A Nation Ultimately Reaps What It Sows
As an octogenarian I cannot thank God enough for a blest childhood. I never saw my dad
until I was around eight years of age. Mum and he
were separated and Mum brought my brother and I up with much love and
all-embracing moral values. We lived in a Lodge on a private Scottish estate into which blood lust mobs sometimes intruded. However, Mum taught us
to love and protect the weak. “Take it from me”, she would say: “no
lasting good ever follows a cruel or callous deed. It always comes
back on you. In the long term you always lose far more than you hoped
to achieve!” Yes, how true she was!; and though not that all
sympathetic with Roman Catholicism, she used to mention the old Jesuit
saying: “Give me the child until seven, and I’ll show you the man!”
Consequently, those first seven years were the most memorable.
At times, she truly struggled, but she lived sacrificially for her
offspring. Mum, with meagre financial help, made our home life
absolutely marvellous. She always awaited so warmly to see my brother
and I returning from school, Her meals were superb and, indeed a
little wired haired dog would be at the doorstep to greet us.
And though I had little more than a toy wind up gramophone with which
to play and call my own, I wouldn’t have swapped my early childhood
days in the border town of Coldstream for that of the wealthiest
youngster on the planet. “You haven’t a Dad around to lean on or to
fight your future battles “, she would say, “so I’ll do my best to
take his place.”
Each night she would kneel with me as she taught me to pray; Bible
readings would occasionally be read to me before she blew out the
candle, and the following words of a poem she cherished so much she
would frequently sing to me:
‘So you want to know my laddie, what I would have you be; when the
whole wide world’s your playground, and you’re big and strong like
me?’
‘To fight and face life’s battles, and win them ‘if you can’, But,
first of all my laddie: ‘Be a man. Be a man!'
es, and her idea of manliness was to protect all weaker forms of
life than one’s own! What a Wonderful Mum! She sacrificed
everything for my brother and myself. What a contrast, indeed, to the
modern mum who increasingly becomes little more than a baby producer:
whose offspring nearing two years of age (sometimes before! is shoved
in to a communal nursery so that the one who brought that precious
life in to the world can return to pursuing her own career as soon as
she possibly can!
‘Where, Oh where’, has the wonderful vocation of motherhood’ gone?
I truly sense that a society which has hardened its conscience by
having encouraged the intensive breeding of animals, finds later a
similar attitude towards rearing its own offspring!
Go on to
Desensitization, The Price For Vivisection
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