An Obituary to a Company

A letter from the heart; a cry in the dark!

An annual report tells you of the year, of what we accomplished, of the need for further improvements, the business goals and hopes for next year and the years beyond.

I’d like to tell you about something else. I want to share with you some of my thoughts concerning the damage done to the company called Mottingham Motorcycles. This proud company; one of the oldest in Britain, which survived the death of its founder, numerous recessions, one major depression, and two world wars, a company with over 90 years of success, was destroyed in a single day by a firm of “Management Receivers” called Grant Thornton.

They were the instrument of destruction. We should look at Grant Thornton in all of its glory, “Larry ‘The Liquidator’,” the entrepreneur of post-industrial Britain, playing God with other people’s money; using tools such as The Proceeds of Crime Act, under the auspices of “protecting the public purse” and with the full involvement of petty minded civil servants – along with the approval of the Courts and the agreement of Parliament and it’s resident thieves.

The Robber Barons of old at least left something tangible in their wake — a coal mine, a railway or a bank. This Company leaves nothing. It creates nothing. It builds nothing. It runs nothing. And in Its wake lies nothing but a blizzard of paper to cover the pain it causes. Oh, if they said, “I know how to run your business better than you,” that would be something worth talking about. But they don’t say that. They say, “I’m going to kill you because at this particular moment in time, you’re worth more dead than alive.”

Well, maybe that was true at the time, but it is also true that one day the Motorcycle Industry will turn. One day when the yen is weaker, the Pound is stronger, or, when we finally begin to rebuild our roads, our bridges, the infrastructure of our country; demand for affordable and environmentally friendly transport will skyrocket.  And when those things happen, we could have still been here, stronger because of our ordeal, stronger because we survived. And the price of our stock would have made their puny offering pale by comparison.

God save us if we continue to accept these paltry few Pounds and run. God save this country if that is truly the wave of the future. We will then have become a nation that makes nothing but hamburgers, creates nothing but lawyers, and sells nothing but tax incentives. A nation where the growth industry is a band of fascists in huge departments, collectively known as the “civil service”, that spend their time criminalising and hounding the vulnerable and the defenceless in society. And if we are at that point in this country, where we kill something because at this precise moment it’s worth more dead than alive — well, take a look around. Look at your neighbour; you wouldn’t kill him, would you? No. It’s called murder and it’s illegal.

Well, this too was murder — on a massive scale. Only in “The City”, they call it “maximizing share-holder value” and they call it “legal.” And they substitute Pound Notes where a conscience should be. A business is worth more than the price of its stock. It’s the place where people earn their living, where they meet their friends, dream their dreams. It is, in every sense, the very fabric that binds our society together, whether that is a “Big Society” or a small one.

So let us now, at this stage, say to every accuser in the land; “Here, we built things. We didn’t destroy them. Here, we cared about more than the price of our investment. Here, we cared about people, about jobs and above all else; about HUMANITY!”

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