Blog Archives - FordeFables

March 31st, 2017.

31/3/2017

Thought for today:
"When we think back, much of our life during the 1950's and 60's was built on trust. These were times when every parent trusted their neighbours to keep a watchful eye on their children when they were out playing; times when one could go a bicycle ride and leave one's bike in the hedge for three hours while you played in a wood and know that it would still be there when you returned. I cannot remember a time when neighbours locked an empty house during the day or feared that their children might be kidnapped, assaulted or killed. I cannot recall a time when it wasn't thought healthier to allow young children to stay out in the fresh air throughout the summer months from dawn until dusk and not over-worry about any risk entailed.

Indeed, trust was established early on in one's life and there was always a friend close by to maintain the balance.

Today, a lack of trust and huge dose of scepticism seems to be a more common thing to hold than a belief that the other person won't do the right thing and let you down gently. If ever you have had someone jump off their end of a see saw when you were at your highest, it is not surprising that you proceed with future caution. Good friends, however, are placed in your life to prevent your fall being too hurtful.

The one thing I recall about my youth and upbringing was that one invariably married a boy or girl they had grown up with in their immediate neighbourhood and with whom they had formed an early trust bond. It was not unusual for communities to live in close union from birth until death. One went to school with one's friend's and in mining communities where bonds were closer, the two boys swapped text books for picks and shovels and worked down the same pit alongside each other for the rest of their lives. Folk attended the same schools and churches, visited the same public houses, were affiliated to the same unions, voted for the same political parties and even married from within the houses of their close neighbours. Often two male friends might marry each other's sisters; forging an even closer blood bond between one family and the next. Between cradle and grave, all would survive breathing the same air and believing in the same God.

The surprising thing was that often such tried and tested relationships lasted the course of time as their partner could always rest assured that they'd never have to suffer the indignity of being dumped on one's backside just because they wanted to abandon the marital see saw!" William Forde: March 31st, 2017.

March 30th, 2017.

30/3/2017

Thought for today:
"It has been said that when the establishment oppresses and stifles individual rights, the outlaw in us will always find a place to reside. When it has come to individual thought and intellectual boundaries, I have always been a rebellious creature. I have always refused to suffer the constraint of conventional thinking patterns or to have my rationale ruled without the immense benefit of a searching imagination and a belief system that has served my purpose at the time.

Ever since the age of twelve, I have made use of my imagination to cut myself and prevailing thoughts off from the problems of the world whenever I have taken time out on a creative holiday. Even today, when I attend hospital to have a platelet transfusion, my mind will wander away from any pain or discomfort that my body may be experiencing with the side effects of any chemo treatment my body is having. I will spend half my day mentally switched off as I find this practice the most relaxing. During my 'switch off' period, I will undoubtedly take the opportunity to revisit places of my youth when the rebel in me was firmly taking root and I could easily believe that I ruled the world; not necessarily 'your world' I might add, but 'my world!'

And therein lies the secret to all imaginative and creative processes; we are the architects of our own thoughts, the sole arbiter of our own beliefs and controllers of our intended action.

When I was young, I often visited a nearby wood that I was King of. I fashioned a magic throne from the stump of an old tree and by simply lying back and closing my eyes, I was able to make myself the 'Master of the Universe' through thought alone. My mental energy would be instantly transformed into cosmic power and my mind would transport me across land and sea within seconds. I possessed the combined power of all creation. I could bring tears to the sun, make thunder whisper silent rage or turn off the stars if I so desired and place the Milky Way in a heavenly blackout. I was able to fill the sky above with every type of insect and bird that was capable of occupying my imagination and make angels fall from behind the clouds at the clap of first command. Indeed, so long as it didn't rain on me and the forest keeper stayed away with the threat of his shotgun, I could hold onto my dream until tea time when the aroma of buttered muffins beckoned me back home to boring humanity, stifling domesticity and three stinky brothers and three smelly sisters." William Forde: March 30th, 2017.

March 29th, 2017.

29/3/2017

Thought for today:

"A press report recently indicated that the number of people in Great Britain who are next door to bankruptcy or are one week away from penury has grown inexorably. Food banks are cropping up all over the country and people in jobs but who are on minimum wages often feel obliged to use their services to get by from one week to the next. I also understand that a massive increase has occurred in the practice of 'skipping' (getting one's food from the supermarket refuse bins after the out-of-date stock has been discarded by the end of the day.

For the country as a whole, we are generally economically worse off than we have been since the last financial crash and there are so many occupations which have received no pay rise for the past ten years, despite the cost of living rises that have occurred in the last decade.

While austerity has struck the nation since the New Millennium and whilst it is undoubtedly good for many of us to have enough money to live on without undue worry, we would all do well never to forget the things that no amount of money can ever buy like good health, happiness, love and a sense of belonging and purpose.

When I was young and growing up in a large family with no spare money, my level-headed mother frequently told me that anyone without money will care about the lack of it, but people with too much money to spend will not care about it until they come to the end of it, just like some others do when they come to the end of their time.

For my part, in later life, I find myself comfortably off, but when money was extremely short when the children were growing up, I found that I coped better with its lack if I stressed less and lived life more. I learned to enjoy the things in life more that I could do with my children and family that cost no money; only time, personal consideration and a little effort. I do not think that any amount of money or expensive activity could have brought us more enjoyment, fun and laughter than the woodland and country walks we frequently went on every weekend, the open air picnics we had and the games we played at the family table on wet weekend afternoons.

Though, in truth, none of us walked in the country and played family games while my children grew up, but during the years that me and my six siblings grew up in 50's and 60's, I recall going to bed hungry a number of times with the family having less food in the larder than many a 'food bank' family might have today and we never felt poor; perhaps because nobody bothered to tell us that we were! " William Forde: March 28th, 2017.

March 28th, 2017

28/3/2017

Thought for Today:
"This morning I awake weaker than usual but partially refreshed with my blood transfusion yesterday. My body has seemingly started to react to the chemo regime I am currently receiving. They told me that the treatment for my latest cancer would be aggressive and I guess that I'm just starting to find out. I have to return to the hospital in two days to receive some platelets and I am also due to see the skin cancer consultant on Friday to find out if the skin cream I've been using has been beneficial with my third body cancer.

Putting the clocks back last weekend reminded me that spring is here and summer is on its way. I find the thought of warmer days ahead and seeing smiling faces of the tourists pass my door daily, most enjoyable, and even though I may not be able to walk, I relish the opportunity to feel the sun on my face as I read a book sitting in the open doorway.

We should never forget how blessed we are when we are surrounded by the warmth of love and sun, and never allow a day to end without going to bed in expectation of another good day to come tomorrow. Roll on summer!" William Forde: March 28th, 2017.

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March 25th,2017.

25/3/2017

Thought for today:

"When one thinks about it, family trees, happiness, constancy and all manner of things are not too different to dry-stone walls. In each of these significant aspects of our lives we will find gaps, breaches and places where repairs are called for. When we build either a strong wall or a strong family, the overall aim is the same; to create the strongest of bonds that withstands any friction.

I once had the experience of attending a week's course for building dry-stone walls in the Dales. I never became an expert at it, but during later years when I had an old cottage in Mirfield that needed constant renovation, I helped my builder construct such a wall around my detached house, which I found highly satisfying.

There are five rules to building a dry-stone wall that also applies to building a sound family structure where love endures. The first rule is, 'Set the length of stone into the wall.' This means that the end of each stone is part visible in the final wall and is perpendicular to the direction of the wall. In the construction of family terms, this simply means learning to show off one's offspring equally and teaching them to stand upright, not to be frightened of showing themselves to the world, but not showing or over-facing others by showing all one's assets in a boastful manner.

The second stone-wall building rule is to 'Heart the wall tightly.' Gaps in the interior of the wall, between the face stones, should be tightly filled with small stones, just as it is the loving children of each family that bound the parent's who protect on the outside and strengthen the marriage of all family members. The tighter the 'hearting', the stronger the wall will be.

The third wall building rule is 'Cross the Joints.' This means that each stone should be crossing a joint below so that it is setting on two stones beneath it. What should not be done is to stack stones so that they are vertical joints running from one course to the next. Neither should parents fail to recognise the differences in their offspring and their different places in the family structure and teach the older ones always to protect their younger siblings and never cross them without good purpose.

The fourth rule is, 'Keep stones level'. Walls should be built so that the stone and course are level.This is more apparent when using flat stones but applies to all dry-stone walls. Stones that are not level will tend to slide causing internal stress in the wall and will eventually cause failure as the wall shifts over time. This can be seen in the dynamics of most family structures when a child goes off the rails, is eager to move away from the family home and starts behaving badly. Many walls are built with quite irregular shaped stone, and when this is the case, focus on keeping the top of the stones level. That makes it easier to build on top of. When this is not possible to have a level top, slope the top toward a neighbouring stone to the right or left; not into the core of the wall or pitched out. When a child in the family starts behaving unhealthily, that is the time to allow them to lean on parents and siblings and not turn them out of the home!

The fifth and last rule of dry-stone wall building is, 'Build with the plane of the wall.' This simply means aligning the stones so that there is an even plain to the faces of the wall. String lines are especially useful to keeping an even plane, just like good home budgeting is better achieved by the use of constant checks on outgoings and income. The outer 'bump' of each stone is what should be assessed as keeping in line to keep the whole wall looking as one unit. Just as all good parents should judge their children and teach them to judge the goodness of others by including all their traits and aspects, not just the most obvious ones that jut out.

Perhaps more than any other man-made structure of life, dry-stone walls represent life itself in its most symbolic form. It is made up of all kinds of stone of different size, shape and colour and is built in a manner that can keep it maintained for hundreds of years; providing nobody seeks to remove, damage or rearrange it. It is not unusual for the wall to show gradual movement itself as the ground upon which it stands settles over the generations. Any repairs done to it should be sympathetic to its texture and fabric of construction.

I'm afraid that over the past fifty years, society has either unknowingly or deliberately destroyed the fabric of its protective wall, within which I was reared during the 1950's and 60's. We frequently see the top layer of the wall missing with the increase in parental divorces, just as our own elderly parents have often become missing from the family home they used to be born into and die in while still in good health. Often, life crisis' have knocked the stuffing out of our wall and instead of correcting the fault, we build up walls of denial and resistance instead which justifies us doing nothing to repair our past!

Far better I think to follow the five rules of dry-stone wall building. William Forde: March 25th, 2017.

March 24th, 2017.

24/3/2017

Thought for today:
"In the crowded, busy city, people do not have time to concern themselves with what another does or does not. Conversation on public transport is kept to a minimum, bank robberies in progress go largely ignored and those unfortunates who collapse on the main street with a heart attack are just as likely to be perceived as drunks and stepped over by talking mobiles glued to one's ear than have an ambulance phoned on their behalf.

But in the wide-open spaces of the countryside which borders the village of Haworth, life's slower pace will always lag behind the noisiness of its residents and there is nothing that remains unseen. In this land of Bronte, life never goes unobserved; your neighbours and the church cat keep watch on you more than you realise. They miss not one up-to-date piece of gossip or fail to spot a newly trodden blade of grass on their windswept moors and green fields where lovers roam in search of their pleasure of soft ground; particularly those married couples who are wed to different parties!

So, beware ye lovers of the glade who seek out freshness from a marriage that has not yet had its full years. Beware ye wanderers who stray from thy marriage vows in search of new and overdue excitement, for I see thee from behind yon tree. No long grass can conceal the presence of thy sexual peccadilloes and the harm thou wreaks upon an already broken home in Haworth. No secret is safe from Nature's watch when the eyes of the Haworth Hawk and the black church cat are upon thee. So, get thee back home to thy marriage partner forthwith before they realise thou hast strayed again and while there still remains time to repent and mend thy wicked ways. Walk no more the long grass of thy summer pleasure when there are better things a married man and father to thirteen children without gainful employment should be about." William Forde: March 24th, 2017.

March 23rd, 2017.

23/3/2017

Thought for today:
"From my knowledge of a number of authors, many of those who write for adults today, once tried their hand writing for children. I am one of these authors. Let me disabuse some of you however, who believe that it is easier to write for children than it is for adults, that you couldn't be more wrong.

When it comes to exacting scrutiny of one's writings, children can be the biggest critics. Whenever it comes to possible outcomes of any story on the page, children's imagination opens up more possibility. Come across on the page that you are an adult 'talking down' to them and your book will soon be discarded but should you be able to echo the secret thoughts of their own mind and unvoiced words, you can become their friend forever.

I fell into children's writing rather than choosing it, when in 1989, I was asked to write a book of ten short stories for children in need by my employers, 'The West Yorkshire Probation Service.' That book was called , 'Everyone and Everything'and proved to be a great success, selling thousands of copies in West Yorkshire schools alone during the month of November 1990. After the success of that book, other organisations wanted to sponsor the funding of a published book that I would write for them.

At the time, I felt privileged to be asked and readily agreed. Who wouldn't wish to become an acclaimed children's author, given the opportunity? I was probably helped the most by the works of the late Rohld Dal, whose full range of books, my son William had read before he was 8 years old. Rohld was born during the First World War years of 1916 and died in late 1990. What inspired me through the many books I read about him and what he'd written was the simple fact of his childish thought, behaviour and attitude. Rohld knew how to capture a child's imagination and he never approached them 'softly softly' but instead, gave them the things they wanted to read about; especially adults getting their comeuppance!

I am sure that Rohld's global success as a children's writer was that he refused to grow old and for the whole of his life, he remained a child at heart. He wasn't afraid to kill off characters and make them go through all manner of grisly experiences so long as that was what his readership wanted. He realised that the happiest retreat of a child was their imagination and like the sculpture, Michael Angelo, Rohld would see the angel in the blocks of marble and stone in his writer's mind and carve away until he set him free. He also knew that children were capable of building castles in the sky and he never allowed his imagination to be constrained by adult thought whenever he constructed the architect's rules for building castes in the clouds that his child readership could reside in. A child's imagination was the highest kite he flew. He knew how to raise them up above the clouds, give them wings to soar, make them do tipple tales with adult values before bringing them back to the ground of contented childhood. Rohld knew that the world was filled, like a child's mind, with both good and monster thoughts and these were traits he gave to his main book characters. He also knew that the very first opposite that children conceptually grasped was 'nice' and 'horrible.'

One of the aims of a children's author is to bend and break conventional adult thought into a better shape of magical possibility. Someday, we might all become old enough and wise enough to start reading fairy tales again." William Forde: March 23rd, 2017.

March 22nd, 2017.

22/3/2017

Thought for today:
"In 1963, as a young man of 21 years old, I spent a few years in Canada. I initially lived in Quebec before moving to Toronto to work in an hotel called 'The Glenview Terrace.' The hotel was an upmarket hotel and was the one nearest to Kenny Airport and as such attracted all 'the very best customers' from across the world.

I worked in the hotel as a receptionist, who, when the bellhop wasn't available, had to show guests to their rooms or perform one service or another for them. The manager had only one maxim as far as advising his staff how best to keep his guests happy, 'Whatever they want, give them it!'

As a general rule, I felt able and was sometimes quite happy and surprised to oblige. There was, however, one practice that I could never bring myself to doing and that was to take money for helping someone. It had only been nine months earlier in Quebec that a couple been so kind to me and accommodated me for free when I was without digs. When I offered payment they refused and instead charged me with helping another on the same terms at any future date.

There is a peculiar trait to all of the wealthy and privileged, especially Americans, who like to show both their appreciation for services rendered by tipping, and their wealth by the size of their tip. During my time in the hotel, there was a wealthy spinster woman in her forties who lived in the hotel in her own special room for half of each year. Her name was Miss Gail White and woe betide anyone addressing her that forgot her title 'Miss' when they spoke with her. Indeed, she rarely spoke to anyone in the hotel with the exception of the staff who attended to her daily needs.

Miss Gail White was a woman of substance and a lady of sophistication. Nobody could imagine how such a beautiful woman of reported immense wealth could be of single status into her forties. All conversation about her single status was a common topic between the staff. To me, there was only one reason as to why such a beautiful and sophisticated woman should remain on the shelf; she had suffered heartbreak in the past and would never trust any man again! The real reason, I later discovered from the manager, when he told me that when Miss Gail first came to the hotel, she shared a room with her sister for almost two years. It was the way that the manager said, 'her sister' that led me to the conclusion that they were sisters of the most suspicious kind and that it had been a woman who'd broken her heart many years earlier and not a man.

Over the seven or eight months, I knew her, she would often phone down to the reception desk for me to arrange something on her behalf, which I was glad to do. Whenever she next saw me, she would thank me politely for my previous service and attempt to press a tip into my hand; usually ten dollars. Despite this being a highly generous amount for a desk clerk who was paid $1 an hour wage and represented over one day's wage, I always politely refused. When asked, 'Is not my money good enough?' I indicated that I came from a part of England where nobody got tipped simply for doing the job they were paid to do.

Initially, she seemed determined to break this custom of mine and did her level best to persuade me to accept the American custom of giving and accepting tips. The more I refused the more determined she initially appeared, upping her tips from $10 to $20. When the month eventually arrived that I intended to return to England, Miss White was also planning to go back to Richmond, Virginia. As she booked out of the hotel, she smiled and thanked me for all my help and tipped the bellhop generously for carrying her luggage out to the waiting taxi. Ronnie (the bell hop), returned smiling and waving a $10 tip and said,' 'Miss Gail asked me to give you this' as he passed me an envelope marked 'Mr, Forde.'

I opened the envelope, suspecting that she had slipped me a large tip after she had left that I could not return and was pleased to see she hadn't. The brief note inside the envelope simply said,'Thank you, Mr. Forde. I do think there is much to be said for your English custom.' signed, Miss Gail White." William Forde: March 22nd, 2017.

March 21st, 2017.

21/3/2017

Thought for today:

"Had my dear father still been alive, he would have been one hundred and one years old today. He was born on the first day of spring in 1916 in one of the most impoverished areas of County Kilkenny, Ireland where daffodils did not grow. I spent most of my lifetime putting my father on a pedestal. I believed that I'd be well satisfied if I finished up half the man he was, but by the time he died in 1991, my reappraisal of him and myself had been readjusted more realistically the more I came to know him.

In many ways my father was one of the most remarkable, the most modest, the most stubborn, the most independent, the most secretive and the most enigmatic men I ever knew or didn't know. He was born into the poorest of circumstances where there was a constant shortage of food to eat and clothes to wear, and where formal education was never considered an essential ingredient of survival. Before he was thirteen years old, my father left school and was put to work. The harsh conditions he endured in early life hardened him well before his years, making him an impenetrable fortress of stone emotions. He expressed himself in the extreme emotions of anger and love, but in between, few ever knew what went on inside his head.

My dad was born in the year of the Easter Rising in Dublin, 1916. The Easter Rebellion was an armed insurrection mounted by Irish republicans to end British rule in Ireland and to establish an independent Irish Republic. Though a mere month in age at the start of the Easter Rising, had my father been able to have held and fired a rifle to rid Ireland of the English, I feel sure he would have been found in the midst of the battle.

Being short of work in Southern Ireland prior the war years, dad fortunately found his salvation through soccer. Football was the one area in the whole of his life in which he excelled. Indeed, it was the only area in which he received public recognition and admiration. Before his early twenties, my father was playing soccer for his county and even went on to play for his country! My dad was so modest that I was almost eleven years old before I learned that he had once been an international football player. Even then, the information didn't come directly from his lips but from an Irish newspaper cutting in 'The Kilkenny People.' At the time, my father had taken one of his rare holidays back to Kilkenny on his own. It transpired, as recorded in 'the Kilkenny People,' that upon his arrival at the train station, dad was met by a brass band and was triumphantly marched through the town to the home of Micky and Ann Brennan where he was staying. Needless to say, dad said nothing about this marvellous welcome upon his return and had it not been for the news cutting, later sent by one of the Brennans, I might never have known until later years. Mum rarely spoke about my father's football years and I suspect that having to cope with her first three children on her own in Ireland in poverty, besides being a football widow, created some ill-feeling by her towards the sport.

During his early twenties my father and mother started courting and though their respective homes were thirty five miles apart, they maintained contact by means of my father being prepared to cycle from Kilkenny to Waterford. Now, whereas many folk naturally know where they were born, few like me know the precise spot where they were conceived! Being so secretive by nature, whilst my dad wouldn't rarely confirm anything, my mother was a much different person and all I had to do to discover anything she knew was to ask her.

My mother told me that during the spring of 1942, near the base of the Metal Man in Tramore (a high pillar constructed in 1824 designed to warn mariners of the dangerous sea waters of Tramore Bay) I was conceived. I was born on the 10th November, 1942 and it was only after seeing my birth certificate and my parent's marriage certificate for the first time as an adult that I realise my conception must have occurred in the early summer of '42 and not the spring! Either mum was never any good at arithmetic or she was determined never to make me feel unwanted because of a few months here or there!

As I grew up, I quickly realised how strict and disciplined my father was. It wasn't that he beat us; more that he was unwavering in all he said and did. Once he threatened to do something, neither hell nor high water would stop him doing what he said. Were he ever to withdraw a privilege from us as a punishment, he never relented until it had been fully served. If a punishment of one week's grounding was imposed, he meant one week and not one hour, nay not even one minute less than a week! Had the house caught fire one hour before the end of your punishment deadline, I swear he would not have allowed the firemen to remove you from the premises until 'you'd served your time!' My dad lived the whole of his life on the maxim that a man is only as good as his word and once given, one's word should be kept, and under no circumstances, ever broken.

The only reading my father ever did was to read the church leaflets and paperback cowboy books. His hero was the late film star, John Wayne, his favourite film was 'The Quiet Man' and his most quoted saying was from the film 'Custer's Last Stand' when John Wayne pronounced, 'The first is first and the second is nobody!' I might add that this was a saying that I may have repeated many times as a growing child, but thankfully it was one I never came to believe.

I recall during the 50s when my father was a miner, he was the only man to dare cross a picket line at his colliery in Gomersal when his work mates took industrial action. Whilst his work comrades took their strike action, dad insisted on following his own conscience. Such action was virtually unheard of at the time and any working man crossing the picket line was seen as being no better than crossing enemy lines during the war to join the enemy camp instead of fighting them. I never doubted his action then as being anything but brave and an action that was borne out of conviction to put food on the table for his wife and children.

He did this because he viewed his first duty as standing by his family of wife and seven children, even if it meant crossing his work comrades' picket line. He was offered a different pit to work in after the strike had ended, but refused, saying he had done nothing to be ashamed of that might lead him to avoid the ill-will of his work comrades apart from looking out for his family's welfare. Dad continued to work alongside his comrades after the strike and though he was undoubtedly 'sent to Coventry' by most of them as a consequence, a few admired and respected him for what they might had done but had feared to do. Indeed, when it came to 'solidarity', for his entire life he remained a loner. He was always his own man and was respected by all whom he ever allowed close enough to know a part of him.

This incident of him crossing the picket line became all the more pertinent to me in my eighteenth year of life when I became the youngest shop steward in Great Britain and brought the textile firm where I worked out on its first strike since it came into existence, 120 years earlier!

Throughout his life, my father stuck to his beliefs, even when to do so hurt the feelings of both wife and children. Being brought up Catholic in an Irish household, I always found this religion the most natural to follow, yet unlike my father, I couldn't always adhere to Roman Catholicism unquestioningly. For instance, dad would not hear a bad word ever said about the Roman Catholic Church and unless the church clearly sanctioned something, it wouldn't be done by him. To him, every pope since Peter was innocent of all sin and never did wrong.

Hence, when I got remarried outside the Catholic Church after divorcing my first wife, dad wouldn't come to the wedding ceremony, even though I knew that it hurt him not to attend. His only concession was to courteously accept the woman I'd married into his home whenever we visited. With regard to wife number one whom I had married in the Catholic Church, she could have been the most wicked woman who ever walked the face of the earth; she could have become a mass murderess and had gone on to commit the most heinous of crimes against innocent children and harmless widows, and she still would have remained my only wife in my father's eyes! 'Those whom God has joined, let no man put asunder.' Whenever I hear these words, I think of dad and not the priest conducting the marriage ceremony.

Religion was to cause a number of disagreements between me and dad. Being a history buff, I knew of the cruelties committed in the name of God by the Roman Catholic Church in centuries gone by and of a few Popes who clearly were not holy representatives of the Church. I'd also heard the rumours about many Catholic priests who had behaved sexually inappropriately towards many children over the years in Ireland, England and America. I sensed there to have been too many alleged incidents for none of them to be true. The fact simply was that my dad's lack of formal education and book reading had never led him to learn of the bad Popes. Even had he done so, his unwavering belief in the Catholic Church to do no evil would not have let him believe such men of the church to be capable of existence. His blind faith that all priests were men of God who could do no wrong, always made religion a subject that we both avoided in each other's company in order to maintain the peace as he grew older.

In later years, one of the church pamphlets said 'that parents should not fail to attend their children's wedding, even when that wedding was not performed in a Catholic Church, and when not to attend would risk family rift.' Only then, as he showed me the church pamphlet with a tear in his eye, did my father say, 'I should have attended your wedding to Fiona, Billy.' He felt able to have permission to say this, because the church pamphlet had said he should have attended! Only then, could he accept it had been wrong to stay away.

There are numerous incidents that I could cite to show the goodness of my father as a person as well as to reveal some of his failings in his roles as both father and husband. There was never a time in our lives when I did not respect him; never a time when I stopped loving him, though I did not always like him or understand him as I did my mother. I also believe that there was never a time when dad did not love any of his children. Unfortunately, he was never an emotionally expressive father with us and though a good man he remained throughout his life, I now accept he was far from being either an perfect dad or husband!

I know that there are many of my father's traits that I possess and also many of my mother's. While I draw my determination from my dad's character, I have never been rigid in the application of my own actions. I accept one hundred per cent, the worth of following one's own conscience along with the merits of not breaking one's word and standing up for what one believes in. While these traits I inherited/adopted from my father have undoubtedly made me a man, it was my mother's liveliness, openness of expression and her fun loving and generous nature which helped make me a 'good man' and a more balanced person.

I now know what it was in mum that made my dad cycle thirty-five miles daily during his courtship days from Kilkenny to Portlaw for little more than a kiss and holding hands........that was until that sunny Sunday afternoon near the base of 'The Metal Man' in Tramore, County Waterford.

It is hard for a boy to follow in the footsteps of his father, even when such a father figure is greatly admired by him. Over the years I have come to believe that when a son has a strong willed, determined and successful father, that he only comes into his own and truly becomes his own man after his father has died. I love you Dad. Happy hundredth and first birthday. Your Eldest son, Billy." William Forde: March 21st, 2017.

March 20th, 2017

20/3/2017

Thought for today:
"As a former Relaxation Trainer for most of my life, the founder of the 'Anger Management process' in the 1970's, a social skills and assertive group trainer and stress management consultant for over fifty years, Most days I receive private messages requesting some problem-solving issue, but mostly requests are more often to do with coping with stress, reducing the stress in one's life and particularly,preventing others dumping their stress on you.

So without apology, I am posting the bulk of a posting I did on this subject some years ago for those it may help in response to my many inquiries received.

As an experienced past worker in stress management and a Relaxation Trainer for almost fifty years, one of the most common problem behaviours I found in people who experienced too much daily tension and stress, was to 'box themselves into a corner' instead of learning how to come out fighting and improve their situation!

For all you Freudian followers out there, 'boxing oneself into a corner' is akin to withdrawing to the womb and cowering down to life's stressors instead of confronting them and successfully beating them. There are many ways of not falling into this common trap, which will only take a few months of repeated practice to ensure that your new behaviour becomes a reinforced part of your newly acquired response pattern the more you practise.

There are three main categories of stress we encounter in life:
(1) The stress that naturally visits us through tragic and traumatic circumstances, over which we have no influence and cannot avoid.
(2) The stress which we invite into our lives and put upon ourselves.
(3) The stress that we allow others to dump on us.
Stress One: Whether the tragic circumstances which visits one in life involves bereavement of a loved one, loss of limb, loss of home, loss of job, loss of love, terminal illness etc., etc., there is a process and a time span to be negotiated before healing of feelings, body and mind can occur. Like many healing episodes in life, you will not emerge totally unscathed from your traumatic experience and may be left with some scars; perhaps even immobilised for a brief period. At the very least, expect to emerge badly bruised. The most important and helpful responses to healing in this example is to accept the reality of what happened, do not deny yourself the expression of your negative feelingst, thoughts and fears. After you have healthily negotiated this experience, move on with your life. You will not forget the experience, but you will learn from it and become a more understanding and stronger person for having had it and successfully negotiated it!

Stress Two: While it may seem strange to think that we invite stress into our daily lives, believe me, we do. Much of the stress one experiences is self-inflicted, mostly through the reinforcement of bad habits into our response patterns. Observe too fat a person eating two pizzas in one sitting, followed by a giant tub of ice cream and it becomes easy to see the stress being stored up for later life, such as increased likelihood of heart attacks, diabetes or failed organs. Other forms of self-inflicted stress however, become less visible to the untrained eye and unthinking mind and gradually creep up on us with accumulated consequences.

Did you know that learning to become more assertive, besides practising a few social skills behaviours more regularly will reduce self-inflicted stress levels enormously? The social situations I refer to are everyday situations which most of us are called upon to deal with, but many duck and take the easy way out by avoiding the expression of their true feelings. My twenty years of research into response patterns revealed that there are a handful of social situations which contain the ingredients to induce stress in each of us if we do not handle them properly. The situations I refer to are the giving and receiving of compliments, making a request from a stranger and refusing a request without the provision of an explanation, and learning to be appropriately assertive and tell the truth in potentially embarrassing situations. The very same social skills that are necessary to successfully negotiate almost every life situation are to be found in these social situations.

Imagine: your mother-in-law gives you a birthday present you detest and she asks you if you like it, and you want to truthfully answer her without offending her? Or perhaps, asking your partner whom you suspect to be spending too much money or having an affair, if they are! Most of us find it easier to avoid dealing with such situations when they affect us, but such avoidance makes matters worse, not better and lead to higher stress levels. The mere avoidance of doing what we know we ought to do increases stress, which leads to the unhealthy suppression of feelings. This vicious spiral leads to the strengthening of a bad habit and the increased likelihood of doing the same again in a similar situation. When the stress level gets too high, the non-assertive person is in a greater danger of involuntary explosive action. Some inappropriately aggressive types allow their stress to build up and up until it becomes too much to contain and like a volcano they erupt and 'explode', letting rip at the other person. Others of a more non-assertive nature allow their stress levels to build up and up until they 'implode' and let rip at themselves. This inward explosion either makes them ill, self-harm or can even drive them towards suicidal action or seemingly out-of-character acts of inexplicable violence against others; even loved ones. Whenever we avoid doing something we should instead of facing and dealing with it, our stress levels automatically increase, and conversely when we confront our anxiety, our stress levels diminish.

Stress Three: I find this type of stress the worst of all; not because its negative consequences are or aren't greater than the other two stress categories, but rather because it is easily avoidable and so unnecessary. Put as crudely as I dare in a public post, nobody would allow another to defecate over them without a word of protest as they just stood there and allowed it to happen. Why then, why oh why, do we allow others to dump their stress on us? Why do we burden ourselves with their stress by accepting the parcel of anxiety they pass to us as they allow the bomb to go off in our hands instead of theirs?

We live in an ever stressful world today and knowingly or otherwise, the rich often make the poor poorer, the strong tend to place the greatest burden on the more vulnerable, the powerful seem to believe it their right to reign supreme over the impotent and your boss, your neighbour, the stranger in the street, your friend and even your partner may occasionally try to dump their stress on you, 'if you let them!'

This behaviour is akin to one person wanting to push a problem out of their corner, looking around for a place where they can 'fly-tip' and then, dumping it on you and leaving you to deal with it in your back yard as they go off to repeat the process with some poor unsuspecting other! It is most evident in one's job where the boss will delegate a problem downwards to you to be solved that he doesn't want to bother with, and being subordinate in your work position, you find yourself accepting their 'dump'. It's not surprising that afterwards therefore, that you feel a failure letting it happen; not at all surprising if the experience leaves you feeling a bit of a shit! The very best way not to allow others to dump their stress on you is simply to refuse to take it on board.

When they dump their stress in your corner, pick it up and put it back where it came from and belongs; in theirs! 'I'm sorry but you seem to have mistaken me for someone else' or 'I don't recall going to the shop to fetch your sandwiches as being a part of my job description when you gave me the post' or better still, 'JUST SAY NO.' Indeed, the very first rule of becoming more assertive and not allowing others to dump on us begins with learning to say, 'No' to unfair and unwarranted requests. My own feelings on the matter is, if you cannot say 'No' to a stranger or boss, how are you ever going to say no to your children's demands or your partner's unfair behaviour whenever they seek to employ their emotional blackmail in order to make you feel guilty, so they may get their way?

So starting tomorrow, begin your new life, start to reinforce and strengthen your new response pattern and don't let anyone box you into a corner, least of all, yourself!" March 20th, 2017