Fight the Good Fight With All Thy Might

A Christmas Message & a Tale of Inheritance

I write this as an acknowledgement of my ancestral lineage and as a celebration of all those with whom we stand, shoulder-to-shoulder, in the good fight against the forces of darkness.

As regular readers will be aware, my childhood was spent in the rain-lashed town of Huddersfield, in a place called Lindley, high on the Eastern edge of the Pennines, the range of hills that separates Lancashire and Yorkshire and stretches from Derbyshire to Northumberland.

Like many of my generation, that childhood was one in which I was steeped in a Christian tradition. A tradition that seemed to me to be as old as the millstone grit upon which much of those lands stand and from which much of its architecture was constructed. Chapels, churches, church halls, the re-purposed Mechanics Institute, even my junior school were built in a grandiose style of such endurability that, at this point in my life, some 50 years later, I am increasingly of the view that they are more ancient than we have been led to believe. In other words, they were not capable of being built in such numbers and with such precision and skill as the official timelines would have us believe.

 

Another example of a repurposed building was the former workhouse in which I was born:

One aspect of this Christian up-bringing was that we would sing hymns, songs of joy that mapped out the seasons of the year and filled my young self with a sense of awe, a knowingness that these hymns lifted my heart and instilled in me the understanding that their lyrics  were powerful declarations that had a warrior-like quality to them. These hymns are muscular declarations of our faith in the truth. They are declarations of love for God, underpinned by the power of the Christ archetype and a love which will armour us in the battle against the dark (or Ahrimanic) forces which I knew to be existent from an early age. These forces had swept me up as an infant who endured a circumcision, they were the entities that pursued me in my sleep, to leave me bathed in cold sweats and they were the source of all that was malevolent in the world.

My people

As I have previously written, as a young lad I was always conscious of the tough climate in which I found myself and, all around me, this toughness was reflected in the people, a quality that was matched by the friendliness and generous spirit of the folk of Huddersfield, in common with countless other communities across the northern lands formerly known as Bernicia and Deira.

By way of example, here is a photograph of my infant self with my two granddads: on the left, my paternal grandfather, Tom Kaye and, on the right, my maternal grandfather, Stanley Thompson:

At that time, Tom would have been 60 years old and Stanley, 65. Take a look at those beaming lined faces and those calloused hands and you will see that they were, self-evidently, tough men, unlike the lily-livered Eugenists like the effete Billy Goats, Matt Wancock, Neil Ferguson, Michael Gove, Boris Johnson and the rest of those poor specimens who advocate culling Mankind as if they are some superior specimen altogether.

Stanley had fought in France in the First World War as a teenager. He was gassed in the trenches and blinded for a number of months. He didn’t fight in WW2 but worked in a reserved occupation at Hawker Aircraft Ltd, Blackpool.

Tom was an engineer who worked in the mills and factories of Huddersfield. During WW2, he was also not conscripted as his work at David Brown Ltd was also deemed to be a reserved occupation.

I write about this because it has become ever-apparent to me over the last two decades, but particularly these last 24 months, that we are in a spiritual war and victory will be achieved by all who have the requisite levels of ancestral toughness, fortitude and connected-ness with the forces of good.

Such people exist in their tens of millions across these lands and it was my pleasure to connect with a good number of them on the Winter Solstice, 2021 at a gathering next to the Robin Hood statue outside Nottingham Castle that celebrated the laying of the charges for Government Mass Murder by Midazolam that very day and held a candle-lit vigil for all those who have been murdered by the syringe-carrying murderers in white coats.

At which point, I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to the blessed people of Nottingham who turned up for the Solstice event (above) – estimates as to how many were there vary from 100 to 200. Whilst I don’t know the exact figure, as I turned the corner of Friar Lane I was somewhat taken aback by volume of the crowd. I’d say, from my position there and on the statue, there must have been well over a hundred. There’s no doubt about it, Nottingham stood up on the Solstice and I was proud to be there. If anyone has any photographs to share, please do so and watch this space for news on future events.

In the meantime, may I take this opportunity to thank my ever-growing readership for their support and encouragement over the last 12 months and to wish every fellow warrior out there a joyous Christmas and a most prosperous 2022, in every sense.

May you continue to Fight the Good Fight, for the sake of all those who came before us and who will follow after us.

 

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Further reading:

Universal Community Trust (UCT)

The Bernician – Charges Laid Against 8 Defendants over Mass Murder by Government

Over 23.5 Million in England Remain Unjabbed