R. D. B. Speaks

For thirty years Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Express in London, England’s most celebrated Journalist and Chairman of the Board of Directors of the London Daily Express.

London.

The Banderlog people of Germany, otherwise Nazis who are residuary legatees of Kipling’s tree-top jumpers, have decided that it would be an excellent move to inaugurate a nice comfortable entente cordiaie between the Nazis and the unsuspecting British. So they have started an Anglo-German Friendship Society which they hope will cause Britons at once to forget all the stupidities, the churlish international manners and the brutalities committed with impunity by the world’s clumsiest people.

We all know, of course, that the Germans are, as they have always been, noted for their hopeless failure in understanding the psychology of other peoples but it is somewhat surprising to find that stupid though they are, they cannot understand why the majority of Englishmen speak of them with dericion. It would perhaps be useful for the press director of the Camarilla to study one of Germany’s old aphorisms and explain it to his duptd and liberty-deprived German victims.

It is true in Germany as else where that “Wer einmal luegt den glaubt Man nicht und esenn er auch die Wahrheit spricht.” I would like to take liberties with this aphorism by quoting it thus: “Once a liar always a liar.”

Actually translated it says, “He who lies once is not again believed even though he speaks the truth.”

Now among the virtues and the vices of the English, the Heavenborn virtue of truth-telling is cherished above all things. Children from infancy up are dragooned with the necessity for telling the truth in all conditions. Remember the oldsaying that has always been current in the outlying ends of the earth: “An Englishman’s word is his Bond!” And the Englishman, though he may be innately given to mental exaggeration, fibbing, romancing, prevarication in thought but seldom in deed, remembers the props of his national up-bringing and makes Truth his shibboleth.

He has now discovered that the foundations of human diplomacy, statesmanship and public dealing rest on falsehoods, and on “scraps of paper” that may be thrown into the fire with impunity whenever it may omit Teutonic policy.

Wherefore the slow-thinking, once bit twice shy, Briton looks with suspicion on any overtures that may be preferred in the direction of amicability.

England has not yet forgotten the effort to pull the wool over the eyes of the astute Sir John Simon, when the “peace loving” Herr Hitler played the now familiar Siren song to be followed a couple of days later by the publication of the German conscription disclosures.

England still awaits Herr Hitler’s withdrawal of his warlike, bloodthirsty sentiments expressed in his fiery book. He has made many superficial peace statements and will make many more for outside consumption but he has not yet made a speech or written a line to say that his views as to overcoming your neighbor with a sharp sword have changed.

Nor has the delectable Herr Goebbels, who swashbuckles with a fountain pen, aided his hero in this direction. Perhaps it is just as well, for if Hitler recanted on the sharp sword phrases as Goebbels wrote some characteristic gibberish to that effect, no one in England, not even the envious Sir Tom Mosley, would believe him. You see, “wer einmal luegt,” etc.

And now on top of all this, Herr Goebbels and the Gargantuan General, his rival, have designed this happy Lieber Fest with the English; and who is it, do you think, has been selected to be the president of the London end of this affair? I am told that some of the Yunker gentlemen of the Nazi Foreign Office who, parenthetically, are not Nazis at all, but just simple Yunkers in disguise, are laughing up their sleeves as they laugh over so many other Nazi gaffers whenever they feel sure that they are not watched.

They are laughing because they know that their chiefs do not know, that the London president of the Joy Fest is none other than my old friend and comrade, Lord Mount Temple, a most examplary public man, a true British patriot, a great gentleman and the father of Lady Louis Mountbatten and the Hon. Mrs. Cunningham Reid, wife of a British M.P.

Is there anything to laugh at in this recital of qualifications of which any of us would be proud? Yes, there is something. Lord Mount Temple’s deceased wife, the mother of the two ladies mentioned above, was the daughter of Sir Ernest Cassel, the eminent Anglo-German Jewish financier!

Lady Louis Mountbatten is married to the scion of a once German princely family, the Battenbergs—royalty on both sides, yet, under the ruling of the Hitler camarilla, Lady Louis would not be Hoffaehig in Germany No Jews need apply!

On her husband’s side, German, Bulgarian, Russian, royalty; on her father’s side immediate descent from Lord Dhaflesburn, Lord Melbourne, Lord Palmerston — great names in British history.

But her mother’s father was the Right Hon. Sir Ernest Cassel, party Councillor, who has the proud privilege of being a Jew. He was a great financier and he gave away vast sums in charity.

We Are all waiting with deep interest for the scene when the Gargantuan General and the Gregarous Goebbels give a party to Lord Mountbatten and his inseparable non-Aryan daughter!

Meanwhile the sawdust figures of the new pagan cult of Germany, the Wotuns and Siegfrieds and Tristans with their sonorous and primeral savagery, are leading what is left of Germany straight behind the walls of the world’s lunatic asylum. It seems almost pathetic to have to apply a few more turns to the international boycott screw; but that, I fear, is the only way to cause them to think seriously. The symbolisms of the “new religion” and the antics of its priests leave open no other course; for the self-styled “Aryan” has ever only seen sense through his pockets.