FordeFables
Follow Me:
  • Home
  • Site Index
  • About Me
    • Radio Interviews
  • My Books
    • Book List & Themes
    • Strictly for Adults Novels >
      • Rebecca's Revenge
      • Come Back Peter
    • Tales from Portlaw >
      • No Need to Look for Love
      • 'The Love Quartet' >
        • The Tannery Wager
        • 'Fini and Archie'
        • 'The Love Bridge'
        • 'Forgotten Love'
      • 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 >
        • Chapter One - The Portlaw Runt
        • Chapter Two - Tony Arrives in California
        • Chapter Three - Tony's Life in San Francisco
        • Chapter Four - Tony and Mary
        • Chapter Five - The Portlaw Secret
      • The Oldest Woman in the World >
        • Chapter One - The Early Life of Sean Thornton
        • Chapter Two - Reporter to Investigator
        • Chapter Three - Search for the Oldest Person Alive
        • Chapter Four - Sean Thornton marries Sheila
        • Chapter Five - Discoveries of Widow Friggs' Past
        • Chapter Six - Facts and Truth are Not Always the Same
      • 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 >
        • Chapter One
        • Chapter Two
        • Chapter Three
        • Chapter Four
        • Chapter Five
        • Chapter Six
        • Chapter Seven
        • Chapter Eight
      • 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' >
        • 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
      • Fourteen Days >
        • 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
      • ‘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
    • Contacts with Celebrities >
      • Journey to the Stars
      • Number 46
      • Shining Stars
      • Sweet Serendipity
      • There's Nowt Stranger Than Folk
      • Caught Short
      • A Day with Hannah Hauxwell
    • More Contacts with Celebrities >
      • Judgement Day
      • The One That Got Away
      • Two Women of Substance
      • The Outcasts
      • Cars for Stars
      • Going That Extra Mile
      • Lady in Red
      • Television Presenters
  • Thoughts and Musings
    • Bereavement >
      • Time to clear the Fallen Leaves
      • Eulogy for Uncle Johnnie
    • Nature >
      • Why do birds sing
    • 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 >
      • Dancing Partner
      • The Greatest
      • Arthur & Guinevere
      • Hands That Touch
    • Christian Thoughts, Acts and Words >
      • Reuben's Naming Ceremony
      • Love makes the World go round
      • Walks along the Mirfield canal
  • My Wedding
  • My Funeral
  • Audio Downloads
    • Audio Stories >
      • Douglas the Dragon
      • Sleezy the Fox
      • Maw
      • Midnight Fighter
      • Action Annie
      • Songs & Music >
        • Douglas the Dragon Play >
          • Our World
          • You On My Mind
        • The Ballad of Sleezy the Fox
        • Be My Life
    • 'Relaxation Rationale' >
      • Relax with Bill
    • The Role of a Step-Father
  • My Singing Videos
    • Christmas Songs & Carols
  • Bill's Blog
    • Song For Today
    • Thought For Today
    • Poems
    • Funny and Frivolous
    • Miscellaneous Muses
  • Contact Me

Song For Today: 31st March 2020

31/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I jointly dedicate my song today to three people who are celebrating their birthday today.

I dedicate my song today to my brother-in-law, John Gautry who is aged 77 years. He has been married to my sister Eileen Ann Gautryfor the past 56 years and lives in Heckmondwike, West Yorkshire. I also dedicate my daily song to Reubin Price who is six years old today. Reubin is the son of my niece Evie and the family lives in Huddersfield. Finally, I dedicate today’s song to my Facebook friend, Peggy Phillips who also celebrates her birthday today.
Here’s hoping that you all have a super birthday. Please leave some room for plenty of cake and suitable refreshments. Bill xxx

Today’s song is ‘Waiting in Vain’. The song was sung by Bob Marley, the Jamaican troubadour and reggae singer. Most of Robert Marley’s early music was recorded with Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer, who together with Marley were the most prominent members of the ‘Wailers’. In 1972, the Wailers had their first hit outside Jamaica when Johnny Nash covered their song ‘Stir it Up’, which became a UK hit. The 1973 album ‘Catch a Fire’ was released worldwide and sold well. It was followed by ‘Burnin’’ which included the song ‘I Shot the Sherriff", of which a cover version by Eric Clapton became a hit in 1974.

Peter Tosh and Bunny Wailer left the Wailers in 1974. Bob Marley proceeded with ‘Bob Marley and the Wailers’ which included the ‘Wailer’s Band’ and the ‘I Threes’ backing singer group. In 1975, Bob Marley had his first own hit outside Jamaica with ‘No Woman, No Cry’ from the ‘Live’ album. His subsequent albums, including ‘Rasta-man Vibration’, ‘Exodus’ ‘Kaya’, ‘Survival’ and the last album released during his lifetime, ‘Uprising’ were big international sellers. Between 1991 and 2007 ‘Bob Marley and the Wailers’ sold in excess of 21 million records. These statistics did not begin to be collected until ten years after his death.

‘Waiting in Vain’ is a song written by Bob Marley and recorded by ‘Bob Marley and the Wailers’ from their 1977 record album ‘Exodus’. It was released as a single, and it reached Number 27 in the ‘UK Singles Chart’.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In 1977 when this song was released, I was 35 years old and working as a Probation Officer in Huddersfield. I married in 1968 and being the oldest of seven children in an Irish Catholic family who had migrated to West Yorkshire when I was 4 years old, I always felt comfortable belonging to a large family. It is not therefore surprising that I wanted at least five children when I eventually married.

Statistics of the time showed that the average number of children born to each married couple in the late 60s and 70s was 2.4 children. During the 1960s, having large families was starting to be socially frowned upon by newly married couples and society at large, and for the most part, it remained ‘a Roman Catholic custom’.

When I started courting my non-Catholic wife, because of my desire to have a large Catholic family, we naturally spoke about having children, the size of family we wanted and their religious and educational upbringing. For me, mutual agreement in advance to our marriage on this issue was important enough to be a ‘deal-breaker’ should we not be in complete agreement. I was wholly upfront and indicated that I wanted to be the father of five or six children, who I would naturally want to raise and educate as Catholics. My fiancée (who practised no religion), said she also wanted a large family and indicated that five children raised and educated as Catholics was agreeable to her, providing she didn’t have to take them to church.

The upshot was that between the week prior to our marriage and the week after it, my wife totally changed her mind without any forewarning. On our honeymoon period, she plainly indicated that she didn’t want any children until we’d been married at least seven years and then, she indicated that she wanted only one or two children. She added that while she did not mind them attending a Catholic Church, she would not agree to them being educated in a Catholic Primary School. As a Primary School Infant Teacher, she said that a Catholic school education was strictly out.

This declaration by her hit me like a bomb. I felt like I’d been tricked into marriage under false pretences. It was like a woman telling her boyfriend that she was pregnant in order to get him to put a wedding ring on her finger; only to discover after he’d married her, that she never was!

While I’d been out with many girlfriends before my marriage, I now know that at the time of my first marriage, my need to be a father was greater than my need to be a husband. I naturally wanted to be married to someone I loved, but I wanted and needed to be a dad as much, if not more!

For many years, I waited in vain to parent children, and sadly when they did come along, their presence paradoxically led to the breakup of my marriage. It eventually transpired that my wife had never harboured any desire to become a mother, and she told me after our two sons had been born that she wanted a separation. She stated, “It’s not your fault, Billy, it’s just that I don’t think I was ever meant to be married.” This explanation didn’t really help me to understand the situation any better.

Once our sons, James and Adam were born (18 months separating their births), after they each came home from the Maternity Hospital with their mum, their mother had no natural inclination to be near them or to do anything motherly for/with them. She was suffering from what we then called ‘the baby blues’ but have in recent years come to know as ‘Post Natal Depression’; a psychiatric illness that dissuades/prevents the mother of newly born children of forming a mother-and-child bond with her new-born infant. Medical science has learned over the past thirty years that In such circumstances, the mother of the newly born infant has no desire to bond with her child and cannot bring herself to feed dress, bathe, nurse, cuddle or do anything maternal with the newly-born infant.

For the following year, I naturally discharged the roles of both ‘mother’ and ‘father’ to my firstborn. My wife’s only interest was totally her Infant Teacher’s job in the school next door to our matrimonial home. One year after the birth of our first child, my wife asked me to have another child. Having failed to bond with our first child and seeing the closeness of his bond with me, when she became pregnant a second time, my wife said, “This child will be mine!”

While such a statement held a certain amount of foreboding for me, if by stepping into the parental background it would prove easier for my wife to step up as a mother, I was prepared to pay the necessary price and stay in the shadows. Within one day of mother and new-born child coming home from the hospital, the very same thing happened again, and my wife refused to establish any maternal bond with our second child as she’d done with our first child. It was 'Groundhog Day' all over again!

For the first five years of our children’s lives (born 18 months apart from each other), my wife never once put them to bed, fed them, dressed them, bathed them, nursed or comforted them. The only time she pushed their pram out on a walk, was if I pushed it with her. I was enacting the combined roles of ‘mother’ and ‘father’ to our children. For five years I ‘waited in vain’ for my wife’s behaviour to change, but it didn’t.

This unsatisfactory marital situation eventually led to her demanding a divorce, eight years after we had first married. Being of Roman Catholic religious persuasion, I initially resisted the thought of marital separation and divorce for five more years, and regarding my wife to be ill, I tried to get her help. She refused all offers of help and wholly withdrew from her roles as wife and mother. While we continued to live in the same house, all shared contact of any description ended and never one day passed without her demanding that I leave her. After she threatened to take her own life if I didn’t leave her, I eventually felt compelled to submit to her wishes. We'd been married for 13 years.

I was obliged to acknowledge and concede that our marriage could not be saved and had run its course, I agreed to separate, but only on the condition that I would continue to exercise custody, care and control of our two children (as I’d done since their births). I agreed to give up my job as a Probation Officer for three years so that I could become a full-time house parent and added that she could have as much access as she wanted to our children.

At the time we had a modern three-bedroomed house valued at approximately £90,000 and which only had a few hundred pounds mortgage remaining on it (1980 house prices). When we married, we each had £2,000 that we’d received in compensation monies (myself for a childhood accident and she for the industrial death of her father). This money provided us with an ideal financial start to married life and enabled us to buy our £4,000 house outright in 1968 (Valued at £90,000 when we separated in 1981).

My wife agreed for me to have full custody of the children on one proviso. I was to transfer to her my half share of our matrimonial home in entirety and to get another house nearby, where I and the children could live. I agreed.

Two weeks after legally signing over the house to her sole ownership, my wife reneged on our agreement and refused to allow me the custody of our two children. She also pressed me for their financial maintenance for 11 years from 1981 to 1992. She then did the dirtiest of all moves when she prevented me from having any form of communication or contact with or any access to both children for the next two years.

Even when the court made an Access Order and placed an automatic term of imprisonment on it should my wife prevent the order being operated, she still refused access between myself and the children to take place. The only way I could have changed the situation was to have her term of imprisonment activated for failing to comply with the Court Order. I could not bring myself to be responsible for the imprisonment of my children’s mother.

I could not believe that any wife could behave so badly and cruelly to a husband who’d never done her the slightest harm. I could not believe that the mother of any child/children could have acted so heartlessly and vindictively to the father and sole carer of their two children ever since the children’s birth. For many years I remained very angry at the way she treated me and our children. After my anger eventually subsided, several years after our divorce, I accepted deep down that my wife must have been psychiatrically ill to have acted thus to me and our two children. There was simply no other explanation I found plausible enough to live with.

To complete the marital saga, it would be wrong of me not to report that after our divorce, my wife started to become the mother to our two children that she found herself unable to be, immediately after their respective births. For this, I was naturally pleased and I acknowledge that she tried her best to bring them up properly, although I cannot truthfully say that I agree with the importance she placed on the materialistic values she inculcated them with.

Over the years, I have come across so many people ‘waiting in vain’ for this or that; not being able to emotionally move on with their life in the meantime. This song reminds me of these early years with my first two sons, James and Adam, and being part of a marriage that was founded on untruths, broken promises and an absence of maternal instincts being displayed to our two children by my wife and the children’s mother because of her illness.

Please believe me when I say that all the anger I once possessed, and the resentment and ill-will I once held against my first wife because of the way she treated me and the children, I long ago ‘let go’. This unhappy period in my life is long ago behind me and I wish my ex-wife well and bear her no ill-will.

I must stress to the reader that my need to be honest about current and past feelings holds greater sway with me today than any need to disclose or not disclose personal matters. I get no pleasure from ‘washing my dirty linen in public’; but no longer do I fear the truth being known and prefer to tell it as it is and as it was, than to twist or suppress it for the purpose of convenience and self-image.

I am greyer in hair today, balder and wiser in head, longer in the tooth and more mellow nature. I am 77 years old, and I am reconciled to living with a terminal illness that is guaranteed to shorten my natural life span. I believe in self, family, friends, good neighbours, God and in the power of love and prayer. I am and have always been positive in disposition, and since 2012, I have been happily married to my wonderful wife, Sheila. I try to deal directly and honestly in all my communications with others, and I do not intend to go around any corners in saying it other than it is or ever was. Neither am I afraid to say precisely what I mean or to mean exactly what I say!

That, my dear friends, is the prime privilege of being 77 years old and living with a terminal condition. There is little point making it to this stage in one’s life unless one can truly be oneself and feel able to put up two fingers at the rest of the world if they consider me to be out of step with conventional expectations.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 30th March 2020

30/3/2020

0 Comments

 
​STAY SAFE, MY LOVELIES AND STAY INDOORS DURING THIS TIME OF ISOLATION.

It is hard for each of us to stay indoors during this period of the pandemic virus, but it is essential that we follow the Government's advice and instructions and do so for the safety of all of us.

Because of my own terminal blood cancer condition and absence of any effective immune system over the past seven years, I have been obliged to be confined to my house, my bed or enter hospital (one or the other or all three) for nine months of each of the first five years of my illness, as well as have around ten life-saving cancer operations plus chemo and radiotherapy treatments.

Ironically, my best year since I first contracted a terminal blood cancer, I consider as having been last year, during which I had six different operations, under full anesthetic, to have a total of three different cancers removed from my forehead, bottom, and neck (plus twenty sessions of radiotherapy).

I tell you this, not to 'big myself up' or make out I am braver than you or anyone else. I am not! I get scared of dying just like you or anyone else. I also fear for my loved ones attracting this deadly disease and even dying because of this Coronavirus pandemic. It would be foolish in the extreme not to be scared under the circumstances. No, the reason I tell you this in this morning's post is to stress that IT IS NORMAL TO BE FEARFUL! IT IS WISE TO BE FEARFUL! IT IS SENSIBLE TO TAKE ALL PRECAUTIONS UNTIL ISOLATION CAN END FOR US ALL, AND YOU ARE PLAYING WITH THE LIFE AND DEATH OF SELF AND OTHERS IF YOU DO NOT STAY INSIDE YOUR HOUSE AND STAY SAFE BY FOLLOWING THE GOVERNMENT GUIDELINES!

So please help our marvellous NHS and all its workers, plus respect the service of every emergency worker in the land by assisting them to do their jobs without hindrance and in the best way possible. Hopefully, my song today should remind you to 'Beware of the dangers which surround us all' and to stay inside our homes as advised and instructed. Life will never be precisely the same again as we have known it to be, and I strongly suspect that the best thing that will emerge from this global crisis for those who live through it, will be to never take life for granted again or those natural human things like walking, mixing, kissing, holding hands, loving and being with family, friends and loved ones at special occasions in their lives.

Please, stay indoors and stay safe. Whatever anyone may tell you to the contrary, believe me when I tell you that it is better to be alive than dead. I have been close to the latter too many times and I know on which side of the green sod, I prefer to rest.
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song for Today: 29th March 2020

29/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I jointly dedicate my song today to two people who are celebrating their birthday today, Michael Forde and Mary O’Regan.

First is my nephew, Michael Forde who lives in Batley in West Yorkshire with his wife, Amanda and their four children. Have a happy birthday, Michael. Love Uncle Billy and Sheila xxx

The second birthday celebrant today is my Facebook friend, Mary O’Regan who lives in Dublin. Mary was born in the same Irish village of Portlaw as I was. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Mary and have a nice day. Bill xxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My song today is that show tune that was composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber with lyrics by Trevor Nunn. The song is based on a poem by T.S.Eliot (entitled ‘Rhapsody on a Windy Night’).

‘Memory’ was written primarily for the musical ‘Cats’, where it is sung by the character Grizabella as a melancholic remembrance of her glamorous past and as a plea for acceptance. ‘Memory’ is the climax of the musical and by far its best-known song, having achieved mainstream success outside of the musical. According to musicologist Jessica Sternfeld, it is "by some estimations, the most successful song ever from a musical." Elaine Paige originated the role of Grizabella in the West End production of ‘Cats’, and was thus the first to perform the song publicly on stage. ‘Memory’ was named the ‘Best Song Musically and Lyrically’ at the 1982 ‘Ivor Novello Awards’.

In the musical ‘Cats’, ‘Memory’ is sung primarily by Grizabella; a one-time ‘glamour cat’ who has fallen on hard times and is now only a shell of her former self. For most of the musical, Grizabella is ostracised by her fellow ‘Jellicle Cats’; recalling the time before she became an outcast.
There are three key changes in ‘Memory’ in order to keep the song within a comfortable range for a chest voice. It starts off in the key of B-flat minor, switches to G-flat major as Grizabella collapses then changes again to D-flat major for the climax. My own rendition of the song necessitated modification of some of these key changes!

‘Memory’ has been covered by literally thousands of artists over the years, the most notable being Elaine Paige, Barry Manilow, and Barbara Streisand. It remains one of the most popular of British show songs.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Just as the song makes an outcast of its main character, some of the actions that each of us has probably engaged in throughout our lives could possibly have placed us in the same boat.
When I was being brought up, my mother once told me, ‘Billy, hold on to your good memories and never let them go, they are more precious than you can ever realise. One day, they may be all you’re left with!” She was so right.

When I hear bereaved people lovingly recall incidents with their dead spouse twenty, thirty and forty years earlier, I see a small flicker of light return to their eyes and I hear in their voice that unmistakable echo of hope they once held out as they faced the future together. No marriage is ever perfect, however much it may seem to outsiders, and it is therefore impossible for all memories of even the most loving of relationships to be good ones. The bad things a loving couple do to each never leave the recesses of the mind, and if they stay together and honour their marriage vows, it’s not that they ever forget; they forgive.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 28th March 2020

28/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I jointly dedicate my song today to two good friends of mine and Sheila; each of whom is celebrating their birthday today. They are Giusy Lazzaretti from Rome in Italy and Diane Howard from Wakefield in Yorkshire.

Giusy Lazzaretti is a good friend of Sheila and I. It is Giusy’s birthday today. I know that your country is having a very bad time with the Coronavirus, Giusy, and I hope that you and your husband can have a celebratory drink, safely from your veranda and its lovely views. Bill and Sheila xx

I also jointly dedicate my song today to another friend of Sheila and me, Diane Howard from Wakefield. Diane and her husband Wayne are rock and roll buddies who we saw and danced with weekly at the Batley Rock and Roll Club. Diane is one of the most ardent of dog lovers on the face of the planet. It is also Diane’s birthday today. Have a smashing day, Diane and leave some room for lots of cake and ale. Billy and Sheila xx

There will be many of you who might have met a stranger on holiday, who later became a good friend. Giusy is such a person. During the summer of 2018, Sheila and I took a month driving around eight or nine European countries, spending most of our time in that beautiful country of Italy (my favourite country). We stayed at Giusy’s home for three days and as a result of that brief acquaintanceship (Giusy and her husband, Alberto, couldn’t do enough for us), we became good friends.

The following year, Giusy accepted our invitation to holiday in Haworth and stay as our guest at our home. Her husband stayed in Italy while Giusy came to us for a week. Giusy had a bit of a working holiday and spent the time when she wasn’t out on the moor, helping us labour in out allotment that we were in the process of turning into a haven for myself and Sheila. Have a super day, Giusy, and come back to Haworth to stay with us again after this horrible pandemic has passed us by and enjoy our beautiful allotment which your hands helped to create.

Similarly, Sheila and I met Diane and her husband Wayne shortly after we started courting. We met at the Batley Rock and Roll Club and they instantly welcomed us to their group. Being dog lovers created an instant bond between us. Thank you for welcoming Sheila and I during our courtship days.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My song today is ‘Walk Away’. It was released in 1954 by the Terence Edward Parsons from London, who later became known as the singer, Matt Monro (1 December 1930 – 7 February 1985). Matt Monro was an English singer who became one of the most popular entertainers on the international music scene during the 1960s and 1970s. Known as ‘The Man With The Golden Voice’, he filled cabarets, nightclubs, music halls, and stadiums across the world in his 30-year career. ‘All Music’ described Matt Monro as "one of the most underrated pop vocalists of the '60s", who "possessed the easiest, most perfect baritone voices in the business". His recordings included many the UK Top 10 hits and included the theme songs for the films ‘Born Free’, ‘The Italian Job’ and ‘From Russia With Love’.

In his days before international stardom beckoned, Matt was a regular guest (and frequent winner) of ‘Radio Rediffusion’s Talent Time Show’. He was invited by then-host Ray Cordeiro to perform in his own one-off show, on the condition that he would bow out of future ‘Talent Time’ episodes to make way for others. Agreeing to the deal, Matt performed his first on-air concert for ‘Rediffusion’ on June 27, 1953.

By 1956,Matt Monro had become a featured vocalist with the ‘BBC Show Band’. An important influence on his early career was the pianist, Winifred Atwell, who became his mentor, provided him with his stage name, and helped him sign with ‘Decca Records’. In 1957, Matt Monro released ‘Blue and Sentimental’, a collection of standards. Despite the album's critical acclaim, Monro languished among the young male singers trying to break through at the end of the 1950s, many of them emulating Frankie Vaughan and recording cover versions of American hits. A short recording contract with ‘Fontana Records’ followed.

By the end of the 1950s, Monro's mid-decade fame had evaporated, and he returned to relative obscurity. He and his wife Mickie lived from her wages as a ‘song plugger’ and his royalties from a TV advertising jingle for ‘Camay Soap’. In 1959 he recorded a country pastiche song, ‘Bound for Texas’, for ‘The Chaplin Revue’, a feature-length compilation of Charlie Chaplin short films. It would be the first of many Matt Monro soundtrack themes.

By 1961, Matt Monroe had been named ‘Top International Act’ by ‘Billboard’. In February 1961, the British music magazine, NME reported that Matt Monro had won ITV’s ‘A Song For Britain’ with ‘My Kind of Girl’. His follow-up hits included the theme song for the film ‘From Russia With Love’ in 1963.

At the 1964 ‘Eurovision Song Contest, singing ‘I love The Little Things’, Matt Monro finished second behind Italy's entry. He also had a hit with a cover of a Beatles song. In 1965, and he won an Oscar for the theme song of the film ‘Born Free’, which became his signature tune thereafter. Another six songs formed theme and background songs for movies. Matt Monro achieved fame in the United States when "My Kind of Girl" (1961) and "Walk Away" (1964) hit the Top 40.

Matt Monro was a heavy smoker and battled alcoholism from the 1960s until 1981. He died from liver cancer on 7 February 1985 at the Cromwell Hospital, Kensington, London, aged 54, leaving a widow, Mickie, and three children: Mitchell, Michele, and Matthew. Matt Monro was cremated at ‘Golder’s Green Crematorium’. He’d been twice married.

The 20th anniversary of Monro's death in 2005 spotlighted the continuing interest in his music, with a Top 10 tribute compilation CD, a Number 1 concert DVD and a BBC TV documentary: all appearing in 2005. A 2007 compilation CD entitled ‘From Matt with Love’ reached the Top 40 of the ‘UK Albums Chart’ during its first week of release.
​
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When ‘Walk Away’ was first released in 1954, I’d just spent nine months in Batley Hospital following a life-threatening traffic accident, in which my worst injury of many was a damaged spine. My damaged spine meant that the signals between my brain and legs had been disconnected. I was told that I’d never walk again.

For circumstances (for which there was no medical explanation), after a year of eastern meditation, relaxation training exercises, imagination exercises and tons of praying, I began to feel pain in my legs once more. For me, pain in my legs (as opposed to having no feeling below my waist for six months) represented that life had returned to my mangled legs. It also told myself and the medics that the signals between my legs and brain stem (which had been broken following my damaged spine) had now reconnected and was functioning again normally.

In total, it took around three years and over fifty operational treatments before I was able to walk on my two legs again. Please note that my operations merely involved breaking and resetting mangle bones after one of my kneecaps had been broken in several places. After each operational break (which occurred weekly), my leg would be reset in a new plaster cast with screws attached that could adjust my knee position. After one week of bending and straightening my leg, by loosening and tightening the metal scaffolding, my constant knee adjustments would have damaged the plaster cast, requiring a new one to be put on. This process was repeatedly carried out by the hospital for around one year.

Also, the many operations on my most mangled leg had effectively stopped it growing for over one year, while my other leg continued to grow, and I was left with my mangled leg being three inches shorter than my other leg. This essentially meant three years of continuous leg exercise that witnessed me being carried-to being pushed- to hobbling on my own- to eventually being able to walk again. It was only after I was able to dance again that I properly regained entrance into my mid and later teenage years.

Matt Monro’s song was part ironic and part inspirational in my life from 1954 onwards as I learned to ’Walk Away’; not only from a state of being crippled but also from a life of stealing from others and generally being too wild and criminal in my overall behaviour.

Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 27th March 2020

27/3/2020

0 Comments

 
Today is the anniversary of my dear father’s death, Harry Patrick Forde (known as Paddy Forde). It is also the birthday of my dear friend, Nick Kirby from Lafayette in Tennessee, USA. Having a joint song dedication for the anniversary of a deceased father and for the birthday celebration of a friend is the greatest of all reminders that love never ceases, even when it is passed beyond the grave or is expressed in everyday life. It reminds one that life goes on, even after our loved ones leave us. It invites us to take all the love they ever gave us and to give that same love to another who lives today.

The single and most important thing my father shared with today's birthday boy, Nick Kirby, was their daily ‘struggle’. Dad’s life was a constant struggle bringing up a large family on a low wage and Nick’s struggle is daily caring for his lovely wife, Sheriann who is of ill health. Sheriann battles two terminal illnesses which suppress her immune system and she suffers considerable pain constantly. I hope that your birthday is kind to you, Nick and that your wife Sheriann’s health hasn’t worsened. Thank you for being my Facebook friend.

The month of March is the month of the year when my late father was both born and died. I dedicate my song today to my deceased father who was ‘a good man’. Dad died on March 27th, 1991. He was 75 years old at the time and had lived a hard and honourable life. Like my dear mother, each sweat of their brows from their first day of parenthood was directed towards putting food on the family table, clothes on the backs and shoes on the feet of their seven children (of which I was their firstborn) and providing all their children with a code of behaviour and a set of values that stood us in good stead ever since.

I have previously written much about my dear father and will merely add these extra comments for the purpose of today’s post. Dad was among the strongest of personalities I ever knew and was of his generation’s best crop. He believed fervently in an individual ‘doing a fair day’s work for a fair day’s wage’ and he viewed the sweat of a man’s brow and his industrious nature to represent the backbone of their character and the spine of their individual worth.

Dad had two favourite songs which he often sang quietly while bathing the miner’s dust off his body when he returned home at the end of his miner’s shift at the local colliery. His collier’s face always fascinated me. He could wash, bathe and scrub for an hour until his skin bled and there would still be coal dust hiding in his body crevices and skin pores. Years of gradual build-up of black coal dust provides a permanent black-glaze-like undercoat to the skin foundation. This shiny facial look designates any man carrying these distinctive features as once having worked down a mine or at the pit coalface. It is like a white man giving you a black smile.

One of my father’s favourite songs was ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’ which I sang in memory of his heavenly birthday six days ago (March 21st), and his second favourite song was ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ from the Rogers and Hammerstein’s 1949 musical ‘South Pacific’ . This is the song that I sing today in memory of the anniversary of his death. It is not surprising that dad loved this sung as it has long been regarded as being ‘the single biggest popular hit to come out of any Rodgers and Hammerstein show.’] It is a three-verse solo for the leading male character, Emile, in which he describes seeing a stranger, knowing that he will see her again, and dreaming of her laughter. He sings that when you find your ‘true love’, you must ‘fly to her side and make her your own’.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On the anniversary of your death dad, know this. All your seven children love you, appreciate everything that you and mum ever did for us during our upbringing; the sacrifices you made to rear us strong, to bring us up to walk with pride and confidence, to be forever Christian, compassionate and forgiving individuals who were never fearful of ‘hard work’ or afraid of standing up for what we believed in.

As the firstborn of your seven children, I want you to know that when you and mum died, though you had no money to leave us in your will, you left us a richer inheritance than any amount of wealth, land and property willed to any other child in the land could ever yield. The inheritance you left your seven children, dad, was ‘each other’. You taught us that individually, we are as strong as one person can be, but more importantly, you showed us that while the seven of us remain bound together in love and single purpose, we will never be broken by any adversary that life throws at us, and the Forde Family will go on from strength to strength as your many grandchildren today demonstrate in abundance.

Thank you, Dad. I love you, dad, as do your other six children, Mary, Eileen, Patrick, Peter, Michael and Susan. Your firstborn, Billy xxx

Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 26th March 2020

26/3/2020

0 Comments

 
My song today is dedicated to my Facebook friend, Peadar MacGinley who lives in Meath in Ireland. Thank you, Peadar. Thank you for being my Facebook friend and have a nice day.

My song today is ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry’. This song was recorded by American country music singer-songwriter, Hank Williams in 1949. The song has been covered by a wide range of musicians. During his ‘Aloha from Hawaii’ TV-special, Elvis Presley introduced it by saying, "I'd like to sing a song that's... probably the saddest song I've ever heard."

‘I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry’ has become closely identified with Williams's musical legacy and has been widely praised. In the 2003 documentary ‘The Road to Nashville’, singer K.D,Lang stated, "I think 'I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry' is one of the most classic American songs ever written, truly. Beautiful song." In his autobiography, Bob Dylan recalled, "Even at a young age, I identified with him. I didn't have to experience anything that Hank did to know what he was singing about. I'd never heard a robin weep but could imagine it and it made me sad." In its online biography of Williams, Rolling Stone notes, "In tracks like 'I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry',

Williams expressed intense, personal emotions with country's traditional plainspoken directness, a then-revolutionary approach that has come to define the genre through the works of subsequent artists from George Jones and Willie Nelson to Gram Parsons and Dwight Yoakham " Rolling Stone ranked it Number 111 on their list of the ‘500 Greatest Hits of All Time’, the oldest song on the list, and Number 3 on its ‘100 Greatest Country Songs of All Time’.

Music journalist Chet Flippo and Kentucky historian W. Lynn Nickell have each claimed how 19-year-old Kentuckian Paul Gilley wrote the lyrics, then sold the song to Williams along with the rights, allowing Williams to take credit for it. They stated that Gilley also wrote the lyrics to ‘Cold, Cold, Heart’ and other songs before drowning at the age of 27. However, Williams said he wrote the song originally intending that the words be spoken, rather than sung, as he had done on several of his ‘Luke the Drifter’ recordings.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As we head into the 2020s, one of society's greatest problems as society advances in medicine and longevity of life is ironically one of ‘Loneliness’. Once upon a time, the traditional life span of a working man was threescore years and ten. One usually had only five years to collect their pension before ‘kicking the bucket’.

A young couple getting married when I was a boy could be reasonably assured (barring any industrial accident or serious illness), that they would usually die within a few years of each other. No sooner than one of the married couples had died and the grass had grown above their joint grave plot, the remaining married partner would be lowered into the after-life to join them.

The past fifty years have witnessed a vast improvement in our expected life spans. If one married partner is unfortunate to die in their early sixties today, the bereaved partner can often live for twenty years and longer before they also die.

Depending on a number of circumstances such as variety and number of interests one has, how many social contacts and friends, amount of money to live on, outlook on life in general, and of course one’s overall health will all matter in how lonely one is likely to be

Despite the significant regional discrepancies between the wealthy southern and the poorer northern communities within Scotland, England, and Wales, today, men and women can expect to live longer lives than ever before. The Office for National Statistics puts UK life expectancy at 79.2 years for men and 82.9 years for women. This gives me another two years before I hit the ‘winning tape’. This doesn't necessarily mean that all of us can expect to reach those ages or not pass them since the estimates are based on the age a baby would reach if they were born today.

More and more today, as people live longer, many an older spouse lives in a Care Home with conditions like dementia; not being able to remember the wife or husband they married fifty and sixty years earlier or the children they parented in their married life. In some respects, it is perhaps a blessing that patients of Care Homes with advanced dementia and Alzheimer’s probably don’t ever realise the precise state of their condition. It is their loyal spouses and family members who are made to carry the constant pain of their isolation.

Ester Ranzen (the founder of the children’s charity ‘Childline’ in 1996) today puts all her energy into her latest project that counters the loneliness of the old. Her charity ‘The Silver Line’ is literally a lifeline of many senior citizens. The charity was founded by Dame Esther Rantzen in 2013 to bring companionship to the 1.2 million older people in Britain believed to be struggling with severe loneliness and chronic -isolation. ‘Silver Line’ puts the lonely in touch with one another, giving each a sense that they are never alone.

Even before the world started to experience this dreadful pandemic virus that has struck every country on the face of the earth (Coronavirus) and which will most certainly lead to the decimation of the world’s overall population, ‘loneliness’ experienced by the divorced, the aged, the unwell and many people living alone was fast becoming a scourge on their happy states and a constant blight on the lives of older people who’d lost their spouse many years earlier.

Since the pandemic has worsened and every country is reaching a ‘lock-down’ stage in order to contain this invisible killer enough to make it medically manageable and reduce the death toll, every citizen in the country has been asked and is expected to change their lifestyle. All older people like myself (who are medically vulnerable with a pre-existent condition) have to self-isolate for three months and have no physical contact with others, including family members who do not live with us. Streets have become desolate over the past few weeks and ‘a run’ has been made on the supermarket shelves by greedy, selfish, frightened people panic buying extra food and household stock.

This selfish behaviour is counterproductive to the nation’s wellbeing and the saving of as many lives as possible. Along with all those people who refuse to ‘socially isolate’ from others and cram cheek to jowl in supermarkets and on buses and the tube; such people are no better than the gun-crazed maniac one often hears of in America, who shoots dead dozens of innocent people as they go about their daily lives. Open your eyes and see the harm you do, the selfish people among you who care less about others as you look after number one!

Fortunately, when God created the universe and made man and woman, I’d like to believe that only those apples that Adam and Eve picked and ate from the forbidden tree were ‘bad apples. I believe that all the other apples untouched by sinful hands were perfectly good apples, remaining ‘socially isolated’ in the place that they were expected to stay. Consequently, (and it may be because of my 77 years of age) I believe that for every ‘bad apple’ in society today there are one thousand ‘good apples’. Let us hope that through our example of how strong a nation Great Britain is in the face of adversity, that goodness, wholesomeness, compassion, selflessness and the willingness to share will prevail over all that is evil and impure, cruel, selfish and is governed by greed.

Let us also pray for and give thanks to the selfless behaviour of our NHS staff, whose vocations to help others matter more than their own lives. Let us give thanks to every citizen, who through their work or their natural inclination to look after and safeguard all those who are less fortunate than themselves. Let us thank our good neighbours, and above all let us thank God for keeping us around to carry on the good fight. God bless the good of humanity.

Despite being confined to our homes, we should never allow our voices to be confined to silence. It is time to shout out our values loud and clear instead of being confined to silence. Just as a decent person would intervene with another person who was being physically or racially abusive to another person (by telling them loud and clear to ‘stop it!’), so it should be when we see any greedy person stockpile large amounts of food from rapidly emptying supermarket shelves into their trolley. Tell them, “That is wrong! Stop being selfish! Stop it!” Likewise, if we see groups of people contravening clear government advice and mingling closely in crowded formation, we should tell them to “Stop risking all our lives and to keep their distance!”

On the other side of the coin, I am heartened by the selfless action of so many good people who look out for their vulnerable neighbours, even at an increased risk to their own health and life. All these caring and loving people in 2020 are illustrating that British war-time community spirit that helped us win through between those hard years of 1914-18 and 1939-45. Just like the two previous world wars, we have to pull together if we are to pull through at all! We are all in this battle together and however young, old, healthy or frail we may be, we can do it by being the good people that our Creator intended us to be.

So, please identify one vulnerable person who you can currently telephone, talk to, shop for or help; and do so! All that it takes for Great Britain to win through is for each one of us to help just one more person outside our own family.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song for Today: 25th March 2020

25/3/2020

0 Comments

 
Today, I dedicate my song to two of the best friends I have in the world, each of whom celebrates their birthday today. First, I jointly dedicate my song to my best pal and allotment buddy, Brian Moorehouse from Haworth (who also celebrated his 47th wedding anniversary yesterday). Have a super day, pal.

Finally, I dedicate my song today to another family friend of mine and Sheila’s, Chand Mahtani from Singapore. Chand celebrates her birthday today. Have a super day Chand and leave some room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments.

Since I discovered that I had terminal blood cancer in early 2013, I have made many friends from my Facebook contacts; our two birthday celebrants being two of our closest friends.

During the first six years of my illness, I spent nine months on average, annually, confined to the hospital, my bed or self-isolation in my house, because my condition robbed me of the presence of an effective immune system. Thus, coming into direct touching or breathing contact with someone with a cold or any infection turned someone else’s cold into instant deadly flu for me. Each time I greeted another with a handshake, a hug or kiss on the cheek, I was effectively playing Russian Roulette with my life if the other person possessed the slightest cold, bug or infection.

During the past seven years, many Facebook contacts have become close friends of mine and Sheila, and knowing about my contact restriction (especially avoiding crowds of two or more unmasked), have instead chosen to grace me with their company by visiting me at home. Until I met the beautiful birthday girl of today’s dedicated song, the record for a home visit travelled to see me was around forty miles from Knaresborough by Janet Fynn. Janet was a regular home visitor before she and her husband started living between countries. Then, a few years ago, a lovely Facebook contact from Singapore called Chand Mahtanii travelled from Singapore to West Yorkshire, primarily to meet Sheila and me (a distance of 6,775 miles). Thank you, for being our good friend, Chand. We love you xx

Today’s song is ‘Speak to Me Pretty’. This song was written by Dunham and Henry Vars. It was performed by Brenda Lee. The song featured on Brenda Lee's 1961 album, ‘All the Way’. Not chosen to be a single in the United States, the song was selected by Lee's U.K. record label as a single and reached Number 3 in the ‘U.K. Singles Chart’ in May 1962, which made it the highest-placing chart single Lee ever had in the U.K. The single also made Number 57 on the overall U.K. sales chart for 1962. ‘Speak to Me Pretty reached Number 8 in the Norwegian charts in 1962 also.
​
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When I was a teenager and a gang of lads would go out dancing twice weekly between Batley, Cleckheaton, Dewsbury, and Halifax, for some unknown reason I always finished up dancing with the beautiful girl on the dance floor while the partners that my mates were dancing with could accurately be described as being ‘Okay’ at best. I was a good dancer and could bop with the best of the rock and rollers, and although I was a handsome young man, there were a few in our group who were 'a bit better looking' than me.

For many months I tried to figure out what I was doing right and where they were missing out. I was discussing this situation with my mother one evening and she gave me the answer in one brief sentence as to why I always finished up with the best-looking girl on the dance floor. Mum looked at me and said, “It’s because you ask, Billy, and you expect!”

In a later conversation with my dancing mates, I enquired as to why, when three or four of them approached a group of four or five girls, they never asked the best-looking girl in the group to dance. The prettiest always seemed to be overlooked in favour of one of the others. One of my mates called George said that he always asked the least good-looking (he avoided saying the word ‘ugliest’) because she was the one who was most likely to say ‘Yes’ to his invitation to dance. Another friend called Peter indicated that he always went for a girl whom he'd be more than likely to get farther with in the heavy-petting stakes at the end of the night. He presumably believed that the more fetching and stunning a young woman was, the less likely she'd be prepared to give up her 'crown jewels' without the promise of a happy marriage to come and life of roses thereafter. All my mates had their different reasons as to their choice of dancing partner, but the upshot was they reckoned they had more to lose and less to gain by asking the most beautiful girl to dance.

This rationale, believe me, was rubbish! I rarely got refused when I asked the most beautiful girl to dance, and neither did I ever find the most beautiful women to be too prim and proper when it came to indulging in a bit of hanky panky when the lights went low.

I remember asking a beautiful young woman at the 'Ben Riley' dance club in Dewsbury to dance one night. She agreed and after the dance, we sat down at a table, had a drink and talked (as one naturally does). My six mates had previously asked six of her group to dance while I was at the toilet and I came back to see them all on the floor while also noticing that not one of them had invited the best-looking of all the girls to get up and dance with them. Ironically, the most beautiful girl was acting in the role of ‘wallflower’, sitting it out at the side of the dance hall floor as she watched her six friends dance with my six mates.

During our conversation, I referred to this fact and my dancing partner smiled somewhat ironically. She essentially told me that being regarded as 'beautiful' or ‘stunning in the looks compartment’ was a curse more than a blessing for any woman. She indicated that whereas being handsome nearly always worked in a man’s favour, it was more often than not likely to work against a beautiful looking woman. My dancing partner put this down to the very same reasons that my mates had come up with after I'd asked them why they never asked the most beautiful girl in a group to dance. All I could think was “That’s their loss and your gain, Billy Boy!”

I will admit that when a young man walks across the dance floor and asks a girl to dance with him and she declines, he then has to make that embarrassing long walk of shame back with his raucous mates at the other side of the dance hall chanting ‘Wanker’ at the top of their voices or calling him some other kind of ‘loser’(that is if he doesn’t make a convenient detour to hide out at the bar or in the toilets for the next five minutes).

Whenever I hear today’s song, ‘Speak to Me Pretty’ I always think about those Town Hall and other Dance Hall choices we made as teenagers ‘on the pull’ and why? So, please take my mum’s advice that you get nowhere unless you ask and expect a positive outcome.

Love and peace. Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song for Brian & V'ron's 47th Wedding Anniversary

24/3/2020

0 Comments

 
Brian & V'ron Moorehouse's 47th Wedding Anniversary 24th March 2020.

I am very fortunate with the friends I have made in my life, When I look at my friendship circle today I have many good friends, but I am extremely lucky to have two best friends; Tony Walsh and Brian Moorehouse.

Tony Walsh is my best friend from my teenage years. He knows where all my secrets and dead bodies are buried, so I'd better keep him close to me. Tony lives in Carrick-on-Suir, County Tipperary with his lovely wife Lily Walsh. I have known Tony Walsh for over 60 years.

My second 'best friend' is Brian Moorehouse. Brian lives across the road from me in the same village of Haworth with his lovely wife V'ron. IT IS BRIAN AND V'RON'S 47TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY TODAY. Happy anniversary you two lovebirds.

Brian has an allotment across from mine and we share many happy hours together. He and his wife, V'ron are the kindest couple one could hope to meet and since we became good, then best friends, a number of years ago, there hasn't been one thing he hasn't done for me. In fact, the best description of Brian is: Think of the best neighbour in the world, think of the best friend you could possibly have, think about the one person you would want standing beside you if you were fighting a war and wanted your back watching, think about= someone who would happily give you their last penny without you needing to ask for it if needed, think about somebody who makes a point of visiting older and more vulnerable neighbours to check them out, think about the village person who knows everyone who is worth knowing and who is on first-name terms with the Big Issue seller in the village and always gives her some little food parcel whenever he passes her and has a chat with her; think about all these types of people, roll them up into one jolly person who is Father Christmas to all (all year round) and you have BRIAN MOOREHOUSE, Haworth resident par excellence.

As for V'ron, Brian's lovely wife, all I can say about her qualities as an individual is 'She's a better person than her husband! Always has been and always will be!'

Forgive my late anniversary wishes in the day, but Sheila and I spent the morning at Leeds Hospital. I am glad to say that my wounds are healing nicely from my recent neck cancer operation. Have a super anniversary you two love birds. Here is a little song for you both. Being of Irish extraction, instead of singing you a romantic luvvy-duvvy song, I am singing you a good old rousing Irish number that I know you will appreciate more.

Have a happy 47th anniversary and save a drink for me when we next see each other. Thank you for being the best friends of Bill and Sheila Forde.

Love and peace Bill and Sheila Forde xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 24th March 2020

24/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Tricia Fraher, from County Waterford, Ireland. Tricia who lives in the county of my birth celebrates her birthday today. Have a smashing day, Tricia and leave some room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill x

My song today is, ‘When the Girl in Your Arms Is The Girl In Your Heart’. This was a 1961 hit by Cliff Richard and was written by the songwriting team of Sid Tepper and Roy Bennett, who would contribute fifteen songs to the Cliff Richard canon including his career record ‘The Young Ones’. "

Recorded in January 1961, ‘When the Girl in Your Arms...’ was not released until that October as the first advance single for the Cliff Richard movie vehicle ‘The Young Ones’. The track reached a chart peak of Number 3 in the UK and gave Richard a Number 1 hit in the Netherlands, Norway (for eight weeks) and South Africa. It was a Number 2 hit in Australia and was also a Number 4 hit in Belgium/Flemish Region and a Number 7 hit in New Zealand.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I was 19 years old when this song was first released, and although I was a popular and attractive young man brimming with confidence and ‘too full of himself’, my greatest weakness was to instantly ‘fall in love’ with every attractive girlfriend I ever held in my arms.

I don’t know why I was always like this with my new girlfriends, especially as I wanted to travel to America when I was 21 years old and hadn’t the slightest intention of settling down to a life of marriage, parenthood, and domesticity until I’d rid myself of my wanderlust.

Ever since being a boy between the ages of 9-11 years when I used to attend an Old Time Dancing School in Milnsbridge, Liversedge, called the ‘Kier Hardy’ there was hardly a day went by when my mind didn’t turn to some girl I’d recently met. I’d always loved dancing, ever since I realised that the dance floor was the sure gateway to future romance. Whenever the group did a dance that rotated partners, I could never wait until the most attractive girl in the room had returned back into my arms.

I was never much of a Cliff Richard fan, with the exception of three or four of his songs, and although I always considered this song, ‘When the Girl In Your Arms…’ a trifle too sweet and sugary a rendition, its ability to instantly recall my Old Time Dancing years as a young boy was enough to make it into my musical memory.

Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 23rd March 2020

23/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to my cousin, Pedro Pedro Acaymo from London. Pedro is a distant relative to the Forde Family via his mother’s side and we only met once, a number of years ago. It is Pedro’s birthday today. Have a happy day, Pedro and give your family my regards and best wishes from all the Forde family. Love Billy x

My song today is ‘What A Difference A Day Makes’. This was a 1959 album by Dinah Washington. It was arranged by Belford Hendrick, featuring her hit single of the same name. The title track won Washington the ‘Grammy Award for Best Rhythm & Blues Recording’ in 1960.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Having been an author for over thirty years of my life, the concept of ‘what a difference a day can make’ in any one of our lives has frequently fascinated me. A day is much more than 24 hours; it represents a time span that can moderate feelings, imprison or free a person, kill or keep alive an individual, marry or divorce a spouse, change lives dramatically for better or worse. One day is an eternity for a dying man who only has a few days left to live. One day, especially if it is one’s last day, can make up a lifetime of unforgettable moments.

One need only consider the consequences of the few illustrations below to see the difference one day can possibly make in a person’s life:
(A) The bride attending a different church of the booked wedding service by some awful mistake and leaving the groom stranded at the altar could lose him forever.
(B) Being filled with joy before one’s wife is due to give birth to a couple’s first child, only to sink into utter despair when the child later dies during a complicated delivery.
(C) Identifying six numbers to put on one’s weekly lottery ticket, only to mark down a different number by mistake, and then discover that your original numbers would have won you fifteen million pounds had you not made that single mistake.

The list of possibilities is endless, and the permutations of good and bad consequences go on and on. Chance and serendipity do not always turn out to be sweet in its reward.

I recall my days working as a Probation Officer in West Yorkshire where one of my clients had exhibited feelings of depression for many years. His marriage had failed ten years before I knew him, and his mother had died the previous year to me meeting him for the first time.

After months of working on his poor self-image and his depressive condition, it became apparent to me that his prolonged depression had been initially triggered by the break-up of his marriage and the loss of subsequent contact with his two children to the marriage. Months after losing his wife and access to his children, he also lost his job. He became depressed, started drinking more, then got into arrears in his rented flat and was finally evicted. He then spent nearly four years sleeping rough and remaining in a state of desperation and destitution. His remaining years had witnessed hin sleeping in squats, in disused buildings, on park benches, under bridges and in hostels for the homeless.

The break-up of his marriage was stated to be due to his increasing alcoholism. He said that he only used to have a few pints on a Friday night when he first wed, but gradually when his marriage started to reveal growing relationship problems, his drinking rapidly worsened. Before long, it started to result in frequent marital arguments between himself and his wife; mostly about his increased level of drinking and his aggressive behaviour following frequent drinking sessions when he came back home at the end of the night, drunk. He then started stealing money from his wife’s purse to feed his alcoholic addiction. He even stooped to robbing his children’s bank accounts to get £30 or £40 for drinking. His wife then met another man and the married couple separated soon after. Between his divorce and the following ten years, his alcoholism worsened, and his lifestyle drastically altered.

Nine years after his divorce, the client’s mother died. By this time his depression had worsened to the point of him not caring any longer whether he lived or died. He cried as he told me “I was too f…ing drunk to attend my mother’s funeral!” He had learned of his mother’s death indirectly shortly before her funeral service was due to take place.

#He’d apparently became the proverbial ‘bad penny’, not only with his ex-wife and their children, but his own siblings and father also turned against him after the divorce and his adoption of a ‘sleeping rough’ lifestyle. All contact was eventually lost with everyone he ever loved, everyone that mattered to him; especially his mother whom he loved dearly.

He was heartbroken when he heard of his mother’s sudden death and despite his circumstances of looking like a tramp, he promised himself to attend her funeral. He said he didn’t want to attend the church service as he couldn’t face anyone, but he’d intended to see her buried in the cemetery ‘from a distance’(where presumably his presence wouldn’t be noticed and prove an embarrassment to himself and other family members).

Two days before his mother’s burial, my client was reportedly attacked on the streets. He then ‘went on a bender’ (36 hours of drinking copious amounts of a cheap alcohol substitute and remaining in a state of permanent drunkenness). By the time he awoke in some gutter, his mother had been buried 16 hours earlier.

Following his failure to attend his mother’s funeral, he sank into deeper and deeper depression during the ensuing months and became suicidal. He was eventually made the subject of a two-year Probation Order, subject to him receiving treatment for his alcohol abuse whilst he lived in a local Probation Hostel in Leeds.

It took me about six office meetings between us to discover that ‘guilt’ of a massive order was feeding the furnace of his depression which was now deeply embedded within him. He subsequently broke the terms of his Probation Order, reoffended under the influence of alcohol and was committed to imprisonment for six months. I never saw him after his release as he never returned to the Huddersfield area and his Probation Order supervision contact with me was no longer mandatory.

I have never heard the song ‘What A Difference A Day Makes’ without thinking about this Probation client with the alcoholic/depressive/guilt-laden problem.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 22nd March 2020

22/3/2020

0 Comments

 
Having no Facebook friend birthdays to dedicate my song today (of which I am officially aware), I have chosen to dedicate today’s song to any Facebook friend called Sue or any derivative of that Christian name.

First and foremost on my list of lovely ladies is my youngest sibling, Susan Fanning of Huddersfield. Susan is the youngest of seven children. She is of single status and lives in Golcar, Huddersfield, West Yorkshire. She is a loving sister, aunt, mother, and grandmother and has worked in a senior area role of the Social Work Department in Leeds for many years. Have a nice day, little sis. Billy xxx

I also jointly dedicate today’s songs to the namesakes of my Facebook friends I have called Sue, Susan, Susanne or any derivative of Sue. In this list, I include Susan Marie Rowe from County Waterford in Ireland: Susan Norris from London: Sue Doyle from Brighouse in West Yorkshire, Susanne Abbottt from Bridlington: Susan Susan M.Boon from Ontario in Canada…and… Susan McDonald Mendes from Ontario in Canada. Have a nice day, ladies, and thank you for being my Facebook friends. Please note that none of these lovely ladies were ever ‘runarounds’ (AS FAR AS I KNOW, THAT IS).

My song today is ‘Runaround Sue (hence the appropriateness of the dedication). This song was arranged in the modified ‘doo-wop’ style and became a Number 1 hit for the singer Dion during 1961 after he split with ‘The Belmonts’.The song ranked Number 351 on the Rolling Stone list of ‘The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time’. The song was written by Dion with Ernie Maresca, and tells the story of a disloyal lover. UK singer Doug Sheldon’s version reached Number 36 in the UK charts in 1961.

The lyrics are sung from the point of view of a man whose former girlfriend, named ‘Sue’, was extremely unfaithful. He warns all potential lovers to avoid her at all costs, as Sue ‘runs around’ with every guy she meets and never settles down with any man. He advises; "Now people let me put you wise, Sue goes out with other guys" and suggests that potential suitors should "keep away from Runaround Sue". Dion stated in his autobiography ‘The Wanderer’ that although his wife's name was Susan, ‘Runaround Sue’ had nothing to do with her. However, during a 1990 interview with his wife on ‘The Oprah Winfrey Show’, they presented the story that the song was indeed about her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When I was a teenager going out dating the local girls at the Cleckheaton Town Hall dance on a Saturday night, my mother would watch me get dressed and doll myself up as I combed my hair. She would laugh at the way I polished my black leather shoes until they reflected the face of anyone who looked might into them as clearly as any mirror could.

I was my parent’s firstborn of seven children and my loving mother had always reared me to think highly of myself and never to believe my worth as an individual to be less than any other person on the face of the earth. I was also a young man who’d narrowly escaped death at the age of 11 years when a wagon ran over me, leaving me with life-threatening injuries and a damaged spine that prevented me from walking for three years. I defied death following my extensive injuries; I lived to tell the tale and after three years of immobility, I learned to walk again. While others knew not what had brought about this miracle, my mother knew. She had not the slightest doubt. It was because the gypsy’s palm reading had come to pass as was foretold. #

According to my mother, a gypsy prophecy which she received when she was pregnant with me in 1942 in Portlaw, Ireland, indicated that she would have seven children and that her firstborn would be ’a special child’.

I was indeed ‘special’ in my mother’s eyes and heart the first time she ever set eyes on me and I remained ‘special’ in her eyes until the day she died in April, 1986. For the price of a silver sixpence that exchanged hands between my mother and a peg-selling Romany traveller in Portlaw during 1942, the gypsy foretold of my ‘specialness and mum went on to confirm me as being her ‘special child’ thereafter. I would be almost thirty years old before it dawned on me that mum had told me the truth about my ‘specialness’ but it was only ‘a part truth’. I always accepted that I was ‘special’ as mum had said, but I had also come to know over the years that every other person and creature on God’s earth was also ‘special’ in their own individual way!

Every day of my youth my mother reminded me that I was ‘special’ and therefore it wasn’t surprising in the least that I lived all my life thereafter believing in my own ‘specialness’. Like any mother, my mum was no less proud of protective of her oldest child than any mother is of their firstborn. I was ‘special’ in mum’s eyes and because she reminded me of my ‘specialness’ daily, I naturally came to believe in my own ‘specialness’ the older I grew. Mum thought that no girl was ever good enough for me and she was always warning me to ‘hold out for the best’ as well as advising me how to spot the worst.
One of her sayings was, “Always climb to the top of the tree, Billy if you want to pick the best apple. Don’t ever settle for the ones lower down the tree. They are always the first to fall from grace!”

Every time and place has its scapegoats who are picked upon and held in higher disparagement than the rest. In my young days living in West Yorkshire, national prejudice was held against the Irish and the Pakistani immigrant, of which I was one of the former. The most significant way that such prejudice initially affected me after my parents and their first three children migrated to England for a more prosperous life in 1945 was to make me a tougher person and a better street fighter. Boyhood prejudice taught me to stand up for myself and my beliefs at every opportunity because nobody else ever would if I didn’t.

During the late 1950s and early 1960s, men and women lived vastly different lives in England. The country was steadily arriving at the tail-end of centuries of female discrimination in all major areas of life, whether it was Church, State, Law, Education, Politics, Workplace, and even the Home. It mattered not whether a family was rich or poor, aristocratic or plebeian, educated or illiterate: from the moment of their birth, boys took precedence over girls and men over women, ‘in all things’. Such had been the natural order for centuries and there was fierce resistance by all males of ‘any change about to come’ in their manmade world.

In my youthful days, doctors, surgeons, engine drivers, architects, policemen. vicars, politicians, air pilots, lorry drivers, any trades apprentice of a builder, joiner, electrician or plumber were always men, and never a woman. The only profession that an educated woman ever broke into was education, and then, she rarely progressed in the profession beyond that of being an infant teacher, whatever her abilities. That is why famous women throughout history always had ten times more ability than any famous man of their generation. What they did was done with their hands tied behind their back while surmounting and evading every obstacle men deliberately placed in their way.

In the lives of the poor, it was no different. Only men dug coal from the bowels of the earth, built bridges, canals, and roads. Only men drove our buses, while women were eventually allowed in the late fifties to become clippies (bus conductresses) to collect the fares!

In short, the highest expectation of all parents for their daughters in the 1950s was for them to get an office job or become an apprentice to a hairdresser or study to become an apprenticed typist. For most young women from the working classes, it would be a job serving in a shop or working in a mill ‘until they married.’ Indeed, the greatest ambition for any mother of a daughter in the late 1950s was that their female offspring would find themselves ‘a good man’ to marry before they entered their twenties and risked becoming an old maid who’d missed their boat.

The general description that made one ‘a good man’ was to become the sole breadwinner of the household, the undoubted boss in all important decisions made, the sole arbiter and disciplinarian of one’s children. Providing the man of the household kept his mistress secret from his neighbours and didn’t beat his wife too often because she’d failed to please him in all things, he was considered to be ‘a good man, a good husband, and a good father’.

This background of the times hopefully provides you with an accurate historical backcloth of both male and female ‘expectations’ that then existed. This is largely why young women would never be likely to ever get anywhere in life unless they were prepared to give up something that all young men wanted. Sadly, ‘getting somewhere in life’ was too often seen by the teenage girl as ‘getting herself married’ by the age of twenty-one! Her best hope was that her partner would love her as an individual and treat her as an equal ‘in most respects’. Notice that I use the term ‘most respects’ instead of being equal in ‘all respects. It was virtually impossible to find a man before the late 60s who would treat his wife or his woman as being ‘equal in all respects’ if the truth be known.

Before I went out the door to my Saturday dance at Cleckheaton Town Hall, dressed to the nines, my mother would kiss me and give me some of her motherly advice. “Whatever you do, Billy, have a good time and don’t disrespect the family name. Don’t get stuck with one of those ‘runaround girls’ from Heckmondwike. All they’re after is finding themselves a husband to father the baby some other man has given them or to get a free ride on the chuck wagon!”

I was never quite sure where and who these ‘runaround girls’ ran around with and what for? Did they work on the fairground? Were they road travellers? What was it that led my mother to think that all such bad girls originated from Heckmondwike (three miles away from the family home in Hightown)?

When I asked for greater clarification of ‘why they were ‘runarounds’ my mum simply replied, “They run around with every man they can get their hands on ever since they started wearing nylons, Billy. They run from man to man like a scurrying rabbit always looking for a new hole to set up home! They run away from home at the first opportunity, and before long they find themselves running away from everything that is right and proper! They run away from every responsibility they are asked to face and undertake. They’re ‘runarounds’, Billy. Stay clear!” (Mum’s message but expressed in my written words).

When ‘Runaround Sue’ came out, this song always reminded me of Heckmondwike girls whenever I heard it on the café juke box, on the radio or played at the dance hall. The sad irony of my mum’s prejudice against Heckmondwike girls is that I married one at the age of twenty-six years. The marriage soon ran into difficulties and we were separated and divorced thirteen years later. Mum obviously knew something I never took on board. Perhaps I should have listened harder and picked a wife three miles nearer home and the values I held?
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 21st March 2020

21/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to my late father who was born in 1916 and died in March 1991. Today was my father’s birthday and had he been alive, he would have reached 104 years of age. Dad had two favourite songs; in fact, these were the only two songs he ever sang; ‘Sweet Sixteen’ and ‘Some Enchanted Evening’. Today I dedicate ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’ to my late father. Happy heavenly birthday, dad. All your children love you: Billy, Mary, Eileen, Patrick, Peter, Michael, and Susan. Love from your firstborn Billy xxx

Today’s song is ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’. This popular song was written by James Thornton and was published in 1898. Inspired and sung by the composer's wife, the ballad quickly became a hit song in vaudeville. It has a long recording history that includes numerous popular singers, has been heard on film, and is considered a standard of barbershop quartets.

James Thornton was a vaudevillian who was best-known during his life for his comedy monologues. However, he composed numerous popular songs, especially in the 1880s and 1890s. ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’, published in 1898, was inspired by Thornton's wife, Bonnie, when she asked her husband if he still loved her. Thornton replied, "I love you like I did when you were sweet sixteen." Bonnie Thornton, a popular vaudeville singer who sang many of her husband's compositions then introduced the song in her act.

‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’ sold over a million copies of sheet music: a fantastic number of music sheets for its time. Thornton had sold the song to two publishers, ‘M. Witmark & Sons’ and ‘Joseph W. Stern and Co.’ and the song consequently became the subject of a lengthy ownership lawsuit.

The lyrics of ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’ are typical of the sentimental ballads of the 1890s. The form is stropic, (two verses with a chorus).
Chorus:
‘I love you as I never lov'd before,
Since first I met you on the village green
Come to me, or my dream of love is o'er.
I love you as I lov'd you
When you were sweet, when you were sweet sixteen.’

‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’ was the number one record in 1900. First recorded by Jere Mahoney on ‘Edison Records’, it became the Number 1 record in April and held the spot for five weeks. Another recording of the song by George J. Gaskin on ‘Columbia Records’ rose to Number 1 as well, remaining so for eight weeks.

The song has been covered over the past century by too many artists to name, but a few include: Perry Como (1947): Al Jolson (1947): Josef Locke (1948): Etta Jones(1975): The Fureys (1981): Glen Campbell (1985): Barry Manilow (2010): Daniel O’Donnell (2011) and many others.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It is not often that the popularity of any song endures from one century to the next, but this song has so far been alive for 122 years. In my youth, all the nation whistled while they relaxed, and they also whistled while they worked. The postman and the milkman and every other man whistled as they went through their day. Indeed, one of the most popular wartime radio programmes was called, ‘Whistle While You Work’.

My father was no different where the love of whistling was concerned. Indeed, dad loved to hear the world’s greatest whistler, Ronnie Ronalde making his wonderful bird noises over the radio and whistling/singing his beautiful songs. Ronalde’s combination of whistling and singing was simply marvellous. Dad would have been so pleased to know that Ronnie Ronalde was to become a friend of his firstborn during the early 2000s. Ronnie sent me an autographed biography of his life as my wedding present in 2012, plus one of his signed CDs. He died three years later in 2015. His whistling imitations of bird song led to his greatest hits like ‘If I Was a Blackbird’ and ‘In a Monastery Garden’.

I was born the oldest of seven children. My father was a relatively uneducated man who’d been born into abject poverty in County Kilkenny, Ireland. Dad was only 12 years old when he left school to start work. My father was a simple man who kept his own company and never drank alcohol; presumably, because his father was an alcoholic. Dad was the most independent man I ever knew, along with being the most modest man I ever met. He was strict in discipline and was one of the most stubborn men alive.

Dad was also a great footballer and played soccer for County Kilkenny before he was twenty years old. He then went on to play soccer for both the first and second eleven of the Irish national team. I had often seen a framed photograph of a football team in the lounge, but it was never specifically discussed in the family until my tenth year of life, and my mother never once mentioned its importance in my father’s football career.

It was a photograph of the Irish National Second Eleven and my father was seated at its centre with the football between his legs (Captain of Ireland’s Second Eleven Soccer Team). It was later revealed that my father also made it into the Irish National First Eleven soccer squad on a number of occasions. My father’s regular absence from home after he’d married mum was seemingly a source of constant conflict during their first five years of marriage. Being the wife of a man who played football for Ireland then wasn’t like the Wags of today.

First, the national football players for Ireland received no wage in the mid-thirties; only travel and out of pocket expenses. Such financial circumstances were apparently to prevail in Eire until after the ‘Second World War’. My mother would not have minded being a football widow for the first five years of her married life had dad been receiving a significant wage in remuneration, but she presumably found being the wife of an absent soccer husband and the mother of three young children with virtually no money to live on from a crowded rented flat not much to cheer about.

My dad played football for the glory of the sport and his reward was the pride of playing for his county and country. He wasn’t as bothered about the lack of wage as my lonely mother was about the constant absence of her football husband from herself and his three children. Hence; dad’s footballing career was always a bone of contention between them and was therefore never spoken of in front of myself and sisters, Mary and Eileen.

One year when my father went back to Kilkenny for a rare holiday break, he was met at the railway station when he alighted the train with a welcoming brass band that greeted the return of a ‘football hero from Kilkenny’, before being triumphantly marched through the city centre. He’d gone on that holiday alone, and we never would have known of the soccer hero’s welcome he’s received had not a Kilkenny family friend sent the newspaper cutting to my mother a month later that mum showed us.

At the age of ten years old, I was an excellent football player and I even played in the school adult team with 13 and 14 years old. Our school soccer team at St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic School’ in Heckmondwike had just obtained a new team shirt. It’s pattern was one of green and white squares and the cost of purchasing a shirt was £2: 10 shillings. Such a sizable amount was an impossible amount for my family to purchase as it represented one-fifth of my father’s weekly wage as a miner.

Before dad left for work and knowing that his oldest son would be embarrassed that day to be the only player running around the football field in a green T-shirt instead of the official school soccer strip, he presented me with an old football shirt which he wore in his twenties. The shirt was the shirt he’d worn when he played soccer for Eire (Southern Ireland). Its size naturally buried me and fell far beneath my waist, but wearing it proudly made me the happiest and most envied player in ‘St. Patrick’s School Football Team’ that memorable day in 1951.

Dad was not only disciplined in the severest of ways, but he was also very stubborn and principled. When he made up his mind, he never changed it (even when he was wrong). When he shook hands with another man and gave his word, he kept it, whatever the cost. He was Calvinistic in the great importance he placed upon the value of hard work, and he had little time for the merits of education. Dad believed that ‘hard manual work’ carried out through the sweat of one’s brow and the aching of one’s arms, was the way to heaven. He also strongly believed that no type of work was beneath the dignity of any good man and that the first duty of every married man and father was to provide food for his wife and children.

My father worked hard all his life from boyhood to his retirement age. He was a miner for over fifteen years after the family first migrated to England for a more prosperous life in the mid-40s. I will never forget when I was young and the pit he worked at went on strike. The strike was 99 % supported by its workers, with the exception of one person, my father. Dad was the only man to walk through the picket line. This lonely act took great courage for any worker to do at the time and would always result in the strike-breaker being sent to Coventry when the men returned to work. This did not occur in my father’s case, and although my father was respected among his workmates, he did not remain scot-free.

After the strike ended and the miners returned to work, one huge sized man over 6 foot tall called Horace Housecroft from Seventh Avenue, Windybank Estate, attempted to physically assault my father (who stood no taller than 5 feet and seven inches and weighed five stones less in weight). When Horace came to physically attack my father, determined to do him damage, my father took the only action he could think of on the spot. Knowing that he hadn’t a cat in hell's chance of fighting his opponent off long enough to prevent being beaten to a pulp by Horace’s shovelled-sized fists, he raised a pit shovel and flattened his giant attacker to the ground.

Horace was rendered unconscious and taken to hospital with head injuries and although Horace didn’t return to work for two months, by the time he did, dad was working in a foundry, having been ‘laid off.’ Paradoxically, Horace and my father became the best of friends for the rest of their lives, and for many years after on Windybank Estate Paddy Forde was known as that man who flattened Horace Housecroft of Seventh Avenue. Nobody ever messed with dad again!

As the father of seven children, dad never had a choice of how he responded to ‘going’ or ‘not going’ on strike as a miner. For dad, putting food on the family table came first. Dad used to say that principles were the luxury of the rich; they never fed the poor of the land.

When dad came home from working at the pit face after an 8-hour shift, he’d be as black as black could be, covered and caked in coal dust. After he’d taken off his clogs, he’d go upstairs to spend half an hour in the bath. Dad loved the new council house ceramic bath (we all did). Until we got a new council house, the bathing receptacle for the entire family was a large tin bath that hung on the wall between uses.

As dad bathed, me and sisters Mary and Eileen would listen outside the door and giggle as we heard him quietly sing. The bathroom was the only place in the world that anyone ever heard my shy father sing. Dad might be heard whistling often (like all the men of the time, but he only ever sang two songs, ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’ and ‘Some Enchanted Evening’.

In loving memory of your heavenly birthday, Dad, I sing you one of your favourite songs, ‘When You Were Sweet Sixteen’. Your firstborn Billy xxx
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 20th March 2020

20/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I jointly dedicate my song today to two people. First is my Facebook friend, Susan Grijalva, who lives in Crestline, California. It is Susan’s birthday today. Have a lovely day, Susan and leave some room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill x

The second person I dedicate my song today is Finn Hughes, who is a parishioner from our Catholic Church in Haworth. Finn was recently discharged from the hospital and is progressing well on antibiotics. Finn celebrates his 18thy birthday today. A very happy birthday, Finn, from Bill and Sheila Forde and all of your friends in Haworth xx

My song today is ‘When Your Young and In Love’. This song was composed by Van McCoy and first became a Top 40 hit single for the Marvelettes in 1967. A remake by the ‘Flying Pickets’ would reach the UK Top Ten in 1984.

The first recording of the song was by ‘Ruby and the Romantics’. That track was released in September 1964., ‘When You're Young and In Love’ reached the Top Five in Honolulu but otherwise failed to register strongly in any US market reaching Number 48 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ in November 1964. However, ‘When You're Young and In Love’ was a bigger hit in Canada, peaking at Number 25 on the RPM ‘Top Tracks’.

In 1967, the song was covered by the Marvelettes and reached Number 23 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ that June. Its R&B peak was Number 9. Although not one of the Marvelettes' very biggest US hits, ‘When You're Young and in Love’ became the only record by the group to achieve hit status in the UK with a Number 13 peak in July 1967.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Written one year before I was first married, I truly believed myself to be young and in love during my courtship and engagement of my intended bride. During our engagement, she knew that I came from a large Catholic family and had always wanted a large family when I married. While she indicated that she wanted a big family also, once married she changed her mind as quickly as she appeared to change her nature. The young woman I was engaged to rapidly became a different person as my young wife. Immediately after our wedding, my wife told me that she wanted to wait five years for our first child and then added that she would have no more than two children maximum and that she would never agree to have them brought up in the Roman Catholic religion.

I’m sure that we have all heard the tale about the princess who kissed a frog and it turned into a beautiful prince, but few will be familiar with meeting a woman who seemed to possess the most wholesome of appearances, whom, after marrying, turns into a toad in the hole.

It has often been said that it’s not unusual just before any person gets married, for doubt to appear in one’s mind like a spectre foreboding future unhappiness. It is generally believed that it’s only natural for the bride and groom to have second thoughts about what they propose to do. Let me tell one and all sincerely, that I no longer believe such doubts to be ‘natural’ before any event that promises unrivalled happiness and contentment.

One hour before the wedding car arrived to take me to the Catholic Church in Heckmondwike in 1968 to be married, I sat on the low-level wall in front of our council house on Windybank Estate smoking a cigarette and thinking “Am I doing the right thing?” The upshot was that I went ahead with the marriage, but before too long, I knew that I’d made the wrong decision and had therefore done the wrong thing!

Please, please; if there is anyone out there who is due to ‘tie the knot’ and who expresses the slightest doubt about getting married before they walk down that church aisle and exchanges sacred vows, then don’t do it! If you do, you will most certainly find yourself walking a relationship plank in the immediate years ahead that is bound to see you end up in deep water.

It turned out for me that no matter how hard I tried to make my first marriage work; we were more incompatible than any two individuals getting married should ever have been. Don’t get me wrong, while I do believe in the sanctity of the marriage vows, were I to advise any young couple tying the knot today whether to marry or cohabit for a year or two before getting married, my advice would undoubtedly be to live together first as ‘man and wife’ before deciding to become ‘man and wife’ in the eyes of Church and State.

Only true and lasting love will lead to long-term happiness, as opposed to short-term gratification.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 19th March 2020

19/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I jointly dedicate my song today to two people. First is my Facebook friend, Mark Foreman, from the coastal town of Jávea in the province of Alicante, Valencia, Spain. Mark celebrates his birthday today. Have a nice day, Mark and leave some room for lots of cake and ale.

The second person that I jointly dedicate my song today is the father of my Facebook friend, Kitty Hite, from California. Kitty’s father is called Edie and today he celebrates his 90th birthday. Have a happy birthday, Edie. I don't know what you've been doing to reach this grand old age, but whatever it is, keep doing it!

My song today is ‘When Will I See You Again’. ‘When Will I See You Again’ was released in 1974 by the American soul group, ‘The Three Degrees’, from their third album ‘The Three Degrees’. The song was written and produced by Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff. The strings were arranged by Belford ‘Sinky’ Hendricks, who also arranged songs for many top-flight groups and recording artists. Sheila Ferguson sang the lead, accompanied by Fayette Pinkney and Valerie Holiday. Billboard named the song Number 67 on their list of ‘100 Greatest Girl Group Songs of All Time’.

Sheila Ferguson recalled that "the song was played to me by Kenny Gamble at the piano in 1973 and I threw a tantrum. I screamed and yelled and said I would never sing it. I thought it was ridiculously insulting to be given such a simple song and that it took no talent to sing it. We did do it and several million copies later, I realized that he knew more than me." She would later have a Number 60 hit with a solo remake of the track in 1994.

‘The Three Degrees’ performed the song at Prince Charles' 30th birthday party at Buckingham Palace in 1978. They were always a favourite of Prince Charles, especially the lead singer, Sheila Ferguson, with whom the ‘closest of bonds’ was formed. ‘The Three Degrees’ appeared for Prince Charles 30th birthday, during which Prince Charles and Sheila Ferguson danced together. It was reported in the ‘Daily Express’ a few days ago (March 16th, 2020) that Sheila Ferguson quoted, “My association with Prince Charles more than 40 years ago still sours my love life today.”

Sheila and the royal Prince started corresponding by letters regularly after his birthday bash of 1978. The divorced Philadelphian-born singer who is now aged 72 years, told the ‘Daily Express’ that she has tried numerous dating sites on the internet and the most common response she receives back is “I can’t date you-you’re Prince Charles’s favourite’. Sheila Ferguson said, “Men don’t want to take on this baggage!” The lead singer also went on to tell the Daily Express reporter that she will end the speculation and reveal all about her relationship with Prince Charles in a forthcoming biography ‘when the time is right’.

I'd wager that poor Camilla cannot wait to learn about her husband’s dark and murky secrets, especially as Prince Charles was seemingly cheating with Camilla and Sheila Ferguson while he was courting Diana, two years before he and Diana wed in 1981 when he was 32 years old. It all goes on whether it’s upstairs or downstairs, doesn’t it?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When I was a romantic teenager, I would fall in love with every young woman I dated. Although I'd only stay in love with them for about a month maximum, as soon as I changed them for another young woman, the 'falling in love' process would start all over again.

I wanted to travel to America at the age of 21, to see the wondrous sights on offer and 'the entrance to the Grand Canyon' before I married and settled down to a life of domesticity. Having been awarded a sizable sum in compensation for a traffic accident I incurred at the age of 11 years, I knew that when I attained the age of majority (21), I'd have the financial means to do so.

In the early 1960s, young men and women would usually be married by the age of 21 years and be expected to parent their second child before they were 24 years old. I'd no intention of following this national trend and vowed that I'd be walking down no church aisle with my bride before I was 30. I'd simply too much wander lust to kick off my feet.

Consequently, an ideal dating partner for me would be different to the usual young woman on the dating scene. I wanted a young woman who was beautiful in look, confident in mannerism, wild in nature and someone who believed that life was meant for having fun, not having babies; and not forgetting that they must be a good dancer!

What I didn't want was a young woman, eager to become a wife and mother, who after three dates would immediately rush off to the nearest tattoo artist to get the statement, 'SOON TO BE MARRIED' emblazoned across her forehead.

Between the ages of 18-21, I found my mind and my body in a continuous confrontation in a war of mind over matter. Whether it was my brain or balls that won the inevitable battle to the death, I knew that one way or another (realistically or symbolically) I'd gain entrance to the Grand Canyon. So, for the most part, heavy petting, lots of dancing and changing partners every month of the year seemed to be the easiest answer to my dilemma of remaining single beyond the age of 21 years; free to travel abroad.

Yet, I must confess that each time I dated a beautiful young woman for the first time, the only thought that preoccupied my working days and sleeping hours for the following week was, 'When will I see you again'.
​
Love and peace Bill xxxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 18th March 2020

18/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Patricia Pickup from my old neighbourhood of Liversedge in West Yorkshire where I grew up. Patricia celebrates her birthday today. I hope that you have a most enjoyable day, Patricia and that you leave plenty of room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill x

My song today is ‘Mr. Sandman’. This song was written by Pat Ballard and was published in 1954. It was first recorded in May of that year by ‘Vaughn Monroe & His Orchestra’ and later that same year by ‘The Chordettes’ and ‘The Four Aces’. The song's lyrics convey a request to ‘Mr. Sandman’ to "bring me a dream" refers to the traditional association with the folkloric figure, ‘the sandman’. The pronoun used to refer to the desired dream is often changed depending on the sex of the singer or group performing the song, as the original sheet music publication, which includes male and female versions of the lyrics, intended. Emmylou Harris’ recording of the song was a hit in multiple countries in 1981

In December 1954, the song reached Number 1 on the ‘Cash Box Top 50’. It also reached many more successful positions in different charts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The very first time I ever heard this song was shortly after coming out of a coma as an in-patient at the old Batley Hospital in West Yorkshire. A month earlier, I had been knocked over by a wagon and finished up in hospital fighting for my life with multiple life-threatening injuries; the worse injury being a damaged spine that led the doctors to tell me and my parents that I would never walk again.

I was in the hospital for nine months. By my time I was discharged, I could feel pain in my broken legs, where previously my damaged spine had lost all body feeling beneath my waistline. Pain in my legs was a beautiful feeling for me. It meant that though my legs remained twisted and badly damaged, they were alive once more! It would be another thirty months before I could hobble around on my legs; having had one of my knees broken in six places, followed by fifty-three leg operations to correct before my thirteenth birthday.

During my first six months in hospital, my other body injuries above my waist level (collapsed rib cage and punctured lungs, with 22 of my 24 chest ribs broken and other broken limbs and bones) produced so much pain that I hardly slept.

Around 10:00 pm, the hospital lights would be switched off and all other patients on the hospital ward would go to sleep. I had too much pain in my body to enable me to sleep and would stay awake throughout the night as other patients nearby slept soundly as they snored, farted and coughed like only heavy smokers can in their sleep. Occasionally, I would see two nurses silently scurry as they helped the mortician remove a patient from his bed in the dark of night and take him to the morgue before the other patients woke up around 7:00 am. By the time the other ward patients woke up and opened their eyes, someone might ask, “Where’s Fred gone? He was here last night!”. Then seeing the empty bed had been remade for the next occupant all would gradually cotton on that poor Fred hadn’t made it through the night.

I would have already done my grieving four hours earlier as my ward neighbours slept on in innocent oblivion to the life and death that surrounded them. My wracked body would be so tired with sleep loss that I’d simply close my eyes and drift off to sleep until the early noon as I muttered a prayer form poor Fred.

This song often irritated me as the sandman never came to me during those long, lonely nights I was wide awake in my hospital bed.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx​
0 Comments

Song For Today: 17th March 2020

17/3/2020

0 Comments

 
March 17th, 2020. (HAPPY ST. PATRICK’S DAY).

I am presently 77 years old and in all my life, I have never known a St. Patrick’s Day where the public streets of Ireland are not thronged with cheerful revelry and rowdy drinkers, toasting our Emerald Isle. Instead, the pandemic Coronavirus has shut down the country’s streets and pubs. But the Government of the day will never shut down an Irish person’s love of their country, stop an Irish man flying their flag, revere their national saint or sing their song.

Today is St. Patrick’s Day, and as a born-and-bred Irish man it would be remiss of me not to dedicate my song today to all people of Irish nationality in whichever part of the world they rest their head tonight. I particularly extend my dedication on this most special of Irish feast days to all the residents of County Waterford, Portlaw (the village of my birth) and Carrick-on-Suir (the place where my lifelong friend, Tony Walsh of Collins Park, took me many times, and where he lives today with his lovely wife, Lily).

There can only be one song that is the most appropriate of Irish dedications, ‘Danny Boy’. This song is capable of reminding all fellow Irish men and women where they were born, under which flag they stand proud, and where their hearts will reside until the day they are living another life at the other side of the green sod. ‘Danny Boy’ reaches that Irish part of the nation’s soul that no other song can reach, and it puts the green into all Ireland.

I also jointly dedicate today’s song to two Facebook friends; Paul Wilson from Haworth in West Yorkshire and Cameron Poole from Hobart, Tasmania. Both Paul and Cameron celebrate their birthday today. Have a smashing day chaps and leave some room for lots of cake and ale. Thank you for being my Facebook friends. Bill.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Todays’ song is a very old Irish version of ‘Danny Boy’. It is a version of the song you will not have heard before as I have changed some of the words and ‘recomposed’ part of the melodic introduction, construction and conclusion of some very old Celtic lyrics I recently came across.

‘Danny Boy’ is a ballad set to a traditional Irish melody. In 1913, English songwriter, Frederic Weatherly wrote the lyrics that are more commonly recognised today. He then rearranged the lyrics in order to better suit the accompanying melody of ‘Londonderry Air’ after a copy of the tune was sent to him from the United States by his sister, Margaret (affectionately known as 'Jess'). Another account talks about his sister-in-law, Margaret, singing him the ‘Londonderry Air’ as he reportedly modified the lyrics of ‘Danny Boy’ to fit the rhyme and meter of the haunting tune.

Jane Ross of Limavady (a market town in County Londonderry) is credited with collecting the melody of "Londonderry Air" in the mid-19th century from a musician she encountered. The first recording of the song was by Ernestine Schumann-Heink in 1915. Various suggestions exist as to the true meaning and story of ‘Danny Boy’. Some have interpreted the song to be a message from a parent to a son going off to war or an uprising (as suggested by the reference to ‘pipes calling glen to glen’). However, I find the old Gaelic story of the mid-19th century that I discovered more romantic and plausible. This account deals with the mass of migrants leaving Ireland in search of a more prosperous life overseas, as part of the Irish diaspora (the dispersion of many common people from their original homeland).

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As an Irishman born into a rebel Irish family in County Waterford, and whose maternal grandfather supported and was a part of the Irish uprising of the early 20th century, I have always been acquainted with the song, ‘Danny Boy’. It was an Irish song that my mother sung often as she went about her busy life as a mother of seven children, of which I was her firstborn. Ever since I started my daily singing practice in 2018 and began delving into the background of all the songs I choose to sing (700 songs videoed up to press on my YouTube Channel), I have come across so many facts I never knew. My love for digging out historical fact and folklore (especially Irish folklore) is only surpassed by my love of a good story and a haunting tale composed within one song.

The very first time I heard a different version of 'Danny Boy' being sung was when I heard the Roy Orbison version that was prefixed by a melody and words I hadn’t heard before. I started to research into the Irish background of the song and came up with a few additional verses that were in a different meter and tune than the more common version of ‘Danny Boy’ which most of us have come to know, and which was not the alternate version that Roy Orbison sang. As I had no sheet music to these words to guide me as to how it sounded, I decided to re-arrange my own melodic introduction, construction and conclusion of the song (not too dissimilar in overall structure to that which Roy Orbison sung) but different enough in tune and composition to ‘make it genuinely my own restructured version.’ I do hope you enjoy my version, as I have tried to keep to the mid-19th-century background story I unearthed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

One mid-19th-century story (the one I chose to recompose the song around) went as follows.

‘Danny Boy’ was the oldest son of a poor Irish tenant farmer, with a large family who worked the land in Western Ireland. After the ‘Potato Famine’ (1845-49), Ireland experienced the failure of over half of the potato crop by infestation, followed by the loss of 75% of the potato crop for the next seven years. Between one and one and a half million people would die in consequence of this potato blight. With no food or viable means of sustenance, many families emigrated in search of a better life. For those families who had not the means to migrate as a family to more prosperous lands, the eldest males would often travel across the sea so that they could work and send money back to their poor parents and younger siblings who’d been left behind to farm the land, salvage the seaweed and dig the turf.

The most popular new lands they settled in were, Liverpool in England (where they worked on the docks, or on the roads as a navy) or (in the steelworks of Pittsburgh in Pennsylvania in the U.S.A.) and in the mines of Australia.

‘Danny Boy’ was forced through poverty to leave his Irish homeland. As the oldest son, ‘Danny’ left both the famine and his family behind him when he left home in search of a more prosperous life. Each year he was away, Danny would recall the vision of his father waving goodbye to him from the top of the hill as he watched his son walk on with heavy heart, not knowing if his firstborn would ever return home again. Both father and son cried out their loss at their point of separation, but neither knew the pain each endured. Danny crossed the Atlantic Ocean to America, where he found gainful employment and a better way of life in the steelworks of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Each year he was away from home, Danny promised his parents by letter that he would return when he’d made his fortune, but each year passed and turned into yet another year of unkept promises. One year away from home turned into two years, then five, then ten years, and then seventeen years with nothing but a monthly letter informing Danny about the changes taking place back home in the Emerald Isle. Each year Danny promised he would return home the following year to see his parents, and although his intent to do so remained earnest, he didn’t want to return to Ireland with insufficient savings and capital to buy his parents their own humble homestead. Even when his dear mother wrote to Danny and told him about his father’s failing health, Danny still watched another year pass by before eventually returning home.

When at last Danny could stay away no longer and his heart burst to return home, he found his father had recently died. His widowed mother was in failing health and the remainder of his six siblings were scattered across the globe, except for his younger sister who’d stayed behind to look after her mammy. Danny’s mammy was still a poor woman who lived the harshest of lives. The pain was writ large across the deep furrows of her brow. “Your dada” his mother informed Danny “left instructions to be buried in the hillside spot, beyond the meadow, in the precise piece of ground he stood on as he waved you ‘goodbye' when you set off for America. Your leaving home broke his heart and mine. He was never the same man again.”

Danny goes out to the hillside where the body of his deceased father lies in a piece of hallowed ground, and where his mother and sister places a bunch of wildflowers weekly. The site is marked with a boulder with the name, birth and death of Danny’s father chiselled on its centre. Danny visits the sacred place where his father now lies; the precise spot where his father waved him off on his journey to Pittsburgh; the last sighting he had of his son as ‘Danny Boy’ disappeared into the distance of greater prosperity and uncertain destiny.

This is the kernel of the story about ‘Danny Boy’ I researched, and around which I have woven my composition of this beautiful song. It is also a song that brings back my own fond memories of my own dear mother and father the morning I left home for Canada at the age of 21 years. I will never forget the morning I emigrated to Canada in December of 1963. The snow was heavy on the ground and all the house windows were frosted with the morning cold.

As I went out the door carrying a heavy suitcase and a heavier heart, my father shook my hand and bade me ‘farewell’, silently crying before he went off to work in the pit. Nor will I ever forget my dear mother’s tears flowing freely down the frosted windowpane as she waved off her firstborn leaving home, with a dread that made her fear never seeing me again. I will take that image to my grave.

Unlike 'Danny Boy', however, 'Billy Boy' returned home two years later while my parents were still in good health and I would have another thirty years with them before they also died. I do hope that you enjoy my version of this beautiful song and the background Gaelic story behind it.

I dedicate my version of this beautiful song to Ireland, to every man woman and child from the Emerald Isle, and to everything in this life that is Irish in origin, suspicious in folklore and green by birth.

Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 16th March 2020

16/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to Nikki ONeill who comes from Carrick-on-Suir but lives in County Cork. It is Nikki’s birthday today. I hope that you have a memorable birthday, Nikki, filled with much happiness and love…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments, befitting of the lady you are. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill xxx

My song today is ‘Silver Threads and Golden Needles.’ This song was written by Elsie Hansen and was first recorded by Wanda Jackson in 1956. The original lyrics, as performed by Jackson, contain a verse not usually included in later versions, which also often differed in other minor details.

Many artists have covered this song over the years with the most popular hits of the song being recorded by Linda Ronstadt: the Everly Brothers: Johnny Rivers: Janis Joplin: Dolly Parton, Tammy Wynette and Loretta Lynn (trio): Emmylou Harris: and the Seekers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the time this record was first released I was hobbling around, having been unable to walk for thirty months. I had just returned to school after a three years absence from my education.

At the age of 11 years, I found myself as an inpatient in ‘Batley General Hospital’. I was in the hospital for nine months after occurring a life-threatening accident when a wagon ran over me, damaged my spine, punctured my lungs, collapsed my chest and broke every limb and bone in my body. I didn’t have a broken heart, but every other bone of my body was broken (my legs in over six places) and I was left with the medical prognosis of never being able to walk again.

During the worst part of that life-changing experience, the likelihood that I’d never walk again threatened to destroy all that I cherished in life, along with my dreams of one day playing professional soccer for Ireland (the land of my birth) as my father had done in his early twenties. I’d also dreamed of one day becoming a professional singer as I had a very good voice and had won many talent contests between seven and eleven years of age. I reckoned that if I could play football for a national team as well as earn top money by being one of the best singers in the world, that I’d have it made!

Being told that I’d never walk again by the hospital consultant meant that I would spend the rest of my life looking out at the world from the deck of a wheelchair. I saw my football dreams, along with visions of singing stardom being shot down in flames before my eyes. There was simply no way that my dreams of being a professional footballer and singer would ever be realised, especially from the position of a seated cripple. There wasn’t a national paraplegic soccer team until 1960, and even had there been, I didn’t want to play football for my country sitting in a wheelchair. Neither could I imagine myself being pushed onto the stage to perform some concert venue at ‘Carnegie Hall’ in midtown Manhattan, New York or at the famous nightspot on ‘Las Vegas Strip’ like ‘The Sands Hotel’ in Nevada by a wheelchair minder.

Before I was 12 years old, my boyhood dreams were shot down in flames! I’d always imagined myself one day being cheered to the rafters by a stadium of 100,000 soccer fans as I came onto the football field of play in the shirt of my country. I’d also dreamed of tens of thousands of singing fans screaming for an encore as I headed the bill in a world-famous venue and left the stage after my final song. On my way off the stage, I was being congratulated by a supporting cast of singers called Elvis Presley, Little Richard and Frank Sinatra (all of whom had been observing my performance from the wings in adoration of having ‘seen a star born’. I never did see the point of dreaming, unless one dreamt big!

Six months after my 14th birthday, I was able to return to my educational studies and started at ‘Dewsbury Technical College’. I joined my class six months behind every other pupil in it and spent the better part of the next six months ‘catching up’ on my missed lessons. The upshot was that by December 1957, I’d had enough of schooling. My overinflated ego had been established between the school ages of 6-11 years when I was always placed ‘number one’ or ‘number two’ in my class at whatever subject we were being taught. But, after three years of absence from school with my inability to walk, I found myself in the mid-way ratings of being thirteenth in a class of twenty-eight.

I was also fed up with being unable to dress in decent clothes and acquit myself as any good-looking young man ought to. Being the oldest of seven children, my parents couldn’t afford to buy me new clothes and equipment for school attendance.

So on the day of the school Christmas party, I gathered together all my books and deposited them with the Headmaster (Mr. Ford) and told him that I’d had enough of school and wanted to get myself a job and start earning some money. I don’t know whether the Christmas spirit had positively affected the strict Headmaster’s usual temperament (he was not a man known for having an understanding nature), and instead of trying to dissuade me from leaving and threatening my parents with police prosecution if I did, he wished me well in my future life.

The following Monday, I started work as a Bobbin Boy at a Cleckheaton Mill for the princely wage of £2: 15 shillings a week. Although in later years I would return to complete my education as a mature student and take the examinations that I ran away from at the age of 15 years, I was always happy working at the mill in Cleckheaton and I never once regretted my spontaneous action that December.

In those times, however poor a family was, the first wage packet of every young person starting a job could be kept entirely and spent on oneself. I bought the best pair of shoes that my money could buy with my first wage. After one’s first week at work, all future wage packets would be tipped up to mum ‘unopened’ until one attained the age of twenty-one years of age. Then, one paid for one’s board and keep only until leaving home to marry and live elsewhere arrived. No young man or young woman liked tipping up an unopened wage package, but we all accepted this standard working-class practice. We did so because we’d always witnessed our working fathers do the same all our lives.

Dad may have been regarded as being the ‘head of the house’ in the 1950s, but mum was its ‘heart’ and doubled as being the ‘Chancellor of the Exchequer’ in money management of the household. Dad may have been ‘the worker’ of the household but mum was ‘the wizard’. Only through her magic management was she able to make dad’s £10 weekly wage get us £16 of supplies one week to the next by knowing who to pay this week and which debtor to dodge until the next. Mum managed to juggle household debt for twenty years of my upbringing. I believe that my mother was still paying off the ‘National Household Debt’ when I was 21 years old.

On an evening, my father, (who’d worked hard as a miner for twenty years), would go to bed early to replenish his energy for an early start on the pit face the following day. Whereas dad would be in bed by 9:00 pm along with my younger siblings, being the firstborn of seven children, I would often be allowed to stay up late talking with my mother and listening to her Irish stories as she finished off her daily chores before retiring for the day.

Like all mums of the time with a large family, mum’s work was never done. She would be up every morning by 6:00 am to get my father off to work and her children off to school. Her day’s work never ended before midnight arrived, and it was not unusual for me to see her up until nearly 1:00 am, finishing off the ironing and darning holed socks.

Whenever I hear the song, ‘Silver Threads and Golden Needles’, I think of these days of my upbringing and the late hours mum and I spent together. God bless you, Mum from your loving son, Billy xxx
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 15th March 2020

15/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to my good friend, Steven Spencer from Stalybridge in Lancashire. It is Steven’s birthday today. I hope that you have a smashing birthday, my friend and that your recent hospital visit went okay. Please leave some room for lots of cake and ale and all the love you have coming from family and friends.

Love Bill and Sheila xx

My song today is ‘Talking in Your Sleep’. This is a song written by Roger Cook and Bobby Wood. It was recorded by American country music artist Crystal Gayle. It was released in January 1978 as the first single from the album ‘When I Dream’. The song became a hit on both the country and pop charts in 1978. It peaked at Number 1 on the ‘US Country Chart’, Number 18 on the ‘US Pop’ chart and Number 3 at the ‘US Adult Contemporary’ chart.

In 1977, Crystal Gayle achieved international crossover Pop success for the first time with her Number 1 hit ‘Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue’. Following the song's success, Gayle was recording more Pop and Adult Contemporary-styled Country tunes. This song is one of the first examples of this. ‘Talking in Your Sleep’ was released in early 1978 and was a hit during mid-year. The song proved an instant follow-up for Gayle on the Pop charts, being she hadn't had another ‘Top 40 Pop Hit’ since ‘Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue’ the previous year.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

All my life since boyhood, I have been able to recall my nightly dreams which are always vivid. Sometimes my dreams are of fictional events and people that my mind has conjured up in my wildest of imaginations. Often they concern real people in my present and past life who are jumbled up in a kaleidoscopic jigsaw puzzle that cannot be filled in and worked out beyond the edges, and occasionally my dreams will picture me with a person whom I haven’t seen for decades, doing unmentionable things we never did, in places I’d never normally consider entering!

I don’t seem to be the type who has nightmares that wake me up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, though I was prone during my teenage years to experiencing the reverse. I can never figure out if it is the romantic within me, the writer or the devil in me that makes my Catholic mind imagine such forbidden fruit in such inviting places?

When I was a boy, I would often see a Cowboy and Indian film and find myself dreaming about it that night, often with nightmarish consequences. It might be 2:00 am when I would wake up the household in a blood-curdling piercing scream. Mum would naturally check me out and say, “What’s up, Billy? What’s up?” Once I’d realised that I’d been having a bad dream, I’d say, “Don’t worry, Mum. It’s nobody to worry about; just the Apaches!” Some darn Apache camp sentry had seen me sneak into their camp during the dead of night to rescue the beautiful captive tied to the stake, and as I tried to free the fair damsel, the Apache had loaded his bow and fired his arrow at me, hitting its bull’s eye target and penetrating through my throat!

When I entered my teenage years and put away with my toys and started to play around with the girls and young women instead, my dreams naturally changed almost as often as I needed to change my pajama bottoms and bedsheets.

Between my first marriage in 1968 and 1986, my dreams tended to be of my family members, particularly my mother whom I greatly missed from my life when she died aged 64 years in 1986. From 1990 onwards when I became a published author, I would literally spend all my spare time thinking about the plot of the stories I was in the process of writing all day long, whatever else I happened to be doing. My 64 published books between 1990 and 2016 always kept my imagination working overtime, whether I was awake or asleep.

I met my wife Sheila in 2010 and suddenly I found myself dreaming romantic and sexually explicit dreams all over again in my late sixties. This time, however, my dream did not stop when I woke up; I just kept dreaming about Sheila all day long, and I’ve never stopped dreaming of her ever since.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I have always (perhaps ‘always’ should more accurately read ‘nearly always’) been above board with all the women in my life. I long ago stopped having secrets and stopped concerning myself about uttering the name of another woman in my sleep. Were I to speak another’s name these nights in my sleep and my wife Sheila overheard, it would probably be some fictional character in a story that I was writing about.

However, I have frequently thought about the danger of ‘speaking in one’s sleep’. I recall one man I worked with when I was a Probation Officer in Batley. He was the father of four children under twelve and had been married for 13 years. Ever since the birth of his second child (four years into his marriage), he had been having an affair with another woman from Birkenshaw, near Bradford. His mistress was a divorcee and her marriage had ended one year before she met and started her affair with my client (nine years earlier).

Conversations with my client revealed that he did not feel able to be truthful with his wife and come clean about his 9-year affair and break all contact with his mistress. The marriage of his mistress was dead and buried before she first met my client and they had started an affair. The stated reason for the ending of her marriage was her inability to have children because of some medical condition she didn’t learn of until after her marriage. Ironically, that which had proved a problem in her own marriage (not being able to conceive children) became more of a sexual inducement and convenience to my client in his affair with her.

My client told me that he loved his wife and family and never once had he the slightest intention of separating from them, but added that after a difficult birth with their third and fourth children, regular sexual contact with his wife gradually petered out to zero. Their relationship became diminished to the extent that the only occasions they’d reportedly had sex were during holidays, Christmases and birthdays! At the time he was telling me this, I simply thought “Tell me about it, pal! Join the club!” I will never forget him telling me that the mere fact that he knew his mistress was unable to conceive a child made their affair as safe and as pleasurable as it could be. He said that if his wife ever found out about his lengthy affair that she’d take their children and instantly leave him.

But like all red-blooded men ‘who had a bit of spare on the side’, he was most reluctant to give up his ‘guilty pleasure’. He wanted to have his cake and eat it! Hence, continuing his affair with a woman who could not conceive a child provided him with the type of ‘damage limitation’ that minimised the risk of his wife never finding out about his infidelity.

One occasion when we were discussing what he feared the most, he indicated that his greatest fear was ‘talking in his sleep and calling out the name of his mistress’. It appeared that he could live carrying the secret of his clandestine relationship with his mistress, but not with the fear of its disclosure; especially whenever talking in his sleep.

Do you talk in your sleep? If you do, could you be likely to drop a name or two that might prove interesting and disconcerting to your ‘pillow pal’ who heard you speak the name, and embarrassing to you the following morning? Perhaps the secret you’ve been trying to keep secret from your partner since you first met, stopped being a secret long ago and you never knew?

Perhaps it stopped being a secret twenty years earlier when your bedpartner first heard you ‘talking in your sleep’, but was too much of a ‘lady’ or ‘gentleman’ ever to have raised the matter with you?
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 14th March 2020

14/3/2020

0 Comments

 
My first night back home with the woman I love most in this world. I need to thank you, Sheila Forde, for being my perfect angel and forever being there for me. It is hard occasionally, Sheila, with all the operations I need to go through, but I know it is hardest of all for you. I’ll let you and the world into a little secret. Just before I get a full anaesthetic and go under, it is your beautiful image I last see. It always will be. I love you sweetheart more than you can ever know. You are ‘Perfect’ to me. Your loving husband Bill xxx.
0 Comments

Song For Today: 13th March 2020

13/3/2020

0 Comments

 
March 13th, 2020.

I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Philip Ellis of Bramley, Leeds. Philip is of single status and works in Morrisons. He is a loving and dutiful son who maintains daily contact with his elderly parents. Both parents are on ill health. Mum is in a Residential Home and dad, who has Parkinson’s, lives at home and is visited regularly by Philip. It is Philip’s 50th birthday today. Have a super birthday, Philip and have a drink on me. Love and respect Bill and Sheila.

My song today is ‘Rasputin’. This was a 1978 Euro disco hit single by the Germany-based pop and Euro disco group ‘Boney M’. It was the second song from their album ‘Nightflight To Venus. It was written by the group's creator Frank Farian, along with George Reyam and Fred Jay. With a tune resembling the second half of the Turkish folk song ‘Katibim’, it is a semi-biographical song about Grigori Rasputin, a friend and advisor of Tsar Nicholas 11 of Russia and his family during the early 20th century. The song variously sensationalises Rasputin as a playboy, mystical healer, political manipulator and lover of the Tsaritsa, Alexandra.

Grigori Rasputin attended the Tsaritsa’s haemophiliac son, Tsarevich Alexei of Russia, after which Alexei recovered.  It also claims that Rasputin was Alexandra's paramour. As the words of the song says "Ra Ra Rasputin, lover of the Russian queen, there was a cat that really was gone". It also references Rasputin as being "Russia's greatest love machine" and refers to his sexual appetite and numerous associations with many Russian ladies. The song claims that Rasputin's political power overshadowed that of the Tsar himself in ‘all affairs of state’. When his sexual and political acts became intolerable, ‘men of higher standing’ plotted his downfall, although ‘the ladies begged’ them not to. Although the song states "he was a brute", it claims that the ladies "just fell into his arms."

The end of the song recounts a modified version of a popular description of the events that culminated in Rasputin’s assassination on 16 December 1916. The song claims that Rasputin's assassins fatally shot him after he survived the poisoning of his wine. While the song accurately re-tells many of the unfavourable rumours that damaged Rasputin's reputation, there is no verifiable evidence to suggest that Rasputin had an affair with Alexandra, although he did exercise a significant degree of influence over her actions and decisions. Boney M’s song is as good a potted history as one can get of Rasputin’s influence in Russia during the mad monk’s lifetime.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As a person who has been a lifelong lover of British, American and European History, I have always had a fascination for those individuals who have wielded great power as a result of having loved the right man or woman at a particular time in history.

We all know of the tremendous power that love can yield. For today’s post, I would refer to a quotation by the Australian television writer and producer, Rhonda Byrne who said: “ The more love you give in your day-to-day life, the greater the magnetic power of love you have in the field around you, and everything will fall at your feet.”
This quotation by Rhonda could literally have been made for the situation that rocketed the monk Rasputin to the highest rank of Russian power, privilege and influence.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx

0 Comments

Song For Today: 12th March 2020

12/3/2020

0 Comments

 
November 12th, 2020.

I dedicate my song today to my brother-in-law, Richard Lumb, who lives in Heckmondwike, West Yorkshire with my sister Mary. Richard celebrates his birthday today. He has had a very difficult year with one ailment after another plus a few periods spent in hospital as an inpatient.  I know that you don’t drink alcohol Richard and that you haven’t been in the best of health lately, but never forget how much the Forde family love and respect you. Love Bill and Sheila xx

My song today is ‘Tell Her About It’. This a 1983 hit song written and performed by Billy Joel, from the album ‘An Innocent Man’. An apparent homage to the Motown Sound, the song was Number 1 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ charts for one week on September 24, 1983. The single was certified Gold by the RIAA for US sales of over 500,000 copies.

In the lyrics of the song, the singer exhorts a young man to tell the woman he loves how he feels about her before he misses his chance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

This song came out just after my first marriage ended (I won’t say ‘broke up’ as marriages don’t break up; it’s people that do the breaking up!) I’d been married for thirteen years between 1968 and 1981, when we separated. My marriage had effectively ended five year earlier. Believing then that marriage was for life (through good and bad, sickness and good health), I did everything humanly possible to keep the marriage going after our two sons were born to it, but my wife withdrew completely from her roles as both wife and mother to our children. She had post-natal depression (a medical condition then known as the ‘Baby Blues’), and after the children were born and left the Maternity Hospital to come home, I was simply left in total disbelief when my wife would have no contact with them whatsoever for the next five years. She would live in the same house as them but that was where her proximity to our children ended.

For five years, I fed bathed, nursed bedded and got up in the middle of the night with them when they cried. Unfortunately, being an Irish Catholic, and not knowing that post-natal depression was a mental illness which the mother of our children couldn’t help, I was perhaps too quick to consider my wife as simply being ‘a bad mother’.  Fortunately, I had a very good mother-in-law who minded the two children during the first four years of their life until she (Dorothy) sadly died with lung cancer in her early sixties. Dorothy (a widow) was the kindest of women and she treated me more as a son than the traditional son-in-law role. Dorothy obviously knew that our marriage was in difficulty and paradoxically (unlike the traditional mother-in-law) she kept out of interfering in our marriage and never raised the subject.

For the first four years of the children’s lives, I never told my parents or siblings of the marital difficulties I was having, although all of our neighbours witnessed it.

The daily function that my mother-in-law served enabled her daughter to continue in her full-time job as an infant teacher and myself as a Probation Officer in Huddersfield. During the last five years of our marriage, my wife repeatedly told me she wanted us to separate. She didn’t blame me for the collapse of our marriage but merely said that ‘she didn’t want to be married to anyone anymore’. I resisted separation for five years, but after her mother died and left her two daughters a sizable inheritance, my wife insisted that I leave her, ‘threatening to kill herself if I didn’t. Faced with this situation, I felt obliged to leave, but on condition that as I’d been both mother and father to our two sons since their births, I would exercise future custody over them. She agreed to this arrangement providing that I signed over full title to our three bedroomed detached house that only had a token amount of £200 mortgage remaining on it (we each had £2000 to almost buy the house outright for £4000 in 1968).

I signed over the house and started looking for a home nearby to raise our children. I planned to give up my work for five years and become a full-time dad of single status. It was agreed that I would buy another house in the same area and that both of our children would attend the infant and junior school where my wife taught. I indicated that she could have as much access to the children as she wanted.

After I had managed to buy an old property that required extensive renovation over many years, and had legally transferred full ownership of the marital abode(then worth nearly £100,000), my wife went back on our arrangement, refused to let the children live with me and did not allow me to see or have any contact with them of any description for two full years. For two years, I cried myself to sleep nightly with the loss of all contact with my sons. Despite the courts having made an access order in my favour and placing a term of imprisonment on my wife if she didn’t honour the court order, my wife persisted in denying me all contact! What was I expected to do? I could have the ‘order of imprisonment’ activated in default had I initiated enactment, but which man would do that to the mother of his children, I ask? My wife was simply demonstrating something that has always been known and which has never changed, ‘Possession is nine tenths of the law’.

I had told my family about it, I had told my friends about it, I had told the courts about it and I had even told the children’s mother about it’, but to no avail. At the first time of hearing the song, ‘Tell Her About It’, I felt a certain irony in the song title as I knew in real life that it wouldn’t have altered a damn thing!
​
Love and peace Bill xxx
 
 

0 Comments

Song For Today: 11th March 2020

11/3/2020

0 Comments

 
11th March 2020

I jointly dedicate my song today to my sister-in-law, Linda Forde from Dewsbury and Linda’s daughter, Sam who shares her mum’s birthday. Sam and her partner Darren live up in Aberdeen with their children. I also dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Alan Foster who also celebrates his birthday today. Alan originates from Heckmondwike in West Yorkshire but now lives in Adelaide, South Australia. Have a smashing birthday, you birthday boy and girls, and leave some room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments.

Two years ago, today (11 March 2018) the great comedian, singer of Knotty Ash in Liverpool, Ken Dodd died aged 90 years old.  Sir Kenneth Arthur Dodd OBE was born in November 1927. He is remembered today as being ‘the last great music hall entertainers of his day’, and was primarily known for his live stand-up performances that would often extend for three or four hours, leaving the audience without transport home.

A lifelong resident of Knotty Ash in Liverpool, Dodd's career as an entertainer started in the mid-1950s. His performances included rapid and incessant delivery of often surreal jokes and would run for several hours, frequently past midnight. His verbal and physical comedy was supplemented by his red, white and blue ‘Tickling Stick’ prop and often introduced by his characteristic upbeat greeting of “How tickled I am!" He interspersed the comedy with songs, both serious and humorous, and with his original speciality, ventriloquism. He also had several hit singles primarily as a ballad singer in the 1960s, and occasionally appeared in dramatic roles. He performed on radio and television and popularised the characters of the ‘Diddy Men’.

He was knighted in the 2017 New Year’s Honours for services to entertainment and charity. His stage career lasted for over 60 years, and he continued to perform until the end of 2017 when his health permitted; he died on 11 March 2018, aged 90.

Ken Dodd is one of the few men who appeared before a Crown Court for Defrauding ‘HM Revenue and Dept of Taxes’ (Tax evasion), and despite everyone in the country knowing in their heart of hearts that he was obviously ‘guilty as charged’, his sheer popularity in the eyes of the eleven jurors and the fact that Ken was one of the most loved comedians in the country, proved to be enough for him to be found ‘Not Guilty’ as charged.

In memory of Ken Dodd’s life and the laughter and pleasure he brought to millions of people during his long career, I sing my favourite song that frequently sang in his shows, ‘Love Me With All Of Your Heart’ (a popular song that was based on the Spanish language song’ Cuando calienta el sol’; originally composed as "Cuando Calienta El Sol En Masachapa. I can never hear this song without thinking about Doddy as he became affectionately known. Rest in peace, Ken.
​
Love and peace Bill xxx 
​

0 Comments

Song For Today: 10th March 2020

10/3/2020

0 Comments

 
BILL’S OPERATION DAY: March 10th, 2020.

I dedicate my song today to my wife, Sheila, in gratitude of all the love and care she gives me.

I also jointly dedicate my song today to Martha Fitzgerald from Carrick-on-Suir in County Tipperary. Martha celebrates her birthday today and is the proud mother of daughter, Lauren, and the loving daughter of my dear friend, Lena Fitzgerald. Have a lovely birthday, Martha.

I also jointly dedicate my song today to George Minett who also celebrates his birthday today. I grew up with George for most of my youth on Windybank Estate. George was a member of the Windybank gang and the very first of the lads to buy a Teddy Boy suit. The suit was Canary Yellow and thereafter, George’s presence never once went unnoticed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I attend Leeds Hospital at 7:30am this morning to have a malignant cancer removed from my neck. My operation will be undertaken by cancer consultant and surgeon, Mr Liddington (who will be assisted in the operation by cancer consultant and surgeon, Jenny Goodenough). Jenny removed a malignant skin cancer from my forehead towards the end of 2019. Like all operations, this secondary cancer in my neck carries the usual risks; especially having it performed under a full anaesthetic with my damaged heart. This will be the sixth operation I have undergone during the past twelve months for three different cancers plus one shoulder replacement; each one involving a full anaesthetic, plus twenty sessions of radiotherapy to follow up. All previous full-anaesthetic operations have carried their usual risks with a man of my age and heart disposition but have left me feeling okay afterwards. Their length, however, have never been as long as this operation, which is scheduled to last between three and a half up to four hours.

Given the location of my neck cancer (immediately adjacent to my ear, facial cheek and throat), this operation is the most serious one I will have had over the past year. It will last between three and a half to four hours; an extremely long time for anyone, and obviously more dangerous for a person of my age with my already weakened heart and a terminal blood cancer condition. After the cancer has been removed from my neck, a drainage channel will need to be cut out down my neck towards my throat which will leave a facial depression /and some necessary scaring disfigurement. All my salivary glands will need to be removed down the right-hand-side of my neck, leaving me to digest my food thereafter from only one half of my mouth (I don’t know if that means my food will only taste half as good or take twice as long to swallow and digest?). All tissue around the nerves will also be removed. Because my neck cancer is too close to my ear, an ear nerve will need to be severed and that will leave me with a permanent numb ear. I will still be able to hear out of it but will have no feeling sensation if I touch it (I wonder if this means it will never itch again and therefore will never again require scratching). Because the neck cancer is too close to an upper shoulder nerve, I have been informed in advance that I will permanently lose some more of the limited shoulder mobility I presently have. After the operation, I have been told that one side of my face will drop (like someone who has experienced a stroke) but should eventually return to a more natural position in time. Oh, and I shaved my beard off for the operation one week ago. It feels strange after wearing it for fifty-five years. I understand that I will need to remain clean shaven for a couple of months while I receive twenty or more radiotherapy sessions to mop up any cancer that may be missed and still lurking around.

So, it looks like I will also have to wear a large scarf around my neck when I next sing my daily songs, as well as a cowboy hat to cover my head scars from my last operation. I hope this operation doesn’t affect my ability to sing; not that I have any pretentions of still being a good singer in my old age, but because my daily singing practice gives me so much pleasure as well as improving my lungs and increasing the oxygenation in my blood.

I should be an hospital inpatient for several days, all being well. This is probably the part I least look forward to, as hospitals are the easiest place in the world for older people like me with virtually no immune system to contract cold and bugs from other patients or staff, especially during winter months where Coronavirus is fast spreading across the world. Also, after Sheila’s heavenly cooking, I just cannot/will not eat hospital food. So, apart from a few slices of toast daily, it looks like I’ll be on a three/four-day fast. Come to think of it, with only half a mouthful of salivary glands remaining, it will probably take me three days to digest and swallow one slice of toast?

Given the terminal nature of the blood cancer I have had since early 2013, it is a major characteristic of my blood cancer condition (CLL) that I will always contract cancer in one of my major body organs periodically as my life progresses. It is impossible for me to remain cancer free in the future as cancerous blood continues to flow freely around my major body organs.

It is a guaranteed certainty that one of these future cancers that I contract will eventually kill me off, if my absence of an effective immune system doesn’t do so first by contracting a cold, bug, infection or a virus from another person nearby.

However, I have always held a sense of destiny and this leads me to believe that each of us have some inner feeling when our time on earth is up. It pleases me greatly to tell you that I have no such pending feeling as I go under this anaesthetic today. I remain as positive as ever that my time has not yet arrived. Besides, I have still too much to do and too many songs yet to learn and sing. We have an allotment to tidy up after all the storms of the past few months, and there are still bags of new potatoes to plant, grow and eat; and I still have a tour of Ireland to with Sheila this summer.

I place great store in my faith and a belief in God and in the power of prayer. For this reason, I welcome your continued prayers for me and Sheila, and your thoughts for our wellbeing today.

I dedicate my song today to my beautiful wife, Sheila, who has ‘lit up my life’ ever since she first entered it in 2010. I love you Sheila Forde xxx

And, not forgetting the birthday celebrations of Martha Fitzgerald from Carrick-on-Suir in County Tipperary today. Have a lovely day, Martha. xxx
​
Love and peace Bill xxx

0 Comments

Song For Today: 9th March 2020

9/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Chris Newsome from Cleckheaton, West Yorkshire. Chris celebrates his birthday today. Have a nice day, Chris and thank you for being my Facebook friend.

My song today is ‘Making Believe’. This song was written by Jimmy Work. Kitty Wells recorded a chart-topping version in 1955. The song is on many lists of all-time greatest country music songs and has been covered by scores of artists over the past fifty years, including Bob Dylan: Johnny Cash: Don Gibson: Connie Francis: Ray Charles: Dolly Parton: Emmylou Harris: Merle Haggard: Ernest Tubb: Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty: and many others. The song is occasionally called "Makin' Believe".

Singer-songwriter Work released the song as a single in February 1955 and it reached Number 5 on ‘Billboards’ country music jukebox charts. A month later, singer Kitty Wells released the song as a single which hit Number 2 on the country charts and remained there for 15 weeks, still a record for a song in the runner-up position on the country Billboard charts.

The song is a melancholy ballad about not getting over a former lover. The singer daydreams that they are still loved by the old flame even while fully knowing ‘you'll never be mine’ again.
​
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

If one thinks upon something long enough in an imaginative way, who or what is to stop the person ‘making believe’. The answer is nobody but oneself! When I was 11 years old and incurred a horrific accident that stopped me walking for three years, my life-threatening circumstances brought about life-changing ways for me.

Initially, my damaged spine robbed me of all feeling beneath my waistline and I faced a life ahead of me looking out from the deck of a wheelchair. All I can tell you with certainty is that within the space of six months when western medicine could not offer me what I wanted, my thoughts turned to eastern disciplines from the Chinese and Indian cultures. I became a child student of any discipline which would enable me to walk again. I have remained an apostle of Chinese thought ever since.

Initially, I had to learn as much as I could about the human functions of the mind and body. I knew that my damaged spine was no longer sending electrochemical signals to my brain and that this power cut was preventing me from feeling below my waistline. I became a disciple of relaxation methods and transcendental meditation, along with positive thinking, positive self-talk and the power of one’s imagination process to produce, block or mediate pain. I knew that if my legs were ever to walk my body again, they would first have to feel the pain in them. I also knew that the sensation of pain in my legs would signify that life had returned to them.

What I had learned effectively informed me that signals could once more be transmitted from my brain to my legs ONLY WHEN MY LEGS WAS ABLE TO FEEL PAIN AGAIN. Pain in my legs meant that the life in them had returned. I read as many books as I was able to get about the power of the mind over that of the body. By my twelfth year of life, when other boys were at school kicking a football, rolling marbles, playing conkers and pulling girl’s pig-tails, I was reading how to be fearless in the pursuit of those things in life which set my soul on fire and opened my mind to all possibilities.

For six full months in hospital (I was a hospital inpatient for a total of nine months), I spent every awakened hour developing my ability to imagine pictures in my head of me walking and of my legs physically paining me. I wanted my legs to start paining me more than they had ever pained because pain meant life and I wanted to feel life surge through them once more. For six months, I prayed for pain in my legs to reappear.

I read about the power of positive thinking and learned about the union between thought, feeling, and action. I learned that there is nothing that is good or bad in our lives that thinking it so will not make it so! I learned that any change in one’s circumstances begins with our very next thought. I learned that the three components of all human behaviour comprised of thought, feeling and action, in that sequence. I also learned that some behaviour was voluntary whilst other things we did were automatically reproduced. Before long, I began to appreciate and believe that my mind was in control of my happiness and sense of wellbeing much more than I could ever have previously imagined.

I learned that a person’s truth is what they believe it to be, and my truth lay in a fervent belief in my God, in myself and in my ability to transform threat into opportunity and ‘what could be’ into ‘what is’. I believed that faith in all the important aspects of our belief system to be the deepest and truest form of magic our earthly wands can wave.

Six months after I’d first been received into hospital, for what was described as ‘medical inexplicable reasons’, I started to feel the pain in my legs. The medics could not explain what had happened apart from telling me that the signals between my brain and legs which had stopped after my accident because of my spinal injury, had ‘mysteriously’ started again! I left the hospital three months later, unable to walk but able to feel sensation in my legs beneath me and able to withstand my body weight on my feet with support. By the age of 14 years, I was able to walk again; admittedly in an ungainly hobble at first, but I was walking!

Over the immediate years that followed I continued to practise the very disciplines I had started to learn about in my hospital bed, and during the years of a professional life that followed, I managed to develop other thinking, feeling and doing techniques that enabled people to exert their control over what had previously been involuntary behaviour which was blighting their lives. I founded ‘Anger Management’, a process that mushroomed across the English-speaking world within a matter of two years during the early 1970s, and which has helped millions of people manage their inappropriate levels of aggression ever since and I was one of the first to introduce Relaxation Training into prisons for prisoners serving life.

During my 70th year of life, I was diagnosed with a terminal blood cancer that has a life expectancy of just over three years according to European medical studies. My blood cancer is a type that robs me of any effective immune system that enables me to fend off illness by traditional anti-body means. This essentially means that breathing in the same air, shaking hands or being in the presence of anyone with any infection, bug, virus or even a simple cold could kill me, as their cold becomes my pneumonia and their bug becomes my death warrant. Also, my blood cancer carries my infected blood to all the major organs of my body, and as such, will continue to give me cancers in different body organs as long as I remain alive.

Since 2013, I have had operations for four different body cancers and am presently awaiting another operation to remove cancer from my neck on March 10th. My hospital treatments since 2013 have included two nine-month courses of chemotherapy and twenty sessions of radiotherapy. As important as all my medical treatment, I believe, have been the continuous prayers said and candles lit on my behalf by hundreds of people across the world.

My life to press over the past 77 years has led me to accept that we can all be a masterpiece of ingenuity and faith as well as constantly remaining ‘a work in progress’ that is never complete. I have also learned just how important it is to be forgiving and kind to oneself, because we will never speak more to any other person in our lives as we do to ourselves, (self-talk), and it is from within ourselves that we find the harshest critic of all.

My main message I want to leave you with today is to accept that ‘belief’ is capable of achieving the ‘seemingly impossible’, and that once you can use your positive thought and power of your imagination, you will possess the key to greater happiness and maximum influence over your body actions and sense of overall well-being. So, have faith. Your time as a caterpillar has ended and your butterfly wings are ready to take you to places you never before thought possible!
Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments

Song For Today: 8th March 2020

8/3/2020

0 Comments

 
I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Helen Quinlan, from Carrick-on-Suir. Helen celebrates her birthday today. Have a smashing day, Helen and don’t forget to leave room for lots of cake and a suitable drink. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill x

My song today is the hymn, ‘The Old Rugged Cross’. This popular hymn was written in 1912 by evangelist and song-leader, George Bennard (1873– 1958). George Bennard was a native of Youngstown, Ohio, but was reared in Iowa. After his conversion in a Salvation Army meeting, he and his wife became Brigade Leaders before leaving the organization for the Methodist Church. Bennard was a Methodist evangelist when he wrote the first verse of ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ in Albion, Michigan, in the fall of 1912, as a response to ridicule that he had received at a revival meeting.

Published in 1915, the song was popularized during evangelistic campaigns by two members of his campaign staff, Homer Rodeheaver (who bought rights to the song) and Virginia Asher, who was perhaps also the first to record it in 1921. ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ speaks of the writer's adoration of Christ and His sacrifice at Calvary. Bennard retired to Reed City, Michigan, and the town maintains a museum dedicated to his life and ministry. A memorial has also been created in Youngstown at ‘Lake Park Cemetery’. A plaque commemorating the first performance of the song stands in front of the ‘Friend's Church’ in Sturgeon Bay, WI.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Some of my earliest memories involve hearing ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ in Irish Catholic Churches and during celebrations on St Patrick Days. Until I researched its background for this post, I would most certainly have assumed the song to have been Irish in origin as opposed to American, and Roman Catholic in composition instead of a mixture of Evangelical and Methodist.

My wife Sheila is the organist at the Catholic church we attend weekly in Keighley. Like all organists, it makes for good practice to introduce a new hymn to the congregation from time to time. Behind the front pew where I sit weekly is an older couple in their eighties called Michael and Teresa, and when Sheila introduces a new hymn to the singing congregation, I frequently joke with Michael and Teresa that “Sheila is ‘going off message again’ and is playing Methodist hymns instead of Catholic ones!” The simple fact is that many hymns sung in churches, chapels and places of prayer today are American Gospel and Methodist in origin. I’m afraid that the Roman Catholic religion has always been way behind the Evangelists and the American Gospel Churches when it came to ‘singing out the Lord’s praises loud and clear’ on a Sunday morning.

Let’s face it, folks, if today’s places of reverence want to attract larger Sunday congregations, then making their weekly services raise the rafters with singing is one way of putting more bums on seats.

We should never forget, however, that all prayers are powerful and meaningful, and praise to the Lord is just as welcome by Him when it is sung out loud as well as being spoken or whispered in silent reflection. Attend any Church or chapel service and where one has a rousing choir and enthusiastic singing congregation, I’ll guarantee that when the congregation leaves the church building, will feel like they’ve been to church, and will feel happier and more cheerful as a consequence!

Love and peace Bill xxx
0 Comments
<<Previous

    Archives

    July 2021
    June 2021
    May 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    April 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.