Ed Lines

I WANT an inquiry. Judge-led, with an army of barristers. Should be able to get it wrapped up inside a couple of years at a cost of a couple of million quid.

An inquiry over what exactly? Let’s see … oh yeah, back in the spring of 1969 Mr Cooper, the teacher of class 4A at St Paulinus Junior School, banned me from the annual summer trip.

Mr Cooper told our headteacher Sister Leonardine (and I still remember it), “I’m not chasing this little sod all over the Yorkshire Dales every time he runs away”.

To this day a dagger in my soul. There must be some compo in that – if not from the education authority, the Catholic church. I just need one of those soppy human rights judges in the chair. Lubbly jubbly, loadsamoney.

There might even have been a clip round the lug ‘ole or a leather strap across the backside – infringed my human rights. Scarred me for life. Long-term psychological damage and an enduring pathological fear of corporal punishment. (Inhibited my sex life, that. Another claim!)

What’s that you say? Mr Cooper had me bang to rights – I was a nightmare?

So? If the striking miners at Orgeave can stop the world and demand that we rewrite history after 30-odd years, why not everyone?

Do any of you recall the Saville Inquiry into the Bloody Sunday massacre in Derry? It took 12 years, cost a staggering £400m, and the only tangible outcome was an apology from Prime Minister David Cameron.

Both sides still disagree with the various versions of what happened. No meaningful healing there, then. Lots of rich lawyers though.

I wonder if the 13 victims’ families would have rather walked with compo of five million each? It would have been quicker and cheaper.

How about the Chilcot Inquiry into the Iraq War? A miserly seven years and under £15 million that one – bargain. But still no sign of Tony Blair being led away in handcuffs, so what was the point exactly?

What we’ve seen this week, with howls of protest at Home Secretary Amber Rudd’s refusal to order a Bloody Sunday-type inquiry over the so-called 1984 Battle of Orgreave between mining pickets and police, is a perfect example of political hypocrisy hand in hand with the compensation industry.

Labour MPs and peers have been falling out of the woodwork to condemn Ms Rudd’s decision to tell the Orgreave whingers to put a sock in it. Hold on. We had a Labour government from 1997 to 2010 – why didn’t THEY call an inquiry?

At least then Margaret Thatcher and South Yorks Chief Constable Peter Wright were still alive to shed light on the circumstances.

It’s difficult to picture this as anything more than a cynical attempt to drive stakes through their cold corpses, which I would have less of a problem with if it involved putting one through the regrettably still alive and kicking Arthur Scargill.

Orgreave supporters are trying to draw a line between the behaviour of police then and what happened at Hillsborough five years later. How dare they?

The Hillsborough Inquests into the 96 Liverpool fans unlawfully killed in 1989 were vastly different. Those hearings were part of a legitimate judicial process.

Those men, women and children went to watch a football match, that’s all.

Arthur Scargill and his NUM executive manipulated and militarised honest, hard working miners in a de facto attempt to bring down the government. It was bordering on civil war.

The Orgreave police were heavy-handed, brutal? No doubt, but I might have lashed out if darts and bricks were raining down on me.

It was a shameful episode? I’ll buy that too. But you know what, no pickets went to jail and no-one died.

Also, we live in a different age. Teachers don’t leather kids, soldiers don’t open fire on civilians and police don’t launch cavalry charges.

The only thing the same is the voracious legal industry and its appetite for exploiting any imagined cause, however lost in the dim and distant past.

We’ll start making real progress when we find a way to starve those vultures out of existence.

IF ANYONE’S organising a bus to go protest in Parliament Square, put my name down. The decision of Lord Chief Justice Roger Thomas to force the Brexit vote to be ratified by Parliament is an outrage. A scandal.

It’s also a stitch-up of self interest, by a judge who is a craven Europhile banging his own drum. Roger Thomas is a founding member of the European Law Institute, a group dedicated to promoting European legal integration. Fancy that, eh?

This needs to go to the Appeal and if necessary Supreme Court for slapping down as soon as possible. And if the self-interested judges all follow their own interests instead of the people’s will, then Parliament should rubber stamp the referendum result without hesitation.

If they don’t, it will be more than a ‘protest’ in Parliament Square. And I can promise you I’ll be there.

IF EVER I’m feeling really down in the dumps, I can usually cheer myself up by picking up a discarded copy of The Guardian.

I would never buy one, heaven forfend. What, and undermine their mission to burn up all the riches of the Scott Trust that subsidise the loss-making newspaper?

The Guardian is a snobby version of the Socialist Worker. It’s dwindling hardcore of readers are equally away with the fairies, but smarmily proud of how well they’ve done. If not quite  all Champagne Charlies,  then Prosecco Pandoras.

Expert on all of Britain’s social ills, but too well-to-do to mix with the scrotes they pontificate about – people like we neanderthal bigots who dared vote for Brexit.

The Grauniad was at it this week, basically kicking itself (the white middle class – they don’t ‘do’ irony) for abandoning the back-to-back terraces that have become Muslim enclaves.

A fashionable idiot by the name of Prof Ted Cantle authored a report about community cohesion after the race riots of 2001. Fifteen years on it is clear that if nothing else, he can at least count. In some areas the white British population has halved, he declares!

Well slap my thigh, go to the foot of our stairs and dress me in a burka!

Prof Cantle stops short of saying white folks are running down the garden path, hands in the air screaming “the Muslims are coming! The Muslims are coming!” because, after all, this is The Guardian we’re talking about. Far too polite.

Instead, he suggests ‘we’ haven’t tried hard enough to encourage the white middle class that “mixed communities are more exciting places with more going on”.

Hmm. Suppose you wouldn’t have to go far for a baggie of grass or a wrap of smack. Might get fed up of the call to prayer at 1am though. And you can forget about clinking a glass of sherry with the neighbours at Christmas, or singing carols round the tree.

The thing is, it’s always ‘us’ with people like Cantle and the Guardian, isn’t it? No consideration that the ‘other’ half of the equation might be quite happy elbowing everyone else out.

I’ve yet to hear them name an ultra-conservative Muslim community that lives harmoniously in and amongst anyone – and especially not wine-drinking liberal luvvies who read The Guardian.

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