Ed Lines - December 8, 2017

MANY of you will be familiar with names like Martyn Bolt (councillor of the Mirfield persuasion), Mark Eastwood (currently busy fighting green belt plans at Chidswell) and perhaps local cricket stalwart and prominent, public spirited citizens Colin Fretwell and his good lady wife Bev.

Their names pop up in The Press from time to time. They are all people who care deeply and endeavour often for good causes within this oft-downtrodden North Kirklees community of ours.

Oh that every resident of the Borough should have given as much to caring and campaigning for the district as they – and other goodly people like them.

Be not fooled, however! Bolt, Eastwood, the Fretwells and friends, they are Satan’s spawn!

Beneath those bland brown brogues (or in Bev’s case snazzy high heels) there are probably cloven hooves.

Devils incarnate, the lot of them. 

At least they are if you take a blind bit of notice of the incredibly disappointing Dewsbury and Mirfield MP Paula Sherriff, and the bottom-dwelling pond life that inhabits large tracts of social media (when it’s not raising a clenched fist and football-chanting “Oh, Je-re-my Cor-bynnnn, Oh Je-re-my Cor-bynnnn!”)

It’s an old saying, “if they had brains they’d be dangerous”. This lot don’t, but they still are – dangerous that is.

The cardinal sin of Bolty, Easty and the Fretties is not just that they are dedicated members of the local Conservative association – though the Corbyn knuckle-draggers would happily see them lynched for that alone – but that they have apparently insulted the memory of those thousands of innocent miners who were massacred in cold blood by Maggie Thatcher’s stormtroopers.

As reported on page one of today’s paper, the Dewsbury County Conservative Association booked to have its annual dinner at the National Coal Mining Museum in Flockton. 

To the ever-offended left, this is tantamount to dressing up as Jimmy Savile at a school fancy dress party.

What’s more – shock, horror! – the event is just days after some spurious date marking a 30-somethingth anniversary of what, let’s face it, was a year of anniversaries of this, that or t’other.

Is it an anniversary of the great Orgreave face-off? Of the strike starting – or the strike ending? Of the Great Leader Arthur Scargill siphoning off some more miners’ money on the QT?

Or is it the anniversary of taxi driver David Wilkie’s murder? The Welshman was killed by two striking miners who threw a concrete block from a bridge onto his car. Or  the anniversary of the baseball bat hammering of Michael Fletcher by a masked gang, as his pregnant wife cowered in terror?

I mischievously referenced the “thousands” Maggie killed earlier. It’s a bit of an exaggeration. Two other men died, one an NUM man in a fight with a non-striker, the other a picket crushed accidentally by a truck.

The miners’ strike was a national tragedy however, absolutely. You won’t find me defending Thatcher – or the self-enriching hypocrite Scargill either. But this wasn’t the Peterloo Massacre, much less Bloody Sunday. It was nearly 34 years ago, for goodness sake. 

I shook my head at a Facebook rant of a trainee journalist I once employed (he was one of those who didn’t ‘make it’ in the profession).

“I’ll be speaking to friends within the Labour party!” he frothed. “This is getting stopped.” My, but he has more influence than I imagined, for a petty functionary in a Labour council.

But here’s the thing – this class warrior probably hadn’t had his first birthday when Arthur Scargill decided he was the man to bring Thatcher (and the country) to their knees.

That pup probably couldn’t light a coal fire, let alone dig it from the ground. Sorry sonny Jim, in my book, you haven’t earned the right.

The National Coal Mining Museum is a public venue that needs to earn money to pay its way – and that includes conferences and functions. So no, the local Conservative Association wasn’t figuratively urinating on the empty husks of abandoned mining villages, it was financially supporting a  worthy local business.

The cheap politicising of this by the town’s MP is unworthy, divisive and Paula Sherriff should be ashamed. She’s joined the bully boys in coercing caterers Asparagus Green into running scared and cancelling the event – so please, all sensible people out there, boycott this company. 

We can’t really expect better from the social media plankton, but from an MP? Well, I guess once they sell their souls to “oh, Je-re-my Cor-bynnn’, they’ll all plumb depths the old Caphouse pit couldn’t match.

So well done Paula. What a blow you’ve struck for social cohesion. And I hope you’re proud of how much money you’ve helped cost a needy local charity.

I certainly won’t patronise the place again – and I hope other people follow suit.

Oh, and for these Marxist zealots for whom ‘democracy’ is a pick and choose confection – the vote to strike among miners asked in January 1982 was 45%. By October it was 39%, where it still was by March ’83. 

When it came time to essentially declare war on the government, Scargill didn’t bother calling a strike ballot.

Coming soon – Remain snowflakes call for Theresa May to resign after eating a baguette on the anniversary of Waterloo...

I HAD an image of Coun Paul Kane in a poorhouse, a la Oliver Twist, when reading about Kirklees planners turning down Mirfield businessman Darren Smith’s project to build 70 much-needed OAP flats.

“Please sir, can I have more.” 

I always thought Paul had a bit more about him, even as a Labour man, but it seems not.

Politicians would hate to admit in so many words, but the local builder – who has done more positive things in Mirfield than Dewsbury’s nine Labour members have amassed in all their years – just didn’t offer the Council a big enough ‘bribe’. 

That’s basically the bottom line on planning councillors deferring an ambitious plan which could enrich the neighbourhood.

The fact that it would also, obviously, enrich the developer (despite all the jobs and local wealth it would create) is the jealous sub-text to these people.

WHAT a coincidence. Within hours of the report by David Anderson QC laying bare the failings of MI5 and security forces over the Manchester Arena bombing, the very same chaps announce they have “foiled a plot to assassinate Prime Minister Theresa May”.

There’s nothing particularly funny about terrorism, but I reckon the thought must have fleetingly crossed the minds of politicians from Belfast to London to Brussels, that they wished MI5 had let Maa’imur Zakariah Rahman get on with it.

Someone or something needs to put Mrs May out of hers and our political misery. Her pathetic efforts to hijack Brexit in order to save her own skin, threaten to make the whole shebang blow up in everyone’s faces.

Back to Rahman, whose charging on Tuesday so conveniently distracted from the Anderson Report’s scathing exposure of MI5’s failings.

Apparently he was going to bomb the gates of Downing Street, causing chaos amidst which he would wander into No.10 and either knife the PM or blow himself and her up. Like you do.

Have you been down Whitehall lately? Seen the security cordon at the entrance to Downing Street?

Maybe Rahman planned on ‘leaving’ a bomb by the gates and detonating it from a safe distance – no, of course all those machine gun-toting police officers wouldn’t notice it! – because any device that destroyed those gates would blow anyone in the vicinity right over Nelson’s Column. Including him.

And maybe, somehow, Rahman knew Mrs May’s exact movements – when she came out of No.10 in her dressing gown and slippers to bring the milk in, or maybe to put the cat out last thing at night.

Perhaps he had inside information that the No.10 front door was left on the latch at certain times of day, and detailed knowledge of the building’s labyrinthine innards … 7.05pm, she’ll be in the front room watching Emmerdale.

James Bond, eat your heart out.

So yes, well done MI5 for thwarting the half-baked plans of yet another Islamist fruitcake. But please, don’t insult our intelligence by playing Whitehall-type PR stunts in order to distract from your other catastrophic failings.

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