THE NEW RELIGION QUEEN MOTHER WORSHIP
FOR IT IS SHE
By David Icke
I was watching - briefly, because of a delicate stomach - part of the
ceremony of worship to the Queen Mother at St Paul's Cathedral in the
Illuminati heartland, the City of London, to celebrate the 100th
birthday of
the lady that Princess Diana used to call "evil."
The Mirror
Of all the people in all the world who have an image most at odds with
reality, the "Nation's Grandmother" is the most glaring and grotesque
example. Yet now in the UK we are being treated on live television to
an orgy
of sycophantic rear-end licking in which everyone from newspaper
comment
writers to Church of England bishops compete for the ancient title of
the
Order of the Brown Nose in the Queen's next Honours List. And here I
was
thinking that Christianity condemned the worship of false idols.
Anyway, to add to some balance to this unquestioning goo and treacle
pouring
from the mouths of the sycophants in honour of their deity, the
Grandmother
Goddess, here is a comment article from a journalist on Britain's
Daily
Mirror newspaper who, in the spirit of this website, goes against the
prevailing wind. Or, in this case, hurricane.
It is a comment on the published opinions of former Northern Ireland
Secretary, Mo Mowlam, about the money wasted on the British Royal
Family, the
reptilian shape-shifters known as the House of Windsor or "The Firm".
She was
lambasted by her colleagues in Tony Blair's fawning, cap-touching,
Labour
government of "the people". For those from other parts of the world,
Bobby
Charlton is a former England soccer player, famous for having little
hair,
and James Whitaker is a sycophantic "Royal" reporter. Mo Mowlam lost
her hair
while having treatment for cancer, thus the comment at the start.
Thursday, June 29, 2000
Article by Brian Reade
"Queen Mo is the one for me"
I've been in love with Mo Mowlam since I introduced her to Sir Booby
Charlton
and her first words were: "Thank God there's someone in the room with
less
hair than me."
She is a true star who shames the many gutless, careerist male
colleagues who
have crawled higher up the greasy Cabinet pole than her, and now knife
her in
the back because they fear her "controversial" view on the Royals
threatens
their own grip on a regal lifestyle.
Meanwhile, millions of ordinary people agree with her every word,
which is
why she is the most popular politician in Britain.
New Labour's timidity is laughable. They doff their caps at a family
who
despise their very existence. Who invite them round to their palaces
for tea
because they have to, then scald the cups and de-louse the couch after
the
butler has allowed members of the People's Party to crawl out
backwards.
And what was Mo's crime? To argue that we adhere to the Royals' desire
to
modernise? To agree to give them a semi, a B&Q patio set and a
microwave if
they give us their palaces, servants and hunting lodges?
Heresy
No, her real crime was to mention such heresy at a time when we are
all
expected to bow, scrape and wipe away tears of admiration for The
Mother Of
All Earthly Demi-Gods, the Queen Mum.
She is The Firm's equivalent of a Royal Flush. The hand they play when
they
need to convince us they stand for compassion, tradition and
resilience in a
rapidly-changing world.
Well, I've always seen the old girl as a huge dodo around the nation's
neck,
whose genius for charming the strength from our knees keeps us locked
in a
curtseying, forelock-tugging, medieval timewarp.
So, for those who think like me but are too timid to point out her
faults
over the next month, as the nauseating birthday orgy gets into full
swing,
here are a few ounces of blasphemous Semtex to be used whenever you
hear
someone ask Gawd to bless'er.
She was the first It Girl. A massive social climber. As Mrs. Merton
might
have put it had she been around in the Twenties: "So, Miss Bowes-Lyon,
what
first attracted the most beautiful society woman of her day to the
shy,
stammering, unemployable, gormless George Formby-lookalike, son of the
King?
She is a right-wing extremist who worshipped Margaret Thatcher, would
bring
back hanging and stop immigration. She agreed with apartheid and
still
refuses to call Zimbabwe anything but Rhodesia.
She deems any wealthy person who votes Labour "a traitor". She has a
fleet of
expensive cars, a regiment of servants, a castle in northern Scotland
she
visits once a year yet staffs all year round, and runs up an overdraft
that
would shamed Fergie at her worst.
Stunts
She was the first Liz Hurley. Those legendary photo-opportunities in
the East
End, where she wore a different designer frock for the cameras after
every
visit by the Luftwaffe, were nothing but cheap PR stunts.
She gave birth to the most pointless drain on the public purse.
Princess
Margaret, and encouraged the Queen to marry the queasiest thing to
come out
of Greece since the kebab, Prince Philip.
She has a deeply-held belief that her family has a divine right to
free-load
in privacy, which was why she opposed the opening up of Buckingham
Palace to
the public, kicked up hell when they let ministers use the Royal Train
and
went apoplectic when the Queen agreed to pay tax.
She saw Diana as a second Wallis Simpson and urged The Firm to dump
her
before she exposed the whole bloody sham for what it was.
And she cleverly encourages her image as a typically resilient British
pensioner who has struggled through the adversities of a turbulent
century,
even though she has never made a cup of tea or opened a curtain in 100
years
of extreme privilege. Our grandmas lived a life of hardship, she has
lived
the life of Reilly.
And because she enchants us so brilliantly by playing the role of our
favourite gin-supping aunt, we fall for her like smitten teenagers.
Which
makes her the most dangerous Royal, the most dangerous "force of
conservatism", and therefore the most dangerous woman in Britain.
Sorry, I'll have to leave it there because James Whitaker is at the
door,
clutching his grouse rifle. ~
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