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Group warns over population rise-
Immigration has boosted the population of the UK by more than one million since 1997, a think tank has warned.
Migrationwatch based its figures on the government's recently-released mid-year population estimates.
It said migration, along with children born to migrants in the UK, accounted for 81% of population growth.
But the Immigration Advisory Service lobby group said the figures were "utterly meaningless" and that many thousands were also leaving the UK.
And the Home Office noted that many immigrants were here temporarily, partly to study and also for business.
How awful- not only are they coming, but they're breeding!!!!!!
This will have serious effects for our cherished British way of life, as things that define our nation's character are altered or eroded, perhaps irrevocably, perhaps forever.
Imagine, no more 'traditional' British Christmas (celebrating the supposed birth of a Jewish prophet living in western Asia) coincidentally occurring around the same time as the (immigrant) Anglo-Saxon pagan feast of 'Mother's Eve' and the (immigrant) Norse Yuletide feast, celebrated in true gemutlich German fashion, thanks to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, that German immigrant, who, with his wife (of almost entirely German ancestry) did so much to shape traditional British Victorian Britain.
No more traditional renditions of 'The Messiah', written by Georg Friedrich Handel, that well known German immigrant.
No more recitations of the evocatively British Christmas lyric, 'In the bleak midwinter', written by Christina Rossetti, daughter of an Italian immigrant.
Imagine having to use those ghastly foreign Euros, instead of our cherished pounds sterling (derived from the immigrant Hanseatic 'Easterling') having already lost our treasured l.s.d. (derived from the Italian lire, soldi & denarii).
It's enough to make you spit out your mouthful of the traditional British cuppa (Chinese, Indian, or Ceylon) or maybe get your eyes tested at Dollond (Huguenot immigrant) & Aitchison.
It could leave you feeling you'd gone ten rounds with those notable early British boxers, Thomas Molineaux (19th C. freed black African slave), Ted Lewis (stage name of Jewish immigrant Gershon Mendaloff) or Daniel Mendoza (Sephardi Jewish immigrant).
This news has been on the radio (in part thanks to the work of Guglielmo Marconi, Italian immigrant, husband of an Irish wife, fond of a full English breakfast) but I'm not sure if it would have appeared in in the Stock Exchange's news summaries (begun in January 1698 by French Huguenot immigrant John Castaing) or if it might rattle the Bank of England (first governor: John Houblon, son of a Huguenot refugee, who married Marie, the daughter of Isaac Jurin, a Flemish refugee ).
I'll have to have a curry, that imported Indian dish (first recorded being served in Great Britain in 1773, at a coffee (African or Asian imported drink) house in Haymarket, or listen to something soothing and classical on the HMV label (whose well-known British trademark, Nipper the dog, was the pet of Liverpool born son of immigrants, Francis Barraud).
Fate jumbled them together, God knows how;
What e'er they were they're True-Born English now.
The Wonder which remains is at our Pride,
To value that which all wife Men deride.
For Englishmen to boast of Generation,
Cancels their Knowledge, and Lampoons the Nation.
A True-Born Englishman's a Contradiction,
In Speech an Irony, in Fact a Fiction.
A Banter made to be a test of Fools,
Which those that use it justly ridicules.
But England, Modern to the last degree,
Borrows or makes her own Nobility,
And yet the boldly boasts of Pedigree:
Repines that Foreigners are put upon her,
And talks of her Antiquity and Honour:
Her S—lls, S—ls, C—ls, De—la , M—rs,
M—ns and M—ues, D—s, and V—rs,
Not one have English Names, yet all are English Peers.
Your Houblons, Papillons, and Lethuliers,
Pass now for True-born-English Knights and Squires,
And make good Senate Members, or Lord-Mayors.
If e'er this Nation be Distress'd again,
To whomsoe'er they cry, they'll cry in vain.
To Heav'n they cannot have the Face to look:
Or if they should, it would but Heaven provoke.
To hope for Help from Man would be too much;
Mankind would always tell 'em of the Dutch:
How they came here our Freedoms to maintain,
Were Paid, and Curs'd, and Hurry'd home again.
How by their Aid we first dissolv'd our Fears,
And then our Helpers damn'd for Foreigners.
'Tis not our English Temper to do better;
For Englishmen think ev'ry Man their Debtor.
'Tis worth observing, that we ne'er complain'd
Of Foreigners, nor of the Wealth they gain'd,
Till all their Services were at an end
Wise Men affirm it is the English way,
Never to Grumble till they come to Pay;
And then they always think, their Temper's such,
The Work too little, and the Pay too much.
Daniel Defoe
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