Decline & Fall
The “Anti-Fascist” English Aristocrat Whose Life Reads Like a Novel by Evelyn Waugh

1,955 words

Constance Marten and Mark Gordon.

A recent British criminal case involving a white English aristocrat, her black rapist lover, and their neglectfully dead mixed-race baby, seems almost designed to carry a certain literary significance to it. The aristo involved led one of those lives you usually only see in novels, whereby the main character’s lifespan and fate is meant to stand in for the lifespan and fate of something far wider, like an entire nation, class, or civilization.

In this case, the protagonist’s tragic downfall mirrors in an unnervingly direct way that of white Western Europe in the post-war era – specifically, a wildly politically incorrect satire of the feckless ways of the ignorant and idle ruling rich, in thrall to the ridiculous, self-destructive moral and social fashions of their day, as in Evelyn Waugh. On the centenary of Waugh’s birth in 2003, the conservative upper-class author was accused of having been a “fascist apologist.” Yet, perhaps sometimes, it is the opposite attitude towards fascism which does the most damage in life.

Vile Bodies

As we all know, the overwhelming lesson of World War II is that white people are eternally and irredeemably evil, because Holocaust, which ALL of us were responsible for, even those white people who fought against the other white people who were actually doing it.

In the case of Constance ‘Toots’ Marten (the heroine of our current real-life Bildungsroman), the delusion of inherited ancestral guilt was particularly strong, as she was related to Sir Oswald Mosley, the Blackshirt leader of the British Union of Fascists. Constance’s paternal aunt, Charlotte, had married Sir Oswald’s son, Oswald Alexander Mosley, in 1975; OAM’s mother was Diana Mitford, socialite fan-girl admirer of none other than Adolf Hitler, World’s Most Evil Man™.

As Constance advanced into her teens, she reportedly began to grow ashamed of her familial relation to Sir Oswald, rebelling against the ancestral Nazi taint by becoming increasingly interested in the issue of “racial justice.” When this eventually culminated in her shacking up with a big black rapist for a lover, in the shape of an inveterate ne’er-do-well named Mark Gordon, this contributed to a rift with her family, whom she later complained could be “quite bigoted.”

Yes, who but a “bigoted” neo-Nazi racist would not want Mark Gordon as a potential son-in-law? Even in the crowded field of black home-invasions, Gordon was a high-achiever, and at such a young age, too. His Jamaican immigrant single-mother took her child from his birthplace of Britain to live in the US in 1986. In 1989, aged only 14, like the character in the old Beatles song, he then climbed in through the bathroom window of an unsuspecting neighbor in Miami. Unlike the character in the Beatles song, Gordon entered his victim’s bathroom wearing a stocking over his face, wielding a knife and a pair of hedge-cutters.

For four solid hours he subjected his prey to a prolonged series of rapes whilst running his knife over her body and throat, threatening to kill her two young children if she screamed. He was later arrested after breaking into another couple’s bedroom and battering the husband with a shovel, serving twenty years in prison before being deported back to the UK in 2010, where he was placed on the Sex Offenders’ Register.

It seems that for Constance, having a man like that in the family would not be remotely as shameful and dangerous as having the son of Sir Oswald Mosley – who was only a small child during WWII, not a camp-commandant at Auschwitz – gathered around the dinner table playing charades and drinking sherry with you at Christmas. Black shirts, no. Black skins, yes please!

Black Mischief

How did a young female aristocrat from an ultra-rich and privileged family, whose grandfather was an equerry to George VI and her grandmother goddaughter to the late Queen Mother, end up falling for a career criminal like this? Amongst other potential reasons, it seems to have been part of a wider pattern of uncontrollable, white-guilt-induced negro worship.

Being rich and feckless, Marten naturally enjoyed a gap year, which she spent touring Africa, where she worked in an orphanage, playing the white savior role to make up for all those Kenyans Uncle A and Great-Uncle Sir Oswald M didn’t actually kill. In 2006 in Nigeria, she joined a notorious domestic cult, the Synagogue, Church of All Nations, led by charismatic black preacher conman TB Joshua, later exposed as a habitual and enthusiastic raper of white women himself. Constance’s friends believed “she got brainwashed” by Joshua, agreeing to call him “Daddy”, whilst living in a collective female dormitory watched over by armed guards. According to The Daily Telegraph:

In an interview she later gave about her experiences, she said: “The leader looked me in the eye and said, ‘Your family doesn’t matter anymore. I’m your father now.’” … she later described how Joshua would humiliate her and the other white followers. They were disciplined for not standing up when Joshua walked into the room, often made to eat his leftover food, and were forced to survive on just a few hours sleep a night … the time there clearly had a deep impact on her mental wellbeing.

Although she eventually managed to flee, you’d think from this ordeal Marten would learn her lesson: non-white people aren’t all universal saints after all – in fact, some of them are every bit as bad as Nazis like Sir Oswald Mosley, and maybe sometimes even worse. But no, apparently the post-war psychological conditioning was too severe, and in 2008 she enrolled on an Arabic language course at Leeds University; given the city’s demographics these days she could have learned how to speak Akbar for free just by hanging around outside and talking to the locals all day long. Following graduation, the Non-Too-Bright Young Thing attempted to launch a career in journalism with Al-Jazeera, but was seemingly stymied by a reluctance to turn up to work on time, if at all.

In 2015, in the way only people backed by massive family trust-funds ever can, Marten changed course yet again, studying to become an actress. Here, she befriended African-sounding student Antony Oshineye, to whom she once remorsefully confessed: “I hope you’re not going to be angry with me if I tell you this: I’m related to Oswald Mosley.” “You can’t help who you’re related to,” replied Oshineye, before adding, “My dad’s Robert Mugabe” (probably).

Then, in 2016, Marten’s life changed forever when, whilst perusing the wares of what she called an “Indian shop” the owner asked her to keep an eye on “a suspicious character” who had just entered whilst she chased after a customer who had left her handbag behind. Refusing to believe he was a “suspicious character” – after all, he was black, not white! – Constance introduced herself to the man, who evidently spotted a perfect new lefty white dupe to enthral.

The Loved One

The two quickly bonded over this appalling example of “casual racism” upon the shopkeeper’s behalf, and went out for a very black coffee. Although Gordon was 13 years older than her, Constance clearly had a thing for tall dark rapists, and before long they were an item. When her family found out, Constance was sorry to find they did not especially like the idea for some obscure reason. After ‘marrying’ her lover in a shamanistic ceremony in Peru, she broke off all communication with her relatives, via a curt text-message: “Please respect my decision, I don’t want to see any of you any more, please don’t try and find me or contact me, thank you, goodbye.”

Personally, I would have been all too happy to have complied, but, families being families, the Martens tried to track their wayward relative down, finding she and Gordon, subsidized by her trust fund (she didn’t dissociate herself from that particular part of the family inheritance), had adopted a peripatetic lifestyle, moving from campsite to campsite and rented home to rented home across the UK, all whilst Gordon repeatedly impregnated her with mixed-race, thoroughly non-Nazi, babies.

In 2019, 14 weeks pregnant with her third anti-fascist fetus, Constance “fell” out of a first-floor window, rupturing her spleen. Given that in the contemporary anti-racist worldview it is not possible for a black man ever to commit a crime, Marten tried to convince authorities she had accidentally tumbled down whilst trying to get better reception from a TV aerial. When police forced their way into the building, they found the true likely source of poor picture quality was the fact the couple’s TV set had a large blanket placed over it. A family court later ruled that, “on the balance of probabilities”, Gordon had just pushed Marten out of the window.

Unsurprisingly, in 2022 the couple’s first four children were put up for forcible adoption by the crypto-fascist white British State, leading to the pair going on the run so that the fifth child then still gestating in Marten’s womb, later to be named Victoria, could not be likewise seized once it dropped out squealing. A national manhunt was launched, the fugitives living inside a freezing tent where, in the later opinion of a court, they ended up causing the death of baby Victoria by “gross negligence manslaughter”, as the legal lingo has it.

Instead of burying the baby’s corpse (or soul-empty “space-suit”, as Marten preferred) the loving parents shoved it inside a supermarket bag from discount outlet Lidl, not even a Harrods one like you might have expected an aristocrat to use. Covered over with leaves, Coke cans and food wrappers, they carried their dead infant around with them before hiding the whole shabby lot in an abandoned wooden shed. At least Nazis like Sir Oswald knew how to dispose of dead bodies properly, not in an amateur fashion like this.

Love Among the Ruins

At their later trial, the couple still refused to face reality. Atticus Finch not being available, the couple repeatedly hired and fired attorneys, before Gordon decided upon defending himself instead, extremely ineptly by all accounts, with the amateur lawyer inevitably attributing the fact that proceedings did not go well for him to – can you possibly guess? – yes, that’s right, racism! Some observers guessed the pair’s real tactic was simply that of trying to sabotage the whole circus.

Repeatedly, they were unable to attend the trial due to supposed toothache, illness, distress, or even Gordon having lost his trousers. Maybe he accidentally misplaced them whilst committing another rape? They would flirt with each other in the dock, or pass notes to the judge asking permission to “nip out for a coffee” to avoid falling asleep. Out of his depth, Gordon pleaded for help from the Royal Family: “I ask the King in his mercy and those who work for him to help me!” At one point, the exasperated judge chided the defendants that two teenagers he had overseen on trial the previous week had been “rather better behaved” than the adults were. “And they pleaded guilty to murder.”

In her desperate desire not to be racist, and to distance herself from her ancestors’ supposedly evil Nazi past, this is what this particular morally deceived white Englishwoman had descended down to: complete and total degeneracy, blindness to obvious truths about the criminal nature of the non-white men in her life, and the ultimate needless death of her own baby. Talk about inflicting the sins of the parents down upon the innocent children. So what if Constance Marten was distantly related to Sir Oswald Mosley? How many Jews did she herself kill, personally? She wasn’t even born until 1987.

How long does everyone white alive today have to keep on suffering for someone else’s past evils? Forever, apparently: that’s the interactive novel we’re all now forced to go on living in. And, unlike one by Evelyn Waugh, it isn’t even funny.