Saturday 9 November 2013




This stuff has always happened, some nations are worse than others;  the Nazis, well, if it had been down to me, Germany would've been dismantled, its people scattered, every trace of its so-called culture obliterated.  I can actually live without Beethoven, I suppose. The Jew'n'Gipsy burnings  would have been enough,  that stuff, on that scale, simply could not have happened in secret, without the connivance of millions and millions of GoodGermans but even without the deathcamps Herman disgraced himself and humanity with his battlefield atrocities, his blitzes. And so did Ivan, raping and killing his vengeful way through Germany;  the Japs,  I would have dismantled them, too,  their Bushido code, their Samurai swords, medieaval fuckpigs, I'd have packed them all off into China, to be absorbed or not, fuck 'em;  instead, I drive a Mercedes and ride a Honda lawnmower. Even so, I still cling to the idea that there's a right and a wrong way to conduct military operations;  doesn't there just, y'know, have to be?

I listened to the audiotape of Sergeant Matey the Murderer and I thought,  I don't like this guy but I wouldn't have liked him before he joined-up, he sounds like a cunt, the country's full of them - and not just in the army, the police and the prison service - too much testosterone, not enough brain, seen too many Clint Eastwoodesque movies.  And but for his moment's madness, we'd all, tomorrow, be singing Matey's praises,  Help4Heroes would be insisting that he was a hero merely by being in uniform, his Mrs'd be in some poxy choir, warbling her head off, and if he'd died in the line of duty all his mates'd be round to see her, comfort her in her loss, in her little black dress, like they do. A comrades' clusterfuck.

I didn't like his mates, either,  they all sounded like worthless,  stupid, jumped-up little turds, little angry fuckers, who'd be only too happy to smash a riflebutt in my face, given the right, ambiguous, civil disorder suppression mission.   

O What Is That Sound, WH Auden. 

 O what is that sound which so thrills the ear
     Down in the valley drumming, drumming?
 Only the scarlet soldiers, dear,
    The soldiers coming.

 O what is that light I see flashing so clear
     Over the distance brightly, brightly?
 Only the sun on their weapons, dear,
     As they step lightly.

 O what are they doing with all that gear,
     What are they doing this morning, this morning?
 Only their usual manoeuvres, dear.
     Or perhaps a warning.

 O why have they left the road down there,
     Why are they suddenly wheeling, wheeling?
 Perhaps a change in their orders, dear.
     Why are you kneeling?

 O haven't they stopped for the doctor's care,
     Haven't they reined their horses, their horses?
 Why, they are none of them wounded, dear.
     None of these forces.

 O is it the parson they want, with white hair,
     Is it the parson, is it, is it?
 No, they are passing his gateway, dear,
     Without a visit.

 O it must be the farmer who lives so near.
     It must be the farmer so cunning, so cunning?
 They have passed the farmyard already, dear,
     And now they are running.

 O where are you going? Stay with me here!
     Were the vows you swore deceiving, deceiving?
 No, I promised to love you, dear,
     But I must be leaving.

 O it's broken the lock and splintered the door,
     O it's the gate where they're turning, turning;
 Their boots are heavy on the floor
     And their eyes are burning.

 I do find it hard, loving, as I do, all of Kipling's Tommy verses, loving the idea of mr vincent's thin red line and yet hating Auden's universal soldier, hating  Bloody Sunday and the horrors of Iraq and Afghanistan, hating the proposed visitation of Hell on Syria.  I want Tommy to be Tommy, I don't want him to be Lt Calley but often, I guess far more often than we know, he is.

Even so, he is a product of his environment, this gobby arsehole and there is something to be said for the inevitable calls for clemency - and you can be sure, incidentally,  that those who normally bay for Life-Meaning-Life will be muted in this case.  I don't think long sentences serve any useful purpose and I think that, in this case, the state does bear some responsibility, should share some blame, exercise some mercy.  What, pray, the fuck are we doing in Afghanistan, except aiding  a bandit puppet regime and shoring-up the CIA's drug operations? This isn't world war in the defence of Freedom,  this is fuckery, globalisation and imperialism, greed for oil and gas dressed-up as women's liberation Asiatique, as if the revolting old fairy, Gordon Snot, 

gives a fuck about Afghani girls going to school, and as if it's any of his fucking business, ChristAlfuckingMighty didn't he make a big enough bollocks of things here, without exporting his clapped-out moral compass to the alien and unconquerable  Old Silk Road.  What, exactly, has this occupation achieved, other than fuck all?

Hardly surprising, then, that fighting a wholly pointless and disreputable war of occupation turns its practitioners into bigger arseholes than they already were; already lacklustre bullies transformed into repugnant, homicidal lunatics; comrades not in arms but in crime, shooting defenceless, wounded men.  It truly is fucking awful, British foreign policy.

Cock-waving, inebriate,  dwarf Jock shithead, John Reid, 

I am, Uncle Sam, your humble servant.

who launched this fuck-up, is already enLorded, hoovering up bribes and bungs from security firms and police forces all over the place.  SeeYouJimmy, no British soldiers will die, he insisted, at the outset, lying his empty ape-brained  head off.  

Wealthy and feted by his fellow scumsters, the rotten wee cunt will never do a moment's jail.  Soldier A, though, will, whatever his eventual sentence, be banged-up, alone, incurably depressed and angry for a very long time;  no matter what meagre kindnesses he enjoys at the hands of sympathetic captors he will still be in jail, his life not terminated, like Ahmed's but wasted nonethless. More importantly, his sentence will be used as a lightning conductor, earthing the crackling maelstrom of further accusations of British warcrimes.  It's already started.   RentaMilitaryMouth, here,  was doing just this, on the telly, last night.


growling, in his deep brown voice, that We've got the bounder, now,   and it's the glasshouse for him. This proves we don't stand any shit from the other ranks, not in my army, anyhow.  All's well that ends well, what.  Quick march. On the double.

I knew someone who served in Malaysia with General Lord Sir Mike "Mike;"  Lieutenant John Mason, disgusted at British treatment of the Malays, put his papers in.  Sir Mike, as we know, took the warriors' course to HorseGuards Parade and a retirement spent reflecting heroically and sagely on TeeVee.   In his deep brown voice.                                 

Just send the cheque to my adjutant, on the double.    

It's PoppyDay. A day, in my view, of national shame. We can pay literally fortunes to pamper, in already lucrative retirement, the whoring warmonger Blair and his doxy; the thuggish deviant Reid, Ainsworth, Browne, the whole filthy gang, going back generations, will never have never wanted for any comfort, any vice.  Tommy, however, whored-out to GlobaCorp, his head and his body fucked, comes home still, in the 21st century, waving a begging bowl, his deployment in harm's way the whim of a degenerate, millionaire   cabal;  his care and repair, in crazed and crippled demobilisation somehow, by some miserly logic,  the responsibility  of random charity.  Fuck the Hague Fund and its tin-rattlers.    

Be all that as it may, nobody forced soldier A into the marines, it was his own choice and thus all this murdershit is his own fault, too;  he didn't have to go, didn't have to believe Gordon Brown's mendacious rabble-rousing.  He could've started a window cleaning round.  Maybe, if he hadn't have come home in handcuffs, he'd have come home in fits, suffering what we now call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder  but what is more accurately known as the Horrors.

Shooting at people and being shot at is, unsurprisingly, likely to mess your head up, give you the Horrors.  How stupid do you have to be not to know that?  How stupid do you have to be to not think that If this shit is so good how come there's no cabinet ministers kids fighting alongside me?

People that stupid need to be protected from themselves.  Trouble is  they're too stupid to realise that.

There was a song, in the 'sixties, it was written by Buffy Sainte Marie, a now intolerable old witch and recorded by Donovan Leitch, a now intolerable, rambling old hippy.

Here, it is performed, in Donovan's own Woody Guthrie imitative style, by a youngster I never heard of.  Soldier A and his ilk could do worse than re-examine their career choice in its light.



Anonymous said...

Another work of art Mr Ishmael.
Funnily enough Mrs Alphons and I were discussing the mental make up of those who join the armed services as a "career" only a couple of days ago.
Their IQ must be lower than a snakes belly if the can't see they are there to kill or be killed. There is no other purpose in army life.
I suppose you must have that sort of IQ to be successfully killed.

DtP said...

Have you seen Usual Suspects - I put it to you that 23 - 41 is redundant. My generation has done nothing. Beyonce! Fuck all.

call me ishmael said...

I don't know who Beyonce is. Is she like a singing Angelina Jolie? And I don't know about the Usual Suspects, either. Even so, I do feel you should stop giving yourself a hard time; government will do that for you and you don't even have to ask.

Anonymous said...

All armies are comprised of murderous bastards Mr Ishmael, even ours. That seems to me to be the whole point. We did our fair share in WWII.

I grew up thinking that British forces were probably the best in the world, and they probably were, then. Sadly, not now. The image of a fat tart and a little gayboy crying for his ipod, surrendering to ragheads in a dinghy is indelibly stamped in my mind's eye, recalled whenever I hear the words 'Royal Marines' now. A fucking disgrace, with the brass neck to sell their shameful story to the papers afterwards, instead of dying of shame.

I noticed a definite change in tack with the Falklands war. I think that could have been settled by negotiation, IMHO. No need to sprint to war, it should be avoided at almost all costs, it should be the absolute last resort, and only then if it is worth winning, and some would say that those islands were not.

But you could, at a stretch, say that that was a campaign of defence. You could argue that the Argies backed us into a corner, forced our hand. You could not say that about Kosovo. That's when it really changed, for me at least. That cunt Blair, desperate to be a world leader, a war-time PM, to blood himself, carpet bombing the Serbs because they finally had had enough of a de facto Albanian invasion. Erstwhile WWII allies, the Serbs, and good ones too, bombed to shit so fucking moslems can steal their land, declare independence and create another Ireland or Palestine situation in the heart of Europe.

Then there's the insanity of Iraq. Twice. I really don't give a fuck about Kuwaitis, any more than I do about Iraqis or Iranians. It's none of our business, not worth a single drop of British blood, leave them to it. If we hadn't pissed away the North Sea oil fields, we wouldn't need to buy (or steal) ANY oil, we had gluts of the stuff.

I'd be most pleased if someone could explain to me the logic in the UK attacking Afghanistan because Saudis hijacked planes in America.

This shit will never end now. 'Orwell was right' has become a cliché.

We have always been at war with Eurasia.


Mike said...

Mr Vincent: the real evil resides in the Foreign Office. British Foreign policy has always been to fuck things up - set tribe against tribe, country against country - so they weaken themselves. The armed forces are just an enabling tool to keep the pot stirred.

For me the defining treachery was Carrington and the FO at Lancaster Gate when they handed Rhodesia over to the terrorist Mugabe rather than to Muzorewa who was less threatening and had popular support.

Re the Falklands, remember Kirkpartrick and the US State Dept was supporting the Argies, and Al Haig was shuttling around trying to muddy the water. The MoD in the shape of Nott, crying in the corner, wanted to settle. The FO were happy to give it away. There was no sprint to war; in fact is was touch and go.

Finally, re the gayboy & his iPod - he was Royal Navy, to their eternal shame; although the Royal Marines are technically Navy, in my brief contact with Lympstone I must say they struck me as probably the most professional of the UK's armed forces - though that was over 25 years ago.

Alphons said...

No one has yet mentioned the Bilderberg/Freemasons/Skull&Bones affair.

Anonymous said...

What an excellent article. My sentiments exactly. This article was mentioned over at Captain Ranty's blog. Wise words indeed. I'll have to spend some time reading your past articles.



Anonymous said...


The old boy network has a lot to answer for, but, in theory at least, they should do as they are told by the minister. If that minister is a coward, a moral or mental defective, bullied by the fucking yanks, well...

You're right about Rhodesia. Insanity. Even worse is the continued funding of Mugabe and his murder goons to the tune of over 100 million a year in aid. I don't think it would have made a blind bit of difference who was foisted into power, chaos and ruin were inevitable, particularly with these colonial sorts. Having tossed the white farmers under a bus by refusing asylum applications (but not from blacks) we should then have left the buggers to it, turned off the money supply, permanently.

I was mistaken about the RN/RM thing, but there were Marines on board and they capitulated without a shot being fired. The Aussies had a simlar experience in the same area and simply shouldered their rifles and told the Iranians to 'fuck off'. Worked a treat.


TDG said...

I am not so sure about the marine. Actions are divorced from context only in our imaginations. He was not sitting at his desk, in the comfort of perfect security, weighing up the moral balance with fine equity. If the Afghan had been hit in the abdomen with 30mm cannon, the injury is unlikely to have been survivable even if he had been airlifted to the best hospital there and then. On the balance of probabilities the marine hastened a painful death. The judgment here rests on a forced interpretation of his intention (as captured by words alone) and an inadequate grasp of the circumstances. It matters because it is exactly when you rigidly codify morality against common sense that you make its violations possible, the artificial hard landmarks points for leveraging real evil through.

call me ishmael said...

I am partly with you, mr tdg. about the context but only partly. I don't for a moment believe that there was anything of the mercy killing in this action, nor that it was done in the heat of battle - both of which possibilities I could accept and understand, sat safely at my desk.

I was also a bit surprised by the complete acquittal of his co-accused. The trio, after all, waited until any possible aerial oversight had passed before killing their victim and their remarks were both vengeful and cynical. The deliberate, cold-blooded murder of a dying man is worse, in my view, than a heat-of-battle, no-holds-barred killing spree. For me, their words capture the situation adequately. Has the helicopter gone? He'd do it to us; this goes no further, I just broke the Geneva Convention.

That the overall context of these mad operations is problematic does not excuse cold-blooded murder and there is no part of me that can construe it as being common sense.

We should not deny that there are vastly more culpable wrongdoers, that there is greater, more corrosive evil, such awareness, however, should not mitigate this atrocity. Not too much, anyway.

Glad to see you're still alive.

call me ishmael said...

"I'll have to spend some time reading your past articles."

I wish you well with that, mr harbinger; they are generally of the moment - although sometimes before the moment - and thus lack any sustained vibrancy.

My young friend, stanislav, though, a young polish plumber, he's bit more timelessly dynamic, kinda jet-propelled scepticism; you'll find he's been posted and re-posted all over angryblogger cyberspace, a place he probably invented.

I noticed, incidentally, following your reference, that there is a Godawful self-importance, an imagined cleverness, a sort of Pied-Piperness about that predictable, unimaginative, linguistically and intellectually impoverished place; self-satisfied, ill-written tripe, cliche and bombast.

No wonder Power laughs its bollocks off.

Thanks, by the way, for your kind words.

tdg said...

Yes, the intention -- as far as the words capture it -- was murder, and so the verdict held, but in the context of probable death by prior injury an otherwise moral man might have given the feeling freer rein, for the shot, then, has little but symbolic significance. And if we were to judge the military by symbolic murder then they would all burn in hell. That something deeply unpleasant is betrayed by the man's voice is another matter; it may in itself be enough to condemn him; I just don't like this judgment by footnotes, for it tacitly encourages crime in spirit that is not quite crime in the letter. Like the entire Afghan affair.

Stan said...

Perhaps the "victim" should have bundled off to Switzerland???

callmeishmael said...

I think the majority of my venom was directed at the authors of what you damn in your final sentence. As for matey, well, cliches become cliches because they're true, they become axioms - live by the sword, die by the footnote?

The shooting of a dying mAn is not merely symbolic - as I think you imply - but massively and horrifyingly symbolic, a symboliism as bad, in its way, as Uncle Sam's helicoptered thugs shooting those journalists, just because, like matey, they felt like it.

At least, in this case, unlike Uncle Sam, we have prosecuted one of our warzone murderers, however imperfectly.

Anonymous said...

This blog is a hotbed of treason ffs.

call me ishmael said...

Great, isn't it?

jgm2 said...

I wandered in and out of a few army and navy recruitment offices back when I was younger. Mainly for the cool pictures of battleships they used to hand out to kids. But, while I have little to no compunction about shooting any fucker that, in my opinion, deserves it (and there's no doubt there are many who desperately, desperately deserve it) the thought the fuckers might be shooting back at me and I might be the one getting killed meant there was no fucking way I was joining up. A sentiment doubly and trebly reinforced by a wander, a few years later, around the military graveyards of Belgium and Northern France.

'Private A.N.Other, Aged 19, Saskatoon'

Hundred of thousands of them, 18 or 19 years of age. Probably the first time they were on a train. The first time they were on a boat. Shipped half way around the world to be machine-gunned because some bunch of cunts couldn't think of any better way of ending a war than trying to get the Germans to use up all their ammunition.

It's enough to make you weep just thinking about it.

That's what had and still has me spitting. The thought of being ordered off to kill or be killed on the say-so of some soft-handed cunt like Blair or Brown or Cameron or that lisping arsehole Miliband. To spread democracy if you please.

Like I give a fuck about the 'freedom' of Iraq or Syria. Like they give a fuck.

That said, and while those who join up are clearly playing fast and loose with their own lives and many must surely be borderline mentally defective the thing that really condemns them is this stupid fucking habit they seem to have of recording their fucking crimes.

The hundreds of 'Britons' who are currently 'fighting' (killing and murdering foreign nationals) in Syria will be no better. After all, what's the point of being a great fucking Islamic hero if you can't prove it. Those idiots will be recording their executions of Syrian government officials, captured soldiers and other sundry 'enemies of Islam' to show how 'committed' they are when they get back to the UK. Many if not all of the cunts will be carrying, on their own phone, all the evidence we need to jail the fuckers for life.

Murdering somebody is bad enough. It's the utter stupidity of, in the middle of fucking nowhere, recording the evidence that nails the IQ of the fuckers that you're dealing with.

call me ishmael said...

That's a whole other can of worms, mr jgm2, the digitised life, narcissism in a smartcard.

Gald to see you're still alive, too.