To his foreign god he is praying.
Strange values the fellow’s obeying –
Of morals and law,
And listen – what’s more,
I have no idea what he’s saying!
"bastion of Englishness.", Australian poet, Brian True-May, British murder mysteries, Islamization, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, Midsomer Murders, multiculturalism, poem, poetry, Political Correctness, Political Correctness takes over Midsomer Murders
Midsomer’s gone off – what’s to blame?
Well its plots are now PC and lame.
It’s inclusive, diverse,
And it’s false, but what’s worse –
It’s predictable – that’s the real shame.
The scene: A hot day in Midsummer in midsummer – Midsummer police station – in walks DS Jones.
DS Jones: There’s been another murder sir – black guy killed up at Woody Wood.
DI Barnacle: Male person of colour Jones!
Jones: Male person of colour killed up at Woody Wood sir!
Barnacle: That’s better Jones – so where’s Woody Wood then?
Jones: It’s near the village of Piddling Puddleton sir – we’ve had dozens of murders near there in the past.
Barnacle: Piddling Puddleton hey? – rings a bell – let’s go then!
At the murder scene:
Barnacle: Any ideas Jones?
Jones: Well sir, that curved sword sticking out of his chest might have something to do with it , and that note pinned to it with: “Allahu Akbah – death to the infidel!” also seems to point in a certain direction.
Barnacle: By “curved sword” you mean the scimitar Jones, that’s its correct name. But ahh… how easy for the naive to fall into such a trap. No Jones, this is not the work of a crazed Jihadist but the evil deed of a white straight male…..a neo Nazi…..or perhaps two.
Jones: But there are only two white straight males in the village sir…oh…and me of course…and you.
Barnacle: Don’t jump to conclusions Jones…….
(clears throat) Yes, well, surely you know Jones, that white straight males are vastly overrepresented in our jails – that they commit crimes out of all proportion to their numbers?
Jones: Oh…I thought….
Barnacle: That’s your problem Jones – you think too much – let me do the thinking, after all I’m the one with the Psychology Degree and I’m the one married to the High School Principal.
Jones: Sorry sir – and how is your good wife?
Barnacle: My partner Jones, my partner………. is well – thanks for asking.
Scene: The Forensic lab – dead male person of colour on slab.
Indira Gupta – Senior Forensic Pathologist: Oh dear Oh dear! This male person of colour very dead I think!
Barnacle: Yes, we’d gathered that Indira, but any idea when this may have happened?
Senior Forensic Pathologist Indira: Probably when someone stuck that bloody big sword in him.
Barnacle: Thanks Indira, as usual you’ve been of enormous help – and by the way, thanks very much for the invitation to your 18th birthday party – my partner and I will be there.
Scene: Back at the police station.
Barnacle: Alright Jones – time for some good old-fashioned policing. We know who did it, but just for show I want you to door-knock the entire village – interview everyone, and before you ask, I have arranged for these 5 interpreters to go with you – off you go.
Scene: Sometime later at the police station.
Barnacle: So how did it go Jones? Got those two neo Nazi’s stitched up yet? Er……I mean, any leads?
Jones: Well not exactly sir. I interviewed the Vicar, Mohammed al Mazie and I have to admit he seemed a little nervous, although he has a water-tight alibi – he apparently stayed up all night with the local Imam – Fred Smith, and Fred verifies his story. Our Doctor Xie Che Nin also checks out – he was in bed with his husband Agumbo Limpopo the undertaker, so no luck there. The post mistress..
Jones: Ahh…Post person, and as you know, proud member of the endangered Pygmy Tribe the Shawtarses, also checks out, well according to the interpreter anyway, but I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. Had a bit of bad luck with the Mayor, Mohammad Javad Azarrrrrrrrrrrr though – he flew out to Teheran this morning, but I did check his office and ……….well, you know that collection of scimitars he has hanging on the wall?
Jones: Well one is missing…..
Barnacle: Oh come on Jones! Scimitars go missing all the time – this is England for god’s sake! Still you could be on to something……I’ve got it! Those 2 neo-Nazis stole the bloody thing and skewered the male person of colour with it! The case is wrapped up, and in record time too! Bring the bastards in Jones!
Jones: Ah….. but what about the Mayor – hasn’t he acted a bit suspiciously?
Barnacle: What old Azarrrrrrrrrrrr? How could you say such a thing Jones? He’s the salt of the earth. Why he’s a member of my club! Wouldn’t hurt a fly – now off you go and bring in the murderers……ah…….the accused.
Jones: Um…..just one thing before I go sir….something’s been bothering me….
Barnacle: Alright out with it man – I’m all ears.
Jones: Well sir, only 2 episodes ago when your cousin DI Bob Barnacle was in charge, villages like Piddling Puddleton were…well….not diverse…..ahh….pretty much white and pretty much straight you might say, but since he left, all the villages in Midsummer have become really diverse…overnight you might say….
Barnacle: So exactly what are you implying Jones?
Jones: Well to be blunt sir, we all know that villages in England are pretty much white, and pretty much straight, you know…. conservative, so you would think that our Midsummer villages wouldn’t be quite so diverse…that’s all.
Barnacle: You know Jones, I’m glad you brought this up. You’ve been here a long time and I’ve been having a talk with the script-writer about you and your future. You’re a good man Jones but you need a change, a sea-change you might say. Everybody agrees that, well, you just don’t quite fit in anymore. You need a fresh start. How does the Shetland Islands sound?
It’s bringing great joy to the world
Wherever its flag is unfurled.
In Europe it’s breedin’,
That’s why up in Sweden
Grenades almost daily are hurled.
We must give Islamists their due.
With faith in the West there are few.
To Allah they pray;
They believe – so I’d say,
At least to their lies they are true.
Tell me: “Why is your forehead so damp?”
“Well, the Huns are encircling the camp –
Consequently I sweat.”
“Oh we’ve lots of time yet –
So stop worrying – snuff out the lamp.”
These attacks – they are not aberrations,
But the death throes of fiendish failed nations
With no care of the cost
For they know they have lost
In this clash of two civilizations.
There’s a multitude where once were few.
They’ve no time for the Christian or Jew,
Or indeed any others;
They’re a band of brothers,
So it’s clear you can scratch the first two.
I’m told by Big Brother – don’t worry;
There’s no need to scramble or scurry.
But look at that sack on
That bearded guy’s back!
I’m turning around – in a hurry.
I feel my blood pressure is rising.
I guess that that isn’t surprising.
Carry on though I must;
There’s a guy I can trust!
Uber drivers are so enterprising!
“Take me home, Al Jihad” – that’s the name
On his I.D. card there in the frame.
“Oh I will sir – he said,
And on time – you’ll be dead.
But I first have to murder and maim.”