Was it in 1948 when the ship Windrush off-loaded its human cargo? Was it 1955 when I was a young married woman happy and contented with a place to live and a reasonable wage to keep food on the table and pay my rent? Was I blinded by my own selfishness that I failed to recognize the slow but sure destruction of my Race and Nation and all things I hold precious?
Yes, I admit I was not totally aware of the invasion taking place until one day it became clear to me that the community I was living in was slowly changing. Southeast London was getting noticeably louder, dirtier, unruly and most of all the “care in the community” was becoming “fear of the community.” Outbreaks of bullying and what is described as “muggings” but should be called “robbery with violence” were becoming commonplace.
My sons Charles and Timothy were robbed of toys, bikes and clothing, but more important the freedom to walk safely to and from school alone, thus, on too many occasions I was forced to start and leave work to suit school times, reducing my hours, which was not acceptable to the management. I lost many very good jobs during my children’s school days. My youngest son John was born 18 months before his father John died of cancer, at an early age. I was left with three young boys to protect and support.
I moved into a newly built larger property, the middle house in a row of five houses. Within days of moving in, the other four houses became occupied by black families. Almost immediately my family was being driven mad by outrageously loud music day and night. Next door was turned into a drug dealing pickup point. My windows were smashed, my car vandalized, my garden destroyed.
I was verbally abused and had fish heads thrown at me whilst hanging out washing. I complained to the local authorities and to the police, to no avail; in fact I was called a racist for having the temerity to complain. A young black boy stole my son’s bike from outside the house. I knew the boy and took him to court only to be told by a female magistrate “you are a silly woman for allowing your son to leave his bike outside.”
The mother of the black boy who stole the bike was offered reimbursement for the loss of one day’s pay, I was offered nothing.
Eventually I was driven out of my lovely house.
Gradually my thoughts turned to Nationalism, what I could do to protect my children from a fearful future. To me the writing was on the wall and I suddenly realized how much I loved my country and how close I was coming to losing my birthright.
My life began again when I married my second husband, Bill, to whom I am still married, my family increased and I am the proud mother of three grown-up sons and a daughter and at the last count fourteen grandchildren.
I remain a staunch Nationalist. However, due to the onslaught of multiculturalism in England and the traitorous politicians out to destroy my Race and Nation, my fight has been hard. I have been “mugged” three times. The Evening Standard (a daily paper) published an article calling me a Nazi. I was hauled before Trustees of a local charity that I was working for and forced to leave because I was member of the British National Party.
I was grilled by members of ALD Charity when I applied for voluntary work and although I passed the entrance exam I was disqualified because I was a member of the BNP. Members of the committee on my housing estate have ostracized me because I am a Nationalist.
My middle son Timothy was a Special Constable (part-time unpaid police officer) and a bus driver; he lost both positions because a black woman accused him of not stopping at a bus stop because she was black. . . a lie. He was ordered to hand in his warrant card and asked to leave the police force. He also lost his regular job as a bus driver.
My daughter Melody was bullied by blacks at school and later so too were her children. My eldest son Charlie was threatened that if he didn’t hand over his first weeks wages he would be thrown over a railway bridge. How frightened he must have been; however, he did not hand his wages over to a black robber and chased the thug away.
The list of traumas my family has suffered due to multiculturalism is unbelievably long, so many heart rendering tales, such helplessness. Should a decent, God-fearing family suffer this way?
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