Posted on May 24, 2025

I was born to working-class parents, long before smartphones and streaming services. A time when milk was delivered before sunrise, teachers were called “Sir” or “Miss,” and the family car—if you were lucky enough to have one—was often a second-hand Cortina with rust around the arches.

It was a Britain still feeling the echoes of war. The class system hadn’t vanished, but the war had weakened its grip. Brave men and women from every walk of life had proven that courage, sacrifice, and leadership weren’t the sole preserve of the upper classes. They fought not just for victory—but for freedom. Not only the freedom of our nation, but the freedom of potential—the limitless scope to shape one's own future, unburdened by predetermined status.

That’s what I inherited—not a title or a silver spoon, but the chance to become something greater than the sum of my circumstances. The chance to choose my character.

Being a gentleman isn’t about tailored suits or fine cigars, though I’ve come to appreciate both. It’s about how you carry yourself when no one is watching. It’s about the quiet strength to do what’s right, the grace to show respect, and the resolve to stand firm when others falter.

I wasn’t born a gentleman—but I’ve spent my life trying to become one.

And if there’s one duty we all share, it’s this: to protect the freedom we’ve inherited. To be guardians of its promise—for ourselves, and for the generations to come.

—Dusty Wentworth