totally fascinating.

Ælfred

(The year is 878 AD)

He looks at the early sun and smiles. Its Spring warmth rushes across his face. The Devon Fyrd standing around him are not so casual with their feelings as He. Suddenly cheers rise along the English line as a mass appears to the centre and behind. It is the Sussex Fyrd who have arrived just in time for the battle to commence. Lead by their Theyn they quickly join the Shieldwall. Incredible stamina is the hallmark of the Saxon Fyrd. These South Saxons of old, who still provide the Royal Bodyguard of Huscarls from the people of Hæsta (now Hastings) have basically run /jogged the whole way non-stop from Sussex pulling hand carts full of arms and armour to this battle site – known now as Ethandun (now Edington). It is a battle that will put pressure of the Shieldwall like never before. Archers from the old Roman areas of Chester will pile the pressure back on the Vikings. The Wiltshire Fyrd will break and run then re-organise to rejoin the battle and win it for the Saxons.

Now they are grim and determined. Yet His smile is infectious and it suddenly lifts them. But they cannot understand what He is thinking. Why should He smile?

His mind turns to the words of a Swineherd's wife. ‘You wretch,’ she had shouted at him. ‘You’re only too fond of them when they’re nicely done, why can’t you turn them when you see them burning.’

He could not console her from her grief and horror when she found that she was scolding her hero. Her King and the man all in Somerset and the rest of the Saxon world adored. But, it was her English courage that made Him smile and made Him be here. Ethandun they call it. It is for her and her family, and for the English people that he is here standing to face the foe again

‘Englisc’ he insists that they call themselves. His wife is a Middle Engle, a Mercian and it was his idea to name the Engle and Seax as one. A one unifying name. And it has worked. Angle and Saxon. United behind their Shieldwall on this day. The English Shieldwall. Filled with joy the Wessex army knows it will win this day. It will be the turning point against these heartless pirates. Men of Long ships that only know destruction. Cornered now they will lose. The Shieldwall will grind them down and they will break.

The Black Englisc drums beat long and hard. Enticing the enemy to show themselves.

The Vikings appear. With their usual display of courage. Strutting onto the field of battle play. Horns blast. Drums compete with the Englisc. Their full face helmets, wolf skins and scale armour. Gold jewellery. Stolen from raids past and forgotten. It will do them no good now!

Cries rise from the Shieldwall, Ut ! Ut ! Ut ! meet the enemy. Weapons beat shields in time. The Englisc army works itself to a frenzy. Too much blood, too much pain at the hands of these wretched warriors. Their Raven standard will fall to the English White Dragon on this day. It will feel its hot breath.

The Englisc King stands. His fair hair still long and good despite his years. His eyes set. His helmet is not full face and his famously thin features show. He wants the Englisc warriors to see him. He wears a full suit of chain mail. And a sword given to him by his father. A new strong shield of Lime Oak. Red and decorated with a Silver coloured Dragon in imitation of the White Dragon Standard. Common to imitate the White Dragon in various ways. He carries a short axe and his Huscarls around him are similarly dressed. They will form the point of the defence. The White Dragon files above them.

The Vikings charge. The Shieldwall presses in. The game is on. How many times has He been here before. Yet he does not tire. Does not fall. Professional if you can call it. He and his Huscarls hack away. Hot, airless, fatigue, noise, thirst. They crush through the Vikings. Valhalla awaits them, not their ships!

His name: Ælfred known as the Great.

The Vikings – to become part of the English nation.

Haelsa Swaffington,

To be a teller of history. To be a recorder of English history like you and M Taylor is the greatest of all things.

Waes Hael

I was impressed with your site, however you are very outdated in parts. For example, the term heptarchy is seen by historians as completely incorrect. Read anything by D Dumville and you'd completely re-write that section.

Set deep in the mysterious forests of North Germania, amid the warring tribes of the late 4th century, comes the true story of an Anglo-Saxon king…

Written as a prequel to Hengist & Horsa: The Thirst of the Gods, Offa: Rise of the Englisc Warrior is the dark, harrowing tale of a young boy, a girl named Ælfwynn, a wild wolf cub, and the most famous duel in English history.

Before the arrival of the Anglo-Saxon long-ships on British shores, an English prince, age seven, witnesses the death of his friend and a murder committed by two of his brothers, an act which brought shame upon the young English kingdom. Overtime, Offa becomes withdrawn and reclusive. Afraid and alone, he spends his time in the untamed forests of Ængla lande, with his only companion, a wild wolf cub named Fenris. But Fenris is no ordinary cub… Sent by the Gods, Fenris teaches Offa the way of the forest, to be a wolf, to unleash the beast within.

At the age-of-thirteen, Offa had remained a mute for the last six years, until the day the Saxons entered his father's hall, demanding the aged and blind king's unconditional surrender, and for Ængla lande to lay down their weapons in submission. True to the old Englisc code of honour, the young Offa is forced to break his self-imposed silence, challenging not one, but two of the enemy's greatest warriors to mortal combat. These are the first words Offa has spoken in many winters; it is widely believed they may very well be his last!

Standing on the island, before hundreds of enemy warriors, surrounded by an otherworldly mist, clad in wolf skin clothing, his flesh painted black, like the heroes of old, and his heart beating to the sound of enemy drums, Offa stood firm, Stedefæst in hand, refusing to show fear or intimidation. He wasn't fighting for fame, for the Gods, or for personal honour. He was fighting for his father, a waning kingdom and to restore the honour and grace of the noble Englisc folk.


“In his first book, Swaffington opens our eyes to a familiar, yet strange language and vanished world: we read words in the everyday language of our forefathers, Old English, and absorb the culture of dark age Angeln, which he brings vividly to life.
This is an epic tale of the north, and one of the great sagas, featuring a young warrior to match any other in history, for daring and selfless heroism. Swaffington explores the Germanic warrior code, dealing with a young boy's deep sense of loyalty to his family, tribe and land.
It is a tale involving a famous kingdom's waning strength, an old blind king, murder, dishonour, the gift of an ancient sword 'Steadfast', followed by a terrifyingly unequal battle to the death, and finally victory for the strangely tall, flawed young warrior, Offa of the Engle.
This fast moving, absorbing tale engages us, informs us and leads us into strange, yet familiar territory. We are not used to ancestral heroes, but that is what we are given. It is difficult for any writer to portray an entire culture in one short book, yet this is what Swaffington attempts.
Whilst maintaining tension and historical truth, he is able to shock us by bringing alive our native tongue, giving ancient words contemporary life within the text of the story. This is a sophisticated and skilful book from a young writer, and shows a high degree of mastery over both subject and language.”

Mark Taylor
WYRDART.CO.UK

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Offa-Englisc-Warrior-Anglo-Saxon-ebook/dp/B005HI QT0A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1313527447&sr=8-12

Ship Helm

Thank you, brother, for your kind words

I have started telling the story of the English, from Creation, (as seen in Offa: Rise of the Englisc warrior, to the story of the first settlers in Britain, Hengist & Horsa, and I will continue theirs and our stories, right through the ages, from Aelle to cerdic, to Alfred the Great, to Athelstan the Glorious, and so on, till my dying day. One after another, after another, in a continuous epic, each based on real stories, to help teach and inspire future generations of the proud, heroic English folk.

The fight to reclaim our identity shall go on, and will never end...

Swaffington,

I asked a task of you. Maybe it will just give you an idea. Maybe not.

To write ahead:

Hengist - done

Alfred the Great - The fight for English Freedom.

Athelstan - The formation of England

Harold - To die for England


If it will help I suggest you begin all 3 books at the same time. Then work on each over periods favouring time for the most immediate. For if you try and grind through one after the next then you may not complete. Like filming the Lord of the Rings.

Whatever you chose.

Ship Helm

Swaffington,

Your work has just begun. Well done. Like M Taylor from wyrdart.co.uk - your work is defining the English. As such and by definition both of you are making history.

Waes Hael

Ship Helm

Hengist & Horsa: The Thirst of the Gods

In the mid-5th century, the English tribes, Angles, Jutes, Frīsians, Saxons and others, soon appeared on the devastated coasts of Roman-Britannia. They came from the ancient, mysterious forests of Denmark, Germany and the Netherlands. With them, they brought the English language, sagas of Germanic heroes, gods of fertility and gods of war.

Based on a true story, Hengist and Horsa: The Thirst of the Gods is an epic adventure of extraordinary men and women, of invasion and conquest, of slavery, survival, war, love, the bond of brothers, of fathers and sons, of honour, valour, courage, heroism, sacrifice, kinship, betrayal and blood-feuds.

After witnessing the massacre of his people by Gēat and Danish raiders, Hengist, aged seven, must lead his younger brother south to Angeln, the famous Kingdom of the Englisc in North Germania. Growing up in a world of violence, where boys are raised as men and men are forged into legends, the two brothers quickly learn to trust only a hand-full of men. Without their father's protection, Hengist and Horsa are forced to grow up fast, learning sword-play and the arts of war, for one day they would march north into Jutlande, with the Englisc army, through the sludge and the rain, with Offa the Brave leading the way in the fight against the Norse invaders.

In an emotional, fast-paced, action-packed drama, with epic duels and descriptive battle scenes that will have your pulse racing and force the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end, Hengist gives us a detailed account of a warrior's life, where not all battles are fought against the enemy. You are about to learn the true beginnings of a proud land known to the Gods as Ængla lande!



Review

''The Thirst of the Gods covers a truly monumental timescale and spans several northern tribal lands. The subject is nothing more nor less than the historical rise of the English nation going back to its roots in Angeln, Northern Denmark and the time of Offa I.

The fluent, engaging narrative lures us further and further into a violent world in which Hengist and Horsa, the legendary brothers from Jutland, along with other hard, shrewd men and certain tough women follow their individual wyrd or fate which is interwoven with that of their tribe.

The book takes on a life of its own as individual conflict and revenge killings grow and then draw in whole peoples, as they fight relentlessly for land and honour. The wars end in massacre, betrayal and eventually permanent exile followed by the dawning certainty that only in finding a new land will the English tribe begin to lead a settled life.

S. A. Swaffington has a way of creating unexpectedly humorous moments which leaven the bleakness of the surrounding action, and he uses this device with great sureness. He also counterbalances emotional scenes, which might otherwise slip into sentimentality in another less able writer's hands, with coarse language and Falstaffian lewdness - yet it works.

This is a huge undertaking by a young writer who clearly has ability and passion as well as a wealth of knowledge and intuitive understanding of the 'dark ages' of Northern Europe. I hope his book The Thirst of the Gods receives the recognition it deserves.''

Mark Taylor
wyrdart.co.uk

Very informative web site. I am english and proud of the fact. One day I hope the pendragon of England will be as common as the cross of St George and the Union Jack and fly proudly alongside them. Perhaps a flag could be devised that incorporates the Union Jack, St Georges cross, the white pendragon and the badge of St Edmund.

PORT

(AD501)

A dark cold night indeed. Yet even in the darkness the Latin features of the short Romano-Brython guards are clear. They shiver – but maybe not for the cold. Maybe it is the slight breeze. Maybe they can sense something coming. Coming on the back of that cold breathe. Something stirring in the dark beyond. Blacker than night itself. Something beyond the mist. Down the ancient tidal river. Sliding towards them.

Moving now to the mutha of the river. Just to the sea. Inky blackness cannot hide the now familiar glide of shallow Saxon kyul boats. Wave Riders as the sea wolves who are carried on their backs call them. Dozens of these black hulled ships wisp up the river following the surge of the flood tide, bringing them into striking distance of the old Roman chester.

On the front of one kyul is a Germanic attack dog. A wulf of strength and guile bred in deep forests. It lerches silently on a chain leash, looking forward past its muzzle towards an unseen target. It takes its names from the large long white scar which separates the fur on its face. A gift from a fight with Hunnic warrior’s sword. The Hun lost! But the scar gives the dog a permanent sneer. Its owner stands behind. He has the long dark red hair of an Engle or Angle as the Romans call them. People of the Ing. His face is young with a mass of red freckles. Dark grey eyes look through a set of long ear pieces to his helm which reach down and join by his chin. The top of the helm is of steel and bone plates with a boar symbol atop. He has a leather jerkin for a top with chain mail over it. Trousers and leggings with steel shin guards protect his legs. He is an Engle – but his war band are pure Saxons. Yet he is their chosen leader. His prowess as a sea helm and a war band leader give him this honour. A wave rider and a shoulder companion of no equal. He is a natural navigator. He knows this coast well and senses he is near.

His kyul turns to the right and slips up onto the muddy sides of the estuary. He steps off clutching is shield and seax. The dog stays aboard sniffing the damp air.

Seconds pass – then suddenly movement. The mud seems to come alive and up stands a figure dressed completely in wolf skins. A face mask is removed to reveal a dirty face. He is surprised to see the scout is a woman. Her face betraying efficient beauty. Dark eyes and jet black hair. Tall and athletic. A Saxon swan. The scout nods a greeting. She has been watching the chester with its fearful population and guards for a several days lying patiently in long marshy grass. Soon she leads a small band of warriors into the marshes, on a long flanking arc out towards the chester. The White Dragons breathe circling the fortress and the town it is designed to protect.

He watches them disappear, then turns to lead the kyuls forward once again. Timing their slow silent progress toward the chester so as to be there at first light.

It is 501 AD. He is Port. Saxon war leader – Lord of destruction – conqueror of Brythons and Romans. The town he lays waste is now called Portsmouth. Port Mutha. The fortress he fills with dead is now Portchester castle.
(Port’s arrival in what is now England has given rise to one of the most widely used words on the planet. Used by virtually every language.)

Ælle

(Alle) future leader of the Suth Seax - the South Saxons - now the county of Sussex

(AD 477)

It has been some hours since they saw the small fishing vessel. The chase came to nothing as it disappeared into the mist. Now the 16 keels of Seax warriors drift in the ‘Mare Britannica’ (English Channel.) Named after their powerful straight edged fighting knife, their ferocity is legendary. Like a swarm of hornets in battle they look and feel harmless now. With no wind the shallow bottom vessels are tided, disorientated, and drawn together as if by some invisible magnetic force. As the boats start to close in the crews fight to fend each other off with oars and hands, silently cursing and scowling at each other. Not quite the valiant journey they had imagined!

The war chief stands at the prow of his keel. Bored with pacing between the oarsmen the warrior grinds his teeth with frustration. He looks up and silently screams at the Gods. And the Gods may yet quiver, who knows, for the Furies have nothing on this son of Woden.

The silent prattle of the crews finally forces him to look round. It is like a Wolf turning on a prey. His hair is long and inky black. It merges with his beard. A deep dark cloak hides his armour. His pale eyes are caught by the moon and pierce the dark from beyond his helm like two small discs. The crew see this and settle down. Some slump against the side of the keel with resignation. Like chained sea dogs they can only wait for wind. Only daylight will resolve this nautical quandary.

It comes early enough. Slumbering mist succumbs to gradual light, to reveal 50 small fishing vessels, complete with nets and crews. Just a short way from the first keel they had been close and unseen all night. The fishing crews look at the Seax keels in shock. The warriors likewise cannot believe the irony of the situation. For beyond the fishermen are clear low lying White cliffs (the Owers Bank now under the sea off Selsey Bill). Oars come down in all vessels. A mad chase ensues. But, the fishermen are not the true aim of the keels. The Seax want to get to the shore before the alarm is raised. Oars strain and the keels slip across the glass like water at speed. Yet the furthest fishing vessel easily makes the shore ahead of this. The crew runs as if from wild lightening.

Warriors to the front now as oars are gradually stowed. War dogs too, of wolf strains from deep continental forests. Muzzled they strain forward on long leashes. Hunger of a kind drives them. When the enemy breaks they will chase them down.

The boats glide into the pebble shore. Up above are chalky cliffs. Men and dogs pour from the keels. They quickly gather and move up one of the paths to the top of the nearest cliff. A large crowd of short slightly Mediterranean looking men stand atop waiting for them. Warned many hours before by the fishing boat that got away. They are armed with Roman shields and swords. Fragile with age they will break at the impending onslaught, as will their Romano-Brython owners. They make a show of moving tight into a shield wall. But, deep down they know it is a feign.

By comparison the larger taller men of the Seax war band move fast now up the path, pumping axes, swords, and shields in time. Their leader at the front, with his three unusually tough looking sons behind, old and seasoned beyond their natural years. His dark beard obscures his face. From above the enemy can see his eyes flashing up at them. He moves with purpose, leading his war band as he has done on many previous occasions. Through battles against Roman. Hun and Goth. In deep forest and on wide plain. His motion betrays speed, strength and guile. Even before battle his mind drifts to when he lead this very band on a two day pursuit of a Hun raiding party. There was only one outcome then and it will be the same here!

He is Ælle, future leader of the Suth Seax, the South Saxons, the first King of Sussex and the first true English King.

Descendants of Ælle have the name Ayling (people of Ælle). His son Cissa has Chichester named after him, and his other Wenclaus has Lancing. They were responsible for burning the Roman palace at Fishbourne in Sussex.

HENGEST AND THE COMING OF THREE SHIPS

Adventus Saxonum (The Coming of the English AD 450)

He is an English Warrior Leader. The grey sea stretches before him and his men. Their people stand behind, on grass escarpments, Seax in hand ready to hail their departure.

He turns and looks up at his people – perhaps for the last time, then puts on his White helm over his long hair. He turns to his young son Octhe, his mirror image and the light of the Warriors life and bades him farewell. But, his heart is not heavy for he knows deep down he will see him again.

The warriors position themselves by each of the three keels boats, and begin to push them down the grass cliff whilst others move wooden blocks under the hull of each keel. The blocks are moved from the back to the front as each keel slides along. The keels pick up speed and enter the water. Warriors jump and climb on board. Sails are raised. One takes to the helm of the keel. The journey has begun. The folk on the escarpments above raise their Seax fighting knives in the direction of the journey. It is a gesture of farewell and to honour them..

A few days and nights of sailing across the dark sea scape to the land of the Brythons. But not a journey that will worry these men, for they are of the fearsome Nortn Sea tribes and know this water well. They know its winds, tides and treacheries. And their keels are well made.

Vortigern the High Lord of the Brythons has invited this English War Band to help fight some scrawny set of people called the Picts. These troublesome violent people have no idea what is coming across this misty water. But they soon will!

No sleep for the Sea Warriors. Jutland is a mere memory now. And soon on the fifth day they see the land of the Brythons begin to appear. The keels land at Ypwinesfleot in Kent. Each boat gently comes to rest on the shore.

The tall Warrior Leader is the first to drop into the waters edge. He has a silver white helm that covers his face. He wears a new leather tunic and trousers, chain mail, and a round shield. He has the Seax and Axe. His sword is well made and well balanced.

The water is cold, and he stops momentarily to get his footing. He looks down slightly, then glances sideways, as if he is looking at YOU from behind his helm in an all-knowing way. You cannot see his eyes but you know they are there. A true sea wolf this one, trained in the Germanic ways of war, and mercy is not one of them. Picts and Brythons!! He has fought much tougher more numerous enemies than these. Take his visor off and bare witness to the scars on his young face!

Brythons are there to greet him. They stand in the water with tall mastiffs. Vortigern is watching from up high assessing the nature of the new welp that has arrived in his lair. One of the Brythons lets his war dog get too close. It snarls and barks and nearly bites. In a breathe from this English Warrior his Seax is out and the dog is down. The Brython staggers back in disbelief. Another English Warrior moves quickly forward to cover any reaction.

Without looking back the English Warrior Leader runs confidently forward through the water onto dry land, straight up towards Vortigern. His fellow noblemen look worried. They should be. For they had better not Welsh on any deal with this tall Englishman!

The Warrior stops short of the waiting Brythons and looks at Vortigern. He removes his helm. Eyebrows rise. He announces his name - Hengest.

http://www.englandandenglishhistory.com/index.php?option=com_content& view=article&id=9&Itemid=19

OFFA I OF THE ENGLISH


(5th Century Engeln – the First England – now Denmark.)

She combs his Yellow hair back and back and back again. It is medium length and straight and despite her age she is very skilled at dressing it into a Germanic head knot. She twists it round and round. Then ties it with a small dragons tail band of white silver braid.

She is barely a teenager, but already she is a wife to be proud of. And he knows it. He is the same age as her. 13 years. She is already tall and athletic. She has classic Engle slightly Red auburn hair. He remembers when they first met as small children. Still makes him smile. But will he ever really know her? He may yet be dead soon enough. She offers him his war helm. He takes it and looks at it. It has a spectacle visor. And a small dragon running from the crown down to the nose piece. But he decides not to take it. It is not his strategy to get hit!!

He stands. At 13 years old he is remarkably powerfully built. Thick arms, legs and a barrel chest. Chain mail, good boots, leggings and long tunic. In truth he is already a man. He turns a pair of piercing blue eyes on her. So clear it is said you can see sideways through them. He pulls the small scramaseax on the front of her belt to get her closer.

His father enters the tent. Small shield and a seax he has seen before are in his hands. The shield is Linden wood. Light Oak from the island kingdom. They will go there one day! Covered in leather and strongly made. The metal boss has a spike coming from it. To punch with. But also to allow the shield carrier to quickly push aside other shields or weapons to open up an opponent in readiness for a final blow.

He thanks his father. And moves outside into the spring sun. Dewey meadows lie around with a stream separates him from his two opponents.

He holds the seax up to the sunlight. It shines. A single edged combination of a machete and sword, it is notorious in its ferocity in battle. This fighting seax is of the broken back variety. About 30’’ long. Heavy yet agile. Bone handled with a good grip for his powerful hands. It is famous. Its name is placed along the blade in sunlit runes. It translates as STEADFAST

His brother Engle and enemy Myrging warriors line the roped off boundary. It is the other side of the stream. The Engle warriors are afraid for him. In large arm movements he revolves his arms in large sweeps swinging STEADFAST and the shield to limber up.

He looks at his opponents. For there is not just one- but two fully grown Myrging men. The King and his bodyguard whom he has agreed to fight. A tall order. But, deep down he knows Woden is with him and he will see his beautiful wife again.

Time for action. All thoughts clear and he sprints forward – splashing strongly through the stream he does not stop until he is at the two enemy warriors. All they see emerge from the stream and into arena is a warrior. Shield held high and STEADFAST swinging low at their legs. Somehow the same thought goes through both of them at the same time. They are in trouble!


He will be Offa I of the Engle. His father is King Waermund of the Engle. He is a direct descendant of Woden. He has challenged the King of the rival Myrgings to a duel. He wins and goes on to defeat the bodyguard as well, through guile and stamina, through watching their movements and waiting for opportunity. By letting them show their weaknesses. By letting them tire with poor stamina and overconfidence, and by the fact the he and his seax have the moral right.

www.steadfasttrust.org.uk

Matt

Haelsa = Hello

waes hael = good health and good grace.

Hael means more than 'salute', its germanic, and the best translation I can give would be 'grace'.

hael is something you have that could be lost. A German woman once told me its a kind of special luck given by the gods, and you can lose it if you betray your kin, friends or nation and risk being damned by the gods. so it means more than goodbye, it means continue to be kind and graceful and stay healthy.

There's always a little more to Old Englisc than you first realise.

e.g. the modern 'blessed' comes from 'blod' (pronounced blud) the old word for blood. For to bless something you used sacrificial blood.

Yes that is pretty much what they mean.

Go to the links page above on this site or visit

http://www.asbooks.co.uk/

Stephen Pollingto's book 'The English Warrior from earliest times til 1066' is a good start.

As is this website for English ethnic markers.

Hi Ship helm,
Apologies for such a late reply, I actually lost this website having not bookmarked it. Now I have

I think it was my interest in nationalism and that not being pure was a worry until I realized we have 100's and even 1000's of ancestors not all going to be the same. Of course 90% of my ancestry is English so I'm happy with that.
I must ask, what does Waes Hael & Haelsa stand for? Do they mean good health and hello? I’m beginning to take an interested in Old English.
Cheers
Matt.

Andrew,

I am optimistic because we as a people have been around along time. And we are dictated by our environment.

Anyone who lives in Northern Europe for along time will become Northern European in appearance. May take along time. Research the history of the Finnish 'speaking' peoples.

Our main problem is that we have created an underclass of youth which will linger and cause ever increasing problems. We have talked about integration - but allowed multiculturalism which divides. And you cannot do that on an island.

The Balkanisation of the island is now inevitable and the resultant police state that follows is already taking shape. I am not even criticising it. It is just an inevitability. The Police will be a Reaction Force, backed by security companies. A reaction force that will cause reaction - and so forth. A spinning wheel of deceptively creeping violence. And my fear is that it is going to get very very ugly.

Why the best thing to do is to realise your English ethnicity. Positive hope is in your mind and that of our children. Ethnocide of the indigenous peoples on this island is the result of negativity.

Now to order my English National Dress!

SH.

Haelsa Ship Helm.
I wish i could be as positive about our future as yourself.

The fact is that white British birthrates are decreasing.
Daily Express:Aug 2010
ONLY ONE IN TEN MOTHERS ARE WHITE BRITISH IN SOME PARTS OF UK.

Daily Telegraph: May 2011
POPULATION GROWTH OF LAST DECADE DRIVEN BY NON WHITE BRITISH.

Daily Mail: Nov 2010
WHITE BRITONS TO BE A MINORITY BY 2066

I doubt that you will see similer headlines in Africa, India, China etc regarding those indiginous peoples. Though in every white nation we are quickly allowing mass immigration of non white peoples to change our population, our culture and our community beyond recognition.

Haelsa Matt and Andrew,

Why do I use old English to greet you? Because it takes us all back (whether we have a bit of Scot / Welsh / Poleaxe in us). It gives us a depth no matter who we are.

Study old English history and teach your children.

I am pleased that Andrew quoted Churchill. I like the fact that the English Movement has adopted the concept of the Ethnic English. So Matt – if you are recognisable to other people as English – that is what you are.

It is the Scots – beset by thin DNA and the health issues with that - who go on about purity. To the point where some Scots accuse others of ‘not really being Scots’. So now, for example, you have Scots in the Western Isles wanting independence from the rest of Scotland. Crazy.

I would rather see growing numbers of people seeing themselves as English. The concept of English ethnicity gets us away from that confusion and division.

So Matt – you are English.

Lets look at the Germans as we know them now. The original Germans are in fact the Dutch as we know them to be. The Dutch (Deutch) were driven into the land below high tide (the Nederlands), by the Hunnic / Gothic peoples. That’s why Germans are in fact quite a mixture. Yet they regard themselves as German.

The English are from a very small geographical area of Denmark / Schleswig-Holstein. In truth they are very very homegenous. So if you join them – as you have Matt – you join a select bunch. I know a son of one of the original Polish plumbers in South London. He insists he is English. Talks / looks / supports / educated etc etc etc. genetically he is not English. But, his kids will be. He has married an English girl. If you met them – he would have to tell you of his ancestry for you to know.

The English will be here is increased numbers in 2 hundred years.

We are here to stay. For reasons to numerous to write here.

Waes Hael,

Ship helm