Disclaimer – This piece was originally written 3 1/2 years ago – the song it refers to, ‘England ‘Till I Die’ has since been taken down from youtube – this, however, has minimal impact on the contents of the article.
‘England ‘Till I Die’ is one of the most anthemic pieces of poetry to have exited our British shores in song format since William Shakespeare picked up a quill and muttered to himself, in front of the mirror, ‘why the hot damn can’t I get my leg over one of these broads?’ This isle has certainly seen moments of verbal grandeur. Winston Churchill had us fighting on the beaches. Rudyard Kipling pondered spiritual maturity. Browning evoked the nature of human ambition. Even Wayne Rooney postulated on the feelings of overturning a deficit (‘fucking what!’). But ‘England ‘Till I Die’ is really something else. Aurally resonate and lyrically candescent (if that can be achieved in a 4 word refrain of adulate harmony) the EDL-inspired overture to racist skin heads everywhere is everything Mozart wanted to say when composing his 40th. But better.
The thing about the English Defence League that no-one appreciates is how dedicated these guys are. Most people take fashions as a passing trend, and brand labels as something to show the level of wealth one possesses. Not these guys. They treat Fred Perry as a way of life. Almost in the same manner Mother Theresa gave up her wordly possessions to help the poor, the EDL spend all their earnings on over-priced polo t-shirts and trainers.
I don’t want you to think I’m having a go. I’m all for it. The BNP, basically, are bourgeois nonsense. Can you image Nick Griffin giving it some to a kebab shop owner with a piece of 4×4 wrapped in barbed wire? He’s not prepared to face 5 years in Wormwood Scrubs for a racial attack is he? As for UKIP, don’t make me laugh! They’re not even openly racist. The good old EDL, however, are really passionate about their cause, and they’re taking it back to the good old Marxist and proletariat values. No need for debates in the House of Commons with some Oxbridge twats. They’re out in the streets of Luton, or marching through backward sections of the culturally repressed North West, kitted up in England football shirts and baseball caps, showing off their shaved heads and waving proudly the banner of our imperial sovereignty: St George’s flag. Good old EDL.
While we’re on imperial sovereignity, the EDL are quite right to want the immigrants out of our country. If five centuries of slavery, invasion, prejudice, classism and hierarchical power structures have taught Great Britain, sorry I mean England, anything, it’s that we don’t want them over here! Oh no. I mean, if there’s a war on, sure, we could do with some fresh recruits. Anyone knowledgeable enough to talk to you about the good old days of the ‘Empire’ would definitely remember that when we invaded a country and stole its land and natural resources we were good enough not to bring any of the immigrants back to our country.
We exploited them from afar, through cultural and intellectual oppression, hidden from any guilty thoughts by the expanse of geography. We even shipped off the rum ones in our country to Australia, leaving the Maoris to deal with them. Look how that turned out. They came back with a beer brewed in Manchester, stupid accents and crap commercials to promote it. OK, where was I? The EDL. Right.
It’s been de rigour a while now for the right wing press to spout xenophobic stories about foreigners taking ‘British’ jobs, but is there any real backbone to that sort of prejudice? It’s all very BNP, writing stuffdown. The EDL are actually doing something about it. Sure, they don’t actually read the newspapers in the first place but that’s because, well, they can’t.
The red tops are riding the populist wave of sympathy for our boys in Afghanistan, which is all very good, but wait a second – is it? Most of the EDL don’t actually know where Afghanistan is, because all their geographical knowledge is surmised in the away fixtures list for their football team. Plus, the army are actually allowed to shoot at the turban-doffed populace, whereas an EDL member doing it is likely to risk some serious jail time. Prince Harry, an emblem of our Imperial land and everything British, I mean English, was out there, I hear you splutter? Didn’t he spend his time snorting coke, shooting vodka through his eyeball, and dressing up as Adolf Hitler at parties?
At any rate, getting behind the armed forces is all very bourgeois. That’s not what they’re about in the EDL. They’re about Stella Artois, inter-familyrelationships and shaved heads. And as for the shaved head; that’s a hard look isn’t it? Why won’t Cameron shave his hair off? That’d really intimidate Obama the next time he comes whining about a little oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Clegg could get a tattoo of a bulldog across his right bicep, and stick it in Milliband’s face next time he’s asked about tuition fees.
The point of this article, however, was about the motto, ’England Till I Die’, used as the chorus for Alex and The Bandit’s EDL-inspired magnum opus. I’m sick, you see, of these political-correctness-gone-mad liberals complaining about the rising tide of anti-Islamic feeling currently sweeping the nation. Situated in their comfy detached suburban houses, watched the BBC and reading the Guardian, they can criticize the fascist right wing violence and condemn anti-Mosque marches as much as they want. They don’t have to live with it. The EDL may have a couple of loose cannons here and there (OK, a lot of cannons firing of incessantly at every sniff of gunpowder) but wouldn’t it be nicer to be looking at white faces on your way home from the pub, or the football game, or wherever you’ve been, even if those faces are the faces that peer back full of aggressive suspicion?
When you walk into an off-licence you want to be welcomed by white faces as you hand over your hard earned cash for those 20 Marlboroughs and 8 pack of lager. Why? Because, God damn it, this country wasn’t made on enterprise and free opportunity. It was built on crusades to the Middle East, sticking up two fingers to the Catholic church when it says no to divorce, sycophantic media frenzies, neandertholic football chanting, beer swilling, wife beating, corrupt politicians, repressed emotions, the public school system, disadvantaged and ostracised working classes, an economically imbalanced north-south divide, making fun of someone more posh then you, making fun of someone more common then you, sexist jokes, bigotry, reality television, inbreeding, domestic bickering, narcotics abuse, and, finally, a bit of how’s your father on the side for good measure.
If we watered down this heady mix of intoxication and squalor with the influence of foreign races, cultural differences and ideologies, what would become of the stiff upper lip and the Pound Sterling? France, that’s what would happen. Look at those buggers: Protesters taking to the streets in fits of outrage because the retirement age went up from 60 to 62. We can’t have that happen in Britain, I mean England, the world’s last bastion of unmodified, unchallenged, and unchanged white western civilisation. We want our country back, and we want it back now.
Words by Dylan Yates