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        • Chapter Seven : Liam and Trish marry
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        • Chapter Eleven : The future is brighter
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        • Chapter One: 'The Christmas Enigma'
        • Chapter Two: ' The Breakup of Beth's Family''
        • Chapter Three: From Teenager to Adulthood.'
        • Chapter Four: 'The Mills of West Yorkshire.'
        • Chapter Five: 'Harrison Garner Showdown.'
        • Chapter Six : 'The Christmas Dance'
        • Chapter Seven : 'The ballot for Shop Steward.'
        • Chapter Eight: ' Leaving the Mill'
        • Chapter Ten: ' Beth buries her Ghosts'
        • Chapter Eleven: Beth and Dermot start off married life in Galway.
        • Chapter Twelve: The Twin Tragedy of Christmas, 1992.'
        • Chapter Thirteen: 'The Christmas star returns'
        • Chapter Fourteen: ' Beth's future in Portlaw'
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        • Chapter One - ‘Nancy Swales becomes the Widow Swales’
        • Chapter Two ‘The secret night life of Widow Swales’
        • Chapter Three ‘Meeting Richard again’
        • Chapter Four ‘Clancy’s Ballroom: March 1961’
        • Chapter Five ‘The All Ireland Dancing Rounds’
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        • Chapter Seven ‘The All Ireland Ballroom Latin American Dance Final.’
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        • Chapter Six
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Song For Today: 29th February 2020

29/2/2020

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I dedicate my song this Leap Year to all you female lovers out there who are working up the courage to ask the man you love to marry you. Today is the day ‘to strike while the iron is hot’.

Today’s song is ‘You Win Again’. This was a 1952 song by Hank Williams. In style, the song is a blues ballad and deals with the singer's despair with his partner. The song has been widely covered, including versions by Ray Charles: Jerry Lee Lewis: Roy Orbison, Bob Dylan: Johnny Cash: Gene Vincent: George Jones: Glenn Campbell: Conway Twitty and the Rolling Stones.

Hank Williams recorded ‘You Win Again’ on July 11, 1952; one day after his divorce from Audrey Williams was finalized. Like ‘Cold, Cold Heart’, the song was likely inspired by his tumultuous relationship with his ex-wife, as biographer Colin Escott observes:
"It might have been no more than coincidence, but, in the absence of hard evidence to the contrary, the songs cut that day after Hank's divorce seems like pages torn from his diary. Its theme of betrayal had grown old years before Hank tackled it, but, drawing from his bottomless well of resentment, he gave it a freshness bordering on topicality."

‘You Win Again’ peaked at Number 10 on the ‘Most Played’ in ‘C&W Juke Boxes Chart’.

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I was ten years old when this song was first recorded by Hank Williams, but I would be 18 years old when I first heard it. At the time, I worked at a Dyeworks in Hightown called Harrison Gardeners (long since closed). One of my workmates was a 28-year-old man who was about ten years older than me called Arthur.

Arthur used to take on the additional functions of daily going to the local shop and placing food orders for anyone in the firm who wanted sandwiches, pies or fish and chips for their lunch break. In return for these extra services, all workmates placing orders would give Arthur a few pennies for himself. With a customer base of around fifty work mates daily, Arthur would earn an extra few pounds every day for himself. In addition, he also had an arrangement with the general store and fish shop he used, that if he placed his large daily order with them, they would provide him with one free portion of fish and chips or any free sandwich of his choice. On those days when he received both free sandwiches and fish and chips, he would sell off one of them to his workmates and pocket the profit. When I started at the firm, Arthur had been the ‘lunch shopper’ for over five years. All this was at a time in Great Britain when the weekly average wage of a working man was around £16. Consequently, with his additional earnings on the side, Arthur earned double what all his workmates did in any given week.

This knack of ‘earning extra’ for Arthur had become a way of life ever since his teenage years, and by the time I knew him, he was well on his way to becoming one of the wealthiest chaps in West Yorkshire.

I am not aware of Arthur’s precise upbringing, but it wasn’t a poor one as his parents occupied a very large old cottage in Roberttown and Arthur was their only child. His widowed mother had always been a sickly woman since the death of Arthur’s dad, and although she didn’t die until her late sixties, it was often rumoured that Arthur hoped for an early passing. It was well known that Arthur would be very comfortable when she did die and he eventually inherited.

For whatever reason, there must have been something in Arthur’s past that made him want to amass as much money as he possibly could. The only security he seemed to have was in the comfort of being surrounded by money and the means of amassing more of it. He was a proper wheeler-dealer ‘Del Boy’ and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make a profit, except for gambling. Money was too important a factor in his life ever to risk losing in a wager.

I first met Arthur when he was aged twenty-eight years. He was the only working-class chap I knew who had bought and paid for his own house in Heckmondwike three years earlier. He rented this house out for an extra income and had no intention of ever moving out of his widowed mother’s house before she died and left him the large family home.

Naturally, anyone who was short of money mid-week (which essentially included all the workers in the firm except Arthur) could always borrow from him. If ever a larger loan in emergency circumstances was needed, that also could be arranged for a higher interest. Arthur charged ten percent profit on any amount loaned per week and if the debt wasn’t paid off the following payday and was carried over into a further week, the interest would become twelve percent due on the second week and fourteen percent on the third week. Arthur carried ‘his little black book’ in his back pocket and this never left his person. It was rumoured that Arthur slept with it under his pillow on a night. This ‘debt book’ identified all of Arthur’s debtors, the interest charged, and the amount owed.

I will never forget the morning that I saw Arthur in the most agitated mood I’d ever seen him in. The upshot was that he’d lost his ‘black book’ from his back pocket and was dashing to the outside lavatory cubicles in the yard where he had just left after a ten-minute sitting in one of the toilet cubicles. When he arrived at the cubicle he’d occupied five minutes earlier (and where he hoped he’d dropped his black book on the floor), he found it occupied. He kept banging on the door until the occupant opened it, extremely angry to be interrupted at the most strenuous time of his morning. Arthur had the lavatory door slammed in his face, but he saw his black book on the floor of the toilet bowl as he got ‘shut out’.

The sitting occupant’s attention was then drawn to the ‘black book’ on the floor, which it was reported he proceeded to read through as Arthur waited patiently outside the door. When Arthur’s workmate eventually emerged from his lavatory cubicle and Arthur demanded his ‘black book’ back, the workmate who’d found it initially refused, indicating that there was no way Arthur could prove it was his property. Arthur eventually got his book back ‘at a price’ that was never disclosed to the rest of the workers. It was surmised to be the cancellation of the finder’s loan or some agreed payment in ‘hush money’ on ‘non-disclosure’ terms for never revealing the list of debtors and the amounts owed inside the book. Arthur was generally a popular workmate but had he ever incurred a fatal accident, I suspect that many dozens of debtors would have been highly relieved, if not delighted!

When Arthur was around 18 years old (ten years before I knew him), he started dating a working girl from the same Dyeworks called Pat (she never used her longer name of Patricia). Despite her age and natural attractive looks, Pat would peroxide bleach her hair blonde. This practice was frowned upon during the 1950s/60s and was rarely done unless one was an actress or worked in a street profession. Pat was a beautiful looking woman who set her cap at Arthur as soon as she met him. Arthur, on the other hand, was going bald even in his early twenties and was so embarrassed by his loss of hair that he was never seen without wearing his flat cap (even in the house). Still, despite his balding head and scrooge-like characteristics, Pat must have seen something that attracted her to Arthur, and to hang on tight to him. All his workmates envied the balding Arthur being able to attract a gorgeous looking young woman like Pat, who was generally referred to as being ‘sex on legs’ by those workmates who were jealous of Arthur.

When I first met Arthur, he and Pat had already been engaged for over eight years. They’d been courting since they were both eighteen years old and had got engaged two years later. Eventually, remaining a ‘Miss’ into her twenties began to acutely embarrass Pat. Arthur had never shown her the slightest intention of ever proposing marriage to her, so Pat took matters into her own hands and used a ‘Leap Year’ to make her own proposal of marriage to Arthur on February 29th. Both she and Arthur were twenty years old at the time. Arthur might have been an old miser, but he probably worked out pretty quickly that if he didn’t accept Pat’s proposal of marriage and take her off the ‘market of availability’, she would become ‘soiled goods’ within weeks, after all the other single chaps who fancied her had taken her out on a date.

So, Pat and Arthur became officially engaged when they were each twenty years old. It reportedly took Arthur a further two years before he bought her a diamond engagement ring that he’d purchased from a pawn shop in Bradford. Accepting her proposal of marriage naturally led Pat to conclude that they would soon be man and wife, but Pat hadn’t accounted for Arthur’s love of money above any love he held for her.

While Pat was an asset he didn’t want to lose, his widowed mother was holding out an even greater asset in Arthur’s inheritance of her property when she died. There was one big fly in the ointment though which Arthur could not dispose of. After Arthur had initially introduced Pat to his mother when they’d been courting for around six months, his mother apparently took an instant dislike to her. She considered Pat to be as ‘common as muck’; perceiving her as being an unnatural blonde who wasn’t good enough to marry her only son. The upshot was that Arthur was no longer welcome to bring his girlfriend to the house and his mother threatened to disinherit him and leave all her estate to a dog’s home (they had twin collies) if he didn’t stop dating Pat.

Arthur agreed to his mother's terms to break it off with Pat, but as his mother was a sickly woman who hardly left the house, he felt he could continue seeing Pat and that his mum would never learn of his deception. That was seemingly the reason why he bought the Heckmondwike house outright at the age of twenty-five, so he could have a place to bring Pat back to at times when he couldn’t bring her back home to mum’s house. As far as Arthur’s mother knew, her son had broken off his relationship with Pat and she never got an inkling about their Heckmondwike love-nest property.

Within one year of buying the house in Heckmondwike, Arthur started to rent it out, supposedly to make more money to go towards his and Pat’s eventual marriage after his mother died.

The ending to this story is that the couple had the longest engagement that any couple probably ever had in England, at a time when most young men and women were married and had parented children by their twenty-second birthdays. Pat and Arthur got married ten years after they had got engaged. Arthur’s mother had died a year earlier, and when he no longer had a viable excuse to keep Pat waiting any longer, Pat marched her man up the wedding aisle as quickly as he’d go. The married couple then took up residency in the house that Arthur had grown up in.

Before I went to live in Canada for a few years at the age of twenty-one years, Arthur (who was now in his early thirties) still worked at the Dyeworks in Hightown and Pat (his wife) still worked in the winding and packaging department. However, whatever amount of money Arthur amassed over the years never seemed to be enough for him. Despite seeming to have it all; his big bank balance, his money-making rackets, his Heckmondwike property, his big inherited family home, and his beautiful looking bride, Pat (whose colour of hair hadn’t changed one iota in tone in all the years I knew her), Arthur always wanted more.

Whichever one looked at it, Arthur had ‘won again’ by learning to hold out asking Pat to marry him until Pat got well and truly fed up and proposed herself and by deceiving his poorly mother that he still had Pat in the background. When I came back from Canada a few years later, both Arthur and Pat had left the employment of Harrison Gardener’s Dyeworks. I heard in later years that he’d sold his Heckmondwike property that he’d rented out and also that the family home had been sold up. I never learned his current whereabouts but wherever he and his wife Pat is, I’d be willing to bet that he’s still a ‘Del Boy’ wheeler and dealer who carries a black book of his debtors and that Pat’s hair is still the same colour that it’s always been!

Come to think of it, I met my wife Sheila in 2010 and we got married in November 2012 (a Leap Year). Also, I cannot recollect ever proposing marriage to her. In fact, come to think of it, it might have been the other way ‘round, as it was on February 29th, 2012 when Sheila first brought the subject up and we got married nine months later? The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that Sheila found her own way of doing the proposing and of making me an offer that I couldn’t refuse! She even paid the marriage licence fee. Blow my little cotton socks, ‘ Sheila went and won again’.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 28th February 2020

28/2/2020

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Today is the turn of my Facebook friend, Lorna Long from County Waterford in Ireland to receive a song dedication. Lorna lives in the Irish county of my birth. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Lorna and have a nice day.

I also dedicate my song to my Great nephew, Christian Eggett of Heckmondwike who celebrates his birthday today. Have a smashing day, Christian and be sure to eat plenty of cake. Love from Great Uncle Billy x

My song today is, ‘Til I Kissed You’. This song was written by Don Everly of ‘The Everly Brothers’. It was released as a single in 1959 and peaked at Number 4 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’. Chet Atkins.

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I was a romantic 17-year-old teenager when I first heard this record and I considered myself a bit of a catch. If the truth be known and I can stifle my natural humility for a moment, many a young woman between Heckmondwike and Halifax and Batley and Bradford considered me a bit of a catch also!

I was a handsome young man, full of confidence on the dating scene, popular with my male peer group and with a great deal going for me. I loved dancing, almost as much as I loved myself! Where I differed from the rest of my peer group on the dating scene, however, was that ‘I wasn’t in it to win it’! Neither ‘was I in it to get out of it all I could persuade the girls to give me’. No! I was in it ‘for the fun of it’! True that I fell in love with every beautiful young woman I dated, and true they also fell in love with me, but that is where the mutual meeting of minds and the machinations of mice and men ended.

I loved women! I loved dancing! I loved the buzz of living dangerously; I loved living on the edge of passionate romance. I loved the idea of ‘falling in love’ without experiencing the danger of ‘falling out of my bachelor status’. Hence, all my romantic attachments would last no longer than one month before I gently ended them and moved on to pastures new.

In 1959, any young woman who wasn’t married at the age of twenty-one and a mother by the age of twenty-three would have been considered ‘old maid’ material who was destined to live and die alone, apart from her three cats and any sinister spinster friends. Any young man who hadn’t walked the marital aisle by the same age of twenty-one as the young women of the day would have been considered as being someone ‘too wild to settle down’ and ‘too unpredictable to be considered as being cut of suitable husband or parental material’. In both aspects, I would have had to plead ‘Guilty M’lud’.

During the previous century, the working-class Victorians were brought up at a time when their parents were born and brought up in the same village, attended the same school and church, played together as children, started work in the same factory or mill and married someone who’d always been a close neighbour. Their families would remain forever intermingled with the blood of the same forefathers. Born in the same village, they’d be buried in the same graveyard. The Victorian era was an age when even poverty of the working classes required stability in order to feel more settled in one’s surroundings, and the least change one experienced in their daily lives equated with the only sense of personal security a poor family had. This was a time when one rarely died more than a few streets away from where one had lived as a child. This was a time when the farthest one would travel might be to another town on a family day outing, or to the local park to hear the brass band play.

One century later when I was born in 1942, things hadn’t progressed too much for the children of my generation and their families. The farthest we would dream of travelling might be to some county with a seaside resort like Blackpool or Scarborough for a few days annually. Travelling to another country was never within the dreams of the working-class and was only ever achievable to a young man who joined one of the Forces like Army, Navy or Air Force.

What probably made me different to my peers from the beginning of my teenage years was my firm intention to travel abroad and my ability to see my dreams come true. A terrible accident in my young life was to provide me with a start in my manhood that few could ever hope for.

When I was 11-years old, I incurred a life-threatening and life-changing accident when a wagon ran over me and stopped on top of me, after wrapping and twisting my body around its main drive shaft axel. My extensive injuries included a damaged spine which indicated I would never walk again. As it turned out, fate, God and destiny remained with me, and after three years of immobility, I was able to hobble about again. As a result of my childhood accident, I was awarded a substantial sum of compensation that I would receive at the age of twenty-one.

When I eventually attained the age of majority, my dreams to travel to Canada and America became a self-financing possibility. I also had a decent voice and wanted to try my hand as a professional singer instead of remaining a textile worker. I knew that travelling around Canada and some of the United States would be much better as a single man before I settled down to the domesticity of married life. This was why I remained determined to stay clear of all commitment to long-term relationships with young women during my teenage years.

I dreamed the same dream most of my teenage years, and I didn’t want to wake up in West Yorkshire at the age of twenty-two with a wife, one child and another on the way. Neither did I want to enter old age in my rocking chair of senility, having permanent regrets about the things I could have done and never did; the places I could have seen and never saw. I neither wanted nor needed reproachful memories of ‘what could have been’ in a life's experience of 'what never was'.

How could I prevent myself ‘falling in love’ and falling into a long-term commitment and marriage before I was ready to be caught? How could I possibly resist the temptation that Adam was faced with and remain American bound? What kind of young woman might prove to be my Eve; my downfall? Which beauty would be the one capable of offering me the type of fruit I would find irresistible to bite into and the most desirable to taste?

I was still a young man, as streetwise as they came for my age, yet I was still unwise in the machinations of a woman’s mind and the way she thinks. I asked myself, ‘Were the most dangerous young women the ones who gave up everything without the asking, the ones who gave up all for nothing? Or were they the ones who held out, on a promise of better things to come? Or were they the ones who gave up ‘just enough’ to maintain continued male interest, while delivering nothing? These were the questions of womanhood I knew not the answers to.

Far more dangerous to me, however, were my female counterparts; who like myself were independent individuals. Women I liked best were those who refused to be influenced in how best to think, to dress and to conduct oneself for the pleasure of man. These were young women who refused to be slaves to the conventions of the time. These were young women of strong personality who refused to have their lives defined by any man however handsome, sexually attractive, powerful or wealthy he was! I loved these women more than all the rest and they would forever stay my female preference and constant romantic companions in later life. These were women who were more attracted to the man who rated the female brain above that of the female body, and who considered their conversations and personal opinions more appetising than their natural curves.

Don’t get me wrong, I have always loved all the feminine curves that were in the right places, along with the type of legs that went all the way up from earth to heaven, but what really turned me on the most, and what has always turned me on the most, was the chase and never the quarry.

Between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one years of age, I essentially played romantic chess with the young women in my life. In my game of romantic chess, I’d be the King, and they the Queen instead of the more traditional form of pawn young women of the 1950s and 60s became more accustomed to when being picked up and put down with little consideration by the young men in their lives. In my game of romantic chess, there would be no winners or losers. This was a game where the satisfaction for both players would come about with a session of heavy petting before calling ‘Check Mate’!

There was a time when I fooled myself that I would know when the ‘love train’ had knocked me down in the middle of the tracks by the very first kiss between me and a woman I loved. It took me the best part of twenty years to realise that ‘how good a kisser’ a woman was, bore absolutely no relation whatsoever as to ‘how good’ she was in any other part of an ongoing relationship that was capable of taking one’s breath away.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 27th February 2020

27/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to Phil Hennebry of Port Murray, New Jersey. It is not Phil’s birthday today, merely his turn for a song dedication of mine from my Facebook contact list. I believe that Phil has some connection with the Irish village where I was born; Portlaw in County Waterford as he recently visited there. Thank you for being my Facebook friend,Phil, and have a nice day.

My song today is ‘The Leader of The Band’. This song was written by Dan Fogelberg from his 1981 album ‘The Innocent Age’. The song was written as a tribute to his father, Lawrence Fogelberg, a musician and the leader of a band, who was still alive at the time the song was released. Lawrence died in August 1982, but not before this hit song made him a celebrity with numerous media interviews interested in him as its inspiration.

Released as a single at the end of 1981, the tribute peaked at Number 9 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart in March 1982. It became Fogelberg's second Number 1 song on the ‘Billboard Adult Contemporary’ chart, following his 1980 hit ‘Longer’.
Lucie Arnaz performed a version of the song as a tribute to her late father, Desi Arnaz. Regine Velasquez also recorded this song in 2008 for her album ‘Low Key’, and she also performed the song to her father, Gerardo Velasquez, he was still alive. Zac Brown recorded this song in 2017 as part of a tribute album to Dan Fogelberg. He also dedicated it to his father.

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The love of a father and a mother are different. While we would like to think that we loved each parent the same amount, we most certainly will not have loved them in the same way. If I had to distinguish how I loved each of my parents, and what each gave me to go forward in life, I would have to thank my father for giving me my head and my mother for giving me my heart.

I always felt closer to mum and more emotionally distant from dad, not because I particularly wanted it that way but simply because that was the way it was. Both parents had been brought up in Ireland but while my mother’s upbringing was not unusual for the times in any way, my father’s early life was lived in abject poverty.

My mother was the most emotional of my two parents and she gave instant expression to her feelings at the moment of their birth, whereas my father was a man who was brought up never to show his feelings and never to behave in any way that did not come across as being ‘manly’. Consequently, mum was the one who gave us the comforting hugs whenever we needed them. When we hurt and cried, she naturally cried with us. On the other hand, dad devoted most of his time, working all the hours God gave him to put food on the family table and pay the weekly rent. As far as our household and my father’s work went, overtime for dad in his job was more a survival rule than an employment exception.

Mum did everything to excess; she lived life to the full, enjoyed telling stories and making stories up. She sang all day long as she worked around the house as the mother of seven children and the wife of a miner. Mum sang because she was happiest when singing, even though she was unable to hold a note because of the cigarette that constantly drooped from her mouth or remember the words of the song. The words of the song that mum didn’t know, she merely made up from her own imagination to insert into the song. As long as they rhymed with the end of the song line, whatever the message of the song, the word ‘bread’ would be as suitable to insert as ‘head’ or ‘said’ or ‘led’, as would, ‘fast’ or ‘last’ or ‘past’ or ‘cast’ etc.

Dad did sing, (but only in private) while he was perfectly happy to whistle in public. He sang only two songs (‘Some Enchanted Evening’ and ‘Sweet Sixteen’). Dad would be heard whistling about the house (all the men in England whistled then as a matter of course) and it would only be when he went in the bathroom that he would break out into song. He would sing in the lowest of voices so that he wasn’t heard beyond the bathroom door, as he washed the soot from his miner’s body. Me and my two sisters, Mary and Eileen would listen outside the bathroom door and giggle out of devilment. If he heard us there, dad would immediately stop singing and shout at us to get downstairs instantly!

Mum was the social animal of our two parents, whereas my father would generally keep to himself. He was a quiet man in the main, spoke when he had something to say, and then never wasted his breath; saying with a few words what mum might take half a dozen sentences to say. The only close friends who dad seemed to have still lived in County Kilkenny, Ireland. Mum constantly complained that my dad never took her dancing. She used to say, “Your dad has two left feet, Billy, and the times he used them was to kick an old football around!”

Mum loved to have a rum and black current at the local pub with a bingo friend while dad was teetotal (having been brought up by an alcoholic father). Mum was the biggest bragger and story exaggerator whoever came out of Ireland. She would constantly tell us about the time when she won a book from her school after she had come first in the class at learning her Roman Catholic Catechism. The nuns were so pleased that she could recite the catechism word for word and back to front that they presented her with a book. I never once in her whole life saw my mother read a book, any book.

Dad, on the other hand, was the most modest person who ever lived. He had played soccer in his twenties for both his county and his country before getting married. I never learned of this fact until I was 9 years old. It turned out that the early years of my parent’s marriage witnessed mum being a football widow every weekend of the soccer seasons, with three young children under four years of age to look after in my father’s absence while occupying a one-roomed rented flat and carrying naught but an empty purse. These were the days when Irish soccer players didn’t receive a wage; only bare travel expenses. That was why mum probably never mentioned dad playing national soccer before I learned at the age of 9 years; she, having had her fill of it during her early marriage.

Whereas mum saw the value in giving her children a good education, my father prized hard work as being the best character builder there was. Dad had left his schooling at the age of twelve years to join the job market and saw little point in using one’s head to earn a living if one was blessed with broad shoulders and calloused hands which never shied away from hard work. When it came to religious observance, dad was as strict a Catholic as they came (this side of heaven). He would always kneel to say his prayers by the bedside every night and morning, whereas my mother insisted on saying her prayers silently beneath her breath and the warm bed sheets, and at Sunday Mass.

Dad would always set off for Sunday Service in Cleckheaton with time to spare and would be praying in his front pew at least fifteen minutes before Mass started and the priest showed his face. Mum, on the other hand, would always arrive at Sunday Mass, ten minutes late. Our house was two miles away from the church and mum would wait until 9:55 am every Sunday morning before getting her bicycle out of the shed. It was all downhill to church, and once she had pedalled off the estate, she would freewheel all the way to church. It would take her 15 minutes of travel time. Mum always arrived ten minutes late and sat at the back of the church, so she could slip out unnoticed to have a smoke, ten minutes before the service had ended.

I once asked mum why she always cut ten minutes off the start and the end of every Sunday morning Mass? She simply replied with a sarcastic reply, ‘Billy, forty minutes is more than long enough to listen to any priest repeat himself”. She then when on to justify her actions by bible illustration, saying that ‘forty’ was a holy number and that Lent only had forty days in it and that forty minutes was long enough to listen to any parish priest in a captive setting instead of sixty! As for her bicycle getting itself back home; the bike was left for me to push the two miles uphill while mum walked leisurely back, chain-smoking all the way home.

Don’t get me wrong, mum believed in God; she just held a healthy irreverence for some of the things that the Irish priests spouted weekly and which she’d heard throughout her life. She would often tell me that being taught by strict nuns throughout her school years was enough to put anyone off religion and make them turn Protestant.

Dad, on the other hand, literally believed in every single word that was written either in the bible or on church paper, whether it came from the prayer books or the weekly bulletin that the priest printed out for his parishioners. I will never forget after my wife divorced me. It mattered not to dad that I had never sought a divorce, had never wanted a divorce and had done everything humanly possible to avoid a divorce but couldn’t prevent my wife from obtaining a divorce. What mattered to my father was that the church said divorce was wrong and his firstborn was a divorced man. Consequently, when I later fell in love with another woman, there was no way that my father would sanction a second marriage ceremony by his attendance.

Many years later, dad went to church and when he brought the church bulletin home to read, he saw in it an article advising Catholic parents what to do if any of their children were divorced and married again. The article advised all Catholic parents in such circumstances that ‘it was okay’ to attend the second marriage services of their children and ‘to be happy for them’. I will never forget my father showing me this church bulletin. He regarded its message as though it carried the authority of a Papal Bull instead of merely voicing the opinion a more liberal parish priest that his church now had. The priest had written that it was okay for Catholic parents to attend the second wedding of a Catholic child, so it must be okay! For the rest of his life, my dad regretted not having attended my second marriage ceremony.

Both my parents were good people, but they were widely different in their approach to life and the living of it. I often wondered what they had in common with each other, especially after the romantic part of their relationship had passed, following the birth of their first three children of seven? They were as different as chalk and cheese. They probably found each other at a compatible time in their lives when both wanted to get married and move away from home.

And yet, I know that until I was 11 years old and other siblings of mine came on the family scene that mum and dad still physically loved each other as man and wife should. Every Sunday afternoon, the family would walk three miles across the fields from the estate where we lived to the park in Brighouse. As we crossed the fields, mum and dad would sometimes tell the four of us to ‘go off and play for ten minutes’ while he and mum laid down and ‘had a rest’. After the fifth, sixth and seventh child arrived, I noticed that all our Sunday walks across the fields to Brighouse park would experience no more parental stopping posts. I surmised that after having had so many babies, mum must have had enough ‘rest’ to last her a lifetime after her sixth and seventh children were born. After having given birth to seven children, the only ‘house’ that mum played thereafter wasn’t with my dad but with a family friend who went to the weekly Bingo Hall with her!

My father was a man who had few friends although all his workmates respected him as being ‘an okay guy’. To all the women outside the home, dad behaved with the manners of a perfect gentleman. In the house, ‘behind closed doors and thin partition walls’ however, the next-door neighbour would occasionally get an inkling that dad wasn’t as gentlemanly as he seemed to be when placed on public view.

The important thing dad taught me, and which stayed with me for the rest of my life, was that doing the right thing in life never comes easy and wins no popularity contests. Also, he taught me that there comes a time in life when one will have to walk alone if one chooses to walk the straightest path. Dad was independent and fiercely stubborn with it. Once he’d made his mind up, whether right or wrong, he would never change it (viewing such indecisiveness as representing a weakness that John Wayne would never approve of under any circumstances). My father taught me that there is no type of work that is beneath the dignity of any man, and which is unworthy to perform. Dad never let me forget that the best feeling at the end of a working day is to know that you have done your work to the very best of your ability.

My dad’s reading material comprised solely of church bulletins and cowboy novels which he would read at half-hour stretches in the lavatory. His favourite pastime was to quote verbatim from one of his favourite film star’s movies, John Wayne. His most repeated John Wayne quotes respectively came from the films, ‘The Quiet Man’, ‘Custer’s Last Stand’ and ‘She Wore A Yellow Ribbon’. In respective order, his most repeated quotes from these three films were, “Get the tea (pronounced tae) on woman; your man’s home!” and ‘The first is first and the second is nobody!” and “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do!”,

I have been guilty of letting the second quote affect my life occasionally during my earlier life, particularly at times when I was unprepared to accept ‘second place’ in this or that. I have spent the larger part of the past forty years learning to be a passenger on the bus instead of being the conductor or the bus driver. That quote from the film ‘Custer’s Last Stand’ has much to answer for in my own bad behaviour pattern during the first half of my life.

My dad was the ‘Leader of the Band’ for most of his life, but the only trouble was, he was the only member of his one-man-band. He decided what tune he’d play and whose march he’d follow. Mum was the dancer and the singer, and it was mostly in her footsteps that I followed.
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 26th February 2020

26/2/2020

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There is only one person whom I can dedicate my song today to today, and that is Deborah Ives from Leeds; the best-known fan of the late David Bowie. Have a nice day, Deborah. Love Bill and Sheila xx

My song today is ‘The Jean Genie’. This song was recorded by David Bowie, an English songwriter, and singer. The song was originally released in November 1972 as the lead single to his album ‘Aladdin Sane’. According to Bowie, it was “a smorgasbord of imagined Americana” (a large heterogeneous mixture), with a protagonist inspired by Iggy Pop, and the title of the song being an allusion to author Jean Genet. One of Bowie's most famous tracks, it was promoted with a film clip featuring Andy Warhol associate Cyrinda Foxe. The song peaked at Number 2 on the ‘UK Singles Chart’.

According to author Nicholas Pegg, ‘The Jean Genie’ originated as an impromptu jam, at this point titled ‘Bussin', on the tour bus between the first two concerts. The song’s chugging R&B riff is often compared to the ‘Yardbirds’.

In the US, it reached Number 71 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart. While biographer David Buckley has described it as "derivative, plodding, if undeniably catchy" it remains one of Bowie's signature tunes and was often played at his concerts.

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I had just started being a Probation Officer in Huddersfield after completing my training up in Newcastle-upon-Tyne in 1971 and was settling into a new stage of my life. I had been married a mere three years and as my wife did not want to have children in the first five years of our marriage, all our leisure hours were spent in the company of six newly married neighbours who lived in the same crescent of new-built houses. We all had professions that paid well enough to give us a comfortable lifestyle that included frequent nights out and one big holiday annually.

We would spend every evening of our week entertaining each other in rotation at our homes, drinking and socialising together, partying and even holidaying together during spring and summer months. I will always remember one member of the group who was called Tony. Tony was an up and coming architect who was into different musical sounds and tastes than the rest of us. He had a large selection of vinyl and would proudly get out his latest record purchase for us to dance to whenever it came around for him and June to entertain the gang in their house. All the group dressed fashionably but tended to dress more soberly than Tony and his wife June. Tony and June were flamboyant in their style of clothes. They dressed like a couple of San Francisco hippies in free-flowing colourful garments that could only be bought from the boutiques of King’s Road in London (or some other exclusive ‘way-out’ shop down Portobello, where Bowie himself was known not have purchased items of clothing items from).

On the night in question when Tony first played this record (The Jean Genie), he could hardly contain his enthusiasm, “You must hear this! You’ve just got to!” We must have played the record repeatedly all night long, and over the next few months. I never understood a word of what Bowie was singing about until I recently researched its background for this post, but I must admit, the song was always a great beat and drum sound to dance to!

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 25th February 2020

25/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to the birthday girl of Carrick-on-Suir, Kay McAuley who celebrates her special day today. Make it a good day, Kay, and leave some room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments. I also make a brief mention of Carrick-on-Suir residents, Finbarr Hickey, Conor Keane, Rolie Fitzpatrick, Thomas Walsh and my lifelong friend, Tony Walsh; all of whom are known to be fans of the late Elvis Presley.

My song today is ‘The Twelfth of Never’. This is a popular song that was written in 1956 and first recorded by Johnny Mathis the following year. The title is a popular expression, which is used as the date of a future occurrence that will never come to pass. In the case of the song, "the 12th of Never" is given as the date on which the singer will stop loving his beloved, thus indicating that he will ‘always’ love her.

Mathis initially disliked the song, which was released as the flip side to his number 1 hit single ‘Chances Are’. ‘The Twelfth of Never’ was written by Jerry Livingston and Paul Francis Webster. With the exception of the bridge, the tune was adapted from ‘The Riddle Song’ (also known as ‘I Gave My Love a Cherry’), an old English folk song. Mathis's original version reached Number 9 on what is now called the ‘Billboard Hot 100’in 1957 in the U.S.A. A version by Cliff Richard was released in 1964 and reached Number 8 in the UK. Donny Osmond’s version was his second Number 1 single in the UK, spending a single week at the top of the ‘Uk Singles Chart’ in March 1973. In the U.S. it peaked at Number 8. The song was also covered by Tammy Wynette on her album ’The Ways to Love A Man’ in 1970 and Elvis Presley covered the song in 1995 that reached Number 21 in the UK.

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I suppose if I was to choose a favourite version and style of this song it would be made up of a combination of Tammy Wynette and Elvis Presley’s covers.

This song occurred during a time in my life when all movement seemed to have stopped for me and it looked like I would never experience some of the things that young boys dream about. Four years earlier, I’d experienced a life-threatening accident when a wagon ran over me and wrapped my fallen body around its main drive shaft axel. Having been left with multiple injuries (which included a damaged spine), it was feared that I’d never walk again.

For the following three years I didn’t walk, and all the boyhood dreams I had seemed to have entered ‘the twelfth of never’ territory. Prior to my accident, I had loved sports and had excelled in sprinting and playing football. Indeed, I was good enough at football to play in the senior team at the age of 11 years with 14-year-old pupils at ‘St Patrick’s Roman Catholic School’. I’d been born in Ireland and I dreamed of one day playing for the Irish National Team, just as my father had done during his early twenties. I thought, “If dad could play for County Kilkenny and then go on to play for the national Irish soccer squad, why shouldn’t I also?”

One year before this song came out, I’d started to regain my mobility and had begun to hobble about again. I’d also started attending ‘Dewsbury Technical College’ after a three-year absence from school, but I commenced six months after all my class peers had started their school term. Having previously been accustomed to being the first in the class, I now found myself in the middle range of pupils. I was also being educated in subjects that my Catholic School education never taught and despite being above average intelligence, I struggled educationally for the first time in my life. Once again I’d entered ‘the twelfth of never’ territory and possible occupations such as a doctor, surgeon, and barrister that I had often imagined I might one day become also seemed to drift into the far distance.

So, having a personality and character flaw which told me if I couldn’t be guaranteed a cricketing century then I would take my bat home and withdraw from the field of play, I left school before taking my G.C.E. ‘O’ and ‘A-Level’ examinations. The following Monday I was working in a Cleckheaton Mill as a Bobbin Boy earning £2: 15 shillings a week.

As the years progressed, so did I in so many areas of expertise that I could never have imagined in my childhood dreaming days.

I became the youngest Youth Leader in Great Britain at the age of 18 years, and shortly after, I was also made the youngest textile Shop Steward in Great Britain. I became a textile foreman at the age of 23 years and a Mill Manager at the age of 25 years. I became one of the country’s foremost Relaxation Trainers, I introduced Relaxation training into prisons, hostels, hospitals, educational establishment, psychiatric centres, probation offices, churches, and the community. I also established procedures to access involuntary behaviour through a combination of imagination exercises/relaxation techniques/hypnotherapy and thereby change behaviour patterns more easily. During the early 1970s, I founded ‘Anger Management’, and established systematised procedures and methods of effectively dealing with one’s anger states that mushroomed across the English-speaking world within a matter of two years.

As I came to learn more about ones’ mind/body/beliefs, I gradually came to accept that there are very few things in life which are unattainable and very few dreams that cannot be realised once one has learned how best harness one’s mind, body and belief system, unify them in a single purpose and direct them towards the destination of one’s dream.

Since early 2013, when I was diagnosed with terminal blood cancer (with an approximate three-year-life-span diagnosis) I have had four different malignant cancers, two nine-month courses of chemotherapy, eight cancer operations under a full anaesthetic and twenty sessions of radiotherapy. I recently developed cancer in my neck and will have another big operation on March 10th, 2020 that will take up to four hours and involve two cancer surgeons.

I have always been a collector of one thing or another. I have always loved words and used to collect them. Collecting words cost nothing and I gained a sense of tremendous satisfaction learning a new word daily to add to my vocabulary). I then became an expert at collecting my thoughts and placing them into imaginative and effective relaxation training techniques. I have always been a worker, a doer who hated wasting time and energy. I always sensed that facing fears instead of running away from them was better for a person. So, I preferred to face my fears instead of avoiding them, and I learned to turn a threat into a challenge by ‘making the best of what little I had’ (one of my mother’s sayings). Even at a very early age, I accepted that when a person established a behaviour pattern of avoidance, instead of moving forward with their life, they become stranded where they stand.

It is this later realisation in my life of the immense power that the mind has over the body and which one’s belief has over one’s mind that has made my ‘twelfth of never’ less likely the longer I live. During the past fifty years, while becoming more flexible in my thinking, I have become stronger in religious belief. I have come to know the power of prayer, I have come to cherish the comfort that the prayers of others can bring me and I have found the one true constant in the life of every person who lives and breathes is ‘Love’ itself.

‘Love’ is the only answer to all the questions capable of being asked. It is the single most important emotion that mankind is capable of feeling. It is the bond that binds all humanity to goodness incarnate; it is the one force that enables us to endure all earthly struggle, and it provides us with the very climate that embraces all kinds of weather in our day.

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 24th February 2020

24/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to Chris Foster from Fareham in Hampshire. Chris is the husband of my niece Janie, and while we don’t see much of each other, it is evident from what my niece Janie says about her soul mate that he is a loving husband and the very best of fathers. Have a smashing day, Chris. Uncle Billy and Sheila xx

My song today is ‘This Land Is Your Land’. This is one of the United States' most famous folk songs. Its lyrics were written by American folk singer Woodie Guthrie in 1940, based on an existing melody, a ‘Carter Family’ tune called ‘When the World's on Fire’, in critical response to Irving Berlin’s ‘God Bless America’. When Guthrie was tired of hearing Kate Smith sing ‘God Bless America’ on the radio in the late 1930s, he sarcastically called his song ‘God Blessed America for Me’ before renaming it ‘This Land Is Your Land’.

In 2002, ‘This Land Is Your Land’ was one of 50 recordings chosen that year by the ‘Library of Congress’ to be added to the ‘National Recording Registry’.

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One can knock the American citizens from across the U.S.A., but as far as I’m concerned, ‘The Americans all regular guys’. One can mock them for their vainglorious boasting about having the ‘biggest this’ or the ‘best that’: they can severely criticise them for their vigorous safeguarding of their constitutional rights to ‘carry firearms’ in an ever violent world of oft-repeated random massacre shootings and the senseless deaths caused by mass killers: one half of the American electorate can consider their current President the best thing to have come along since sliced bread, while the other half of the American voters want him impeaching and imprisoning for political gerrymandering with a foreign power, as well as viewing him as being nothing less than a bullying, racist, misogynist. But whatever, whoever or however the Americans are divided in their opinion, there is one thing that they all agree upon; they love their country, and they are proud of singing their National Anthem and the flying of their country’s flag!

From the age that a child goes to elementary school, the whole class swears allegiance to their country and sings their National Anthem before opening their first lesson book of the day. The same goes for every public event that takes place anywhere in the U.S.A. Whatever size of home the U.S.A. citizens live in, their gardens and house porches will proudly display the country’s flag for passers-by to see. Even the maniac gun-toting killers, who randomly shoots down and kills a few dozen innocent people in their local shopping mall in the afternoon for sport, will have the courtesy to wish the man at their corner shop to ‘Have a nice day’ when he picks up his morning milk in his baseball cap with the words ‘I love America’ emblazoned across the peak of it.

Yes, the Americans, have much which can be legitimately said against them, but one thing they cannot be charged with is ever displaying ‘shame’ or a ‘lack of pride’ in their flag and country.

The British on the other hand, are a much more peculiar race. Their historical past is littered by empirical wrongs and injustices and colonisation mistakes by the hundred, but Britain was once a Great country who also had so much more to be proud of than it is prepared today to give itself credit for. I ask you; if Great Britain is such a bad place to live, then why is it still the chosen country of most worldly migrants? The answer lies in its traditional love of freedom and the need for self-governing independence. Whether we are governed either better or worse inside or outside the European Union, it matters less than being able to ‘governing ourselves!’

As an Irish man whose parents and their first three children migrated to England in the mid-1940s, I am often ashamed by a certain masochistic element of the native people to pull this country down at every opportunity, and not to believe in itself as still being a great nation who has much to offer the world.

Despite its years of continuous civil unrest since the Irish Potato Famine of 1845-52, the people of Ireland, whether they live in the North or the South of their politically divided land, remain wholly committed and proud of their respective flags.

I was born an Irish citizen and will die one, but everything that has ever been given to me and my extended family was given to us by this country, England. Recently, the local council made it quite clear to the allotment holders in Haworth that they were forbidden to fly the George Cross, the Union Jack or the White Rose of Yorkshire. Yet, less than ten miles away in the City of Bradford, all manner of foreign flags are flown with impunity, even by those people who publicly declare their wish to see the destruction of the British way of life and all its traditions and state religion!

As an Irish born and bred man, all I can say is that it’s a funny old world I find myself living in. A large part of me thinks that someone with a bit of pride ought to give you Little Englanders a kick up the Khyber Pass to get you back to loving your country as the Irish or the American citizen loves theirs!

When I was a boy growing up in England, be it ever so humble or so great, an English man’s home was his castle, and his allotment and garden shed was his private refuge away from his wife and children. When I was a boy growing up in England, there was no need to wrap all manner of contractual obligations in the archaic words of a legal document; the shake of spitted palms between two men of like mind and the giving of one’s word was quite sufficient to prove lasting. When I was a boy, I still remember the day that Queen Elizabeth went through Liversedge, Heckmondwike in a motorcade, and all the children and their parents lined the road of her travel and waved little English flags at their monarch and cheered their heads off. While we all cheered the Queen, we were also cheering the country; our country!

As a person who was born in Ireland but has lived in England for over 70 years, I only wish that the majority of people born in this great country could come to love and admire it half as much as this old Irish man does! My one piece of advice for all ye Little Englanders is to take a leaf out of America’s book and Ireland’s book, and learn to offer due respect to the land of your birth. Fly your flag fearlessly with pride and know that ‘this land is your land’ (even your small plot of rented allotment which the council only manage on your behalf). Don’t let anyone take away your land!

Remember the lesson of all the losers. First, they came and took away your rights and then they came and took away your land; then they came to take you! Have a bit of pride man. Don’t let them! Stand up for yourself, stand up for your anthem, and stand up for your flag and country! ‘This land is your land’.

Love and peace Bill xxx

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Song For Today: 23rd February 2020

23/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to Kerry Page from Haworth. Kerry is a member of the extended Forde family through my sister-in-law, Linda who is married to my brother Peter. It is Kerry’s birthday today. Have a nice day. Love Billy and Sheila xx

My song today is ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today’. This song was recorded by American country music artist, George Jones. It has been named in several surveys as being ‘the greatest country song of all time’. It was released in April 1980 as the lead single from the album ‘I Am What I Am’. The song was Jones's first solo Number 1 single in six years.

The melancholy song was written by Bobby Braddock and Curly Putman. The week after Jones' death, the song re-entered the ‘Hot Country Songs’ chart at Number 21. Since 2008 the song has been preserved by the ‘Library of Congress’ into the ‘National Recording Registry’. The song was Number 275 on Rolling Stone’s list of the ‘500 Greatest Songs of All Time’. The Country singer and friend, Alan Jackson, sang the song during George Jones' funeral service on May 2, 2013. George Strait and Jackson sang the song as a tribute during the 2013 CMA Awards on November 6, 2013.

By 1980, Jones had not had a Number 1 single in six years and many critics began to write him off. However, the music industry was stunned in July when ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today’ shot to Number 1 on the country charts. The song tells the story of a friend who has never given up on his love; he keeps old letters and photos from back in the day and hangs on to hope that she would ‘come back again’. The song reaches its peak in the chorus, revealing that he indeed stopped loving her when he died, and the woman does return to see him for one last time, as she views his smiling face in his open funeral casket.
Initially, when introduced to the song in 1978 by producer Billy Sherrill, George Jones hated the song when he first heard it. In Bob Allen's biography of the singer, Sherrill states, "He thought it was too long, too sad, too depressing and that nobody would ever play it. He hated the melody and he initially refused to learn it."

The success of ‘He Stopped Loving Her Today’ led CBS Records to renew Jones' recording contract and sparked new interest in the singer. Jones earned the ‘Grammy Award for Best Country Vocal Performance’ in 1980. The ‘Academy of Country Music’ awarded the song ‘Single of the Year’ and ‘Song of the Year’ in 1980. It also became the ‘Country Music Association’s Song of The Year’ in both 1980 and 1981. The song became so synonymous with Jones that few singers dared to cover it.

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The story content of the song’s lyrics is indeed sad, and while I have not known of a similar situation where a woman stopped loving a man and refused to see him again until she saw him in his funeral casket, I am sure that it must have happened a number of times.
I have heard of something similar once happening, but the tale being told was after a night out drinking, so I cannot testify to its veracity, especially as the storyteller was six sheets to the wind as he spun his yarn, besides being well known as being a bit of a ‘tall storyteller’ where truth was concerned. He told his tales more for the attention of his audience than any accuracy to detail.

When asked by one of the party, “Why would a woman who had left a man twenty years earlier, and had refused to go back to him in between, than be eager to see him in his open coffin?” the inebriated person telling the tale simply replied, “Curiosity, I suppose, curiosity!” before going on to surmise, “ She might have taken out a life insurance policy on him and wanted to satisfy herself he was dead and that she’d get paid out!”
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 22nd February 2020

22/2/2020

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My song today is ‘Something You Get Through’ by country and western singer Willie Nelson. It is dedicated to Denise Gibson from Oxenhope and her family, following the death and funeral service of her partner, David, yesterday.

Yesterday, Denise, I came across this song I sing for you today. I had not heard it before, even though it was by a favourite singer of mine, Willie Nelson. It instantly brought my thoughts to you and your family who were holding the funeral service for your partner David. Sheila and I had made provisional arrangements to attend, but due to me having recently received a pending operation to remove cancer from my neck (and being in enforced quarantine until after the operation, where all contact with other humans are strictly off-limits), we were sadly unable to attend.

I know that your feelings will remain raw for some time, Denise, and our thoughts remain with you and your family in your hour of loss. You, like others before you, will probably never ‘get over your loss’, and mine and Sheila’s hope is with the help and support of family and friends, you are able to eventually come to terms with it and healthily ‘get through it’. The content of this song is also suitable for all the bereaved of loving partners in near or recent times.
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Love and peace Bill and Sheila xxx
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Song For Today: 21st February 2020

21/2/2020

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The next person on my rotated list of Facebook friends to have a song dedicated to them is Nancy Maher. Nancy originates from Carrick-on-Suir, a town approximately 12.2 km from the village of Portlaw where I was born and the place where my lifelong friend, Tony Walsh and his wife Lily lives. Nancy studied at the CTI in Waterford, the county of my birth and she presently lives in County Kilkenny, where my dear late father, Paddy Forde, was born and who later went on to play soccer for County Kilkenny, before progressing to play for the Irish National squad 80 years ago. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Nancy and have a nice day. Bill xxx

My song today is ‘Time in a Bottle’. This is a hit single by singer-songwriter Jim Croce. Croce wrote the lyrics after his wife Ingrid told him she was pregnant, in December 1970. It appeared on his 1972 ABC debut album ‘You Don’t Mess Around with Jim’. ABC originally did not intend to release the song as a single; but when Croce was killed in a plane crash in September 1973, its lyrics, dealing with mortality and the wish to have more time, had additional resonance. The song subsequently received a large amount of airplay as an album track and demand for a single release built. When it was eventually issued as a 7", it became his second and final Number1 hit. After the single had finished its two-week run at the top in early January 1974, the album ‘You Don’t Mess Around with Jim’ became Number 1 for five weeks. The song was a Number 1 hit in the U.S.A., Canada and Australia.

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I have always been fascinated by the concept of time in a bottle. How often do we hear the words, ‘If only I could have bottled……… I would have been a millionaire’. I have always been fascinated by people putting notes in a bottle and sending the glass craft out to sea, not knowing where their words will be washed up in the future, who will read them and with what effect!

Were you able to make a magical time capsule and place it in a bottle along with a message, what would your bottle contain? What would be the things in your life that have mattered to you which are associated with the memories of the most significant people in your world, the most memorable experiences you had, the unforgettable places in your history or the things that formed your character? I wonder what would be on your list because I know what would be on mine?

Bear in mind, this is ‘a magical time capsule’ you are placing in the sea which is capable of physically holding anything personal relating to you or any number of important ‘objects’ in your life (not people) but objects, feelings, images, memories, or anything sensory that are an intrinsic part of you and which remind you of certain people, particular places, unforgettable events and personal experiences you treasure.

Here are a few of my own precious things that I would bottle for posterity:
(1) There would be photographs of all my family members from my grandparents down to myself and wife, Sheila. These would include every family photograph of every special event, experience and memorable occasion we ever shared.

(2) I would have the following vinyl records in my bottle: Vera Lynn’s record of ‘The White Cliffs of Dover’ as well as ‘The Isle of Innisfree’ (my mother’s favourite songs): ‘One Enchanted Evening’ and ‘Sweet Sixteen’ (my father’s favourite songs) : ‘Once I Had A Secret Love’ (Bill and Sheila’s wedding song): ‘The Naughty Lady Of Shady Lane’ (the song that I heard in the distance on a hospital radio in 1953 when I eventually regained full consciousness after experiencing a horrific traffic accident).

(3) A video or CD of the Irish film ‘The Quiet Man’ which the Forde Family have watched every Christmas since our childhood to the present day.

(4) I would have ‘The Metal Man’ tower in Tramore, Ireland (the exact place where I was conceived): My maternal grandparent’s house in Portlaw, County Waterford, Ireland (the house in which I was born): The two Forde family homes in West Yorkshire (where I grew up with my parents and six siblings until I married): My Mirfield home where I reared my five children: My Howarth Home (the Matrimonial home of mine and Sheila).

(5) My job locations in a Cleckheaton Mill (my first job), in Harrison Gardner’s Textile Mill in Liversedge (where I became the youngest textile shop steward in Great Britain), ‘St, Barnabas Youth Club’ in Hightown (where I became the youngest Youth Leader in Great Britain): The textile firm in Cleckheaton where I became a Mill Manager at the age of 25 years: The Huddersfield Probation Office where I worked for 26 years and from where I founded ‘Anger Management’ and became one of the country’s foremost Relaxation Trainers.

(6) Our allotment in Haworth where Sheila and I spend many happy hours together, along with some of the spuds that Sheila grow and I eat.

(7) All the birthday cards from my children (made by their own hands, along with the Christmas tree home-made ornaments to hang).

(8) A real Christmas Tree (only when I put up the annual seasonal tree in December, has my Christmas begun).

(9) A loaf of Sheila’s soda bread, a jar of each of my favourite jams of Sheila’s, including one jar of my friend, Ann Lister’s beautiful Whisky Marmalade: A loaf of my maternal grandmother’s soda bread baked on her big black oven range that filled one kitchen wall: A plate of grandfather’s homegrown potatoes swimming in salty Irish butter and accompanied by grandfather’s homegrown cabbage (the greenest cabbage I ever saw).

(10) All the 700 songs I have recorded over the past two years to improve my lung capacity and increase the oxygen levels in my blood.

(11) All 64 published books I have written since 1990 which raised over £200,000 for charity/charitable causes from their sales profit between 1990-2002. All profits from the continued sales of these books will be given to children’s schools and churches in perpetuity in the form of free books.

(12) My father's second-hand manual grass cutter which he used all his life in West Yorkshire to cut the large grassed garden of our corporation house in Windybank Estate and the church gardens three times weekly from the age of 36 until he died at the age of 75 years.

(13) My favourite chair that I sit on in my lounge in front of our fire.

(14) My first pair of infant footwear: A pair of second-hand worn shoes with holes in the soles that were covered in hard cardboard (to remind me of harder times during my development): A pair of the first expensive handmade Italian shoes I bought myself with my first wage packet at the age of 15 years: The iron shoe last which my father would put steel tips on my shoe caps and heels to make them last longer, along with nailing new leather soles as required (which usually meant until there were no shoe uppers left to sole). The last would also be used to stretch second-hand shoes that might be a size too small for me or one of my siblings to wear.

(15) My first sight of the bridge in my birth village of Portlaw: My first sight of St Patrick’s Catholic Church in Portlaw where I was baptised and where my maternal grandparents and Irish uncles are buried in the church graveyard: My first sight of Haworth: My first sight of my children after their birth: A montage photograph of mum and dad on their wedding day, a photograph of dad and mum Williams on their wedding day, and a photograph of me and Sheila on our wedding day.

(16) My first sight of Sheila in Haworth (my wife, my best love and my last love).
These are just a few of the things that I’d place in my magical bottle before casting it into the sea, along with one piece of advice for anyone who found my magical bottle in the future:

(17) My message would be, “Never forget the three most important words in the world to tell your marriage partner, your children, your parents, your siblings and your friends. every day you have contact with them, ‘I love you’”.

What would you place in your timeless bottle?
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 20th February 2020

20/2/2020

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I jointly dedicate my song today to two relatives. First is my Great Nephew, Jacob, from Huddersfield, and who celebrates his 3rd birthday today. Jacob is the year-old son of my niece, Evie. Have a lovely day Jacob and don’t forget to eat all the cake; it’s your day.

I also dedicate my song today to my wife Sheila’s only sibling, her brother Winston, whose birthday it is today. I’d like to say that Winston will be celebrating his birthday today, but I am afraid that his prolonged depression and mental health issues that have still to be sorted out is likely to prevent this. Winston is at that non-functioning state which has existed since his unwanted divorce a few years ago, where he won’t help himself and will not allow others to help him. We pray for some state psychiatric intervention soon so that he may enjoy future birthdays.

My song today is ‘Torn Between Two Lovers’. This song was written by Peter Yarrow (of the folk music trio ‘Peter, Paul and Mary’) and Phillip Jarrell. The song describes a love triangle and laments that loving both of you is breaking all the rules. Mary MacGregor recorded it in 1976. The song became the title track of her first album. ‘Torn Between Two Lovers’ reached Number 1 on both the ‘U.S. Pop Chart’ in February 1977 as well as the ‘Easy Listening Chart’ in the final week of 1976 and the first week of 1977. It also reached Number 1 on the Canadian charts. The song also peaked at Number 3 on the country charts of both nations. In early 1977, the song peaked at Number 4 in the United Kingdom. It also reached Number 1 spot in Australia, Canada, besides coming in the top ten in Ireland and New Zealand. The song has been covered several times, including a cover by Connie Francis.

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We frequently hear about people lamenting that they never seem to be able to find true love, yet very little thought will ever be given to those who are torn between two lovers. I find it almost impossible to think of the heartache involved in such an emotional dilemma. Whatever decision the person makes, someone will get hurt and there will always be a sense of ‘unfinished business’. How deeply cut-up must the rejected one feel, having given the best of themselves only to watch another being chosen in preference them?

While working 26 years in the Probation service, along with observing the lives of my own friends and social group acquaintances, I have often known of a married person who was having an affair say that they are unable to leave their marriage partner or abandon their lover ‘because they love both’. While I am ready to believe in a so-called ‘lovers overlap’, where one person is ‘falling out of love’ with someone while they are ‘falling in love’ with another, I do not really believe that anyone can love two people simultaneously in the deepest and truest of manner. While I accept that they may ‘think they love both simultaneously’, I also believe they are deceiving themselves.

My advice to anyone who believes to be trapped in this love triangle would undoubtedly be is to choose the second person, because if you’d truly still loved the first person, you couldn’t have fallen for the second. I also think it to be unrealistically inaccurate to believe that a past lover can continue to be your best friend; either they never were in love with you or still are. I have also heard the indecisive feelings of those who have broken with one of their two lovers, only to wonder afterward if they had made the right decision. One man once told me, “I think I still love her, Bill. I still get feelings for her”. I simply told him that in my view, ‘feelings that come back are probably feelings that never left’.

When I was a teenager, although I loved all the women I occasioned to romance, never once did I want to get married until my late twenties, and only then after I’d travelled to other countries and awakened a few of my dreams. I romanced some truly beautiful young women who most men would willingly have rushed down the aisle, given half a chance, but not I.

If ever my resolve of bachelorhood weakened during my moments of greatest temptation, I immediately remembered who I was, what I wanted, and such recollections produced the mental game change. I learned that if I imagined being in the wild country parts of Canada and places in the U.S.A. I longed to see, within mere moments, all contrary urges that had been brought about by the temptation of female flesh would magically disappear. The predominant thought inside my mind would bring about a physiological change within my body as travel trumped touch and focussed thought triumphed over physical temptation.

The game change had been brought into play and my travel plans remained intact. All passionate thoughts that I transmitted between my brain and bollocks were immediately reversed and sanity was instantly restored.

While I admit that I have loved many women in my life, and even married a few, I have never loved two women at any one time. Loving two women at the same time is not a choice I believe I could ever make. I believe such a proposition to be no choice at all, and even were it possible, it could never produce an answer that one’s heart could ever reconcile with one’s head.
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 19th February 2020

19/2/2020

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I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Jane Mcpartland from Liverpool. Thank you for being my friend, Jane and have a nice day.

My song today is ‘Coat of Many Colours’ that was made famous by the Queen of Country & Western music, singer Dolly Parton. The song has been described on many occasions as being Dolly’s favourite song she ever wrote and sung. It was released in October 1971 as the second single and title track from the album ‘Coat of Many Colours’.

Dolly composed the song in 1969 while traveling with Porter Wagoner on a tour bus. She explained in her 1994 memoir, ‘My Life and Other Unfinished Business’, that at the time, she had no paper to write down her thoughts, so she wrote her words on the back of a dry-cleaning receipt from one of Wagoner's suits. When the song became a hit, Wagoner had the receipt framed. She recorded the song in April 1971, making it the title song for her ‘Coat of Many Colours’ album. The song reached Number 4 on the ‘U.S. Country Singles Charts’.

The song tells of how Parton's mother stitched together a coat for her daughter out of colourful rags given to the family. As she sewed, she told her child the biblical story of Joseph and his coat of many colours. The excited child, “with patches on my britches and holes in both my shoes”, rushed to the school, “just to find the others laughing and making fun of me” for wearing a coat made of rags.

Dolly Parton epitomises the country and western singer who was brought up in poverty and who sings from the depths of their own experiences. They either have been, are or will become the characters they sing about and it is their personal experiences that make their stories and songs so compelling and relatable to so many listeners. Just look at the emotions wrapped around the words of a few verses of the song below:

“And oh I did not understand it, for I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love my momma sewed in every stitch.
And I told 'em all the story momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colours was worth more than all their clothes.”

The song concludes with Parton singing the moral of her story:
“But they didn't understand it, and I tried to make them see
One is only poor, only if they choose to be
Now I know we had no money, but I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colours, my momma made for me.”
My research into this song revealed the words of a final verse that was never included in Dolly’s recording. No reason for its absence was never put forward by Dolly:

“Through life I've remained happy and good luck is on my side.
I have everything that anyone could ever want from life.
But nothing is as precious as my mama's memory,
and my coat of many colours that mama made for me.”]
In 2011, Dolly Parton's recording was added to the ‘Library of Congress’s National Recording Registry‘ for being ‘culturally, historically, or aesthetically important, and/or inform or reflect life in the United States.’

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Anyone who was brought up in a large family and who had to scrape an existence in a live and make do world of continuous poverty will know and share many of Dolly’s experiences. Many people hearing this song and knowing of the extreme material privation Dolly and her family lived through (she was one of at least one dozen children) will not only emotionally feel for the hard life that Dolly’s childhood and developing years embraced, but they will also get the real message of her song.

Dolly’s is not singing about the poverty she experienced, but the wealth of her experiences and family background, as summed up in the positive philosophy she grew up with when the song words say,
“But they didn't understand it, and I tried to make them see
One is only poor, only if they choose to be.”
Dolly Rebecca Parton was born on January 19, 1946, in Locust Ridge, Tennessee. Dolly grew up materially poor in rural Appalachia. She was one of 12 children, and money was always an issue for her family. Her first exposure to music came from family members, including her mother, who sang and played guitar.

I know that there are many of you, who grew up in materially poorer circumstances than any reasonable person would choose to experience, but I also know that each of you who experienced material poverty grew into adulthood all the stronger for your background. I know that any such material sacrifice experienced by you was not in vain and eventually led you to nurture a deep sense of love, respect, and appreciation for all that our parents sacrificed for our survival and happiness. Because of our righteous upbringing, we are ‘givers’ to society more than ‘takers’ from it. We do give a care about how others live and how we can best help them live better, and we never take for granted what God has given us today.

And just as our mothers advised us, “If you look after your pennies the pounds will take care of themselves”, so it is with the continued growth of our characters; “ If we look out for all the small things in life that we do to one another, the bigger things will also take care of themselves”

Just as it is physically impossible for two opposite forces to co-exist in one body, so it is that being kind, generous, loving, compassionate, forgiving and sensitive to the needs of others is wholly incompatible with ever doing anyone else, yourself or your God any wrong.
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 18th February 2020

18/2/2020

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I jointly dedicate my song today to two Facebook friends, each of whom celebrates their birthday today. Happy birthday to Maria Rowena Zapanta Macabos from the Philippines and Donna O’Neill from Ireland. Have a smashing day, ladies, and leave some room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments.

My song today is ‘True Loves Ways’. This song is attributed to Norman Petty and Buddy Holly and recorded with the Dick Jacobs Orchestra in October 1958, four months before the singer's death. It was first released on the posthumous album ‘The Buddy Holly Story: Volume 2’ in March 1960. The song was a hit in Great Britain in 1960, reaching Number 25 on the pop singles chart. In a 1988 re-release of the recording by MCA, the single reached Number 65 on the ‘UK Singles Chart’ in a 5-week chart run.

Although Holly's widow, Maria Elena Holly, claims that the song was written for her as a wedding gift, producer Norman Petty's productions claim that the song was recorded song two weeks prior to Buddy's first meeting with Maria.

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Until I recorded this song recently, I had grown up with the belief that this song was titled ‘True Love Waits’ and not ‘True Love Ways’.

I believe in the love between a mother and her child, a man and a woman, brothers and sisters and the closest of friends, but what is this ‘true love’ in essence? How does it affect us?
There have been thousands and even millions of quotations about the meaning of ‘true love’, but the only thing I know is that when ‘true love’ comes your way, your life is never the same again.

There isn’t anything the least bit rational about falling into ‘true Love’. Should it ever come your way, it will hit you like an express train; wham bam! Before you know it and have had the chance to pick your stunned body off the ground, the way you now perceive things today will be entirely different than the way you saw them yesterday. You will no longer be able to see anything rationally. When ‘true love’ hits you, it instantly takes your body to another stratosphere, leaving you and your loved one on ‘cloud nine’, which is that splendid cloud of isolation which permits no other entry to except the enraptured couple in love.

‘True love’ makes one lose control, lose a sense of perspective, lose the ability to protect oneself. True love is utterly chaotic, and the greater and more intense the loving feeling, the greater the ensuing chaos.

Ask anyone impartial who witnesses such a changed state in another, and they’ll tell you that there’s no talking reason with them. They’ll tell you that it’s as though the person is high on L.S.D. or some other opiate, and they’ll be accurate in their description of this irrational body change that ‘true love’ has brought about.

There is simply no way things can be discussed rationally by two people madly in love with each other and an impartial third party! Anyone who doesn’t see the world the way the loving couple sees it, the more convinced the loving couple come to believe that they are surrounded by a bunch of losers and saddos.
Love does make this world of ours go around and around, but ‘true love ways’ takes the couple into a galactic dizzy spin. By the time the world has slowed down in its love orbit, and the romantic duo finds themselves back down on earth, rooted in reality once more; they find that the rest of the world has moved on in their love-sick absence.

They now find themselves married with two snotty-nosed children who give them sleepless nights and shitty days. Instead of flying as free as all lovebirds are supposed to fly, they discover that their wings have been clipped by the cold reality of ‘survival’ in the real world, along with being weighed down with the albatross of a forty-year mortgage around their necks and the provision of financial support to their children for the rest of their lives. The household costs are now immeasurably higher than the couple’s weekly income is (or is ever likely to be). Economic considerations now determine that the wife must stop being a mother to her two young children (who are now at the age where they need their mother’s daily presence more and more) and go out to work also to meet the household expenditure. And what for, you might ask? What does this young working mother profit by abandoning her children by going out to work daily with a load of guilt on her back that she will never again rid herself of, plus a tattooed forehead which reads ‘BAD, BAD MOTHER’. It doesn’t even make any economic sense, because she hardly earns marginally more than it cost to pay a responsible childminder to look after her young children, with whom she’d much rather have spent her day.

Ten years down the line, both man and wife can see themselves being knocked off their feet again by a track of locomotives heading straight towards them. This time it isn’t the ‘love train’ that knocks them for a six and flattens them, but the ‘never-have-enough-money-train’ and the ‘fed-up-being-married-train’, and the ‘I’m-knackered-all-the-time-train’ and the ‘I’ve-got-a-headache-coming-on-train’ and the ‘Has-it-all-been-worth-it-train?’

True love ways are sometimes great ways, and at other times, ‘any-way-but-ways’.
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 17th February 2020

17/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to my great-niece Emily, who celebrates her birthday ‘around this time’. My new birthday book indicates her 19th birthday as being today (February 17th), but her Facebook page suggests that she celebrated her birthday two days ago. Either way, Emily, I hope that your special day 'goes' or 'went' well. Love Great Uncle Billy and Sheila xxx

My song today is, ‘Powder Your Face with Sunshine’. This popular song was written by Carmen Lombardo and Stanley Rochinski. It was published in 1948. The two biggest hit versions of the song were recorded by Evelyn Knight (singer) and Sammy Kaye (Orchestra) in November 1948. It first reached the ‘Billboard Best Seller’ chart on December 17, 1948, and lasted 17 weeks on the chart, peaking at Number 1. The song was also covered by Dean Martin (1948): Doris Day (1948): Donald Peers (1949): Joe Loss and His Orchestra (1949).

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This song followed a prolonged period of hardship during the ‘Second World War’ years between 1939-45 when the people of England fought off the Nazi invaders who threatened the freedom of the western world under the rule of Adolf Hitler. This six-year period witnessed the courage of the British and Ally forces at their best and during their finest hour.

Whether it was our brave pilots fighting the superior might of the German Luftwaffe in the skies above London and winning the war of the skies: or our brave soldiers and their allies fighting in foreign fields: or our Navy ships being sunk by the German U-Boats: or the firefighters, ambulance men and women racing through the bombed streets of the capital carrying the wounded and digging out the dead from the bombed dwellings and homes: or British women working in ammunition factories.

Even the woman whose husband and older brother had died serving their country abroad and whose father had died in the bombing during the Blitz; even she who’d sent her three children as evacuees from London to live with strangers in the country until the nightly bombing raids stopped, do you know what she did when she returned home to find her home bombed to the ground in a pile of rubble? She didn’t whine. She searched the rubble of her bombed house, and after finding her front doorstep still in one piece, she washed it down, and whitened it, ready to place in front of the door of her next home! Then, she helped and comforted her next-door neighbour whose house had also been bombed to bits!

Then, when our soldiers got stranded on Beaches of Dunkirk in France, and Great Britain risked all its Army being wiped out by the Germans, what did the road sweeper, the greengrocer, the man in the street do who had any craft that sailed? They mounted their crafts, and in their thousands, they sailed to Dunkirk, where under heavy artillery fire from the Germans, they brought our soldiers back home to England, where they could be ready to fight another day. Records show that these little crafts and boats, sailed by men with the biggest of hearts, brought back home 338,226 soldiers safely.

I was once told by a female clerical worker, who was a young married woman when war broke out, “Do you know what we did, Bill when we’d had the worse of days and had experienced enough sadness to sink any heart? We pencilled the back of our legs, got out our best frock, and put on a bit of lippy and powdered our face before we went to the local for a drink and a good old sing-along!”

That is what I call the British spirit!

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 16th February 2020

16/2/2020

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​I dedicate my song today to Rachel Upton from, Haworth. Rachel, who is in the teaching/counselling profession lives immediately across from me and Sheila. Rachel celebrates her birthday today. I hope that your special day is filled with much happiness, love…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Love Bill and Sheila xxx

My song today is ‘To Sir with Love’. This was the theme song from James Clavell’s 1967 film, ‘To Sir with Love’. The song was performed by a young Lulu and was written by Don Black and Mark London (husband of Lulu's long-time manager Marion Massey). The song was produced by Mickie Most and reached Number 1 in the United States record charts, besides becoming the bestselling song of 1967 in the US.

In October 1967, the song reached Number 1 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart, where it remained for five weeks. The single also ranked Number 1 in ‘Billboard’s year-end Chart’.
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Canada's ‘RPM Magazine’ put the song at Number 2 for the year 1967. ‘To Sir with Love’ did not chart in the UK, as it appeared only as a B-side to ‘Let's Pretend’ (released in the UK on 23 June 1967), and which reached Number 11 on the UK Single’s Chart’.

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I will always remember seeing the film of the same name and being instantly in love with this song. There are not many songs that form the theme of a film in which the song-lines perfectly fit what is being watched on the big film screen, but this song does that.

I know that it was a more common schoolboy pastime from the 1980s onwards for pupils of a young age to develop a crush on their dolly-looking female teachers. With the short-skirted female fashion of the 1960s, I can well imagine the daydreams of a young teenager, taking History in the classroom, trying to keep his mind on the image of the Great Chinese Wall that seemed to stretch from the ground to the high heavens, as his eyes became fixated on the beautiful legs of his young teacher in her mini dress at the front of the class. I have no doubt that young girls in their teens also had crushes on some of their more handsome male teachers too.

I frequently regretted going to school twenty years earlier. My female teachers were more like old battle axes with grey hair that was knotted with razor-blade ribbon and bound tightly in a circle of anger around their crowns. They wore long dresses of drab colour and non-see-through heavy texture befitting a 55-year old-maid who still lived at home with her aging widowed mother and their two cats called Abigail and Gertrude.

I have personally come across several teachers as a Probation Officer in Huddersfield between 1970-95 (both male and female) who, for whatever reason, entered a sexual relationship with their teenage pupils. I have known of three or four relationships between teacher and pupil which at best (where the school pupil was 16 years or older and the relationship was consensual) resulted in the loss of the teacher’s job. In cases where the pupil was younger than 16 years old, no consent is ever considered by law to be possible and the imposition of a prison sentence on the teacher invariably follows. I have even known an imprisoned teacher of a 15-year-old girl who proclaimed love for her teacher and proceeds to marry him after his prison release and after her age of being able to marry him arrived.

I have also known of teachers who physically sexually abused children of ten, eleven and twelve, and who deservedly got imprisoned for many years. I am aware that even if the pupil is a university graduate and willingly consents to a sexual relationship with their tutor or lecturer, that an abuse of power and position is often considered to be behind the commencement of the relationship.

Occasionally though, university relationships between a thirty-five-year-old lecturer and a twenty-year-old young woman have gone on to prosper. I knew of one such relationship between an Ofsted Inspector of schools who met his wife while he was a university lecturer and the couple went on to marry despite their 15-year-age discrepancy. And despite losing his lecturing post when their sexual relationship first became known, it did not stop him rising to one of the highest educational positions in the land fifteen years after the couple married.

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 15th February 2020

15/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to my friend, Dave Bradbury, from Huddersfield, and my Facebook friend, Willie Corcoran from my birthplace, County Waterford in Ireland; both of whom are celebrating their birthdays today.

Dave holds a special place in my life. He is one of West Yorkshire’s most accomplished artists and is the illustrator of six of my past publications; two of them (‘Sleezy the Fox’ and ‘Douglas the Dragon’) selling around 100,000 copies throughout Yorkshire schools between 1990-2002. The late Princess Diana praised these books and read them to the young princes William and Harry when they were aged 9 years and 7 years respectively. Since their own marriages and the birth of their children, I have (with their agreement) sent each of the married princes, copies of these two books, so they can be read to their children when the time comes. So, please be aware, Dave, that the £150,000 profit that I raised from the sales of ‘Douglas the Dragon’ and ‘Sleezy the Fox’ has not only been read by the next King of England but also by the monarch after King William has been and gone. Also be aware that the £200,000 in total raised by 2005, was done by the magnificent contribution of yourself and hundreds of others who helped me in my charitable book-writing and publishing years. You are one of the most accomplished artists I have had the privilege to know in whatever material you choose to work in. Also be aware that any of my 60 plus books sold in the future, that all profits go to charitable causes in perpetuity in the form of free books. All these books can be bought on www.amazon.com and www.smashwords.com in either e-book format or paperback.

My song today is ‘Too Much Love’. Having been singing songs daily now for two years and researching the songs I sing, the singer or group about whom the least confirmable data is known is ‘Bread’. My song today comes from a multi-platinum album of theirs called ‘The Best of Bread’ and was released in 1973. The album contains 12 songs and was released between 1969 and 1972.

‘Bread’ was an American soft-rock band from Los Angeles, California. They had thirteen songs on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ charts between 1970 and 1977. The band was to experience break ups, alteration to memberships, reunification, breakups and more reunifications in its lifetime.

David Gates was the lynchpin of the group. He was from Tulsa, Oklahoma. He released a song in the late 1950s entitled ‘Living Doll’ on ‘Atlantic Records’. Gates knew Leon Russell and both played in bar bands around the Tulsa area. Both Gates and Russell headed for California to check out the music scene there. Before forming ‘Bread’, Gates had worked with Royer's previous band. The trio joined together in 1968 and signed with ‘Elecktra Records’ in January 1969. The group's first single, ‘Dismal Day’, was released in June 1969 but did not chart. Their debut album, ‘Bread’ was released in September 1969 and peaked at No. 127 on the ‘Billboard 200’ chart. The songwriting on the album was split evenly between Gates and the team of Griffin-Royer

On July 25, 1969, ‘Bread’ appeared in concert for the very first time. Over the years the band’s composition would constantly change. ‘On the Waters’ (released in July 1970 and peaking at Number 12 on the ‘Billboard 200’ chart). This time their efforts quickly established ‘Bread’ as a major act with the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ Number 1 hit ‘Make it With You’ in 1970. ‘Make It with You’ would be Bread's only Number 1 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart.

Over the next decade, the group would have someone leave it, another would take their place, break up, re-assemble and then break up again. This is probably why not too much pertaining to historical accuracy and facts are available. Throughout, the group would always be in the charts and continue to promote a new album. In 1978 Gates enjoyed success as a solo artist.

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I didn’t become acquainted with David Gates and Bread until the 1980s; a good decade after the group entered the pop scene. By that time, my wife had wanted to end our marriage and I was in a new relationship. As happens with all significant changes in life (and they don’t come any more significant than changing wives), a change in musical taste invariably follows.

David Gates represented a new part of my life; a time when I had lost a wife and had found a new love. Despite all the pain and hassle that a bitterly contentious divorce involves, followed by ten years of attending matrimonial courts in respect of securing and maintaining weekly access with my two sons, I had emotionally moved on with my life. I had resisted my marriage breakup for seven years before it happened, but once I’d agreed to my wife’s request to end our relationship and leave the matrimonial abode, I knew that there wasn’t one thing in the world which could induce me to return. Like a caged bird who’d remained reluctant to fly the cage every time my wife opened the door and tried to shoo me away, once I’d flown the cage, there was simply no way I was returning to it, only to have my wings clipped again.

The mistake I'd made in my marital relationship was to love my wife ‘too much’. Indeed, I loved her so much that I made allowances for some of her behaviour that was literally ‘unforgivable’. I allowed her to emotionally abuse me by taking advantage of my nature as a loyal husband and a good father. I know that many people (better Christians than I am today) hold the view that one cannot be too loving, too kind, too understanding and too forgiving to a marriage partner or any significant other. While I too believed that to be the case then, I hold a much more realistic view today.

In my own personal life experience as well as in my working experiences over a 26 year period as a Probation Officer, I tell you that people who love another ‘too much’ are inviting inevitable hurt, They may foster the overprotection of the one they love, and experience abuse and be taken for granted by the one who is loved too much by them.

Human beings who find themselves on to a ‘good thing’, often come to take that ‘good thing’ for granted and to always expect it to be there in the manner they have grown accustomed to.

Imagine a man who marries a woman and the couple are so much in love. Neither partner has had very much of a happy family upbringing and is determined to make the most of their newfound happiness. Their marriage provides each with a happy daily existence. The wife wants and needs to show her love by doing everything she can to make her husband happy. He, on the other hand, cannot believe how lucky he is for having found such a selfless woman to love and marry. The man’s wife cannot do enough for her husband and it becomes too easy for him to let her carry on.

During the first three years of their married life, she has his cooked meal on the table at six pm when he walks in the door from work. As soon as he gets in the house, she greets him with a loving kiss, asks him “How has your day been, dear?” She then helps him off with his shoes, gently puts on his slippers and they sit down and eat and talk together. Even when their two children come onto the family scene and the early morning baby cries begin and cuddling is needed by the child, it is the wife who gets up every time and says to her husband, “I’ll see to the baby, dear. You get your sleep; you’ve got work tomorrow”.

This unselfish pattern by his wife goes on for the first seven years of their marriage. Then, one day when her husband comes home from work at the end of the day, and his wife hugs him but doesn’t kiss him, he quickly realises that something is wrong. Something has changed in their previously established relationship. He has to remove his own shoes and put on his own slippers. Then, when he goes in the lounge, he finds that his evening meal is not on the table ready for him to eat. His expectations that he has taken for granted over the past seven years are thrown into utter confusion. The immediate thought which he cannot stop coming into his head is, ‘What’s wrong?’

He wonders if one of the children has had a bad accident and is in the hospital with a broken leg, or if his aged mother-in-law has died, or if his own wife has been medically diagnosed with a fatal disease? The answer could be ‘Nothing is wrong! Or everything is wrong!’

Why, oh why, does something have to be wrong when you don’t get what you’ve been led to expect?

Too many times during my life have I heard a mother say, “I love my son/daughter so much that I would die for them!” This is an unhealthy situation that does not help your son or daughter one iota. Don’t die for them! Don’t even live for them! If you want them to be truly happy, love them, understand them, assist them but never to the point of disabling them or not allowing them to think for themselves. They must learn to make their own mistakes, and if you show them that you love them and are there to help them up when they fall, you are carrying out your main mother’s role.

There have been many a wife who not only marries a man whom she calls husband but sadly sometimes she marries a man who is still tied to his mother’s apron strings and whose expectations in how he wants to be treated in his marriage life, is to have the new woman in his life to continue playing the roles of both his wife and mother.
Love and peace Bill xxx
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BIll's Song for Today: 14th February 2020

14/2/2020

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​February 14th, 2020.

(A VALENTINE'S MESSAGE FOR MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE)

My darling Sheila,
My day begins and ends with you but it is the in-between where heaven belongs; for that is where your heart, your love and you are to be found. I love you, my Valentine. I always will. Bill xxx

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Bill's Song For Today: 13th February 2020

13/2/2020

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Today’s turn for a Facebook friend to have my daily song dedicated to them is Peadar MacGinley from Summerhill, County Meath, Ireland. It isn’t Peadar’s birthday, merely his turn to have a dedicated song. Have a nice day, Peadar, and thank you for being my Facebook friend.

My song today is ‘Behind Closed Doors’. This country song was written by Kenny O’Dell. It was first recorded by Charlie Rich for his 1973 album ‘Behind Closed Doors’. The single was Rich's first Number-1 hit on the country charts, spent 20 weeks on this chart, and was also a crossover hit on the pop charts. It was certified Platinum by the RIAA for U. S. sales in excess of two million copies. Background vocals were provided by The Nashville Edition.

‘Behind Closed Doors earned awards for ‘Song of the Year’ (for O'Dell) and ‘Single of the Year’ (for Charlie Rich) from both the ‘Country Music Association’ and the ‘Academy of Country Music’. Charlie Rich also received a ‘Grammy Award’ for ‘Best Male Country Vocal Performance’. In 2003, it ranked at Number 9 in CMT’S ’100 Greatest Songs in Country Music’.

This song reached Number one spot on the ‘US Billboard Hot Country Songs’ chart and in ‘Canadian RPM Country Tracks’ and Number 16 in the UK, and Number 9 in Ireland. Many artists have covered ‘Behind Closed Doors’ including Loretta Lynn: Dolly Parton: Diana Ross: Perry Como: Tom Jones: Percy Sledge and many others.

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When this record was first released, I was just commencing my Probation career with the West Yorkshire Probation Service. Over my career, I was to be informed of so many bad things which had gone on behind ‘closed doors’ by some of the clients I worked with.

I have been told of more incidents of repeated and prolonged cruelty along with physical, emotional and sexual abuse than my mind was able to sometimes take on board and my emotions were able to readily internalise. Such despicable acts included abuse by adults towards innocent children and vulnerable teenagers. These abuses took place by nuns, priests, teachers, fathers, stepfathers, brothers, uncles, grandfathers, scoutmasters and people who managed Care Homes, Foster Homes, and Social Service Residential establishments.

No sector of church, state, or social service department was innocent during these years of stealing childhood innocence and the dreams of teenage girls and boys. Indeed, there was a time during the 1970s, when Great Britain seemed to be mired in a cesspool of sheer evilness and depravity, whereby civilised and decent adults, buried their heads in the sand at the abuse which permeated society unchallenged, and authority figures from both the State and the Church became engaged in practices of deceit, cover-up and negligence by failing to investigate, report and prosecute. Young children who dared to accuse adults of sexual abuse were not believed by the authorities and were instead shunned, punished and expected to remain in their places of abuse.

Any honest person who lived through this period, and who is prepared to question the more relaxed moral values of the 1960s and 1970s that existed (particularly the overt sexual discrimination practised by men towards women), would have to acknowledge that society unknowingly prepared fertile ground for all manner of abuse to exist, flourish and spread with greater ease between man and woman and adult and child; between the powerful in the workplace and their subordinates, and between the vulnerable child and teenager who’d been placed in Care of the Local Authorities by the court of the land and who were then made to reside in Residential Homes that were often managed and run by authority figures of sexual perversion.

We need to maintain a correct balance of vigilance as a society who professes to care for its citizens; particularly its vulnerable and its young. It is wholly indefencible that the sexual grooming of vulnerable children has gone on (largely unabated until recently) in our Northern areas of the country for over two decades, involving many hundreds of abused children, despite police and social services department having had numerous citizen reports that this was continuing to happen, whilst yet ignoring all warning signs.

Love and peace Bill xxx

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Song For Today: 12th February 2020

12/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend from Leeds, Lynne Robinson. Today is the saddest of days for Lynne. One year ago, today, Lynne’s husband, love of her life and eternal soulmate, Richard died with cancer. Ever since she has been grieving his loss and finds it extremely difficult to get through each day without him. Lynne is comforted by her daughter, Amy Louise. Amy gave birth to Lynne and Richard’s grandson, Jenson, shortly after the death of her father.

I know how hard the first anniversary of Richard’s death will hit you and Amy this year, Lynne. I pray that you remain strong and I know from what you have told me that you will always remain faithful to Richard's memory and the many wonderful moments you shared together. Please think about these happy times today. Our love and thoughts are with you and your family today.

Bill and Sheila and all your Facebook friends. xxx

My song today for Lynne Robinson is 'The Way We Were' which was made a massive hit by Barbara Streisand. Ah, memories; the source of all our happiness, sadness, satisfaction and regret.

I also silently dedicate my song today to everyone out there who has been bereaved by the loss of a loved one, whether partner, spouse, grandparent, parent, child, brother, sister or any other family member or even the closest of lifelong friends whose loss is still felt daily. May your memories and my song today remind you of those happy times which you shared together ‘The Way We Were’.
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Love and peace. Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 11th February 2020

11/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Elaine Craven, from down south. Elaine, who was a nurse and who is well acquainted with the heartache of prolonged bereavement, will have no doubt come across many similar accounts of the difficulties that death of a loved one brings.

My song today is ‘She is Gone’. This song is one of the singles in the forty-fourth studio album ‘Spirit’ by country music singer Willie Nelson. The album differs from Nelson's other albums because of the use of fewer instruments (two guitars, piano, fiddle) and has a more classical/Spanish influence than others. Nelson's sister Bobbie plays piano.

I recently came across this song and was amazed to discover that initially, the music critics disapproved of it because of its scarcity of wordage and content. It is one of the most beautiful tuneful songs I have heard from Willie and I’m so glad I found it in early 2020.

Willie Hugh Nelson (born April 29, 1933) is an American musician, actor, and activist. The critical success of the album ‘ Shotgun Willie’ (1973) combined with the critical and commercial success of ‘Red Headed Stranger’ (1975) and ‘Stardust’ (1978), made Nelson one of the most recognized artists in country music. He was one of the main figures of ‘outlaw county’, a subgenre of country music that developed in the late 1960s as a reaction to the conservative restrictions of the Nashville sound. Willie Nelson has acted in over 30 films, co-authored several books, and has been involved in activism for the use of biofuels and the legalisation of marijuana.

Born during the ‘Great Depression’ and raised by his grandparents, Nelson wrote his first song at age seven and joined his first band when he was ten years old. During high school, he toured locally with the Bohemian Polka as their lead singer and guitar player. After graduating from high school in 1950, he joined the ‘U.S. Air Force’ but was later discharged due to back problems. After his return, Nelson attended ‘Baylor University’ for two years but dropped out because he was succeeding in music. During this time, he worked as a disc jockey in Texas radio stations and a singer in honky-tonks. After Willie Nelson moved to Vancouver in Washington, his writing and singing career started to take off more successfully. Due to this success, Nelson signed in 1964 with ‘RCA Victor’ record label and the following year he joined the Grand Ole Opry. After mid-chart hits in the late 1960s and the early 1970s, Nelson retired in 1972 and moved to Austin, Texas. The ongoing music scene of Austin motivated Nelson to return from retirement, performing frequently at the ‘Armadillo World Headquarters’.

In 1973, after signing with ‘Atlantic Records’, Willie Nelson turned to outlaw country music and in 1975, he switched to ‘Columbia Records’, where he recorded the critically acclaimed album ‘Red Headed Stranger’. After other recordings, Willie joined forces ‘on the road’ with many famous singers like Johnny Cash, Kris Kristofferson.

In 1990, Nelson's assets were seized by the ‘Internal Revenue Service’, which claimed that he owed $32 million. The difficulty of paying his outstanding debt was aggravated by weak investments he had made during the 1980s. In 1992, Nelson released ‘The IRS Tapes: Who’ll Buy My Memories’. The profits of the double album—destined to the IRS—and the auction of Nelson's assets, cleared his debt. During the 1990s and 2000s, Nelson continued touring extensively and released albums every year. Reviews ranged from positive to mixed.

He explored genres such as reggae, blues, jazz, and folk.

Willie Nelson is a man who has had a rich and full life. He is a great country and western singers; one of my favourite country singers. He is currently 86 years old and is still singing! Good on you, Willie!

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I have known of so many people who didn’t want to go on with their lives after the death of their lifelong partner and soulmate. It was as though they had decided the moment that the coffin had been lowered into the ground that they too would drop out of life and allow themselves to be buried in grief for the remainder of it.

They essentially saw no point in continuing the pretence that they could ever again feel happy when they got up on a morning, only to have it dawn on them as soon as they opened their eyes that they would face the day alone and that their partner was gone and wasn’t coming back. Even if by some miracle they believed they might love another man/woman again when their raw emotions had settled, they didn’t want another man/woman. They knew in their heart of hearts that nobody; simply nobody, could ever match up to the one that preceded them.

I once was the Probation Officer who supervised the teenage son of a collier’s widow. The boy and his widowed mother lived in Emley Moor, Huddersfield during the 1980s. After the death of her husband of thirty years, she never stops crying; she never stops grieving the loss of her husband and children’s father. I was introduced to the mining widow when her 14-year-old son, who had always been a good lad until his thirteenth year of life, seemed to go off the rails. In the short space of twelve months, he had appeared before the Magistrates Court on three occasions for separate offences of a minor nature; petty theft, fighting in public and drinking underage.

He had one older married sister, and it soon became apparent prior to making him the subject of a two-year Supervision Order to the Probation Service, that his disturbing behaviour commenced after the sudden and unexpected death of his father a year earlier. His father had experienced the miner’s cough (known in Huddersfield mining communities as ‘The Black Death’) after working at the pit face for over twenty-six years.

Following his father’s death, his sister (who had moved to live down south upon her marriage) stopped visiting her bereaved mother after the funeral.

The boy told me that his mother used to be a happy woman when his father was around, but added since his father had died, ‘the life seemed to go out of her’. Both boy and mother needed someone with whom they could talk to, but as so often happens, neither seemed able to talk to each other and give each other the support each needed.

During one of our weekly sessions (I would see the young man at the Probation Office and at home when I could), he told me that his mother still pretends his father was still alive. When I asked him to elaborate, he indicated that although his father had been dead and buried over one year, she would still polish his mining boots on a night time and she would still get up at 5:30 am in the morning and warm the boots at the fireside. It would seem that 5:30 am was the time she had risen since her first week of marriage. She’d always insisted on getting her husband off to work and having a hot mug of tea for him as soon as he came downstairs on a morning. The young man (I cannot recall his name) also indicated that nobody was allowed to sit in ‘Dad’s fireside chair’.

I recalled upon hearing this story, how much it reminded me of the 1963 British drama film ‘This Sporting Life’ that recounted the story of a rugby league footballer, Frank Machin. The film was set in the mining area of Wakefield, West Yorkshire and Richard Harris (who won the Best Actor’s Award) and Rachel Roberts played the lead parts (the rugby player on the up and the miner’s widow) with whom he wants a relationship, but she won’t allow anyone to get emotionally close to her again.

The film contains an almost identical scene as the young probationer described to me about the miner’s widow still warming her dead husband’s boots in front of the fire during each early morning and preparing him a hot mug of tea on the breakfast table.

During later years, I heard from other Probation Officers who had experienced similar accounts in the houses of deceased miners by bereaved spouses. It seems that the novel of the same name by David Storey, upon which the film was based, used real experiences from the homes of mining widows when researching his background for the book. Still, when I think about it today, both film and my own experience were taken from the same area of the country; the mining area of Wakefield in West Yorkshire. It has often been said that art is the best imitation of life.
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 10th February 2020

10/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to our friend from our parish church, Finn Hughes. Finn is the teenage son of Gerry & Michael Hughes. Finn was admitted to the hospital last week with pneumonia. He got discharged on the 2nd Feb and was readmitted back in hospital yesterday after pneumonia returned. He's back on IV antibiotics and is remaining positive. Get well soon, Finn. We all love you and miss your presence in our lives.

My song today is ‘Blue Suede Shoes’. This is a rock and roll standard that was written and first recorded by Carl Perkins in 1955. It is considered one of the first rockabilly records, incorporating elements of blues, country and pop music of the time. Perkins' original version of the song was on the ‘Cashbox Best Selling Singles List’ for 16 weeks and spent two weeks in the Number 2 position. Elvis Presley performed his version of the song three different times on national television. It was also recorded by Buddy Holly and Eddie Cochran, among many others.

Johnny Cash planted the seed for the song in the fall of 1955, while Perkins, Cash, Elvis Presley, and other Louisiana Hayride acts toured throughout the South. Cash told Perkins of a black airman, C. V. White, whom he had met when serving in the military in Germany, who had referred to his military regulation airmen's shoes as ‘blue suede shoes’. Cash suggested that Perkins write a song about the shoes. Perkins replied, "I don't know anything about shoes. How can I write a song about shoes?”

When Perkins played a dance on December 4, 1955, he noticed a couple dancing near the stage. Between songs, he heard a stern, forceful voice say "Uh-uh, don't step on my suedes!" He looked down and noted that the boy was wearing blue suede shoes and one had a scuff mark. "Good gracious, a pretty little thing like that and all he can think about are his blue suede shoes", thought Perkins.

That night Perkins began working on a song based on the incident. Carl Perkins' recording of ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ was released in early 1956. Two copies of the song on 78-rpm records were sent to Perkins but arrived broken.
‘Blue Suede Shoes’ was the Number 2 single on Memphis charts; it was Number 1 the next week and remained there for the next three months. It became a fantastic success.
A review of song hits, published on February 18, stated that "Perkins has come up with some wax here that has hit the national retail chart in almost record time. Interestingly enough, the disk has a measure of appeal for pop and Rhythm & Blue customers."

On March 17, Perkins became the first country artist to reach the Number 3 spot on the ‘Rhythm and Blues Charts’. That night, Perkins and his band first performed "Blue Suede Shoes" on television, on ABC TV. Coincidentally, Presley was on ‘Stage Show’ on CBS-TV that same night, for which he also performed the song.

Perkins was booked to appear on the ‘Perry Como Show’ on NBC-TV on March 24, but on March 22 he and his band were in a serious automobile crash on the way to New York City, resulting in the death of a truck driver and the hospitalization of both Perkins and his brother. While Perkins recuperated from his injuries, ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ rose to Number 1 on most pop, R&B and country regional charts. "I was a poor farm boy, and with 'Shoes' I felt I had a chance but suddenly there I was in the hospital," Perkins recalled bitterly. It also held the Number 2 position on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ and country charts. Presley's ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ held the Number 1 position on the pop and country charts, while "Shoes" did better than "Heartbreak" on the R&B charts.

Perkins never attained the stardom of Presley, who, according to Perkins, "had everything. He had the looks, the moves, the manager, and the talent. And he didn't look like Mr. Ed, like a lot of us did, Elvis was hitting them with sideburns, flashy clothes, and no ring on the finger. I had three kids." After Presley hit the chart with his version of ‘Blue Suede Shoes,’ Perkins became known more for his songwriting than for his performing. After a lifetime of being the best, Elvis knocked Perkins off his perch.
‘Blue Suede Shoes’ was chosen by the ‘Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’ as one of the ‘500 Songs That Shaped Rock and Roll’. In 1986, Perkins' version was inducted in the ‘Grammy Hall of Fame’ and in 1999, ‘National Public Radio’ included ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ in the NPR 100, in which NPR's music editors sought to compile the 100 most important American musical works of the 20th century.

In 2004, Perkins's version was ranked Number 95 on ‘Rolling Stone’s list of the ‘500 Greatest Songs of All Time’. Presley's recording of the song was also on the list, ranked number 423. The ‘National Recording Preservation Board’ included the song in the ‘National Recording Registry’ of the ‘Library of Congress’ in 2006. The board annually selects songs that are ‘culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.’ As a rock-and-roll standard, "Blue Suede Shoes" has been performed and recorded by many artists

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I was a teenager aged 15 years when this song was recorded and released, but it was the Elvis Presley version and not Carl Perkin’s version that I grew up with. Bopping was the thing to do then on the dance floors of the nation as the rock and roll craze mushroomed across the land. With the onset of the Teddy Boy era, suede shoes of blue and many different colours rapidly came into fashion.

I cannot recall why precisely, but although I dressed like a Teddy Boy for several years, my long Edwardian styled coat, black shirt, string tie, and drainpipe trousers were finished off with black leather shoes and not suedes. I think it was to do with my walking balance at the time, having spent almost three years unable to walk following a bad traffic accident at the age of 11 years that almost killed me and then crippled me. When one walked in suede shoes (often known as Beetle Crushers or Brothel Creepers), it was like a hovercraft foot experience. The sensation was one of walking on a cushion of air between the shoe and the ground.

Although very comfortable for the feet, in order to improve my mobility and walking gait after my accident, I always needed to feel even the slightest object beneath my feet; every bump and surface undulation needed to be felt by me in order to correct my walk. This could only be achieved in two ways only; by either walking barefoot (like a barefooted Buddhist monk needing to feel in touch with the ground beneath one's feet) or through the wearing of the finest shoes one could purchase (expensive Italian handmade shoes).

Now, I have told you my ‘guilty secret’ and greatest indulgence which doesn’t come cheap.
Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 9th February 2020

9/2/2020

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I jointly dedicate my song today to Violeta Dimitrijevic from Kumanovo, Macedonia and lives in Zajecar. It is Violeta’s birthday today. It is also the birthday of my niece Carol Morris who lives in Cleckheaton. Happy birthday, Carol and Violetta. May your special day be blessed by much happiness, love…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Thank you for being my Facebook friend.

My song today is ‘A White Sports Coat’. This is a song with words and music that was written by Marty Robbins in 1957. It was recorded on January 25, 1957, and released on the ‘Columbia Records’ label, over a month later, on March 4.

Robbins recalled writing the song in approximately twenty minutes while being transported in a standard automobile. He is said to have had the inspiration for the song while driving from a motel to a venue in Ohio where he was due to perform that evening. During the course of the journey, he passed a local high school, where its students were dressed ready for their prom.

The song reached Number 1 on the ‘U.S. Country Chart’ becoming Marty Robbins' third Number 1 record. The song reached Number 2 on the ‘Billboard Pop Chart’ in the U.S. and Number 1 in the Australian music charts in 1957.

A version by Johnny Desmond received some play also, peaking at Number 62 on the U.S. pop charts. In the UK the song was a notable hit for the English Rock' n 'Roll singer Terry Dene, which reached Number 18 in the UK Charts. A recording by The King Brothers’ peaked at Number 6. Both of these versions hit the charts in early summer 1957.

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I was 15 years old when this song first came out and was part of the Rock & Roll scene then. There were only two groups of males on the British scene at the time. Any male was either a Mod or a Rocker. I was a Rocker and we became colloquially known as Teddy Boys. We wore long hair and grew sideburns and the Mods had short hair. We drove around on motorbikes and sang Elvis songs the Mods drove around on Lambretta Scooters humming Cliff Richard songs.

When it came to fashion neither a Teddy Boy or a Mod would be seen dead in ‘a white sport’s coat and a pink carnation’. While the Mods looked like they were little models of their clean-cut fathers with their short-back-and-sides haircuts, the Teddy boys strutted their stuff as they walked about in their Edwardian draped long coats and drainpipe trousers and Rockabilly Brothel-Creepers footwear, with a comb in one hand and swinging a bicycle chain from his other knuckle-duster adorned hand.

The only place anyone in Great Britain might have seen a white sport’s coat with a pink carnation in its top pocket being worn by a male would have been in some back-street night-club down in Brighton. The only place in Brighton where the Mods and Rockers assembled in their thousands every summer was on the front, where these 1960 gladiators fought for blood and glory on the sands of Brighton Beach.

At the end of another glorious victory on the sands, the Teddy Boy gladiators would mount their motorbikes and after placing their Judies on the back seat to caress them tightly all the way back home, the girlfriends of the Mods would spend the next half hour watching their boyfriend attempt to turn his ignition key to get their machine started. It was little wonder that their Lambretta contraptions never had kick-starts like the motorcyclist counterparts had, as the Mods would never have had enough energy to kick-start their machines. They struggled to find the energy required to even 'turn the ignition key'.

By the time the Mods had left the Brighton boundary on their scooters, we’d usually have arrived back home, eaten, washed, changed and gone out again for the evening. By the time the Mods got to the local dance hall, we would have been drinking, dancing and wenching for a few hours, as the Lambrettas of the Mods spluttered, spat and crawled their way back into West Yorkshire from Brighton.

Those were the days. I did wear a white sports coat in my sixtieth year of life, but never with a pink carnation in its buttonhole; not even on my wedding day to my wife, Sheila on my 70th birthday.
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 8th February 2020

8/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook contact, Jean Pollard from Morley in West Yorkshire. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Jean. Have a nice day. Bill x

My song today is ‘Cold, Cold Heart’. This blues ballad was sung and recorded by Hank Williams. It is in the classic honky-tonk style. It was also an entry in the ‘Great American Songbook: Hank Williams’ version.

‘The Great American Songbook’, also known as ‘American Standards’, is the canon of the most important and influential American popular songs and jazz standards from the early 20th century. Although several collections of music have been published under the title, it does not refer to any actual book or a specific list of songs, but to a loosely defined set including the most popular and enduring songs from the 1920s to the 1950s that were created for Broadway theatre, musical theatre, and Hollywood musical films. They have been recorded and performed by a large number and a wide range of singers, instrumental bands, and jazz musicians. The Great American Songbook comprises standards by George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, Johnny, and Richard Rogers, among others. Although the songs have never gone out of style among traditional and jazz singers and musicians, a renewed popular interest in the Great American Songbook beginning in the 1970s has led a growing number of rock and pop singers to take an interest and issue recordings of them.

Hank Williams adapted the melody for the song from T. Texas Tyler’s 1945 recording of ‘You'll Still Be in My Heart,’ which was written by Ted West in 1943. Despite the evidence pointing to the lyrics being written by Paul Gilley, in the Williams episode of ‘American Masters’, country music historian Colin Escott states that Williams was moved to write the song after visiting his wife Audrey in the hospital, who was suffering from an infection brought on by an abortion she had carried out at their home unbeknownst to Hank. Escott also speculates that Audrey, who carried on extramarital affairs as Hank also did on the road, may have suspected the baby was not her husband's. Florida bandleader Pappy Neil McCormick claims to have witnessed the encounter:

According to McCormick, Hank went to the hospital and bent down to kiss Audrey, but she wouldn't let him. “You, sorry son of a bitch,” she is supposed to have said, “it was you that caused me to suffer like this.” Hank went home and told the children's governess, Miss Ragland, that Audrey had a 'cold, cold heart,' and then, as so often in the past, realised the bitterness in his heart held commercial promise.

The first draft of the song is dated November 23, 1950, and was recorded with an unknown band on May 5, 1951. Like his earlier masterpiece ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry’, it was released as the B-SIDE (MGM-10904B) to ‘Dear John’ (MGM-10904A), since it was an unwritten rule in the country music industry that the faster numbers sold best. ‘Dear John peaked at Number 8 after only a brief four-week run on Billboard magazine's country music charts, but ‘Cold, Cold Heart’ proved to be a favourite of disc jockeys and jukebox listeners, whose enthusiasm for the song catapulted it to Number 1 on the country music charts.

The song would also become a pop hit for Tony Bennett, paving the way for country songs to make inroads into the lucrative pop market.

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I only recently came across this song again after having heard it originally when I lived in Canada for a couple of years and became a lifelong follower of country and western songs. The title of this song suggests a degree of deliberateness caused in the hurting of another following a romantic relationship that had once existed between the couple.

I was brought up always believing that if one gave one’s heart to another, it stayed with them until it became colder with an absence of affection. My mother often told me, “Billy while your heart stays warm and compassionate it will always beat inside you, and it will only stop living when it gets ice cold.” I realised in later years that this was mum’s way of telling me that life is eternal for the warm-hearted and compassionate among us.

Of the many bad or dubious things, I have done in my life, I have never inflicted hurt upon any girl or woman with whom I was romantically involved with; intentionally. Although I fell in love between the ages of 16 and 26 years with the regularity of a dog getting acquainted with every passing a lamppost, I hadn’t the slightest intention of ever having a serious relationship with the female concerned. I never lied to any of them about my intention to remain a bachelor until my late twenties, yet I was always willing to profit from the physical benefits of any relationship I was in whenever the female was as free-spirited as I was.

The trouble was, you see, I loved the idea of ‘falling in love’ but refrained and instantly withdrew from the inevitable consequences of ‘being in love’ once the prospect popped its head above the parapet. I had always planned to travel at the age of 21 years of age when I came into a bit of money that I’d been awarded from a traffic accident I incurred at the age of 11 years when a wagon ran over me and nearly killed me. Canada was the country I wanted to travel around, as well as seeing parts of the United States of America, and however much I loved having a beautiful looking girl on my arm or a stunning young woman in my bed, I had no intention of any romance coming between me and the dream I’d held since boyhood. I was determined to see and experience as much of life as I could before donning myself with the domesticity of married life and raising a family of my own.

I can honestly say that I treated every young woman I ever courted briefly with the utmost of courtesy and respect. I never took advantage of any of them to the best of my recollection, and I never deceived them to into thinking I was a marriageable prospect in order to gain my wicked way. If we ever became ‘the closest of friends’, it was because we each were happy with that type of emotionally non-committal relationship. I genuinely told myself this at the time; although in retrospect, perhaps this is rarely the case. I now hold the view, that however little each party in the courtship considers themselves to be emotionally uncommitted in the beginning, there comes a point in the relationship when one of the two people concerned begins to get more serious and starts to become more emotionally involved. Without knowing it, they may even find themselves moving the emotional goalposts, in order to justify the goals scored during the match.

In my late teens, I loved to sing and dance, and having fun alongside any young woman who also wanted the same as I did out of their life, was the only long-term goal I wanted from my romantic forays in the dancehalls of the fifties and the night time scene of the more liberating sixties.

It would not be until after I joined the Probation Service in my thirties that I came across too many broken hearts; too many people for whom love had first lifted them to cloud nine before bringing the person crashing back down to earth with the hardest of landings.

While everyone responds differently to similar situations, there is a certain degree of commonality displayed by people who have been bitterly let down, betrayed, dumped unceremoniously or who have been cheated on by the one person they loved and gave their heart to. They brought more to the marriage altar than the hen’s contribution brings to the breakfast table. Their commitment was as different as the contribution which both hen and pig make to the breakfast table; the hen is partially committed, but as for the bacon contributor goes, the pig remains totally committed!

The most common response is to feel angry with the person who initially let you down and broke your heart. The expression of one’s anger in this situation is both natural and can be even productively healthy. It can, however, also be the most destructive of emotions when directed in an unhealthy direction.

I have met people who told me that it was only their hatred of and anger with another which kept them going from day to day, whereas others experiencing similar situations have found themselves so consumed by hatred and the thoughts of revenge, that they were simply unable to move one step forward with their life without taking three steps backward. I have seen people quickly enter another marriage or a serious relationship on the rebound, and break up as quickly, before immediately entering another relationship that was also doomed to fail. They did not realise that until they could mentally and emotionally reconcile their initial break up, that they would carry their internal failures from their past relationship into their new relationship, and until they came to terms with the initial breakup that all future relationships were destined to fail.

Keeping one’s anger inside oneself is always a mistake. If possible, it is better to be rid of anger through any therapeutic or healthy method available to you. The best and safest way of getting one’s anger out is through talking and talking with trusted others about how you feel. If, however, you don’t find it easy to talk or express your angry feelings to others (and take no other course of therapeutic action) you will lose complete control of your situation. Angry people who cannot talk, often engage in physically energetic sport like rugby, football, boxing, tennis, running, etc in order to dissipate their anger levels.

If you will not/cannot do what a healthy mind and body need to do to remove your unhealthy anger levels from your body, your mind and body will do it for you against your wishes. Your unconscious mind and body will find its own way of expressing your anger for you. Anger is like a battery that leaks acid right out of a broken heart that cannot heal its break. Whereas the acid initially represented the battery’s life force, in its destructive wake, instead of providing the body with the correct spark it needs, it corrodes everything it touches.

I cannot count the number of women and men who remain haunted for years and years after a hurtful relationship break up. These are often the men and women who compensate their sadness in the bottle and stay up every night into the early morning hours listening to ‘their favourite songs’ and surviving on bitter regrets, a mountain of caffeine, copious cigarettes, and a cold, cold, heart. I have known people who were dumped and sought their revenge by ‘pretending to be happier than they could ever be’ with the new partner in their life. These are the people who laugh out the loudest in a company of friends to make their ex feel uncomfortable about ‘their newfound happiness’, while inwardly they cry over ‘what might have been’ or ‘what is’.

I once remember comforting a mate whose wife had left him for another man. He was literally heartbroken and utterly surprised as he hadn’t seen their separation and his wife’s sudden desertion coming down the tracks at him. He had always thought their relationship to have been a solid one and he’d never once cheated on her, though he’d had plenty of opportunities to have done so, had he chosen. The man’s wife subsequently divorced him, and because they shared an overlapping circle of friends with whom each continued to socialise, they occasionally found themselves in each other’s social company at future events, like the marriages and birthday parties of mutual friends.

Initially, my friend seemed to accept that the separation between himself and his wife was for the best in the long term, and although he tried to be happy for her having found someone else to love, he once told me, “Bill, I try to be happy that she is now happier than she was with me, but what I cannot seem to get past, what I can never forgive her for, is her ease of getting on with her life. She is too cold and has never once shed a tear of regret or expressed a feeling of remorse for the wrong she did me”.

My best advice I can ever give to anyone whose heart has been broken and has never mended is “Do not abandon all future desire to be happy”. Do not destroy any future hope of romance by immediately dousing the flames of passion whom another ignites in you by showing them a cold heart. Never stop dreaming or stop believing that dreams can come through, whatever your age.

While I have loved more than once in my life, the best love of my life has been Sheila, who is also my last love. We met at a time in life when I wasn’t thinking of ever finding love again. Indeed, I can honestly say that I wasn’t looking for it. Sheila was 14 years younger than me (and looking another 14 years younger than her actual age). She was far more beautiful than any other woman I have ever known or should reasonably expect as a 68-years-old man. We met in Haworth in December 2010 and were married on my 70th birthday in December 2012. I have never been happier in my life or have felt so loved by wife, family, and friends.

I have known all manner of hearts in my life to press but have never been given one so pure, so warm and so loving as the heart of my beautiful wife, Sheila. I love you, lass x
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 7th February 2020

7/2/2020

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friends, Mary Sheckles who lives in Louisville, Kentucky, and Dane Smith from Carrick-on-Suir in County Tipperary, and Michael Sagar who presently lives in Cleckheaton, West Yorkshire, but who once lived across the street from me for most of my developing years on Windybank Estate. All three celebrate their birthday today. May your day be filled with much happiness, love…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Regards and love Bill xxx

Today’s song is ‘Rags to Riches’. This song is a 1953 song by Richard Adler and Jerry Ross. The music is based on a Spanish or a Latin American melody.

The best-known version of the song was recorded by Tony Bennett with Percy Faith and his orchestra. Their recording was Number 1 for eight weeks on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart in 1953 and became a gold record. In the same year, a version by David Whitfield reached Number 3 in the British charts and one by ‘Billy Ward and His Dominoes’ with Jackie Wilson singing lead made Number 2 on ‘Billboard's R& B Chart’. Later recordings by ‘Sunny and the Sunliners’ reached Number 45 in 1963 and Elvis Presley also reached Number 33 in 1971 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart.

Tony Bennett's version was used at the beginning of the film ‘Goodfellas’, just after Henry Hill closes the trunk of the car and says in voice-over, "As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster." The song was also used as a background in other visual series on television or film.

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Anyone who is 60 or over, and who was brought up during the 1940s, 50s, and 60s will have doubtlessly experienced the same material privations as any working-class family then did. The richest among the working classes back then were those born into two-parent families with fewer than three children, and where the man of the house had aspired to the brown-coated status of working foreman or supervisor.

Most families had three or four children and although I was the oldest of seven children, this was far from being unusual. I knew several families with ten or more children and there were few mothers who had not lost a child in pregnancy or had had a child of theirs die during infancy.

When I went to Canada for a few years in 1963-65, my mother was still behind with the grocer’s weekly bill with whom she’d had an account with ever since the family migrated to West Yorkshire from Ireland in the mid-1940s. All during my life growing up in a family of seven children, my mother paid for this week’s groceries to feed the family with next week’s wage of my mining father. We always lived one week behind our weekly household income, along with most other working-class families on the estate.

Like many children of the time, the clothes on our backs were rarely new or un-darned, and our footwear never kept out the snow and the rain. Our shoes or boots would be reinforced in both their toe and heel by steel tips; and in time, they’d also be under-soled with stiff cardboard. It wouldn’t have mattered if a good fairy or an Irish elf had given us two shillings in pennies every morning of our lives to spend on sweets or buns in the shop on our way to school, because, by the time we’d reached the shops, we’d have lost every penny from it slipping through the holes in our trouser pockets as soon as the money entered them.

Children of the 1940s, 50s, and 60s lived in a much different world than do children today. The richest child then would have immeasurably less to live on than the poorest child has today! We experienced a ‘live and make do’ world; a time when respect for self, family and community mattered as much as having a roof over one’s head, food in one’s stomach and clothes on one’s back. All these latter things could be obtained by hard work, but respect had to be earned, and without it, one might as well have been dead and buried. It was often the only thing that an honest working-class man ever owned.

So, while my generation was materially poorer than children born today are, I’ve not the slightest doubt that in terms of values, respect, willingness to share, community spirit and law abidingness, we were much wealthier, and happier than children of today are.

Despite the material poverty that surrounded we were never as needy in our wants and desires as children today are. No matter how much they have today, it is never quite enough, and they want more. With no computers, i-pads, mobiles, television and electronic games, we were left to whatever our imagination could conjure up. Our ability to use our imagination in creating games from articles found around the streets and the home like chalk, pebbles, sticks, dustbin lids, brush handles, etc was all we needed, along with boundless energy and bags of fresh air that didn’t cost a penny, to keep us forever occupied.

And, when these items weren’t readily available, we found a lamp post against which one child would stand as a cushion, while six more children would crouch down in a rugby scrum line beneath each other’s legs, in the shape of a horse’s back. Then, another team of seven children would all jump as hard as they could on the backs of the other team. The aim was to make the crouched horse collapse if possible. If the human-horse held up, the sides would reverse, and ‘horse mounter’ would become ‘horse-mounted’. Children were too mentally stimulated ever to know the feeling of boredom and their walking and constant playing ensured that they were a fitter and less fat nation of growing adults than we see today. As for learning about the birds and the bees, that too would be gleaned from innocent games like ‘postman’s knock’ and discovery in the park after dark or having a kiss on the neighbour’s shed roof during a game of ‘truth, kiss or dare’, or the more ambitious teenage game of ‘I will if you will’.

We are the generation who came from rags to riches but who stayed forever rooted in what really matters where a cohesive and happy society really counts.

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 6th February 2020

6/2/2020

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I jointly dedicate my song today to my only daughter, Rebecca, who lives and works in London, my dear brother in Christ, Joseph Newns from Warrington, and my Facebook friend, Bernadette O'Donoghue from Peterborough. Rebecca, Joseph, and Bernadette each celebrate their birthdays today. Have a super birthday and don’t forget to leave room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments.

My song today is one that I heard for the very first time yesterday but thought it to be entirely suitable for today’s birthday celebrants, particularly my only daughter, Rebecca. The song is entitled ‘My Little Girl’ and was co-written and performed by the American country music singer, Tim McGraw. The song was first released in August 2006 as one of the singles in his album, ‘Tim McGraw Reflected: Greatest Hits Volume 2’. The second co-writer of the song was Tom Douglas.

‘My Little Girl’ reached the top three on ‘Billboard Hot Country Songs’. It was also featured in the movie ‘Flicka’ and was nominated by the ‘Broadcast Film Critics Association’ for ‘Best Song’ in 2006.

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My only daughter Rebecca was born on February 6th, 1985. Very early on in her life, she started to exert influence over me. I’d been smitten with her presence in my life since I saw her lifted out of her mother’s womb. The surgeon who delivered Becky was a stickler who believed that fathers ought not to be present at their wife’s theatre delivery. He was in that group colloquially known as the medical dinosaurs. I had adhered to his decision when William was born, but not this time. Although I was barred from being present in the theatre from seeing the birth of my daughter, I nevertheless refused to miss her arrival into the world. So, I found out the theatre location and peered through the plastic windows in the doors from a concealed position. Becky’s birth produced the cry of life…from me…and she also made everyone aware of her presence by yelling also, “I’ve arrived, Dad. Your beautiful little girl has arrived!”

I already had four sons and being a dad, I’d always wanted a daughter too. Even her name had been decided sixteen years before her birth, and believe it or not, fate had played its part in what she would be Christened. When I first met Becky’s mother, we discovered one huge uncanny coincidence. We’d each told ourselves many years earlier that if ever we had a daughter, she would be called Rebecca. I have found in my lifetime, on more than one occasion, that it is not so unusual for two suitably matched people in love with each other to share the same dream which one day unfolds.

Naturally, I’d researched the origin of the name 'Rebecca' and found it to be of Hebrew origin (the name Rivkah). Its meaning is ‘to tie firmly’. A second meaning from the Old Testament is ‘captivating beauty’, and a third derivative is ‘moderator’. Related names are Becca, Becky, and Reba.

Your existence, Becky during your first four years, essentially made me a lifelong captive to your charms. You could get anything you wanted from your father simply by smiling when you asked for it. I smiled often at the situations you would place yourself in. For nearly six months, we couldn’t stop you snuggling up in the dog basket with our new black Labrador puppy. On the occasions you found my pipe, (the smoking of which your mother always referred to as being ‘a filthy habit), I would find you washing it in the sink. I naturally smiled at the things you did in your innocence, because I was your father, and in later life, you also laughed 'because I was your father' and there wasn’t a damned thing you could do about it.

I recall the first four years of your life when your asthma was at its worse, and we would have to rush you to hospital in the middle of the night when you were having a serious attack. Such emergency hospital dashes would occur approximately two to three times annually. Your mum and I would take you in our car as we didn't want to risk a delayed ambulance.

For the first three years of your life, you slept in your parent’s bed and I would lie you flat on my stomach. I did this for two reasons. I had practiced relaxation training since the age of 11 years and knew that my easy breathing pattern would more than likely be replicated by you if you slept with your head to my tummy. Secondly, I knew that once you started to have an asthma attack that your erratic breathing pattern would disturb me from my sleep if you lay on my stomach face down.

I recall that you were always near the top of your class in first, middle and secondary school. I thought that around the age of 10 years old that you would most certainly be an author as the standard of your imagery and descriptive writing was simply years beyond your age. As happens with most growing girls, your teenage years gradually witnessed less of an interest in education and more of an interest in boys.

When you went off to university, and as with all my children, I was a proud father. You started a degree course in one subject and then after one year, exercised your female prerogative to change your mind, and you subsequently changed course to a different subject. I remember asking you what you wanted to do with your future, and you indicated that you were fascinated by politics, and also in being a forensic scientist. At the end of the day, you finished up working in Humane Relations as a tax consultant, in a well-paid highly responsible job, living independently in London.

My only negative experience I can recall about your university years down in London concerned the same perennial problem that all fathers of university students encounter. Each year you were at university, you would stay in a shared house with other students. This would always involve each student paying 0ver £1000 deposit ‘which would be returned at the end of the tenancy.’ Like the father of all university students, my daughter reassured me that I would get my £1000 'returnable deposit' back next year.

When the year ended, a new place to live would be required again, but the landlord, (who always found their rented houses returned cleaner than when they were initially moved into), could, nevertheless be always guaranteed to come up with some reason that resulted in the £1000 (or a substantial part of it) being forfeited. There were occasionally other shared house-tenants who moved out without notice, leaving the fathers of remaining students to pick up the bill for the additional portion of unpaid rent. Then, at the end of each university year, the house hunting, the required large ‘unreturnable deposit’ from the bank of mum and dad, and the one full day moving every piece of new furniture across London in dad’s car would start all over again.

I often wonder Becky if you remain of single status today because of the high standards I have always attached to the behaviour of men in their relationships with women. Through my own respect that I have always shown for your mother, I have tried to teach my sons how to treat a woman besides teaching my daughter what to expect from men as a minimum. I only hope that your single status today, Becky is through choice (which I believe it to be) and that I didn’t set too high a standard in my relationship with your mum against which you judge all men and find most wanting.

I am pleased that you grew up with two parents, each of whom have always loved and supported you. I am especially pleased that since your mother, and I divorced a dozen years ago that you have maintained a positive relationship and regular contact with each of us. Your mother is a good woman and will never let you down. I am also pleased that you get on so well with my wife, Sheila and that you enjoy your visits to our home and weekend stays.

I will end with one piece of fatherly advice, Becky. If ever you have a day that is going badly or for whatever reason seems more stressful than usual, and you start to feel inadequate in some measure, unloved or unworthy, remember whose daughter you are, smile broadly my Princess, and straighten your crown. Love Dad and Sheila x

Have a super birthday today, Becky, along with Joseph and Bernadette.
Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 5th February 2020

5/2/2020

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My song today is ’That’s Alright Mama’
I jointly dedicate my song today to my great-niece from Heckmondwike, 19-Year-old Jessica Louise Eggett, and my Facebook friends, Jodie O Fusco from Halifax and Mary Mason from Northampton. All three celebrate their birthdays today. Have a super birthday today and leave some room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments.

Today’s song is ‘That’s Alright Mama’. This was a song written and originally performed by blues singer Arthur Crudup in 1947. It is best known as the debut single recorded and released by Elvis Presley. Presley's version was recorded and released in July 1954 with ‘Blue Moon of Kentucky’ as the B-side. It was ranked number 113 on the 2010 Rolling Stone magazine list of the ‘500 Greatest Songs of All Time’. Elvis changed some of the words as it was recorded back in 1947. In July 2004, exactly 50 years after its first issuing, the song was released as a CD single in several countries, reaching Number 3 in the United Kingdom, Number 31 in Australia, Number 33 in Ireland, and Number 47 in Sweden.
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As an Irish man born and bred, I learned very early on in my life who the most important person in my life was. It wasn’t the pope or the parish priest, it wasn’t my teachers, my siblings or even my dear father; it was my mother!

Even when I became a man and put away my childish things, even when I left home and married, I still never escaped my mother’s influence over me and my life. An Irish Catholic man’s wife can be the best cook in the kitchen, the best whore in the bedroom, the purest saint in public and the finest mother to their dozen children, but when push comes to shove, in areas of disagreement with her mother-in-law, her husband will always come down on his mother’s side! She was the first woman to whom he was born and suckled, bred and beholding for life. In his eyes, Mama will always be at the top of his tree of priorities and influence.

My very first example of goodness witnessed daily as I grew from infant to manhood was to be seen in my mother; in her wise words, in her positive and hopeful attitude displayed, in her blunt truth spoken, in her honestly expressed emotions at the moment of their birth, in her endless compassion towards the poor, in her own acknowledged fears and failures as a human being, in her capacity to forgive, and above all, in her unqualified love. I also learned that in any Irish Catholic household, Mama rules supreme in all things; always has and always will!

Your father might be the wage earner whose earnings bring in the family bread, but it is your mother who cuts the loaf, butters and distributes it. She is effectively the head of the household, the power behind the throne. It is she who is ‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer of Household Management’ and the worker of financial miracles. Dad might have earned £10 weekly wages when my parents were married with seven children to clothe and feed, but it was my mother’s wizardly skills which enabled how to make it spread thinly over £15 weekly household expenditure.

It was no mean art that enabled my mum to know which tradesman and bill to pay first, who could be put off until next week and which debt to pay last. It took the wisdom of a Solomon to be able to continue the gas supply to our house, while at the same time emptying the metre and replacing the required amount of shillings ‘borrowed’ to satisfy the gas man’s next metre reading, just before his house call. It also required the strength and physical endurance of the most loving of mothers, never to eat herself until her husband and seven children had partaken of food. A poor mother’s personal food rations amounted to what was left to eat, if anything, after the rest of her family had dined.

All Irish children soon become familiar with the 'dos and don'ts' of daily life. One is allowed to fight fiercely with one’s siblings, even push one’s little sister to the ground in anger, argue with dad, question the Immaculate Conception, be sceptical about papal infallibility, curse the priest for giving you the maximum prayer penance in the confessional box for some minor sin you committed, but… whoever you may offend or do wrong to… never let it be your mother! Such an act within any Irish Catholic household is unconscionable, unforgivable and wholly impermissible.

It represents the gravest of stains upon one's character, and It will lead to the offender being instantly excommunicated from their parish church, ostracised by their family and neighbours and cast out on the streets with bare feet and a torn arse in their breeches; never again to set foot back upon the doorstep of the family home until an apology has been given and accepted by the Mama of the house.

Even if Mama eventually relents and ‘forgives’ the transgressing child in later life before she dies, the offending child will still never be granted instant access through the Gates of Heaven however good and charitable a life they lived thereafter. The best a contrite and truly repentant sinning child against their mother can hope for is one hundred thousand years in the prison of purgatory, wrapped tightly in sheets of barbed wire and fed only on a diet of six-inch worms that have been marinated in rotting vinegar.

But, those children who never find a lasting peace with their Mama are unfortunately destined to eternal damnation in the flames of hell. Every word of what I have written I know to be true, because my Irish mother told me!
Love and peace Bill xxx
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