‘The Queen is dead, long live the king!’ went the proclamation on the day that the second Elizabethan age came to an end. An awesome and dramatic cry, I thought, especially when all of my work colleagues were only concerned about the days off they’d receive because of the passing, and the effect it might have on the football. The final day of Queen Elizabeth II should have shattered this nation, halted it with grief and trepidation towards the future. She was the longest serving monarch who, along with her father, guided us through this nations neo founding mythology of the second world war crusade against those caricature villains dressed in vintage Hugo Boss. But it didn’t shatter the nation, because nothing shakes us, because nothing matters too us, nothing except perhaps: money, diversity, the NHS, and, of course, the football.
Distasteful as it may be to say at this time; I was no fan off the late Queen. I didn’t appreciate the indifference, and in some cases glee, which came from some after her passing either, mind you. I was no fan, but her death did surely mean something. See, I find my tent with it’s pegs firmly in the nationalist camp. That means that my chief concern is with the British people, those ethnic groups native to this land who’s ancestors forged this nation for us, their heirs. It’s a sentiment I’m not all together sure her Majesty shared. Her’s was a long reign, but not successful (unless you count the admittedly impressive feat of sustaining the royal institution far longer than most other European houses managed). At best, you might say she was unconcerned with the fate of her subjects.
It’s not nice, I know, but while I want to be a royalist, I want to be a realist more, and while I see the immense value in undertaking ceremonies of respect and mourning in memory of the late Queen, I don’t think it does us much good to deny the reality of her reign. Even ignoring the alleged crimes of those around her, and presuming that she did not will the decline of this country, she certainly did a fine job of spectating it without uttering a peep in protest. When the late Queen came to the throne seventy years ago, even following that hellish waste of life which was the second world war, the Kingdom which she inherited was still one of strength and influence. Now look at us, crumbling and without even caring, shrinking from a mighty empire to an island of petty in fighting and of little direction or self respect.
Perhaps it is just the natural fate of great nations as many writers and philosophers have posited. It’s certainly possible, but that makes no excuse for the meek acquiescence toward our decline, especially from our head of state who in her own lifetime had witnessed swaths of her subjects lay down their very lives because they thought that it might save their home. And what of the waves of replacement level migration which swallows up the children and grandchildren of those who fought, or of the foreign grooming gangs who rape their great grand children? What of the laws which removed liberty in the less than noble cause of tackling a nasty cold, and the outsourcing of this nations industry so as to leave the people of the land at the mercy of outside influence? Well, Elizabeth II never said a word, and these do not strike me as issues on which a caring ruler should remain silent, no matter the perceived duty of her post.
Yet, where her inaction was her greatest crime, it was also the key to her charm, and the love which so many people still clearly have for her as demonstrated by yesterdays funeral when the native population of this country gathered to celebrate the life of their queen in the capital which was stolen from them under her rule. In an age when this country’s ‘leadership’ are either bumbling fools or Machiavellian schemers, when the best of the bunch on offer for the last twenty years has amounted to Blood soaked Blair, Bumbling ‘Bo-Jo’, and some bird called Liz with an enthusiasm for Chinese pork markets, Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II lent some much needed credibility to this terminally disgraced home of ours. She was the closest thing we ever had to a decent leader; one born of a different world, a woman of calm poise and respectable femininity, a figurehead who had witnessed things most of us could seldom imagine, and one who’s place was gilded with appropriate pageantry so as to inspire awe in all bystanders as was on full display during yesterday’s funeral.
However you might have felt about her, when Queen Elizabeth passed away we lost yet another part of our home. She was a vital link to the past which some of us still yearn for, a symbol of our better days which reminded us, and the world, what we had once been capable of, even if she did fall short of the mark in reality. Yes, our new King offers the same package for the most part, and perhaps he could surpass his mother, driving this nation as best as he is able into a new golden age, but somehow I doubt it. Somehow, I think this new king, a man who in his own words has a “duty to protect the diversity of this country”, will be very much be a case of ‘meet the new boss, same as the old boss’. But we’re used to that by now.
All of that being what it is, I believe that the important thing for us on the political right is not to stoop to so low a standard as our contemporaries. Yes we may find it difficult to praise the late monarch, but we should not meet her death with indifference or elation, not only because her passing has not aided our people, but because, by our very nature, we are a respectable and decent bunch. We might also take the reaction of the broader public, those who did mourn the passing, and consider that grief as a sign that there are many of our countrymen who still yearn for a respectable leader who they, and the rest of the world, might take seriously, not like those clowns we are handed in Westminster. It is a void which will have to be filled one day, and what better sort to fill it than a nationalist.
The nature of this piece being what it was, I had wondered if I should publish it at all (I try to avoid offering black pills without antidote). But what Englishman does not have the death of his Queen upon his mind at this very moment, and what hopeful writer could let such a thing pass him by without comment, even if his take was not so rosy? So there it is. While I am aware that this might not have been the most cheerful of reads, the death of a monarch, and of a nation, is a difficult thing to pretty up with any sincerity. And yet, I do believe there is a chance for us, and it is a topic which I will explore shortly (and perhaps release next). No situation is without hope after all, and despite the string of blows which we have been dealt, I do wonder if the tide is not turning. Subscribe for more.
Jack.