England’s Shame
The enemy within.
March 11, 2026
Reprinted from Frontpage Magazine
Author’s note: The following shocking passage appeared in the Daily Telegraph in July 2025:
On the anniversary of 7/7, I asked someone who was operationally very senior in counter terrorism, both nationally and internationally: “How bad is the Islamist threat today compared to July 2005?”
“The truth is the threat has grown inexorably,” he replied. “Perversely, the reason why there are no real terror attacks now is because we are better at monitoring them since the London attack, but also because they are getting what they want. We are where they want us to be. We have their religion enshrined outside of UK law and their community leaders have got the police under control. They are wily; when they see do-gooders they walk all over them. Like the scorpion and the frog it is what they do. The numbers are now so huge that our own government has sleepwalked into a nightmare of extraordinary proportions. They are building while we are continually lying to ourselves.”
My poem below is a reflection on this dire state of affairs in England:
Oh woe is England now the foe is here
And threatens all our green and pleasant land.
That foe whose name we never name from fear
Arrives each day on Kent and Sussex sand.
That foe that once we knew to keep at bay;
Whose threat to all we were we understood,
We welcome now, inviting him to stay
In fancy hotels in the neighbourhood.
That foe who comes without a piece of paper,
Or document that tells you where he’s from,
Then plots to send your pieces to your Maker
As never does he come without a bomb.
That foe that sees our girls as easy meat,
And anyone alive as his to kill,
Is next on benefits across the street
Whilst those he wants to slaughter foot the bill.
That foe who’s never short of cutlery
As always carries with him copious knives
Is shortly after housed in luxury
Together with his kids and copious wives.
That foe that claims he’s just a hapless victim
While sizing up your unprotected throat,
And even as you dare not contradict him
Another ten are scrambling off the boat.
That foe who’ll always stand for integration,
And multicultural mantras will repeat,
Yet really means your kind’s annihilation
As always it’s for him a one-way street.
That foe accusing you of what he’s guilty,
For pleasure turning truth upon its head,
Who takes what’s good and pure and makes it filthy
And substitutes perversity instead.
That foe that kills a child and calls it honour
And claims to void some family disgrace,
Yet works such loathsome wickedness upon her
As never could a victim more debase. (1a) (1b)
That foe who plies a girl with drugs and booze,
Assaulting her to make her more compliant;
Then, when so terrified she can’t refuse,
Who loans her out to any paying client. (2)
That foe whose natural bent is brutal crime,
Corruption, cruelty, heinousness and vice, (3)
Who watches in the dark and bides his time
Though always ready offering you advice.
That foe whose jealous creed despises you,
But also has him carefully hide his hand,
Whose cunning constantly surprises you
As quite beyond your power to understand.
That foe that understands you, though, completely;
Knows where you’re coming from and what you think;
Who’s studied you his whole career discreetly;
Who’s mapped your every weakness, every chink.
That foe who knows your mind and got your measure;
Knows where your buttons are and which to press;
Knows all about those principles you treasure:
The empathy and fairness you profess.
That foe pretending he’s the same as you
And only fighting just to get what’s fair,
Who mines your buried hate for you-know-who
To get you to delude yourself you care.
That foe that sneers behind your back he hates you,
Then, smiling sweetly, offers you his hand,
Who’s thinking all the while of what awaits you
That now he’s got you where he’s always planned.
That foe who takes his orders from the Devil,
Whose natural home is deep beneath the ground,
Delighting in his secret world to revel
Where cruelty and death alone abound.
That foe observing you inside your head,
In hiding in your thoughts since time began,
To God and every kind of kindness dead,
Destroying where he goes and where he can.
That foe most wretched in his lifeless world,
Not caring whether killing or being killed:
A vortex of malignant envy whirled;
A hollowness that never could be filled.
That foe who knows himself as vile and worthless,
As never able to create or build;
Who watches others, envious and mirthless,
And only with their deaths can be fulfilled.
That foe that hates himself as much as you,
For all of him is hatred and despair;
But most of all he hates the hated Jew
Whose faithfulness to God he cannot bear.
That shapeless thing that rides the endless night,
Possessed of every demon, jinn and spell;
That bane upon humanity, that blight,
That creature from the blackest bowels of Hell!
That foe you dare not ever criticise
Unless you want policemen at your door;
So better not believe your lying eyes
And just forget why England fought the War.
But if you do, you’re just another fool
With hosts of killers hot upon your heels,
Regardless whether publisher’s or school, (4) (5)
Unpitying and dead to all appeals.
For even though a few obscure cartoons,
Or clever novel few will ever read,
Some devilish character from Looney Tunes
Will come for you, commanded by that creed. (6)
In spite of all, though, no one says a word,
Or notes how on our souls the fear impacts
When children’s voices need to go unheard (7a) (7b) (7c)
Lest God forbid we’re forced to face the facts.
A horrid fear to which we can’t admit
Or realise our world has gone awry;
Instead, we find that all must now submit
And better not to ask the reason why.
A primal fear whose name is never spoken,
Depriving us of freedom’s air to breathe,
That makes us sad and feel our country’s broken (8)
And all that’s left for us is just to grieve.
A constant fear that makes us sick with worry
Lest overheard expressing what we feel,
Then carted off to prison in a hurry,
Abandoned there to rot with no appeal. (9a) (9b)
And so we’re taught it’s all our country’s fault,
And every night the lies are on the news;
And then there’s that demonic somersault:
It’s all because of those infernal Jews! (10a) (10b)
Or else we’re told that murderous attacks
Are merely part of modern city life; (11)
So not to worry then about those packs
When travelling on the train with kids and wife.
Or maybe it’s just really mental illness; (10a)
And maybe also, too, a broken heart; (12)
And maybe we should beg his kind forgiveness
Before he blows the rest of us apart!
Yes, all we have to do is make him love us,
Embracing him with self-abasing arms,
Acknowledging his rightful place above us
With all his backward tribalistic charms.
But is this not a dismal servitude,
This crass denial in which we’re sinking fast?
This cowardly inglorious dhimmitude
Which shames and shames and shames our English past?
A past to make an ancient nation proud:
A thousand years of warlike triumphs unfurled:
A tale of giants, battered but unbowed,
Of lions who stood defiant against the world.
A tale of heroes battling every tyrant
Within these storied shores and far abroad;
Of leadership refusing to be silent,
Prepared to draw again the English sword.
A nation rich with proud nobility
Whose destiny was framed in Christian goodness,
The spread of natural rights and liberty,
And people who heroically pursued this..
When was it then that some of us forgot
What England was and what we English were
That now this crop of politicians plot
And to the foe of all we are defer?
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References:
(1a) https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-
(1b) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
(2) https://www.facebook.com/
(5) https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-
(6) https://www.telegraph.co.uk/
(7a) https://www.gov.uk/government/
(7b) https://www.facebook.com/
(7c) https://www.telegraph.co.uk/
(8) In a fashion characteristic of the denial and deflection ever present in the UK, in a remarkable passage, having suggested the problem was due to “American capital”, the writer links to an article about Muslim immigration:
In short, American capital has made all of us rich, but it has also made us duplicates of the US. I’m convinced that many Britons are desperately unhappy, even mentally ill, because they don’t feel like themselves anymore.
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/
This is the linked article:
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/
(9a) https://www.judiciary.uk/wp-
(9b) https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/
(10a) https://www.commentary.org/
(12) https://www.telegraph.co.uk/
An earlier version of this poem was published in New English Review.
The poem is from the author’s unpublished work, The Bus Poems: A Tale of the Devil. His book of whimsical verse, A Chocolate Box Menagerie, is published by New English Review Press.
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