Blog Archives

June 29th,2017

29/6/2017

Thought for today:
"Have you ever considered the selfishness of 'loneliness'. It is one of the most debilitating states of body which cannot be shared in order to exist; hence the solution to it can only be found in others.

When one thinks about it, John Donne was smack on when he said, 'No man is an island.' Without others upon whom to rely and with whom to interact, there can be no solution to the problems that beset us. We are all part of the same continent of humanity and are interdependent upon each other for our survival and salvation.

All of my life, I have been my own person for most of it who has always enjoyed my own company as well as the company of others. I cannot recall ever feeling depressed or lonely. I think that has a lot to do with always feeling there was something/some person/some place/some belief to which I belonged. Chief among these belongings I would place self, family, home and God.

Throughout my working life I worked with many people who felt physically and socially isolated. This experience tended to make them feel alone in the world carrying some problem around with them that was unique to others. Often, simply being in a group of like-minded individuals was sufficient to inform them that they were not alone and that the true people power in the world involved joining the human race." William Forde: June 29th, 2017.

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June 28th, 2017

28/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"It is a fortunate thing to be rich and a good thing to be strong, but it is a far, far better thing to be wrapped in good health and loved by so many friends. He who seeks to secure the good of others has already secured his own. Your many true friends did not come about or suddenly appear because of any accidental growth; their seed was planted by nothing less than one of your good acts of unselfish desire at the right time and in the right place. So keep on planting as before and good friends will always be part of your crop. Now, give us a hug, you big pussy cat!" William Forde: June 28th, 2017.

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June 27th, 2017

27/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Having lost all of my hair to my recent cancer treatment, besides having been the only one of four brothers (and the eldest at that) to still possess their hair, this photograph reminds me how cruel sometimes, fate can be to those who are so easily prone to follicle challenge.

Today is the birthday of my youngest brother Michael (the one on the left of brothers Patrick, Peter and myself). Please note that while I am the smallest in height of the four brothers, though look the tallest in the photograph, it was only because I faked the shot by not sitting down when it was being taken.

While we were born at different times in my parent's marriage, Michael and I each share one important characteristic; we are both 'survivors.' While, during my life I have survived a number of health scares, my brother Michael managed to survive just as many crises', but under a handicap which I was never subjected to.

You see, his eldest brother had been born and crowned with the mantle of 'specialness,' as the first-born of seven children who'd been born to an Irish mother who was herself the first-born of seven. Michael, on the other hand was merely the run-of-mill 'ordinary' child and youngest son in a family of seven children.

My Irish mother was deeply entrenched in Irish folklore and having also been born the eldest child of seven children, she was steeped in the superstition of centuries. Such a position in an Irish family structure automatically denoted her as being 'special' and invested in her, the power of second sight. Therefore, being the oldest of her seven children, naturally led to my mother holding the firm belief that her first-born of seven children would also be a'special' child who would, after her death, inherit her powers of second sight.

I never once felt such 'specialness' to ever be in doubt throughout my entire childhood; first in my mother's eyes and later in mine. Why, even a peg-selling gypsy confirmed this 'specialness' of mine prior to my birth for the mere transaction of a silver three-penny-piece exchanging palms during my mother's fifth month of pregnancy when she lived in Portlaw, County Waterford.

Every day of my life, I grew up being reminded that I was 'special.' In time I came to instinctively believe the Irish gypsy's prophecy, acted upon it and lived my life accordingly. Whatever I survived in my future life, whatever the odds against me, the reason for my survival was clear; it was because I was 'special.'

It was only during the latter half of of my life that I realised that while I was indeed 'special', so was every other man, woman and child, whatever their pecking order in the family and role in the world happened to be.

I now know that in the 'survival stakes,' my younger brother Michael's skills far exceed mine, for he faced and survived all of his ordeals of life without the belief that he was 'special,' despite being more 'special' a person than I could ever be.

A 'special' Happy Birthday, Michael. I love you. Your big brother Billy." William Forde: June 27th, 2017.

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June 26th, 2017.

26/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Tidal waves illustrate all there is to say about life in general. They represent our 'hellos' and 'goodbyes' from day to day. Their ebb and flow mirrors our breathing in and out of all our activity. When life threatens to overwhelm us, our choices are to either surf its towering waters or go under and drown in the depths of its despair.

Take note from the sea of life. Never give up, for there will surely be a moment of time and place when the tide will turn for the good and change our destiny. I believe today to be such a day for all those who choose to live in hope.

I recall at the age of 11 years after a bad traffic accident, being told that I'd never walk again. Somehow, I managed to live in hope that I would and I did.I remember the death of my mother, perhaps the one person who believed in me more than any other ever did. She had done her job well in her life and by the time she died, I believed in myself. I will never forget two failed marriages, where on each occasion, my wife expressed a wish to no longer be married. Each time I thought that my life's hope had collapsed, a new relationship of love provided me with the building blocks to carry on. Whenever my children went through the difficulties of life that most experience, it was hope and belief in their future that kept me strong.

Married to the love of my life, Sheila, on my seventieth birthday, I discovered within six months following our honeymoon that I had a terminal illness. Since that time, I have contracted and been treated for three cancers(two terminal), but believe me when I tell you that when each spring comes around, I remain in hope for the summer to come.

Listen everyone; the birds of hope are everywhere. Listen to them sing." William Forde: June 26th, 2017.

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June 25th, 2017.

25/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"A butterfly preparing to descend on the heart of a flower is like being touched by perfect love for the very first time. All that it takes is a sweet whisper, a gentle gesture, a loving kiss, a tender look of embarrassed blush or that knowing touch, and one's heart starts to flutter and establishes a beat that was never designed to co-exist with any other experience. You are overcome by the magic of the moment and open up your heart, mind and body to anything that may follow. You are floating above heaven on earth, adrift in a cosmos of possibility among the most brilliant of stars. You are in love!

As the lovely film star of my youth, Jane Powell sang in the 1954 film, 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers', 'When you're in love, really in love there is no way your heart can hide it. When you're in love, really in love, you simply let your heart decide it.

The very first time I let my heart decide that I was in love was with Winifred Healey; the girl who sat at the next school desk to me at St Patrick's First School. She was aged 9 at the time and I was six months younger. We swore to wed when we left school but she became a nun and a bride of Christ instead. Then there was a girl on Windybank Estate whose name it would be ungentlemanly for me to publicly mention. She acquainted me with how to exchange the chewing gum from her mouth to mine while our hands were engaged elsewhere, French kiss for twenty seconds without coming up for breath and feeling extremely good about the whole experience. I think she married a sword swallower!

Between 15 and 20 years, I fell in love weekly, but not wishing to settle down, I know that I broke a few hearts. Then came Canada, where my expedition led me to Jenny.We both wanted to marry but she being the daughter of the British Trade Commissioner and me being a humble hotel desk clerk with little prospects of ever becoming wealthy enough to keep her in the manner to which she'd grown accustomed, I ended the relationship and returned to England. Within months, I'd met another damsel 'on the rebound' and in a bid to forget Jenny, I convinced myself that I had found love again. I hadn't and after 13 years of marriage we separated and divorced. Then, one day I did find love again with my second wife, Fiona, and we stayed married 29 years before she decided that the relationship had run its course.

In between my love excursions, I fathered four lovely children and was reconciled to remaining unattached as I became of pensionable age. Then, one day as I walked up the Main Street in Haworth, I saw her; a sweet angel eating a brownie and drinking a coffee in a cafe as I walked by. I looked at her, she looked back at me, we both continued to look at each other; and since that moment, we have never looked elsewhere for another! I'd found my Sheila and we wed on my 70th birthday on 10/11/12 and have never looked back since.

So you see, it's never too late in the day to find true love as long as one stays open minded enough to recognise it."William Forde: June 25th, 2017.

https://youtu.be/xMPX9g0fapE

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June 24th, 2017

24/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Nowhere is such beauty to be found on this earth, than that which is seen in the reflection of womanly thought, thinking upon the memory of a past love or the anticipation of a meeting to come.

There has probably been more written on the topic of 'love' than any other subject one can think of. Therapists provide advice on it, experts pronounce upon its absence or presence and romantic books never fail to profess its existence by the final page. For my own part, I have loved more than once and believe that there is no absolute in the emotion. I believe that each person we love, we love differently to any other. That is why we love the best when we love someone for who they are; when we love for the moment.

Love is often a pretend by-product of lust and remains just a word until we bring it meaningful definition. I know it means many different things to many different people. Some can obtain pleasure from the mere holding of hands, the sweetest of smiles or the sharing of souls, whereas others require nothing less than the emotional force of sheer sexual physicality to feel its presence. Without this coup de grace which some call 'passion', many romantics say they cannot know love at its best until they have tasted it at its worse.

Perhaps it takes the hurt of a previous experience, the loss of a prior relationship and soul mate or even the advancement of old age which makes physical passion less necessary for one's future happiness. Love is most evident when it is seen in a couple holding hands and enjoying a precious moment of 'togetherness.' When you can share your secrets and your fears with your partner, that's when you know trust is at its highest. I knew I truly loved, once I was prepared to remove my mask of concealed thought and feelings, the mask I often hid behind whenever I feared a certain outcome; the mask I could not live without until you came along and I felt safe enough to remove it and reveal my total nakedness.

Then, there is also the one true love you no longer have in your life; the one you lost to another, the one you surrendered to illness or through tragic accident upon the battlefields of war and death itself. It is often so very hard to come back from such loss, to be the person you once were. It is only when your emotions have starved themselves of bitter memory and freed themselves to express once more the things you want but no longer have, that you might find new love. It is only when you allow your heart to be reopened to the possibility of ever finding love anew, only then, can you find the new you; not the person you once were, but the person you now are; the present person you've become!" William Forde: June 24th, 2017.

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June 23rd, 2017

23/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Never engage with a cat who has nothing to lose, nor a woman with fire in her belly with time to burn, as in such circumstances there can only be one winner who walks away, and it won't be you!

Most of us will have heard so many times about the many bad experiences and consequences that having too much anger can bring; indeed so many, that it is so easy to overlook that having and expressing anger is not the only natural but can also be healthy for you.

During the early 1970s, my life changed when I founded 'Anger Management', a discipline which, within a matter of a few years, mushroomed across the English-speaking world. Prior to establishing the process of 'Anger Management' (a process which identifies the best way of working with anger and aggression), my research into the response patterns of hundreds of people who could no longer control the way they responded to stressful situations revealed the presence of anger as being their most influential emotion. I found that from all of the emotions that a person is capable of experiencing that fear, anger and love are the holy trinity which predominantly governs our health and influence our happiness and hope factors. In particular, anger and love seemed to be our strongest and most powerful of all our emotions.

One thing I learned very early on if someone pulls the pin in a grenade and then places it in your hands, ready to explode, the best thing you can do is to get rid as soon as possible. Similarly, if one is carrying so much anger inside them that they must explode, then my best advice would be to get angry, but then get over it! Holding on to anger is futile and is like grabbing a hot coal with the intent of throwing at another, but instead burning oneself.

There are many positive things about anger though. Whereas sadness and depression usually lead to apathy, lethargy and inactivity, anger often brings about change. Anger can be the instigator to long-term improvement and specifically, instant gratification.

Without providing all the reasons, all non-assertive response pattern types, are shy people who wouldn't say boo to a goose or be able to overcome their acute embarrassment by having a gander at a saucy postcard. They feel unable to express their anger states, and in consequence, they go through their daily lives with constant high levels of fear which immobilise their level of social interaction. They fear all manner of new social situations and consider themselves less important than others and their views less valid. They rarely refuse requests and are therefore put on easily. They suppress their opinions and play all their cards close to their chest. They are constantly filled with high levels of stress and are more prone to anxious responses.

After almost fifty years of working with such types of person, my overriding job on every occasion in getting them to become socially more competent and confident in all situations was to get them to appropriately express their anger states.

My work with people who have undergone the bereavement process after the loss of a loved one always recognise that after the initial stages of loss, shock and denial have been experienced by the bereaved person, there is often the stage of anger to be healthily negotiated before acceptance can arrive. Often the spouses of partners who have committed suicide are left feeling angry about them leaving someone else to sort out their mess and to look after the children they helped bring into the world. Such angry feelings in the bereaved can also be present if the deceased person was an addict of food, drugs, drink or tobacco and as such, died many years before their time because they wouldn't give up their addiction. Some wives suffering the bereavement process may, after their husband has died, discover that they lived a second life and had a second wife and family in another part of town, or that the family home which the wife thought was owned outright and was her security in old age has three mortgages on it and bankruptcy looms large.

I even knew one young woman who was repeatedly raped by her own father between the ages of eight and sixteen and stayed silent all her adult life. By the time she was ready to confront her father for his actions and the hurt he had caused her, she told the group which she was a member of and which I ran, that she could no longer confront him and get rid the anger inside eating her up, because her father had died a number of years earlier. The group helped her by discussing her situation, helping to locate her father's grave and accompanying her to the graveside, while she expressed her anger over it as though he could hear her. She needed to physically express the anger inside her before she was able to move on.

I know that anger helped me considerably at the age of 11 years when I was run over by a large waggon, suffered numerous serious injuries and was told that I'd never walk again. I recall that during those three years before I could walk again, I was angry at my own stupidity of getting knocked down in the first instance when playing football on the road; I was angry at having a budding football career ended before it ever started and I was angry with life for picking me out to suffer this ordeal. I was particularly angry with the doctors who told me that I would never walk again because of a spinal injury I'd incurred. However, it was my degree of anger that gave me the strength to go on and not give up. My anger made me more determined that I would walk again; something which I did three years later.

I also remember the emotions I felt following the breakup of my first marriage when my wife stated she wanted a divorce. Initially, I felt tremendous disappointment. I then started to feel sorry for myself as the injured party in such situations often does, especially after she failed to honour the separation agreement we had established. I had left her all the money and had signed over a three-bedroomed mortgage-free house worth £80,000 and all of the family assets to my ex-wife, in exchange for being given custody of our two young children that my wife said I could look after better than her. When my ex-wife had all the money, assets and property rights legally transferred to her, she reneged on the custody agreement that we had made and instead, refused to allow me any contact of any description with my two sons for almost two years, despite the court ordering her to the contrary and imposing a short prison sentence in the event of her ignoring the court order.

This was the time when my anger levels were at their highest and my thinking at its most irrational. This was the one time in my life when I came the closest to knocking her house down or kidnapping our children and taking them to Ireland, where the law would favour my custody as an Irish born citizen. Despite all this, however, it was my anger which kept me going! It was my anger that would never allow me to do anything less than was possible for me to see my two children. I know now that had I been of non-assertive response pattern disposition, I might have ended it all.

So anger is both necessary and healthy to have at certain times and can spur one on to better things. As a general rule, however, never allow your anger levels to build up. It is far safer to always find appropriate ways of expressing your anger (vigorous exercise, running, sport, punching a bag or even going into the corner of a field and screaming at the top of one's voice, 'Stuff the world and stuff........'

Whatever you do with your anger, do not hold onto it. As my mother often told me, 'Billy, anger lives in the bosoms of fools.' " William Forde" June 22nd, 2017.

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June 21st, 2017.

21/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"We never knew whether we were rich or poor until some social worker pointed it out. We just knew that we had to be home before dark.

When I first became a Probation Officer in 1970, it soon became apparent that I had entered a profession where most officers originated from the better off middle class of society. Apart from the educational qualifications we shared, it would have been more accurate to have described my own values and experiences as being closer to that of the clientele base than the background of my work colleagues. I eventually came to conclude in later life, that what had made me a good Probation Officer and highly effective in my work, was that I always knew that I was essentially working with 'my kind of people' and I was better able to understand them, having come from the same social class.

Being brought up in the 1950's was very much a class experience where there was a clear dividing line between 'us' and 'them'. What one ate, where, when and how one ate it, distinguished the widening gap between the classes; even the title of our meals was socially reversed to remind us of our place. Whereas I had my dinner at noon, the middle and upper classes had dinner during the evening.

I will never forget those long summer holidays from school where we would breakfast at 8.00 am and be put out to play until tea time; and we loved every fresh air minute of it. In fact, we couldn't get enough of it! We experienced an abundance of fresh air, ample adventure and the sufficient opportunity to soak up sunshine experiences all day long and laugh about stupid adults who never would understand the workings of a child's mind. When I think back, I marvel at the sheer inventiveness of the poor who would fashion games that all could play from the most basic of items one would find about the home or the street. Pebble and chalk playing hop scotch, a skipping rope, an old tin can to kick, a piece of wood and a wooden peg to hit as far as possible, marbles, conkers or a dustbin lid to use as a shield.

As for the older and tougher children, they would find a gas lamp and pick two teams. One person would lean against the gas lamp and form the head of a horse, while the remaining children of one team would squat down in a rugby-scrum fashion with their head between someone else's legs in single file, to form the back of a horse. Then, the other team would run and jump with as much force as they could to mount the human chain of children's backs. The aim of the jumpers was to jump as high as possible and land on the backs of the opposing team with such force that the child chain collapsed to the ground in a human heap. If the horse crumpled and collapsed, the team who had produced the collapse had another go. If it didn't collapse, the two teams swapped roles. It was not uncommon for many a child to arrive home for tea with a broken arm or a cracked rib. In fact, come to think of it, cracked ribs were so common that they were often dealt with by a tight wrapping of bandages and enforced rest without recourse to visiting either the doctor's surgery or the local hospital.

I recall during the 1980's, when well intentioned Social Workers and Probation Officers foolishly believed that to have been brought up on a council estate was disadvantageous to the growing child and left them devoid of any meaningful experience. What idiotic tosh! Indeed, they even started to spread this malicious class lie. Over a short period of time, clients who had previously lived happily on council estates were encouraged to feel disadvantaged for having had to. Consequently, many naturally started to feel deprived where no such feelings had previously existed. Very quickly, Social Workers had destroyed their happier memories of living on a council estate and in the process, they provided offenders with one more lame excuse upon which to blame their offending behaviour. Indeed, I'd go so far as to say that often the conventional wisdom of Probation Officers and Social Workers of the time was to project blame for the offender's behaviour onto their family and background; rarely themselves!

I was reared on Windybank Council Estate between the ages of 8 years until getting married at 26 years of age. In short, it was the best type of upbringing I could possibly have had. It put the spine into my backbone and helped build my character better than any other experience I could imagine. I grew up with a common set of community values which respected youth, elders, women and old age. We lived within a common code that demanded if ever you did wrong and got caught, you put up your hands, admitted your wrong doing and took your punishment without resentment or complaint. Anyone who could work did work and nobody I ever knew received weekly pocket money without doing household chores to earn it. There was no such thing in those days as receiving reward in the guise of pocket money for tidying one's room up and not living like a pig. Young men and women were not prevented from mixing, but sex before marriage was discouraged by all parents. In event of a girl getting pregnant, there was no arguing the toss as to what was 'the best thing to to do under the circumstances'. Having made their bed, the pair got quickly married and was expected to lie in it!

Those were the days when what to do seemed much clearer and doing what was required came more naturally. I will never regret being a war baby or of being brought up during the 1950's in a working class family on Windy Bank council estate. It was the making of me!" William Forde: June 21st, 2017.

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June 20th, 2017.

20/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Summer is like seasonal spring unfolding into fullest bloom. It is a time when butterflies invade the stomach and the air is filled with romantic rebellion and foolish notion of breaking rules. Summer days for young lovers are days of daring do; days when we stand apart from our elders and follow our first instinct, however wrong. In every girls' life, there is a young man and a summer where it started where the first contact with one's sexual feelings began to blossom in earnest. In every boy's life, the summer never ends until the day they die or their eyesight fails them!

I have always felt that spring carries with it a package that only a summer can unwrap. The warm weather when walking down a country lane with a beautiful partner opens the woman's heart to all possibilities and closes the man's mind to none.

Imagine what it would be like to live in a world of summer all year round and remain forever young: summers where the first blush of a maiden's sweet face brings forth the first flush of daring do in the wild heather of the moorland. If only I could make this moment last and make summer stretch until I make him/her mine. For such a prize, who wouldn't risk the roll of the dice once? Whom among us wouldn't gamble all for the chance of perfect love?" William Forde: June 20th, 2017.

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June 19th, 2017.

19/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Today is my sister Eileen's 72nd birthday. A very happy birthday, sister. May your special day be filled with much happiness, peace, love and generosity. The more I think about it, the more I realise that a sister is part of one's childhood that is never lost. However old one gets, they keep one anchored to childhood memories and growing up years.

It is said that 'one can kid the world but not their sister', who is capable of sussing out a subtle deceit however clever big brother may think he is. I do know that sisters are creatures who a brother can both love as well as want to ring their neck at the same time.

Myself and sisters Mary and Eileen were born in Ireland and came to England to live as children. Every day growing up, my mother would reinforce the message that we look out for each other. We always have! When brother and sister stand shoulder to shoulder, none can stand against them.They are forever friends and act as a bulwark between all manner of enemy and life obstruction.

During my recent years of cancer treatment, my sister Eileen's constant support (along with all six of my brothers and sisters), has been a voice sweet in the season of sorrow and wise in its counsel. Her actions have been kind, considerate and constant to the truth.

Whenever I want to tease my two sisters Mary and Eileen, I remind them (often within the earshot of others) that until I was 9 years old, the three of us shared a bed and two of us frequently wet it! Eileen, (being the dry one), and wishing to remain dry throughout the night, she would build a dam of sheets between our side of the bed and hers. While I slept in the middle we would scratch each other's backs every night before sleep; one hundred scratches to the person on one's left before turning around and then scratching one hundred to the person on one's right-hand side. It took the two sisters two years before it dawned on them that I was always positioned to get the best of the bargain.

Growing up into our teenage years witnessed the emergence of our independent attitudes. When me and my sister Mary who loved bopping would weekly visit a dance hall in Dewsbury called the 'Ben Riley' for a night of bopping, we would always try to sneak out of the house without our younger sister Eileen spotting us and following. She soon got the idea and when she stopped chasing me and Mary, she started chasing boys instead. Her preference was to go with the boy who had the most powerful form of motorisation. Her first boyfriend (Peter Bowling), who owned a Lambretta was dumped when John (the boy she married), showed up one day with a smooth hair look aided by loads of Brillcream and a 125cc B.S.A. Bantam! She and husband John celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary two years ago.

Whatever I can say about my sister Eileen, I'd have to admit that she's a 'stayer'; someone in it for the long haul.I am not of the view that it is an accident of birth that makes a boy and a girls brother and sister. Having the same parents makes them siblings, but as for brother and sister, they have to work at it. Happy birthday Sis. Your big brother, Billy xx" William Forde: June 19th, 2007.

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June 18th, 2017.

18/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Good morning everyone. Although but 2.30 am, I am up for an hour knowing that yesterday was a good day and that today shows all of the promise of being even better.

Yesterday was my sister Mary's birthday and it was also the day that my niece, Evie married Gareth in Clapham, North Yorkshire. I initially feared being not well enough to attend the wedding, but the sun came out and so we went. The service was nice and my younger sister, Susan, even put up a shaded tent area outside where I even managed to eat a bit of salmon. We came home tired around 7.00 pm and I was in bed by 9.00 pm.

When I got up briefly around 2.00 am today to write this post I felt refreshed. Last night I slept around three hours, which was better than the two hours on the previous night and the one hour the night before that and the average half an hour's sleep during every night of the two or three week's farther back. At the start of the month, the pain in my hands and feet was so bad that it made me constantly wince or instinctively cry out twenty-four hours daily. I am pleased to say that it seems to lessen gradually daily and is once more back at the 'tolerable level'.

All in all, my life improves daily and hopefully I seem to be emerging once more from the darkest of forests where no freedom roams or any part of nature sleeps undisturbed. I thank each and every one of you for your thoughts and prayers over the past six months of my chemotherapy program. I know that they have helped considerably. My eternal thanks go to my friends and family, with the greatest portion being reserved for my wife, Sheila, without whom my life would be less purposeful. While not yet out of the woods, and knowing that the cancer I have just been treated for is incurable and shall one day return, I look forward with infinite pleasure to the next few months or year of pleasure and the three-month period of summer that the weatherman has promised us.

For today, please forget about my needs and lend your prayers (as I'm sure that all of you have already done), to those poor people who died in the high-rise Grenfell Tower disaster in London and their distraught families. God bless each and every one of them. With regard to those who died, may their souls end up in heaven and to those who survived and the many bereaved families, may the gratitude of life make your future lives more meaningful and your hearts lighter day by day.

Life and death are the stuff that living is made up of and constant hope and gratitude for being here and being able to live another day is the greatest of all expectations and prizes of humanity.It's back to bed for me now for another three or four hours.I may be lucky enough to add another hour of sleep to my daily routine. William Forde: June 18th, 2017.

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June 15th, 2017.

15/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"I am often contacted by Facebook friends who inform me of their past abuse by family members and seek my advice that it urged me to amend a previous 'Thought for today' of mine many years ago. Please excuse its somewhat scary content. If there is anyone out there who is still living with this terrible experience, please seek help which begins by talking about it to a trustful source.

'Please someone, rescue me from my horrible life here. I want you to save me from my dad, to save me from what I have become; a little mummy in the night. Whenever I smile, it is only a brave face I put on. I don't want people to know that I am broken inside and have been made rotten. I'm fed up of dealing with this pain, of trying to understand why you don't love me like dads are supposed to love their little girls. Have I done something wrong to deserve this? I just want it out of this life now! I want it to stop! I fear the damage is already done and that I can never be normal again. Every night I dream that you have died and that I can sleep again without you coming into my room, into my bed, in me and inside my head. I wish that you were dead! I wish that I was dead!'

What a horrible train of thought to have to live with from one's childhood and through their adult life. However, no tale could scare me more than the true tale of 'J', whom I once knew and worked with. I had only been a Probation Officer in Huddersfield for five years when I started to work with 'J.' She was aged around thirty at the time and had a history of self mutilation and failed suicide attempts. She had been in a number of relationships with men, but they were always short term and either violent or emotionally destructive; with her often being the one to first act violently.

After approximately six months of weekly counselling sessions, it eventually partly emerged why 'J' was as she was. She essentially hated men and the cause of this hatred lay at the door of her father who had sexually abused her between the ages of six and sixteen' Just before her 16th birthday she ran away from home and was eventually placed in care for two years. From the age of nine years, the abuse by her father (which was reportedly two or three times weekly), involved full sexual intercourse, which her father explained was his way of 'loving her.' Her mother was often an in-patient of Storthes Hall Psychiatric Hospital and when she was at home she drank heavily; a situation which frequently led to her forgetting to take her proper medication. 'J' had no other siblings, which in many ways she considered a blessing in disguise. When she was twelve, her mother took an overdose and subsequently died. During the following two years 'J' said that her father made her 'a little mummy' in every way most nights of the week.

After six months of counselling with me, 'J' entered a six month group which I ran weekly for two hours at the Huddersfield Probation Office. This group was a highly successful group and by the end of a six-month period, its members had positively bonded and had started to open up to the group as a whole about their own personal problems. 'J' felt strong enough to tell the group about her father's abuse of her over so many years without fear of being rejected by them. Her story brought tears to the eyes of all present and was followed by a group hugging session.

The group was naturally supportive and empathetic. Some suggested she report it to the police and get him locked up even if the offences were up to twenty years old. One even suggested that she kill him or at least pay some hard guys to break his legs! All however (including me), were of one mind. We were all convinced that she should confront her father with what he had done and how his actions had harmed her! Until she confronted him with his abuse of her, it was agreed she would not be able to positively move on with her life.

Only at that moment did 'J' reveal that she couldn't confront her dad because he had died some years earlier. During our weekly counselling sessions prior to the group, she had never told me that her father had died and after having informed me of the abuse, she always refused to speak about her father whenever I mentioned him. She told the group that she didn't know where he was buried and didn't care! Under normal circumstances the story could be expected to end there, but it didn't.

During the following month, I discovered the burial site of 'J's' father and persuaded her to visit, accompanied by me and a few other group members 'J' had got close to. It had been agreed that one way or another, 'J' had carried too much anger inside her for so many years and until she expressed it, it would continue to eat her up and contaminate her life. While there, 'J' expressed her anger over her father's grave and told him everything she would have said had she been face-to-face with him. For nearly ten minutes she screamed, cursed and cried, and we cried with her as it started to rain. Although the offender was most certainly dead beneath that soil, his only daughter was definitely showing herself at long last to be more alive than I had ever seen her. Months later, after her Probation Order period was over, our contact ended and I never saw or heard of 'J' again. I think she must have left the Huddersfield area.

In the main, I consider myself to be a compassionate soul, but I must admit that the one type of offender who I could never comfortably work with or get to see 'outside their offence' in the twenty five years I served as a Probation Officer was the sexual abuser of sons, daughters and young children. I don't know where 'J' is today, but I hope that she has at last found some peace of mind. God bless her and all the other 'Js' in the world out there who fear the onset of bedtime approach." William Forde: June 15th, 2017.

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June 14th, 2017.

14/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Though I hardly slept again last night my dream was about dogs and owning a large number of them.

Being a pet owner many times in my life has brought me the love of dogs and a companionship that is unique to pet owners. It is, however, being an author for the past twenty-five years which has brought me a greater understanding of pets in general. It is often essential as a writer to get inside the heads of animals as well as humans in order to make one's story more credible to life and the reader.

'When you left me on my own that first time, I thought that you weren't coming back and I feared that you'd rejected me. I worried myself sick. and in my concern, I chewed up the carpet and messed up the settee.

Then, when you came back in the door and I heard your cheerful voice and saw your smiling face again, my heart lit up. Then, your face changed for the worse as you noticed all the mess and I felt rejection for the second time in one day.

It took three months before I learned not to wee in your shoes or to stop trying to sleep in your bed on a night. I like your smell in bed and I only wish that you liked mine enough to let me in, even on top of the sheets.

When I was six months old I had never been so happy. You and I held eyes for no other and the loving presence of each other was all we seemed to desire. Then, when I was at my happiest, you saddened me more than I'd ever been saddened and made me feel rejected again when you brought that strange man into our lives; first into our house and then, into your bed.

He wasn't expected to sleep on the bedroom floor and listen for your every sound throughout the night, or even above the sheets of your bed uncovered! No, you let him kiss and cuddle you and play tents beneath the sheets. Then, when he stayed and didn't look like ever moving back out, I thought that I'd better get to like him or else I'd soon lose your affection. After all, I loved you more than anyone else in the whole wide world and if you liked him, then it was easier to conclude that he must surely be 'likeable.'

Now, I am pleased to report that I am happy and content once more. My days are filled with food, fun and a little bit of sadness when you both go out to work on a morning and leave me to think about you in your absence. But, I don't feel rejected any more. Hurry home you two; I miss you both. I love you....and I'm getting rather hungry.'

Many years ago at the start of my writing career as a children's author, both children and their parents pestered me to write a future book whose main character was a dog. About the same time, I also wanted to write a book that would profit the homelessness in society by giving the proceeds of its sale profits to the charity 'Shelter'. So I decided to do a combined project. Instead of having my main character in the book a dog, with the exception of a pair of cruel humans and a couple of kind humans, I made all the book characters dogs! I decided to write about a pack of pedigree hounds who were strays; all of whom were homeless, but with the exception of the chief book character, this pack of stray pedigrees chose to be homeless and lead an unfettered and unconventional life. I researched every pedigree of dog there was over a three year period, read dozens of books about pedigrees and cooperated with a dog expert who had judged show dogs for over twenty years.

The book was called 'Tales of Bernard' and was highly popular with both child and adult readers, especially dog lovers! As with all of my books, the main aim is to get them read and to deal with particular themes that daily affect humankind; things we often find difficult to emotionally deal with and resolve. Wanting to keep the books of high quality, but as cheap as possible, I keep the profit margin on each book sold to £1 or less and allow all profit from their sales to go to charitable causes in perpetuity (£200,000 book sale profits given to charity between 1990 and 2005).

Should you or your child over 7 years love dogs, like my writing and also wish to help some charitable cause in the process, then why not consider buying a copy of 'Tales of Bernard' as a forthcoming present. The book can be purchased in e-book format from www.smashwords.com or if you prefer paper/hard back copy from www.lulu.com or www.amazon.com "William Forde: June 14th, 2017.

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June 13th, 2017

13/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"I have just arose from my bed after 15 hours in it. My body is still very painful and I have been sick this morning with the effects of the chemicals inside. Hopefully, this feeling of absence of wellness, lack of sleep and too much pain will gradually subside now that my chemo programme has come to the end of this stage.Thank you all for your daily thoughts and prayers. Over the past week, I have been having all sorts of weird dreams; even during the twenty minutes and half hour of sleep I have managed to snatch during intervals of the night. As with all dreams, they are scrambled together in a ball of nonsense that has no relevance to one's own life. I thought I'd give you it anyway."

'Never was a baby so loved as I loved little Billy. Never was a smile capable of making cold houses warm and hard hearts want to hug. From the moment that he entered the world and gave out his first cry of 'Horrah! I made it,' my heart skipped a beat and never regained its rhythm of regularity.

I'll never forget our son's first day at nursery school. When we went in he gripped my hand so tightly, and yet, within a matter of minutes he had abandoned me in exchange for a ball of Plasticine and a wobbly spinning top. Then, there was the annual 'Nativity Play' in which the teacher had to create a special role for him to play the character of the laughing jackass. I still recall the bunch of daffodils he bought me from his first wage packet when he started work. They have remained pressed to my heart ever since.

I sweetly recall other land marks in his life, like passing his driving test, bringing his first sweetheart, Rosemary, home for tea and then going on to marry her in the same church where you and I were wed. Then, when he gave me my first grandson and I saw him for the very first time, I didn't need to take photographs to capture the moment, because I had stored it in my memory since the day he was born. The facial features of you and your son and grandson were identical at birth and I found myself bringing you back into the world once more, back to life when little Billy entered this life so many years ago. I gave him your name and he inherited the same infectious smile that you had and which his son now possesses. He spreads this happy contagion wherever he goes.

Oh, how I wish that you could have seen him on that first day, Bill, as I left him in the nursery school. There was one mere moment of hesitation while he gripped my hand ever so tightly with his little fingers before a spotty-faced four-year-old girl pushed him to the ground laughing as she yelled, 'You can't catch me!' You should have seen little Billy's respond. He was off after her like a hound chasing a rabbit.'

'Oh, Bill, why did you have to go and die on us when we were at the pinnacle of our family happiness and I was expecting little Billy. We were in the magic moments of parental delight where money doesn't matter and everything for the future is possible. You still had so much to give the world when you were taken from it by a reckless lorry driver. I turned out to be an excellent mum for little Billy, who isn't 'little' anymore and stands six foot two inches tall. My friends keep telling me that thirty-five years is far too long to be trapped in grief and that I should get myself out more as I'm still young enough to find another. But that's it in a nutshell, Bill; I don't want any other and never will! You will be the only man I will ever love.

I'll be up to put some fresh daffodils on your grave again next week. I miss you. I always will. Your loving wife, Mary.'" William Forde: June 13th, 2017.

(An idea partly stolen from a dream last night that I may use for a future story to write after my cancer treatment regime has been completed and I have recovered somewhat).

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Mum's funeral day

9/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Today, we have the funeral service of Mum Elizabeth at the West Lane Baptist Chapel to celebrate her life and mark her passing, and later, at Oakworth Crematorium.

Goodbye, Mother Elizabeth. May you rest in peace. Thank you for having produced the kind of daughter I never dreamed would one day be my wife. I have composed a few lines of prose to tell you what meeting Sheila did to me on that first day. It is called 'The day we fell in love.' I hope that you like it, Mum.

'The day we fell in love' by William Forde.

'I was never struck with love so sudden and so deep.
It was a love that stole my heart complete
and left me indifferent to all else that lived as I thought of only you.
The first time we met, your beauty mesmerized me in unfolding dreams.
You loved me constantly with thine eyes and seeing the passion therein I pledged thee love with mine.
All this was Cupid sent, wrapped in purity divine.
This was the day we fell in love.'

Copyright: William Forde: June 9th, 2017.

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June 7th, 2017.

7/6/2017

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"As I go into hospital today for my seventh bout of chemotherapy, I know that I'll be 'sitting around' for five or six hours. I almost spend as much time sitting around hospital wards these days as I spend on the loo.

Convention is a thing that often emerges after hundreds of years of custom and practice. Take a seat momentarily, girls, whilst I make a male observation. Given that a man needs the lavatory seat 'up' to urinate and a woman requires it leaving 'down', doesn't a man have as much right as any woman to express his preference of toilet code etiquette that should prevail in the matrimonial abode. Why should he always be rebuffed by his wife for having, yet again, forgotten to 'leave down the lavatory seat?' Why should he always be the one that risks infection by forever lifting and lowering the lavatory seat when his wife is cooking cup cakes in the kitchen with her nice clean apron around her?

Also, who should be the one to replace the toilet roll when a new roll is required; the person who took the last sheet of tissue from the last roll or the person entering the loo to find the toilet roll empty?

I remember as a child that whenever our family left a holiday cottage we had been staying at, mum would tidy up the place and be sure to leave it cleaner than she found it! 'What about the poor cleaner who risked being made redundant if every rented occupier of the property followed suit?' I used to ask her.

I recall an old workmate of mine in a Brighouse mill called Albert. He told me that once you have heard the unguarded flatulence of your wife and seen her on the loo without blinking an eyelid, that's when you know that you are well and truly wed! " William Forde: June 7th, 2017

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June 6th, 2017

6/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Recently, with the three terrorist strikes in both London and Manchester, our Nation has once more come under attack, yet we British will not be cowed or have our cherished values diminished.

Seventy-three years go today was 'D-Day', when on June 6th, 1944, the Allied Forces landed on the beaches of Normandy during the Second World War. I was a child of 18 month's old at the time. As with all battles between countries, it is the foot soldiers on the front line who truly deserve any medals going and not the Generals in the comparative safety of their sheltered bunkers.

God bless those brave men and may those still alive who were there know that your valour shall never be forgotten and that you are an inspiration to our soldiers on combat duty today. To all of you women who lost your soldier husband in the war, my thoughts are with you. To those women who planned to marry their secret sweetheart after he had returned from the battle front, but had their hopes quashed when he was killed in action, I offer you my poem, 'Arthur and Guinevere'. Thank you all for your sacrifices. http://www.fordefables.co.uk/arthur--guinevere.html " William Forde: June 6th, 2017.

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June 5th, 2017

5/6/2017

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Thought for today:
"Last night I experienced broken sleep in short half-hour bursts, during which I had the most vivid of dreams. I dreamed about hoards of cats fighting in a society; some for supremacy and others for survival and acceptance. It was essentially a dream about striving for equal rights.

I am often asked as an author, which works I most relished writing, which story was my most popular, which was my personal favourite and which am I likely to be remembered for after my passing. My answer to the first question is 'whichever one I am currently writing'. The answer to the second question is the two books endorsed by the late Princess Diana and which she used to read to her 7-9 year old sons, Princes William and Harry at bedtime, 'Douglas the Dragon' and 'Sleezy the Fox.' These books sold in their tens of thousands. The book I most enjoyed writing was the one about redundant miners which was dedicated to my late father and which represents my favourite Christmas-Day story of all time, 'Tales from the Allotments.'

The book or rather trilogy of books I shall no doubt be remembered for when I am no longer alive and which deals with discrimination across the world is undoubtedly, 'The Kilkenny Cat Trilogy.' It was these works and two other story books that brought me to the attention of the late Nelson Mandela who was to later phone me personally to describe three of my books which he'd read as being 'wonderful stories.'

The personal endorsement of Princess Diana and Nelson Mandela, along with 860 famous celebrities of national and international fame who read my books in Yorkshire schools between 1990 and 2002 ensured that I continued to receive as much ongoing press and media publicity that any author has a right to expect in one lifetime. I was introduced to collaborative work with the Jamaican Minister of Education and Culture in 2000 and worked in a unique trans-Atlantic pen-pal project to help produce greater understanding of different cultures and to reduce racism and discrimination between black and white pupils within thirty-two Jamaican schools in Falmouth and thirty-two schools in Yorkshire during 2000-2005.

The books which spearheaded this vital work was my 'Kilkenny Cat Trilogy' and because the stories represented my core beliefs upon discrimination and its evil, particularly those embracing racist views, I considered these three interlocking books to be a duty to write, along with being a privilege, as I know that they touched the minds and hearts of tens of thousands of black and white people in Jamaica, Ireland and England and hopefully encouraged some to think twice about their expressed words and intended actions at future times.

Another burning reason for me writing and publishing these three novels involved my historic need of recording changing times in our history. There was a period during the 1990's when a clash of cultures between the people of Northern England, especially between black and white residents, threatened our very stability and tolerance that as a nation, Great Britain has always displayed. I saw this disturbing development at the time as 'a sign of things to come.'

These three books are available from www.lulu.com and www.amazon.co.uk in hard copy and from www.smashwords.com in e-book format. All profits from their sales will be given to charity, tp accompany the £200,000 book profits given to charity from my book sales since 1989. From all my sixty-six published books, this trilogy represents seven years of writing and research by me to bring into production.

When first published seventeen years ago, over two thousand copies were given to schools in the old slave capital of Falmouth, Jamaica, and was placed on their school curriculum. For the following two years I liaised with the Mayor of Falmouth and all thirty-two of their schools, along with the Jamaican Minister for Youth Culture and Education in a trans-Atlantic pen-pal project between thirty-two Jamaican and thirty-two Yorkshire schools. This project and trilogy were reported on 'News 24' after it had come to the attention of the late Nelson Mandela, who phoned me personally to praise my writing in this field.

The stories are a must for all cat lovers and people who believe in the equality of all peoples and creatures in this world and the discrimination against none. This saga is suitable reading for anyone above between teenager and adult. The three stories are allegorical and deal with all manner of discrimination that can be found throughout the world today. The background to each story is Ireland, Jamacia and Northern England during the riots towards the end of the 20th Century respectively; and while all three books are linked in the family of cats over the generations, they can be read independently if preferred.

The story is told through the eyes of a travelling group of gypsy cats who encounter discrimination wherever they go; particularly in Ireland, Jamaica and Northern England during the riots towards the turn of the New Millennium. The lives and experiences of the cats mirror those of people in society today who happen to find themselves on the bottom rung of the ladder or who are in a minority that are discriminated against when they migrate from place to place.

This trilogy is thought-provoking. Being representative of the harsher side of life, it is often hard to stomach, as is life for many of today's citizens. I am proud to have penned it and I hope that any who read it, enjoy. William Forde. June 5th, 2017.

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June 3rd, 2017

3/6/2017

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Thought for today:
'Just Love Me' by William Forde.

'Do not think bad of me for any lack of grace
and please don't love me for my pleasing face.
Nor endear yourself to me for any outward part
that's not connected to my beating heart.
Just love me!'

Copyright: William Forde: 3rd June, 2017.

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June 1st, 2017.

1/6/2017

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Thought for today:
Last night, I had a better sleep and dreamed of my mother-in-law, Elizabeth who recently died. It was as though she came to me in my dreams and made me well once more.

No good person who ever lived finds it hard to make decisions when they know what their values are. Mother Elizabeth, whose funeral service will be held one week tomorrow was as decisive as they came. After her death, I felt it should be her only son, Winston's place to formulate her Chapel Eulogy, so I make mine here, to inform anyone who never had the pleasure of meeting Mum, to know a little more of her.

She was a forgiving woman, who even in her older years when her pain was more pronounced, could row within whatever choppy and difficult type of water daily life presented.

Born in Macau, a Portuguese colony off Hong Kong, alongside a river of respect, Mother Elizabeth bathed in its attributes whenever she dealt with others in her life thereafter. I never saw her angry; a characteristic that was capable of arousing the envy of the God Mars. It was as though she knew that which is spoken from the heart alone, will win the hearts of others to your own. Mother Elizabeth, like her only daughter, my dear wife, Sheila, had the capacity to steal another's heart and love with nothing more than a genuine smile irradiated in the wind of good will!

Whenever I lifted Mum in and out of the car to take her up to Cemetery Road in Haworth, she would thank each small action of mine in profusion; reminding me of the words of Jacques Maritain, 'Gratitude is the most exquisite form of courtesy.' Martain , who was a French philosopher and political thinker spent much of his life interpreting the religious thoughts of St. Thomas Aquinas. Mother Elizabeth and he would have got on like a house on fire as she never had her nose out of a bible or book of hymns.

All changes have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves. It is a sad fact that we must die to one life before we can enter another, and this is never truer than when a person develops Alzheimer's; a condition Mother Elizabeth contracted almost ten years ago before I knew her or my wife, Sheila.

Children are a grandmother's riches and Mother Elizabeth's grandchildren provided her with a wealth she treasured. Her grandchildren loved her and visited her often. Those in England were at her deathbed singing songs and praying during her final hour. They will also be displaying their musical talents at her funeral service.

When I first met her, Mother Elizabeth had very little eyesight. She got macular degeneration in the early 90's and also developed glaucoma. She lost the sharpness of her sight to the mere outline of shadow a few years ago, yet she maintained a clear vision of the world she loved and knew; a world she was content to live in. She instinctively knew that were it not for hope, the heart would break and she maintained hope in her family and contentment in her life until the day she died.

Mother Elizabeth entered Oakworth Manor Residential Home in August 2009 where Sheila visited her daily and took her out in her wheelchair whenever the weather allowed it. By the time Sheila and I met, sadly Mother Elizabeth had developed Alzheimer's and because of her condition, I suppose no recognition could be made, despite the regular introduction by Sheila. We nevertheless enjoyed many a walk along Cemetery Road and enjoyed the view of Haworth Moorland and 'Sladen Reservoir', which Mother Elizabeth called her 'Lake of Galilee'.

Though but one person, her recent loss leaves a large hole in our life and makes the world seem more depopulated than it actually is. Whatever I fail to remember about Mother Elizabeth, I will never forget her infectious smile and her inherent goodness. We love you, Mum. Bill and Sheila.xxx" June 1st, 2017.

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