature of the period was the almost universal practice in the upper, middle, and lower-middle classes of family prayers. The observance, too, of Sunday was almost a religion in itself. No games of any kind were ever played on it; no field-sports indulged in; no entertainment given, public or private. Even books were censored for the day; novels were banned; you might only read the Bible or serious, preferably religious, works. Thus sermons had large sales, and so did 'magazines for Sunday reading'. It is easy now to see the ludicrous side of these restraints;** but they had another. The habit of setting a part one rest-day in the week for religion and serious thinking deepened the character of the nation. And some high peaks of literature- the Bible, Paradise Lost, and the Pilgrim's Progress, for instance- became extremely familiar to very wide classes who to-day would never read anything on that level."

~England 1870-1914 by Robert Ensor, later Sir, part of the Oxford History of England series.

* I do not agree with this, for in all honesty, the two things contradict. While it may appear that the British during the Victorian era placed an emphasis on salvation by works as supposedly evident by their high moral codes and conduct, I believe that they had these moral codes and placed such emphasis on them not because they thought it would earn their salvation, but rather because they knew that to be truly saved, by grace, their new life demands a change of lifestyle to one which honours God by the actions of the saved individual. I did, however, include the above quote as I do not like quoting selectively and try not to do so frequently. I thought an addendum would properly suffice.

** Neither do I appreciate the author's choice of the word ludicrous.

Beautiful...

2011-12-03T20:50:00.001-05:00

You can have your country and your wide open spaces. I love the city.

Sad am I, glad am I, For today I’m dreaming of Yesterdays.

2011-12-02T14:55:00.001-05:00

Yesterdays, Yesterdays,

Days I knew as happy,

Sweet sequester days.

Olden days, golden days,

Days of mad romance and love.

Then youth was mine, truth was mine,

Joyous free and flaming life,

Forsooth, was mine.

Sad am I, glad am I,

For today I’m dreaming of Yesterdays.

(Musical Break)

Olden days, golden days,

Days of mad romance and love.

Then youth was mine, truth was mine,

Joyous free and flaming life,

Forsooth, was mine.

Sad am I, glad am I,

For today I’m dreaming of Yesterdays.

On My Mind

2011-12-01T12:50:00.001-05:00

"The question is whether there could have been a less bloody path to modernity. Perhaps in theory there could have been. But in practice?"

2011-11-29T22:37:00.001-05:00

For better or worse — fair and foul — the world we know today is in large measure a product of Britain's age of empire. The question is not whether British imperialism was without blemish. It was not. The question is whether there could have been a less bloody path to modernity. Perhaps in theory there could have been. But in practice? - Niall Ferguson, "Empire"

"In the end, history, especially British history with its succession of thrilling illuminations, should be, as all her most accomplished narrators have promised, not just instruction but pleasure." - Simon Schama

Psalm 15

2011-11-26T07:44:00.001-05:00

Psalm 15

¹Lord, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? who shall dwell in thy holy hill?

²He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart.

³He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour.

⁴In whose eyes a vile person is contemned; but he honoureth them that fear the LORD. He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.

⁵He that putteth not out his money to usury, nor taketh reward against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved.
(The Authorised Version)

Happiness is....

2011-11-25T18:20:00.001-05:00

New books in collection
New books in collection to some day read
New music to which I can listen
Christmas presents bought
Time spent with family (immediate and beloved aunt and cousins)
1950s Ben Hur film to see
Brother home.
See above.
Serenading brother with the revised version of "Hello Dolly" theme song. You know how it goes... well hello, brother! It's great to see you back where you belong. Well hello, brother! You're looking swell, brother.... here's your hat, brother, you're staying where you're at, brother. Brother's never gonna go away again!

I say, that's about a good an adaptation of a song as "On the Street Where I Live". ;-)

"Do you remember, Clive..."

2011-11-24T10:46:00.001-05:00

Do you remember, Clive, we used to say: "Our army is fighting for our homes, our women, and our children"? Now the women are fighting beside the men. The children are trained to shoot. What's left is the "home." But what is the "home" without women and children?~Theo Kretschmar-Schuldorff in The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp

Said I Forgot, But I Did Not

2011-11-23T11:15:00.001-05:00

Beautiful, Indeed.

2011-11-22T11:46:00.001-05:00

"All music should have no other end and aim than the glory of God..."

2011-11-20T08:16:00.001-05:00

The rain is pouring down, the wind whistling around the not so antiquated not real eaves of my house. It is a perfect November day. Have I ever mentioned that for me a beautiful day is a rainy, gloomy, darkly overcast day? None of this sunny day nonsense. Unless of course on one's wedding day, if they intend to get married outside. I used to, but I have completely turned in favour of a very traditional wedding, inside a huge stone cathedral, or ancient church, with towering ceilings, and a beautiful organ to play the wedding march. I was thinking of having the wedding in a) St. Paul's Cathedral; b)Westminster Abbey; or c) St. Margaret's Church, Westminster Abbey. But alas, I am not of the Church of England.

So, moving on.

I have been listening to the music below as I write my novel to-day.

My novel is going quite well, indeed better than I half hoped, knowing that for myself, I can create grand, heroic, and epic novels, filled with beautiful and dashing women and men, filled with honour, courage, bravery, stolidness, and love for their country, and yet to, to introduce them to a hard, cold, world, one so sadly unlike their own, is sadness indeed, and I am often the cause for the fact that they do not often make it long in this world, due to poor attempts to put words to paper.

Or perhaps it is simply because for the ten other months of the year (I exclude October for planning, and November for writing) I simply do not care to write novels. Why write when you can read the work of other, better masters? Why should I, as a young, inexperienced, a good deal too immature for my own good, person feel that I have a right to offer anything to this world until I am older, much more experienced, and wiser? The world is full of people who will write anything simply to express whatever they are feeling at the moment, hence music that isn't music, poetry that doesn't rhyme or in any sense convey beauty, and atrocious art, art that is more of an eyesore than anything else, and only fit for feeding the fires that keep lovers of real art warm during the cold days ahead. There are simply not enough people out there who write novels, create music, and paint pictures and portraits, with the aim not of merely creating something else to "express" themselves, but to create a masterpiece, a magnum opus. And in creating that masterpiece, one naturally expresses oneself quite well.

"All music should have no other end and aim than the glory of God and the soul's refreshment; where this is not remembered there is no real music but only a devilish hubbub.”J.S.Bach*

Anyway, my novel is going well, and apparently there are some people in my beloved family who want to read it when it is done. I hope they like it. And now I am off to get ready for church.

* It is ostensible there are several variations to this quote, I hope I have chosen the correct one.

But He Knoweth The Way That I Take...

2011-11-18T15:11:00.001-05:00

~*~

2011-11-17T08:26:00.001-05:00

We live in an age when to be young and to be indifferent can be no longer synonymous. We must prepare for the coming hour. The claims of the Future are represented by suffering millions; and the Youth of a Nation are the trustees of Posterity.

~Benjamin Disraeli

The Waiting Room

2011-11-15T10:43:00.001-05:00

“It is courage, courage, courage, that raises the blood of life to crimson splendor. Live bravely and present a brave front to adversity.” ~Horace

2011-11-14T11:53:00.001-05:00

"Wellerston and his men were tobe part of the force under Colonel Showers, and, as part of the plan,their ultimate objective was the right flank. George stood at thehead of his men, his fingers gripping the handle of the sword whichhung at his side. It was not that he was nervous to the point of notgoing on: no, he had been trained much to well for that. He simplywanted to be at the enemy, to be in the middle of the fire, to be inaction. But he kept silent, standing perfectly composed, knowing thatas an officer, he must be so; there was no other way to do it. Duty demanded it. Honour requiredit. He would answer. He would not fail. Out of love for his God, his Queen, and hisCountry, he would give it, even to the point of death...

"He died, as soldiers die, amid the strife, Mindful of England in his latest prayer..."

2011-11-12T16:12:00.001-05:00

TO THE MEMORY OF FIELD-MARSHAL EARL ROBERTS

OF KANDAHAR AND PRETORIA

by Owen Seaman

He died, as soldiers die, amid the strife,
Mindful of England in his latest prayer;
God, of His love, would have so fair a life
Crowned with a death as fair.

He might not lead the battle as of old,
But, as of old, among his own he went,
Breathing a faith that never once grew cold,
A courage still unspent.

So was his end; and, in that hour, across
The face of War a wind of silence blew,
And bitterest foes paid tribute to the loss
Of a great heart and true.

But we who loved him, what have we to lay
For sign of worship on his warrior-bier?
What homage, could his lips but speak to-day,
Would he have held most dear?

Not grief, as for a life untimely reft;
Not vain regret for counsel given in vain;
Not pride of that high record he had left,
Peerless and pure of stain;

But service of our lives to keep her free,
The land he served; a pledge above his grave
To give her even such a gift as he,
The soul of loyalty, gave.

That oath we plight, as now the trumpets swell
His requiem, and the men-at-arms stand mute,
And through the mist the guns he loved so well
Thunder a last salute!

I must admit that when I read this beautiful poem, the part that struck me the most was this:

Butwe who loved him, what have we to lay
For sign of worship onhis warrior-bier?
What homage, could his lips but speakto-day,
Would he have held most dear?

Not grief, as fora life untimely reft;
Not vain regret for counsel given invain;
Not pride of that high record he had left,
Peerlessand pure of stain;

But service of ourlives to keep her free,
The land he served; a pledge abovehis grave
To give her even such a gift as he,
Thesoul of loyalty, gave.

Armistice Day

2011-11-11T07:30:00.001-05:00

TO OUR FALLEN

YE sleepers, who will sing you?
We can but give our tears—
Ye dead men, who shall bring you
Fame in the coming years?
Brave souls . . . but who remembers
The fame that fired your embers? . . .
Deep, deep the sleep that holds you
Who one time had no peers.

Yet maybe Fame's but seeming
And praise you'd set aside,
Content to go on dreaming,
Yea, happy to have died
If of all things you prayed for—
All things your valour paid for—
One prayer is not forgotten,
One purchase not denied.

But God grants your dear England
A strength that shall not cease
Till she have won for all the Earth
From ruthless men release,
And made supreme upon her
Mercy and Truth and Honour—
Is this the thing you died for?
Oh, Brothers, sleep in peace!

Robert Ernest Vernède

All Earthly Things Above....

2011-11-10T13:26:00.000-05:00

"Above the ebb and flow of party strife..."

2011-11-09T12:39:00.003-05:00

Above the ebb and flow of party strife, the rise and fall of ministries, and individuals, the changes of public opinion or public fortune, the British Monarchy presides, ancient, calm and supreme within its function, over all the treasures that have been saved from the past and all the glories we write in the annals of our country. - Winston Churchill

Did I Ever Mention...

2011-11-07T10:10:00.001-05:00

...that I have a talented & gifted sister?

A New Favourite Composer...

2011-11-06T20:07:00.000-05:00

This last piece makes it official. If I get married, I must have the wedding in a church like what is shown in the video, with a grand choir and organ playing so beautifully.

Remember, Remember...

2011-11-05T15:30:00.001-04:00

...the 5th of November, when a Catholic plot to overthrow the English Protestant Monarchy and Parliament, and blow up Westminster, was foiled. Archbishop Cranmer puts it well here.

True Protestants I pray you do draw near
Unto this ditty lend attentive ear,
The lines are new although the subject's old
Likewise it is as true as e'er was told.

When James the First in England reigned King,
Under his Royal gracious Princely wing
Religion flourish'd both in court and town
Which wretched Romans strove to trample down.

To their old plotting trade they straight did go,
To prove this Kingdom's final overthrow
A plot contriv'd by Catholics alone
The like before or since was never known.

Rome's Council did together often meet
For to contrive which way they might complete
This bloody treason which they took in hand
Against the King, and Heads of all the land.

At length these wretched Romans all agreed
Which way to make the King and Nation bleed
By powder, all agreed with joint consent.
To blow up both the King and Parliament.

For to keep secret this, their villany
By solemn oaths they one another tie
Nay farther, being void of grace and shame,
Each took the Sacrament upon the same.

Their Treason wrapp'd in this black mantle, then,
Secure and safe from all the eyes of men,
They did not fear/ but by one fatal blow,
To prove the Church and Kingdom's overthrow.

Catesby with all the other Roman crew,
This powder plot did eagerly pursue
Yet after all their mighty cost and care
Their own seat soon was taken in the snare.

Under the House of the great Parliament,
This Romish Den, and Devils by consent,
The Hellish powder plot they formed there,
In hopes to send all flying in the air.

Barrels of powder privately convey'd,
billets and bars of iron too, were laid.
to tear up all before them as they flew,
a black invention by this dismal crew.

And with the fatal blow all must have flown,
the gracious king upon his royal throne,
His Gracious Queen likewise their Princely heir
All must have died and perish'd that was there.

The House of Noble Lords of high degree,
By this unheard of bloody tragedy,
Their limbs in sunder, straight would have been tore
And fill'd the air with noble bloody gore.

The worthy learned Judges grave and sagey
The Commons too, all must have felt Rome's rage,
Had not the Lord of Love crept in between
Oh! what a dismal slaughter there had been.

The King, the Queen and Barons of the land.
The Judges, Gentry did together stand,
On ruin's brink, while Rome the blow would give,
They'd but the burning of a match to live.

But that great God that sits in Heaven high.
He did behold their bloody treachery,
He made their own handwriting soon betray
The work which they had plotted many a day.

The Lord in Mercy did his Wisdom send,
Unto the King, his people to defend,
Which did reveal the hidden powder plot,
A gracious mercy, ne'er to be forgot

And brought Rome's faction unto punishment,
Which did the powder treason first invent,
And all that ever plots, I hope God will,
That the true Christian church may flourish still.

"O Christian people, be holy, for Christ is holy..."

2011-11-04T09:25:00.001-04:00

“God has set apart His people from before the foundation of the world to be His chosen and peculiar inheritance. We are sanctified in Christ Jesus by the Holy Spirit when he subdues our corruptions, imparts to us grace, and leads us onward in the divine walk and life of faith. Christian men are not to be used for anything but God. They are a set-apart people; they are vessels of mercy, they are not for the devil’s use, not for their own use, not for the world’s use, but for their Master’s use. He has made them on purpose to be used entirely, solely and wholly for Him. O Christian people, be holy, for Christ is holy. Do not pollute that holy Name wherewith you are named. Let your family life, your personal life, your business life, be as holy as Christ your Lord would have it to be. Shall saints be shams when sinners are so real?”
― Charles H. Spurgeon

It Was A Good Day

2011-11-03T18:58:00.001-04:00

Why was it a good day?

I was able to write a good deal
Supper was really good!
I was able to help two friends
I got a hand written letter from my Member of Parliament
As such I am determined that next time I e-mail her voicing my support for an important piece of legislation, I WILL write a creative, personal e-mail, and not just send in one that someone else has already written, even if it is well. My MP deserves more than that.
I have also been reminded why I really like my MP, and think she is wonderful- especially because she is a true social conservative, and supports all the right causes. So what if she has messed up a couple times by saying little things? It's only happened what, three or four times in the last ten/eleven years as MP? She stands up for all the right causes and reasons (our military, the unborn, marriage, family, conservatism, Canada.... need I go on? I'm sure she's also a monarchist....)

On another note, it was not so good a day because

My sister's one horse, we have found, gets out every night, and comes back in every morning. A neighbour came and told us about it. Sneaky guy- the horse, not the neighbour- and very much the alpha-leader-of-the-herd horse. ^.^ To-morrow we shall be walking those fence lines....

"It Was November..."

2011-11-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

Almost There...

2011-10-30T20:58:00.000-04:00

In but a day I shall retreat into my study and enter a world where English park lands clearly are the predominant geography, where Indian mountains reach the sky, where admirals, generals, and secretaries of state are at the directing centre of the universe. Where the hot Indian sun beats down on the mutineers as the brave British soldiers repel them at Cawnpore and Lucknow; where more brave British soldiers fight back small bands of rebels who emerge from a captured Delhi to destroy, only to find themselves running back to their city as the red coats chase them down. Where honour reigns, where the soldiers of the Queen fight and day for their God, Queen, and Country. Where heroism is for all- not just the select few, but for everyone. Where everyone is able to do and die for God, Queen, Country & Company.

I shall unfortunately have to emerge for meal times and school times. I also cannot miss my dear family, and the world at large. I must be practical, pragmatic, and deal in facts and logic, no matter how depressing the conclusions from those facts and logic in this day and age can be.

So, my fellow friends and countrymen, I bid thee a wonderful time in your own respectful novels. I shall part with this heroic song:

May it inspire you to heroic heights.

Oh Happy Day...

2011-10-29T08:00:00.003-04:00

...when they restore The British Empire Medal! Perhaps it's a token to placate those of us who dislike the Prime Minister for meddling with the Monarchy and calling certain parts of it- and by following through on the logic- centuries old constitutional documents that underpin our very society and culture and system of government an anomaly (do they even know the meaning of such a word? That I doubt!) and out dated for our "modern" country (spare me the agony, please!). Nonetheless, if it means I can win a British Empire Medal one day, I shall be happy. ^.^

Happiness Is...

2011-10-28T18:22:00.000-04:00

...finding on-line a 1859 book on the Indian Mutiny that will exactly fit the bill research wise, only to realise I have under three days to digest well over half the 671 page text. Of course, I've had this book on my laptop for weeks now.... ^.^

Permissum Nos Prosecutus Veneratio In Glorificus Incompertus

2011-10-26T19:04:00.000-04:00

I was doing research into my family history on my Dad's side to-day, and it has made me determined to know as much as I can about my past. Since it's a past particularly intertwined with the history and country I love, I have all confidence that I shall enjoy the journey into family history.

That being said, if my family didn't already have a motto, I think this would be mine:

Permissum Nos Prosecutus Veneratio In Glorificus Incompertus

In English it means "Let Us Go With Honour Into the Glorious Unknown". I'd want to put it on my coat of arms, but we've already got one as it is. Maybe when I'll have it engraved in the stone over the grand entrance of my someday house, the words in Latin, of course.

But, as I said, my family has a motto, and a jolly good one it ostensibly is too:

Je Desire - Fais Ce Que Dois Advienne Que Pourra

Roughly translated, it means "I desire to do what I must, come what may". Quite lovely, is it not? Maybe someday I'll have that over my front door.

'Grace, triumphant in the throne, Scorns a rival, reigns alone;'

2011-10-25T15:47:00.002-04:00

Not Works by William Cowper

Grace, triumphant in the throne,
Scorns a rival, reigns alone;
Come and bow beneath her sway;
Cast your idol works away!
Works of man, when made his plea,
Never shall accepted be;
Fruits of pride (vainglorious worm!)
Are the best he can perform.

Self, the god his soul adores,
Influences all his powers;
Jesus is a slighted name,
Self-advancement all his aim:
But when God the Judge shall come,
To pronounce the final doom,
Then for rocks and hills to hide
All his works and all his pride!

Still the boasting heart replies,
What the worthy and the wise,
Friends to temperance and peace,
Have not these a righteousness?
Banish every vain pretence
Built on human excellence;
Perish everything in man,
But the grace that never can.

The Long Way Home

2011-10-21T11:12:00.001-04:00

A Quote From the Eve of the First World War...

2011-10-18T16:28:00.000-04:00

"Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet..."

2011-10-17T20:10:00.001-04:00

The Ballad of East and West

By Rudyard Kipling

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face,
tho' they come from the ends of the earth!

Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border-side,
And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride:
He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.
Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides:
"Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?"
Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar:
"If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.
At dusk he harries the Abazai -- at dawn he is into Bonair,
But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,
So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai.
But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,
For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal's men.
There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen."
The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell
and the head of the gallows-tree.
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat --
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
"Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show now if ye can ride."
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dustdevils go,
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen.
They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a water-course -- in a woful heap fell he,
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand -- small room was there to strive,
"'Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he, "ye rode so long alive:
There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting all in a row:
If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly."
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "Do good to bird and beast,
But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.
They will feed their horse on the standing crop,
their men on the garnered grain,
The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
But if thou thinkest the price be fair, -- thy brethren wait to sup,
The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, -- howl, dog, and call them up!
And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back!"
Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet.
"No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and gray wolf meet.
May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath;
What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?"
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold by the blood of my clan:
Take up the mare for my father's gift -- by God, she has carried a man!"
The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled against his breast;
"We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she loveth the younger best.
So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded rein,
My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain."
The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,
"Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he;
"will ye take the mate from a friend?"
"A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for the risk of a limb.
Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!"
With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest --
He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest.
"Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a troop of the Guides,
And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides.
Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
Thy life is his -- thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
So, thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine,
And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the Border-line,
And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power --
Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur."

They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault,
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt:
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,
On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God.
The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dun,
And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.
And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear --
There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer.
"Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son.
"Put up the steel at your sides!
Last night ye had struck at a Border thief --
to-night 'tis a man of the Guides!"

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face,
tho' they come from the ends of the earth!

Very Neat

2011-10-14T19:13:00.002-04:00

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more..."

2011-10-13T21:58:00.000-04:00

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

~William Shakespeare

These Were the Days, The Choices We Make Decide Who We Will Be and Where We Go

2011-10-09T19:10:00.000-04:00

I have decided several key things to-day. Firstly, my cousins and I are growing up at an alarming and yet exciting and exhilarating pace. It was fun seeing the two families' worth of cousins to-day, we played Capture the Flag and football. We also sat in the shade (it was quite sweltering out, for being the middle of October) and talked about our futures. Three of us agreed that it would be interesting to come back in ten or fifteen years' time and see how far we had gotten, and hopefully it will be far, far, far at that time.

Secondly, I decided that my younger brother is an amazing horseman, it was fun seeing him work with the horses to-night as we fed the horses hay.

Thirdly, I have decided that I am not a horse person. I am rather a big city girl stuck in a small town in the middle of nowhere. And I shall not quote George Bailey's line about shaking the dust off his feet and seeing the world, as apt as that may however be (and it certainly is). In any case, hay scratching already scratched arms (the scratches gained by conducting, if I may, daring and secretive espionage-turned-prisoner-rescue missions during Capture the Flag, which include crawling through juniper bushes, tall grass, crawling over rocks, dirt, and making the best possible use of cover, before approaching the prison from the back, and then springing one key prisoner lose only to be captured in the end....) is most unpleasant.

Fourthly, I think the song below fits the discussions of our futures that we had to-day with the cousins.

These are indeed the days...

A little library, growing larger every year..

2011-10-05T13:57:00.004-04:00

A little library, growing larger every year, is an honourable part of a man's history. It is a man's duty to have books. A library is not a luxury, but one of the necessaries of life.
Henry Ward Beecher

I have been organising my books to-day, in a sorry attempt to rid myself of the boxes of books which had grown into an unseemly pile which took up half my floor, and I dare-say shall continue to do so. Books have displaced my film collection [largely westerns], my treasured keep-sakes on my keep-sake shelf, and once I tidy two surfaces next to my work area, they shall take over that space too. I dare-say they would take over my desk as well, now that I have a laptop, except my sister and I use my old computer (the one I named Tony Blair, it has been acting up lately. I shall quote Jenny from Our Mutual Friend and say 'Bad Child! Naughty Child!' and be glad that so far George VI has been co-operating) quite often for something. So, I must at least keep that space free. Perhaps I shall set up my toy British soldiers to keep a dutiful watch on that last bit of free space, altho' if you looked at it now you wouldn't actually see desk, of course, as it is covered in paper and notes for my most likely NaNoWriMo project, which has involved a good deal more research than my previous ones in the past three years. These notes include an (incomplete, shall have to get the full one) time line of the Indian Mutiny, semi-detailed & half finished plot outline (shall have to finish, once I find out more about realistic amounts of action that my heroic Captain W. or someone like him would have seen during the Mutiny- he may be heroic and honourable but he is not superman), to do lists that have nothing to do whatsoever with the story, pay stubs from my jobs, and empty sheets of paper waiting to be used to finish up the plot line of aforementioned novel. I also have the next Roy Rogers film that I must watch so that I may review it for the next issue of The Sagebrush News, and the '08 Sense & Sensibility mini-series on my desk as well (and if you want some really appalling news, the S&S DVD isn't even in its proper place- the Master and Commander soundtrack is where the S&S DVD should be, and who knows what is in the Master & Commander soundtrack... probably another music CD).

So, despite the cluttered and varied estate of my room, I actually have been feeling very ISxJ-ish to-day, which may or may not be hard to believe. ;-)

And with that, I am off to do some reading. I do really quite like it when my school work and required reading is in confluence with my NaNo 2011 novel idea. It's jolly good.

PS: Have six more books coming to me in the mail too, quite good they ought to be.

"From panelled ceiling down to pointed arch, From arch to shadowy alcoves’ ruby panes, Where luminous beamed the storied English Kings, The Crown, the ramping Pards, the Unicorn, With ancient mottoes of the Ancient Realm.."

2011-09-30T19:21:00.000-04:00

I have decided upon the title of the first volume, at least, of my memoirs, if and when I write them (which shall not indeed be for some time yet). I had a beautiful, clever, and smashing name for the second volume, and promptly forgot it after utterance. Ah well. Here is the proposed cover for the first volume.

What thinkest thou? Of course, do not expect me to actually begin to write my memoirs until a good fifty or sixty years from now.

On another note, to-morrow is October. Hurrah! I love October. To-day was a sort of Jane Austen-y day, altho' I cannot explaine exactly why, even should I want to do so. It was rainy, quite overcast, and altogether perfectly lovely. I got my school done (Philosophy and history to-day, good stuff!), and am currently reading some very good books. The history book I am currently reading is entitled: Sieze The Fire- Heroism, Duty, and Nelson's Battle of Trafalgar. Quite detailed and well written, I do believe.

My favourite quote (one of them) so far:

"...from the top of Portsdown, I, for the first time, beheld the sea, and no sooner did I behold it than I wished to be a sailor. But it was not the sea alone that I saw: the grand fleet was riding at anchor at Spithead. I had heard of the wooden walls of Old England: I had formed my ideas of a Ship, and of a fleet; but what I now beheld, so far surpassed what I had ever been able to form a conception of, that I stood lost between astonishment and admiration. I had heard talk of all the glorious deeds of our admirals and sailors [which] good and true Englishmen never fail to relate to their children about a hundred times a year. The sight of the fleet brought all these into my mind in confused order, it is true, but with irresistable force. My heart was inflated with national pride. The sailors were my countrymen; the fleet belonged to my country, and surely I had my part in it, and all its honours..." William Cobbett

Anywho. I hope you all are enjoying this last day of September, this past week has been pretty good for me. :)

"Last, but by no means least..."

2011-09-28T23:16:00.003-04:00

“Last, but by no means least, courage of one's convictions, the courage to see things through. The world is in a constant conspiracy against the brave. It's the age-old struggle- the roar of the crowd on one side and the voice of your conscience on the other.”
― Douglas MacArthur

Rather Neat, I Think...

2011-09-26T11:39:00.000-04:00

And here they come, those comrades mine, Laughing, happy, brave to see, Untarnished by the dust of time,

2011-09-25T00:09:00.002-04:00

On England's Pleasant Pastures Seen...

2011-09-24T08:32:00.001-04:00

For once in my life I was able to sleep in on a Saturday morning, and despite getting to bed at the wee hours of the morning, I woke up sure as usual at quarter to seven in the morning. ^.^ Let us hope I make it through the day on seven hours of sleep (actually, I am confident I can. I have done better on less, I think).

He knew that England's mandate says,-
When life and duty point two ways
The whole world shortly witness can
There's but one choice for the Englishman.
Saint George for merry England.

Is not this picture beautiful? It truly fits the description of things that cannot be put into words or touched with human hands, but must be seen and felt with the heart (which, I will admit, has some uses in this mere, mortal world).

Edited to Add:

Pro Rege Nostro

by William Ernest Henley

WHAT have I done for you,

England, my England?

What is there I would not do,

England, my own?

With your glorious eyes austere,

As the Lord were walking near,

Whispering terrible things and dear

As the Song on your bugles blown, England --

Round the world on your bugles blown!

Where shall the watchful Sun,

England, my England,

Match the master-work you've done,

England, my own?

When shall he rejoice again

Such a breed of mighty men

As come forward, one to ten,

To the Song on your bugles blown, England --

Down the years on your bugles blown?

Ever the faith endures,

England, my England: --

'Take and break us: we are yours,

England, my own!

Life is good, and joy runs high

Between English earth and sky:

Death is death; but we shall die

To the Song on your bugles blown, England --

To the stars on your bugles blown!'

They call you proud and hard,

England, my England:

You with worlds to watch and ward,

England, my own!

You whose mailed hand keeps the keys

Of such teeming destinies,

You could know nor dread nor ease,

Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --

Round the Pit on your bugles blown!

Mother of Ships whose might,

England, my England,

Is the fierce old Sea's delight,

England, my own,

Chosen daughter of the Lord,

Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,

There's the menace of the Word

In the Song of your bugles blown, England --

Out of heaven on your bugles blown!

"He carries his English weather in his heart wherever he goes, and it becomes a cool spot in the desert, and a steady and sane oracle amongst all the deliriums of mankind..."

2011-09-21T22:07:00.003-04:00

A Bit Premature, But Funny

2011-09-19T14:35:00.002-04:00

"I wonder if I might crave your momentary indulgence in order to discharge a by no means disagreeable obligation which has, over the years, become more or less established practice as we approach the terminal period of the year — calendar, of course, not financial— in fact, not to put too fine a point on it, Week Fifty-One and submit to you, with all appropriate deference, for your consideration at a convenient juncture, a sincere and sanguine expectation — indeed confidence — indeed one might go so far as to say hope — that the aforementioned period may be, at the end of the day, when all relevant factors have been taken into consideration, susceptible to being deemed to be such as to merit a final verdict of having been by no means unsatisfactory in its overall outcome and, in the final analysis, to give grounds for being judged on mature reflection to have been conducive to generating a degree of gratification which will be seen in retrospect to have been significantly higher than the general average."

(In other words, Happy Christmas, Mr. Hacker!)

Marking the 252nd Anniversary of the Battle of the Plains of Abraham

2011-09-13T23:06:00.000-04:00

252 years ago today, during The Seven Years War, the British forces under Major General James P. Wolfe defeated the French army, led by Louis-Joseph de Montcalm. Whilst preparations for the battle took about three months (including a siege), the battle itself took less than an hour to complete. The battle was an important victory for the British, for following their victory in Quebec, they were able to capture and maintain other key positions of the French, and as such, continue to give the Dominion of Canada a fine and glorious heritage and legacy.

A Fun Ride Into History...

2011-09-12T13:08:00.000-04:00

'FitzGibbon stopped at the sound of horses being driven hard, hooves pounding against the ground. We both stood and hurried out of the tent in time to see three horses being reined to a stop directly in front of us. Their riders leaped down and rushed over to where we stood.
"Do you have news?" FitzGibbon demanded.
"The Americans have been spotted, sir."
"Who saw them?"
"A patrol of Caughnawagas."
"And did the Americans see our patrol?"
"They don't think so, sir."
"How many Americans did they believe were in the party?"
"At least four hundred, possibly five hundred men. And cannons."
"I was not expecting cannons. A most peculiar tactical move. How many?"
"Three."
"Where are they?"
"They're about ten miles south of us at-"
"South!" FitzGibbon interrupted. "Are you sure of that?"
"Yes sir."
"Then we don't have much time. Not that much is needed. We're badly outnumbered and they're supported with cannon. We have only one choice."
There certainly seemed like only one choice to me. I should get back to the tent and pack my-
"We have to attack."'

And so continues the adventures of Thomas Robarts, a fourteen year old boy who is caught up in the adventure of riding with Lieutenant James FitzGibbon and his men- the Green Tigers (or The Bloody Boys, or the Bully Boys as they are called here), a group of brave and daring men who fight for their country, their country's freedom, and their King. After Thomas helps to stop American soldiers from looting his friend's general store, an incident which brings him into contact with the brave Lieutenant himself, he finds that he cannot go home due to the fact that the occupying American forces will look for him, take him as prisoner, and burn down his family's home and farm. As such, he is invited to ride along with the Lieutenant, and Thomas finds himself in an exciting, and yet sobering, world of the War of 1812.

Personally speaking, I really enjoyed The Bully Boys, a book written by Eric Walters. I generally don't read much of young adult fiction these days, but this book was different. Perhaps part of its attraction to me was that for over a decade now, indeed, since I was a little girl, Lt. James FitzGibbon has been one of my heroes, and the War of 1812 (along with General Isaac Brock, who was killed whilst valiantly and honourably leading the charge up Queenston Heights) a subject of great interest to me. Perhaps "great interest" is too mild a term. Let us say that the War of 1812 was one of the subjects which first brought me into the love of not only history, but British history. It really is one of the key foundation pieces for my love of British history today. And who could not like Lt. James FitzGibbon, a soldier brave and daring, who fought for King and Country, who defended Upper Canada against the invaders from south of the border? Well, I suppose anyone who crossed FitzGibbon's path would not like him, but that is perhaps understandable.

So this book was enjoyable. I do like how FitzGibbon spoke sharply against men who were traitors to their country. I also thought that the author did a fine job when discussing the fact that at the heart of it, war is not a game, it is something that kills other humans, yet sometimes there are times when we simply must fight because our homes, our lives, and our freedoms are under attack by armed invaders.

It was a quick read, to be sure, but the writing style really swept one away in the glorious nature of the red-coated British army, with their brilliant red jackets that make one looks as a "flame bursting through the forest", and the daring exploits of the British Canadian heroes who fought for King and Country.

Oh Isn't This Fun...

2011-09-11T19:41:00.002-04:00

To see Krystina run

Her work is never done

Two part time jobs and full time school

Is she smart, or playing the fool?

Oh see her run

Isn't this fun?

"The first rule is, gentlemen callers have got to wear a necktie! "

2011-09-08T11:41:00.001-04:00

Someday this will be my sister and I. My sister, is of course, the one on the right and I'm the one on the left, with the big glasses.

"The world is weary of statesmen whom democracy has degraded into politicians. " Benjamin Disraeli

2011-09-03T16:36:00.002-04:00

Currently I am packing, sorting clothes, and dreaming of the day when I sail home on one of these. What am I doing blogging? That, I knoweth not. I am also tired from work. Making all those pizzas and preparing for the long weekend does tire one out. As such, I had best continue packing before it is time to make supper.

Some Lovely Music...

2011-09-02T19:41:00.001-04:00

Home Thoughts, from Abroad by Robert Browning O, TO be in England Now that April 's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England—now! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge— That 's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower —Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Upon the education of the people of this country the fate of this country depends. ~Benjamin Disraeli

2011-09-01T20:57:00.000-04:00

And so, the summer ends and the school year approaches. This year will be vastly different than last year, but even more exciting, I should think. My beloved older sibling is heading off to university to study under professors the likes of whom (or is it who?) have written A-Z encylopaedias of the British Empire and biographies on British heroes such as Chinese Gordon, a devout Christian who died tragically, but heroically, in defence of Khartoum in the late 1800s. I quite know what I want for a birthday present from the aforementioned older sibling.

As for myself, I am entering into my second year as a student in The School of Statecraft. Alas, we have no physical doors, no literal grounds, but if we did, it would be in beautiful Victorian buildings in some green part of England- preferably Cambridge or Oxford. However, for now, I am content with the fact that we have no physical place. I suppose I must be.

What, you may ask, is The School of Statecraft? It is quite simple, really. It is an institution which teaches all its subjects- history, law, politics, government, economics, philosophy, English &c- in the finest conservative, British traditions. It was an idea inspired by those who were of university age in the Great Depression, but who had not the resources to attend a real place of learning. They simply spent a great deal of time reading, extensively pouring over subjects of all kinds. This is what we do in The School of Statecraft. As we are very traditional, we have no qualms with real universities or institutions, however we do have qualms with the state of our pocketbooks. As such, we learn through a mixture of self teaching, through books of all kinds- the older, the better, and through reading extensively online through blogs, news sources of the Conservative nature (ie: The Daily Telegraph), and more. It attempts to not teach us what to think, but how to think. It strives and seeks to educate all comers in the finest, oldest, and best traditions and style of the British political system, in the ways, thoughts, and attitudes that built the British Empires and spread freedom, the rule of law, and the Westminster style of government across the better half of the globe. It also allows one to work and save money whilst continuing their education.

So, will students in The School of Statecraft succeed? Or will we flop dismally when it comes to the time to enter the world of post-post secondary education? Only time will tell. But, as Disraeli said "You will find as you grow older that courage is the rarest of all qualities to be found in public life." It certainly takes courage to strike out on this path of independent learning, but if it is all in preparation for a career of faithful and loyal service to one's God, one's King, and one's Country, who am I to doubt?

In closing, I hope each one of you have a wonderful school year!

"Anne had no sooner uttered the phrase, 'home o'dreams'..."

2011-08-31T23:28:00.000-04:00

“Anne had no sooner uttered the phrase, "home o'dreams," than it captivated her fancy and she immediately began the erection of one of her own. It was, of course, tenanted by an ideal master, dark, proud, and melancholy; but oddly enough, Gilbert Blythe persisted in hanging about too, helping her arrange pictures, lay out gardens, and accomplish sundry other tasks which a proud and melancholy hero evidently considered beneath his dignity. Anne tried to banish Gilbert's image from her castle in Spain but, somehow, he went on being there, so Anne, being in a hurry, gave up the attempt and pursued her aerial architecture with such success that her "home o'dreams" was built and furnished before Diana spoke again. ” —L.M. Montgomery

"God of our fathers, known of old— Lord of our far-flung battle line— Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine— Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget—lest we forget!"

2011-08-29T13:16:00.000-04:00

Recessional by Rudyard Kipling

God of our fathers, known of old—

Lord of our far-flung battle line—

Beneath whose awful hand we hold

Dominion over palm and pine—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies—

The Captains and the Kings depart—

Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,

An humble and a contrite heart.

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away—

On dune and headland sinks the fire—

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose

Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—

Such boastings as the Gentiles use,

Or lesser breeds without the Law—

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,

Lest we forget—lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust

In reeking tube and iron shard—

All valiant dust that builds on dust,

And guarding calls not Thee to guard.

For frantic boast and foolish word,

Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Amen.

A Love That Makes Undaunted the Final Sacrifice

2011-08-24T10:28:00.000-04:00

Look Not Mournfully

2011-08-23T08:42:00.000-04:00

“Look not mournfully into the past, it comes not back again. Wisely improve the present, it is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy future without fear and with a manly heart.” —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"then our empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, will carry on the struggle...",

2011-08-20T15:41:00.000-04:00

"We shall not flag nor fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France and on the seas and oceans; we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air. We shall defend our island whatever the cost may be; we shall fight on beaches, landing grounds, in fields, in streets and on the hills. We shall never surrender and even if, which I do not for the moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, will carry on the struggle until in God's good time the New World with all its power and might, sets forth to the liberation and rescue of the Old."

~Sir Winston S. Churchill (emphasis on the last bit is mine)

He was borne on and outward, past care and planning, past England and Canada, past life and into death."

2011-08-19T18:48:00.000-04:00

"Hour after hour, as the long afternoon melted into evening, the slow decline continued. The little flame of his consciousness, which had flared up for the last time during the previous afternoon, died slowly down; and finally, after the true darkness had fallen, it flickered out.

There was another short, still summer night, with, far away, the faint roar of the Chaudiere Falls. There was another red dawn, and another long, brilliant summer day, while the river, all splashed with sunshine as it had been on that first Dominion Day, flowed serenely past and away to the north-east. Then, when once more the sun had gone down behind the long blue line of the Laurentians, the last change came. Up to then his breathing had been shallow and rapid. Now it grew slower, slower still, and, as the watchers clustered around him, died away in the last, faint, lingering prolongations. He was going now. He was borne on and outward, past care and planning, past England and Canada, past life and into death."

"Next day, Tuesday, June 9, the body lay in state in the Senate chamber of the Parliament of Canada. The Canadians, of all ages and every occupation, were looking their last upon him. They came all that day and far into the night; and early the next morning the packed queue slowed down again to a mere crawl. It was nearly Twelve O'clock and the chamber was about to be closed to the public, when Sir Casimir Gzowski, the representative of the Queen, walked solemnly forward and laid a wreath of roses upon the dead man's breast. "From Her Majesty Queen Victoria," ran the inscription, "in memory of Her faithful and devoted servant." It was the ultimate tribute."

"It was late at night by the time the train reached Kingston, but the station was packed with people. People began to assemble before the City Hall where the body lay in state, at five o'clock in the morning of June 11. People kept pouring into the town in increasing numbers as the sun climbed higher into the sky; and then, on foot and in every kind of vehicle, they followed him in thousands on his last journey over the dusty roads to the Cataraqui cemetery.

'I desire that I shall be buried in the Kingston cemetery near the grave of my mother, as I promised her that I should be there buried.' He lay close to his parents, his first wife, his sisters, and his long dead infant. The terraced slope rose to a slight eminence; and from there, away to the south-east, a few of Kingston's tallest towers and roofs were visible. Somewhere in that huddle of grey limestone buildings was the little shop on Quarry Street where he had begun to practise law. There, overlooking the Lake, stood the Italian villa, "Bellevue", where his firstborn had died. It was nearly seventy-one years since Hugh and Helen Macdonald and their small family of children had first set foot on the dock at Kingston. Beyond the dock lay the harbour and the islands which marked the end of the lowest of the Great Lakes; and beyond the islands the St. Lawrence River began its long journey to the sea." ~Donald Creighton on Sir John A. Macdonald's death.

"Thine was the call to face with dauntless bearing All high adventure, all adversity..."

2011-08-17T22:00:00.000-04:00

TO ENGLAND

by Frederick George Scott

O MIGHTY soul of England, rise in splendour
    Out of the wrack and turmoil of the night,
And as of old, compassionate and tender,
    Uphold the cause of justice and of right.

Thine was the consecration and devotion,

    The world-wide vision and the world-wide trust,
Which made a pathway of the tides of ocean
    And fruitful gardens of the desert dust.

Thine was the call to face with dauntless bearing
    All high adventure, all adversity,

Until thy sons by their resistless daring
    Had girdled earth with realms from sea to sea.

Now in this age when out of cruel oppression
    The hearts of men are yearning for release,
O Soul of England—England’s great possession—

    Lead thou mankind into the way of peace.

May, 1926

Tis Grand to Be An Englishman...

2011-08-16T20:37:00.002-04:00

I find the Englishman to be him of all men who stands firmest in his shoes.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

So Very Glorious

2011-08-16T10:49:00.001-04:00

It's so glorious, it's actually one of the only things in the past months to move me to tears. Her Majesty's Canadian Government has officially recognised part of our glorious past by giving us back the Royal Canadian Air Force and the Royal Canadian Navy. It was very sudden, very unexpected, but oh-so-very welcome. As my brother said, it's hard to believe they'd actually do it, since things have just gotten from bad to worse since the 1950s when they robbed us of what they could of our British heritage and identity. They gave us a sad new flag, changed the name of our Armed forces to "Land Command", "Air Command" and "Maritime Command", and pushed us about as Peacekeepers. They have made it politically incorrect to be proud outwardly about our British heritage, instead forcing us to be "Canadian". But they have officially recognised an important part of our proud military heritage, and it is simply beautiful.

To those who think it's colonial, going to cost too much in taxes, that the new soldiers and sailors and airmen will not approve, that it's going to disgust those in Quebec and all the republicans who would do away with the very core of what we are, I say only this: Move to Argentina. They despise us the British there, so no doubt you'll be very welcome. But not here.

Of All the World's Brave Heroes, There's None So Brave As These....

2011-08-15T14:15:00.002-04:00

For the General Information of All Those Concerned:

2011-08-11T20:30:00.000-04:00

Being A Farm Girl = Overrated

Is there any disgruntled farm girls who lives in a city (preferably one in the British Isles) who wants to switch? I can sing for my supper, but you might find it more helpful if I just helped with the cooking.

An Ineffable Longing

2011-08-11T15:57:00.000-04:00

“Every mile was redolent of associations, which she would not have missed for the world, but each of which made her cry upon 'the days that are no more' with ineffable longing.” —Elizabeth Gaskell

It's Official!

2011-08-10T12:06:00.000-04:00

~*~

As of today- The Tenth of August, Twenty Eleven- people can begin to tell me that my mother was married when she was my age. She was married 45 days before her 19th birthday, and today marks the 45th day until my 19th birthday. So you can quite remove any images of me getting married, if you were so led to believe that, although I honestly could not imagine what could have ever led you to think that I was getting married.

So, history will not repeat itself, something about which I am quite content.

This might symbolise my happy status

....I have often walked down this street before; But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before...

2011-08-04T11:55:00.000-04:00

Every Little Thing...

2011-08-01T16:12:00.001-04:00

Happy Emancipation Day!

2011-08-01T08:57:00.001-04:00

The Slavery Abolition Act of 1833 ended Slavery in the British Empire effectively on August 1, 1834. As such, we celebrate Emancipation Day. One of my favourite of so many aspects of my history and heritage and identity is that we were one of the first to abolish slavery. We did this despite potential pressure and frustration attempts by those who would have the most to benefit from the continuance of the slave trade- decent people otherwise, no doubt, but people who stood to lose by the abolition of the slave trade. We sent out the Royal Navy to make sure the abolition of slavery was respected and carried out.

But some may say how does this affect the Dominion of Canada? Well, I hope you ought to know by now that if it's anything British, it does affect us in British North America. After all, we are under her, and as such, what happened with her (up until at least 1982, when some foolish politicans effectively continued the demolishment and de-Britishisation of us. I do not suffer them at all, least not gladly!) was carried over happily to us her daughter.

But there is more than that to it as well, as good as that is. On July 9, 1793, John Graves Simcoe, Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada, passed the Act Against Slavery, or An Act to Prevent the further Introduction of Slaves and to limit the Term of Contracts for Servitude within this Province, which meant that no new slaves would be brought to Upper Canada, all existing slaves would remain slaves to death, and children born to female slaves would be free at the age of twenty five. Lt. Governor Simcoe would have liked to abolish slavery entirely, he was an abolitionist who felt that slavery went against Christianity. He was also a British Member of Parliament. As such, Upper Canada, which later became the province of Ontario, was the first colony in the British Empire to abolish slavery.

So, friends, let's celebrate once again the greatness of the British Empire and the determination of her statesmen and politicians to rid herself of a wicked practise, being one of the first and greatest realms to do so.

John Graves Simcoe, Lieutenant Governor of Upper Canada

A Master of the English Language, No?

2011-07-30T15:34:00.000-04:00

" He looked up, angrier than ever. 'Sir Humphrey, why was my request for a further discussion, and the Prime Minister's reply, not minuetd?'
Sir Humphrey was ready for that one. His reply was an object lesson. I recall it perfectly.
'While it is true that the minutes are indeed an authoritative record of the Committee's deliberations, it is nevertheless undeniable that a deliberate attempt at comprehensive delineation of every contribution and interpolation would necessitate an unjustifiable elaboration and wearisom extension of the documentation.'
Hacker stared at him. The Committee stared at him. The Foreign Secretary told me later that he wished he was at the UN where he'd have had the benefit of simultaneous translation. What he had said would have been crystal clear to most people, but politicians are simple souls." ~Bernard from Yes, Prime Minister

For All We Have and Are....

2011-07-30T07:55:00.002-04:00

For all we have and are,
For all our children’s fate,
Stand up and take the war.
The Hun is at the gate!
Our world has passed away
In wantonness o’erthrown.
There is nothing left to-day
But steel and fire and stone!
Though all we knew depart,
The old Commandments stand—
“In courage keep your heart,
In strength lift up your hand.”

Once more we hear the word
That sickened earth of old:—
“No law except the Sword
Unsheathed and uncontrolled.”
Once more it knits mankind
Once more the nations go
To meet and break and bind
A crazed and driven foe.

Comfort, content, delight,
The ages’ slow-bought gain,
They shrivelled in a night.
Only ourselves remain
To face the naked days
In silent fortitude,
Through perils and dismays
Renewed and re-renewed.
Though all we made depart,
The old Commandments stand:—
“In patience keep your heart,
In strength lift up your hand.”

No easy hope or lies
Shall bring us to our goal,
But iron sacrifice
Of body, will, and soul.
There is but one task for all—
One life for each to give.
What stands if Freedom fall?
Who dies if England live?

~Rudyard Kipling

A New Computer...

2011-07-27T19:38:00.000-04:00

actually, it's a new laptop. I bought myself one, and my family, I daresay, all rejoiced. They have been trying to get me to buy myself a new one for about two years now, but I have resisted until now. However, my old computer is dying on me. It has come through many a time, but tis now time to put it to rest.

So my new laptop is now named George VI. I was to name my old computer that, because my old computer was slow and stuttered a bit but always came through in the end. However, it was getting too slow, so I decided not to insult HM King George VI by naming my computer after him (HM the King stuttered too but was a wonderful king, one or two things such as the Munich agreement aside), so then I was to name it Edward VIII, George VI's older brother, and the king who abdicated in a concrete dereliction of duty, chosing love over the role which he was born to fulfill. Now, however, I'm contemplating naming my old computer Tony Blair. Any suggestions?

It's hard to believe summer is almost over, is it not? But it's been a good summer, filled with lots of work, reading, and above all, God's glorious and wonderful nature. He has blessed us so, so very much. He has given me new books and new clothes, all for great prices. I especially look forward to reading the diaries of the Right Honourable James Hacker, Prime Minister. Yes, minister.

"A man or a nation is not here upon this earth merely to do what is pleasant and profitable..."

2011-07-23T07:57:00.000-04:00

"There are a good many Englishmen who are asking themselves that question," remarked Cecil Brown. "It's my opinion that we have been the policemen of the world long enough. We policed the seas for pirates and slavers. Now we police the land for Dervishes and brigands and every sort of danger to civilisation. There is never a mad priest or a witch doctor, or a firebrand of any sort on this planet, who does not report his appearance by sniping the nearest British officer. One tires of it at last. If a Kurd breaks loose in Asia Minor, the world wants to know why Great Britain does not keep him in order. If there is a military mutiny in Egypt, or a Jehad in the Soudan, it is still Great Britain who has to set it right. And all to an accompaniment of curses such as the policeman gets when he seizes a ruffian among his pals. We get hard knocks and no thanks, and why should we do it? Let Europe do its own dirty work."

"Well," said Colonel Cochrane, crossing his legs and leaning forward with the decision of a man who has definite opinions, "I don't at all agree with you, Brown, and I think that to advocate such a course is to take a very limited view of our national duties. I think that behind national interests and diplomacy and all that there lies a great guiding force,—a Providence, in fact,—which is for ever getting the best out of each nation and using it for the good of the whole. When a nation ceases to respond, it is time that she went into hospital for a few centuries, like Spain or Greece,—the virtue has gone out of her. A man or a nation is not here upon this earth merely to do what is pleasant and profitable. It is often called upon to carry out what is unpleasant and unprofitable; but if it is obviously right, it is mere shirking not to undertake it."

~Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in his book The Tragedy of Korokso

Summer Ponderings

2011-07-20T10:02:00.000-04:00

I hope everyone has been having an excellent summer so far. I most certainly have, although these days it is supposed to be really quite warm (about 113 F tomorrow). Fun, is it not?

Some members of the family are away from home, and for those of us who have remained to guard the fort, we are enjoying our time quite well. We have seen seven movies in the past two days, run errands and gone to the library, cooked and cleaned and read. We've had deep dish pizza (Chicago style, which cheered this Englishwoman's soul up heartily!), blueberry muffins (with icing), bean salad, cake, tortilla wraps, and all sorts of other wonderful dishes.

Alas, however, I have not had much reading time. What time I've had to do so I've split it unevenly between reading English Political Thought in the 19th Century by Crane Brinton, and the Daily Telegraph's online coverage of the Murdoch and News of the World inquiries. I've a mixed bag of thoughts on that subject- what Mrs. Brooks and her colleagues did was unethical and downright disgraceful. The Messrs. Murdochs must take full responsibility for what happened under them, even if they did not know of it themselves. Something which I find highly unlikely and rather dubious.

Still, though, the elder Mr. Murdoch did not deserve the pie in the face which he was so rudely given by some left wing campaigner. I think it shows once again how people of that persuasion, and the younger generation in general, have descended into unintelligent mutterings and, perhaps, grunts and groans, as they cannot put their views eloquently into words but must show their disapproval through smacking 80 year old men in the faces with pies. Is it any wonder that I love history? At least back then people of liberal and socialist persuasions could think and speak well, which perhaps is one of the reasons why we've such the mess we have today.

Anyway, it's all rather sad. Some bright glimmers of hope have come our way though: the euro is in trouble, to be sure, it's been in trouble ever since it began, but I think it's in bigger trouble now, and I can now cook some new dishes, so that when I am a politician I shall know how to cook even better.

Some Corner of A Foreign Field

2011-07-13T11:56:00.000-04:00

Two Excellent Articles

2011-07-08T17:41:00.000-04:00

Here are two exceedingly excellent articles from one of my favourite blogs, The Monarchist. Enjoy!

Dominion Day 2011

Canada at 150

The Month of July So Far...

2011-07-05T19:26:00.000-04:00

Picture of the Month:

(^Thanks to the Daily Mail)

Quote of the Month:

"We may teach the enemy this lesson: A country defended by free men devoted to the cause of their king and constitution can never be conquered..." -Major General Sir Isaac Brock KB

Verse of the Month:

Psalm 143: 8

"Cause me to hear thy lovingkindness in the morning; for in thee do I trust: cause me to know the way wherein I should walk; for I lift up my soul unto thee."

Film of the Month:

Book of the Month:

The Reign of King George the III by J. Steven Watson

Absurdity of the Month:

No, it's not that his character is an absurdity, it's the fact that he, the Duke of Clarence, future HM King William IV of Great Britain and the British Empire, third born son of HM King George the III, is sitting in the House of Commons in the film Amazing Grace. He sat in the House of Lords, and yes, did threaten to campaign to be elected into the House of Commons (his father the King was properly horrified) at one point, but he did not and was not in the House of Commons in the end. Given the centuries of tradition and history behind the House of Commons (it being called so because it is the place to which commoners are elected as representatives of the people, his inclusion in this film as a member of the Commons is absurd indeed.

Song of the Month: