Paying the Danegeld

I suspect most of you have heard that Chancellor  Merkel has a plan to pay the immigrants she invited to Germany to go away again  Joshuapundit wrote about it here.

Germany’s Chancellor Angela Merkel is facing new elections and is not doing at all well in the polls. Quite simply, the Muslim refugees she imported en masse to Germany have turned into a nightmare, with violent crime including sexual assaults at unheard of levels. And most of these refugees, rather than working are enjoying the generous German social welfare benefits, which is exactly why most of them came to Germany in the first place.

Merkel’s new scheme to try and get back into her fellow German’s good graces before elections involves paying migrants millions of Euros to leave.

Merkel is setting aside $95 million (€90m or £76m) in taxpayers’ money to create a fund to try to pay these refugees to withdraw their asylum applications and leave Germany voluntarily.

Germany rejected 170,000 asylum claims in 2016 , according to the Daily Mail, but only 26,000 were repatriated to their home countruies while 55,000 more decided to leave voluntarily and try their luck elsewhere. But that leaves 81,000 rejected applicants who are probably still in Germany!

via Merkel’s Trying To Buy Her Way Out of Germany’s Refugee Crisis ~ J O S H U A P U N D I T

Think about that for a while. She told them all to come and got them welfare while they were there, even forcing property owner to move to give them a place to live. And then we all got to watch as many, many German women were sexually assaulted by these vermin people. So what happens now, when it looks like her people have had enough of this dangerous nonsense? She uses even more taxpayer dollars to get them to go away. Which they likely won’t, after all, the living is easy (for them) in Germany, and even if they do, what exactly is to prevent them taking the money and coming right back with another name? Most of them don’t have reliable documents, anyway.

You know Saxon England had this problem with the Scandinavian raiders, back in the day, around 900 AD or so. They learned a lesson from it, although it rather looks as if the elite in Westminster may have forgotten it. I am assured however that the average Englishman remembers, and as Americans share that history, I suspect we do as well. Rudyard Kipling summed it up pretty well, which is probably why the elites have mostly proscribed him.

IT IS always a temptation to an armed and agile nation
To call upon a neighbour and to say: –
“We invaded you last night – we are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away.”

And that is called asking for Dane-geld,
And the people who ask it explain
That you’ve only to pay ’em the Dane-geld
And then you’ll get rid of the Dane!

It is always a temptation for a rich and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say: –
“Though we know we should defeat you,
we have not the time to meet you.
We will therefore pay you cash to go away.”

And that is called paying the Dane-geld;
But we’ve proved it again and again,
That if once you have paid him the Dane-geld
You never get rid of the Dane.

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
For fear they should succumb and go astray;
So when you are requested to pay up or be molested,
You will find it better policy to say: —

“We never pay any-one Dane-geld,
No matter how trifling the cost;
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
And the nation that plays it is lost!”

 

How we Got Trump

1776Mollie Hemingway wrote yesterday in The Federalist about Saying People Can’t Say ‘This Is Why Trump Won’ Is Why Trump Won.

See, one of the reasons tens of millions of Americans voted for Donald Trump over Hillary Clinton was that they were sick of this type of media bullying. But you’re not supposed to point out that BuzzFeed and their ilk’s behavior contributed to Trump’s victory.

Remember when Meryl Street gave her sermon at the Golden Globes about how awful Trump is? Liberals, and that includes many in the media, absolutely loved it. CNN put out a “breaking news” alert that she had torn into Trump. Conservatives tended not to love it so much. I panned it for its inaccuracy, the lack of empathy it supposedly called for, and general cluelessness.

Yep, and she’s right: That’s why you got Trump.

But there’s nothing whatever new about it, it’s ancient folk wisdom in our countries, and rings through our joint and several histories, all the way back to 1066, at least. Here’s our Kipling put it.

THE WRATH OF THE AWAKENED SAXON

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late,
With long arrears to make good,
When the Saxon began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy — willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the Saxon began to hate.

Their voices were even and low.
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd.
It was not taught by the state.
No man spoke it aloud
When the Saxon began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred.
It will not swiftly abate.
Through the chilled years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the Saxon began to hate.

The Bible puts it slightly differently when it says “Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind.” It will happen every time, and it has. Go ask King John, or Charles I, or Napoleon, or Hitler. The Anglo-Saxons are dangerous enemies. And yes, both in England and America, for with our heritage many of us also imbibed many of the characteristics of our Mother Country. Kipling again.

1776

after
The  snow lies thick on Valley Forge,
The ice on the Delaware,
But the poor dead soldiers of King George
They neither know nor care.

Not though the earliest primrose break
On the sunny side of the lane,
And scuffling rookeries awake
Their England’ s spring again.

They will not stir when the drifts are gone,
Or the ice melts out of the bay:
And the men that served with Washington
Lie all as still as they.

They will  not  stir  though  the mayflower blows
In the moist dark woods of pine,
And every rock-strewn pasture shows
Mullein and columbine.

Each for his land, in a fair fight,
Encountered strove, and died,
And the kindly earth that knows no spite
Covers them side by side.

She is too busy to think of war;
She has all the world to make gay;
And,  behold, the yearly flowers are
Where they were in our fathers’ day!

Golden-rod by the pasture-wall
When the columbine is dead,
And sumach leaves that turn, in fall,
Bright as the blood they shed.

Jess wrote long ago:

It was a brothers’ war, and when it was over they bore no real ill-will and became friends and allies.

They could do that because of a shared love of freedom and the same concept of justice. There was no need to ask what culture was, and those uncounted millions who found in the New World a haven, embraced those values – so much so that people took them for granted – they were surely universal.

They were, and they are for us and ours, on both sides of the pond. Which is why we tend to look on with amusement at the loons here, and there, and then get on with business. But there are limits to that.

“The Saxon is not like us Normans. His manners are not so polite.
But he never means anything serious till he talks about justice and right.
When he stands like an ox in the furrow – with his sullen set eyes on your own,
And grumbles, ‘This isn’t fair dealing,’ my son, leave the Saxon alone.

“You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your Picardy spears;
But don’t try that game on the Saxon; you’ll have the whole brood round your ears.
From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest chained serf in the field,
They’ll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are wise, you will yield.

“But first you must master their language, their dialect, proverbs and songs.
Don’t trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the tale of their wrongs.
Let them know that you know what they’re saying; let them feel that you know what to say.
Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear ’em out if it takes you all day.”

The Normans learned this, pretty fast, and it worked out OK. But these fools remind me of Louis XVI. They have remembered nothing and forgotten nothing. I fear they will come to a bad end.

Times and Seasons

BL Cotton MS Tiberius B I, the C-text of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

BL Cotton MS Tiberius B I, the C-text of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

Yesterday, I read some people complaining that Trump hasn’t stopped DACA yet. This is Wednesday, he was inaugurated last Friday, so give me a break. He’s accomplished more in the part of the last week than most presidents do in their first term. Take a deep breath and relax, he’s not going to do everything we want, anyway, but it looks like he’s going to do an incredible part of it.

My friend, The Clerk of Oxford says this in her latest post.

We don’t have to think about history only as a stream of events down which we helplessly drift, talking and fretting solely about the very latest thing to happen, without a moment for reflection or memory. (We’ll call this the ‘social media timeline’ model of history). There are other options, even if they’re not very fashionable ones: paying mindful attention to the details of the natural world, listening to the voices of poets of the past, thinking about patterns and constants and the changeless, instead of being solely fixated on the present.

Yeah, I know, it’s not always easy in our very noisy world, not for any of us. But there are ways. In that post, she’s talking about an old English poem called Menologium, which is bound with a copy of The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, along with a copy of a wisdom poem called Maxims II.

All deal with time, but in different ways, The Chronicle starts with the Incarnation of Christ (Cristes geflæscnesse) and traces history by use of the feast days of the church. This version end with the Battle of Stamford Bridge on ‘the Vigil of St Matthew the Apostle’.

[T]he Menologium, though one might more poetically call it ‘The Beauties of the Year’, since that is really its subject. The poem moves through the calendar year, month by month, feast by feast, finding something to praise about every season in the traditional language of Old English poetry. It marks saints’ days, the 12 months, the two solstices and equinoxes, and the beginning of each of the four seasons, which are dated to the days halfway between each solstice and equinox. Every significant date or season receives its own brief lyrical description…

Maxims II  … begins by musing on kings, power, and the passage of the seasons:

Cyning sceal rice healdan. Ceastra beoð feorran gesyne,
orðanc enta geweorc, þa þe on þysse eorðan syndon,
wrætlic weallstana geweorc. Wind byð on lyfte swiftust,
þunar byð þragum hludast. Þrymmas syndan Cristes myccle,
wyrd byð swiðost. Winter byð cealdost,
lencten hrimigost – he byð lengest ceald –
sumor sunwlitegost – swegel byð hatost –
hærfest hreðeadegost, hæleðum bringeð
geres wæstmas, þa þe him god sendeð.
Soð bið switolost, sinc byð deorost,
gold gumena gehwam, and gomol snoterost,
fyrngearum frod, se þe ær feala gebideð.
Weax bið wundrum clibbor. Wolcnu scriðað.

A king should defend a kingdom. Cities are seen from afar,
the skilful work of giants, which are on this earth,
wondrous work of wall-stones. The wind in the sky is swiftest,
thunder is loudest in season. Great are the powers of Christ.
Fate is the most powerful thing, winter is coldest,
spring frostiest – it is the longest cold –
summer sun-brightest – the sun is hottest –
harvest most glory-blessed; it brings to men
the year’s fruits, which God sends them.
Truth is most treacherous, treasure is dearest,
gold to every man, and an old man is most wise,
made wise with years gone by, he who has experienced much.
Sorrow is wondrously clinging. Clouds glide on.

via A Clerk of Oxford: Times and Seasons, do read it all.

And that is important, I think. No matter the pressures of the day, life goes on, much as before. The seasons come, each in their turn, babies are born, people die or move on, but such things move at the older, slower pace, that our ancestors knew so well, living close to the land as they did. Marking off their life by the feast days of the church, which likely was often the only thing that penetrated their life from outside. It would make us crazy, to be without the constant noise, movement, and controversy, for a time. But I suspect, in the end, we would be more peaceful in our lives.

In Beowulf, the poet tells us

Metod eallum weold
gumena cynnes, swa he nu git deð;
forþan bið andgit æghwær selest
ferhðes foreþanc. Fela sceal gebidan
leofes ond laþes se þe longe her
on ðyssum windagum worolde bruceð. (1057-62)

The Measurer governed all for mankind, as he now does yet;
and so understanding is best everywhere,
forethought of mind. Much must he endure
of love and hate, who long here
in these days of strife enjoys the world.

Seems to me, that depending on how you live your life, those may be some of the most comforting, or the most disconcerting words you will ever read.

She ends her post, as I will mine with a quote from Maxims II.

gomol snoterost,
fyrngearum frod, se þe ær feala gebideð.
Weax bið wundrum clibbor. Wolcnu scriðað.

an old man is most wise,
made wise with years gone by, he who has experienced much.
Sorrow is wondrously clinging. Clouds glide on.

Reality is Real

sometimes-people-talk-about-conflict-between-humans-and-machines-and-you-can-se-403x403-nk3qtqSomething a bit different today, but it still follows our long running themes. Both you never had it so good as well as reality is real. The world we live in was built by men who understood reality and found ways to harness it for our benefit.

That harnessing has led to the world we live in, from the guy that noticed that fire is hot, and started looking for a way to harness it to his purposes, to the guy who watched a rounded rock roll downhill and went on to make the first wheel. This goes right to the people who learned to split (and then combine) the atom, first as a weapon of war, but then as an appliance of peace and plenty.

The same in all fields, we started as little more than apes with imagination, and we built it all, and it’s all about reality. If 2+2 ≠ 4 our world is over, no matter how many wish otherwise. That is why so many in flyover states detest the liberal coastal elites, we can see that they have never learned this fundamental lesson – They cling to their unsupported theories (wishes really) about how things ought to be. We know better, what is, is. It has never, is not now, and never will be, different. Reality is real.

We have built on the shoulders of giants, from Prometheus on down, and the world of today is the result. If we follow those fools, the result will be the end of civilization, not western civilization, or eastern civilization, or any other subset, but civilization itself, a return to the primordial mud.

Well, you know, I’ve never been all that fond of “Nasty brutish, and short”. I think for me, I’ll stick with civilization, like you, it hasn’t given me everything I want, but then it was long ago when I was a child writing letters to Santa Claus, and I have earned everything I need – and then some.

Kipling touches on some of this in one of his poems The Secret of the Machines, and here it is.

 

Happy Saturday

Seriously but not Literally

america-vs-englandI again quoted whoever it was that said we take Donald Trump seriously but not literally again last evening. It is true, we do, we voted for him because he looks to us like a real outsider, who is his own man, not an owned man of the progs. It was exactly the same impulse that led to Brexit, I, and many other Americans and Britons think. Here’s more about that impulse and the repercussions, from a British blog, that I found through still another British blog: The Conservative Woman, which has become one of my favorites. Here’s some of what Herbert has to say:

In 2016, after the best part of five decades spent infiltrating our media, our universities, and our pop culture, the radical feminists, racial minorities who see race as their identity, LBGT types, statists, and haters of national pride and free market economics, came out of the shadows in a final act of revolution, confident that the world was theirs for the taking, and it all came to nothing.

Hillary Clinton, the archetypal feminist, was denied the most powerful position in the world, from where she would have wreaked untold havoc on the most basic values that America and the developed world stand for. And we Britons took back control of our national sovereignty from the creeping socialism and the Soros-funded open society, open-borders mentality of the EU.

This was a massive shock to the progressive left, of course, as witness the parade of their weak-minded, slogan chanting, under-achieving, envy-driven, really rather stupid professional grievance-collecting, entitlement-ridden, acolytes, who emitted what amounted to a shriek of anger that their well-laid plans had been foiled by democracy.

The reaction of this rag-bag army of misfits and malcontents finally showed the new left’s true colours to the world. They demonstrated publicly that all they had to offer was slogans: ‘racist’, ‘sexist’, ‘homophobe’, ‘fascist’ – and, of course, ‘climate change denier’ whenever that part of their plan could be slipped into the equation.

During the 2016 US Presidential campaign and the Brexit referendum in the UK, the progressive left threw everything at victory through the arrogant media, the self-satisfied celebrities, and the pc professors – the so-called experts – who came out of the woodwork, confident that they would swing us all to their all-pervading progressive worldview, and that we would submit.  We didn’t. In 2016, in the UK and the US, the silent majority of ordinary people thumbed their noses at all of them.

This was the real revolution – a revolution of common sense and decency – of values and freedom. It amounted to a rejection of identity politics, grievance cultures, climate change hysteria, alleged experts telling people what is right and wrong, politicians trying to take moral authority over the people who elect them levelling accusations that they were racist when all people wanted was to preserve their hard-won culture, and protect it from being swamped by alien cultures intent on hegemony.

Do read the whole thing at 2016: The year the worm finally turned | herbertpurdy.com

He’s right, it is a real revolution, in the same sense that the American Revolution was. It is an effort to restore, to complete the revolution, if you will, to stand things back in their proper place.

Brexit is and was an imperfect tool for this, but it seemed and seems to be fit for purpose, to divide the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. Similarly, Donald Trump is not, and was not a perfect candidate, many of us had reservations, and we may be clinging to a frail reed in his cabinet picks. We will see. But then, neither was Stephan Langton, or the barons a very good choice for the freedom of the common man, but they gave us the first of those charters that have marked our history: Magna Charta.

What is not in doubt is that after still another four or eight years of Hillary Clinton as President, it was going to be very unlikely to put this right, and so it was time to act. This was not a communal, collective act, this was a decision reached quietly, inwardly by millions of Americans, as was the Brexit choice in Britain, and for very similar reasons.

There is a reason why the Anglo-Saxon countries have a thousand year long history of increasing freedom, no matter the opposition. Kipling, as always stated it well.

“My son,” said the Norman Baron, “I am dying, and you will be heir
To all the broad acres in England that William gave me for share
When he conquered the Saxon at Hastings, and a nice little handful it is.
But before you go over to rule it I want you to understand this:–

“The Saxon is not like us Normans. His manners are not so polite.
But he never means anything serious till he talks about justice and right.
When he stands like an ox in the furrow – with his sullen set eyes on your own,
And grumbles, ‘This isn’t fair dealing,’ my son, leave the Saxon alone.

“You can horsewhip your Gascony archers, or torture your Picardy spears;
But don’t try that game on the Saxon; you’ll have the whole brood round your ears.
From the richest old Thane in the county to the poorest chained serf in the field,
They’ll be at you and on you like hornets, and, if you are wise, you will yield.

“But first you must master their language, their dialect, proverbs and songs.
Don’t trust any clerk to interpret when they come with the tale of their wrongs.
Let them know that you know what they’re saying; let them feel that you know what to say.
Yes, even when you want to go hunting, hear ’em out if it takes you all day.

They’ll drink every hour of the daylight and poach every hour of the dark.
It’s the sport not the rabbits they’re after (we’ve plenty of game in the park).
Don’t hang them or cut off their fingers. That’s wasteful as well as unkind,
For a hard-bitten, South-country poacher makes the best man- at-arms you can find.

“Appear with your wife and the children at their weddings and funerals and feasts.
Be polite but not friendly to Bishops; be good to all poor parish priests.
Say ‘we,’ ‘us’ and ‘ours’ when you’re talking, instead of ‘you fellows’ and ‘I.’
Don’t ride over seeds; keep your temper; and never you tell ’em a lie!”

Hopefully, it works, at least temporarily, but if it doesn’t, there is a further leavening in the Anglo-Saxons. It has come down to us known as:

The furor of the Northmen

I don’t think anybody really wants to go there, but we did back in 1688, and in 1776, and once more in 1861. It wasn’t pretty, but as always:

12038291_1640171586224193_616255847428955276_n

The day after

John Keble

[Another one of Jessica’s wonderful posts, this one from last year. Neo]

Secular Christmases, like our lives in general, have a great build up to important events, quite often the event itself does not quite live up to it, and then the day after is a bit of a let-down – and that’s where we are now!  I did think of letting everyone have a day off my musings as a late present, but I promised dear Neo that I would fill the gap, and in thinking about this, it hit me that there is a parallel with our religious life. For those who have had a conversion experience, is there the same sort of anticlimactic feeling, or does the new life into which you are born supersede this? I’d be interested in hearing.

I’ve never had a conversion-experience. From my earliest memories of Sunday school as a little girl, it all made sense to me; God is there, and I have never felt he was not; even when he seemed far away, I knew it was me who was far off, not him – and he was always holding out his hands to receive me when I stopped being a brat. I know some here, and elsewhere, who have had the experience of ‘lapsing’ and coming back, but again, my life has been more mundane. That’s why it would be interesting to hear from you if you have been through a conversion about what happened next.

In many ways, we like dramatic moments in our lives, and we may even need them as an antidote or corrective to the mundane nature of much of what happens to us everyday. But is that the right way to respond to what God has given us? My beloved John Keble provided quite another way of looking at this in a poem written in 1822 which is now a hymn which includes two wonderful closing verses, which are our present on this day after the Christ Mass:

The trivial round, the common task,
will furnish all we ought to ask, —
room to deny ourselves, a road
to bring us daily nearer God.

Prepare, O Lord, in your dear love,
for perfect life with you above;
and help us, this and every day,
to live more nearly as we pray.

He suggests that we can ‘hallow’ – that is make holy – even the meanest thing we do if we will do it for God. There is nothing, however humble it is, that cannot be done well in God’s name – and that can include resting from our labours.

As some of you will know I have not been very well, and for a time it was thought that I might not get well again. I moved from a time of immense busyness through to one of complete inaction – and I’d imagine that the ‘bends’ which deep-sea divers get could be a bit like that – the sudden absence of pressure makes one dizzy and ill. Our modern life – with the Internet ever there – does but little to prepare us for quietness and reflection. That’s why a well-spent Advent can be a blessing because it helps prepare us for the sudden cessation – even if for many it is replaced by another sort of activity at Christmas.

One feature of the way in which Advent has all but disappeared as a concept in our society is that we miss the way it paves the way for Christmas. Advent, in the church, is a time of penitence and waiting, which is then succeeded by the joy and the feasting of Christmas – all the way through to the Feast of the Epiphany on 6 January. But I see now that even clergy, after the climactic events of Christmas day itself, take time off and see this as an opportunity for their own holiday. I can see why, but think it a shame, because we have just entered a time of celebrating the most important event there will ever be. So, here at Neo’s, we’ll be remembering some of those celebrations which seem to becoming lost. Christmas is the beginning of our thankful celebrations – not the end. It is a time for giving thanks. And for those of us still clearing up – I recommend Keble’s lines.

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