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- About Me
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My Books
- Book List & Themes
- Strictly for Adults Novels >
-
Tales from Portlaw
>
- No Need to Look for Love
- 'The Love Quartet' >
-
The Priest's Calling Card
>
- Chapter One - The Irish Custom
- Chapter Two - Patrick Duffy's Family Background
- Chapter Three - Patrick Duffy Junior's Vocation to Priesthood
- Chapter Four - The first years of the priesthood
- Chapter Five - Father Patrick Duffy in Seattle
- Chapter Six - Father Patrick Duffy, Portlaw Priest
- Chapter Seven - Patrick Duffy Priest Power
- Chapter Eight - Patrick Duffy Groundless Gossip
- Chapter Nine - Monsignor Duffy of Portlaw
- Chapter Ten - The Portlaw Inheritance of Patrick Duffy
- Bigger and Better >
- The Oldest Woman in the World >
-
Sean and Sarah
>
- Chapter 1 - 'Return of the Prodigal Son'
- Chapter 2 - 'The early years of sweet innocence in Portlaw'
- Chapter 3 - 'The Separation'
- Chapter 4 - 'Separation and Betrayal'
- Chapter 5 - 'Portlaw to Manchester'
- Chapter 6 - 'Salford Choices'
- Chapter 7 - 'Life inside Prison'
- Chapter 8 - 'The Aylesbury Pilgrimage'
- Chapter 9 - Sean's interest in stone masonary'
- Chapter 10 - 'Sean's and Tony's Partnership'
- Chapter 11 - 'Return of the Prodigal Son'
- The Alternative Christmas Party >
-
The Life of Liam Lafferty
>
- Chapter One: ' Liam Lafferty is born'
- Chapter Two : 'The Baptism of Liam Lafferty'
- Chapter Three: 'The early years of Liam Lafferty'
- Chapter Four : Early Manhood
- Chapter Five : Ned's Secret Past
- Chapter Six : Courtship and Marriage
- Chapter Seven : Liam and Trish marry
- Chapter Eight : Farley meets Ned
- Chapter Nine : 'Ned comes clean to Farley'
- Chapter Ten : Tragedy hits the family
- Chapter Eleven : The future is brighter
-
The life and times of Joe Walsh
>
- Chapter One : 'The marriage of Margaret Mawd and Thomas Walsh’
- Chapter Two 'The birth of Joe Walsh'
- Chapter Three 'Marriage breakup and betrayal'
- Chapter Four: ' The Walsh family breakup'
- Chapter Five : ' Liverpool Lodgings'
- Chapter Six: ' Settled times are established and tested'
- Chapter Seven : 'Haworth is heaven is a place on earth'
- Chapter Eight: 'Coming out'
- Chapter Nine: Portlaw revenge
- Chapter Ten: ' The murder trial of Paddy Groggy'
- Chapter Eleven: 'New beginnings'
-
The Woman Who Hated Christmas
>
- 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'
-
The Last Dance
>
- 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’
- Chapter Six ‘James Mountford’
- Chapter Seven ‘The All Ireland Ballroom Latin American Dance Final.’
- Chapter Eight ‘The Final Arrives’
- Chapter Nine: 'Beth in Manchester.'
- 'Two Sisters' >
- Fourteen Days >
-
‘The Postman Always Knocks Twice’
>
- Author's Foreword
- Contents
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
-
Celebrity Contacts
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Thoughts and Musings
- Bereavement >
- Nature >
-
Bill's Personal Development
>
- What I'd like to be remembered for
- Second Chances
- Roots
- Holidays of Old
- Memorable Moments of Mine
- Cleckheaton Consecration
- Canadian Loves
- Mum's Wisdom
- 'Early life at my Grandparents'
- Family Holidays
- 'Mother /Child Bond'
- Childhood Pain
- The Death of Lady
- 'Soldiering On'
- 'Romantic Holidays'
- 'On the roof'
- Always wear clean shoes
- 'Family Tree'
- The importance of poise
- 'Growing up with grandparents'
- Love & Romance >
- Christian Thoughts, Acts and Words >
- My Wedding
- My Funeral
- Audio Downloads
- My Singing Videos
- Bill's Blog
- Contact Me
Thought for today:
"I spent a long day in hospital yesterday, and have Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of next week to spend there also as I get other procedures carried out, such as blood and platelet transfusions twice, X-ray and Cat Scans along with a pacemaker exchange if my body is up to it. In fact, I am getting quite used to 'waiting' for one thing or another to happen these days. In my teenage years, like many a young man who was determined to shake up society from its complacency and who would one day change the world, I wasn't the most patient of people. There were a number of occasions when I'd come home hungry from work on a payday and ask mum to make me something to eat before I went out on the town with my mates. In my eagerness to get the fun of the night going as soon as possible, I'd quickly wash, put on my best clothes and then forget the meal that mum had cooked upon my request. Much to her annoyance, I'd go out the door unfed, as mum protested vainly in the background about my imminent disappearance if I got nothing down me! And whenever it came to dating, it would be customary to meet the girl outside the Picture House (cinema), on the first occasion at an agreed time. Very early on in my life, I accepted the code that once given, a man's word was his bond and if the meeting time between the couple stated was 7.00 pm, if they were not there when the clock struck 7.00 pm, they'd be given short shrift. My practice was to allow them three minutes latitude before I left the queue of 'stand-ups'; most of whom would wait a half hour and some who might even wait a few hours until the film was over; just in case their date had fallen and had broken an arm or a leg as they hurried to meet them. There must have been many a young woman who arrived five minutes after the agreed time for our first date to find herself stood up! I have often wondered how much the course of my life might have changed had I been prepared to wait a few minutes longer for that first date to arrive! It was probably my expectation to 'go along with life' as opposed to 'follow it' that made me want to keep ahead of the game. Over the years, and way into my twenties I never wanted to wait for anything I desired. Then, one day I was to experience something that was to change my life forever and the way that I looked at life in general. At the time, I was a volunteer visitor to the Cheshire Home in Cleckheaton, where I would often visit the frail and the dying who had no living relatives. One of the men I visited had been given three or four weeks to live and in what I then considered to be quite a macabre piece of behaviour, he started to cross off the dates on the calendar. He was in effect 'monitoring his demise and waiting to die'. His response to his situation bothered me so much that I determined that while I'd be prepared to wait if I could live better, never would I find myself in the queue of those poor people whom life had lost its meaning and had stood them up; leaving them 'waiting to die.' Despite having had a terminal cancerous condition for a number of years now, though the fleeting thought of death does cross my mind from time to time to remind me that I have a future first date with destiny, for the time being, I have every intention of 'standing up' the Grim Reaper. Indeed, I won't even be as charitable to him as the many young women I made a first date with during my earlier life. Instead of giving the Grim Reaper three minute's grace to arrive and meet me, I intend never to willingly await him in any queue!If he wants me, he'll have to seek me out and hunt me down because I'm not coming willingly!" William Forde: March 3rd, 2017. Thought for today:
"When I lived out in Canada for a few years during the early 1960's, on very hot days a few of us would get our swimming gear and while there were no beaches nearby that we could go to, there was a very special river that was a favourite place for relaxing in its cool waters. The river ran alongside a rock face, and hidden within part of the rock surface was an entrance which led to a water cave grotto. Seeing this photo recently, reminded me of some pleasurable afternoons I spent there, although I have to confess, I never met the lady in the photo there. The photo got me to think about all those other hiding places and secret nooks of solitude most of us have had in our lives. The earliest one I can recall was under my Grandmother Fanning's dress when I was three. I would pretend to have disappeared when my Grandfather Fanning appeared, and though he knew where his eldest grandchild was as my feet stuck out beneath her working frock, he would go along with the game, saying silly things about me until I giggled and gave my hiding place away. Then, he would suddenly lift up Grandmother Fanning's dress and reveal my presence. I would laugh and Grandmother Fanning would tell her husband to 'control himself.' I also recall playing with my younger brothers and sisters, hiding under the kitchen table, also in the outhouse or even the bathroom. I would often choose the lavatory as my hiding place and lock the door. When the seekers eventually knocked on the door and proclaimed me to having being caught, I would disguise my voice as though I was was my brother Patrick, fart loudly as though I was fully engaged with the business at hand and tell them to go away. It worked until they latched on. Being a large family of seven children, whose father earned as much money as he could, which was never enough to dress and feed us adequately, whenever anyone of us needed some clothing garment or a pair of shoes, the only way to get them was to use one of the clothing clubs (the forerunner to hire purchase which quickly became known as paying on the 'never never'). It was so called because it often seemed that the original goods purchased would never be paid off, given the high-interest charged and the practice of the payee often missing weekly payments during economically hard times. The only other way, mum could juggle the books was to miss paying the weekly rent occasionally.On those occasions when we'd literally eaten the rent money or didn't have the tally man's weekly installment to pay him, when the dreaded knock on the door arrived to announce their presence, we all hid low behind the sofa, knowing that they wouldn't go away until they'd peered through all the windows to see if anyone was at home. As teenagers interested in the opposite sex, we all had secret places we would hide out in whenever we had a girl we wanted to spend time with. And once we'd established such hideaways, nothing would possess us to share their location with any mate. Besides, I never did fancy the notion of foursomes! I even recall during my first marriage when the marital relationship seemed to be going downhill that I built myself a garden shed and stocked it with many personal comforts. My garden shed soon became transformed into my working shed where many happy hours were spent most evenings and all weekends working away on new projects while I listened to music and plays on the radio. I even fixed up a special child seat on the working bench for my son, James, to watch me as I worked. It was only after the breakup of my first marriage that I came to realise that my working had been the place I had chosen to hide away from my wife and unhappy marriage. I also started to realise why in the past, men often spent numerous hours in their locked work and allotment sheds, where it was sacrilege for any woman ever to enter.These were the days when a man's shed was his castle. My twenty-five years working as a Probation Officer frequently brought me into contact with people who spent their lives 'hiding away' from one thing or another. Indeed, most women who didn't want sex with their husbands would hide away behind some pendeing headache. Addicts to drink or drugs would all have their secret hideaways where they kept a secret stash of their addictive substances for future use. The person who presented the greatest problems in life were those who never expressed their true feelings; the ones who 'hid them away' by burying them in the deepest recesses of their unconscious mind. I have sometimes been allowed or have gained entry to these secret places of the mind, and upon hearing of the terrible, unspeakable things that children and adults have had to secretly endure for many years alone in silence, I was sickened to the stomach and wasn't at all surprised that under such psychological pain, mental anguish and physical abuse, they chose to hide away such dark experiences! We all have secret places where we occasionally retreat to or chose to store away those experiences we do not feel able to reveal or share yet. If I was to pick my favourite secret place, it would be either under my Grandmother Fanning's dress when I was hiding away from my Granddad Fanning or that secret water grotto in Toronto where many happy hours were spent with some cool Canadian woman." William Forde: March 2nd, 2017. "Thought for today: "Yesterday was the last day of the month of February. I have often wondered, were I a centenarian and say I'd been born during a Leap Year on February 29th, would I be entitled to receive a card from the queen after a hundred years of life or would I still be officially regarded as being only 25-years-old; having experienced only twenty-five February 29th since my birth? This got me thinking about the rarest of creatures on the planet and that led my mind onto the most unique of things to touch us during our life. How few of us have ever heard of the Maned Wolf? Not many I suspect. In spite of its appearance and name, it is neither fox nor wolf. The Maned Wolf, which is native to South America is actually the only known surviving member of the Chrysocyon genus and is not closely related to any living canid (any of a family (Canidae) of carnivorous animals that includes the wolves, jackals, foxes, coyote, and the domestic dog). It is virtually extinct and exists today without any close family members of its species. It shared a common ancestor with the Falklands Island Wolf around six million years ago. This creature got me thinking what it must be like to have no existing ancestral line or close family members alive today; to have no parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts or cousins alive, no wife or husband with whom there is a natural blood bond. I didn't have to think too long or hard as to what had been the most needed of all things in my life; to belong to a loving family in my childhood, adulthood and old age. 'Family' has always been important to me and I strongly suspect, you also. Whenever asked what legacy my parents left me when they died, I have no hesitation in replying, 'My six brothers and sisters, along with the knowledge that they loved me every day of my life, and told me so.' It matters not whether we call it clan, tribe or family; we all need one to feel a whole person with our past, present and future because whatever we are usually runs in the family. Being brought up in a healthy family gets us used to personal problems and conflict that we can relate to. Having a family member that is autistic, disabled, manic depressive, addictive to this or that; indeed any kind of person more usually found in a minority group, helps us better understand such people types when we encounter them outside the family. Family is one of nature's finest masterpieces in the making; a link to our past, the purpose of our presence and a bridge to our future. Far too often these days people tend to place too much emphasis upon giving one's child a surfeit of material things. No family can ever be so poor as to not pay attention to the needs of each other. Lots of love, oodles of understanding and sufficient sensitivity to their feelings is all they require to grow up as strong swimmers in the river of respect. Be in no doubt; a family is the best support system ever devised through any union ever known. I always feel exceptionally sad for those people, who often, through no fault of their own, never felt loved by their parents growing up or who hasn't spoken to a particular family member for many years because of some dispute. When bad blood between brother and brother flows within a family, the nucleus of civilisation between all family members becomes polluted and can become poisonous. In such circumstances, the family unit becomes like a deserted park where parents and children have stopped having fun together. I know that in close-knit families there is a bond of 'togetherness' so strong that no outsider will ever separate. If only all newly-wed couples could come to appreciate this, there would be few arguments and fall outs about 'the in-laws', as it is the most natural thing in the world for a child to be close to their mum and dad, even though too much love and protection still exercised by the mum of your spouse can prove an almighty irritant and pain in the butt. You don't choose your family. They are God's gift to you as you are to them; not only an important thing, but everything! As the eldest of seven children, like all first born I spent many of my earlier years in the role of protector to my siblings and looking out for them. It has been one of the warmest of presents in my current illness to know that during the latter part of my life, along with my wife Sheila, they now look out for me. A number of years ago while holidaying in Ireland where I was born, my vacation was cut short when my cousin Teresa in County Kilkenny suddenly died. I travelled to the funeral, which like all Irish funerals was held to mark the burial of a saint and a scholar. In the crowded pub where some of the funeral attendees gathered afterwards, I was standing back to back with two men. The older one was telling the other that Paddy Forde was the finest footballer ever to come out of Kilkenny and to go on and play for Ireland. As they were talking about my father I was naturally interested enough to continue eavesdropping. The younger man replied, 'He was my father's brother you know, and with my sister Teresa gone, I have no Forde family left.' At this stage of the conversation, my cousin John was starting to sound like a Maned Wolf whose family line was now extinct. I introduced myself and we have laughed and joked about the incident ever since. All my brothers and sisters have embraced John as 'one of our own' along with his beautiful wife Lynne and we now maintain regular contact. Which brings me to a saying of my dearly departed mother to end with when she said to me, 'Billy, if you're Irish, it doesn't matter where you go in the world; you'll always find family close by.' " William Forde: March 1st, 2017. |
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