A Hard Landing

Reflections on the hard shoulder

Other than the obvious inference that life was not extinguished, it is hard to describe an attempted suicide as positive. To arrive at the point where death is considered to be the better alternative to life is a binary I find unimaginable. Unfortunately, many people have many reasons, beyond my ken, for choosing such an outcome. I don’t think the results are ever good.

This is not a piece about “assisted dying”; not even obliquely. As far as I am concerned, assisted dying is doublespeak for legitimising the enormously profitable culling of the human population, and that’s that. The reason for writing about attempted suicide is that I happened upon an instance of it last night. The intent, in doing so, is not to draw out the macabre. Rather, it is to reflect on some of the things which took place and consider what they say about our society.

Whilst on the fortnightly rebound from UK Column, in Plymouth, I was navigating the ever-dull M5, northbound; tuned in to James Corbett, who was explaining why he calls Elon Musk a “technocratic huckster”. Approaching a smallish bridge straddling the highway, a dark shape caught my eye on top of it. I could see two people moving on the left of the bridge, so I paid rather more attention to this overpass than it would usually warrant. Then, as I got level with the concrete stanchions, I saw the unmistakable shape of a human form, lying on the hard shoulder.

In the time it took to utter a loud, clear expletive, I had stopped on the same hard shoulder, got the hazard lights on, grabbed the keys and the mobile telephone and was out of the door, legging it southbound. Hoping to find a person, but expecting it likely to be a corpse, it was not quite clear which I had arrived at. No response to my first call, eyes closed. Graphic detail will not enhance this tale, so I will issue sparingly. Those bridges are not very high, but hitting the deck at that speed does guarantee plenty of trauma, and it was obvious that not all body parts were in the places you might expect to see them.

Fortunately, the youngish man, lying on his back, did open his eyes and he could respond to me. A shouted exchange with the couple on the bridge confirmed that an ambulance had been called. He was obviously in tremendous pain, leaving reassurance and hand-holding (literally) as my primary actions. It was broad daylight, shortly after six in the evening, and there were a heck of a lot of vehicles thundering past, making visibility my secondary concern. How much of a grip on life this broken chap had was hard to determine. Kneeling in the middle of the hard shoulder with him, facing the traffic, was a vulnerable place to be for the nearly 20 minutes it took for flashing lights to arrive.

During this time, one other person stopped and ran back to help, and this is part of the reason I am writing it up. We are enmeshed in various proxy wars, at the behest of various corporations, philanthropists and zionists, which makes the outlook pretty bleak for the servicemen and women of the British Armed Forces. However, I spent time as an infanteer, in the Army, and I know that there existed a sincerity in the desire to serve Queen and country. I appreciate that to some, it is difficult to see people who sign up to become trained killers as anything other than that.

Of the thousands of passing motorists, the one that stopped to help was Dan, a paramedic serving with the Royal Marines. Given that this took place in the south west of England, you could argue that there was a higher likelihood of a bootneck being in the vicinity, which might be fair enough. I said I would make comment on the state of society, so here goes.

It turned out that this poor soul had been lying on the tarmac for a full 15 minutes before I got to him. The couple on the bridge had not dared venture down the bank to provide comfort or first aid, or simply a visible deterrent to him being run over. Any fag packet you can still get your hands on would tell you that at least 3,000 vehicles must have passed in that period. Admittedly, he was not wearing bright colours and he was, of course, flat on his back. How many did not see him at all? How many would have done before the advent of the smartphone and the dashboard-mounted computer console?

A part of the pie chart would have had entirely justifiable reasons for not stopping: young children on board, elderly and/or frail, and so forth. Another segment may have failed to compute quickly enough and found themselves too far away before realising what they had seen, perhaps calling 999 thereafter. Failings of situational awareness aside, the reality is that a tremendous number of people did absolutely nothing. I believe this mirrors, broadly, the way in which people have come to regard any sense of moral obligation toward one another.

We all know the emergency services have spent years wrapped in rainbows, kneeling before the altar of critical race theory and driving electric wagons as though children in DRC love mining. However, when it comes to an old-fashioned incident, with life at risk, they just get on with it. Within ten minutes of the first uniformed paramedic arriving, the motorway had been closed in both directions, an ambulance crew was assessing the trauma and a helicopter had landed on the now quiet tarmac.

At times like this, a sense of righteous wrath can take hold. How dare the state pervert the operational capabilities of those within whose gift it is to avert harm? That “diversity” and anything remotely aligned with it, can have been allowed to assume precedence over all else is a near-perfect illustration of the cowardice, conformity, greed and stupidity of those entrusted with the management of these organisations. There is an awful lot more detail which could be entered into, thereby tackling the nature of the relationship between the goons in the offices of state and their controllers, but now is not the time.

To me, at least, it may not be recorded as coincidence that the only two people who stopped to attempt to affect the outcome of the situation shared the Armed Forces as common ground. This is not to write off civpop at a stroke; far from it. There is a tendency, though, to tar all with the same brush. If we are to live life as we would wish it to be, then we should dig in for those around us, because it is always worth it. As to the man scraped off the tarmac, what will become of him? With the entire breadth of the motorway to myself, I drove off pondering this, and much besides.