Blog Archives - FordeFables

April 30th, 2018.

30/4/2018

"Childhood years for every person should be the most precious and special years of one's life. For the first seven years, a child is so involved with exploring their surroundings and stretching their vivid imagination to make all things possible that their little minds are capable of thinking of and imagining. It matters not whether it be the existence of Father Christmas, elves and goblins, the man in the moon, toys that talk back and never tell your secrets, magicians pulling rabbits from empty hats or fairies at the bottom of the garden; this is their world which they are allowed to inhabit briefly before adults wake them up and clobber them with harsh reality, turning their pleasant child dream into adult nightmare.

A very important part of childhood is the nature of the fantastic dreams they invariably have. Around the age of seven years, their lives begin to change significantly and children start to dream in a more adult way. Often, in these childhood years, they dream about growing older. A few years down the line they dream about getting their first job. In their teenage years, it is quite natural to dream about becoming a man/woman and finding the partner and soul mate of one's dreams. Adults in their twenties frequently dream of marriage and parenthood and owning one's house. As a spouse, parent and homeowner, they are then known to dream of retirement and leisure to do what they always wanted to do for the rest of their life and to travel to those places they always wanted to visit and full-time occupation would never allow.

A pessimistic realist might say to such a person today, 'Dream on mate, because you've got no chance in today's world!', whereas an optimistic realist might say, 'Hold on to your dream, believe in it, follow it and it will come true'.

Which are you? ": William Forde: April 30th, 2018.

April 29th, 2018.

29/4/2018

Thought for today:
"You cannot run from your own action, erase the experience of a hurtful past by pretending it never happened, nor escape the silent screams of a tortured soul. Whenever I look at this painting (The Scream) in pastels by the Norwegian Expressionist artist Edvard Munch which he did between 1893 and 1910, I can imagine the short distance a human barely travels between sound health and mental breakdown, between sanity and madness.

Munch's painting reminds me very much of that great painter Vincent Van Gogh who was a much misunderstood and troubled soul who lived in a whirlpool of deep depression and suicidal thoughts for much of the latter half of his life, before he took it in a moment of utter despair and insanity.

About fifteen years before my dear mother died at the early age of 64 years, there was a six month-one year period when she had a complete breakdown and was mentally ill; to the point that she was in danger of harming herself. During the start of this period, she genuinely feared that she was being followed by the I.R.A. and she went to extreme lengths to avoid capture by them. She left home for weeks and months at a time without any notice and spent the bulk of that crazy year travelling from Leeds Railway Station to Kings Cross station in London. When the train arrived in London, she would travel back up North and then either phone me in the middle of the night and ask to be picked up in Leeds, Sheffield or York Railway Station. Often when I got to the stated spot to collect her and bring her back to my house, she would have travelled back down to London and re-started her cycle of back and forth all over again. Eventually, only a number of E.C.T. courses slowed her down enough to prevent her harming herself. Thankfully, her health returned to some semblance of normality for the last fiteen years of her life, and apart from smoking too much and putting on too much weight, she lived the next fifteen years as her usual happy self.

One of the best things that our current Government has done since coming into Office has been to place Mental Health on a par with Physical Health as statistics show that a significant number of citizens in Great Britain will experience one episode of mental health breakdown during their lifetime.

I include a song that I only heard a few months ago that I intend to learn after my European holiday. It is called, 'Vicent' and is sang by Don Mclean; a beatiful song about such a sad soul." William Forde: April 29th, 2018.

https://youtu.be/oxHnRfhDmrk

April 28th, 2018

28/4/2018

"Let silence take you to the core of life, the heart of nature and the essence of mankind's wholesomeness. Do not sow any seed that does not grow love or place your soft coat on a harsh jagged rock to hide the hard contour of the land in which your less fortunate neighbours live. Strip away all of your pride, place no type of work beneath you or any creature but God above you. Bow to no man or raise yourself above another and your humble garments shall not be mocked but worn with dignity, and you will feel comfortable in your own skin and the purpose you have found in life." William Forde: April 28th, 2018.

April 27th, 2018.

27/4/2018

Thought for today:
"I always remember a man called Colin who I worked with in Harrison Gardener's Dyeworks when I was in my late teens. Colin was a kind and generous person, a good farher and a faithful husband who loved his wife dearly. I will never forget him once telling me, 'I have loved my wife every day without fail since the day we married.We don't need expensive meals out and fancy holidays to keep our love solid and us both happy. All we need is lots of country walks and every day we awake to make sure that we fall in love with each other all over again'. Colin will be probably dead now as he was a good twenty years older than myself, but I never forgot his philosophy to keep love fresh and I decided to write this brief poetic memory:

'Fall in Love Again' by William Forde

'Let you and I go walking out together,
and renew our love over hills, verdant valleys, rugged moors and purple heather.

To see all of spring shine brightly in your eyes,
and to hear you speak words so simple, yet filled with meaning deep and wise.

To see your rainbow smile in dazzling sun and colourful rain,
is all I need to make me fall in love with you again.'

William Forde: Copyright: 27th, 2018.

April 26th, 2018

26/4/2018

"Look for beauty every day and in every way and you will find it all around you. Look for kindness in every touch and you will feel it where it matters. Look for good intentions in the deeds of others and you will see them act out before your eyes. Listen to the words of a friend's wisdom in your heart and you will hear it. Seek out the soul in every singer and their song will sound all the sweeter. Look no farther than family to find friends and support for life.

All you have to do is 'to do what's right' and all you need to be is 'to be yourself' to secure happiness, meaningful identity, personal satisfaction, and eternal redemption."
William Forde: April 26th, 2018.

April 25th, 2018.

25/4/2018

"My thoughts are presently on the springtime weather and sunny summer to come, given all the cold and rain we've experienced over previous months. The only satisfaction I have had during this inclement period has been to be grateful for not living in the wettest place in the whole of Great Britain; Manchester.

I am a lover of most paintings. One of our northern home-grown painters was Lowry, whose portrayal of the Salford and Manchester area over the years still fascinates me. It isn't his matchstick men that fascinates me, but more the scenes he never hardly painted that is peculiar to Manchester, more than any other city in the land.

Isn't it strange that given Manchester is renown for receiving the most bountiful of rainfalls each year, that from the hundreds of paintings that Lowry did, only one, 'The bus stop' depicts rain? Also, the figures in it are more lifelike than his matchstick men and dogs. It touches the height of my curiosity as to why such a Mancunian experience should be deliberately omitted from a lifetime of scenes from Salford and Manchester, and even makes me wonder if he had a second paid job with the Manchester Tourist Board? Let's face it, we all need a second job from time to time to get by!" William Forde: April 25th, 2018.

April 24th, 2018.

24/4/2018

Thought for today:
"Over the years since I became an author, I must have have given dozens of press interviews and have appeared on numerous local television and radio programmes. However seasoned an interviewee one becomes, often it is the simplest and most obvious questions put to one that leaves one thinking for a suitable reply. The most obvous questions are those that begin with 'W' such as, 'Why?...What?...Who?...When? or Where?'

I remember when ueen Elizabeth was pinning a medal on me, she asked, 'And what kind of books do you write Mr Forde. Somewhat stuck for a reply that seemed suitable for her royal personage I blurted spontaneously, 'Good ones, Maam.Good ones!'

During the 1990s, Jeffrey Archer was reading one of my books at a school in Slaithwaite, Huddersfield. This was a good number of years before his 4-year prison sentence in July, 2001 for perjury and perverting the course of justice for the lies he told at his libel action at the 1987 trial. At the time, despite Jeffrey being the country's 'best-selling' author, the press and literary circles were very derogatory about the quality of his literature and rarely a day went by without some press article putting the man and his work down.

Being in the public eye, Jeffrey's public reading of my book at thre school was covered by the press, local radio and the two local Yorkshire television stations. The 'Look North' television station had one reporter interviewing myself at the same time as 'Yorkshire Television' was interviewing Jeffrey. Being aware of certain interview techniques by that time, I was waiting for the 'surprise question' which is usually the one asked when the person thinks the interview has ended but the cameras are still rolling. As expected, the last question posed to me was the 'stinger'. 'There has been much publicity during the past few weeks , Mr Forde, about the quality of Jeffrey Archer's writing. How good a writer do you consider him to be?' I was asked.

With moments to respond I replied,' To tell you the truth, I couldn't say, as I must admit I've never read one of his books yet...(pause)...but I know that he has read one of mine this morning!'

Young children will always provide the most innocent and funniest answers of all. The late Richard Whiteley (television presenter of 'Countdown'), read for me on half a dozen occasions in Yorkshire schools during the 90s and early 2000s. Like another regular reader and television-presenter friend of mine, Geffrey Smith, from 'Gardener's World', these two men were firm favourites with the ladies. Whenever either read at a school for me, the place was packed to the rafters and more parents attended the reading assembly than they were children in the school. I don't know what these two men had in the charm department but I wish I could have bottled and sold it; I'd have made millions!

On the morning in question, Richard asked a six year old girl to come and sit next to him as he read from my book. He then addressed the young girl and asked,' 'Who's little girl are you?' before receiving the same answer as thousands of other adults have received in their time after posing that verey same question to one so young. As all the mums fawned and hung on every word spoken by the gently-spoken Richard Whiteley and waited for the girl's response, Richard's little helper coyly replied, 'My mummy's'.

Some press reporter once asked me twenty-eight years ago, 'What led to you becoming a writer, Mr Forde?' I didn't quite have my finger on the pulse at that time to know the answer then, but I know now, having had sixty-six books published since 1989/90.

It is because I like to remain in control of events. When you are a writer, you possess the power to say, 'This is how the story is going to end!' If only we each had the power to say that about the conclusion of our own lives?"William Forde: April 24th, 2018.

April 23rd 2018.

23/4/2018

Thought for today:
"When a feather falls to the ground and breaks the earth asunder, the Gods smile down upon mankind's fragility and inability to resist a higher force greater than themselves, however, light the substance. Was every person in the world to forcefully blow upwards at the descending feather, they would be unable to reverse gravity and the earth's natural pull and prevent it landing on the ground any more than they could pluck a feather from an angel's wing without the angel ever knowing.

Like a falsehood told in spite and malice that is intended to impugn reputation and character, once released, there is no telling where it will end up or the ultimate harm that will be done when the untruth finally comes to the ground.

Tread lightly when you speak about the character of others, for they too carry the fragility of potential slander by the mere utterance of a false word and suggestion of character assassination.

I wish that I could go back in time and take back any untruthful or uncharitable words I have ever spoken about another since I first spoke. If I could, I would willingly place any danger of ill-thought or slander against my own name instead of theirs and gladly suffer any pain or discomfort they felt instead, but sadly I know that I cannot. All I can now do is not to repeat the wrong to them or another in the future and hope to be forgiven for past trespass."William Forde: April 23rd, 2018.

April 22nd, 2018.

22/4/2018

Thought for today:
"For most of my life as a staunch socialist between the ages of 18 years and forty, you could have marked me as an ardent 'Republican' through and through. Had Oliver Cromwell still been around then, there would have been nothing square about my head and I would most certainly have joined his gang!

And yet, like millions of children who were reared in the 40's and 50's, I was brought up a 'Monarchist'. I even recall having been elected to sing 'In a Golden Coach lies a heart of gold riding through old London town' at a school concert when Queen Elizabeth the Second got crowned on June 2nd, 1953. This was about ten months before a horrific traffic accident that left me crippled for three years.

When I was growing up on Windybank Estate in West Yorkshire, I recall being one of many thousands of children waving little flags stood by the Liversedge roadside as the Queen passed by in her car from a distance. Even today, over sixty years on, I remember the smile she wore that day, especially as I saved the coronation mug that all English schools gave their pupils. It says something about us not being a throw-away society then, as such ceramic mementoes are still intact in their millions and can still be picked up at car boot sales for coppers, whereas little effort is devoted to preservation these days, not even marriage, the planet or life itself!

Little did I realise as a child, that one day in the years ahead that I would see that royal smile up much closer when I called around to her house to see her in the 1990s. It had earlier been indicated in a somewhat official letter to me by 'The Honours Committee' that she wanted to pin a medal on me. It was an MBE; that's one up from a 'Blue Peter Badge' for the uninitiated. Though my official letter of recognition was stuffy, I could never say that about the Queen's smile. It hadn't seemed to change since the first time I'd glimpsed it from afar some thirty years earlier.

Indeed, the more I think about things, how little I ever imagined as a child that one day I would have a number of brushes with royalty. I have been privileged in my time to have spoken with Princess Diana and Princess Margaret by phone, and to have had Princess Anne open a Disability Centre for me in Dewsbury by personal request. I also sat five rows behind the Queen and Prince Philip in 'Leeds Football Stadium' many years before my investiture; although on that occasion I could only see the back of their hands and heads as they waved and nodded their royal approval. I couldn't tell what they were mouthing at the time; it might even have been a Yorkshire pork pie they'd been scoffing as a snack to tide them over until lunch time.

Many years ago, the famous photographer, the late David Bailey, released an image of Her Majesty, who he described as having a mischievous smile. I can most certainly testify to that. The Queen is just one famous lady whom I have met who possessed 'a mischievous smile'.

Which leads me nicely to my investiture ceremony at Buckingham Palace. As I approached the Queen to receive my gong, I initially wondered why she was stood on a platform two feet higher than mine, then I saw why. I was gobsmacked by Her Majesty’s lack of height, so much so that when she politely asked, 'What kind of books do you write Mr Forde?' the only reply I could muster was, 'Good ones, Maam, good ones!' ( Maam rhymes with jam when addressing a monarch correctly).

As the Queen gave me a straight-faced glance with a look that reflected confusion instead of amusement, I could sense one of the Beefeaters behind her raise his axe in anticipation of her next command as he moved forward three paces. Suddenly that royal ‘We are not amused’ look suddenly changed as her lighter side began to emerge. The royal face softened, the majestic cheeks widened and the Queen laughed: not smiled as protocol decrees, but palpably laughed! It may have been the quiet mischievous laugh of a reserved lady and not the raucous outburst of a ‘Barnsley belly-busting bride who pulled a decent chap to marry her before the baby arrives', but a royal laugh it was nevertheless. I’ve got it on video and photographs to prove it. Isn't life strange when all the water has been drained from the cooking pot and we can all find a bit of the royalist somewhere in the bottom of our Wellington boots!

Another occasion that humoured me greatly was when John and Norma Major invited me and my ex-wife down to 'Number 10' for afternoon tea. I joke not; it really happened, and it wasn't one of those two-minute flying visits as part of some larger party. We were there alone with the Majors for two hours with Norma and one hour with the Prime Minister, her husband John. They were the nicest couple one could possibly meet. I could not believe that a busy Prime minister would take the time to give a stranger from West Yorkshire a guided tour around 'Number 10' just because he approved of my book themes and charitable awareness issues. When the PM showed me the 'Cabinet Room' and the famous Cabinet table around which many momentous decisions have been made over the centuries, I was thrilled to bits. I was gobsmacked, however, when he showed me the most prominent chair at the centre of the oval-shaped table where the Prime Minister sat. Naturally, the chair was one up from the others to distinguish the higher ranking of the occupant. 'Would you like to sit in it, Bill?' the PM asked, reading my thoughts. I had always thought his father to have been a trapeze artist and not a mind reader. I sat down and anchored my bottom firmly as I imagined that William Pitt and others had issued many silent farts from that position before humble little me. As we passed Walpole's desk, my childish devilment led me to stick a piece of chewing gum beneath it. I wonder if it's still there?

As we were escorted up the famous staircase with photographs of every Prime Minister arranged in staggered formation from bottom to the top of the stairs, Norma proudly recited each one by name since Sir Robert Walpole, who was the first Prime Minister between 1721-1742, graced the Office. The wall was filled completely and at the very last photo was of the previous incumbent, Margaret Thatcher. Norma obviously held no love for her and even called her 'Maggie'. She pronounced her surname with the precision of an elocution venom as she uttered, 'Thatcher', making sure that it rhymed with 'Milk snatcher!' Then Norma remarked in an unguarded moment, 'If she thinks she is snatching the last place at the top of the stairs for her photograph, she can think again; John's going there, not being pushed around the corner!'

As me and my ex-wife Fiona sat in their upstairs lounge having a light tea, the Prime Minister asked me if I was cold and did I want the fire stoking. I took my opportunity, thinking that my mining father would turn in his grave had I not and replied, 'No thank you, I'm not cold, but all the rest of Yorkshire is since you completed that which Margaret Thatcher started and closed down the remaining pits!' To his credit, John Major took the comment on the chin and took no offence. His wife did though. In her previous half a dozen letters to me she had always called me 'Bill', but after that exchange with her husband in which I'd dared to criticise part of his political action, it reverted to 'Mr Forde' in the next letter, and I also found myself struck off her Christmas card list. She did later read one of my books in a school in her husband's constituency, but our future relationship was never quite as close and the same as it once appeared.

One of the few women I almost became 'too friendly' with was the late Anita Roddick. We were like-minded people in so many ways. Had we not both been married at the time, we could easily have become more attracted to each other. I recall in the 90s when we marched 2,000 children from the Huddersfield railway station to the 'Huddersfield Town Hall' where we held an 'Our World' event with all the Kirklees schools in attendance to celebrate Anita's environmental work, my own book entitled 'Our World', and also to present a song I had written and produced to Anita called 'Our World' (which can be accessed below). This was the only occasion when I've been given council approval to hold up the traffic for a half-hour march through the centre of Huddersfield. Anita was one of the friendliest, earthiest women I have had the pleasure to meet and I liked her presence enormously. She was attracted to my work because of its charitable and educational aspects. When she died in 2007, she left her entire £51million fortune to charity in her will. God bless you, Lass. This is the song that I wrote and produced and presented to her that day, and which over 2,000 Kirklees school children sang to her in the Town Hall. The music was composed by the late John Foyle of Batley.
http://www.fordefables.co.uk/uploads/1/0/1/5/10153721/04_our_world.mp3

So, however humble one is born, strange things can happen in one's life and anyone can meet all manner of folk, both great and good; and some like Queen Elizabeth, Norma Major and Anita Roddick with a lot of devilment in them lurking at the back of their mind. As my mother often said, 'Even a cat can look at a Queen.'

I'll end now as that's enough name dropping for one post." William Forde: April 22nd, 2018.

April 21st, 2018

21/4/2018

"My son William's life in Australia has altered significantly over the past two to three years. Like myself in my younger life, he was always a rebel, his own man who seemed determined to find a way of life that suited him and the values he believes in.

I recall after he married in Poland seven years ago, how he and his Polish bride returned to Australia where they had previously resided and for the first time in his life, he started to adopt a more conventional lifestyle. I'll never forget him telling me over the phone that just because he now had a house, wife and a suited-and-booted job, 'I feel like I've sold out to the consumerist society.' I told Will, (his preferred name) not to beat himself up too much about having settled down into a more normal lifestyle because we all 'sell out' at that time in life 'when the price is right!'

I explained that in my view it is a natural part of growing from idealistic youth into more cynical/realistic adult to change one's political perspective from extreme left towards extreme right as one gets older and, not to do so, usually signifies one 'being stuck in the past and failing to change with the times.'

Part of me has always suspected deep down that the reason why many people turn to Religion in older years is that it allows one to continue to preach socialist principles whilst practising Conservative ways, and thereby settling into a new and more comfortable type of hypocrisy. We're a strange old breed, aren't we?

Anyway, over the past three years, our Will decided categorically that such a conventional lifestyle, philosophy and set of beliefs wasn't for him and he became what many would probably describe as a 'New Millennium Hippy', but without the drugs I'm glad to say (As far as I'm aware).

Sadly Will and his wife's relationship wasn't meant to be and they parted and divorced. Over the past two years, Will abandoned the modern lifestyle that Australia has to offer and has opted for the simple life, along with Josefine, his partner of like mind. They have travelled across Australia spreading their style of Yoga. This Yoga business of theirs, along with house babysitting all over the world while the house owners holiday, plus any other type of work that comes their way, enable them to eat healthily and travel and live in their camper van. The totally of what they own and possess can be carried in a rucksack. Just as I recall reading what the philosopher Aristotle once remarked as he went through the marketplace, 'I never knew there were so many things in the world that I neither needed nor wanted.'

As for politics, I think there is no left or right for him today; if anything he is apolitical. However, where he and Churchill, Thatcher and a few others are distinctly alike, he has learned how to stick two fingers up at the world! All in all, he's just another rebellious Forde through and through, though less conventional and less hypocritical in the process than the rest of us!" William Forde: April 21st, 2018.