Britain, nation of pædophiles

In England, writes Dalrymple,

pædophilia is treated in much of the Press as uniquely horrible.

Yet

fear and hatred of the crime exists in proportion to the licentiousness that creates the conditions in which it is most likely to occur.

When mobs stone pædophiles in police vans,

they are expressing anger not at the monster inside, but at their debased and degraded way of life which they know to be wrong.

Hand in hand with the exaggerated fear of pædophilia is

the ever greater, ever earlier, sexualisation of children. Magazines and books for children increasingly make sex and sexual experience the measure of all things.

Dalrymple recounts that a teacher told him how he had one day to comfort a child of seven

who had been horribly taunted and insulted by a classmate, who had called him a virgin. ‘What is a virgin?’ asked the teacher. ‘I don’t know,’ replied the child. ‘But I know it’s something horrible.’

Parents happily and proudly

put televisions and videos in their children’s rooms – and innocence of any description cannot long survive a diet of contemporary television, or indeed of contemporary advertising hoardings or pop music.

Dalrymple notes:

Both the dishonest execration in which pædophiles are held and the unprincipled sexualisation of childhood suggest that the British are a nation of pædophiles who, with good reason, despise themselves.

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Do you wish to register a complaint?

Harold Shipman, Dalrymple points out in a recent speech (from 28:29),

was very highly regarded by his patients.

If at the time when Shipman was most active,

the kind of TripAdvisor performance feedback had existed,

patients would have said:

He’s got a very good bedside manner; he’s always willing to listen.

The book reviewer

Dalrymple visits a Manchester secondhand bookshop and purchases

a slim volume that Dr Shipman had been asked by a medical journal to review.

The title was: Understanding the New Complaints Procedure in the National Health Service.

Enver Hoxha, flamur i luftës për liri e socializëm

War flag for freedom and socialism

All kinds of considerations, Dalrymple says in a recent talk (from 4:38), make medicine

a happy hunting ground for the politically correct. Nowhere is this more so than in medical journals.

He has

no objection to the publication of any particular point of view — much to the contrary.

What he finds distressing in the medical journals is

the lack of any other point of view, as if the medical profession were the Albanian electorate in the good old days of Enver Hoxha.

Political correctness in medical journals

Fraudulence and adolescent vacuity

Malodorous mass murderer

Effrontery, writes Dalrymple,

has made strides as a key to success in life. Ordinary people employ it routinely. There are consultants in effrontery training who not only commit it but teach others how to commit it, and charge large sums.

There was a time when

self-praise was regarded as no praise, rather the reverse; now it is a prerequisite for advancement.

The consultants in effrontery, Dalrymple notes, speak in pure cliché, practically contentless, but with a force of conviction that, if you discounted what they say, you might think they were people

of profound insight with a vocation for imparting it to others.

When he catches glimpses of US television evangelists, Dalrymple is full of wonder as to how

anyone could look at or listen to them without immediately perceiving their fraudulence.

The fraudulence is so obvious that it is like

a physical characteristic, such as height or weight or colour of hair, or an emanation,

like body malodour, such as that of Che Guevara. How, asks Dalrymple,

could people fail to perceive it?

Closeted mummy

An essay on the case is to be found in Camps on Crime (1973). Dalrymple explains:

The mummy of Rhyl was found in 1960 in a cupboard at number 35 West Kimmel Street, whose owner had for many years ‘taken in paying guests’.

The atmosphere is conveyed thus by Francis Camps:

As the body was adherent to a piece of linoleum which covered the cupboard floor boards, a garden spade was used to lever it on the linoleum out of the cupboard and the position of the linoleum in relation to it was noted before they were separated with some difficulty.

Camps, Dalrymple writes,

was in this case acting for the defence, and it could not be proved that the mummy, a paying guest since 1940, had not died of natural causes. However, the landlady, a Mrs Harvey, pleaded guilty to obtaining £2 a week for 20 years from the Clerk to the Justices of Prestatyn (who paid the mummy’s pension) by pretending that the mummy was alive.

Dalrymple comments:

Even benefit fraud in those days seemed somehow more characterful.

La bête féroce

The Beast of Gévaudan, Dalrymple explains, was

a wolf of monstrous size and cunning, or a hyena or other hideous carnivorous creature, who terrorised many of the villages through which I pass on my way to my house from England, by maiming, killing, decapitating, eating and stripping naked many victims, principally young girls while tending their flocks.

At one time,

20,000 people were out hunting for him, and though two large wolves were eventually killed, it is still not certain that these were not scapewolves.

Concentrate on the inessential

This is the motto of the British police, writes Dalrymple. (It is taken, he points out, from that of the psychiatric services.) Concentrating on the inessential gives the police

far less trouble

than, say, arresting and punishing the culprit of a crime.

Dalrymple observes that today the British police

repress everything except crime and disorder

while dressing up like

the paramilitary arm of some extremist political party.

Counselling

carried out by men or women in stab-proof vests

Counsellor’s uniform

appears now to be their chief rôle. After all, says Dalrymple,

it is far easier to identify the victims than the culprits, and therefore it is a far more efficient use of police time (in very short supply) to attend to the former rather than to the latter.

The police are determined to

improve the service to their customers

and they often regret that

in the past they have concentrated too exclusively on trying to catch the culprits and not enough on the pastoral care of victims.

The biggest slaughterhouse

Dalrymple points out that the largest abattoir is in Denmark (Danish Crown’s superb facility at Horsens in east Jutland). The plant has, he writes,

become almost a tourist attraction, so clinically and reassuringly anæsthetic are its procedures.

Workers, he notes, become attached to their place of work, for it provides them not just with their livelihood but a social life:

Few are they who rejoice in their redundancy.

Olivia Mokiejewski, author of Abattoir People, which Dalrymple reviews, admits this, which, he says,

increases my esteem for her.

Architectural incompetence down under

Australian æsthetic abominations

Visiting Sydney, Dalrymple is surprised to learn that Blues Point Tower (Harry Seidler and Associates, 1962) has been declared a heritage building and is therefore

immune from well-deserved and indeed æsthetically obligatory demolition.

Seidler’s MLC Centre (1977) also strikes Dalrymple as being

one of the worst buildings in Sydney.

It would, he says,

surely be enough to preserve one of Seidler’s buildings — as a frightful warning — somewhere in the middle of the desert.