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
  • Celebrity Contacts
    • Contacts with Celebrities >
      • Journey to the Stars
      • Number 46
      • Shining Stars
      • Sweet Serendipity
      • There's Nowt Stranger Than Folk
      • Caught Short
      • A Day with Hannah Hauxwell
    • More Contacts with Celebrities >
      • Judgement Day
      • The One That Got Away
      • Two Women of Substance
      • The Outcasts
      • Cars for Stars
      • Going That Extra Mile
      • Lady in Red
      • Television Presenters
  • Thoughts and Musings
    • Bereavement >
      • Time to clear the Fallen Leaves
      • Eulogy for Uncle Johnnie
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    • Bill's Personal Development >
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      • Second Chances
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      • Cleckheaton Consecration
      • Canadian Loves
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      • 'Early life at my Grandparents'
      • Family Holidays
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      • Childhood Pain
      • The Death of Lady
      • 'Soldiering On'
      • 'Romantic Holidays'
      • 'On the roof'
      • Always wear clean shoes
      • 'Family Tree'
      • The importance of poise
      • 'Growing up with grandparents'
    • Love & Romance >
      • Dancing Partner
      • The Greatest
      • Arthur & Guinevere
      • Hands That Touch
    • Christian Thoughts, Acts and Words >
      • Reuben's Naming Ceremony
      • Love makes the World go round
      • Walks along the Mirfield canal
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        • The Ballad of Sleezy the Fox
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    • The Role of a Step-Father
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Thought for October 7th.

7/10/2018

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Thought for today:
"It is truly the mark of a happy and healthy person in the throes of youthful development that he/she is able to fall into a pile of dung or a pond of water lilies and emerge beaming with the delight of innocent bliss. How marvellous it is to see such a dare-devil-do and carefree approach to life and its daily experiences from a heart so young and an imagination so vivid that adult convention and conformity has not yet harnessed within the reins of safe restriction.

It is ironic but the developing young are not shaped in a frightening mould. It is adult socialisation and conformity that lead man and woman to fear those things in later years that they once faced in fearless fashion when they remained unadulterated and free from the contamination of adult influence.

I recall my early years of development with much fondness. These were the years when 'danger' was as distant an emotion to my body as 'safety' can often be today. While I never saw a lily pond in my youth, let alone swim in one, I did swim in numerous mill dams, jumped from the roofs of partly-built houses on Windybank Estate into a pile of sand to break my fall and play 'chicken' as we raced mates across railway lines and level crossings. Most boys then play the common game known as 'Cowboys and Indians' with arrows made from willow shafts with a dart fastened in the end. Sometimes we would plan ambushes and carry air pistols armed with pellets just in case we got chased by the enemy. We regularly fought to the death with rival gangs on the estate, but bear in mind, that the person considered to be dead was the one who first mouthed the words, 'Give in' while patting the ground three times to signify that they wouldn't continue fighting when they got up off the ground. In the main everyone got hurt or incurred serious injury requiring hospital attention or admission at least once in their youth, but such setbacks didn't prevent us returning to the fray of boisterous development at the earliest opportunity.

I would find it almost impossible to identify one month between the ages of ten and sixteen when one of us wasn't taken to hospital with a fractured or broken limb. Indeed, it was a mark of glory to have had one's nose broken in a fist fight or to have broken arms and legs in pursuit of some other dangerous activity.

I also remember that while teenage boys and girls kept to their separate groups during the holiday day-time hours, the boys would always let the girls play with them during the evenings, particularly when the nights became dark soon after tea had been eaten. Girls who went around with gangs of boys in the evening hours would sometimes get a bad name for themselves; often unjustifiably.

The week before Bonfire Night would see rival gangs on the estate in competition with each other as to which gang would have the biggest bonfire on the 5th of November. Every day,(one week before November 5th), one member of the gang would take their turn to bunk off school to guard their bonfire stack during the day. The gang with the biggest bonfire stack always had to be the most vigilant from 'chumping' raiders. On a few times, I have been known to go to bed at 10.00 pm, only to get up at midnight when the rest of the house was fast asleep, and meet up with other gang members to have a little fire as we guarded the bonfire stack. Many a gang woke up the following morning to find their bonfire stack either ablaze or in ashes; having been burned down by a rival gang as they slept soundly in the belief that they had the largest stack on the estate.

Then, around the age of 15 years, school attendees would become young workers. Most of the boys would don the working clothes of mill labourers and factory workers or enter apprentice schemes, while girls who started work would usually become apprentice hairdressers, junior typists, office workers and shop workers. Some entered the mills to learn how to pack yarn, spin and weave.

Usually, any young man or woman who wasn't married or engaged to be married by the age of twenty-one years would be a cause of parental concern. Any young man who was still single on his twenty-second year of life was considered a gadabout and any young woman who still hadn't found herself a husband feared life as an old spinster. As for those young men and women whose sexual preference was that of homosexual; this category of person existed in the shadow of society and feared to show their faces in daylight hours.

Just think what type of adults we might all have turned out to be, had we not allowed our fearlessness, our love of excitement, our vivid imagination, and our desire to live life on the edge of constant risk and danger to be slowly drummed out of us by adult society?"
Love and peace Bill xxx
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Thought for October 6th.

6/10/2018

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​Thought for today:
"There is both a wildness and sensitivity in all of us that is capable of either crushing or caressing what we touch in life.

Most of us are capable of recognising raw beauty or appreciating the bravery of an act. Yet, there are but few capable of smelling the fragrance of a flower whose scent has either been suppressed and is hidden from the atmosphere around it or whose aroma has passed and whose stem remains a shadow of its former self in more ragged body form as it droops evermore towards the ground.

I remember standing in a post office queue when I was a young boy younger than 11 years. Two places in front of me was an old woman with a curved spine that made her face constantly look towards the ground. She was aided by a walking stick and moved very slowly. She appeared to be in her eighties.

Behind her, and immediately in front of me in the queue, was a loud and somewhat coarsely-spoken woman in her forties who was clearly impatient by the slow movement of the queue. As the queue progressed closer towards the counter, the old woman momentarily faltered in her step and paused for breath; thereby creating a space in front of her. Upon seeing this space, the woman behind her ( like an impatient driver on an overcrowded motorway), saw the space and jumped her place in the line, thereby moving ahead of the old woman.

'Do you mind?' the old woman said to the queue jumper, 'but you have just taken my place.'

In an angry voice, the impatient queue jumper replied, 'And who do you think you are granny? You created it and I took it; what's wrong with that? You're too old to be out and about anyway. You're just a twisted old woman with a crooked stick. You should let the Nursing Home collect your pension and that way you'd stop holding up the traffic!'

The old lady looked up towards the rude woman and politely replied, 'If you must know, my name is Mildred Sayer; 'Miss' Mildred Sayer to you, and Milly to my very close friends and remaining family members. Today I may not appear as swift on my feet as I once was, but I'll have you know that I won a silver cup for winning the fastest Yorkshire mile by an 'under sixteen' when I was fourteen years old. At the age of sixteen, I was a beautiful young girl with the finest set of curls that ever crowned a maiden's head. I worked in the civil service during the war years, and after the war, despite receiving four proposals of marriage; one from a Prussian prince and all of which I declined, I decided to live in India for fourteen years, running an orphanage for abandoned children. At the age of 64 years I was awarded the CBE for my services to humanity and when I was 74 years old, I survived two operations to remove cancerous tissue from my body. I am now in my eighty-fourth year and though the curvature of my spine prevents me from looking you directly in the face, your overall tone and demeanour denote you as a person who has fallen foul of life and out of love with herself. Oh, and by the way, you are not the first person to see me as an old woman of insignificance with a stooped posture and a crooked stick, and in all probability, you won't be the last, but be not mistaken; I am much much more than your eyes can see.'

While I cannot recall with the passage of time that has lapsed the precise words that the elderly lady spoke, they approximate the sentiments that I've unfolded above in my own words of today and which my fading memory can accurately bring to mind.

I remember this incident in the post office clearly, even though fifty-five years have since passed since it occurred. The reason it isn't forgotten is that a woman who became my substitute mother after the death of my own mother many years ago, Miss Henrietta Denton, brought the incident back to my mind. Henrietta or Etta as I knew her, who was a beauty in her twenties was struck down with a condition in her fifties that gave her spine a pronounced stoop. By the time Etta had reached her sixties, her head was permanently looking towards the ground and the curvature in her spine had greatly worsened. Her blessing was that despite her restricted peripheral vision, she saw more of life as it really was better than most younger people with excellent peripheral vision.

This recollection from my youth reminded me that whenever our eyes find gaze upon any stranger, we can never see the range of experiences they carry with them; never can we know the joy or pain that they ever felt nor imagine the extent of their expectations and dreams which they currently hold. As Matthew 7 reminds us in the King James version of the Bible, 'Judge not, that ye be judged. For with what judgement ye judge, ye shall be judged.........' "
​Love and peace Bill xxx
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Thought for October 5th.

5/10/2018

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Thought for today:
"There is much to be said for 'fate and destiny.' I do believe that we shall each live until the day it is determined 'our time has arrived' and the grim reaper comes knocking ever so loudly at our door, and will not depart empty-handed.

Soon to be 76 years of age in a month's time, and despite having knocked at death's door half a dozen times since the age of 11 years, I have yet to enter that next life which, someday, awaits us all. If only it was left to the level of one's determination and positivism to grow old gracefully and to stay alive until way past their 100th birthday, I would gladly keep the Grim Reaper waiting for his next next corpse to bury; but alas it isn't. Let's hope that like Rip Van Winkle, the Grim Reaper tires of waiting for me and sleeps on for twenty or thirty more years before he even considers calling down my way again, although a large part of me knows such to be wishful thinking.

There is some good to be found in every bad apple and I am no exception. At least my terminal illness gives me substantive reason to be eternally grateful for having something that is denied to most people; knowing for certain that the incurable nature of my condition will result in an otherwise shortened lifespan, and thereby providing me with both incentive and opportunity to prepare my mind and body mentally, physically, psychologically and spiritually. In sheer practical terms, such advanced knowledge enables me to do those things that ideally need doing and to say those words that ideally require saying before being cut off in mid-sentence.

It truly amazes me how I can feel so well with terminal cancer inside me, slowly eating away at my very being each time it awakes from its current slumber. Even the pain in my hands and feet, that has never left me since I received my two nine-month periods of chemotherapy, is influenced by how active or still my mind and body are. My painful limbs only start to bother me by the absence of mental and physical activity. The activity of both mind and body prevents the conscious presence of my pain, by creating a barrier that blocks the pain-transmission pathway whenever I walk my body or work my mind. I never realised when I embarked on learning and refining my Relaxation and Imaginary Exercises at the early age of twelve years, just how important a feature of my life both regular exercise and Relaxation and meditation practices would become. These two aspects of my daily routine and lifestyle remain constant companions to my sense of well being.

As I lay in that hospital bed, having been told by the specialist that my spine damage would prevent me ever being able to walk again or experience feelings below my waist level, the only person with the power to help me, and the one I turned to was God. I made Him a promise that if I lived and walked again, I would devote my life to doing good works wherever possible. God must have agreed to this contract I made with him. He kept his side of the bargain struck and I have, since my twelfth year of age, tried to keep mine. Being human and probably frailer to the temptations of the flesh than most people has seen me frequently fall at the first hurdle, but despite my failings, I usually get to the finishing line, in the end, having called upon my Maker's forgiving nature more often than most penitents during the course of the race (or in my case, obstacle course).

In fact, since I was given a shorter lifespan five years ago when a terminal blood cancer was diagnosed, my life has paradoxically resulted in me being happier today than at any other time. I pray daily that others may know the happiness that I and Sheila daily experience and come to find and cherish the love of a good partner in their lives. I also pray that any ill-will that exists between someone and a family member disappears from the face of the earth. I truly believe that there is no nucleus as strong as 'family', and to see such a filial unit fractured without doing everything possible to heal it is to miss out on life's most rewarding of experiences. The bottom line is that 'family' is the heart and home of your character.

As John Lennon once remarked, 'There's nowhere to be that isn't where you're meant to be.' I also strongly believe in the power of self-statement; something akin to positive thought and profound prayer. Something deep inside me tells me that once I make a decision of both head and heart in collision with my innermost desire, that the universe will conspire to make it happen and that God above will shine down His love on me as it comes about.

When I was told that my illness was incurable, I had to accept that life called the tune. It was a tune that I hadn't asked for, but one that I had to learn to accept to dance with if I wanted to stay in step with life around me. This meant a speedy adaption to cold reality without losing any of my warmth of personality. I have always held the view, ever since I was old enough to construct more elaborate thought, that we should never fear becoming prisoners of fate, but never fall slaves to the negativism of a feeble mind.

Many years ago, once I stopped worrying about earning a quick buck and ceased being a fool to fortune, I instantly had a great burden removed from my shoulders. I stopped trying to live up to the Jones' and instead I started to identify with and befriend the socially outcast Smiths instead. For many years, I needed to practise giving away possessions that I had become too emotionally attached to. It was hard at first to part with things that one had grown to love having in their life, but I can truly tell you that the art of giving is a lot easier and more satisfying to take on board than you might realise, as it gives great pleasure. I admit that I will always like being surrounded by possessions that please and stimulate my senses, but at least I can enjoy their presence today without any longer needing to 'possess them'. I now know that while they may please me to have around, they do not hold the power to my happiness. Only Love holds that power!

Loving people instead of things is what makes me happy. Loving life enables me to live each remaining moment more meaningfully and makes most of my experiences more pleasurable. Loving my friends and family keeps me anchored to my roots and all that is good and supportive in my life. Loving my wife, Sheila, is the easiest thing I have ever done, yet the most rewarding. Loving my God provides me with the spiritual strength to carry my cross when my back is weakest. Finally, Loving myself is the essence of solving this enigmatic puzzle of life and death. It is the single most-necessary requirement in the maintenance of all my other loves; it is the wand to all miracles, magic and mystery of the universe.

I know that a lot of this change in me is to do with the advancement of age and that once we get older in years and farther away from good health, we naturally move closer to the Grim Reaper's visit. I also know that it is only through moving farther away from the Jones' and getting closer to the Smiths during our earth life, that mankind discovers the only path to salvation. This is the only direction that is capable of providing us with salvation, along with the only passport of moving us closer to God in heaven."
​Love and peace Bill xxx

​

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Thought for October 4th.

4/10/2018

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​Thought for today:
"I recently came across an old photograph on Facebook which instantly took me back fifty years to the late 1950s and early 1960s. This decade was my wild years of romancing every young woman I encountered between the three-mile radius of Hightown, Liversedge, Heckmondwike, Dewsbury and Cleckheaton, in the hope that they might grant me entry into their hearts or any other place I fancied access to. The old photograph is an image of the bus station in Cleckheaton, a place where the antics of our youthful nights out on the town invariably ended, either as drunk as a skunk or in the arms of some beautiful young woman as we awaited the last bus of the night.

The bus station used to be both pick-up and drop-off point for many a boy and his girlfriend; or occasionally where one secretly met the partner of another. If one didn't meet their new date outside the picture house (that's the cinema for you young ones), then the usual meeting stage was often under the clock of Cleckheaton Town Hall or inside the waiting room of Cleckheaton Bus Station. The waiting room was invariably the place where relationships sometimes started and often ended, as the film 'Brief Encounter' illustrated.

Behind the waiting room in Cleckheaton Bus Station was the only dark spot where the beams of the arriving bus into the station couldn't quite reach. Consequently, it was the place where first kisses, last kisses, French kisses, heavy petting and all manner of goings-on took place before the last bus home arrived in the station.

Indeed, one of my friends told the tale many times during his married life that had the last bus been on time that fatal night instead of ten minutes late, then he would never have had to experience his shot-gun wedding to his first and only girlfriend. Years later, he was still blaming the lateness of the number 67 bus for having curtailed his youthful ramblings long before 'time had been called'.

There are many occasions today, when going through the town of Cleckheaton, I glance across at the bus station and think about happy days and nights of my wild youth. I have to admit that I also think upon the numerous affairs, forced marriages and relationship endings that the old bus shelter has contributed towards in its time by its very presence and precise location 'away from the inconvenience of revealing headlights.' I also know of many a bus driver on the late run who was 'put off their supper' by the image that his headlights caught of a courting couple in full flight who had not positioned themselves far enough away from the full headlight beam of his approaching bus as he pulled into the bus station. I also knew of bus drivers on the late shift who would deliberately wait with dipped lights on their bus until the last moment as they turned into the bus station before deliberately switching on their full headlights in the hope of catching a glimpse of something they hadn't seen for a long while.

These images and memories of Cleckheaton Bus Station have never left me and I included the scene in one of my 'strictly for adult' reading novels, 'Come Back Peter' a few years ago (available in e-book format from www.smashwords.com or in hardback and paper format from www.lulu.com and www.amazon .com with all profits going to charitable causes).

The youngsters rarely catch a bus today. Indeed; I believe that most of them wouldn't recognise a bus if it ran them down or know what someone was talking about if the word 'bus' mentioned in an overheard conversation. Transport by bus is not considered the done thing for the young today. I often see young mothers collecting their shopping at the local coop in Haworth while a taxi driver waits outside for them to be taken back home. I have even witnessed taxis turn up at the Social Security Offices and an unemployed person jump out to collect their unemployment benefit.

Many a young man or woman wouldn't be seen dead on a bus. They just don't know what they're missing, especially on the back seat of the last bus of the night; another scene that I used in my novel, 'Come Back Peter', which is also available from Smashwords, Lulu and Amazon. Come to think of it, 'Come back Peter' tends to use bus stations, bus depots and the back seat of the last bus home to depict all the things that go on and come off in such settings late at night.

I was fifteen years old when I had my very first romantic back-seat bus experience. At the time I worked at 'Bulmer and Lumb', a mill in Cleckheaton, and every year, the firm would take its workers out on a coach trip to Blackpool. There were two girls who worked in the spinning department called Patricia and Eileen; each three years older than myself. Indeed, it was largely through their instigation within the first week of me starting at Bulmers that I finished up trouser-less and showing 'my all' in the spinning department with all the female workers having a good laugh at my expense.

I must explain that these were times when often young men often wore no such clothing items as underpants beneath their trousers when at work. It was the practice in the mills during the 1950s that young male workers starting their first job would have to go through a baptismal process of initiation into the firm. The mill men would send the new boy worker off on meaningless errant like 'Go to the stores, lad and bring me back a glass hammer, and don't come back without one.' When the boy went to the stores, the storeman would then send him elsewhere saying, 'We have run out of glass hammers, lad, but if you go to... and tell them Jim has sent you, they will give you one.' Consequently, the very first day of a young boy's working life would be spent chasing shadows here, there and everywhere whilst the adult workers laughed behind their backs.

The initiation process that the mill women picked for young boys, however, was far more embarrassing and degrading. It would usually occur during their first week of work and the very first time the young boy walked through the noisy spinning department where the loud noises of the shuttles drowned out any screams of boyish protest. Their selected initiation for new boys was for a crowd of girls and women to grab the boy as he walked through the spinning room, drag him behind a loom and forcefully remove his trousers and view his potential growth, after which they'd reply laughingly, 'You're nothing much for any lass to look forward to' or 'What a big one for such a young un barely out of nappies!'

Forgive my digression; back to the firm's annual outing and the back seat of the bus where I had my first flush of youth between two attractive 18-year-old females from the spinning department. I don't know why (unless I had somehow impressed them in some way during my first month at Bulmer's Mill), but each of these two beauties literally fancied the pants off me.

When I got on the bus as it left Blackpool at the end of the day, Patricia and Eileen had already claimed the back seat of the bus home and invited me to join them. As I moved towards them, the two girls parted, inviting me to sit between them. It was late evening when we set off back home, and the upshot was that the two young women had spread their belongings across the back seat that was designed to seat five people, leaving the three of us with all the seat to ourselves. Mid-way home the inner bus lights were turned off and many passengers got some shut-eye as most were the worse for drink. My eyes, however, had never been open wider as both Patricia and Eileen entered into a competition to gain my affection and sole attention. Each claimed to be the best French kisser and went into fierce competition on my inviting lips. When I refused to indicate which of the two were the best kisser, they then started arguing which had the most admiring breasts (please note the word they used wasn't breasts). While I refused to arbitrate, this then 15-year-old boy couldn't avert his eyes. The upshot was, I considered the two mill girls a bit too bold and too experienced in matters of life to ever seek to take it any farther with either of them.

Two years later, Eileen fell pregnant to her boyfriend whom she'd first started courting after the firm's following annual trip to Blackpool and I was invited to the couple's wedding. As the wedding speeches were taking place in the top room of a pub in Littletown, Heckmondwike, I wryly smiled as my mind momentarily went back to the back seat of the bus as I sat between Patricia and Eileen. In case you think that my revelation of this event is too indiscreet, I have managed to keep the secret for the past sixty years." William Forde: October 4th, 2018.
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Thought for October 3rd.

3/10/2018

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​Thought for today:
"Let me post my colours to the mast instantly when I say I believe that immigration to our country is healthy and wealthy for the British citizen, apart from being humane, especially when the newcomer and their family come from war-torn countries in search of a better life. However, the mere size of our island dictates that it is only sensible to both the immigrant and the native to our shores that such immigration is controlled and managed by the British Government.

When I was a young Probation Officer in my first few years of service, it was customary and a vital part of our training that we have a periodical placement with other agencies in order to familiarise oneself with the manner of their work and the difficulties that crossed agency lines of differing responsibilities. Hence, we would usually spend two weeks to one month attached to the Prisons, the Police, the Social Services Department and also to Psychiatrists or Psychologists.

One evening whilst accompanying a police control car on its rounds, an emergency call was made to attend a domestic row which had become too serious for a next-door neighbour not to phone for police intervention before serious violence was caused to one of the rowing parties. When we arrived at the scene, we could hear the man screaming at his female partner inside the house and then a window crashed with an object having broken it. The shouting and screaming suddenly stopped as a woman opened the front door. Her head was bleeding profusely; presumably from a physical assault, as she indicated to the two police patrol officers that her cohabitee was running across the fields at the back of their house wielding a hammer that he had hit her on the skull with. 'He ...he tried to kill me!' the woman told the police officers, adding, 'Two minutes later and I'd have been dead!'

As the assailant ran away across the fields armed with a hammer which he'd already shown he was not afraid to use, I expected at least one of the police officers to give chase, catch the culprit and make an arrest. They simply made a decision to let him escape as they called an ambulance for the injured woman. When I later asked the officers why one didn't give immediate pursuit, the most senior officer replied, 'Too dangerous for both us, him and the woman he assaulted!' He then explained that the man was known to the police and had a string of violent offences, many against the same woman who had cohabited with him for over six years. I was told that for the police to confront him at the height of his anger was highly dangerous as they could not estimate the degree of violence he would respond with once surrounded. The police officer also told me they were regularly called out to the same house after domestic violence had broken out and every time they arrested the man, his cohabitee invariably refused to give evidence against him to the sentencing court at the eleventh hour. She was so fearful that he would kill her if she testified against him that she always took him back.

Before that night's shift had ended, during our canteen break the officer explained by saying, 'We didn't want to escalate the risk of further violence by giving chase and pursuing an arrest. Our police training informs us that the actions of any frightened person who is backed into a corner are wholly unpredictable and highly dangerous. The first thing they will do is to try to escape, but if you chase them, there's no telling what they will do! That's why hunters never chase a wounded beast.'

During recent years as masses of immigrants have risked life and limb to escape hostile situations, crossing seas in overcrowded boats unworthy for the passage, and often drowning in their attempt to reach the shores of greater freedom, the overall situation of global mass migration has worried me enormously. I don't profess to know the answer as to how our country should respond, I cannot condemn any migrant who feels trapped not to try and escape the negative consequences of their situation. Were I ever to find myself and family in a similar situation, I would do everything and anything to improve the lot of myself and family.

To see any creature who is trapped and removed from the benefit of their natural resources is to see a creature who is prepared to jump through any gap that offers instant freedom. Think not too unkindly upon those who choose to migrate to greener pastures when their land grows barren and denies access to only the strong, the most powerful and the wealthy, for it is a most natural part of any parent to seek improvement for their offspring where it can be found." William Forde: October 3rd, 2018.
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Thought for October 2nd.

2/10/2018

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Thought for today:
"'Now, look here Squirt. If I've told you once, fish face, I've told you a dozen times, stay where you are! Far better to be a big fish in a small pond than to move into deeper waters that you'll only drown in. It might look good out here on a sunny day like today, but don't let the greenness of the grass of others confuse you. Life out here can be pretty murky and shitty too from time to time, even for a happy-go-lucky chap like me. Better stick to swimming in waters that you know, Squirt'.


Aristotle thought that the basis of a democratic state is liberty, a belief that I wholeheartedly endorse. I have always held the view that anyone who is prepared to give up a significant piece of their freedom in order to remain in their comfort zone and preserve a bit of safety in return, deserve neither liberty nor safety. Where freedom lives, that is the only place I choose to reside. That is one of the main reasons why I choose to remain living in England more than any other country in the world. We are a small country with a big heart and such a large history.


It is true that during past centuries that some of the shine of the country's proud heritage was tarnished considerably with its involvement in the slave trade, yet my own knowledge of history informs me that slavery was a natural ingredient in the economic cycle of all nations throughout the ancient, medieval and recently modern history of nations' development. Indeed; the last country to abolish slavery was Mauritania, where it was officially abolished by a presidential decree in 1981 (yes, nineteen hundred and eighty one!) None of this is to defend in the slightest, the inhumane practice of slavery, but merely to illustrate that from all of the earth's commodities, the most precious and the one capable of demanding the highest cost was never gold, diamonds, oil or even land, but 'the freedom of an individual' enslaved in the economic values of the times.


'Liberty' is so essential to one's self-respect and sense of overall well- being that Nations have gone to war over their desired freedoms since time immemorial, whether the stated reasons of conflict have been territorial rights, land and sea access, who rules here, who trades there, religious practice; you name it and you will probably find that some country or someone once went to war over the issue! Even the United States President, Franklin D. Roosevelt articulated 'The Four Freedoms of speech, freedom of worship, freedom from want and freedom from fear' in his State of the Union Address in 1941. These freedoms were later enshrined in the treaties that ended the 'Second World War'.


The European Union recognises its 'Four Freedoms' in the Treaty of Rome as the free movement of goods, services, capital and persons. It is worth noticing that the fundamental objections represented in the British division of voters both for or against Brexit are framed within the argument of 'freedom'. The Remainers see the wanting to abolish 'freedom of persons to move from here to there in Europe' as both naturally unjust, inhumane and economically unsound; whereas the Leavers (like myself) concern themselves with what they see as a higher form of liberty, like regaining the freedom to make our own laws and control our own finances, trade and borders. It is all a question of which matter the most to the future well-being of our nation as to which side should have the right to hold the moral high ground.


Freedom is such a precious thing that its importance forms the cornerstone of the social contract of marriage. When we marry, we effectively 'choose' to give up certain individual freedoms that 'single status' confers on us and marry our freedoms in a joint purpose 'to love and honour our wedding partner in sickness and health, and forsaking all others until death do us part'. When one comes to think of this, the union of marriage is a greater undertaking than those four freedoms that were enshrined in treaty after the ending of the 'Second World War' and the 'Four Freedoms' that the British entry into the European Union undertook to abide by.


To end this post, it is also important to understand that giving up one's freedoms is more important than giving up one's life. That is why the supreme sacrifice asked of all Christians is to do what Christ asks and to follow His ways; instead of doing what we want to do. Being a Christian essentially means relinquishing one's freedom of right to do one's own thing; the right to do wrong!


So, better to be a big fish in a small pond than a gutted salmon on the fishmonger's slab? " William Forde: October 2nd, 2018.
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Thought for October 1st.

1/10/2018

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Thought for today:
"I have always been a lover of blending image and word and have therefore enjoyed those silly one-liners and puns that many comedians use as the bread and butter part of their act and many children have the ability to effortlessly come out with. Nothing lifts the spirit as much or lightens the heart than a good laugh at life. I include a few below that have brought a titter or two into my life:

When I was young I tried to catch some fog, but mist.

Moses always knew how to make a good cup of tea. Hebrews it!

I stayed awake all night trying to figure it out, but it was morning before it dawned on me.

I'm reading a book about anti-gravity and I just can't put it down.

Ask any woman and she will tell you that PMS jokes just aren't funny. Period!

I never liked my beard until it grew on me.

When you get a bladder infection you can truly say that urine trouble.

Let's face it, broken pencils are pointless.



We used to have a parish priest in Haworth before he moved to a new parish in Pateley Bridge who always started and concluded his Sunday sermons with a joke that enabled his weekly congregation to return home all the more cheerful for having heard it. He is a lovely, caring, sensitive and selfless man who would never take the Michael, and yet he appreciates that in this often too serious world of ours that laughter must never lose its spot in the theatre of life. I won't probably be around when the day finally arrives that Father Michael tells his last joke, but if I can hear it up above, I know I will laugh out loud.
​Love and Peace Bill xxx

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