Gaelic War Quotes

Johnstone railway station was small, neat and tidy, quite attractive. On the platforms, I noticed that the signs also had the name in Gaelic – ‘Baile Iain’, literally ‘John’s town’. It is a recent wheeze by the triumphant, all-conquering Scottish National Party to add the Gaelic name to every station in the whole of Scotland, despite the fact that most of these places never had a Gaelic name or people who ever spoke Gaelic.

Arthur was tired out. He had been broken by the two battles which he had fought already, the one at Dover, the other at Barbara Down. His wife was a prisoner. His oldest friend was banished. His son was trying to kill him. Gawaine was buried. His Table was dispersed. His country was at war. Yet he could have breasted all these things in some way, if the central tenet of his heart had not been ravaged. Long ago, when his mind had been a nimble boy's called Wart—long ago he had been taught by an aged benevolence, wagging a white beard. He had been taught by Merlyn to believe that man was perfectible: that he was on the whole more decent than beastly: that good was worth trying: that there was no such thing as original sin. He had been forged as a weapon for the aid of man, on the assumption that men were good. He had been forged, by that deluded old teacher, into a sort of Pasteur or Curie or patient discoverer of insulin. The service for which he had been destined had been against Force, the mental illness of humanity. His Table, his idea of Chivalry, his Holy Grail, his devotion to Justice: these had been progressive steps in the effort for which he had been bred He was like a scientist who had pursued the root of cancer all his life. Might—to have ended it— to have made men happier. But the whole structure depended on the first premise: that man was decent. Looking back at his life, it seemed to him that he had been struggling all the time to dam a flood, which, whenever he had checked it, had broken through at a new place, setting him his work to do again. It was the flood of Force Majeur. During the earliest days before his marriage he had tried to match its strength with strength—in his battles against the Gaelic confederation—only to find that two wrongs did not make a right. But he had crushed the feudal dream of war successfully. Then, with his Round Table, he had tried to harness Tyranny in lesser forms, so that its power might be used for useful ends. He had sent out the men of might to rescue the oppressed and to straighten evil —to put down the individual might of barons, just as he had put down the might of kings. They had done so—until, in the course of time, the ends had been achieved, but the force had remained upon his hands unchastened. So he had sought for a new channel, had sent them out on God's business, searching for the Holy Grail. That too had been a failure, because those who had achieved the Quest had become perfect and been lost to the world, while those who had failed in it had soon returned no better. At last he had sought to make a map of force, as it were, to bind it down by laws. He had tried to codify the evil uses of might by individuals, so that he might set bounds to them by the impersonal justice of the state. He had been prepared to sacrifice his wife and his best friend, to the impersonality of Justice. And then, even as the might of the individual seemed to have been curbed, the Principle of Might had sprung up behind him in another shape—in the shape of collective might, of banded ferocity, of numerous armies insusceptible to individual laws. He had bound the might of units, only to find that it was assumed by pluralities. He had conquered murder, to be faced with war. There were no Laws for that.

Let’s talk about where meditation and mindfulness practice lead. Imagine, if you will, one of those thirteenth-century Scottish fight scenes with Mel Gibson. The untrained and distracted mind is a melee of broadswords, hideous grimaces, war cries, people’s heads flying off. As we practice returning to the breath, we slowly build up the necessary stability in awareness to notice this battle that we’ve been waging with ourselves. We recognize, we accept. We remember. Very slowly, the internal thugs get disarmed. Eventually they’re gathered in a circle, drinking mead and hiccupping and singing weepy Gaelic ballads. A great calm descends upon the land. So that’s one part of it. The other is we start to notice and appreciate the gorgeous green highland scenery that these idiots have been standing in front of the whole time.

What is it that Australians celebrate on 26 January? Significantly, many of them are not quite sure what event they are commemorating. Their state of mind fascinated Egon Kisch, an inquisitive Czech who was in Sydney at the end of January 1935. Kisch has a place in our history as the victim, or hero, of a ludicrous chapter in the history of our immigration laws. He had been invited to Melbourne for a Congress against War and Fascism, and was forbidden to land by order of the attorney-general, R. G. Menzies. He had jumped overboard, broken his leg, gone to hospital, failed a dictation test in Gaelic and been sentenced to imprisonment and deportation. When the High Court declared Gaelic not a language, Kisch was free to hobble on our soil...

The Irishman’s pastime of blindly fighting and murdering his brothers, instead of focusing accusation and aggression on his true enemies, serves Ireland’s desecrators well. This author has had ample time to witness and analyze the various ways in which the Vatican has eradicated ancestral traces that can never again be restored. These cunning demagogues declared war on the Gaelic language and engaged in a campaign of place name alteration. The old rites, practices, music and symbolism endured drastic suppression. All manner of lies and preposterous nonsense has been insinuated and openly disseminated to camouflage the reasons for the existence of the innumerable ley lines and Megalithic tumuli - the cairns, cromlechs, raths, barrows, dolmens, menhirs, souterrains and round towers, etc. Legends relating to the primordial Golden Ages were rescripted to bemuse and befuddle. Eventually the true history of Ireland was indexed as a fanciful “Mythological Cycle” unworthy of serious interest. All in all, the conquest of Ireland’s Solar Church constitutes the Papacy's (and Crown's) first major excursion into crime. The conquest of Ireland set the stage for innumerable atrocities throughout the world. If thou wilt make me an altar of stone thou shalt not build it of hewn stone, for if thou lift up thy foot upon it thou has polluted it – (Exodus 20:25) CHAPTER TWENTY The British-Israelite Deception   Of all the churches whose origin I have investigated in Britain, the church of Glastonbury is the most ancient – Sir Henry Spillman This author indicts the powerful intellectual coterie known as the “British-Israelites” and declares them, along with other Judeo-Christian institutions, to be one of the Cult of Aton’s chief propaganda organs.

the population emigrated or died as a direct result of starvation or disease. Most of those affected were poor Catholic families in the south and west, and this famine left a legacy of resentment against the British government which continued to export huge quantities of food from Ireland, failing to provide sufficient food to feed those affected by the famine. The famine polarized differences in Ireland, between poor, Gaelic-speaking Catholics and more affluent English-speaking Protestant landowners across the country as well as between Ulster, the six counties in the north of Ireland which had a largely Protestant population, and the south and west which was mainly Catholic.