Mid-September 2024
I have safely gotten Arthur out of the England of 1940, or at least I’ve sent him on his way to France in January 1941.
For whatever reason, or reasons, any work that I have accomplished on Book 2 of THE DAWN, Livre 2 of L’AUBE, from its inception in 2008 until 6 September of this year — has crossed paths with momentous upheavals in the public sphere.
I’m calling Chapter 17, Chapitre 17 “The Hitler Chapter” — which is not even remotely equivalent to the Hitler Channel, aka The History Channel. Corporal Adolf, the tax-dodger, mass murderer, and public fraud, fully gets his descriptive due in a literary passage that reads, and feels, at times, like Modern FakeNews.
For me, the end of each chapter is always filled with emotion. I do like to finish strong!
Whenever I see that I’ve only got 4-6 pages left to review of the French translation, I prepare myself for intense work that demands minimal, if any interruptions. This time, I looked ahead a little, and saw the Blitz of Coventry and the leveling of Clydebank would be coming at me. I knew I’d be crying, the tears blurring my vision of the laptop screen.
Getting Arthur safely out of England was a true labor of love during the past month. I do my best to pace my creative work, with a disciplined effort at keeping abreast of the historic goings-on in America, as well as in France, and in England. The French are currently without a national leader, but, hahahahaha, so are the Americans! In the state of my state of California, we haven’t had a real governor for decades!
The situation in John Bull is less comical. The electorate finally stopped being emotionally blackmailed by the Tories and their 14-years of The Ultimatum: It’s us or Labor.
I personally applaud that kind of courage. Whenever I’ve been told, “It’s me or nothing,” I’ve chosen nothing, and I have reaped enormous rewards from that choice of independence!
Of course, now the citizens of John Bull have to try not to witness a Prime Minister who, for me, so horribly resembles a cowardly, uppity and incompetent boss that I so easily outshone. The facial features and tics are exactly the same, right down to the nervous finger-fidgeting of the eyeglasses.
The darkest hours are upon the patriots in England. I believe they will arrive at a dawn that none of the swinish globalists and bought-and-paid for Parliament can ever envision. Hell doesn’t let in much light. Those blackguards, with their dim view of humanity, won’t have to adjust their vision-monitors when they meet their rewards.
England of 2024 is, in some ways, not too different from England of 1940. There are the same excuses given for doing the wrong thing; for not owning up to having done the wrong thing; for not admitting the thing was wrong at the time it was done, but the graft was too good to turn down. We tend to remember the heroes of harrowing times, much more than the villains that enabled the evil. Such a selective memory is in keeping with properly granting homage to heroes, and in putting the diabolical weasels where they belong: the dustbin of history.
The Blitz of London was met with the indomitable will of the Anglo-Saxons. I’ve every belief in the patriots of England to save their Sceptered Isle from their traitors within.
Human nature does not change; the alibis and wussy mea culpas merely find new buzzwords. I think that some of the more ludicrous, expedient and phony regrets are AI-generated!
I am not a cynic. I am a savvy pragmatist and a realistic dreamer. As I reviewed the last 4 paragraphs of Chapitre 18 of L’AUBE, I wept soothing tears of sorrow and of joy. I felt, and feel, proud of my pragmatism, my realism, my dreaming, and my daring to tell a tale that has been so horribly ignored and wretchedly twisted by the vile, idiotic ignorance spewed to this very day by the media-morons and hate-filled misanthropes.
I call these passages the MAGA Paragraphs. Initially written sometime during the autumn of 2010, they are truer now than ever.
I’ve been roundly and soundly accused of not reading my own writing; but, such is not the case in this instance. I keep a copy of these paragraphs in a special digital folder that safeguards inspiration for me.
These paragraphs conclude Chapter 18/Chapitre 18 of THE DAWN/L’AUBE. They appear after a literary accounting of the Blitz of London and the near-destruction of Coventry. They helped me to help U.S. Army Colonel Arthur Boucher Carmichael take his leave of England. He’s duty-bound for his mission, which includes heroism, love, birth and death.
It’s a jam-packed epic, one that gives back to me, time and time again, just as many insights and visions that I put into it.
These people of England, they the living, buried their dead. They then seized their grief as surely as their grief seized them. They moved with the numbing sensation of an agonizing pain. Their emotional wounds slashed fiercely and deeply into their hearts. Yet they would not surrender; they would not give up. These people looked to their Almighty God, through their tears and anguish, for solace and comfort. They were bowed, but they were not broken. They stepped forward, from day to day, and night to harrowing night, always keeping faith in their belief that Heaven above now held their loved ones, the dead who perished in Hitler’s War. The survivors awaited their re-union with their loved ones, one day, perhaps even that next day, or night.
Those hallowed dead would be neither forsaken nor forgotten by their loved ones, the people of Great Britain. Those loved ones, the dead who were buried in the eternal soil of the British Isles, were henceforth honored by the living because they, the living, vowed that those beloved innocent souls would not have died in vain. They, the living, would triumph over Adolf Hitler. It did not matter how many or how few of the British people remained on those sceptered isles, they, the living, would never forget to honour the dead, and to make of life a sacrament to their sacrifices.
They, the living, would do more than win Hitler’s War. They would rise up and wage the People’s War; and they would prevail over this evil so that the future living would not have to bury their dead amidst another lightning of foul pernicious fire from the sky and foul pernicious fire from the earth. The wickedness of Adolf Hitler and his Nazis became the cause and the impetus for the creation of invincible good. The forces of life and love and liberty gathered together in strength and magnitude, and with the mystery and the gift which is life itself. This damnable, depraved devil could never imagine that the soldiers of the good could fight back and win.
The gathering of forces had begun to form a powerful momentum of the force for good. Goodness could no longer be mocked and mauled by the enslavers and the evildoers on this earth, an earth created by and belonging to, not the Third Reich, but to God Almighty. This force for good would seek not revenge but victory over the evil raining from the skies.
Ces gens anglais, ils, les vivants, ils enterrèrent leurs morts. Ils s’emparèrent alors de leur chagrin aussi sûrement que leur chagrin s’empara d’eux. Ils se déplacèrent avec la sensation engourdissante d’une douleur agonisante. Leurs plaies affectives entaillèrent férocement et profondément dans leurs cœurs. Pourtant, ils n’abandonneraient pas ; il ne se céderaient pas au désespoir. Ces gens regardèrent en haut, vers leur Tout-Puissant, à travers leurs larmes et leur angoisse, pour obtenir du réconfort et du baume. Ils furent courbés, mais ils ne furent pas brisés. Ils firent des pas en avant, jour après jour, et d’une nuit à la prochaine nuit atroce, en gardant toujours la foi en leur croyance que le Ciel, là haut embrassait maintenant leurs proches, les morts qui avaient péri dans la guerre d’Hitler. Les survivants attendraient de retrouver leurs proches, un jour, peut-être même le lendemain, ou la nuit suivante.
Ces morts sacrés ne seraient ni abandonnés ni oubliés par leurs proches, les gens de la Grande-Bretagne. Ces êtres chers, les morts enterrés dans le sol éternel des Îles britanniques, étaient dorénavant honorés par les vivants car ils, les vivants, ils jurèrent que ces âmes innocentes bien-aimées, elles n’eussent pas été mortes en vain. Ils, les vivants, triompheraient d’Adolf Hitler. Peu importe combien des Britanniques restent sur ces Îles de sceptre, ils, les vivants, n’oublieraient jamais d’honorer les morts, et de faire de leur vie un sacrement pour leurs sacrifices.
Ils, les vivants, feraient plus que gagner la guerre d’Hitler. Ils s’élèveraient aussi et mèneraient la guerre du Peuple ; et ils l’emporteraient sur ce mal afin que les vivants de l’avenir ne doivent enterrer leurs morts parmi une autre foudre de feu vil et pernicieux venant du ciel, et de feu vil et pernicieux venant de la terre. La méchanceté d’Adolf Hitler et de ses nazis devint la cause et l’impulsion de la création d’un bien invincible. Les forces de la vie et de l’amour et de la liberté se rassemblaient en force et en ampleur, et avec le mystère et avec le don qu’est la vie elle-même. Ce diable maudit et dépravé ne put jamais imaginer que les soldate du bien pouvaient riposter et vaincre son mal.
Le rassemblement des forces avait commencé à former un puissant élan de la force du bien. La bonté ne pouvait plus être ridiculisée et malmenée par les suzerains d’esclavage et par les malfaiteurs sur cette terre, une terre créée par, et appartenante, non pas au Troisième Reich, mais, à Dieu Tout-Puissant. Cette force du bien ne chercherait pas la vengeance mais la victoire sur le mal pleuvant du ciel.