The pyre of my father smoked into the French sky.
I stood wordlessly in the cold rain and bore witness as the hot ashes of my hero soared away forever, leaving me utterly behind in the world.
My older brother, now head of our ancient family, sat in shelter with our stepmother in the car behind me. They waited patiently as I bowed my head in respect and said goodbye underneath the thin gray column that rose relentlessly upwards.
As I stood there I held fast to the vow of love and ferocity I had sworn to him with my lips against the motionless cold of his beloved face, cradled gently in my hands.
I live that vow to my father every day, my brothers.
Now I share it with you.
My father was an officer and a gentleman.
Born at a dinner party in London in 1929, he was raised in a strict and demanding environment very different from the millenials of today.
He was educated at Charterhouse, the third generation to attend there. His father was a colonel. His uncle was a KCMG, decorated for bravery. His grandfather was a brigadier of the Great War, a contemporary of Lord Kitchener.
My father was raised with the expectations that he would, in time, be the head of a family that reached back for nearly a millenium.
He became an officer himself in the Royal Horse Guards and did his duty to his Sovereign in the scorched and devastated cities of a prostrate and conquered Germany.
I was born and raised in America. But the upbringing I absorbed, and the values I was taught, are directly from the heart and mind of a man who bore heritage of a thousand years of Englishmen and never apologized for his blood.
The lessons he taught us were severe, and cold, and beautiful in their stark and stern reality. And I am fortunate beyond measure that many of them were written down, preserved for my brother and I and our descendants in words that resonate strongly.
Leadership and prerogative were among the most important:
Leadership is a funny thing. The man in the street hates to make decisions, hates to be held responsible for what happens to other people if he does make a decision. “But I was told to do it…” is his cop out. The leader says, quite simply, “It was my decision.”
So was his demand that personality and power be an integral part of character. Vibrancy of spirit, strength of intellect, projection of charisma, vitality of heart:
Now plog is a fine old English word that best describes those people whose personalities remind you more than anything else in the whole world of cold porridge. Plog is probably a thrilling mixture of plebeian and stodgy. The word could just as easily have been plodge.
Plog will do nicely.
Plog may be used to describe a state of mind, a personality, an attitude, the way a person moves, the way a person decides, the alacrity of a person’s response-time, even a person’s very complexion.
Do not be plog. Our family, by definition, is never plog.
If you are ever plog, I will disown you. Instantly.
My father proved that vitality, that strength, that resonant power throughout his life. He provided example of love, of dignity, and expectations of performance for his sons and his descendants. His life was powerfully imbued with joy and sorrow, with great satisfaction and moments of pain. It was lived well.
I knew the day would come when he would die. I dreaded it, but knew that it was an experience he would want me to have. For all men die, and the alternative was for him to bury a son.
At last, one autumn day, it arrived. It was with heavy heart I went to France to pay my final respects, and to honor him.
It is difficult to describe the dead face of my father.
The mortuary at the hospital in France had a small viewing room. My brother and stepmother, formally dressed, waited in the anteroom as I went in to say goodbye for the last time.
What would I see? What would the look be upon his face? What would I feel, when I approached the remains of the man who had created me and walked before me and was every bit adored as well as he was feared, respected as well as he was admired?
Who could snap my brother and I to attention with a glance, he whom a woman never forgot?
I approached the simple coffin that he lay within.
And what I saw gave me great peace of heart.
His face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson understood this:
As sometimes in a dead man’s face,
To those that watch it more and more,
A likeness, hardly seen before,
Comes out—to some one of his race:
So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,
I see thee what thou art, and know
Thy likeness to the wise below,
Thy kindred with the great of old.
But there is more than I can see,
And what I see I leave unsaid,
Nor speak it, knowing Death has made
His darkness beautiful with thee.
My father’s face was peaceful.
There was no pain, no sorrow.
There was nothing left… only the absolute nobility of a man of his race and heritage.
I was so very proud of him as I put my hands to his face and felt how cold it was, so terribly cold in that icy room.
I laid my lips to his forehead.
And I swore oath to my dead father.
Gratitude, love and fealty are owed in honor.
I swore to him I would never live as a slave, and teach my sons the same.
I swore to him I would bear witness to our heritage in the dark world.
I swore that I would bear true allegiance and fealty to my elder brother as the new head of our family, and stand beside him with counsel and arms ready to deal out fatal blows of savage loyalty.
I swore I would find way to spread message of the West, and of the heart of civilization that endures. The heart that is upheld by men, advanced by men, and defended by men who know their brothers and fight with them and love and honor them.
I swore I would be true to myself, to my heritage, to my upbringing, and to my sacred purpose.
Today I manifest it with this work.
Sacred purpose is the Way.
My father died several years ago.
Today you read here at Dark Triad Man and you see fulfillment of this oath in the world.
The work that I do here resonates from the past of England, into the future of America, and carries the West itself with it.
I tell you that men do not leave their brothers behind.
Men must stand with their brothers, both of blood and of civilization.
The gorgeous heritage of the West is your responsibility and duty.
Uphold it. Bring your brothers forward. Drive their success as well.
Loners die in the dark world, and armies win.
Thus your responsibility is to form ranks.
And to pave the way, to promote, and to share.
You will see this here at Dark Triad Man.
Guest posts are coming from The Family Alpha.
In the coming weeks I will be showcasing guest posts from The Family Alpha.
His post Queen and Warrior in particular is superb reading for men on the nature of the ferocious female in marriage, and it is with profound pleasure that I announce collaboration with his work here at Dark Triad Man.
Words of War will cover his decision to write, and how he became immediately cognizant to the fact that his words were his weapons.
Every comment, every post, everything I was writing were bullets I was shooting to kill the toxic ideas existing in the minds of men.
…each post was another bomb I dropped onto enemy soil.
Family Crest will share how men placed family honor and survival as paramount considerations, back to a time when manhood and holding ground were one and the same…
…where their crest was emblazoned across a shield which hung above a mantle, waiting for the next time to be used, where men would choose to take the higher road, though it may be more difficult because they did not want to dishonor their family name.
Get Ready To Fight brings forward the admonition and teaching of the role of men in the dark world, and of their stewardship of family and protective power:
There are too many men in the world who are willing to do practically anything before they choose physical confrontation. Men will see their wives and girlfriends hit and try to turn the other cheek and tend to their woman or tell her it was her fault versus facing the prospect of a fight.
Men do not leave their brothers behind, and you must grasp what this means.
Nor do men abandon their women to the adversary. It is not the Way.
The Way can be learned. The Way must be taught.
Survival of our heritage in the West demands it.
Follow @TheFamilyAlpha today.
Join in our work and brotherhood.
Enter the ranks of men like The Family Alpha and Mr. Swift. Understand that dread lords and bloody banners are the way of the dark world, which does not soften its nature from one generation to the next.
You exist within it. Know that the tide of war looms closer even as the new leaders of the West forge great alliances in the face of the foul tide of Islam that washes closer each murderous day.
I am Ivan Throne. I am the Dark Triad Man.
I tell you today that oath will be fulfilled, beyond measure and in honor of the dead. It is backed by the blood of nearly a thousand years, and the determination of iron men who bore steel in defense of their sovereign lord and culture.
In honor of heritage, with ferocity of the day, and in grave attainment of the future.
Today that duty and responsibility rests upon you. Seize it! Take it in hand, and own it!
Stand with us, brothers, and uphold the thrones of the West against destruction.
Remember the immortal words of Kipling:
Now this is the Law of the Jungle —
as old and as true as the sky;
And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper,
but the Wolf that shall break it must die.
As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk
the Law runneth forward and back —
For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf,
and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.
Look well, o wolves! Run with us, brothers!
The hunt grows swift and fearsome in the dark.
Share this Post