The Conservative Party Manifesto of 1141

Our bards wove wondrous ballads for our cause,
sang of illustrious clan-chiefs sleeping
beneath the broad downs, as their widows weeping
heard the heathen on the high tide
steer stealthy straight to our Saxon shores.

Some claim they came to dwell in peace -
but our folios of facts are not fabrications -
and the tellers of truth through generations
show how their forces felled us in fray,
and made of our redesmen a mongrel race.

For many have wed our women: their whelps
are taught in tongues foreign to our own -
they have a hybrid heritage, shown
in their customs, diversity and dress -
liegemen whose loyalty we cannot possess.

Now these clans clash fiercely over fields,
wielding weapons in winless wars -
brother kills brother, settling scores
while seeking Saxon turf and territory -
now the knife is our new nobility.

Let the law be loosed on this bastard brood
so that they may know and understand
that this is our land, pre-ordained and planned,
God-given, God-blessed, a sceptred isle,
where pork is swine, and metre, mile.

Men with memories mightier than mine
must revive the deeds done in distant days -
let princely peace and prosperity be praised,
as Arthur and Aelfred rise from fen and bog
to restore the manor of Mendip to Mog.

Hark, brethren! We of the Saxons still dream
of our sovereign strength and supremacy,
brave, blue-blooded, lions rampant - see
where worthy wealth brings right to rule
and peasants plough by sward and stream.

Te Deums are crooned by polyphonal choirs;
men in quaint garb may quaff ale; questing
sticks, not swords, will be struck in jesting;
bondsmen in breeches lay bat on ball; and
the sun will forever shine on our sacred shires.

Jeff Gallagher

If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Jeff Gallagher would be pleased to hear them