Perth, Scone of Destiny and Gordon Treachery
4/7
4/7
I got up late not sleeping that
well.
The place had that worn student feel
but did the job.
Was modern enough.
Another bleak cloudy day.
I sorted out my stuff. Clothes for
washing. Electronics. Everything.
I got the map of Scotland out to
plan an attack.
I sent off an email to Steve to
email Tamsin about everything.
I sorted out the to do list. Trying
to clear stuff.
I had backed up everything including
photos to the external harddrive and usb.
I looked up the Tamron 16-300 on the
internet. Not cheap. But I needed it. My mother’s shouts of anger when I talked
about buying it before leaving Oz rang in my ear.
The rip in the bottom of the
backpack section of the daypack needed repairing. The duct tape hadn’t worked.
Emailed Gordons to institute code
name plan Potty to takeover Aberdeen museum.
Emailed Pat to join me.
Emailed Clive to join me.
I did my washing, booked in for
another day and headed out to the town in glorious pouring rain. The rain
seeped in despite umbrella, getting into the pack and onto my fleece jacket mum
had given me vouchers to buy. It was too hot in it and I took it off leaving on
the sports AIS singlet. I ended up at a Polish tailors in the town who fixed
the bag after a few complaints for P3 in about five minutes. I felt much
overjoyed by that small action. I then headed to Morrisons supermarket, which
was large and the prices perfect. I felt really happy there. I got some junk
food, but left without purchasing. They even had a little café. It was getting
late and I had to rush down the Victorian streets that gradually got Georgian
and then medieval in the old town. Perth wasn’t really pretty. But it did have
charm, though a touch worn. The Neo Classical revivalist Imperial buildings
near the Tay River, the library, council, gallery – all early 19thC
I would say. Pushed between medieval houses jammed together. Full of tourist
cafes and the rain spitted down. I dropped into a camera shop I found on
googlemaps and there was the Tamron 16-300mm for a whopping P529 and they
wouldn’t budge on price. I tried it out and it was perfect. I needed it. The
polariser lens was another P52. More Z1 Xperia googlemaps and I was in some
camping stores and found a one man tent weighing just 666g but for P320. If you
wanted good equipment you had to pay. Could I justify $2000 in equipment?
Only if I could make money out of
it.
Soon I was passing a conical steeple
of a dour church in the bleak rain that seemed to symbolise a kind of spear
shaft penetrating into me from the Presbyterian Gordons, as if God was somehow
on their side here with this form of bigoted hell fire and brimstone Christianity.
But in a way good things were
happening in Perth. I was being lifted up out of a ditch. And as I headed into
the old town to contemplate along the mall in the rain, I heard clowns and
bands, pipes and theatre. Jugglers and people on stilts in the rain. Even
African singers with drums walking down in tribal costume.
I passed a posh hotel by the river
near a church. The Capital Asset indeed seemed within my reach as I laughed to
myself about the amusing joke I had sent the Gordons about overthrowing the monarchy
through a communist revolution with them acting as agents for me.
The baton for the Commonwealth games
was coming through Perth right now. Down the river Tay where a mass of kayaks
were waiting to escort it through. But like Scotland – delays and delays and delays.
The Perth neoclassical museum and
gallery at the end of the street.
I left for the museum and as I
walked into the neo classical building which was full of huge portraits of
Earls and silver cutlery. Then as I walked into the large Ryder Cup Golf
display I got a telepathic signal that the Gordons wanted to contact me through
the police. They were concerned I was going to wreck the museum. Within thirty
seconds the phone was ringing and it was surprise, surprise a woman from the
Aberdeen police telling me that I was not welcome at the Gordons museum and
charges may be laid if I entered the establishment. The humourless bastards out
of cowardice had gone to the police when they could have simply rung me and
explained why my father was being charged. But we all knew it was a concocted
piece of cowardice by them to get rid of me. I was about to tell her I didn’t
recognise her authority and her government and these army upholders of it all
deserved to be thrown out. And all of them would be arrested once the communist
state was installed here. But I restrained myself and explained to her I simply
wanted to know what these charges were and my emails were sent in jest, all
which was true. She said it had nothing to do with her, but would pass on a
message to them that I wanted to meet them to have the matter explained courteously
to me. She refused to agree to ring me back giving me an answer to the request.
So I said I may ring them.
‘If yew harass them there are
communication laws that can be used to bring creeminal cheerges agaist yew.’
‘Well, they are harassing me and my
father bringing trumped up nonsensical charges which they won’t explain to
avoid discussing with me what happened in Malaya and to stop me from speaking
to General Graham. It is utterly disgraceful behaviour and I may bring charges
against them and turn up to the museum with police myself.’ I was about to add
the media too.
‘Lerk I am not saying yew are
harassing. That is theere opinion. And if yew go to that museum and cause
trewble yew may be charged with an offeernce. So yew herve been weerned.’
‘Well, what if I go and just civilly
ask them for an audience with their king? I have discovered I have knightly
roots in Scotland connected to Bruce. I am not going to throw any table about
or toss any money lenders out. Just a civil meeting to discuss my father and
what happened in the Gordons when they bastardised him. And the PTSD that was
untreated and led to my family being destroyed. Could I ring them to arrange a
meeting? Is that permitted?’
‘Yew can teleephone them, but it is
a preevate museum and they can refuse entry without a reeson.’
‘It is discrimination. I have done
nothing wrong. It is them that have acted wrongly. Anyone can see those emails
were humorous.’
‘Well, yew take it up with lawyers
then, but don’t eenter that museum pleese.’
‘It is part of my heritage, my
father was giving them money, worked for them, and in fact I was happy for them
to have the money and to give them his Gordon possessions. I told them that and
they made up these charges when I asked for a letter of support from Graham
when I contested the will of my father to get my heritage.’
‘I herve to go, sorry. I will pass
the message ern. It is not a perlice mertter, sorry. I suggerst yew cermply
with their requerst. Thankyew.’
I stood staring at the Ryder Cup
display with an American speaking on a video saying it was the greatest moment
in golfing history. Trump in Aberdeen came to mind. Was I in some sort of
mystical Templar Monty Python comedy of cosmic proportions?
God was wicked in Scotland for sure.
I stood there contemplating if my humour had gone a bit overboard and I was
terrifying people. Had I gone too far. Should I put myself in Grenville’s
shoes, an old drunken highlander reminiscing about empire, disturbed by this
relatively young Australian upstart, like Alan Bond in the America’s Cup. A man
appeared in a suit and told me it had stopped raining and the museum was
closing shortly. He was the curator of the Perth museum and obviously had heard
every word of my phone call. I looked him in the eye and gave up. It seemed
everyone was against me.
I left the modern art section which
was some series of painting of sheets wrapped together looking a bit like
female genitalia. The portrait of the Earl looked down upon me, ‘sonny, yew are
not welcerme here, this is a place of Lerdship and respect, which yew surely
herve none of.’ He seemed to wave his sabre at me in the painting all dressed
up in 18thC pantaloons and flared gowns. It reminded me of Madras
and the paintings left to rot in the barracks there that I had seen in 2008.
I went to the oval passing a grand
statue of a laird of Perth covered in moss, posing in a kind of Roman toga full
of self importance seemingly telling me that I couldn’t beat them.
There was a stage was set up and an
English black lad was yelling out to work up the crowd as the Commonwealth
baton took ages to turn up. A rock band sang, and I started to push all the
dark energy and revenge out of my mind, by simply thinking love. Love. Love
everyone and everything. Nothing matters but love and that is the answer. So
simple. I didn’t need the Gordons, nor the Murison Templars. Nor anything but
one thing just love. And it was here and everywhere always. Tears came to my
eyes.
Ben Travis charging forward for
independence.
Ben Travis was announced over the
loudspeaker system as carrying the baton of Scottish victory. The Gold
medallist in 1986 in badminton who beat England. Perth appeared to be dredging
the bottom of the barrel to find a gold anything. It wasn’t exactly a victory
of knights at Bannockburn carrying the sword of victory. Scotland had been
reduced to badminton to triumph over the English and that done in 1986. It was
as if the god of symbiology was having another laugh, using a Scotsman called
Travis, almost Travers, my mother’s English side of the family, to bring a
badminton victory to the Scots in Perth. The town I had stayed in with the
Hayes, a Gordon’s family just after Pamela suicided. The Gordons had tried to
put the wind up me through the police and I could sense them laughing at me and
not afraid at all. Their hypocritical pomposity upheld by the Scottish police
who if anything should have supported me getting rid of that whole element from
society for good. The fact was they were reduced to just being a museum anyway.
They were gone. Just some retired nobody officers who no one cared less about
anymore, wrapped up in their dead regiment’s glory like a mummy.
Soon Peter Graham would be dead
along with a horrible record of history of human atrocity and racial bigotry.
I felt extremely alone. I couldn’t
connect to any of the working class Scots at the royal baton carrying bash.
They reminded me exactly of the Australians I couldn’t connect to in Australia.
Almost no difference. Overweight, meateaters, drinkers, money grabbers, pimply
youth, and when I looked into their eyes I just saw death. Not quite death as
simply nothing there at all. No common thread. Their lives were that of
suburbia and work and family. We just had nothing in common but a language. None
of them would recognise their leader if they stumbled upon him. The kids were
arrogant and sneering dressed in the same punk gear as in Australia, with the
same tattoos, the same piercings, the same torn jeans and the same torn genes.
The middle aged were worn and wrinkled, haggard, angry and sad, many looked
more lonely than me. I stumbled upon an Indian stall with a Hindu couple
selling vegetarian samosas and she had the dot in the middle and when I stared
into their eyes I felt peace and love and not violence and aggression. Not
fear. Not greed. But the highest love.
I continued up the mall to the old
town passing a kiltmaker shop with a rather odd looking female African looking
steel dummy showing off a sort of lady’s kilt tartan long dress with a
revealing bodice with straps and a handbag in bright orange that looked like it
might contain a chastity belt underneath or possibly go with some Highland
S&M outfit, after all the tough lads were wearing dresses. The Gordons and
Flora MacDonald came to mind with Bonnie Prince Charlie dressed up in disguise
to escape the government troops, should I too don a dress to escape the government
forces and then I sauntered up to the newer Victorian part of the town, then
the dull twentieth century concrete socialism to Morrisons that looked like it
was in a huge crematorium. The café was closed, but I got a sandwich and
coffee. Then did my shopping after writing a bit on the computer. I finished
just as it closed with an angry Morrison on my heels. I lugged the shopping to
the college jogging up the hill to get the thoughts of revenge on the Gordons
out of my head. Did I hate them or was it simply another symbol. I had to be
more intelligent in my approach. More compassionate and less of a clown. I had
offered them humour to make a connection and they had rejected that. Either they
were humourless or afraid. Or stupid. Or there was some deeper connection to an
entire mentality that truly was a revolution and like my father to step across
that boundary may have been testing their sanity.
As indeed this whole thing was
testing mine.
I had to come back to the love that
encompassed Christ. To step back from all the warfare I had seen in the last
weeks so contrary to my path of peace.
I had discovered a lot about the
Murisons and Scottish history in a very short period of time. I had seen our
families connection to the Templars from the time of Robert the Bruce. I had
visited some of Scotland’s most precious memorials to nationalism. I had talked
to Scots about their history and their future. I had made bizarre connections
in Crieff to my own family and some masonic connection.
And as I got closer to the
devastating truth, the Gordons had interceded with fear and revenge, trying to
bring the police in to scare me away from Aberdeen. I suspected there had been
bad blood between the Murisons and Gordons and it had led to our clan moving
south. Perhaps even at the time of Bannockburn. And unwittingly my father may
have been trying to redress that rift through joining their regiment and it had
backfired upon himself and indirectly I was fall out from that.
Grenville was probably just a rather
stupid dull witted pawn in the cosmic relationship between the Templars and the
Gordons, who clearly had signed up with the English. But all this went beyond
race and beyond nationality. It went to questions of equality of ending class
distinction, of real freedom in economic means which the communists wanted to
achieve. Of ending the royal family.
He had used the police to shut me up
and Jesper was probably another stupid pawn who couldn’t see the bigger picture
of the horror he was involved in. But Graham really was the key. Because he had
had real power in the army and politically and he truly would have known the
Great Game and had knightly blood in him. And he clearly was sold to the
English as a lackey.
I got my washing which had been
taken out and someone had ripped my underpants elastic no doubt in anger. I
complained to the YHA. Nothing was a coincidence they probably did it the same
time the Gordons rang the police out of spite. I cooked up salmon, mushroom,
fresh peas with peaches in a cheese yogurt sauce with lettuce. Followed by a
peach, orange juice and then ginger tea and chocolate. It wasn’t bad for a
supermarket meal. The hostel was empty. It was just a flat in the university.
And I was missing the point.
I had to come back to Jesus Christ
and forgiveness.
I had to step back and take the
world a bit more seriously.
As the Scot aeronautic engineer on
the bus had said, Scottish history is one lost battle after another so the few
victories are celebrated very strongly. Whereas the English have no interest at
all in battles because they have won almost all of them. The English have no
great memorials celebrating victory over the Scots or almost anyone else
because there have been so many victories it would somehow become pointless and
most of them are not even located in England. I think that is why the English
are such apologists. They have ended up feeling bad at being so successful.
They have to sort of pat the others on the back and say we feel for you and
feel bad we kept on beating you, but really it simply was because you were so
barbaric and violent and uncivilised that we had to civilise you to avoid you
raiding us. Much I think like the Romans. Forced into an empire out of defence.
In fact mostly you were a drain on our coffers as every few years we had to
send up an army to pacify you. Judging by the heavy drinking and fighting still
going on in Scotland perhaps the English were still necessary.
Well the Gordons had got the police
to say they didn’t want me coming to their museum. So let the law prevail and I
wouldn’t go there. But I would take a better course. Humiliate them through the
press. It was time to contact the media in Aberdeen. And take them to their
knees. But first I needed to contact the Murisons here and to find that abbey
where the first Mwyrson had been recorded in human history. And it was in east
Perthshire.
I needed to find some allies in this
game. Enemies were easy to come by. A more delicate calculated approach was now
required to advance up from Perth. The Highlands had bought many a conqueror
turning their tail back to England. The deeper into Scotland the more dangerous
so the Romans had found, losing several legions eagles here against the Picts,
or blue painted faces.
Somehow money was the key. Walking
round the grand old hotels in Perth I realised how poverty stricken I was
relative to my peers.
I was been given opportunity to make
peace. I had seen that I could scare the hell out of even the Gordons so that
they pathetically ran to the skirts of a policewomen to hide behind. Yes, I did
feel contempt for these once great warriors. And the keyboard and computer
would be mightier than the sword and shield now. I had got the police to ask
them for a meeting. They had my contact details. They had been told that I was
simply joking and had no intention of breaking any laws. In fact deep in my
heart I felt some love for them.
But there was a deeper spiritual war
behind all this façade with the Gordons. Symptomatic of a moral collapse and of
a redundant military system that cost a fortune, destroyed countries and lost
wars very rapidly. The old ways just simply didn’t work against terrorism. An
altogether new approach was required through love and reconciliation and forgiveness.
Working with people rather than bastardising, vilifying, obscuring and
concealing to attain money. All of which the Gordons were experts at.
I had met a kind of Waterloo at
Perth University. Next stop was the Murisons either Charlie near Perth who
appeared to be not at home or Dundee to go to big business and away from the
military for a while and the heavy depression that carried with it.
But I now saw that the Gordons were
playing into my hands and had given me a huge boost by contacting the police. A
boost to go to the root cause of their hypocrisy. Before that I was willing to
drop the whole matter with a visit to the museum and a laughing apology about
the whole saga of my father and his will and time in the Gordons. But through
their stubborn stupid incapability of behaving like a decent human being, they
had irked me enough to meet their bluff to the core. And by that I mean the
root core of ideology based on monarchical feudalism.
FORWARD TO -
Dear Peter Graham,
I will cease making light of this matter. I have actually found it quite
amusing in a pathetic way. And your staff could have chosen to make peace and
enjoy the joke, apologised for their disgraceful treatment of myself and my
father by bringing charges against him when he was donating money to the
Gordons and did voluntary work for the museum intending to come there before he
died, but instead they have chosen to contact the police who I had a long chat
to and they were not unsympathetic to what I have experienced from your people.
I am afraid your attempts to get rid of me through this unscrupulous means are
going to come back on yourself in a very unpleasant way for you. Legally and by
publicity. I was a lawyer, am a qualified solicitor and have assisted quite a
few people in relation to criminal matters as a community lawyer. I have worked
in cooperation with the police over several criminal prosecutions in Australia
as well, some still ongoing. So I am only too happy to work with the Aberdeen
police in relation to this matter, including investigating possible criminal
breaches by yourselves of Scottish law.
I want to know what these charges against my father that you have
brought are. And I want to talk to you face to face about it. I want to know
what happened in both Borneo and Malaya in combat with my father. You were with
my father in part of those conflicts. Also in Kenya. I suspect strongly he was
bastardised by the Gordons and had PTSD after accidentally killing that
officer, Bobby Duff, which I strongly suspect only occurred because he was
being bastardised at the time by the said officer. What bloody fool would put a
20 year old first time in combat alone in an ambush. They should be up for
court marital not him. My father said that no signal was given to end the
ambush and that either they were negligent or it was further bastardisation by
Duff on my father. I would like to find out the reason they were singling him
out. Because he was absolutely terrified and it scarred him for the rest of his
life and destroyed two families. I have seen his confidential report from Lt
Col Napier and it shows all the signs of serious PTSD. Yet nothing was done to
help him. The emotional impact of his disorder led to divorce, suicides, gross
cruelty to his families and serious mental illness that destroyed both myself
and my brother’s law careers. Compensation really is in order.
I would very much like you to show this email to the Aberdeen Police so
they can make some judgement on yourself and enquire from you the reasons you
won’t disclose what my father is being charged with. I would have thought you
would have believed in natural justice, common law and basic human rights to
know what a dead person’s father is being investigated for criminal charges
for. Or is it all just made up to get rid of me so you didn’t have to help me
with a letter supporting my contesting his will? Is that the sort of dishonest
lengths your type goes to, to win? Would Alison like to hear about this?
Peter you obviously in some distorted way consider yourself Scottish though
you appear to live in England, were educated in England, brought up in England
and speak with an English accent. I wonder where your loyalties lie given you
gave the order to disband the Gordons. You were in charge of Scottish forces.
Obviously it wasn’t entirely your decision but you must have had a great deal
of influence. So why did you do it?
You are a pompous coward sir. Who cannot front up to your own hypocrisy.
You hide behind pathetic probably drunken deadbeat majors who have retired and
have nothing better to live for than being a figurehead for a dead regiment,
the likes of Grenville. And Jesper, a curator who has no real understanding of
the regiment or war because he never has actually experienced it. You show the
guts to meet up with me. Man to man. For a civilised discourse on my father and
the charges you have brought against him. He was your friend so why are you
investigating charging a deadman who you apparently liked, he called you often
enough even if you found it a pain in the ass?
I give you 48 hours and then I go to the media.
Rest assured I won’t enter your museum of glorification to something
disgraceful to our society, we should be celebrating love and peace which is
something Jesus Christ stood for, but clearly you don’t. We should be ashamed
of our barbaric violent past that requires us to kill other people largely over
territorial disputes and ownership of profitable businesses in foreign lands
that have grossly exploited poor people. The communists in Malaya were fighting
for a basic human equality, and a financial equality as well. They were not
going to tolerate being treated like third class dirt in their own country by a
foreign brute. Perhaps you should put yourself in their shoes if you have the
intellectual capacity to do so. Even these recent wars in the Middle East, what
have they achieved, after a year Iraq is falling to pieces with a far more
dangerous regime coming to power. Ten years of killing almost 100,000 Iraqis to
make things worse and more dangerous for the world. What a gross stupidity -
that more civilised Western countries like France and Germany refused to
participate in - because it was obviously all based on attaining oil.
There is a funny fact in life that people on the whole will put up with
a lot of inequality and a lot of oppression and do nothing. You have to treat
them incredibly badly before they actually take up arms and fight against an
established order.
That might tell you something about British Imperialism. Even Scotland
now.
I hope Scotland becomes not just independent but a republic and on top
of that, that it doesn’t close down these military museum anachronisms of the
past, but deliberately takes them over and manages them to show the truth. Sets
them up to show how disgraceful war is and how ashamed we should be of our
involvement in it, how it has brutalised and destroyed so many lives. How it
was used by a class elite that kept the poor in slums whilst they lived in
disgusting luxury to safeguard their business assets largely overseas following
similar techniques of oppression over there. How we should do our best to avoid
all wars and look down upon them. This is what Germany and Japan do in their
war museums.
If I got involved with Scottish government it will be the first thing on
the agenda.
I’ll do everything in my power now to disgrace you and the ugliness of
what you stand for in breach of human dignity.
Perhaps you need to live in real poverty for some time to experience
what your system created. To gain some empathy for the common people.
You are on the wrong side Peter. It is just a matter of time before my
ethics win. At Stirling Armed Forces day I talked to some Gordons. I was told
Gordon officers around Stirling didn’t want to march. I wonder why. Maybe
they’re just sick of a bad past. I met some Gordon soldiers and the gist I got
was the officers were cruel arrogant bastards. It has to change. It really has
to change.
And it will.
A formal letter of apology from you and a withdrawal of all purported charges
against my father and an explanation of what the investigation was about in
detail. An explanation of what happened in Malaya and Borneo. Transcripts of
the enquiry he was subjected to in Malaya. A formal apology from the regiment
for the bastardisation he was subjected to. An agreement for an enquiry into
bastardisation in the regiment across the board covering all ranks. An
agreement to assist in changing the armed forces to prevent and assist soldiers
with PTSD and to compensate them and their families for such injuries gained
serving their nation. A meeting with yourself formally apologising to me. If
this is done I will consider not going to the media nor bringing legal action
for compensation from the Gordons. Bringing spurious charges against someone on
no proper grounds or on the basis of covering up incompetence then trying to
intimidate me using the police to prevent further investigation by myself, as a
lawyer, I believe there is legal recourse for that and damages.
Please show this to the police. Because I may be doing so as well as
showing all the correspondence between myself and your establishment (not just
a selected variety) to explain why I sent those emails joking about your
treatment of myself and my father making allegories to Scottish nationalist
history. All jokes contain a grain of truth otherwise they wouldn’t be funny,
agreed. Given I am vegetarian mostly, practice yoga and Buddhist meditation,
try and avoid all violence including even killing mosquitoes, I don’t think it
is very likely I am going to act violently towards you. Reference to a lesson
Wallace style refers clearly to his egalitarianism being a commoner who fought
for freedom in a feudal society of Lords. He was killed, hung drawn and
quartered for it after being betrayed by Scots Lords to the English if you know
your history. There is no threat there. Reference to the horse whip was clearly
stated in connection with Christ in the temple attacking the gross hypocrisy
there and not a threat but a temptation to so behave given what you have put me
through. Challenging that idiot Grenville to a duel in Bannockburn on the 700th
for insulting my name by bringing up these ludicrous charges clearly was made
in jest mocking the whole pretentious class ridden nature of that dead
institution the Gordons that lived in a time when a duel would have been
perfectly legal for the insult that has occurred. Any court would reject out of
hand any alleged threat of violence coming from my emails. But by all means
take the matter further and make a greater cowardly fool of yourself. No doubt
we could have some sort of grand defamation action where you accuse me of
defamation and I do the same to you, and it could all go very public leading to
hopefully a royal commission on bastardisation in the armed forces. Unfortunately
that is exactly what is going on in Australia and the military is now being
forced to reinvestigate a whole mass of complaints that were disgracefully
covered up. And I mean disgracefully with complicity of higher command! The
public is no longer tolerating this sort of behaviour as you can see from the
Rolf Harris case. It is the tip of the iceberg and they are willing to look
back decades. You are the one that comes from an institution and a career that
kills people, not me. So don’t project your ugliness onto me. I became pacifist
due to the ugliness and cruelty I saw in my father. Lt Col Bryan Hayes son,
Jamie, turned into a criminal. Capt Martin Cruickshanks son turned into a
mercenary fighting for Croats in Serbia. How many other sons of the regiment
are casualties of its bastardisation? What are your sons doing Peter?
I heard you broke your leg. I wonder why?
I actually feel some love for you Peter, even the regiment, indirectly
as it comes through my father. I feel a deep sorrow for you that you simply got
it so wrong. The world is moving into a new era where there will be no wars.
And Al Qaeda is simply a karmic manifestation of our own fears and self hatred.
We create them in our mind. And they won’t exist when we stop fighting them.
Islam is all about brotherhood. The Knight Templars found this out and where
excommunicated for finding the truth. Jesus wasn’t god. God is within all of
us. And the surprise is that he is absolutely equally in all of us. No more or
less than in you than in me. No coincidence I have now found the Templar link
to the Murisons dating back to the Battle of Teba, which I doubt you have heard
of. Knight Templars are in my blood and my fathers.
Change sides Peter and join www.wna.org.au it is all about a world without war, where no armies exist, no weapons
to kill others, without class, where we are all equals. Before you die you
could achieve something to be really proud of and undo some of the damage you
have caused through the institution you have represented. The United Kingdom is
a feudal relic that most of the world now considers a joke who seems to
pathetically follow the United States into every stupid conflict on the planet.
That rather than question its own vices and exploitation of the third world
that has led to Islamic terrorism, it simply responds with more of the same
terrorism on an massive institutional scale. Including torture, killing
civilians, indiscriminate bombing, and destroying nations. When you truly
understand it is all entirely within yourself you will join. I am sorry but I
cannot waste any further of my precious time on this fairly inconsequential
matter when I have meetings with people in relation to Scottish independence
and furthering WNA worldwide. Nevertheless I thank you for making me take some
action to bring about a change in the armed forces that will have consequential
benefits for society and inspiring me now to take much more forceful steps
against you and for introducing me to the Scottish constabulary who if they
want to see a better world should support me.
Regards,
James
PS – 48 hours to get back to me or I will be taking further legal and
media action. We need to change our mentality for the better. I am sure you
agree. I haven’t come all the way from Australia for no reason. I’ll be in
Aberdeen soon to talk to the media there. And maybe we can all come together
for a chat in the relic of evil showing how brutal and disgraceful mankind is
and to discuss its redevelopment opposing war and exposing the brutality in the
armed forces on its own kind. Maybe an exhibition on my father and PTSD,
including your attempt to bring charges against him now. The Gordons Museum. I
will most enjoy that. Red carpet and staff car meeting me with the complete capitulation
of the Gordons written on parchment paper signed by yourself with a regimental seal
on it.
I was willing to be a gentleman over this whole issue, but one has to be
able to meet a gentlemen in order to make any progress in behaving like a
gentlemen. And I leave that in your hands to make a decision as to what you
really are.
So far on my visit to Scotland I have not been impressed by what I have
seen. The people lack spirit, there is a feeling of oppression that is very
subtle, I see a lot of poverty and unemployment and a lot of violence and
alcohol abuse. They don’t look happy. They look worn out. Bannockburn Live
struggled to sell tickets and the people there showed little patriotism and
seemed afraid to sing out for Scotland. The young people seem aimless and
antisocial, many of them tattooed, pierced and overweight. In Edinburgh punk
youth outside the university were hugging and kissing each other to rock music
– but to the same sex. In Stirling on the street in the middle of the town
during the day a middle aged man provoked by a young man whilst with his wife
laid into him with punches. A taxi driver there attempted to run me over
crossing the road shouting abuse at me. In Crieff whilst on the bus a hoodlum
pierced man with a Mohawk started abusing and threatening to knife his female
partner. I thought Australia was bad and I have only been here two weeks. They
seem to have lost their identity as a nation and are instead resorting to their
tribal savage roots now, too afraid to stand on their own feet. There is a
mentality of seeking a handout from a bigger state rather than being proud and
entrepreneurial. And that is probably generational instutionalisation by the
Monarchy and disempowerment by an English parliament ruled by a welfare state.
There is just a lack of inspiration here and I do fear that they will not stand
on their own feet come the referendum because it will mean sacrifice and hard
work. I have a feeling that they are too used to a handout and will lose as a
result. The pound appears overvalued and the costs people charge are not
commensurate with their wages. Elderly people were more concerned about their
superannuation and higher taxes under an independent country than any concern
for being independent and the advantages of taking individual responsibility.
Let’s face it the entire western world is subject to this moral collapse
because it is led by a dead religion that is no longer relevant to its youth.
And that is why the Islamic world sees us as evil. And that is why a new religion
is required and a new morality – one that unites all the religions and science
and therefore is the final truth. That is what www.wna.org.au is all about. Offering a life raft to a violent, selfish, greedy species
that is struggling to look after itself. A system that people like you have so
clearly failed to be a role model to the youth and they have rejected what you
stand for – actually for a very good reason which no doubt God is trying to
give a message to you in a polite a way as you might be capable of
understanding through me.
6/7
I got up late feeling beaten up and
depressed. The students here were on a dig and archaeological students. I
didn’t find out what they were digging up but I was sure it coincided with what
I was going through.
Scone castle towers with a tin deer.
I didn’t get out till late and after
chatting to the lady managing the hostel I was off on the bus to Scone Palace.
I got there just before it closed. Paid P11.50 and rushed in for my coronation
on the Scone of Destiny. The palace was still open and a perturbed elderly
woman on the door let me in staring at me like I was a pretender trying to get
in to the palace.
Entering Scone Palace
Guides directed me round telling me
of the virtues of Scone and the Viscount, Earl of Mansfield, as chief justice
of England and his attempts to free slaves and look after a half caste
illegitimate daughter of a son in law, Lindsey from Inverness, who was
consistently unfaithful to his Murray wife. A rear Admiral in America about the
time of the Independence War. The building was Gothic Revival 1800s. Not that
large. Queen Victoria had stayed there. And it contained the coronation chair
used by the Scots Kings and the current monarchs. It was a plain wooden affair.
Ivory statues, papier mache vases and jugs, a huge stuffed bear, paintings of
George III and his attractive German wife Charlotte. Close friends of the earl.
The current earl was very sick and dying. I began to understand why later.
I was rushed through my coronation
and tossed out in front of the Gothic chapel mausoleum to the Murrays after a
quick video on the history of Scone. At about 6 pm I walked out urinating in
the bushes and being surprised by some tourist in the castle grounds. I took a
lane to Scone village which had been rebuilt by the Earl in late 1700s because
the villagers lived in sight of the palace and smelt nasty. He had the entire
village knocked down and moved.
I passed through a wood where a dead
young deer lay by the roadside reminding me of the Ramayana. Scone was modern
and ugly.
I picked up a bus to Perth, then
walked across the beautiful 1770s bridge over the Tay lined with history,
spires and Gothic facades, Georgian and Victorian architecture and headed to
Starbucks for chocolate cake amongst the empty medieval mall. The first bridge
had collapsed in a storm not long after it was built and it took about another
50 or so years before they got it right.
The sun had come out and the flags
of all nationalities were up on the council chambers building – another classical
affair.
I arrived late at the YHA, got some
dinner and fell asleep after finally ringing Charles Murison in his farm south
of Perth, it turned out. He couldn’t meet with me due to being late with
shearing his sheep due to bad weather. He said come back in two weeks. I told
him about my conflict with John and he said to see Betty in Alyth way. I got
the feeling he was totally disinterested in Murison history and more concerned
about his sheep. Certainly commented that religion was not in the Murisons and
John was something of an enigma who he hadn’t met and had played his didgeridoo
in Edinburgh busking.
7/7
I woke very depressed. Got up late
and packed everything up, had a quick breakfast and took my stuff to the
manager. Headed to Huntingtower castle which I got in for free being historic
Scotland member. A large young English girl reminding me of Dawn French greeted
me with that gushing country English what only can be described as love and
sympathy. My ankle was hurting and I was in a bad mood caused by the Gordons.
They had successfully put the wind up me. And I couldn’t enjoy sightseeing as a
result. The castle was in ruins and very old dating to 1100 at least. Rough
stone work with towers and many of the floors had rotted away. Some of the
murals could just be made out, the place was ghostly if not full of bats and
vampires. A movie could be made there. The Earl of Ruthven had lived here and
upset King James VI as a 16 year old, keeping him prisoner here for 10 months
in order to keep him away from Catholic Earl Lennox?. The reformation was in
full swing and Ruthven had converted to Protestantism. James after he was
released had the earl beheaded. Not long after that a relatively unknown Murray
somehow warned the king that the Ruthven family was plotting to kill him and
the king stripped them of everything and gave their lands to Murray making him
Viscount Stromway. The plot may have been fabricated by Murray to get their
lands.
There was a twin tower where one of
the earl’s daughters had across it leapt to escape her mother finding her in bed
with a guest, then eloped with him. It was called the Maiden’s Leap. I
accidentally picked up a wedding brochure as I left and the girl pointed it
out. ‘Can you leap between the towers during the reception’ I asked. The place
had been deserted by the Murrays for plusher quarters at Scone ending up as
sleeping quarters for a cotton mill in Dickensian Scotland and finally falling
into ruin.
I used googlemaps to get buses to
Scone castle. The same woman was on the door, tight lipped and almost shaking
her head seeing me again. I had negotiated getting in for free the next day as
I had come so late. I got out my camera and she rushed in telling me I couldn’t
photograph. A man like Gordon in Upstairs Downstairs showed me round and I
asked a lot of questions about the history having found the underhand manner
the Murrays had obtained the place from the Ruthvens. And it dawned on me that
the current earl was so sick due to this karma. And he had to make amends for
that dishonesty to leave his body in peace. Had to make peace with the Ruthven
clan who had been reduced to pauper commoners. James had burst into tears when
they arrested him. Murray had been the kings guard.
How the Murisons fitted into this I
was yet to find out. But I was sure there would be a connection.
Inside Scone Palace, a surreptitious
photo of the bear and elephant tasks in the trophy hall full of French antiques.
Gordon look alike took me to show me
the Dido slave display and the first earl’s great egalitarianism when up popped
the current viscount’s wife showing some upper crusts with Oxford accents
around. She was a touch horsy and dressed very casually with the usual
aristocratic country English public school accent, the family was educated in
Eton. I was about to ask her if she knew about the bastardisation in the Gordon
Highlanders, but the guide hushed me to one side indicating her ladyships
presence was to be respected. She showed
her guests the Dido display indicating how a new movie called Belle had been
made about her and her liberal family ancestor. I was wondering if she should
invite round Obama to the display to tell him how a mulatto niece was treated
by the Earl. She was married off to a French steward in London and given P500
and P30 a year. She died aged 43. Kenwood estate was where the earl lived in
London.
Macbeth was a nice guy who had
killed Duncan in a battle not by deceit – the signs informed as they outlined
the kings of Scotland coronated here. And I retired for my packed lunch in the
garden with thermos tea. I returned to the house to examine the rest and was
followed round as if I was casing the joint. Perhaps I was about to have the
Murrays arrested for treason for plotting against the Queen and thrown into
poverty and myself take over Scone for revealing the plot and saving the Queen
as her royal guard.
Anything is possible.
The chapel with the earl in prayer
for his sins.
Gordon the butler look alike booted
me out, I had already been told not to take photos. I was on the last panel
reading about how the abbey had been burnt down by a protestant mob after
listening to John Knox preach in Dundee. Then the Ruthvens had built a castle.
And the rest is history.
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Scone’s stone was meant to have come
from Jerusalem via Ireland, but the one taken to Westminster and now in
Edinburgh was hewn here some said by locals just before Edward turned up and
tests proved this to be so. I made a brief prayer in the chapel for peace.
Walked out ankle hurting contemplating hitching a lift. The last bus had gone
and I had to walk to the city. At the YHA the manager was concerned if I had a
place to stay yet wouldn’t let me back in the hostel flat to get my salmon from
the feezer. I had to get her to collect it. I was in a rush to get the next bus
to the city, then a bus to Dundee. Megabus express where I met a collection of
dregs all in one seat so I had to share and all the women had bags across their
spare seats.
