"Don't count on the army, monsieur. Not if you've got . . . genocide in mind." The other replies: "Then it just means another kind of genocide . . . . Our own." Camp of the Saints

So Britain is under pressure again from France, to take in thousands of migrants who are living in a shanty town called "The Jungle" that is just outside Calais.

And it appears that our cowardly government will again cave in and take these bogus refugees in, just as they did seven years ago when France closed down the Sangatte camp and we issued "work permits" to the new enrichers.

Enrichers, who when they arrived showed they had no intentions of working but are now adding to the cost to our benefits system of £100,000 a day for the ones we took in that time.

Now only a fool believes that there is nothing Western Europe can do to stop the mass migration of the third world into the civilised old world.  If the political will was there it could be stopped overnight.   But that is not what the New World Order wants.  What it wants is the complete genocide of the white race in Europe.  The only race that stands in their way of them gaining their objectives. 

And reading about the invaders massing in their embarkation camps in France reminds me of the novel "The Camp of the Saints" written by Jean Raspail that is set in the near future in France.  Now there is an excellent review of the book that you can read here.

As the flotilla makes for Europe, school teachers set assignments for their students: "Describe the life of the poor, suffering souls on board the ships, and express your feelings toward their plight in detail, by imagining, for example, that one of the desperate families comes to your home and asks you to take them in."

Now before you read another line, please right click on the link above and read the review.

Finished?  Good.  Well that is the review out of the way.  Now if you have the stomach to see your children's future you can read the book on-line here in PDF format.  I recommend you save a copy to your hard disc and read over a few days - it can be heavy going in places.

They were all on the terrace. Dragasès was in the middle.
“We have two choices. We can make a break for it. Together, or every man for himself … But take a look out there!”

He was pointing toward the countryside all around The Village. Everywhere, nothing but the howling, swarming horde. Thousands of human ants, streaming down the zigzag path from Fontgembar, in an endless column, bristling with fists, and sticks, and scythes, and guns …

“To end up, with scum like that, hand to hand, in one big massacre … No, that wouldn’t make much sense …”

“And the second choice?” asked Perret, though they all knew the answer.

“Stay right where we are. We only have a few minutes to wait. I’d rather be killed by our own. It’s much cleaner that way. There’s something more final. No regrets, and all that …”

“I remember what you told us: ‘We’ve got to finish our little drama somewhere.’ Is this what you meant by an appropriate setting?”

“Exactly.”

“I knew it all the time,” Perret answered. “I guess we all did. That’s why we came along.”
Then he straightened up and smiled, as if an amusing idea had just struck him.

“Monsieur Sollacaro, since your memory is so good, and since you’re our chaplain, maybe it’s time for you to say a few prayers …”

The last couple of words were drowned out by the bombs. Suddenly old Monsieur Calguès’s villa, built in 1673 to last a thousand years, was a heap of rubble, like the rest of The Village.

I would like to say that there is an happy ending but there is not.  Whether there can be an "happy ending" for Western Europe in the real world, I have no idea but I doubt it very much.  I suspect there will be a few of us thinking about the fictitious Peret and Dragases at the end.