FordeFables
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    • 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
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September 30th, 2017.

30/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"It is a miracle that curiosity ever survived formal education when one comes to think about it. A good question to consider is perhaps: 'Is there such a thing as a good question?' I believe that formal education effectively boxes us into thinking in a more uniform way, whereas asking the right questions is learning to think outside the box. Some might say that anyone who has a 'why' (reason/purpose) to live for can bear any 'how' (consequence).

Even the most mundane of particulars are capable of occupying the mind of a young child who is newly exploring the vast richness of the earth they were born into. Even the depth of their innocent questions is capable of stumping most adults, embarrassing them greatly or putting them on the spot.

When my son, William was only three years old and he saw a heavily pregnant woman, he asked, 'How will the baby in her tummy get out, Dad?' Naturally, I gave him the traditional Yorkshire Pudding answer when I replied, 'The same way it got in there, son!'

Young children who haven't yet lived long enough to have been infected by sick thought and who are not yet conditioned by worldly matters possess a clarity of thought and word which makes every action of theirs a conciseness of expression that no adult will ever know. Everything they do remains pure in intent as their thought, word and action remain glued in a single purpose. I suspect their directness is much more to do with their innate honesty than any particular mastery of the mother tongue.

There lies within the simplicity and innocence of a child's thought the ideal ingredients for asking questions that adults cannot answer. As a children's author who regularly visited First schools during the 1990's, I was asked all manner of questions by curious children. A few of them that come to mind include:
(1) Why do round pizzas come in square boxes?
(2) Why did she sell seashells on the seashore when you can pick them up anyway?
(3) Why are red buttons the most important?
(4) Can a person cry under water?
(5) What shape is the sky?
(6) Why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle?
(7) How can you tell if a person with one eye is blinking or winking?

As they age from three to seven, most children come to learn not to trust adults completely because they say one thing yet often mean or do another. That is why many children naturally learn to do the opposite of what is asked of them occasionally; not because they are willfully trying to be difficult, but because they do not fully trust the adult's intention. Most children inherently have difficulty resisting the doing of something, indeed anything which they have specifically been told 'not to do'. Hence the one thing you should never say to a child is, 'Under no circumstances, Billy, must you ever do that'; unless of course you actually want the child to do it.

When a child asks their parent too many 'Why' questions which the adult cannot provide a satisfactory explanation that the child would understand, often the weary adult will resort to the standard fallback reply, 'Because I say so' or 'Because I say so and you've got to do what I say.'

Our William's favourite response whenever I used the term, 'Because you've got to' was one of sheer child simplicity. 'Got to not to, Dad. Got to not to!' he would invariably reply.

My daughter Becky was just as defiant and smart in her response whenever I used to threaten to leave her behind if she didn't get a move on. She would simply swing her feet in the air nonchalantly and say, 'You go if you want to. See if I care!' " William Forde : September 30th, 20017.
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September 29th, 2017.

29/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"While I have written many stories and have had numerous books published over the past twenty-five years, occasionally I come across a few opening paragraphs of a story I planned to write at a future date, but never finished. I included one such example three days ago and got many requests to repeat the process. Please allow me to share a few snippets of a story that I once intended to write, but never got around to doing so.

'I will never forget the day I fell asleep in the cornfield after a traumatic break-up with my first love. I was feeling sorry for myself and all I could see ahead of me was the unlikeliness of ever meeting someone again who I would love. My dreams for the future had been shattered and my feelings remaining were raw with a grievous sense of loss. The woman who I loved had betrayed me. We had planned to marry, the wedding and the reception had been booked along with the vicar. Four days before the wedding, I found her in bed with another man! There was no show of embarrassment from her, she offered no excuses and didn't even appear stunned to have been caught in the act!

I couldn't stop caring despite her unfaithfulness. However hard I tried, I couldn't erase the three happy years we'd spent in courtship and the things we'd done together. For my part, I couldn't pretend they'd not been real.

I cried myself to sleep, not knowing that a few yards away to my left, another person was crying and sleeping away their loss for similar reasons to those of mine. I must have been asleep for forty minutes and when I awoke, I heard a rustle in the corn nearby and then saw a dark-haired woman in her twenties stand up. It was as though fate had decreed that we both stood up at the same moment. At first, the shock of seeing another person so close stunned us both into silence, After realising that we had both been resting in the cornfield, we instantly laughed. Little did we know then that similar circumstances had brought each of us there on that fateful afternoon.

After any initial embarrassment we felt had passed, we went for a coffee.Within a matter of half an hour in each other's company, it felt so natural to be talking to each other as freely as we were. I'd never met a woman like Bess before. Being total strangers, we discovered this innate capacity to talk and tell each other things about ourselves; things so personal that we wouldn't dream of telling anyone other than a best friend. Within half an hour of sharing a coffee break, we shared our worries and woes with the new stranger across the table from us.

There were so many similar experiences we'd had, and far too many coincidences in our lives to make us strangers in any sense of the word. We were both Scorpios, we each had six siblings and had both attended university, reading Sociology. For occupation, we each had chosen work in the caring profession; she a nurse and myself a probation officer. Ironically, we discovered that we'd always lived very close to each other and had no doubt passed each other on the street from time to time or even brushed together as we travelled on a crowded bus. Further conversation between us revealed how close we were in values, interests and characteristics; much more than any two strangers were ever meant to be and still remain strangers.

That day we met was to change our lives for the better and forever. Two years down the line we married. It was the happiest day of our lives and we remained blissful and content in each other's company in all we did together thereafter. For over forty years we talked across the table as we had first done upon meeting, telling each other everything that mattered to us and which we'd experienced that day. For any stranger observing us from a distance, they would see two friends, brother and sister, sweethearts or man and wife as we interacted lovingly and affectionately with each other. Although we each wanted to parent children, it was not to be, due to medical circumstances. The love we would have given a child was simply given to each other and there wasn't one night we slept apart or one day we weren't happy throughout our marriage.

One dark Tuesday in the month of January, at the height of our happiness, I learned that I'd contracted a terminal illness. To tell my Bess the bad news was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do in my life. Over the years, we'd come to depend on each other as only true loves and soul mates do. Upon hearing of my illness, Bess momentarily broke down. She cried on my shoulder and although I comforted her, inwardly I felt angry to have been the bearer of such unhappiness. I felt robbed of years of future life together we'd believed to be remaining.There were also all those precious plans that had been spoken of; places yet to go, sights that remained unseen and things for us yet to do before we retired gracefully into old age and resigned ourselves to the comfort of our rocking chairs.

We managed with some difficulty to positively apply ourselves to the months ahead prior to one of us sadly having to leave this life. The night before I died, we cuddled in front of the open fire in the sitting room with a blanket draped around my shoulders and we just talked and talked into the early morning hours, of happier days when we were much lighter of foot and heavy with earthly desires. Though we both knew that death was an imminent visitor to all in our lives, neither of us feared it any longer and only resented it because it would temporarily part us.

On the day I was destined to depart this life on earth, Bess and I made our way back to the cornfield where we had met forty-two years earlier. My body had grown very tired that morning and I found the brief journey arduous. With it being the month of May and the warm sun promising a glorious day, the cornfield where we first met was the most natural place to be. When we got to the cornfield, we found the approximate spot where I'd first seen Bess and we lay down side-by-side and cuddled.

My body was warm and as we looked into each other's eyes, we both knew that my time was near. I could feel it harder to draw breath each time I exhaled. Then, as my final breath softly left my body and touched the tearful cheeks of Bess in a final kiss, I sensed a sad stillness of loss reign in her heart and soul, as her bright eyes watered up and started to sink in pain.

Mere minutes after my passing, although all of her emotional strength had been drained from her body, Bess knew that she'd need to organize certain things during the immediate hours and days ahead. So she thoughtfully put all her remaining crying to one side until these things had been done. Funeral arrangements swiftly followed my earthly departure and two days before my planned burial, Bess was found dead in the middle of the cornfield where we had seen each other for both the first and final time.The only suspicious aspect of Bess' death was the words that the doctor wrote on her death certificate; 'Cause of death: a broken heart.'

One week later, Bess and I were buried together in two grave plots adjacent to each other; not one above the other as is usually customary for man and wife. Bess had left specific instructions to be buried on my left-hand-side and that we both be laid on our side in our respective coffins, facing each other. At the tombstone head of the grave sites, a joint headstone was constructed that simply read, 'I remain at your side, lost in the spin of loving you.'

In the years that followed, a great storm rocked the land and pelted the earth forcefully as the heavens poured down rain for three days and three nights, producing an underground landslip in the cemetery where Bess and I were buried. The landslip resulted in our two coffins colliding with force and bringing the contents of each closer together. Fate had brought us together once more, offering us an eternal embrace. We had first met side-by-side in the cornfield and had moved closer in our affections every day since.It was only fitting that we would enter heaven side-by-side.

Beneath the ground, we now embraced as we had always done at the start and end of every day; once more reunited in spirit and soul, trapped within a heaven of contentment for the rest of eternity.'" William Forde: September 29th, 2017.

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September 28th, 2017.

28/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"If you want your day to go as well as it can, it helps if you can get a running start. As soon as you open your eyes on a morning in bed, smile, get yourself up, look out of the window and whatever the weather, declare, 'Today is a good day!' Convince yourself that today is a day for enjoying all those things in life that we so often take for granted when our passage is smooth and our life unhindered.

Things like being able to eat modestly and to taste the food we digest, being able to sleep undisturbed, being able to walk without pain in the legs imploring one to stop and rest; even being able to rise from a chair unassisted and being able to touch one's toes! Why, seventy years ago, at the age of 4 years, I could even tie my own shoelaces, but not today as my legs are permanently stiff and my knees no longer bend!

We so easily forget amid the business of our daily lives just how far out of reach some everyday tasks can be; simple tasks that the able-bodied often tend to take for granted.

Add to these physical handicaps an absence of social ones that bestow provision, meaning and dignity to one's life and we soon see the disparity that exists between the quality and experience of one person's life and that of another. Mix with a dollop of depression and a holed bucket that once held hope, add six spoons of loneliness and a bowl of social isolation and it becomes understandable to feel 'hard done to.'

The acquirement of proper housing, gainful occupation, adequate material provision and good health is beyond the realm of so many people in society today, that to have all of these aspects in one's life is a blessing not to be ignored by those who are fortunate to enjoy them. I thank God that all my handicaps are physical ones and feel deep sadness for so many others who are truly afflicted.

A good start to every day is to look in the bathroom mirror and to say, 'Today is a good day to be alive'. A perfect introduction to every person you meet on your daily travels is, 'Good morning' and the best gift you can give them to a good start for the day is a warm smile and a handshake that greets and sends them on their way happier than when they met you. The very best reply you can give to any person who approaches you for assistance is, 'Hello there; how can I help you?' which is so much more inviting than, "What do you want?"

The enjoyment of life is made so much easier once these simple things and social courtesies become observed and are adopted as essential ingredients of daily living and your response pattern." William Forde: September 28th, 2017.

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September 28th, 2017

28/9/2017

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September 27th, 2017.

27/9/2017

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​Thought for today:
There are many people who still yearn for a return to the distant past, but when I look at times gone by, I am much happier not to have lived before 1942. I was born in 1942 and I remember all the years between childhood and reaching thirty years of age with fondness. Although the oldest in a family of seven children, I can never recall a day when I was unhappy, bored or depressed.

I have frequently read and often wondered about conventions and customs that prevailed a hundred years before I was born, from the Victorian Age to the start of the 'Second World War.' Many of the old ways now seem so alien in today's 'progressive' world!

That was a time when to have a child outside wedlock would cast a mark of shame upon a maiden's brow that could never be erased; when to steal a loaf of bread for want of starvation could see some poor soul transported across the world, and when debtors who were unable to redeem their loan would find themselves in prison.

My interest in British history informed me of times when there were no drains or proper sewage disposal and when London streets were strewn with straw and the living quarters of the poorest were often ten people to a room. These were the days when men never allowed their women to forget the distinction and purpose between man and woman, husband and wife. These were times when women were no more than chattels and men routinely forbade them to do 'this' or 'that' as they were constantly reminded by court and custom that they were after all 'only women', the property of their husband who they'd been placed on earth to serve. Is it any wonder that the average lifespan of the working man was in his forties, pregnant women frequently died in childbirth and that when both mother and child survived, the child would frequently die before they reached five or six years of age!

These were the days when unhappily married women remained trapped in unhappy marriages. To leave their marriage partner meant penury, the loss of all contact with one's children and a life of destitution as a social outcast.Indeed, the farther back in time one goes, it was highly fashionable for all men to have a lover. This was a time when divorce was unheard of and male hypocrisy ruled supreme; a time when wives were there to breed child after child until either their body gave up the ghost or their husbands gave up the drink or his unreasonable demands on them.

Of all past customs, one I sadly regret the passing of is the practice of 'keeping one's word'. I grew up at a time when to break it meant the instant loss of Office for any politician and the withdrawal of all community respect from the man or woman in the street. Not only was a person's word their bond, but to break it was nothing short of a personal disgrace. To give one's word didn't require a legally binding contract; simply a handshake, or if one was a common man, the crossing of spat-palms. I always remember my parents telling me, ' Billy, I would prefer you to break the law, break a leg or even break your neck before breaking your word. A poor person has nothing in this world that is worth keeping except their good name and if they keep faith with their word, they will never lose that!" William Forde: September 27th, 2017.
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September 26th, 2017.

26/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Every now and then while rummaging through one drawer or another, I will come across a sheet of paper with an idea of how to open a new story I've not yet written. It may be a few opening paragraphs or even a few words on a scrap of paper. As a general rule, I am a very tidy person with a place for everything in my life, but where ideas are concerned, I find them everywhere I am, I take note and put them down again somewhere. If the story is meant to be written one day, it will be found. My very first two 'strictly for adult books', Rebecca's Revenge' and 'Come back Peter' are two such examples of stories I wrote 27 years ago before putting them at the back of a drawer for a future re-write. It was only two years ago that I decided to finish them off properly and get them published. They are each good stories and have been well received. They can be purchased in neither e-book format or paper/hardback copy from www.amazon.com or www.lulu.com with all profits going to charitable causes.

'Rebecca's Revenge' is a story of a good woman turned bad and 'Come back Peter' is a story about a bad girl turned good. Both books are gritty, sexually explicit books with the North of England as a background.

Here is one such a moment of scribbling I found a few days ago:

'Goodbye, my love until we meet again. One day, we'll be together as a family once more and meanwhile, I'll stay true and never shame your memory. You are my one true love, the one that I adore. They could never be another like you; never could another have touched me, kissed me, moved me as you did during our years together.

When our son grows into manhood, I hope that there will be no war for him to fight in; no far away place for British tanks and guns to defend. I'll tell him of your bravery, of how you gave up your life in Afghanistan so that life there could be better for its people; a people who never wanted us there in the first place.Though the landmine blew you to pieces beyond recognition and left only fragments to bury, I loved every part of you it scattered on foreign ground.

I'll tell our son of your many worthy traits, but most of all I'll tell him about that side of you that even your own brothers and sisters never discovered while you lived. I'll tell him about those most private of things that only a wife and lover could ever know. I'll tell him how we used to laugh in bed on a night when other bedmates were probably preoccupied with lesser things. I'll tell him how you used to let me win occasionally at the games we played whenever you noticed that look of steely determination on my face. I'll tell him how big a hole that your absence made in my life. When you died you left a crater of human loss no other man could ever fill, but I'll also tell him that you were the only man I ever loved. I'll tell him that brave though you were, you were never foolish enough to believe that men don't cry when their emotions bled and they hurt.

Farewell, my love. I will never forget you or let your child grow up without a father image of which to be proud. You were a man whose goodness towered above the tallest of men, the best man I ever knew; my man and father to a man to come!" William Forde: September 26th, 2017.
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September 25th, 2017.

25/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Be as the heart, eloquent in its warmth, and make your waters of life the well you draw from when satisfying the thirst of others. Wherever you walk, always carry a bucket of hope with you to dip into. The sanctity of the soul knows the joy to be brought through the act of giving, so remain generous in all you think and positive in everything you do. Never undervalue the merit of a comforting embrace, the support of a held hand, the security of a kind word or the instant pleasure of a gentle smile. Cherish the innocence and magic of a happy child because it radiates eternity and reminds the adult that this is what future life is all about. Build upon and extend persuasive argument instead of tearing down reason and meaningful foundations of thought. Make the character of your house strong enough to resist and withstand all gales and stormy weather by implanting in all four cornerstones of your dwelling, 'the power of love,' and make every man, woman and child who holds out their hand, your friend

Do all this and you will never want for friendship and companionship, and whatever life throws at you, you will never feel, be, stand or walk alone, for the family of 'togetherness' will forever be by your side.
" William Forde: September 24th, 2017.

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September 24th, 2017

24/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Lost within the heart of our present lives an eternity of all mankind's learning. There lies within every man and woman more love, wisdom and capability than we can ever know. We hold within us more knowledge than we will ever understand; enough perfect love to enrich the whole of mankind and sufficient food to feed the world. All we have to do to open our inner treasure chest is to unlock our daily experience of all that is good and wholesome about each other. The pleasure and worth of all experience are doubled when another shares the same values.

People are natural sharers; ask for their help and most people will fall over themselves to tell you what they know and to share their skills. It could be argued that Francis of Assisi indicated that we all have a vested interest in helping others at every opportunity when he said, 'For it is in giving we receive.' Or as my dearly departed mother espoused through example during her lifetime, 'When we give cheerfully and receive gratefully, everyone is blessed.'
It behoves us therefore never to ignore the presence and needs of our neighbour as we need them every bit as much as they need us to maintain our peace of mind. If the time ever comes when we know no peace and our generosity stops at our front door, it will be because we have forgotten that we belong to one another!" William Forde: September 24th, 2017
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September 23rd, 2017.

23/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"We hear a great deal about 'sex appeal' today as if it is something one can acquire. Young girls are grown into womanhood in a man-made garden, falsely believing that the more she can look sexy, the greater the likelihood that men will find her more attractive and desirable. Consequently, too much concern is given to outward appearance in which weight, hair style, dress and female comportment plays a part.

By seeking to shape themselves in ways that please men's eyes, too many women foolishly engage in a Faustian pact in which they are prepared to sell their soul to the Devil in exchange, not for physical perfection, but superficial beauty and shallow emotion. By acting thus they may improve their prospects in the dating field and marriage stakes, but they remain destined never to discover their own individuality. Instead of discarding their bras in protest, they choose instead to abandon their brains and allow their future self to be defined and validated by the prevailing whim of a man's changing desire. I'd love to tell them that sleeping around is a great way of meeting people, and knowing none.

I am not against either man or woman doing things to please the other providing the act is done out of love and not coercion. As a man, I freely acknowledge that nobody loves to see a beautiful woman more than myself and I admit that a large part of the initial attraction may be born of physical desire. Where I know I differ these days to those earlier years, however, is that I could never see myself adoring the body of a woman or being married to one today, without first having lived in comfortable cohabitation with her mind and ever closer union with her soul. In many ways, I recognise that my present love for a woman has made me a more selfish man than before. I am content with all I have today and am too happy to entertain the thought of ever sharing my love of Sheila with another woman, having found the crock of gold at the end of my rainbow in my 70th year of life.

Sex appeal is something that means many different things to many men. What turns one man on can turn off another. To me, just as beauty is inwardly housed by the owner and naturally comes out in all their other character traits, sex appeal also resides in the inner sanctum of unknowing womanhood. Once I became aware of the distinction between a sexy woman and a seductive woman, I started looking for innocence instead of physical temptation to satisfy my senses. I learned that a sexy woman is someone who knows the thoughts inside a man's head. She knows because she put them there, whereas a seductive woman with sex appeal isn't even aware that she is being admired. A seductive woman with sex appeal doesn't require the prop of the bedroom to prove her womanliness. She can be just as fetching standing in the rain or getting a book from the shelf.

Women who have sex appeal have it unknowingly. The type of woman who seduces me is a woman who doesn't know she is seductive. She is imbued with an innocence of thought and feeling which is blended with her purity of intent. The very essence of her nature which makes her seductive is my belief that our life together begins at the end of her comfort zone and the start of my restraint.

In some ways, I met my Sheila at a time in life when sexual contact was still pleasurable, but companionship with another's soul offered greater satisfaction and eternal reward. My terminal cancer and two extensive courses of aggressive chemotherapy had the side effect of leaving me with the desire to make love without the means of physically satisfying it. Because my condition totally suppresses my immune system, I have found it necessary to join the ranks of royalty and the upper classes who no longer sleep in the same bed as their spouse and instead pay them a visit from time to time. In fact, to be wholly truthful, it has now been so long that I've forgotten who ties up whom!" William Forde: September 23rd, 2017
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September 22nd, 2017. (To Do)

22/9/2017

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"Thought for today:
"I remember my years as a young boy in the 1950's growing up on Windybank Estate. This was a time of constant wonder and permanent exploration; days of 'waste not, want not' and where every boisterous child's automatic response waiting at the end of their tongue to jump off was, 'It wasn't me who broke your window, mister, honest it wasn't!


These were days when hearts were strong, money was scarce but imagination fueled boundless energy in the games that boys and girls played. Between the end of the school day and settling down in bed for the night, children would be active in exploration, mischief and play. Armed with very little money, we used whatever imagination and skill we possessed, along with everyday items that could be found lying about the home to modify and facilitate our fun.


Spinning tops, chalk and flagstones, skipping ropes from washing lines, marbles, conkers, playing cricket against the lamp post, football in the street and kick can and hook it; all these activities were but a few games I recall. Cowboys and Indians were enacted, aided by mother's brush handle that stood in as a sturdy steed as the boy ran astride it with a handkerchief covering their mouth as they played the part of a cowboy 'baddie'. Indeed, all it took to transform any snotty-nosed estate kid into Sitting Bull, Chief of the great Sioux nation was one chicken feather fastened around their head. A dustbin lid was often made to double as Ivanhoe's shield and mother's long-handled baking spoon or dad's bicycle pump as the knight's trusty sword.


As we approached our teenage years, the more curious among us might persuade a few of the girls to play 'Post Man's Knock' where the reward was a kiss. It was only after one had played the more grown-up game of 'I will if you will' that one realised that childhood games had ended and work in the mill loomed large on the horizon.


I know it seems incredible today, but I have known three or four girls/young women who were at the point of giving birth before they realised they were pregnant! There was no knowledge about the development of one's body provided by school teachers apart from 'cleanliness is next to Godliness' and the only way boys and girls found out the consequences of this action or that was to suck it and see, besides reading the occasional naughty scribblings on public toilet walls within the privacy of their cubicle.


Full adulthood meant early marriage and late evenings home from working overtime in the foundry. By marriage, most newlyweds knew how to have children, but few knew how not to without pulling up before your horse reached the finishing post. I think that I must have been in my thirties before I heard that such places as 'Old Folk's Homes' existed. I'd been brought up believing that when one's parents grew old and infirm, they came to live and die at your house instead of being put out to grass in some other strange place.


I also recall that when a man and woman got married and they had no money with which to put down as a deposit on their own place, they'd live in the allotment shed before they'd think of starting off married life under the same roof as mum and dad. As for divorce, that was something that rich and spoilt married couples did and was never contemplated by the ordinary man and woman. I remember in the 50's and 60's, if a young married couple fell out and one of them went back home for sympathy and to stay a while at their parent's house, their father and mother would tell them to get back to their partner where they belong. As they were pushed out the door with the parental reminder of, 'You made your bed, so lie in it!' they knew that any marital problems would never be sorted out if not faced and instead, run away from.


I'm not saying that we had it right in my day and the young ones today have it wrong as I'm sure that each time had their day. I am saying though that the times then and now are so different and so are the people who populate this upside down society!" William Forde: September 22nd, 2017.
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September 21st, 2017

21/9/2017

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 Thought for today:                
"No matter who you are or where you're from, your dreams are valid. 
We all dream, but not with similar purpose or dramatic effect. Those of us who dream during the night draw from the darker recesses of their mind and wake in the day to find their dream gone; but the dreamers of the day are more purposeful beings, for they may act upon their dreams with open eyes and make their dreams possible. So, you either are a person who lives in a dream world or one that faces cold reality; and there again, you may even be someone who can turn one into the other!

If you are a dreamer, then dream not small dreams, for small dreams do not possess the power to move mountains or the hearts of others. To have a dream is to have a lifelong passport to the boundaries of one's imagination. To be given a dream is to be given the possibilities of making something in the future happen that would not have. One's dreams sustain one during troubled times. They become vessels of hope during the stormy passage of life's troubled waters and beacons of light on tempestuous seas. Hold your dreams close, for if you lose your grasp of them, you may herald in a life of harsh reality that is more difficult to cope with and temper without the presence of enduring hope and belief.

As a person who dreamed of reaching 100, yet discovered at the age of seventy that he had a terminal illness, I initially found it difficult to be positive about the inevitable. I eventually overcame the nightmare because of my dreams.
" William Forde: September 21st, 2017.

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September 20th, 2017

20/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Honest toil begets the sweat of humanity as brave souls dig beneath the earth's crust so that others may stay warm in their homes. After emigrating to West Yorkshire seventy years ago, my father worked as a miner on the coal face in a pit at Birstall for many years. He used to tell me stories as a child about laying on his stomach in a shaft three feet high for seven hours daily while hacking away at a coal seam. He said that the ground where he lay was always cold and damp. His hard work would exhaust him by the time he got home, and after getting bathed in a tin tub he'd go to bed to stock up on energy for an early start next day.

I once remember my mother making up his bread and jam sandwiches one night and putting them in his 'snap-box' for the following day. One of the sandwiches fell to the kitchen floor. My mother picked it up and placed it in his snap-box saying, 'When he opens his sandwiches underground in the dark, he'll never see it, Billy, and by the time he swallows it, it will already be filled with coal dust.'

Of all my father's jobs, being a miner was the one that filled most of my early childhood. I also remember my father's remarks in later years after much improvements had occurred in the working practices of pit men working at the coal face. He'd tell me that the present day miners had life easier than he did, and would refer to the introduction of greater safety features and additions such as underground lighting, mobile trucks on rails that carry the miners to the work face instead of them having to walk a few miles at the start of every shift from pit head towards the centre of the earth. He would remark upon their current practice of being able to work 'stood up' all day long instead of laying in puddles of wet earth as they hacked away with a pickax for the black gold. Whenever my father saw such improvements on the television, he'd tut-tut as he said something uncharitable under his breath about the way modern-day miners were mollycoddled.

I never lost my admiration for the sheer bravery and courage of those miners who worked alongside my father in the 1940's. I also remember dad saying that during winter months when it was dark going to work, dark at work and dark walking back home from work, miners never saw daylight for months on end, with the exception of weekends. That was one of the reasons we went out walking as a family every Sunday and that was why my father remained a fresh air fiend for the rest of his life. Even during the bitter cold of winter, he would always insist upon having the small window vent open full to let in the fresh air, whereas my mother always accused him of letting in the cold.

My recall of dad as a miner vividly remained with me throughout my early upbringing. I was a Probation Officer and dad was retired and terminally ill when Maggie Thatcher started to close down the mines in the North of England. When John Major became Prime Minister he completed the task. Within a few years, a proud industry was mothballed and shut down forever. A way of life was lost to the mining villages of the north and most redundant miners passed the age of 45 years never again secured another job.

While it was no good me trying to petition the Government about destroying the heart of northern communities, it happened that Norma Major invited me and my then wife down to Number 10 during the 1990's after she had read one of my stories to children at a school in her husband's constituency. We were there about two hours and was shown the cabinet room, the famous staircase and even had tea with the Prime Minister and his wife in their upstairs apartment. It was a cold winter and as I drank my tea, John Major (who was the nicest of gentlemen and the poorest of politicians), politely asked, 'Are you and Fiona warm enough, Bill?' This was my opportunity to speak up for the miners and I knew if I didn't, my deceased father would turn in his grave. To my wife's utter disbelief, I politely berated the Prime Minister for closing down the last remaining pits in the North of England and remarked that the vast majority of the miners would never work again. To his credit, he took my criticism like a man although his wife, Norma, was obviously highly displeased.

I remember wanting to do something more to preserve the memory of these proud men who had served the country well since the days of the Industrial Revolution, so I wrote a book about their experiences called, 'Tales from the Allotments' that I dedicated to my father and his workmates. It can be obtained in e-book format or hard copy from www.lulu.com or www.amazon.com with all profits from sales going to charity in perpetuity." William Forde: September 20th, 2017.
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September 19th, 2017

19/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"It is easy to see the unconditional love that oozes naturally from a loyal dog. If only humans could dare love one another as a dog loves their owner; once we brought unconditional love back into our personal, professional community and family lives, we would automatically begin the journey of restoring wholeness and happiness to our worldly adventure and experience.

One year ago today, our rough collie, Lady, died. The day she died, heaven left a hole in my heart and it would have been so easy to have made the world my enemy had I not become a more loving being because of her. Even one year on from her passing, I am always talking to her as though she is still here. When I first learned I had a terminal illness four years ago, it was as though she understood. Even then, her constant presence in our home and by my side was a mark of her understanding as she walked beside me in the shadow of my affliction, ready to kiss me with her compassionate tongue whenever I looked her way.

And though one year has passed since that sad day, my grief was never the absence of your love, but the loss of your tangible presence. Slowly I am coming to realise, Lady, that I don't have to carry you in my every thought so as not to forget you. I can put all memory of you gently down in the heather of the wild moorland of Haworth that Sheila daily walked you through, to rest there peacefully until I pass again. Indeed, I know you will never leave me or me you, for when I die, part of my ashes will be mingled in memory of you at your grave marker on the moor. So, you see, Lady, I no longer live in vain although bereft of you, for as long as the world turns on an axis of God's love and the earth is green with new wood, and the birds still sing in sweet song, you shall be with me along the final road.

Those we love and temporally lose to life as we generally know it, remain always connected by heartstrings beyond the wide divide between man and beast, even into infinity. It took just one beat of my heart to find you, an hour to appreciate your specialness and a day to love you, but not even a full lifetime could ever be long enough to forget you. The loved will never die, for love will prove their immortality.

I once came across a beautiful piece of prose written by someone 'unknown,' and yet, although the author of the words remains forever anonymous, their thought could be the thought of everyone who ever loved and lost:

'If tears could build a stairway,
And memories a lane,
I’d walk right up to Heaven
And bring you home again.'

William Forde: September 19th, 2017.
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September 18th, 2017.

18/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Most people, if they are honest with themselves, would like to be remembered when they have passed over to the next life. For those who may have been awarded the Nobel Prize for this or that, ran a mile faster than any other man or woman in the world, invented penicillin, held the first position in their country as King, Queen, Emperor, President or Prime Minister, or managed to climb all the way up Mount Everest blindfolded with hands and feet bound, their place in the history books are guaranteed. And yet, there is no guarantee that their names or person shall be remembered.

People may someday forget who you were, what you said and may even overlook all you did in life, but they will never forget you, if they never forget 'how you made them feel' yesterday, today and tomorrow. A person's soul need only be touched once for the briefest of moments to ensure that one holds the memory for a lifetime and never forgets. When there is light in the soul there will be beauty in the person. We will never forget another who has touched our soul and made us happy; someone who gave us the spiritual experience of living with love, grace, and gratitude.

My mother often told me to believe in self and others but added that it was harder to believe in others as it is easier to influence oneself. Whenever I felt that something was too difficult to bear she would remind me that we are all stronger and better than we know; it's just that we sometimes forget it! She displayed this capacity to forget those things that hurt the most and prevents a person moving forward with their life. When she did look back, she did it forgivingly. She lived each day of her life gratefully and always looked forward to the next day hopefully. Forever, the dreamer and eternal optimist, she saw the innocence in every child and the miracle in every experience and was able to let go of the thoughts that didn't make her strong.

Was I to ascribe to her a saying she never said, but words and a way of life that she would wholeheartedly endorse, it would be, 'Let me live in a simple house by the side of the road and be a friend to all who pass.' That is why she touched my soul; that is why I'll never forget her." William Forde: September 18th, 2017
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September 17th, 2017.

17/9/2017

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"Over the past few weeks, I have been in bed up to 16 hours daily after developing a bad throat and the signs of a cold starting. As I have no immune system to shake off the symptoms, I simply have to stay in the house all autumn, stay warm, stay in bed and stay positive. I must confess though, it really hurts me to stay in bed when the day is passing me by, even though I know it is the doctor's recommendation. I want to be up too much!

I have always had the capacity to look outward, even from the confines of a sick bed. My mother always covered herself in a coat of eternal optimism and when she died she must have left it in my wardrobe for future wear. I had many months of constant pain when I was young after my accident, but she always encouraged me never to give up my efforts; never to give in to a can't-do attitude. She reminded me that though the forces of nature can shift and shape mountains, carve out valleys, drowned cities and destroy land, there is no force on earth strong enough to change the nature of man and woman once their character has been truly formed.

A pessimist will always be dissatisfied and discontent. A discontent person is someone who is forever stuck in their own negative space and emotional time warp, whereas a good-natured man or woman with a positive attitude has the whole wide world to be happy out of. It is foolish to confine oneself to the restrictive company of those who refuse to sing, smile and jump in puddles. The world is too big a place not to spread one's wings at every opportunity. As I lay in bed this morning, 15 hours after entering it the night before, I could hear my mother's voice as clearly as it was when I was in danger of being late for school if I didn't get out of bed instantly. I can still hear her yelling up the stairs, 'Get up, Billy Forde. The day has started and there are things to do!'" William Forde: September 17th, 2017.
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September 16th, 2017.

16/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Never before have I threatened you with 'seeing the back of me,' but I do so now. Fear not, however, as I speak not of my pending demise, but of a recently painted portrait of me by Haworth artist, George Bowden. 

George is a very accomplished artist who, with his wife, owns 'Wutherin' Arts' on the Main Street, Haworth. After coming across a photograph of me looking over a country fence in Dingle, Ireland, whilst on holiday there in 2015, George was intrigued. On the day in question, Sheila, me and my daughter, Rebecca, had spent a lovely relaxing day in gorgeous sunshine. At the end of the day before returning to our holiday cottage, I felt so happy and content with the day we'd just had that I parked my body on an old gate and peacefully took in the image of the sea ahead. For a full five minutes, my mind was blank and I hadn't a care in the world as I gazed at the wonderful sight. Though my terminal illness decreed that my body was dying, I never felt more alive to the beauty of God's earth.
​
Whenever an artist seeks to capture the essence of their human subject’s character, they tend to see it in the subject’s face or some other frontal feature. Rarely can it be seen from a rear view in which all thought and mood are invisible. To view the subject from behind is tantamount to attempting to accurately discover an appreciation of their woven life tapestry from bone formation and stance alone.

Without knowing little about my background history, George could discern the essence of my character without any facial feature on display. What the eye of the artist could see was the true definition of character and the physical pain endured by myself since being run over by a large lorry at the age of 11 years, almost dying and being unable to walk again for three years whilst being told I'd never walk again. I emerged from hospital with one leg shorter than the other and with a misshapen and somewhat lopsided body stance, having had over fifty operations on my legs to straighten them out. George could view and capture the past pain of sixty years through the crumpled image of the way that my clothes sympathetically hung around me.

Through his painting, George has managed to convey the crooked shape of my body and my unique slanted stance of relaxation. While the original picture now proudly hangs in my home on my lounge wall, copies of it have been produced as greeting cards that I will use forevermore at birthdays and Christmas time. As for the portrait, I'm thrilled to bits!" William Forde: September 16th, 2017.
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September 15th, 2017.

15/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"While looking through my Facebook albums yesterday, I came across an old photograph of me and a girl named Rose who I met at Butlins when I was 17 years old. I can still vividly remember that week of romantic exploration and the life-changing consequences for my best friend, Geoffrey.


First love is a magical thing that the memory often plays tricks with but never loses, however old one gets. More often than not, when a boy is under 12 years old, his 'first love' is more than likely to be nothing more than infatuation. During one's early teens it can be put down to curiosity and experimentation, and from 17 years onward, it depends whether or not one is a 'dreamer' or a 'player.' The dreamer will believe his feelings to be that of true love, which invariably turns out to be an illusion, while for the player it represents no more than an opportunity to be grabbed and a moment of sheer lust!


When I was 17 years old, it was 1960 and like so many other young ones of my time, I'd never had it so good. The world was my oyster. I worked hard in a local textile mill between Monday and Friday and I played hard on my weekends, especially during my two week's annual holidays from work. These two weeks away from home often proved one's major talking point for the remainder of the year. For the first time in my life, I earned enough money to pay my mum £10 per week board and keep, and still be left with sufficient to buy myself some decent clothes and footwear. As a general rule, we'd spend every penny we had every weekend and borrow off mum again every Monday until the next pay day.


The time eventually came for me to take my first holiday outside the presence of my parents. It wasn't that I was shy with mum when it came to talking about girls and the like; more that I didn't want her butting into that area of my life now that my body had grown big enough to do something about it. This physical maturity naturally made me more self-conscious. My best friend, Geoffrey Griffiths, suggested that we go off on a lad's holiday. We had saved up some money over the previous months to put down a deposit for a week's stay at Butlins' Holiday Camp in Skegness.


At that time, if one went on holiday without one's parents, the destination was either Blackpool or one of 'Butlins Holiday Camps.' If one was simply looking for the opportunity to have a good time, meet a few girls and have a bit of innocent fun without your parents buzzing around in the background, Blackpool Tower ballroom, Blackpool Fun Beach or Blackpool Central Pier was the place to be. If, however, a young lad went in search of serious romance, looking for a greater prize than one was ever likely to get in Blackpool, then 'Butlins Holiday Camp' held out much better prospects. Having one's own cabin and key with parents not being there to see what you were up to, plus the very slim likelihood of bumping into one's neighbours from the estate where you lived or the mill where you worked, provided a young man with all the privacy he could ever want.


On the third day there I met 18-year-old Rose. The only thing I can remember about her background was that she lived in the Midlands and worked as a Comptometer Operator, which at the time I'd never heard of. Her job sounded posh to me and initially, I thought it to be very important. It was some years later I learned that she operated a glorified calculating keyboard for adding, subtraction and multiplication.


Anyway, during those final, four marvelous days of our holiday at Butlins, Rose and I were never apart. Geoffrey had also met a girl with whom he seemed to hit it off and the upshot was that for the second half of the week, Rose and I shared a cabin and so did Geoffrey and his girl called Eileen. Geoffrey was 18 months older than I was and he no doubt had different expectations from his holiday than I did.


Let me say now for you of curious mind, apart from sleeping together partially clothed in our most private of regions, kisses, cuddles and some heavy petting was all that Rose and I got up to. We had a lovely four days, and in some ways, it was far too good to exchange addresses or ever expect it to be repeated. Rose intended to train to be a teacher and would have her time occupied in college for the next three years and I wanted to go to either Canada or America after my 21st birthday. When I reached 21 years of age, I would receive some compensation from an accident I had at the age of 11 years after being run over by a wagon. After ten years of interest, it would amount to a tidy sum. I estimated that even after I'd given my parents part of it, I would be left with over £2000, which amounted to two years' wages for me at the time. This was the time when a pint of beer would cost you 8p, a loaf of bread 5p, and brand new Mini car could be purchased for £500 and a small terrace house for less than £1000.


I was sad when I said goodbye to Rose at the camp on our day of departure. We kissed and each knew we wouldn't see each other again. It had been the briefest of holiday romances with no expectations or expressed commitments by either of us.


Geoffrey and Eileen, however, had seen much more of each other during their week at the holiday camp than it could be said that Rose and I had. As fate decreed, they were destined to see far too much of each other during the years ahead. Geoffrey wanted to keep in touch with Eileen and so they exchanged addresses. Having Geoffrey's address proved very handy for Eileen, especially when two to three months later, Geoffrey's parents received a letter saying that she was pregnant with his child. The strange thing was that the letter wasn't from Eileen, but her angry father!


In those days, abortion was against the law and even had it been legal, it would almost never be seriously considered by anyone! By Eileen's sixth month of pregnancy, she and Geoffrey walked down the marriage aisle. Neither set of parents could be said to have been overly pleased about the union, and whereas I don't know how Eileen felt, I know Geoffrey wasn't at all pleased to be the groom at a shotgun marriage. However, like all the young men of his time, there was only one thing to do in such circumstances and that was to follow one's parent's advice. The time had come for Geoffrey to do the right thing after he'd done the wrong thing by the poor girl. He'd made his bed and as far as both sets of parents were concerned, the only responsible and proper thing to do was to lie in it!'


I'm sad to say that Geoffrey and Eileen's marriage didn't last beyond five years of their wedding day. On year four of their marriage, Eileen got herself a job at 'The Batley Variety Club' as a bunny and six months later, she moved out of the matrimonial abode, left Geoffrey holding their five-year-old son and moved in with the Assistant Manager of the Batley club. Twelve years later, Geoffrey died of lung cancer.


As for Rose, I don't know how her life fared. I don't know whether or not it has been kind to her or has been one filled with permanent regret. I often wonder did she ever became a teacher, marry, have children, divorce or run off with the milk man etc. I don't know whether her memories are happy or bitter sweet. Like myself, I hope that she was fortunate enough to have kept her good looks and didn't turn into an overweight, toothless frog after finding her Prince, kissing him and letting him go. I wonder if she ever thinks about those four days and nights we spent together at 'Butlins Holiday Camp,' in Skegness during that summer holidays of 1960?" William Forde: September 15th, 2017.


https://youtu.be/1zUeAaBGVTk
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September 14th, 2017.

14/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"When I was a young probation officer in my thirties, a young client who'd formed an attachment to a woman he dearly fancied, asked me out of the blue, "How... when do you know you're in love, Mr. Forde?" What chance had I of providing him with an accurate and definitive answer? After all, I'd only been alive mere thirty odd years and though I believed that I held the answer to most of life's unfathomable questions, little did I know then that my learning had not yet progressed beyond First School level when it came to constructs of the heart.

Having been in love many times since my teens, it was even hard to recall a time when I wasn't in love! Whenever my mother witnessed me dressing myself up for a night out at a local dance hall as a teenager, she would jokingly remark, 'The only person you love, Billy Forde, is yourself. You think you're the bee's knees!' She'd then tell me some cock and bull story about her attending a dance in Portlaw, Waterford as a teenager and commanding the attention of every boy and the envy of every girl there as soon as she arrived because of her stunning looks. She was a bigger story teller than I'd ever become!

It was only after my first marriage ended in divorce I realised that where 'love stakes' were concerned, I knew no more than the next hopeful looking for lasting romance and probably not as much. By that time in my life, I'd come to learn that however good relationships began, with the few exceptions of those lucky couples who find love in each other's arms at the age of eighteen and still hold the same degree of affection for each other at the age of eighty, that most relationships are time limited and invariably reach their 'sell by date' before all shelf life has passed. My advice now to that young man today would certainly be, 'When you find the one who changes the way your heart beats, dance with them to that rhythm for as long as the song lasts.'

While I would not profess to be any more of an expert today upon the question of love between couples, my many bumps and mistakes along the way have provided me with a few insights I might not otherwise have glimpsed.The most important thing I have learned is that finding love is like looking for a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; it is most unlikely to happen and will probably result in disappointment. I learned in my sixties that when you are not in search of love, it is more likely to come your way; so keep your eyes peeled and your gun powder dry.

If I could return to the young man who asked my advice many years ago when I was a young probation officer, I would definitely answer him differently today. I'd ask him, 'When you whisper in her ear, do you sense the solitude of her soul that existed before you came along? When you listen to the beat of her heart, do you hear the beat of your own in loving echo? When you are together, can you move to the edge of reason and the full force of passion, and make time stand still? Is yours a love that will allow the physical attraction of each other at the start of your relationship to move to a more spiritual union as the years go by? If your answer is 'yes' then you are in love!'

When I met Sheila, I was aged 66 years and had two broken marriages behind me. I knew very early on into our relationship that at the centre of my very being, an infinite well of love had appeared. The first time we kissed, I could taste the next thirty years of my life. In many ways, falling for Sheila wasn't like falling at all. It was like walking into a house for the first time and knowing you are home. To date, I have never known a period of time when I was happier. Shelia taught me that love makes one become their best self with no need to try and change them. What can I say except that I love Sheila more than I have found a way to say." William Forde: September 14th, 2017.
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September 13th, 2017.

13/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Sometimes the road seems empty and filled with nothing but desolation and despair. Then there are times when there are too many rules and restrictions to observe in order to sample life more leisurely or at an easier pace.


Invariably we find when one is often at their lowest ebb, the sun comes out and breaks through the clouds and suddenly the road ahead seems much more pleasant to travel, albeit on horse, by foot, any other mode of transport or even on the back of a rainbow!

Never move too far away from the light in one's life and you will never get lost for such a length of time that your future passage is blacked out forever. Your shining light can come from your Maker, the energy of the heavens, from your favourite place, a much-loved activity or a special person in your life. All you need to do is to be, to let this energy pour forth from its natural source and allow your light to shine out and follow your destiny all the way towards your goal." William Forde: September 13th, 2017.
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September 12th, 2017

12/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"I awoke this morning after having spent 14 hours in bed and without looking out of the window, the colour of the sky told me that summer had passed and that all sign of autumn would soon be here. Before I got out of bed and dressed myself I heard a most unfamiliar sound. Indeed, it was so rare these days that I cannot recall when I last heard such a noise in the morning air; it was a man in his fifties walking up the road past my bedroom window, singing to himself! I must confess that what surprised me the most wasn't his singing, but the fact of how out of tune he was and how little he cared.

My mind was instantly transported back to the days of my youth. Every morning as I walked down the stairs, I heard my mother singing her own special rendition of her favourite song, 'Far away places'. I say 'her own' as I've never heard a similar version in either word or note. Whatever the weather or her mood, she never failed to sing it out of tune and out of verse. Whenever I berated her for her inability to hold a tune, she would always reply with the same words: 'Everyone has the right to sing, Billy; even those who can't. The woods would be a silent place if no birds sang there except those who sang best!' 

She was of course right in what she said and if only she was around now to sing her song, I'd gladly listen to her all day. She may not have been able to hold a tune, but she always had a song to sing. Her favourite singer was Vera Lynn; someone in later years who became a friend of mine and recently had her hundredth birthday.

When I think of it, my mother was indeed wise and her philosophy of life was so true. Why shouldn't you, me or anybody not do something in life because we are not the best at it? Why should anyone become reluctant to involve themselves in any test of life because they might fail? Believe me when I tell you that the world is made up of more 'also rans' than any number of winners. It is filled with beautiful people who may sing out of tune, but at least they display the courage to face life daily; at least they are unafraid to sing their song. As my dear wife Sheila said in her twitter feed this morning,'Well, Buddy, you survived Monday. Have a great Tuesday!' Love you, Mum. Miss you lots. Your son, Billy." William Forde: September 12th, 2017.
 
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September 10th, 2017.

10/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"Today is my son Matthew's birthday. Matthew is his mother's first child and despite him having a different father to James, Adam, William and Rebecca, the children are as close today as any brother and sister. 'Half-brother' is a term that I would not tolerate hearing from my other children right from the beginning of their relationship with Matthew. It is hard enough trying to establish family unity between children born to different parents when they are thrown together in their youth without inviting any unnecessary fractious division through the common usage of the term 'half-brother', 'half this' or 'half that!'

In fact, I have always considered our Matthew to be blessed with a purity of thought and a simplicity of action that my other four children will never know. His father is a lovely man and all round, our Matthew has been doubly blessed by the two fathers who have always loved him and watched out for him. All my other four children jumped the conventional hoops and ended their education at various universities, whereas our Matthew often struggled to get by in the educational world of the Comprehensive School and reached the finishing tape among the runners from the second half of the competitive field. Since the age of twenty years though, twenty-one years ago, he has always held down his factory job and has been highly thought of by his employers. Today, he lives in his own mortgaged property, has a regular job, pays his weekly bills and maintains an independent lifestyle.

A six-footer with the body muscle and physique to match, Matthew is totally non-aggressive and is one of the nicest people a stranger could ever meet. I think of him as 'The Gentle Giant.' He is generous to a fault and will give anyone his last penny. From all my children, his birthday, Christmas and Father's Day card has always been the first to come through the letter box.

A very happy 41st birthday son. May your special day bring you all the peace, love, and happiness you deserve. All your family love you. Each day that you live, I am more proud of you than the day before. I love you, Matthew and can honestly say as a father that you've never disappointed me. Dad Forde xxx" William Forde: September 10th, 2017.

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September 9th, 2017.

8/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"What a wonderful day to meet the most beautiful person in the world; yourself! True happiness arises in the first instance from the enjoyment and respect of oneself. When we love self, everything else falls into line and our heart remains open to others. When we are at home with ourselves, there is nobody we are more suited to step out into the world with. When we are happy with what we have and are excited about what we want, we forget the chains of character we willingly wear throughout life. We learn that while forgiveness doesn't necessarily change the past, it does most definitely enlarge the future. Our home life, social life; even our work becomes a place we enjoy to be. Being happy with oneself enables one to be defiant in the face of danger and bold with one's expectations of daily contentment.

Since leaving school, I have held a number of different jobs and there has never been a time when I was unhappy with my job or dissatisfied with my output. I liked all the jobs I held for different reasons. I loved working in the mill as a young lad for its comradeship and the daily fun the workers had as they performed their tasks. I loved being a singer for a brief few months in Canada because it gave me a stage of my own to perform on. I enjoyed being a hotel receptionist in Toronto because of the numerous people it allowed me to meet from different countries and the stories they had to tell. Being a mill manager gave me the experience of exercising responsibility over one hundred men every night of the week and dealing with their problems. My most satisfying job of all was as a probation officer. This work enabled me to get as close to the raw feelings and emotions of a stranger needing practical help, mental clarity or emotional stability. And while I consider myself to have been pretty good at all of these positions, I am sure I was always happy performing my work because I was happy within myself! 

In particular, I recall as a young Probation Officer realising that whenever I was happy within myself, I would always be happy with my home life and my work performance. Despite the sometimes heartbreak of my job, I quickly grew to love my daily work and would have even done it for no wages had someone fed and housed me and my family. I discovered that once you do something you love, you never have to labour again. Contentment follows when it dawns on you that you already have that which you seek." William Forde : September 9th, 2017.
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September 8th, 2017.

8/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"All my life I have encountered opinions that said either 'this' or 'that' subject was inappropriate to discuss in certain company, specific places or at particular times. I have always believed in the 'freedom of speech' being responsibly exercised, along with the view that all emotions can be appropriately expressed providing one's choice of words or method of description isn't 'vulgar' or 'exploitative.' 

Although I have had many books published, I still recall the difficulty I had when I wrote my first 'strictly for adults' novel, and particularly when it came to the passages that dealt with the intimate description of man and woman 'making love.' Like the act of love making itself, the words I chose to use could be gentle, coarse, vulgar or heavenly romantic; short and sweet or pleasurable and enduring.

Like one's apprenticeship in all crafts, the most honest work of any artisan comes from remaining true to oneself. As a person who was born in the Chinese Year of the Horse and someone who has always placed great sway on imagery, I used the most pleasurable and exhilarating activity of my youth, that of horse riding, to describe how I felt when I first tasted the satisfaction of male desire. The prose passage below provides you with an example of how the imagery of one thing can be used to describe the activity of another.

'Oh beautiful rider of wild stallions, amid the graceful fall of autumn leaf from the body tree, you bring spring to mind and faint heart to account. My heart pulsates in rapture and races at a pace of burgeoning excitement that threatens to stop it, each moment I feel you gently move between my thighs. You heighten my senses beyond all exhilaration and earthly expectation, exploding all fusion between mind and body. I feel the wind in my face as we race headlong into it, daring it to lift us both to even higher plane and transport us to the eternal land of ultimate freedom. Though we be two forces, we move as one in body and mind, releasing all pleasurable sound of secret delight in sensual synchronization, and abandoning all restraint as heaven approaches and the dam walls bursts their banks in joyous outpouring.'" William Forde: September 8th, 2017.
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September 7th, 2017.

7/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"A very happy birthday to my son, Adam. May your birthday mark the beginning of a wonderful period in your life, son. If I were to give you but one piece of advice, Adam, it would be to never stop being you and always follow your heart. May you cross every bridge of adversity you ever face with the courage you have always shown since the day you were born. From a father who loves you much and is very proud that you're his son. Love Dad x" William Forde: September 7th, 2017.
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September 6th, 2017

6/9/2017

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Thought for today:
"We were up at our allotment last week when another allotment holder, knowing that we needed our old garden shed dismantled and taken away, said that he knew a man who worked in scrap metal who would perform the task for a few pounds. As we had quite a bit of scrap to get rid of, we arranged for the scrap metal dealer to pick it up. When he saw our garden shed, he said that his son wanted a shed that would give him his own space to get away from the pestering of his 6-year-old brother and that he would gladly take down the shed and remove it for no charge, as I'd given him some old scrap metal we also wanted rid of. He performed the work as promised, assisted by his two charming sons, aged 5 and 9 years, and went away as happy as Larry after I persuaded him to take several tenners for his effort. I gave his sons a fiver.

The good Samaritan called Nigel was one of the nicest and politest of workers I'd ever come across. He didn't have the easiest of upbringings, but he displayed a generosity of spirit and wore a permanent smile that gladdened me to be acquainted with. His work was proficient and he even cleaned up after him! He reminded me of my earlier family days as a young dad when I let my children work alongside me in the garden and the home. Such were experiences that neither I nor my children ever forgot.

Recently, there has been much on the television and in the newspapers about the partition of India in 1947 and the part that Gandhi played in this historic event. I have read many books about Mahatma Gandhi, whose simplicity and purity of method and purpose have always fascinated me. His example of the use of 'passive resistance' as the most effective method of bringing about change was to be used by Martin Luther King Jr in establishing civil rights in America during the 1960's.

However, the thing that has always impressed me the most about this great man is the very same thing that I have seen replicated throughout my life by many ordinary people such as my mother and the scrap-metal merchant, Nigel, to name but two. The characteristic I refer to is a generosity that forever places people before profit and an ability to exist on a little while always being prepared to give away part of whatever little one has remaining.

I have always brought up all my children never to be stingy in the distribution of their generosity or the display of their respect and overall manners, and it pleases me enormously to know that they have all grown into adults who know the true value of 'giving.'

Gandhi had no earthly possessions to give of, but what little he had to spare, he gladly gave. Such generosity of spirit breaks me with shame at the smallness of my charity."

William Forde: September 6th, 2017.

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