In the service of the peace and joy we have found in one another and the defense of our manifest union of love and devotion, we have opened the repository of this Ancient Way which was brought to the Italic pennisula more or less as described in the Aeneid and now rests open in the independent commonwealth and autocratic state of San Marino, somewhat below Ravenna on the east coast of Italy, and constitutes a more important marker of the human condition than some would have it. The Italians can be proud that they have preserved this great sense and purpose, just as the English should be ashamed for allowing the great statements of being Great Britain has known and suffered and gloried in to be misused and misrepresented and misconstrued actively under the disgraceful Hanovers.

Pembroke was officially divested of its palatine status early on by the ever so repugnant, unconscionable and tyrannical Tudors, who disgraced Pembroke so brutally. Our curséd earl Jasper, together with his brother Edmund, earl of Richmond, perpetrated the gang-banging rape of Edmund's child-bride, 12-year-old Margaret Beaufort, eventually producing the anathema of Henry VII, born of her at age 13 at Pembroke. The walls of the keep still echo her screams and their cruel and despotic dynasty, with some more cosmetic than real shifts and name changes, afficts us to this very day.

Looking at the ongoing -- first waxing, now waning -- curse of the illegitimate Crown a little wee more carefully, Churchill noted:

In real terms, English history ended with the Conquest, with the imposition of a tyranny based on an imperial presence transfered by the Normans from the desperate, decadent and decaying Eastern Roman Empire, where Viking vanadians acted as guardians of the Caesarian being just as the Germanic praetorians had in the Western Roman Empire. One difference was that legitimacy was no longer an issue with Arabs, Turks and others always threatening a very low-profile Constantinople. The Norman Conquerors' vision was one of great but ungoverned power (the Empire had not really had an Emperor for centuries in the sense of accepting responsibility for being the Imperium) and remained at odds with England, resting on abusive ascendency, rather than shared and common cause.

The Hanovers then brought in the final piece of this iniquitous puzzle, by transfering the affliction of the continuing infamy of the Western Roman Empire, which had been held aloft in undisputed indifference in the Holy Roman Empire, within which the Hanovers played a remarkably strong part in maintaining the being of the Imperium while, of course, never seeking to establish legitimacy or accountability. A scurvy lot, the Hanovers, then and now; for truly, "Now, you take the high road" would unquestionably seem to apply and the "low road" of mutuality the rest of the island's inhabitants seek has remained, an uncooked bouillabaisse, covered over by this abusive elite for a hiatus of subjugated indifference that has lasted nearly a millenium.

Arisng out of the iniquitous expression of this infamous tyranny, Langar Hall is worth a comment, as an unspeakably grim moment that has gone on and on awaiting exposure and justice seeming forever. Langar goes at least back to William the Conqueror and has seen some of the darkest and most powerful figures in England's surprisingly dour history of foreign occupation and exploitation, starting with the daunting Peverel (Who was he? How did he get so much power? Was he the Conqueror's illegitimate son? Why do I shiver when I say the name? Was he the ever so evil and apparently immortal Jess who lurked about the grounds and forests surrounded by tales of cruelty and cannibalism?), followed soon after by the infamous John Plantagenet, whose cruelty inspired the Barons' revolt (though some would insist they were invariably revolting) bringing the Magna Carta along with the ever-so-often repeated tale of Robin Hood (and the lovely Maid Marian). After a number of Plantagenet holders through Henry III came the le Scrope powerbrokers whose lack of quality is reflected in Stephen Scrope's lament on not attaining an optimal price:

The monarchy too had lost its lustre. There was no pretence that the Hanoverian kings ruled by Divine Right. They held their position by the express sanction of Parliament. Even the symbolism of royalty was curtailed. The Court was no longer the centre of beauty, rank, and fashion. A certain dowdiness creeps into the ceremonial and the persons of the courtiers. Life in the royal palaces is dominated by the panoply and surroundings of a minor German princeling. The dreary names of the German women are ever present in the memoirs of the time--the Kielmansegges and the Wallmodens, the Platens and the Schulenbergs--all soon to deck themselves out with English titles and wealth...

Eagerly embracing this unabashed debauchery, the Howe family made every effort to embed itself inextricably and invisibly in legitimate authority's twisted web. With the connivance of the Crown, they leaped on the "high-roader" bandwagon of a country ruled by degenerate arrivistes who were never assimilated into the rest of the body politic and have seen themselves as exploitative aliens for centuries.

For example, let us first look upon the Normans cum Plantagenets cum Yorks cum Lancasters cum Tudors who are directly tied into Langar; the family was so disinterested in rendering account that it literally extinguished itself, and by the time the Virgin Queen passed on, much of that blood had been washed out through the incredibly brutal Wars of the Roses and the active extermination programs carried out by Henry VII and Henry VIII against their own kin. So, besides being the world's most renowned serial killer, Henry VIII also has the distinction of having brutally murdered off his own family, while Elizabeth carried on the auto-immolating family tradition by murdering her own cousin in Mary, Queen of Scots, among other such measures of Royal prerogative in the face of the family's chronic tradition of lèse majesté.

For another example, just look at , like so many haughty monarchs (many of whom they were related the Hanovers cum Saxe-Coburg & Gotha cum Windsor, whoto) from France and Spain through the ubiquitous Habsburgs to the Russias, did very little but actively despise their realm while speaking German at home and ordering the suppression of their subjects through taxes and cruel indifference. Their epoch inspired such tales as the Highwayman, not really all that different from Robin Hood. The manor had seen a long line of king wanna-bes, powerbrokers and carrion-eaters by that time. The exploitative Hanovers (which actually continue until now despite a couple of cosmetic name changes in the dynasty) might lead one to suppose that, in fact, "Ich dien" is really the title of a cookbook in which we are nought but ingredients: imagine how blatantly offensive choosing a language the Welsh have principally known as that of brutal conquerers for the motto of the Prince of Wales, rather than Welsh or at least Latin.

In any case, these cagey brothers repaired to Langar to weather a storm of Fourth Estate criticism in England and pretend to their liberality while arising directly out of the Hanover family power structure as unrecognized grandchildren of George I. Their sincerity in all of this has to be questioned and as an obviously benefitted part of this power structure, their treason in the American Revolution did them little real damage. Richard reappeared a few years later accepting command of the English Channel Fleet in 1782 and twice served as first lord of the Admiralty. Similarly, William's outstanding failure as Supreme Commander of British Forces did little to slow down his career either, in that he became a lieutenant general in 1782 and then a full general in 1793. However, Churchill gives a clear impression of the quality of his command:

Rarely has British strategy fallen into such a multitude of errors. Every maxim and principle of war was either violated or disregarded. "Seek out and destroy the enemy" is a sound rule. "Concentrate your force" is a sound method. "Maintain your objective" is common sense. The enemy was Washington's army. The force consisted of Howe's troops in New York and Burgoyne's columns now assembled in Montreal. The objective was to destroy Washington's army and kill or capture Washington. If he could be brought to battle and every man and gun turned against him, a British victory was almost certain. But these obvious truths were befogged and bedevilled by multiplicity of counsel...

Washington in 1777 took up his winter quarters at Valley Forge, to the north of Philadelphia. At the end of every campaign there were many desertions, and he was now reduced to about nine thousand men, of whom another third were to melt away by spring. Short of clothing and shelter, they shivered and grumbled through the winter months, while in Philadelphia, a score of miles away, nearly twenty thousand well-equipped English troops were quartered in comfort. The social season was at its height, and the numerous Loyalists in the capital made the stay of Howe and his officers pleasing and cheerful. The British made no move to attack the Patriot army. As at Long Island, as at White Plains, as at Brandywine River, he refused to follow up his victory in the field and annihilate his enemy.

Be that as it may, the cunning pair eventually nailed down a title and the absolutist and unconscionable power and privileges implied by working through a viscountcy, which was really an occluded palatine earldom, grounded far afield in Ireland and tied into the Gaelic Kingdom of Leinster, which was then "legally" extinguished at William's "death" in 1814.

As a result, in a realm without a working Imperium, due to what had for generations been a callous, capricious and disgraceful Royal Family, the Irish peerage with duchy colors was patently without legitimacy or accountability, in that the Hanovers had long since denied anything but very conveniently bourgeois values and never assumed any sign of acceptance of responsibility for the regal mechanisms they were so ruthlessly manipulating.

In a warped and twisted sense so appropriate to my "family", like a mother intent on wiping out all memory of her child by burning pictures, keepsakes, letters and books, Richard's daughter, Sophia Charlotte, Baroness Howe of Langar, made every effort to cover their tracks by stripping this enormous estate of its treasures, gutting its value associations by breaking up the property and razing the physical entity comprised by the grim Manor, that had served as the home and headquarters of some of the most treacherous, privileged and powerful villains in English history, thus making them ever so much harder to come to terms with.

However, a complementary understanding of this lamentable desecration must necessarily be mentioned. Considering the circumstances carefully, the Manor had been in the Howe family since her great grandfather. In addition, her grandmother was a daughter of George I, and the viscountcy probably came as a marital consideration (as per business-as-usual for the king with his flaunty doxies, 'the German ladies'), so Crown interests were hers by blood. She grew up in this incontestably regal and in fact imperial environment since the Manor had indeed been a Crown estate and Crown property in various guises before the onset of the le Scrope obfuscation. For thus had arrived John Grubham, bringing in those from the true bottom of the barrel, the scum of the earth, in the unspeakable Howes come to further disgrace the source of so much unutterable but incontestably high profile villainy and sink the whole affair into their own more private forms of atrocity and auto-immolation. The sadists' victims went from outside to within the Manor itself, most likely in children to be abused and consumed in the tradition of Kronos.

As was commented by Lord Peter Death Bredon Wimsey at the yearly gathering in the Manor of the Duke of Denver, "Ah, Christmas, that time of year when you get together with the people you hate most in the world and are obliged to be pleasant." I personally used to start fantasizing a nuclear holocaust in October so I wouldn't be able to join the ever so unseemly festivities ("Hey, it's the man with the green cup!"), always knowing for sure that I would have a new collection of cutlery to extract from my back when I got home. In my branch of the Howe Compendium, a Strictly Limited Responsibility Syndicate, i.e., the openly and repeatedly stressed and demonstrated Credo is "No mercy", as well as the oft expressed dim view on justice, "You get what you pay for" (sotto voce: "As long as you've got what it takes"). The family is packed with noble titles as personal names: Earl, Byron (alternative spelling of Baron), Marshal; and the only concern I have ever found that unites their twisted view of things is an always frenzied rally to "If you can get away with it, it's your right." They collectively defend that one to the death: yours, of course.

One thing I might note in commenting on the Credo is that no matter how wrong they have been about anything, no one in my family has ever really apologized or given satisfaction, ever. Just to give a notion of how transparently miscontrued they maintained themselves, my father's mother (an imposing, tawdry and unbearable autocratis covered in diamonds, so arriviste as to make even the most truculent parvenu blush) made an extensive study of the Howe "family" both in the United States (books about the New England Howes I was never given access to until my own unutterable Matron began her unavailing effort to explain her memory -- ashes to ashes and all that) and in Great Britain and claimed the three-wolf coat-of-arms but went so far as to deny our kinship with the earl Howes. Exactly how that could be (unless, of course, we actually are the earl Howes) remains a mystery for all of you to contemplate: I have given up. As for the Hanover connection, at least one mystery has been solved: How could I be so unspeakably revolted by the current dynasty without the singular disappointment and irreducible disgrace of their being relatives? It would appear that I no longer need worry about explaining this discrepancy, nor my incontrovertible disgust with George Bush, who is a horrible Hanover as well, and thus another distasteful relative.

Their modus operandi seems to be a grotesque perversion of the principles of frankpledge: rocking the boat is a very bad idea in that those who expose and/or oppose abusive and/or criminal behavior are punished by the corporation for said behavior as if the exposing party were responsible. In reflecting on the meaning here in the misuse of frankpledge, a good place to start is with the term "gotong-royong" in Indonesian which has often involved a kind of advocated, almost constrained cooperation which may or may not reflect your actual feelings for your neighbors at the moment. Going back to the previous stage in frankpledge's deterioration, the term for collective organization and mutuality was frithborh (with a kind of Germanic choke off at the end that doesn't get heard in modern English). This deeper sense of commonality with the other is best studied in Javanese with an examination of the principles of tentrem ing manah in that this was something of a het definition, i.e., "a het is a gather that likes it together" rather than being advocated or impelled and was thus spontaneous rather than intended.

The perversion of these elements in the definition of the bogus Howe "palatine earldom" (viscountcy) provided a grotesque mockery of the unspoken moot underlying Pembroke (let me say that the source of this adamantine position to my mind is the Welsh conviction that nobody who has come to the island more recently has been a pleasure for them to know) or any other legitimate noble seat and its independent statement that denies that the purpose of authority in and of itself can ever be anything but fraudulent and imposed ("You want to tell us what to do? We are very sure that we don't like being told what to do!").

To give an idea of what was at stake in this perverse attack on the beauty and indelible grace that can arise out of a proper statement of nobility, I might suggest a careful viewing of the incredible courage and candor, love and honor of England's own Domestic Goddess, Nigella Lawson, whose exquisite revelation of her own tradition both as a Jew and as a member of the English Aristocracy, leaves us all permanently in her debt. I even go so far as to bless the ever intrusive television for having given me a chance to know her: Nigella is the only person I know that I would feel deeply honoured to call "Your Most Noble and Puissant Milady".