The disgusting politics and economics of war.

The disgusting politics and economics of war.


They do not care about the suffering they cause. The aim is to win. In order to do this they deliberately target civilians. If they create such misery they will break the will of the fighters.

Their tactics:


unremitting stress






So they continuously shell and barrel bomb. They deliberately bomb hospitals, water pumping stations, schools and food convoys. They use chemical warfare to induce panic. They target children.

They do not care about the children, babies or women. If they make the people suffer enough they will turn against the fighters and lose their support for war. They aim to sap their will.


Whenever there is war someone is making a killing. Desperate people give all they have for the basics of life.

In Syria the warlords are stock-piling food which they are selling at 20x its value to the starving.

Someone is selling arms to both sides.

After the Afghan war US companies were making billions on regeneration programmes. They’ve done it in Vietnam, Korea, Cambodia and Iraq.

Businessmen, politicians and warlords love war. It’s good for personal gain and the economy.

What a bunch of inhumane bastards!!

The Hull Blitz – Commemoration of the events over 75 years ago – 400 deaths.

The Hull Blitz – Commemoration of the events over 75 years ago – 400 deaths.


Between May the 3rd and May the 9th 1941 Hull was systematically blitzed by the German Luftwaffe. It had strategic importance as a port and they attempted to take it out of commission. In that week there were 400 civilian deaths and huge amount of damage to housing.

During the war my mother-in-law told me she was bombed out of three houses. They used to hide under a big metal table for protection. I used to joke with her that the Luftwaffe were after her. She told me that Hull was the most bombed city in Britain. She was right.

Extract from Wikipaedia –

Hull was the most severely damaged British city or town during the Second World War, with 95 percent of houses damaged.[1] Hull had more than 1,000 hours spent under air raid alerts.[2] Hull was the target of the first daylight raid of the war and the last piloted air raid on Britain.[1]

Of a population of approximately 320,000 at the beginning of the war, approximately 152,000 were made homeless as a result of bomb destruction or damage.[3] Overall almost 1,200 people were killed and 3,000 injured by the air raids.[4]

More than 5,000 houses were destroyed and half of the city centre destroyed. The cost of bomb damage was estimated at £20 million (1952, £518,985,637 as a consumer price equivalent), with 3,000,000 square feet (280,000 m2) of factory space, several oil and flour mills, the Riverside Quay and 27 churches, 14 schools or hospitals, 42 pubs and 8 cinemas ruined; only 6,000 out of the 91,000 houses were undamaged at the end of the war.[5][6] The extent of the damage was similar to that of the Plymouth Blitz.[5]

Despite the damage the port continued to function throughout the war.

Let us hope that we’ll never have a war like that again!

The Bunker – a chilling indictment of mankind.

The Bunker

Out in the countryside, in a small village in East Yorkshire, there is a building in the middle of a large field. It is all that is visible of a huge underground complex that is now redundant but lives on as testament to the folly of mankind. It is a monument to our baser characteristics; an epitaph to madness.

For it is truly MAD. It is a multibillion-pound remnant of our policy of Mutually Assured Destruction.

This bunker was a relic of the cold war; a time of terror, when nuclear holocaust was a real possibility and everyone knew that we each had a number of nuclear missiles aimed directly at us. All it took was a slip up, a mistake, or a moment of political brinkmanship.

How had it come to this? What drives people to set up nations, devise horrific weapons and go to war? There seems to be some basic flaw in the human psyche that creates this cycle of violence. It is beyond rational thought. As if violence can ever be an answer to anything; as if nuclear war is a sane possibility.

Dug deep into the bedrock and covered with millions of tons of soil is a complex that was once top secret and housed a small village, a contingent of civil servants and armed forces, who were carefully selected to live underground while the rest of us sizzled, fried and dissolved in a nuclear hurricane. Behind walls of concrete 15 metres thick, protected by massive steel blast doors, these people had the task of forsaking their family and friends, surviving, monitoring events, and planning. They were a regional command centre. When it was all over, and it was safe to emerge, the plan was that they would come out, organise the survivors, and re-establish government control.

For that is what was important – that the government should be in control.

All across the country there were a sinister network of these command bunkers. Probably under Whitehall there is a massive central complex capable of withstanding direct hit after direct hit.

Across continents there are similar complexes run by other regimes. Countless billions poured into unproductive stupidities all because man’s nature is so violent, so greedy and power-seeking.

Entry into the bunker is via a small room with a cheery lady who offers tea and cake. Then the journey begins; a journey back in time to not so long ago; a journey into a state of mind.

A steel blast door opens into a long corridor, lit by standard government lamps at regular intervals, painted in regulation military paint, uniformly cream, it descends steadily into the earth. It feels cold and dank, a descent into a secret world.

At the end of this long corridor is another great steel blast door.

We are now in the complex. Coming off the corridor on both sides are a series of rooms and a stairwell leading further down. There is a massive water tank holding millions of gallons of drinking water. There are storerooms full of food. There is an operation room with chilling charts showing likely blast zones and fall-out paths. It was a map that showed large areas of the country pocked with circles and cones indicating overlapping patterns of horrendous blasts with their swathes of radiation. The patterns were merely images on a map. The reality was melted flesh, horror and death. All the major cities. Millions of real lives.

There is a big whiteboard on which was to be recorded details of the actual situation outside – casualties, blast zones, fall-out levels.

There are rooms equipped with computers and telephones. Here one has to do a double take. The phones are the old black bakelite and the computers were old vintage 1970s machines. The type that ran so slow that you had to wait for them to catch up with your typing. The type which had a memory that had difficulty storing a photo.

They had been preparing to run a nuclear war using old land lines, computers with less computing power than the average washing machine and a whiteboard to record casualties (in 100s of thousands). It seemed absurd. How had they believed that this was possible? Their equipment was so rudimentary. Just forty years on and it looked so primitive. It felt like something out of the Second World War – yet this was a scenario for the third.

These people, on all sides, were actually contemplating the reality of this; were actually planning it out; had spent billions setting this up, and really thought they could control it, survive it and rebuild afterwards.

I stood in the control room and studied the scene of insanity.

I went on, past the dormitories with their rows of beds and blankets, past the offices with their important desks and arrived at the entertainment’s rooms – set up like a pub, with beer, spirits, a juke box, pinball machine and darts board. It seems that while we were outside in a blizzard of radioactive ash the personnel below would be dancing to Elvis Costello, Stranglers and Ian Dury, and downing pints; might even have a competition going on with the old darts board.

The final displays were of the Greenham Common protests. It seemed like an oasis of sanity amidst the madness of MAD.

The bunker was now a museum piece. It had become obsolete. The average schoolkid carried around more computing power and organisational possibility in their mobile phone than had been available in the whole network of regional complexes that had been set up to run a nuclear war. This place was utterly redundant.

I went back up to the surface, took a deep breath of fresh air, bought a cup of tea and a slice of cake off the genial lady in the entrance, and wondered where the next generation of bunkers were situated and what music they had on their juke boxes, and how soon their equipment might look antiquated.

What was obvious was that we were still just as mad.

No War has ever been Won – a poem

No War has ever been won


No war has ever been won.

We always count the casualties.

It always resounds down the centuries.

No war can ever be won.


We all lose when we start.

The billions we spend on guns

Is taken from a range of funds.

No war is ever won.


When we turn to war

We traumatise so many.

Winners? There are not any.

You can never win a war.


No war has ever been won.

We count the cost in hate;

Minds broken on winds of fate.

For no war can ever be won.


When that is what we choose

We all lose.


Opher 23.10.2019



Every war resonates down the centuries – hatreds are stoked for centuries. We’re still fighting the First World War, the Battle of the Boyne and all the rest.

They are never forgotten.

The winners are scarred. The losers are scarred.

We are all the poorer. The traumatised, with their PTSD, clog up our streets, our hospitals and our mental homes. The anger, violence and hatred resound through our communities.

Nobody ever wins a war.

Futility of War – a poem

Futility of War


My grandfather fought in the trenches

With the gas, whizzbangs and machinegun rattle.

My father fought in the hills of Italy

With howitzers, tanks and the roar of battle.


Neither would talk of what they’d seen

Of friends mown down like cattle.

They’d both come to realise

That tales of bravery were mere tittle tattle.


The reality was luck

Nothing to do with valour at all.


I was the lucky one

I never had to fight

For Queen or country

Or see our cities set alight.

I never had to question

If this war was wrong or right.

I’ve spent my life in peace

And never had to fight.


For seventy four years that peace has held

The longest time in history.

But do we have to question why?

For it isn’t any mystery?

The United Nations

And the European Union

Have brought nations together,

Not in conflict, but communion.


Far better to talk and trade

In complex collaboration

Rather than to bomb and blast

And remain in isolation.


Opher – 1.10.2019.

Not For Me – a poem

Not For Me


Not for me the trauma of shattered mind

Or blown off limbs.

Not for me a life ruined

Family and friends dead

Or for meagre rations queuing

As aspiration dims.


Not for me the constant terror

Waiting for the missile blast.

I’ve lived a privileged life

And I want it to last.


So I’ll support the UN

And the EU too.

Both far from perfect

But I think they’ll do.


I’ll work for a unified world

In which petty nationalism has been expelled.

For I know that in talk and trade

Better relationships are made.


Opher – 30.9.2019

Opposition to a Third World War.

Unsurprisingly a number of people did not want to be victims of another world war. They did not like the idea of being fried or slowly rotting from radiation sickness. They were not too keen on a bit part in a chess game of geopolitics.

So while governments stowed their officials in underground bunkers in places like Holmpton, Withernsea, to conduct affairs following the war, arranged for Nuclear Bombs and Cruise Missiles to be deployed, organised our Polaris missiles, they protested!!

Good for them!  I don’t want to be fried either!

It hasn’t gone away! It’s just become quiet!

The nuclear shelters for our officials are much bigger, deeper, modern and sophisticated now. They are also Top Secret.

As a species I think we might well be quite insane!

Photography – The Nuclear Bunker at RAF Holmpton, Withernsea

If you want a chilling day out then go and visit  the Bunker at RAF Holmpton, Withernsea.

This Top Secret installation was built following the 2nd World War as, first a Secret Radar centre, and then a Top Secret Communications Centre.

The object was to run the country following a Nuclear War.

While the rest of us either fried or slowly rotted from radiation sickness a bunch of government officials and military would remain underground safely buried under tons of soil, with ten foot thick cement walls to protect them.

From these shelters they would assess the damage and then try to control the mad population and run the country.

I’ve lived most of my life knowing that a number of nuclear warheads are targeted at me.

It only takes a madman like Trump or Johnson to escalate a problem into a crisis and we are in the midst of a holocaust. Ho hum. It’s nearly happened a few times!

This experience really brings it home!

This was the technology to run a World War from!

This was the expected result! (Bear in mind – the boms are tens of times bigger now!)

This is a map showing the likely scenario of bombing!

They not only had food and water but entertainment – a dart board, snooker table, juke box and pub.

It hasn’t gone away!

Insanity of war – uranium tips on armour piercing shells, plastic landmines, contaminated bamboo spikes, Agent Orange.


Insanity of war – uranium tips on armour piercing shells, plastic landmines, contaminated bamboo spikes, Agent Orange.

War is about winning. There are no rules. It doesn’t matter about the environment. It doesn’t matter about the animals caught up in it. It doesn’t matter about the cruelty or inhumanity.

War is insane. It is no way for civilised people to behave.

In the Iraq war the armour piercing tank shells were tipped with uranium. Uranium is a very dense metal so its piercing powers were great. I wonder how much thought went into the health of the tank crew sitting inside in close proximity to the shells? Or the aftermath of the radioactive pollution left in the environment?


Cluster bombs and mines have been devised with plastic shrapnel so that they cannot be found with X-ray machines. The idea is to wound, incapacitate and cause the maximum pain and inconvenience. It is harder and more time-consuming to deal with the wounded than the dead. As it is not Hollywood most victims are hideously wounded. They were designed with intent. I wonder how much thought went into the civilian population who live with the aftermath? The limbless children? The elephants and animals with legs blown off. The injuries were too gruesome for me to add.

In the Vietnam War the Viet-Cong set a whole range of different traps using sharpened bamboo spikes. You fell into a pit or had your leg or face spiked. They coated the spikes with pig-shit to cause horrendous infections.


In the same war the USA used napalm. It was burning petrol with a viscous base. It was designed to adhere to the flesh and burn. A lot of children and civilians were caught up in the bombing. I still remember the little naked girl running and enclosed in the cloud of orange fire, then running with her skin in strips.


They also devised Agent Orange. It was a defoliant. They could not see the Viet-Cong movements through the jungle so the idea was to remove the jungle. Hundreds of thousands of acres were sprayed without regard to the wild-life or long-term effects. The trees were killed and the habitats destroyed and polluted. People caught up in it, including American soldiers, suffered horrendous effects. Their children were born deformed. I wonder if anybody cared?

I visited the war museum in Saigon. There were pictures of the most terrible defects. Most were too horrendous to show.

Agent Orange

They wouldn’t have had to use Agent Orange now. Most of the jungle has been cleared to grow coffee for the Americans. The wild-life has been decimated.

How long do we have to go on creating this havoc, devastation and callous cruelty. A short while ago Vietnam was the enemy. The US and Viet-Cong hated one another and killed each other in the worst ways possible. Now it is a top tourist attraction.

War is madness. There has to be better ways!


Leaves – a poem



Descending in technicolour glory,

Laid out in their finery,

In full regal costume.

Leaving behind skeletons

Of black silhouettes

To stand stark

Against the graphite skies

And crimson sunsets

Of winter.


Congregating in orange drifts

To whisper together in the breeze,

To cavort as whirling dervishes

In one last orgy of delight

Before subsiding

Into final rest

To give their strength back

To the soil.


Opher 9.11.2018



The remembrance services make me reflect on the futility of life. We are born, live our lives in a brief burst of colour and are recycled back to the soil from where we drew our strength.

Men in those trenches, a hundred years ago, were still green. They never had their chance to rustle in the summer breeze or feel the sun. Their autumn came sudden and returned them to the ground too early.

Yet there is such beauty in the autumn leaves, resplendent in their colours, and the skeletal trees stripped of their clothes. There is wonder in life, no matter how brief.