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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      • 'Growing up with grandparents'
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Song For Today: 30th November 2019

30/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to Colin Jagger of Halifax who celebrates his birthday today.

My song today is ’Such a Night’. This is a popular song from 1953. It was written by Lincoln Chase and was first recorded by The Drifters in November, 1953. It was released in January 1954 but was banned by some radio stations as too ‘racy’. It reached Number 2 on the ‘American R&B Chart’ in 1954.

The song also became a hit single for Johnnie Ray whose cover version reached Number 1 in the ‘UK Singles Chart’ in 1954. Johnnie Ray's version entered the ‘US Cash Box Chart’ on 27 March 1954, peaking at Number 18 two weeks later on 10 April, 1954.

Over artists to cover the song included The Four Lovers (1956): Elvis Presley: Dinah Washington, who recorded the song twice (1954 and 1962): Elvis Presley (1964): Roy Stevens (1982): Aaron Neville (1993): Cliff Richard (2013) and Michael Buble (2018).

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I will never forget the first time I heard this song. It was sung by Johnnie Ray. Whenever we heard an American singer with a hit song, it was all the rage. Johnnie Alvin Ray was born in 1927 and was raised in Dallas, Oregon. He would become a singer, songwriter and pianist; and if the truth is known, he was cited by music critics as a major precursor to what would become Rock and Roll, for his jazz and blues-influenced music and his animated stage personality. Tony Bennett called him the ‘father of rock and roll’ and historians have noted him as a pioneering figure in the development of the genre.

Johnnie first started to impress in the nightclubs of Detroit after being raised partially deaf. Johnnie started singing at the age of 15 years; only four years older than I was when I first sang his songs. Discovered in the night clubs of Detroit in 1951, he was subsequently signed by Columbia Records and rose quickly from obscurity in the United States with the release of his debut album, ‘Johnnie Ray’ (1952), as well as with a 78 rpm single, both of whose sides reached the Billboard magazine's ‘Top Hot 100 Songs of 1952’ with songs, ‘Cry and ‘The Little White Cloud that Cried’.

In 1954, Ray made his first and only major motion picture, ‘There’s No Business Like Show Business’, in which he, along with Ethel Merman and Marilyn Monroe and others were part of an ensemble cast. His career in his native United States began to decline in 1957, and his American record label dropped him in 1960. He never regained a strong following there and rarely appeared on American television after 1973. His fanbases in the United Kingdom and Australia, however, remained strong until his death in 1990 of complications from liver failure.

Johnnie Ray would become a British sensation in the 1950s with his heart-wrenching vocal delivery of 'Cry'. Ray’s delivery of this song was to influence many acts including Elvis Presley and was the prime target for teen hysteria in the pre-Presley days. Ray's dramatic stage performances and melancholic songs have been credited by music historians as precursory to later performers, ranging from Leonard Cohen to Morrissey.

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When I was 11 years old (1954), the hits that were then the cream of the crop on British shores were songs like ‘Oh My Papa’ and ‘The Happy Wanderer’, along with many lovely ballads. We were a nation of fun songs and luvy duvy ballads when suddenly, out of America burst that unforgettable voice of Johnnie Ray who would rock the feet of the British youth and shock the sensibilities of our more reserved parents and elders.

I attended St Patrick’s Roman Catholic School in Heckmondwike at the time. I would travel the three-mile distance to school daily by bus pass. The bus would stop at the getting off point at Heckmondwike Green and its young passengers would alight and walk to their school, five minutes away. I would never go straight to school and would frequently arrive late for morning prayers and assembly.

At the time, I considered myself a cracking singer and my vocal talent had won me local prizes in various competitions from the age of 8 years upwards. At the left-hand side of the park green was male and female toilets. In those days, all toilets, swimming baths and the passages within all public buildings were lined with tiled walls that created the echo and resonance of a recording studio. Every morning, after alighting the bus, I would make my way inside the toilet, where I would sing the song of the moment at the top of my voice, just to hear what a professionally produced record of me might sound without the musical accompaniment in an echo chamber.

I will always remember singing Johnnie Ray’s songs of ‘Cry’ and ‘Such a Night’. The reason I recall these songs of Johnnie Rays more than any other songs of the time was that shortly after my ‘public rehearsals’ in the park toilets on the days in question, I was singing a much different tune as I fought for my life in Batley Hospital. I had been run over by a large milk wagon on Windybank Estate and had been unfortunate to have my body twisted around the main drive shaft of the wagon which gave me several life-threatening injuries like a damaged spine, collapsed chest, lung puncture, 22 broken ribs, plus numerous broken bones to arms, legs hip and back. The upshot was that I was in the hospital for nine months and was unable to walk again for another two years after my hospital discharge. I was in fact told as a hospital patient that I would never walk again due to the damage in my spine.

What I loved about Johnnie Ray’s singing was his confidence in giving his singing full voice to the point of what adults might have judged as vocal vulgarity then. He introduced into his songs raw ‘emotion’ and he gave his young fans like me much pleasure in his total absence of vocal restraint. I will never forget those days in the Heckmondwike Park toilets as my notes bounced and reverberated in echo off the toilet walls. Oh, happy days of a wonderful youth.

I dedicate my song today to Colin Jagger of Halifax who celebrates his birthday today. Have a nice birthday, Colin and leave room for lots of cake and ale. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Love and regards Bill.
Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 29th November 2019

29/11/2019

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My song today is dedicated to my beautiful wife and soul mate, Sheila, who celebrates her 63rd birthday.

Today's song is ‘My Kind of Girl’. This was a 1961 song originally released by Matt Monro. Monro's version reached Number 5 on the UK's ‘Record Retailer Chart’, while a version by Frank Sinatra and Count Basie reached number 35 the following year.
‘My Kind of Girl was first released by Matt Monro. It was written by Leslie Bricusse.

In February 1961, the British music magazine NME reported that Monro had won ITV’s ‘A Song for Britain’ with ‘My Kind of Girl’. However, according to his daughter Michele's autobiography, ‘Matt Monro: The Singer's Singer’, Monro came second in this. The song would later win an ‘Ivor Novello Award’ for ‘The Most Performed Work of the Year’. Shortly after the result was announced, Monro, George Martin, and Johnnie Spense rushed into the studio to record the song

The song spent 14 weeks on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’, reaching Number 18, making Monro the first British artist to reach the US Top 20 since Laurie London did so with ‘He’s Got the Whole World (In His Hands)’ in 1958. The song also spent 12 weeks on the UK's ‘Record Retailer Chart’, reaching Number 5 and becoming Monro's second entry on that chart, while reaching No. 6 on ‘Billboard’s Easy Listening Chart’. The song was ranked Number 84 on Billboard’s end of year ‘Hot 100 for 1961-Top Sides of the Year’.

The song was also covered by Frank Sinatra: Count Basie: Sammy Davis Jr: Nat King Cole: Perry Como: Tom Jones: John Gary: Guy Michell and Michael Buble among many others.

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Just as there are ‘horses for courses’ as the saying goes, there are also ‘women for all occasions’ or as my mother used to say, ‘She’s a woman a man can take anywhere, Billy’. That’s precisely how I consider my Sheila. The term ‘My Sheila’, is not born out of any possessive characteristic of mine but is simply an incontrovertible truth.

I could take Sheila to any place and mix her within any company and be certain in the knowledge that she would never offend and would be liked by all present. She hasn’t one hurtful bone in her body nor one malicious thought in her head, and if I didn’t already know, it would not have been too difficult to guess that she’d been convent educated.

Sheila is simply the best cook I have ever known. She often cooks me something new and is then happy to modify it and tweak it to my perfection until she comes up with the perfect recipe ‘for her man’. If anyone thinks I am too fat, then it’s nothing to do with me. Blame Sheila!

Not to put too fine a point on it, but even if Sheila hadn’t been blessed with a perfect facial bone structure that gives her a Mona Lisa smile that mesmerises; making this 63-year-old woman not look a day over 43, I’d still have married her after I’d sampled her kitchen offerings.

Even if she was hung like a Sumo wrestler and had the belly of a beached whale and the decorum of Mucky Molly from Barnsley, I’d still have fallen in love with her! To me, Sheila is the most! She is ‘all woman’ from head to toe, the least selfish person I have ever known; a gentle human who is sensitive to the core.

In fact, acknowledging that no human is ‘perfect’ were I to pick one fault Sheila has, it would be her habit of leaving the cupboard door at the bottom of our kitchen steps perpetually open. The corner of the cupboard door is as sharp as a knife and should I ever fall down these steps, it will be the loss of an eye I risk more than broken bones. I keep telling Sheila that if she wanted a one-eyed husband, she’d have been better marrying a pirate!

But, whatever I say, she politely ignores me, and still leaves the cupboard door open. It's as though she's telling me, 'I told you, Bill, when we married, that I wasn't perfect'. Please note the women lib's undertone of her message when she says 'when we married' and not 'when you married me'.It's as though the decision to wed was all hers and had nothing at all to do with me.

And however many times I tell her to 'close the cupboard door' and remind her that this failing is the one thing which flaws her 'state of perfection’ she simply replies silently in what I can only describe as a puff of perfumed flatulence.

Happy birthday, Sheila. I hope your day brings you all the happiness you deserve, I love you more deeply than you could ever know. You are certainly ‘My Kind of Girl’. Bill xxx

Love and Peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 28th November 2019

28/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to four people, all of whom are celebrating their birthday. One dedication is for my niece, Joanne Brown who is married to my nephew, Lee Brown, and the couple lives in Kirkheaton, Huddersfield with their daughter Chloe. One dedication is to a friend who attends my parish church in Keighley, Christine Pierre. The remaining two dedications are to Facebook friends, Julie Elizabeth Barrass who lives in Cleckheaton and the final dedication is to Simon Mayne who lives in Northallerton.

Today, my song is ‘Pretty Flamingo’. This song was written by Mark Barkan, which became a hit in 1966 when Manfred Mann’s recording of it was released as a single. The single reached Number 1 in the ‘UK Singles Chart’ on 5 May 1966. Manfred Mann's recording was a minor hit in the United States where it spent eight weeks on ‘Billboard’s Hot 100’ chart, peaking at Number 29 during August, 1966. It was also successful in Ireland and was Number 1 there for four weeks.

The speaker describes a woman, whom all the guys call 'Flamingo', because her hair glows like the sun and her eyes can light the sky. It is a woman for whom the singer has fallen, and he plans to win her affection.

Both the Everly Brothers and Gene Pitney released cover versions of ‘Pretty Flamingo’ on albums they recorded in 1966.

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The only life association that I can make with this song is that it was recorded and released at a time in my life when I decided to return from Canada, having spent the previous two years there.

During the latter six months of my Canadian experience, I was courting a young woman called Jenny Downton. Jenny was the 17-year-old daughter of the British Trade Commissioner to Canada. While Jenny’s parents were perfectly happy for our association to continue, I felt it would be unfair to her. Jenny had been brought up in a lifestyle which I could never give her.

The very first time I was invited to lunch at the house her parents were living at, I arrived at a huge manor house in Toronto with a dining table that seated dozens of people. The diners were high ranking officials of Government or Canadian business moguls.

Despite their lifestyle of grandeur, Jenny Parents always welcomed me and never looked down on me. They probably would have been happy for me to become a son-in-law in the years ahead after their daughter had completed her university education when she was 21/22 years old. I was not the type of person who would possibly ask a young woman aged 17 years, with a glorious future before her to give it up for me and therefore, I ended our relationship. Were the I to relive my life and return to the same situation today, I don’t know if I would decide any differently.

Still, life happens the way it does for a particular reason we are unaware of at the time, and I thank God that when the dice were thrown up in the air in 2010, they landed lucky side up, bringing into my life, my beautiful wife and lifelong soul mate, Sheila. To use a turn of phrase common to many teenagers, ‘She’s my bird’ my Pretty Flamingo.

I jointly dedicate my song today to four people, all of whom are celebrating their birthday. One dedication is for my niece, Joanne Brown who is married to my nephew, Lee Brown, and the couple live in Kirkheaton, Huddersfield with their daughter Chloe. One dedication is to a friend who attends my parish church in Keighley, Christine Pierre. The remaining two dedications are to Facebook friends, Julie Elizabeth Barrass who lives in Cleckheaton and the final dedication is to Simon Mayne who lives in Northallerton.

Have a smashing day Joanne and leave some room for lots of cake. Love Uncle Billy and Sheila x

I also wish Christine, Julie and Simon the happiest of birthdays. May all your day be filled with much happiness, love and peace. Love Bill x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 27th November 2019

27/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Ann Buck from Plymouth, who celebrates her birthday today.

Today’s song is ‘Sweet Surrender’. This song was written by David Gates and performed by ‘Bread’ in 1973. The single was the second release from their fifth album, ‘Guitar Man’, and was the last of four Number 1’s for ‘Bread’ on the US ‘Easy Listening Chart’. ‘Sweet Surrender’ spent two weeks at Number 1 spot on the chart, while on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart, it peaked at Number 15.

‘Sweet Surrender’ also did well internationally. It was a Top 10 hit in Canada (Number 4) and New Zealand (Number 7).

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I was 31 years old when this song was first released by ‘Bread although I would be into my 40th year before it first registered with me and became a song that I would regularly play. Indeed, I became intrigued by ‘The Sound of Bread’ and searched out all their songs.

I think it was Oscar Wilde who once generally remarked that he could resist anything except temptation.

There are many temptations to the teenage mind that eat away at the growing appetite for life until one ‘gives way’ and the temptation is tasted. Undoubtedly, the greatest temptation of all is to give way to the ‘sweetest surrender’. Indeed, it is much like the apple tree in the Garden of Eden whereby mankind is rarely content to look only; he must touch and pluck the fruit from its natural habitat and consume, most usually when it's at its ripest and ready to fall, but not always so.

It is both nature and natural in the development of all teenagers that they experiment with all aspects of life, as they seek to come to terms with the pleasures and the pitfalls of life. In my day, if a young man succumbed to the temptations of the flesh with a young woman, and she became pregnant, there was simply nothing for the couple to consider. As soon as possible thereafter, the couple would marry and become parents before their natural time. In short; when a man plucked an apple from the tree of temptation and took a bite out of it, he finished what he started; he didn’t throw the rest of the fruit away after biting into it and tasting it. Or as all parents of the pre-60s said,"You make your bed, you lie in it!"

It moves me less today whenever I hear about such temptations being succumbed to because I know it is natural for such temptations to exist, even if extremely unwise for one to give way to. It does, however, concern me that some women seem to adopt a lifestyle of having many children to numerous fathers, along with the ease that many men become ‘absent fathers’ to their children and avoid all financial responsibility to the mother of their children.

When I think about the wild days of my late teenage years and those temptations I both resisted and those which I gave way to, I consider myself very fortunate not to have been married before my 26th year of life. I can honestly say that I never plucked an apple from the tree of temptation, although I was never resistant to the notion of eating the windfalls (the fallen fruit that lay around). My personal cross that I carried then was one of essentially being a ‘good man’ whose greatest temptation of the flesh was ‘bad women’.

I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Ann Buck from Plymouth who celebrates her birthday today. I hope that you have a smashing day, Ann. Thank you for being my friend. Bill x Love and peace Bill xxx

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Song for Today: 26th November 2019

26/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my great-niece, Darcy Forde of Batley and my Facebook friend Pascall Poppler who lives in Monaco; both of whom celebrate their birthday today.

Today’s song is ‘The Girl Can’t Help It’. This song was the title song to the film ‘The Girl Can’t Help It’, with words and music by songwriter Bobby Troup. It was performed by Little Richard and was released in December 1956. In the US, the song peaked at Number 49 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ singles chart, and Number 7 on the ‘R&B Best Sellers Chart’. Overseas, ‘The Girl Can't Help It’ peaked at Number 9 in the UK. It was included on the Rolling Stone’s ‘500 Greatest Songs of All Time at Number 413. Originally, Fats Domino was lined up to record the track, which was not written as a rock song.

The song has been covered by many artists including The Animals (1964): The Everly Brothers (1969): Led Zepplin (1970), plus numerous others.

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I was 14 years old when ‘The Girl Can’t Help it’ was released, although it was almost a year later until I was able to see the film of the same name, due to a previous accident which had prevented me walking for almost three years.

Which pair of male eyes from teenager upwards could possibly fail to be engaged by the way Jayne Mansfield burst onto the big screen with an accentuated wiggle in her walk that made every prominent part of her stand out a mile? Not since the beautiful Jane Russell in the film ‘Outlaw’ (1943) had seductively lain in that barn of loose straw flashing her ‘come on’ eyes, had the female form dressed in skin-tight garments provided the filmgoer with such delectable viewing.

Indeed, I wasn’t at all surprised after once reading that this Delux-Colour film production was originally intended as a vehicle for the American sex symbol, Jayne Mansfield to strut her stuff across the big screen. However, with a satirical subplot involving teenagers and rock and roll music, the unintended result of the film was to introduce the most potent celebration of rock music ever captured on the big screen (for that period in time).

My dear mother (who was rarely surprised by all the goings-on in the world) would be constantly stumped by my ability to change girlfriends as often as my shirt. It seemed to surprise her by the ease in which I was able to pick up a different girlfriend every week of the year to take dancing and romancing. Like all mothers then (and still today I would imagine), mums didn’t bother too much what their oldest son got up to; it was their daughter’s behaviour they worried about. It was their daughter’s wrongful action which was more likely to shame the family name, while their sons were able to park their sins at the altar of being ‘a bit of a lad’. Mums knew better than anyone else that it is always the female who is left ‘holding the baby’, long after the dance has ended and the coats have been collected from the cloakroom to go home.

I recall being 17 years old and getting dolled up to go dancing one Saturday night at Cleckheaton Town Hall. As I combed my hair to go out (in those days a comb was never far from a young man’s hands and hair), my mother said, “I don’t know how you do it, Billy Forde! How do you get all these young women falling over to go out with you? How do you do it, lad?”

Looking at mum I arrogantly replied, “I suppose the girl can’t help it, Mum”; a phrase I’d stolen from the Jayne Mansfield film.

I dedicate my song today to my great-niece, Darcy Forde of Batley and my Facebook friend, Pascall Poppler, who lives in Monaco; both of whom celebrate their birthday today. Have a smashing birthday, ladies filled with much happiness, love…and…lots of cake. Lots of love, Darcy from Great Uncle Billy and Sheila x.

Love to Pascall. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 25th November 2019

25/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my son, William, who lives in Australia and who would probably prefer to describe himself as being a citizen of the world.

Today’s song is, ‘On the Road Again’. This song was written and made famous by country music singer, Willie Nelson. The song is about life on tour. ‘On the Road Again’ became Nelson's 9th Country & Western Number 1 hit overall (6th as a solo recording act) in November1980. It also became one of Nelson's most recognizable tunes. In addition, the song reached Number 20 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart and Number 7 on the ‘Adult Contemporary Chart’. It was his biggest pop hit to that time and won him a ‘Grammy Award for Best Country Song’ a year later.

In 1980 Willie Nelson starred in his first leading role in the film ‘Honeysuckle Rose’, about an ageing musician who fails to achieve national fame and his relationship with his family, who also are part of his band that travels throughout the United States while playing in different venues. Shortly after signing the contract, Nelson was approached during a flight by the executive producer of the movie, who requested him to write a song about life on the road to use as the theme song. Nelson quickly wrote the song. In 2004, Rolling Stone ranked it Number 471 on its list of the ‘500 Greatest Songs of All Time’ In 2011, ‘On the Road Again’ was inducted to the ‘Grammy Hall of Fame’.

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I must admit that from my late teens onwards, I have always ‘been on the road again’, whether it has been in search of a new place to see, a new job to take on, a new purpose to pursue or a new woman to love. Although I started to settle down in my early thirties into family life and children of my own, it took me another decade to get rid of that urge inside me to move on again.

Today, my 36-year-old son, William (known as Will), appears to have adopted my former urge to travel and to constantly be trying new places to go to, new things to do and new occupations and projects to work at. For many years, William has lived in Australia and is now a naturalised citizen there. William has always essentially done his own thing (a chip off the old block one might say). Having got a degree in Business Studies at Huddersfield University before going to Australia with his then-girlfriend whom he later married and divorced, he then acquired his masters and started work as an accountant.

William, however, has always had wanderlust and after obtaining his job as an accountant, he quickly decided that this 9:00 am to 5:00 pm, suited and booted career was not the job for him. Since then, he has travelled around Australia, obtaining all manner of work to basically sustain himself, whilst putting several projects he wants to pursue long-term into operation. One month, he will be working as a DJ, and the next he’ll be cutting records as a singer or be engaged as a gardener or a pond clearer. Many of his projects benefit the community and he has taught Yoga for many years now. He will frequently use the occupation of ‘house sitting’ to take him all around Australia and all over Europe for very little outlay of money. In short, he could accurately be perceived as being a 36-year-old man who is living the life of a highly educated, well-travelled nomad of positive spirit, purposeful goal and confident mannerisms, with a strong inner desire to change the world for the better.

As for the future, I very much guess that William will be happy wherever life takes him, and destiny leads him towards whatever he is meant to be doing.

I would say that his greatest characteristic is to honestly express his feelings, give his love spontaneously and to embrace the different cultures and people he encounters on his travels. What I really like about him, is that anyone who gets to know him and me, instantly recognises that we are father and son; not by our looks but by our actions. William has found that precious ability to be able to live in the moment, for the moment, while forever having an eye on both past and future.

I dedicate my song today to my son, William. Take care, son, be true to yourself and good to others. However far you travel in life, never lose your moral compass to bring you back home when the time is right for you. I love you and am very proud of you. Dad x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 24th November 2019

24/11/2019

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Today, I sing a hymn as opposed to my usual daily song. The hymn is dedicated to Monsignor Anthony Boylan who died in his sleep on the 20th November, 2019. Monsignor Boylan had suffered from cancer.

The hymn I sing today is ‘Sweet Heart of Jesus’. Sung in adoration to Jesus, I sing it today in appreciation and celebration of the life of Monsignor Anthony Boylan.

Anthony Bernard Boylan, (or Tony as he was always known), was born in Bradford on 6 May 1939. Along with his brothers, he was educated at St Bede’s Grammar School, where their father was a member of staff for over twenty years until 1948. In 1955

Tony left Bradford and followed what by then had become a well-trodden path from St Bede’s to Ushaw College in County Durham, where he studied for the priesthood. He was ordained at St Joseph’s Church, Bradford on 24 May 1964. His younger brother, Bernard also became a priest and was ordained in 1967 and another brother died while he was a seminary student.

Fr Boylan’s first appointment was to St Peter’s, Doncaster, in the days when South Yorkshire was part of the Leeds diocese and before the creation of the Diocese of Hallam. In 1967 he went to Rome for further studies and three years later he emerged with a Licence and Doctorate in Canon Law. On his return to the Diocese he became Assistant Priest at Holy Family parish in West Leeds and in 1972 he moved across the city to the Holy Rosary, Chapeltown.

In October 1975 he was appointed the Secretary to the National Liturgical Commission, based in London. At the time the Commission was chaired by the then Bishop of Leeds, William Gordon Wheeler. London was to be Fr Boylan’s home for the next six years, while he worked at the Commission and established the Liturgy Secretariat at Eccleston Square. In 1979 he became the Bishops’ Conference National Adviser for Liturgical Formation. It was in this period that he acquired a reputation as an expert in the history of the Church’s liturgy and in contemporary liturgical practice. His expertise was such that he became Chairman of the Advisory Board of the International Commission on English in the Liturgy and for several years he was a frequent visitor to ICEL’s offices in Washington D.C.

In 1982, Fr Boylan was appointed a ‘Chaplain of Honour’ by Pope St John Paul II and in the same year, he returned to the Diocese and became Parish Priest of St Paulinus, Dewsbury. In 1986 Monsignor Boylan moved to St Anthony’s at Beeston, in Leeds and in 1998 to the parish of SS John Fisher and Thomas More at Burley-in-Wharfedale. In 2006 he became the Parish Priest of St Boniface, Bentham, and of the parish of SS Mary and Michael at Settle He retired from active ministry in 2015 and chose to spend his retirement living in Bentham.

In the early summer of 2019, he was diagnosed with a terminal illness. As his strength declined, he drew comfort from being able to join the Diocesan Pilgrimage to Lourdes in July, where, to his delight, his daily carers were students from his old school. He was present at the Cathedral for the Ordination of the Diocese’s newest priest later that month and this spoke volumes for his devotion to the diocesan priesthood and to his own vocation of more than half a century.

Monsignor Boylan would often cover for an absent priest to say Mass in the parishes of Keighley and he will be greatly missed. God rest his soul and sincere condolences to any family members.

Love and peace Bill x
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Song For Today: 23rd November 2019

23/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Donna Winstanley, who lives in Ellesmere Port, Cheshire: my Facebook friend, Elaine Pollard Clickner, from Moberly, Missouri: my sister-in-law, Linda Forde’s deceased mother, Mavis Gamble, who lived in Perth, Western Australia. All three ladies celebrate their birthday today. Had Mavis lived, she would have been 88 years of age. I hope they celebrate birthdays in heaven.

Today’s song is ‘Take Me Home Country Road’. This song, also known as ‘Take Me Home’ or ‘Country Roads’ was written by Bill Danoff, Taffy Nivert and John Denver about the beauty of the U.S. state of West Virginia. It was released as a single performed by Denver on April 12, 1971, peaking at Number 2 on ‘Billboard Hot 100’ singles for the week ending August 28, 1971.

The song was a success on its initial release and was certified Gold by the RIAA on August 18, 1971, and Platinum on April 10, 2017. The song became one of John Denver's most popular and beloved songs. It has continued to sell, with over 1.5 million digital copies sold in the United States. It is considered to be Denver's signature song.

"Take Me Home, Country Roads" received an enthusiastic response from West Virginians. The song is the theme song of ‘West Virginia University’ and it has been performed during every home football pregame show since 1972.

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Whoever we are, when we are away from home, wherever we are, 'home' will always remain at the heart of us. I was born in Southern Ireland in 1942, and like every other person who was born in Ireland and who no longer lives there, we are always planning and talking about ‘going home again’. I have heard this kind of talk all my life from men and women who left the Emerald Isle and migrated to another country for a better life, but each demonstrate through their many references to ‘their homeland’ that Ireland has never left them. However long it has been since any of us left Ireland to live elsewhere, Ireland still lives on in all of us.

And so, it is with all our motherlands. No flag will ever fly higher than the one under which we were born. I well recall back in 2005 when I received the M.B.E. from Queen Elizabeth for my services to the West Yorkshire Community, my initial response at the time (being more Republican in my view than Royalist) was to consider turning it down. On the advice of my good friend, the television gardener, Geoffrey Smith (now deceased), I reconsidered and accepted the award on behalf of the many hundreds of good people who had helped me in my efforts to help others. There was also a voice at the back of my head, that told me that I might have been betraying the ‘Irish Cause’ (the reunification of the north and south as one Ireland), by accepting any medal from an English Queen.

Then, I thought about all the good things that England had given me and my six siblings since my parents and their three children at the time migrated here in 1946 when I was aged 4 years. In terms of education, accommodation, employment, pension and health benefits, England had served all the Forde family well. England gave the Forde family safety and security, and I would not be alive today without all the skill of the invaluable medical help I’ve received since childhood. Throughout my 77 years of life, English hospitals, consultants, surgeons, doctors and medical workers have literally saved my life on seven or eight occasions.

And yet, there shall always remain in my heart the knowledge and feeling that I am Irish. Not that I would ever be offered a knighthood, but if I was, I would be instantly reminded of the country of my birth and refuse. That is why any Irish man who is not a naturalised English man can never be called ‘Sir’ even when he is bestowed as a Knight of the Realm. Seemingly, the Knighthood is purely ‘honorary’ if the recipient is not naturalised as being English.

When we eventually Brexit from Europe, even though I have lived in England for 73 years (with the exception of two years between 1964-66, when I lived in Canada), I will be classed as being no different than any current migrant in this country as I have never been naturalised here. If the Government of the day chooses to send back all migrants who are not naturalised (which I do not believe for one moment that they will), I shall be among the returned packages from these shores. I have had 73 years in which I could have been naturalised had my parents or myself chosen to take that course. The reason I have never been naturalised here is because I was born an Irish citizen and shall die an Irish citizen.

Come next spring, and if my health permits, Sheila and I will travel around Ireland for the better part of three weeks. I always have this inner desire within me to travel the country roads back home once more. A trip back to Ireland for me represents much more than a holiday break. It brings me ‘sanctuary’ of mind, body and soul, along with a renewed sense of ‘belonging’ in the breast of one’s motherland.

I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Donna Winstanley, who lives in Ellesmere Port, Cheshire: my Facebook friend, Elaine Pollard Clickner, from Moberly, Missouri: my sister-in-law, Linda Forde’s deceased mother, Mavis Gamble, who lived in Perth, Western Australia. All three ladies celebrate their birthday today. Had Mavis lived, she would have been 88 years of age. I hope they celebrate birthdays in heaven.

Donna and Elaine, thank you for being my Facebook friends. I hope that your birthdays are filled with much happiness and love, and that you both leave enough room for lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Have a smashing day. Love Bill xx

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 22nd November 2019

22/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to three people who are celebrating their birthday today; my dear family friend in County Kilkenny n Ireland, Kay Brennan, our family church friend, Keith Hutchinson from Keighley, West Yorkshire and my Facebook friend, Benny Norris, from Carrick-on-Suir, County Tipperary in Ireland.

Today’s song is ‘Have I Told You Lately’. This popular song was written by Scotty Wiseman for the 1944 musical film, ‘Sing, Neighbour, Sing and performed by ‘Lulu Belle and Scotty’. It was the greatest hit of Wiseman and his wife and was one of the first country music songs to attract major attention in the pop music field. It's repeating the fourth line is ‘Well darling, I'm telling you now.’ Although it was featured in the movie, it wasn't released by them until 1947 (and then again in 1956). The first released version of this song was by Gene Autry, the singing cowboy movie star in 1945.

There have literally been a hundred people record their cover version of this hit song over the years. Big named cover artists include: Bing Crosby: The Andrew Sisters: Elvis Presley : Ricky Nelson: Eddie Cochran: Michael Buble: Bob Hope with Bing Crosby: Billy Fury: Vera Lynn: Al Martino: Willie Nelson: Patti Page: Jim Reeves: Cliff Richard: Tex Ritter: Kenny Rogers: Sissy Spacek: Slim Whitman: Hank Williams: Porter Wagoner: Roy Rogers: Pat Boone and dozens of others.

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Given that this song has been around for the past 75 years, and despite me being 77 years old, it has never registered in my mind before November 2019. It seems incredible that I haven’t heard it before a few weeks ago. I must have heard it at some time yet cannot recall. And if I did hear it, I cannot possibly believe that I wouldn’t remember, as it is such a lovely song that certainly resonates with something I have always believed in; the importance of telling someone that ‘you love them’ and the tremendous power of these spoken words.

If anyone ever asked me to tell them the most important thing my mother ever gave me, I’d have no hesitation or exhibit the slightest of doubt in what I would tell them. ‘The most important thing my mother ever gave me was the knowledge and belief that ‘she loved me’. I can never recall one day throughout my childhood when my mother did not say these precious words to me and my six siblings. She would tell us every time we left the house to go to school and every bedtime before we climbed the stairs that we were loved.

Indeed saying, ‘I love you’ is the way that I always sign off any daily text of mine to family members and whenever any family member visit, we all embrace or kiss, male and female. Knowing how important that constantly hearing these words have been to me in my life, I have always done the same with all my children in this respect as my mother did with hers. I would have to honestly state however, that my father was not an emotionally expressive man. I can count the few times he said, ’I Love You’, although I always knew he did by his actions, on those occasions he was more emotionally expressive.

My twenty-seven years working as a Probation Officer, Group Worker, Relaxation Trainer and Counsellor was to demonstrate to me how important ‘feeling loved’ and ‘hearing from others that you are loved’ is. It greatly affects a person’s long-term development and behaviour; it influences one’s overall health and it largely determines a person’s level of happiness.

So many people who never learned to emotionally express their feelings (whether good or bad), go on to develop all manner of problem behaviours and response patterns that are injurious to their overall health, immediate safety and their long-term freedom. One of the most important and most powerful of all tasks I could ever give a person was to persuade them to say, ‘I love you’ to another group member or significant other. I invariably found that it is often harder to get a person to say ‘I love you’ than to push a jelly uphill!

I will never forget providing Relaxation Training to a group of women prisoners serving life sentences and extended prison sentences in a Wakefield Prison during the 1990s (Newhall Prison). I attended a group of 15 women weekly for over a year. We held our two-hour weekly group in the prison chapel. After each relaxation session, we would discuss whatever problems the women had and how best to approach these problems. As with all long-term serving prisoners, there are no small problems. All problems are ‘big problems.’ I have known a prisoner get knifed by another inmate for simply looking at another inmate and I have heard of a number of prisoner deaths, by other inmates, because of some misspoken words that would have been better left unsaid.

As part of the prison population, most of these women selected for my group had committed the most heinous of crimes. Some had physically abused children, a few had murdered children, one had set a person’s home on fire during the night when the family was asleep which led to the death of two of the occupants and one had cut her pimp’s/boyfriend’s throat. Around half of the group had supplied drugs for their men and there were a few arsonists in the group. Stabbing with a kitchen knife, pouring boiling water over someone’s head or setting fire to, seem to be the most common of female prisoner’s methods of killing their abusive partner or another victim.

Where they were alike, however, was that almost all the female prisoners had been abused or ill-used by men all their life. The type of behaviour they had endured included sexual abuse by a father figure, close relative and family; along with physical, sexual, mental and psychological abuse by a man or partner with whom they had lived or married or pimped for.

Although the background circumstances of each prisoner varied greatly, all held one thing in common. Not one of them had ever been told by a parent ‘I love you’ and none had ever felt to have received parental love. I will never forget one December, towards the end of the group, when I received a birthday card from each woman in the prison group. These are some of the most remembered Christmas cards I ever received, and they held 'pride of place' in my home that Christmas. None of the cards had been bought, and all had been made by the woman prisoner. Towards many women I had been the first man in their life they were able to say, ‘I love you’ to, without it having any connection to or any association with sex. Every Christmas card I received said those three important words, ‘I love you’ Mr Forde. Happy Christmas. I knew that some cards would have been very hard to write as the sender was often barely literate, but still, they wrote the best they could.

Between 1990 and 2000, I held over 2000 school assemblies in Yorkshire schools. I was a popular regional children’s author at the time and would hold twice daily story-telling assemblies. There was usually between 100 and 200 pupils in these assemblies and I have been in some larger schools with over 300 pupils at assembly. I would always read from one of my books during these visits. My stories would always be moral tales which dealt with a topic that adversely affected the lives and feelings of children. Common story themes would be separation, loss, bereavement, bullying, greed, homelessness, all manner of discrimination, anger and love.

I was often accompanied by a celebrity reader of national or international fame during these assemblies (800+ famous names between 1990-2000) and whether it was the celebrity or myself reading to the assemble, we would always end with a most important message. I would ask all the children assembled, ‘Who wants to give you mum and dad the best present you could ever give them when you go to bed tonight?” Naturally, all the children’s hands went up in the air. Then, I would tell them, “ Before you say ‘goodnight’ to your mum and dad tonight or the parent you live with if mum and dad don’t live together anymore, look into their eyes and say ‘I love you, Mum’ or ‘I love you, Dad’ and watch their faces light up with the happiest smile you have ever seen. That is the best present you could ever give them. It doesn’t cost one penny, yet it is priceless! And, if you want to give them that same present many times, say these words to them every morning, every night and every time you leave the house. They are the three most important words in the world that one person can say to another.”

I know from pupils whom I later met as adults that those who did as I asked, never regretted following my advice. If you are a mum or dad, however young or old your children are or whether they are child or adult status, frequently tell them that you love them. If you are a person who finds it very hard to voice these precise words to your child, or the parent, it is never too late to say these three words, and for the child, it can never be too late to hear them.

I jointly dedicate my song today to three people who are celebrating their birthday today; my dear family friend in County Kilkenny n Ireland, Kay Brennan, our family church friend, Keith Hutchinson from Keighley, West Yorkshire and my Facebook friend, Benny Norris, from Carrick-on-Suir, County Tipperary in Ireland.

Have a happy birthday. May your special day be filled with much happiness, love…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshment. I love you all. Bill.

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 21st November 2019

21/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Ellen Barrett, who comes from Lourdes in France.

Today's song is ‘Rainy Days and Mondays’. This song was recorded by the Carpenters in 1971, with instrumental backing by L.A. session musicians from the ‘Wrecking Crew’. The song went to Number 2 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’chart. ‘Rainy Days and Mondays’ was the duo's fourth Number 1 song on the ‘Adult Contemporary Singles Chart’. However, the song failed to chart in the United Kingdom until it went to Number 63 in a reissue there in 1993. ‘Rainy Days and Mondays’ was certified Gold by the RIAA.

The song was composed in 1971 by the then-unknown composers Roger Nichols and Paul Williams. It was released as the first track on the album ‘Carpenters’, popularly known as ‘The Tan Album’, and the B-side on the single is ‘Saturday’, written and sung by Richard Carpenter.

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I recall as a child that women of the household would allocate specific days and times in which they would dedicate the doing of certain household tasks. Other days of my mother’s week be allocated to other things to do, places to go, and people to see.

Being the oldest of seven children, there was always a mountain of washing to do, constant hanging out on the line and all the ironing in the evening between 7:00 pm and past midnight. Mum rarely rose and retired during the same weekday. During the late 40s and early 50s, there were no machines and labour-saving devices for a housewife and mother to use. Neither did one see two buses stopping on one’s road within the same hour of the day. When you wanted to go somewhere, you walked and what you had to do, chore wise, you did with your hands and the sweat of one's brow!

There were no washing machines then, and use of sinks, scrubbing boards, mangles and many kettles of boiled water were the only utensils to hand. After washing, the clothes would be hung out to dry in the garden; and where no yards or gardens were to be had, washing lines would be erected in a criss-cross fashion across the terraced streets that provided rows of identical houses for the working classes.

All washing would be done on a Monday in the area we lived but other areas would often have Tuesdays designated as their washing days. The Forde family were fortunate to live on a newly built council estate called Windybank Estate. All the houses were blessed by large gardens that provided sufficient space to hang out the family’s washing. They can say what they want about the efficiency of washing clothes today in modern machines and tumblers that rotate over 1000 revolutions a minute: they can use modern electric washing machines that have more programmes on their control knobs than my mother had socks and shirts on her washing line. But whatever they can say, they cannot say that their washed clothes are any whiter today than they were in 1940/50! Instead of being able to wash and dry clothes today indoors with the convenience of all the mod-cons available to one, try washing and drying them in the open streets where children played and kicked balls and dozen of nearby factories and foundries belched their black smoke from their bilious chimney stacks, suffocating the lungs of humans and blackening the stone of their houses.

Whether we use 'whiter than white' washing powder today, clothes never washed as clean and as white today as when they were soaked in hot water, rubbed in carbolic soap, scrubbed down on a washboard, rinsed thoroughly and wrung dry through the mangle before hanging out to dry in the natural atmosphere of God’s wind. Washed properly in the 1950s, even the pungent smell of the carbolic soap would evaporate in the fresh breeze before the garment dried on the line.

Before I was six years old, my mother had taught me always to peg shirts on the washing line at their tail ends, where peg marks mattered less if they didn’t iron out; and never by the sleeve cuffs. There is simply no way that any modern young person knows how to wash, peg out, or iron a shirt today.
The next important thing I learned about Monday washdays when I was a child, was how to double up with pegging the clothes, to save on the number of pegs used. Then, there was the order of where to hang this garment and that garment, and whether one garment should be hung alongside another garment or was better in the middle of the washing line or at its end. It was all to do with the order of folding and placing in the washing basket, determining which garment sat on the top or bottom of the wash basket. To draw public attention of prying neighbours away from the woman’s knickers and her husband’s underpants, it was never advised to hang such private garments alongside each other.

To the observer of 2019, a washing line is a washing line, is an old piece of rope; but it wasn’t regarded as such in the 1940s and 50s. During the days of my youth, a washing line, what was hung on it, and how such garments were arranged for drying was nothing short of a neighbourhood Morse code. A person’s washing line was the 1980’s equivalent barometer of ‘keeping up with the Jones’. One’s washing line; if not the mirror to one’s soul, was undoubtedly the indicator of one’s prosperity or poverty.

There was an unspoken accepted rule of what was proper to hang on washing lines and what clothing items weren’t. Just as England experiences the age of Aggression today, back in my day, England and all its citizens represented the age of Pride. It mattered not whether one’s purse bulged with coins or was empty, what lay inside the purse remained unknown to all except the purse’s owner.

People who lived during the 1950s, whatever their station in life, they were proud to the core. And while we are all concerned in some measure today, as to how others see us and what they think about us, we are most definitely less concerned today than in my day, and often couldn’t give a toss. The simple truth is that from Victorian times, right up to the late 1950s, it did matter more than it does today what our neighbours and wider community thought of us and how they regarded the ‘family name’.

These were the days when whatever the poorest of the poor had, they had nothing if they didn’t have their good name, and would do everything and anything to preserve their ‘good name’. The greatest shame of all then was to shame the family name and to lose respect in the eyes and opinion of others.

There were several ways whereby the family name could be shamed. Liars, thieves, workshy layabouts and anyone who broke the community code and neighbourhood custom by their behaviour would be ostracised and not brought back into ‘the respectable community’ until they had shown sincere signs of having changed their ways. The community code was that no child crossed an adult disrespectfully. No child fighting their mates ever kicked their opponent or failed to stop fighting when the beaten one ‘gave in’ by raising his arm in the air. Stealing apples from an orchard or a shop outside one’s own area was forgivable, but stealing from one’s family, friend, neighbour or within one’s own community wasn’t. The shaking of hands was all that was required to clinch a deal between two men, and once given, no man would break his word. The breaking of one’s word was considered so sacrosanct, that anyone breaching a promise of marriage would be heavily punished by the court of the land.

During these times where pride was a majoir concern, the majority of the population held the view, ‘Better to lose the belt of one’s trousers and have everyone see your bare arse than have you lose your self-respect! It would be better for you to break an arm or a leg in a street fight than to break your word! Far better to be put into prison than to be put to shame by your friends and neighbours and drag your family name down into the mire also! And such a rigid community set of values could be observed on one’s washing line!

With regard to washing and hanging one’s washing out, the loss of the good family name could happen when one did not know what not to hang on the line and which clothing items to hang most prominent to the public view of one’s neighbours. Rule one was never to hang clothes that were too worn, holed or torn. Examine the sock drawer of any young man today and you’ll see more holed socks than we’d see in my day. No sooner than we’d holed our socks, mum darned them. Holed socks never found their way to my mum’s washing line.

Our next-door neighbour, Mona Lord was a woman who always tried to live up to her aristocratic name, and she would use her washing line to impress the neighbours. She would often complain about a certain type of under-classed person who was now coming onto the estate to live and lower the standards. I never knew if her Christian name was ‘Mona’ or ‘Moaner’, but it didn’t matter as I always called her Mrs Lord.

Mrs Lord would always wash and hang out her clothes on a Monday like the rest of the estate, but she would hang out twice; once in the daylight hours and again at night-time when it had darkened. It was rumoured that she only hung out the Sunday best clothes of the family on the washing line during daytime hours. Her old rags would be hung on the line in the dark of night. If I rose before 7:00 am the next morning before Mrs Lord got up, I could see her old washing on the line awaiting taking back indoors before the residents on Eighth Avenue arose to start a new day.

Whether ones washing line hung in one’s back garden or across a row of terraced streets, no woman would hang out old knickers. It was permissible to hang out the coal-stained underpants of the miners but as far as the fairer sex went, baggy knickers that drew the neighbour’s immediate attention to the size of the female wearer or unfashionable, unbecoming and outdated undergarments were never hung outside.

One of my old textile mates I worked with at a Brighouse mill was called Albert. In his teenage years, the only time Albert went inside a church was to steal the poor box funds or rob the lead from the roof for its salvaged cost. Between the ages of 18-24, Albert played cricket for his county and lived a life of drunkenness, womanising and debauchery. All that ended, however, when Albert met his beautiful wife-to-be. While Albert was far too streetwise ever to fall for any scam, he would always fall away from reason whenever he came into collision with the stunning looks of a beautiful woman. After their marriage, she converted the Godless Albert to Methodism and reformed his character.

While Albert had since his marriage, managed to abstain from drinking, swearing and being Godless, he always retained his wickedness at heart. The only addiction Albert couldn’t give up was smoking, and while he wasn’t allowed to indulge in ‘this filthy habit’ at home, he would smoke his pipe non-stop and with relish when he came to work in the mill. He would frequently remind us that whenever his wife would say ‘this filthy habit’, he could see her disgust being spat from her mouth.

He would tell us tales during our morning and lunch breaks and while we always listened to his stories in delightful anticipation, to tell the truth it didn’t matter whether they were true or false, as they were always enlightening, entertaining and often educating.

One break time, Albert made us laugh all morning long with a story he told us. In fact, it was more of a throw-away comment he made instead of a one of his stories.

One of our workmates called, Terry had been having a fling/ affair with a married woman. Terry was of single status and didn’t consider his involvement to be too terrible, but when Albert found out, he began to tease him intensely. Since converting to Methodism after his marriage, Albert could sometimes come on too strong with his moralistic tone of the argument. We never knew when he was being serious or wickedly teasing in his expressed comments. On the day in question when Albert learned about Terry carrying on with a married woman, Albert started acting out the pretend role of the strict Methodist and began to reprimand Terry for his sexual exploits. Terry reminded Albert of the rogue Albert had frequently boasted of being in his younger years ‘before his wife had roped him in, branded him, reformed him and tamed him’. This retort by Terry obviously irked Albert, and he replied angrily.

Whenever Albert got annoyed or angry with one of his younger workmates, he’d call them ‘a young whippersnapper with the same amount of venom and tone of disgust that his Methodist wife would use whenever she rebuked Albert for indulging in ‘that dirty habit!’

Albert replied to Terry, “Nobody tamed me you, young whippersnapper, not even my lovely wife. Whatever control she ever had over me, I let it happen, but nobody can ever control your mind. The thoughts and memories you hold in your mind are yours alone.”

Then, in his own wicked put-down way to get the last word in, Albert said to Terry, “Do you know my secret pleasure, you, young whippersnapper? When I leave the mill on an evening after finishing work and I walk the half-mile home, I can guarantee that from all the washing lines I pass on my journey home they’ll be a good number of pairs of knickers that belong to a former girl I knew before I wed. I’ll always walk past those washing lines with fond memories of my wilder days and with a smile that reminds me, ‘I’ve been there, done that, got the t-shirt’. And when I get back home, my dear wife will have my tea ready to eat and she’ll be none the wiser the next time she hangs her knickers out to dry, that I’ll be thinking as she pegs them up on the line, ‘ And I’ve been inside those also!’”

These are the washing lines and washing day memories of my youth and later years.

I dedicate my song today to Ellen Barrett and her husband, Colin from Lourdes in France. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Elland. Have a nice day x

​Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 20th November 2019

20/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Teresa Bates, and her husband, Colin, from Corby, Liverpool.

My song today is ‘Rocking All Over the World’. This song was written by John Fogerty, formerly of ‘Credence Clearwater Revival’. It made its debut on Fogerty's second solo album in 1975. It was also released as a single, spending six weeks in the US top 40, peaking at Number 27. Status Quo recorded their own, heavier arrangement of Fogerty's song for their 1977 album ‘Rockin’ All Over the World’.

During the recording of Status Quo's music video to the song, bassist, Alan Lancaster, who was living in Australia refused to return to the United Kingdom for the recording, so he was replaced by a dummy with a bass guitar in the video. Quo's version was their 8th UK top-ten hit,

Other versions of this song have been recorded by Bon Jovi: Carl Wilson: The Beachboys: Bruce Springsteen, among many others. The song has become a favourite that is played on the football grounds of Leyton Orient, Millwall F.C. and Bolton Wanderers after every home win. It is also played after major rugby league finals.

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Although I was 33 years old when this song was first recorded, it reminded me of my wild teenage years when I would go rocking and rolling three nights every week of the year in Batley, Dewsbury, Cleckheaton and Halifax. We would certainly be ‘rocking all over our world’.

There were three reasons that encouraged us to rock and roll. The main reason was ‘picking up young women’, and secondly, we just loved dancing; especially bopping. The third reason we rocked and rolled far and wide was our way of life of engaging in gang fights. Just as the gunslingers of the Wild West might brag about who was the fastest draw, so gangs of the 1950s would fight other gangs for the ‘top-dog’ spot on the rock and roll scene. Fighting in the days of the late 50s, would never involve the use of weapons like knives, or the use of one’s feet, although I’ve been involved in a few fights where a chair was used to Christen an opponent, just to remind him not to mess with the ‘Windybank Wild Ones’ as we became known in our years of ascendancy on the fighting scene.

Each Wednesday night, a group of a dozen teenagers would go to the dance hall in Halifax. We would usually walk a few miles part of the way before jumping on the bus to complete the journey.

The dance hall in Halifax had a circular wooden floor and when it was full, it bounced up and down in its centre. Usually, the toughest gang at the dance that evening would occupy the centre-ground of the dance floor as they bopped away with their female partners. When we arrived, we would usually try and get off with their women and this would usually lead to trouble and fighting at the end of the night. There would be a couple of huge, weighty bouncers patrolling the dance floor and we would keep our fighting until the end of the night if possible.

The last bus home would be at 10:50 and the dance would always end by 11:00 pm. If our gang numbered enough to give the Halifax crew a good fight we would hang around until the dance had ended. If, however, we were too few in number, when it got to 10:45 pm, a mate would signal and we would make a run for it to the bus station (about three minutes away) and hope we’d get on the departing bus home before the Halifax posse caught up with us and gave us a good hiding.

When we had enough in numbers though and decided to miss the bus and end the night off with a big gang fight, we would invariably walk home with cuts and bruises, rehearsing tales of glory we would speak of for weeks to follow along the way. On those occasions when the Windybank gang went to Halifax and showed them who was ‘top dog’ in the fighting stakes, you could guarantee that the following Saturday night at the Cleckheaton Town Hall, we would be invaded by the Halifax gang who’d come across in high numbers to break a few arms and legs and get their own back in spades.

I will never forget being up in the balcony area of Cleckheaton Town Hall one Saturday night having some light refreshment with a young woman who I was chatting up. Suddenly, down below on the crowded dance floor, a fight broke out involving dozens of young men. The Halifax crew had arrived at the dance hall ‘for revenge’ and they lost no time letting everyone know that they’d arrived to kick some butt. As I moved to join my mates fighting below, about six of the Halifax crew came up to the balcony and noticed me. The bottom line is that a few of my mates also arrived upstairs to join this secondary skirmish at the same time and we finished up with almost the whole of Cleckheaton Town Hall fighting in lumps both upstairs and downstairs. Within five minutes, I had been knocked unconscious after having had a chair crashed over my skull. A mate of mine called Colin Dean hit a Halifax youth so hard that the invader went over the balcony and fell on the crowd twelve feet below. When I came to, I was furious; not because of my busted head that was streaming with blood, but the damage the blood would cause to my best clothes. I was worried that the blood had stained my new shirt and suit and that I’d scuffed a new pair of shoes in the fight.

All I can say is that there were degrees of offence a young man of my generation would incur. If any chap tried to steal my girl off me, we’d always finish up fighting for her. If someone took the floor and was a better dancer than me, I’d just stand the loss of pride, and remember his face; just in case we ever had occasion to fight each other at a future date, when I’d cheerfully break his leg and keep him off the dance floor for a good month of Saturday nights. Were someone to beat me in a fight, although I might limp away with wounded pride after the battle, he’d automatically have gained my respect for being a better fighter than me.

All the above, however, would pale into insignificance to the level of anger I’d show if someone damaged my best clothes in a fight! As a young man who’d been brought up in a large family with little money to spend on new clothes, until I started work, I often wore second-hand garments. When I started to earn wages of my own, my priority was always to wear good clothes and footwear; and I must admit, this has remained so ever since.

On those nights that I proudly wore a new suit and attended the dance, I would avoid trouble if possible. If I couldn’t avoid a fight though, I would make all efforts to avoid getting knocked down, rolling over and grappling on the ground. In the event that I could not prevent this and fought on the ground as well as being upright in battle, in the event of my new shirt getting dirty or my new suit getting torn, I would instantly become an uncontrollable wild man who was determined to do damage to my opponent. Nothing got my anger up as much as ruining my clothes! It was like the line in a song of Elvis Presleys that ran, “You can knock me down, step on my face, slander my name all over the place, do anything that you want to do but…….DON’T STEP ON MY BLUE SUEDE SHOES.”

These were the days I moved in and would be ‘rocking all over the world’, whether I was dancing romancing or fighting.

I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Teresa Bates and her husband, Colin, from Corby in Liverpool. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Teresa. Have a nice day. Bill x

Love and peace Bill xxx

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Song For Today: 19th November 2019

19/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Janet Dufton from Liversedge in West Yorkshire.

Today’s song is ‘Wonderful Tonight’. This is a ballad that was written by Eric Clapton. It was included on Clapton's 1977 album ‘Slowhand’. Clapton wrote the song about Pattie Boyd. The female vocal harmonies on the song are provided by Marcella Detroit (then Marcy Levy) and Yvonne Elliman.

On 7 September 1976, Clapton wrote ‘Wonderful Tonight’ for Boyd while waiting for her to get ready to attend Paul and Linda McCartney’s annual Buddy Holly party. Of ‘Wonderful Tonight’, Boyd would say: "For years it tore at me. To have inspired Eric, and George before him, to write such music was so flattering. 'Wonderful Tonight' was the most poignant reminder of all that was good in our relationship, and when things went wrong it was torture to hear it.” The song is mentioned in her autobiographical book ‘Wonderful Night: George Harrison, Eric Clapton, and Me’.

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Anyone who is or has ever been in love will have an image of a time when their partner looked ‘wonderful tonight’ on one occasion at least. It need not be a night when they wore the most spectacular dress. It could have been a night when they were wearing their scruffiest jeans or on another occasion it might have been during the day when they were looking very silly or were caught in a highly embarrassing situation.

Such varied occasions reveal that it is usually an overall action that makes a person look wonderful and not some stunning appearance. Here are just a few examples from my own experiences and people I have known.

#My first example of when my partner looked ‘wonderful’ was probably the most common illustration of every man; their wedding day. The second most common event could be that warmest of smiles that emanates from the face of your wife as she holds your newly born infant in her loving arms in the hospital Maternity Ward.

A Probation Officer colleague of mine from the Huddersfield Probation Office called David and his wife once lost their dog after the spaniel had slipped out of the house one evening as the dog awaited its evening walk. David’s wife had owned the spaniel dog when she had first met her husband, and she loved it as much as her husband (‘but in a different way’, she would always add). The couple searched high and low for the dog down the nearby country lanes of their Halifax farm-type house, calling its name out loudly as they searched. They lived in an isolated area on the tops of Halifax and would often allow the dog to roam in the adjacent field.

The couple’s pet dog had strayed into a muddy ditch and barked in distress as it trapped its paw. David and his wife searched all over for their pet and when they eventually found him, David’s wife hurriedly scrambled down into the ditch and freed the dog. David said he would never forget that look of relief and happiness on his wife’s beaming face as she emerged, cradling the dog lovingly, and crying tears of joy at having found him. As both woman and dog emerge from the ditch covered in mud, the female owner smiles broadly at her husband saying, ‘He’s safe. Thank God that wire he was trapped in didn’t cut him”. As she passed the pet spaniel to David, he remembered that precise moment as being ‘wonderful’ and his wife as being ‘wonderful’. I have not the slightest doubt that it was because she was wonderful!

I once recall going out on a first date with a young woman in Montreal, Canada. She was a beautiful looking young woman who came from a very large and very poor family. She did not possess a wardrobe full of fashionable clothes to wear and often had to make do with hand-me-down dresses and skirts. On the night in question, she wore a nice dress of plain design which could never have done full justice to her attractive form and slender figure. As we sat in a quiet corner of the restaurant by an open fire, I noticed the left-hand shoulder area of her dress. It had a hole in it the size of a shilling. Not once did the young woman show any signs of being embarrassed by the damaged dress, neither did she apologise for it, refer to it or draw my attention to it in any way. And I shall always remember her as ‘looking wonderful that night’ even though I cannot remember her name (it was 56 years ago).

When I first married at the age of 26 years old, I lived in a crescent of newly-weds. We all occupied new builds and before very long we became close friends, going out together, dining out, going dancing and entertaining in weekly rotation in each other’s homes. We even went on group holidays for three or four years until the children started to arrive on the scene.

One of the men was called Chris. Chris was to become my best mate until he and his wife separated and divorced, after which I never saw him again. Chris was married to June and she would often go around (according to common gossip of the group wives) without wearing knickers during hot summer months. On the occasion in question, June came home from work earlier than usual one summer’s afternoon and discovered when she went to her bag to extract the door key that it wasn’t there. She had seemingly pulled the door closed when leaving for work that morning, forgetting to take the house keys.

After worrying about what to do, she seemed truly stumped. None of her friends was around. She knocked on a neighbour’s door whom she vaguely knew. The man of the house was in. June told him the story of her predicament and indicated that her back-bedroom window was open wide enough on the latch to gain entry if someone had a long ladder to reach it. The neighbour said he had the long ladder in the garage but showed June his heavily bandaged hand that he’d recently injured. “I can lend you the ladder and even place my weight behind it to steady it for you, but you will have to climb up!” he told June, showing her his injured hand.

June agreed and five minutes later climbed up to her bedroom and gained entry to her house. It was only after the event when she was relating the incident to the rest of us at a house gathering that she realised how she may have looked to her neighbour at the time of her brave climb up the ladder. She had suddenly realised she had climbed the ladder to her bedroom without wearing any knickers beneath her dress. If the neighbour got an eyeful as he looked up at June climbing up the ladder, he was too much of a gentleman ever to say what he saw!

I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Janet Dufton who lives in Liversedge, near Heckmondwike, West Yorkshire. Janet is a very positive person who is always game for a laugh. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Janet, and have a nice day. Bill x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 18th November 2019

18/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to two Facebook friends, each of whom celebrates their birthday today. There is Lorna Gregory from London and Julia Tiplady who lives in Rawdon, Leeds.
Today’s song is ‘Natural Mystic’. This song was recorded by Jamaican reggae group ‘Bob Marley and the Wailers’. It appeared on the album ‘Natural Mystic: The Legend Lives On’, a compilation album by ‘Bob Marley and the Wailers’.

Robert Nesta Marley (6 February 1945 – 11 May 1981) was a Jamaican singer and songwriter. Considered as one of the pioneers of reggae, his musical career was marked by blending elements of reggae and Ska as well as forging a smooth and distinctive vocal and songwriting style. Marley's contributions to music increased the visibility of Jamaican music worldwide and made him a global figure in popular culture.

Born in Nine Mile, Jamaica, Marley began his professional musical career in 1963, after forming Bob Marley and the Wailers. The group released its debut studio album ‘The Wailing Wailers’ in 1965, which contained the immensely popular single’ One Love’, peaking in the top five on worldwide music charts. ‘One Love’ established the group as a rising figure in reggae. The Wailers subsequently released eleven further studio albums; while initially employing louder instrumentation and singing, the group began engaging in rhythmic-based song construction in the late 1960s and early 1970s, which coincided with the singer's conversion to Rastafarianism. During this period, Marley relocated to London.

The group quickly attained international success after the release of the albums ‘Catch a Fire’ and ‘Burning’ in 1973 and forged a reputation as touring artists. A year later in 1974, the Wailers disbanded, and Marley went on to release his solo material under the band's name. His debut album came out in 1974. In December 1976, an assassination attempt was made on Bob Marley at his home in Jamaica, in which his chest was grazed, and his arm was struck with a bullet which prompted him to permanently relocate to London soon afterwards. There he recorded the album ‘Exodus’ in 1977. That record enjoyed widespread commercial success and is widely considered one of the best albums of all time.

Over the course of his career, Marley became known as a Rastafari icon, and the singer sought to infuse his music with a sense of spirituality. He is also considered a global symbol of Jamaican culture and identity and was controversial in his outspoken support for the legalization of marijuana, while he also advocated for Pan-Africanism.

In 1977, Marley was diagnosed with acral lentiginous melanoma, and he died as a result of the illness in 1981. His fans around the world expressed their grief, and he received a state funeral in Jamaica. The greatest hits album ‘Legend’ was released in 1984, and subsequently became the best-selling reggae album of all-time. Marley also ranks as one of the best-selling music artists of all-time, with estimated sales of more than 75 million records worldwide, while his sound and style have influenced artists of various genres. He was posthumously honoured by Jamaica soon after his death, as he was designated the nation's ‘Order of Merit’ award.

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Today’s song, ‘Natural Mystic’ comes from the 1977 album, ‘Exodus’. I did not become acquainted with the full range of Bob Marley’s music and songs until the late 1990s.

My son William was a boisterous teenager then, who (like many of his friends) would regularly smoke marijuana joints. I even recall a policeman knocking on our back door once and asking to look inside William’s bedroom. The policeman had apparently been walking up Nettleton Road in Mirfield one early afternoon and noticed a lamp lit in the upper windowsill of our house with curtains drawn. Alongside the lamp was a green plant which turned out to be a cannabis plant that my 16-year-old son had been in the process of cultivating. We naturally knew that he smoked cannabis but hadn’t the slightest knowledge that he was personally growing the stuff in his bedroom window.

His mother had seemingly accepted his argument that she shouldn’t enter his room without his permission, even if she found out where he hid the key to his padlocked bedroom door. Apparently, his mother was more easily persuaded by William’s reasoned argument than I was. William told her that a parent entering the bedroom of a 16-year-old son without his expressed presence and permission was an unacceptable invasion of his personal rights and would inviolate his individual privacy. He threatened his mother that if necessary, he’d take the matter up with the arbitration and adjudication branch of the United Nations.

At the turn of the New Millennium, I was surprised to receive a personal phone call from President Nelson Mandela at my home. The call was a three-way-routed-call using the Home Office as the intermediary. Mr Mandela only spoke to me for a few minutes but was exceedingly polite and said, ”Is that Mr Forde? I have recently read two of your African/Jamaican books and thought they were lovely”. Later that same week, ‘News 24’ publicised Mr Mandela’s praise for my books.

Two months earlier, I had arranged to take the family for a once-in-a-lifetime holiday to Jamaica in the early New Year. Jamaica was the country that William, Rebecca and their mother most wanted to visit. When we arrived in Jamaica, several high-ranking Jamaican officials wanted to meet me. They had been forewarned of my coming by the Catering Manager, Basil Smith JP, of the hotel we were staying at. Basil (with whom I became and remained lifelong friends) was a Jamaican Magistrate who had seen the ‘News 24’ item about me and Mr Mandela’s praise regarding two of my books he’d read. Basil was also highly involved on the ‘Falmouth Education Board’. The Jamaicans idolised two people more than any other at the time (and still do); Nelson Mandela and Bob Marley, each of whom they regarded as the highest of the high.

The upshot of all this was to witness me having two visits to Jamaica; the second visit the following year. This was a working visit for me, during which I worked in collaboration with the Jamaican ‘Minister of Education and Youth Culture’ and the ‘Mayor of Trelawney’ for the following two years. I set up a Trans-Atlantic pen-pal project between 32 Yorkshire schools and all 32 Falmouth schools in Trelawney, Jamaica. The main aim of this Trans-Atlantic project between the 64 schools sought to reduce racism between black and white pupils of the 64 schools, through exchanging letters and raising mutual awareness of each other’s cultural differences.

Over a two-year period, I also wrote four books to raise necessary funds for vital school supplies in Falmouth in Trelawney. We raised tens of thousands of £s from the sales of my books in Jamaica, and I also shipped four thousand books from West Yorkshire to Trelawney for their school libraries and to sell. I was honoured by having my books placed on the educational curriculum of all the Jamaican schools in Trelawney.

My work and growing interest in Jamaica naturally led to me hearing Bob Marley’s songs. They could be heard in the background all day, every day wherever one went in Jamaica. We even visited the home where Bob Marley grew up. When I returned home to England, I started listening more and more to reggae and became as big a fan of Bob Marley, along with my son, William.

I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Lorna Gregory, from London. Lorna works in the Caring profession, and with her Jamaican roots, it is not at all surprising that she loves reggae and Bob Marley. Have a nice day, Lorna and thank you for being my Facebook friend. Don’t forget that you have an open invitation to stay the weekend with us in Haworth whenever you want. Bill and Sheila xx

I also dedicate my song today to Julia Tiplady who lives in Rawdon, Leeds. Julia and her late husband, Michael, were rock and roll buddies from the club in Batley where Sheila and I went weekly before I contracted a terminal blood cancer which initially sapped all my energy and leading me to call a halt to my dancing activities. It is Julia’s birthday today. Have a lovely day, Julia and why not arrange to come and stay over the weekend with us at a near-future date, Bill and Sheila xx

Love and Peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 17th November 2019

17/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my nephew Carl Forde who is the son of my brother, Michael, and his wife, Denise who live in Gomersal, Cleckheaton in West Yorkshire.

My song today is ‘Dancing in the Dark’. This song was written and performed by American rock singer Bruce Springsteen. Adding up-tempo synthesizer riffs to his sound for the first time, the song spent four weeks at Number 2 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ and sold over one million singles in the U.S. It was the first single released from his 1984 album ‘Born in the U.S.A.’ it became his biggest hit and helped to propel the album to become the best-selling album of his career.

Springsteen wrote ‘Dancing in the Dark’ overnight after Jon Landau convinced him that the album needed a single. According to journalist Dave Marsh in the book ‘Glory Days’, Springsteen was not impressed with Landau's approach. "Look", he snarled, "I've written seventy songs. You want another one, you write it." Despite this reaction, Springsteen sat in his hotel room and wrote the song in a single night. It sums up his state of mind, his feeling of isolation after the success of his album ‘The River’, and his frustrations of trying to write a hit single. Six takes of ‘Dancing in the Dark’ were recorded on February 14, 1984, at ‘The Hit Factory’, and after 58 mixes work was completed on March 8, 1984.

The 12-inch single was released May 9, 1984, and was the highest-selling 12-inch single in the US that year.

In the UK, ‘Dancing in the Dark’ originally reached Number 28 in the ‘UK Singles Chart’ when released in May 1984. However, the song re-entered the chart in January 1985 and subsequently reached Number 4, becoming the 29th best-selling single of the year. The recording also won Springsteen his first ‘Grammy Award’ picking up the prize for ‘Best Rock Vocal Performance’ in 1985. In the 1984 ‘Rolling Stone’ reader’s poll, ‘Dancing in the Dark’ was voted ‘Single of the Year’. The track has since gone on to earn further recognition and is as such listed one of ‘The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s 500 Songs that Shaped Rock and Roll’.

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I have only recently become acquainted with this song, but in truth, I find the beat infectious and its message illuminating.

There are so many healthy and able-bodied people in this world who feel sorry for themselves and have no get-up-and-go in them. In the words of a friend, ‘they need a good kick up the butt’ to get them out of the rut they’re in, to climb out of the ditch they’ve dug for themselves and escape the depressive cycle of life they’ve established and which is dragging them down.

There are so many of us who do not appreciate the immense wealth potential pleasure that surrounds them in the many forms we take for granted. They are ‘able-bodied’ but not ‘able-minded’ people. They have a job, they occupy their own accommodation and possess a family whom they could visit if they wanted to, and they have friends and neighbours close by whenever then needed company. If they were so inclined, they are fit enough to walk five miles in the fresh air of the countryside without needing to draw second breath. They could dig their gardens with gusto or climb a hillside to look down leisurely at the valley and moorlands below. Yet they don’t do any of these things because they see little value, beauty or pleasure in their pursuit.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to walk a country lane with ease again, stroll across the rough and wild moorland of Haworth without stumbling, or even run through a wheat field with childhood abandonment, as Teresa May as she is said to have done in her wicked days of youthfulness. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be able to mix sociably in a crowd of people again and have a good long chat without fear of catching a cold today that could be the pneumatic death of me tomorrow? How I would love to attend a family gathering unmasked without the risk of catching any infection which might kill me off because of my absence of any effective immune system?

Ironically, I have always loved children, lived half of my life for children. Yet, today, they are the most dangerous type of person to have in my presence. It is a part of nature’s design that young children should build up and strengthen their immune systems by catching colds, bugs and other infections, and it is in the nature of my terminal blood cancer (that robs me of my immune system) that catching colds, bugs and infections does the very opposite to me, and could kill me off!

I would love to be able to stay close to children and involve myself with them but alas I cannot. Therefore, family gatherings, which I have always thoroughly enjoyed, are now ‘off-limit’ to me unless I wear a face mask or stay away from all children there. Even kissing, shaking hands or being able to share the same air space with my siblings and their children is too deadly a practice for me to engage in for too long. Hence my masked attendance at such family events is usually for half an hour maximum.

How nice it would be to have one half-hour daily, weekly, monthly or yearly to have no arthritic pain in either my hands or feet that didn’t make me thrash about in bed like a lamented lunatic on steroids or feel like cursing and screaming like an Irish banshee? ( a banshee is a female spirit in Irish mythology who heralds the death of a family member, usually by wailing, shrieking, or screaming).

I dedicate my song today to my nephew Carl whose birthday it is today. Carl is a man of happy disposition and positive attitude, even though he has been unable to walk now for many years. Like myself, he also incurred a horrific traffic accident, but unlike me, whereas I was able to regain my mobility after three years, Carl will never walk again. Yet he exhibits a degree of independence and autonomy that puts many people to shame. And as far as creative ability goes, he makes his body do things that most able-bodied people couldn’t do! Neither I, nor his parents or indeed himself would tell you that life has been a garden of roses for him since his bad accident, but all of us would testify to the simple fact that Carl's inability to walk will never be allowed to define him!

When Carl wants to smell a flower he will gladly pick it for himself. When he wants to go out somewhere specific, he will wheel himself to his own car and drive himself there and back personally. He will not ask or expect any other person to do that for him which he can do himself. He is a good man and is probably my favourite nephew (but for God’s sake, Carl, please don’t tell the others).

Have a nice birthday, Carl and have a drink for me also. Love Uncle Billy and Sheila xx

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 16th November 2019

16/11/2019

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My song today is dedicated to my Facebook friend, Steven Spencer from Stalybridge.

Today’s song is ‘Oh Boy’. This song was a song written by Sonny West, Bill Tilghman and Norman Petty. The song was included on the album “The ‘Chirping’ Crickets” and was also released as the A-side of a single, with ‘Not Fade Away’ as the B-side. The song peaked at Number 10 on the US charts, and Number 3 on the UK charts in early 1958.

‘Oh Boy!’ has been covered by numerous groups and singers. It was covered by British glam rock group Mud in 1975 and reached Number 1 where it remained for two weeks on the ‘UK Singles Chart’. It was the band's third and final UK Number 1 hit. It was included on their album ‘Mud Rock Volume 2’, which reached Number 6 in the ‘UK Albums Chart’. Other versions include : Sonny West (1957): Paul Rich (1958): Bobby Vee (1963): Jackie De Shannon (1964): Pavel Bobec and Olympic (1964): The Rivieras (1964): The Everly Brothers (1967): Melanie (1978): The Shadows (1982): Alvin and the Chipmunks (1989): Connie Francis (1996): The Stray Cats (1996): Hank Marvin (1996): Daniel O’Donnell (2004) and many others.

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When this song was first released in 1958, I was almost 16 years of age, and ‘Oh Boy’ was I full of myself! I had just emerged from a three-year period which saw me hospitalised for nine months after a life-threatening accident and was then unable to walk for almost three years.

After regaining my walking ability, instead of carrying on at school to obtain my GCE ‘0’ and ‘A-level’ examinations, I couldn’t wait a moment to start work and earn enough money to put some decent clothes on my back and some good leather shoes on my feet.

There were many things about working in the mill that all textile workers of my day will know about; customs and practices that only old mill hands are acquainted with. For a start, every new boy who started work in the mill would never get past his first day without being ‘baptised’. Unlike the Baptist Church, where there is full water emersion during their ritual service, all new-boy workers to the mill are given a textile 'dry rubbing' during their first day at work.

The new boy is given a fool's errand by the foreman or a senior workmate that invariably takes them through the 'Winding Department' where two dozen women worked.

With their work being so warm and sweaty, none of the women wore bras and most of them worked with their dresses tucked up to waist height and tied in a bow above their bottoms; thereby revealing their thighs and knickers (if knickers were worn during working hours).

After 'clocking in' on a morning, when the women arrived at their winding machines, before starting their work for the day, they'd often remove all of their undergarments (going 'commando'), and remain bare-bottomed until the end of the work shift. They would bunch their dresses up in a bow, allowing air to make its way to their undercarriage every time the rubber doors to their department were opened and closed; thereby creating a welcomed draught to cool their southern regions. Whenever the door was opened to the Winding Shed, the winding women would quickly untie their knotted dresses and allow them to fall back into their natural length, to preserve their dignity and good name. After the male visitor had left their department, before re-bunching and tying their dresses back up, the women would waft them like Can Can dancers to circulate the cool air all around their private parts. ‘Oh boy’, one good eyeful was enough to keep any hot-blooded male going for a full 8-hour shift.

However, all the mill women knew that none of the new boys aged 15 years would ever have been in the presence of two dozen busty women; none of whom gave a flying fig biscuit for polite convention. It was a laid-on certainty that no new boy starting at the mill would ever have been previously subjected to the ‘Textile Baptismal Experience’. This male mill induction would always distinguish the rough from the smooth crop of new entrant besides indicating which new boy would not return to his job the next day and which new boy would stay in the job long enough to become an 'old boy' on the shop floor.

When the new boy first innocently enters the Winding Shed, before they'd walked six feet, they'd realise that they'd been set up. An army of randy women would jump them, pulling them to the ground like a young heifer that was due for branding. Once grounded, the new boy would be held down and stripped naked below the waist, After their trousers had been pulled down, they'd then have their pecker pulled until it either hardened in youthful surprise or wilted in humiliating disgrace; after which it would be closely examined and spat on by the earthiest breed of women ever to emerge from the female cesspits of Heckmondwike and Cleckheaton. Most of the Winders were full-bodied women who looked like willing wenches on a Friday night behind the Working Men’s Club, and all swore worse than a sergeant major drilling his new recruits.

The first time a new boy at the mill was given a bogus task that involved him entering and passing through the Winding Shed, he would be fully clothed as he naively walked through the big rubber doors at one side of the Winding Shed, and would be as buck naked as the maternity nurse first saw him when he shamefully ran through the rubber doors at the other side of the Winding Shed with his hands covering his privates. His run of shame would always be observed by the rest of the mill hands jeering and jibing at his exposed manhood and slapping his cold arse with an oily rag as he ran the ‘Baptismal Gauntlet’.

Once one got used to mill life, it was one of the happiest times one could hope to have. It certainly contained the happiest of years I could remember. I will never forget the days out to Blackpool which the mill owners provided every spring. They were legendary. Everyone who filled the bus was out for a good time; and after a day’s drinking, all manner of hanky panky took place on the journey home.

During the bus ride back home, some passenger would request that the inside bus lights be switched off by the driver to allow one to sleep. Such would be a signal to all romantic passengers to engage in a bit of 'this and that' before alighting at their destination. It didn’t seem to matter too much who did what to whom, how and what with, as whatever took place on the darken bus ride home, stayed on the bus!

‘Oh Boy’, what carryings-on there was for a young man of 15-going-on-16 years of age to get a grip of? There used to be a saying by the older men in the mill which they told to every new boy who'd been baptised, “There’s much worse lad than being pulled down by a woman doing the dirty! Much worse".

'Oh boy’, I loved those mill days; and if the mill was still operating, you would now catch me running back and forth willingly through that Winding Shed all day long.

I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Steven Spencer, from Stalybridge. Thank you for being my friend, Steven. Have a nice day. Bill x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 15th November 2019

15/11/2019

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I attended my Uncle Tom’s funeral service this morning and it would not have been proper to jointly dedicate a song to three Facebook friends who were celebrating their birthday today with the same song.

The three birthday girls today are Mary Anderson from Santa Fe Springs in California: Gillian Ford from Morcombe (who married my cousin, Alan Ford) and Phyllis Nichols from Chickamauga in Georgia.Have the happiest of birthdays, ladies. I hope that your day is filled with much happiness, love…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Love Bill x

​Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 15th November 2019

15/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to my uncle, Tom Fanning who recently died aged 84 years of age and is being cremated in Elland this morning. Uncle Tom was the youngest of my mother’s six younger siblings, and now that he has died, all of my mother’s siblings have passed away.

My condolences are offered to Uncle Tom’s wife, Kathleen, who has had Alzheimer’s for the past couple of years, and his two sons, Nigel and Russell and their wives and families. Please God, may they be comforted in their loss and grant them strength with the difficult times ahead.

The one thing Uncle Tom and I had in common was our love of a good song. Uncle Tom undoubtedly possessed the finest voice in the Fanning family. Uncle Tom loved his life, and all his endeavours were given to the love of his wife and the welfare of his family. For him, ‘Love changed Everything’ when he met Kathleen and started courting her. Only then did his happiness in England truly begin.

As a growing teenager, Uncle Tom, you frequently sang to me (even when I didn’t want you to). In fond remembrance of those early years when you lived at my parent’s house and thereby deprived me of my own bedroom for three years by your presence, I sing you your final song, ‘Love Changes Everything’.

God bless you, Uncle Tom, and say hello to my mum and dad when you next see them. Your nephew Billy Forde and Sheila x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 14th November 2019

14/11/2019

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​I dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Debi Delgarno who lives in Corby.

Today’s song is ‘Walk A Mile in My Shoes’. This song was written by Joe South, who had a hit with it in 1970. South was also producer and arranger of the track, and of its B-side, ‘Shelter’. The single was credited to ‘Joe South and the Believers’. The Believers included his brother Tommy South and his sister-in-law Barbara South.
The song's highest position on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ was when it reached Number 12, which was also November 14th

its highest position in the ‘Cashbox Chart’. It also reached highs of Number 56 in the ‘Country’ section and Number 3 in ‘Adult Contemporary’ in Billboard and it made Number 10 in the RPM chart in Canada. It was South's second and final record to reach the top 20 of the ‘Billboard’ chart and it also reached the Top 20 in Australia.
The message of the song concerns racial tolerance and espouses the need for perspective and compassion.

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I was twenty-eight when this song was first released and was preparing to acquire examination qualifications at Further Education Night School classes in order to gain university acceptance. At the time, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be a History teacher or a Social Worker. What I did know however was that I was never meant to be a leader in industry. For a few years prior, I had sampled the high wages of being a Mill Manager on nights but had gradually arrived at the decision that this was not the vocation that I was meant to follow.

I had been lucky to have lived through a very bad accident at the age of 11 years, during which I mentally promised my Maker that if my life was spared, I would devote the remainder of it doing good works for my fellow humans. I would like to believe that I did not pray in vain and that my prayers were answered after I made a miraculous recovery. A national newspaper described me at the time as ‘The Miracle Boy’. In return, I have tried to live up to my part of the bargain ever since but have not always succeeded.

I became a Probation Officer at the age of thirty and over the following 25 years, I managed to do a good deal of creditable work, helping many others to change their lives for the better. Since I retired early on the grounds of ill health 25 years ago at the age of 52 years, I have continued to assist others in any way I could. For the past seven years, ever since I developed a terminal blood cancer and have also had operations for three other different cancers, I have continued to offer the benefit of what I know and believe to many Facebook followers through my Facebook Page daily.

I try not to act in any ‘Agony Aunt’ role, but rather as an ‘advice-giver’ on many stressful situations that are problematic and commonly experienced. As the founder of ‘Anger Management’ in the early 1970s (a process of working with aggressive people that mushroomed across the English-speaking world within two years), and as someone who has spent over 50 years as a Relaxation Trainer, I am suitably qualified to assist many people reduce their tension levels, sleep better and become less aggressive in their responses.

I spent thirty years researching the way people respond in certain situations, finding out why they react to specific stimuli in those situations as they do, and learning how the process can be interrupted so that a person’s overall behaviour pattern may be changed for the better. This work generally came under the umbrella term of ‘Behaviour Modification’ when I started my work and research into these behaviours but is more commonly referred to today as ‘Cognitive Behaviour Therapy’.

I suppose that my greatest achievement as a worker has been seen in the roles of ‘enabler’ and ‘hope giver’. For the past seven years, through my daily Facebook page, I have endeavoured to illustrate that life can be good, even when one is dying. However bad our medical condition is, it does not and should not ever be allowed to define us as an individual. I have had four major cancers over the past seven years; they have not had me! Although my body may be in the progressive stage of departing this stage, I intend to live in this world for as long as my God allows me to. I also intend to continue to live happily alongside my loving wife, Sheila, and positively among my community of family, friends and neighbours. My primary role in life today is not to resign myself to gradual medical decay, but instead to help people how to live a better life and how to die a better death when that time comes.

I feel there is much truth in the title and message of this song. If only mankind could learn to stop and think a bit more often before criticising, abusing and accusing others, life would be a far kinder place. It is only when we can truly understand the mind-set of another that we can get closer to recognising the difficulties of their passage and the feelings they are experiencing as they go through daily life.

Although I have three cancers in my body (one of which is terminal), I am not in horrific pain like so many people with certain kinds of cancer are. I can engage in the semblance of more ordinary life and I am also very fortunate that my high pain threshold level makes my ongoing condition far more bearable than many others experience in similar circumstances. Even being confined to my house more months in any year than I am able to leave it (because of the absence of any effective immune system which enables me to fend off even the slightest of illnesses like a common cold) still enables me to be better catered for than many thousands of people without a nice home like mine; some of whom sleep on our streets, in shop doorways and on park benches during cold, winter nights.

I know that I am so privileged to have a sound roof over my head, nice furniture to sit on, good clothes and footwear to daily don and nutritious food to eat. I don’t even have to consider if I have enough income to keep the open fire banked up when it is cold or over-worry about fuel bills. I even possess enough income to occasionally donate to worthy causes. Above all, I am married to a loving wife and partner, and I have never felt lonely, depressed, insecure, purposeless or unloved in my life.

When I pass away, I know that I will not die materially wealthy, but I will not owe any creditors one penny. The only person I will have to submit my accounts to will be my Maker, and I know in advance that my balance sheet will have many lines through it, rubbings out and corrections on it, and too many ink stains to consider giving it automatic clearance.

I will never forget a time during my early years as a Probation Officer. It was late on a Friday afternoon and past my home time when the last client of my day entered my office. I was the Duty Officer of the day at the time. This was a rotational role allocated to all Probation Officers, where we were expected to deal with miscellaneous clients and problems who walked in off the street. During these early years, I was very naïve and green to the ways of Probation clientele. I took all of them at their word; even when my more experienced colleagues knew they were lying through their teeth in order to elicit our sympathy and a few pounds from the petty cash box every office held in the event of an emergency.

I also thought I was helping out the alcoholic by giving them a pound out of my own pocket when they provided me with a sob story, whereas my older and more experienced colleagues who’d been in the job much longer than I, knew that it would be two cans of beer that my pound note would purchase and not the sandwich it was supposed to buy. I felt so sorry for one man once who wore threadbare shoes that were hanging off his feet that I gave him a new pair that I was wearing and went home in a spare pair of sandals I kept in my office. It took me over six months before my colleagues were able to persuade me to become a bit more streetwise and not to give away the shirt on my back. An experienced colleague called Joyce, who had far more money than I had, once told me that it was easier to part with the odd pound note and even one’s own footwear than it was to sit them down and talk to them for an hour( thereby making oneself an hour late arriving home). She was so right in her observations.

Yet, my colleagues never criticised me for what I did and I will never forget what one of them once said to me, ‘It can never be wrong to be compassionate, Bill, but being foolish falls back on all of us when we are acting the role of Duty Officer for the day. If you give away everything except your time, you are simply guaranteeing that they will never be helped and will return.”

I dedicate my song today to Debi Delgarno from Corby. Debi is the daughter of her proud mother, Isabell. On the 12th November, Debi’s mother wrote, “ I am very proud of my daughter- she has a full-time job in management- she has an 11-year-old soccer-playing son - and helps out at the homeless refuge - they have actually just asked her to become their manager as her organisational skills are legend - a woman with a big heart x.”

It means so much to every child in the world whether they be 5 years, 10 years or 50 years of age to know that they have loving parents who are proud of them for who and what they are. Let me tell you that there is not one charitable, voluntary or vocational role that exists throughout the length and breadth of the land that isn’t occupied by a person whose parent wasn’t loving to them or proud of them. People who go that extra mile to help another don’t just happen, they are brought up learning to walk in another person’s shoes. Have a nice day, Debi and thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill x
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Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 13th November 2019

13/11/2019

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I dedicate my song today to two relatives; both of whom celebrate their birthday today. I wish a happy 15th birthday to my grandson Sam, who is the son of my son James and his wife, Elisa. The family live in France. I also wish a happy birthday to Kelvyn Forde, who is the grandson of my brother, Michael and his wife, Denise. Kelvyn is the son of his father, Michael and mother, Amanda. The family live in Batley, West Yorkshire.

Today’s song is ‘New Kid in Town’. This song is by the Eagles from their 1976 studio album ‘Hotel California’. It was written by Don Henley, Glenn Frey and J.D. Souther. Released as the first single from the album, the song became a Number-1 hit in the US and WAS Number 20 in the UK.

Souther would later say about the song, “It's about the fleeting, fickle nature of love and romance. It's also about the fleeting nature of fame, especially in the music business. We were basically saying, 'Look, we know we're red hot right now, but we also know that somebody's going to come along and replace us — both in music and in love.”

Eagles' biographer Marc Eliot would also state that “‘New Kid in Town’ captures ‘a precise and spectacular moment immediately familiar to any guy who's ever felt the pain, jealousy, insecurity, rage and heartbreak of the moment he discovers his girlfriend likes someone better and has moved on’”. He also suggests that it captures a more abstract theme of ‘the fickle nature of both the muse and the masses’.

In 2016, the editors of Rolling Stone rated ‘New Kid in Town’ as the Eagles 5th greatest song, describing it as "an exquisite piece of south-of-the-border melancholia" and praising its complex, "overlapping harmonies.".

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I have always loved the Eagles, along with every song that they ever recorded. This song epitomises the undeniable truth that however good we think we are, in whatever we excel at, there will always be somebody else, somewhere, who is better than we are.

When I emigrated to Canada for a couple of years at the age of twenty-one years, my ego was only matched in size by my envisaged prospects of making it good on the singing scene before three months were out. I had always been a good singer all my childhood and teenage years.

I was due to emigrate to Canada in the Christmas of 1963 and in November of that same year, all my mates took me to Blackpool for a farewell weekend where much dancing, drinking and womanising took place.

Often, my mates would encourage me to get up and sing in whatever pub or club setting we were in and I’d usually oblige. On the evening in question, I got up and sung a song in this Blackpool Working Men’s Club. The upshot was that I was given a rousing cheer afterwards and before we left, the Club Secretary (whose job it was to arrange bookings for visiting singers) approached me and said he’d introduce me to a manager who'd get me as much for one night singing in the Northern Club circuit than I'd earn in a week at work in the mill. I thanked him and politely declined saying, ‘Thank you but I'm Canada bound next month and I intend to earn a living singing over there.”

As I crossed the Atlantic Ocean during the Christmas of 1963, I entered a talent contest which had a decent money prize for the winner. The bottom line was that I was clearly the best singer in the contest by a mile but lost out to a sugary-sounding Shirley-Temple lookalike aged around eight years old. She sang her song as though she’d toffee in her mouth. She’d been well trained by her mum as to how to elicit a warm protective response from an adult audience. As she stood there like a little lost girl, she twisted her curly hair with the sweet innocence of cherubim mixed with the coquettishness of an innocent nymphet. You know the kind of look I mean; the kind that an only daughter gives her loving father whenever she wants him to let her do something, he intrinsically doesn’t think she ought to do. I could have twisted her head until her simpering smile dropped off!

As I collected my second prize, my only thoughts were twofold. First, I knew that my Shirley Temple rival had managed to secure the ‘sympathy vote’ and wasn’t deserving of first place in the contest. Secondly, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had come around to my turn to be disadvantaged by the 'sympathy vote' instead of benefiting from it. I recalled how many times in a singing contest which I had entered as a young boy, I had beaten adult singers into second place? For a week after the contest, I even thought about limping onto the stage with a crutch under one arm, a pair of dark spectacles on and holding a guide dog in the other hand, the next time I entered a singing contest?

When I got to Canada and settled into my lodgings in Quebec, I managed to secure myself a job at a singing establishment called ‘The Last Chance Saloon’. I soon discovered that it was the kind of place singers worked in 'at the end' of their careers, 'not the start' of them. I only worked there a brief time (I think it was a matter of six weeks or so), before I left.

When I initially began singing at the Quebec Night Club, I estimated that within six months I’d be soon noticed by some manager who’d sign me up with a record contract before I’d even time to write a letter home to tell my family the good news. Thinking that I was the best singer in town, my pride took a battering after I was forced to admit to myself that I wasn’t. It was true that I was a good singer, but I wasn’t the best by a long chalk!

Given both the size and fragility of my ego at the time, my character flaw led me to conclude that if I wasn’t the best singer in town, then I didn’t want to sing anymore. I decided to take my bat home. I abandoned my long-dreamed-of singing career and the stardom I’d been sure would follow.

Between the ages of 21 and 75 years of age, I never sang in public again. When I think back, it was probably a response that I learned from my father as a child. He had played football for his County of Kilkenny before being drafted into the Irish National soccer squad. He played soccer for Southern Ireland when he was in his mid-twenties until two years into his marriage. This was at a time when footballers (even international footballers in Ireland) received no formal wages; only expenses.

When dad was 28 years old, his first three children had arrived on the scene and my mother was a penniless football widow. So, dad abandoned his unpaid football life and migrated to West Yorkshire, where he took up work as a miner. Only migration to England appeared to offer a secure future for himself and family. His withdrawal from the game of football was total. Thereafter, he never spoke about football, he never once took me to a football match, and he would never watch it on the television unless Southern Ireland was playing. In fact, I was 11 years old before my father first told me that he’s played soccer for County Kilkenny and also for the Irish National soccer team.

I recall the time in my life as an 11-year-old boy when I got run over and couldn't walk for three years. I started walking again but I never regained sufficient balance to play football again, and would instantly fall on my backside if I turned around fast on one leg to kick the ball. So, my response to this new situation that I found myself in was to borrow from my father’s behaviour, For the next 60 years, I never played football or watched football again until I was 71 years old. Nothing would induce me now to miss ‘Match of The Day’ every late Saturday and Sunday night (however much Sheila tries to induce me up the stairs to bed with her).

Not having sung in public for 64 years, I was reading an article about how singing can improve one’s lung capacity by increasing the oxygenation level in one’s blood during the spring of 2018. I had smoke cigarettes for fifty years before finally stopping at the age of 62 years. I'd had two heart attacks at the age of 59 years; the latter being so severe that I was unconscious for three days. My legs started to pack in on me when I was around 70 years old and I would frequently get breathless when I walked and climbed stairs. Then, when I developed a terminal blood cancer in my 71st year, the oxygenation level in my blood started to plummet. When I was last in hospital, my oxygenation level was around 82 (the level of someone who has COPD). It is now at the 97/98 level daily (the healthy normal maximum level is 99).

This progress in my improved lung capacity has been the direct result of 18 months of singing practice. I usually sing for two hours a day now and put my song up on Facebook. I sing, not out of pretence that I am a great singer, but for no other reason than to enhance my health by maintaining the oxygenation level in my blood that represents 'normality' in lung capacity. I must admit, however, that I thoroughly enjoy my daily singing practise and intend to carry on until I either lose my voice or have to sing for my supper in the next world.

From all the roles that I never wanted to enact as a romantic teenager, and thankfully never had to, was the role of playing ‘second fiddle’ to another young man or newcomer to town, wherever young women on the lookout for male prey were concerned.

I jointly dedicate my song today to my 15-year-old grandson Sam who lives in France, and whom I understand is a hit with all the young girls who attend his school. Have a smashing birthday, Sam, and take it from Granddad Forde, that “It’s okay to come ‘second’”. (I nearly gave way to vanity again by saying, “It’s okay to come second, ‘sometimes’”). Granddad Forde x

I also dedicate my song today to my Great Nephew Kelvyn Forde who also celebrates his birthday today. Have a smashing day, Kelvyn. Great Uncle Billy and Sheila x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 12th November 2019

12/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to three people (two relatives and one neighbour), all of whom celebrate their birthday today. First, my nephew Gary, who is the son of my sister Mary and who lives in the Salford area of Manchester. Second, is my great-nephew Jack who is the grandson of my brother Michael and his wife, Denise. Third, is my close neighbour and friend, Andrea Leathley, who organises the 1940’s weekend in the village of Haworth yearly.

My song today is ‘Peace in The Valley’. This song was written in 1937 by Thomas A. Dorsey, originally for Mahalia Jackson. The song became a hit in 1951 for Red Foley and the Sunshine Boys, reaching Number seven on the ‘Country & Western Best Seller Chart’. It was among the first gospel recordings to sell one million copies. Foley's version was a 2006 entry into the ‘Library of Congress’ National Recording Registry’.

In 1950, it was one of the first songs recorded by a young Sam Cooke, during his tenure as lead singer of the Soul Stirrers. After the success of Red Foley's interpretation, Jo Stafford recorded the song for her 1954 gospel album ‘Garden of Prayer’.

The song achieved enormous celebrity during Elvis Presley’s third and final appearance on the ‘Ed Sullivan Show’ on January 6 of 1957. Before an audience estimated at 53 million viewers, Presley closed the show by dedicating the song to the 250,000 refugees fleeing Hungary after the 24 and 31 October 1956 double-invasion of that country by the Soviet Union. Because he also requested that immediate aid be sent to lessen their plight, the appeal, in turn, yielded contributions amounting to US$6 million, or the equivalent of US$49.5 million in today's dollars.

Over the next 11 months, the International Red Cross in Geneva, with the help of the US Air Force, organized the distribution of both perishables and non-perishables purchased with the above-mentioned funds to the refugees in both Austria and England where they settled for life. On October 15, 1957, Presley's first Christmas album, containing a master studio recording of the song, was released, topping the Billboard Charts for 4 weeks and selling in excess of three million copies, as certified by the RIAA on 15 July of 1999. Because of these extraordinary developments, Istvan Tarlos, the Mayor of the city of Budapest, in 2011 and as a gesture of belated gratitude, named a park after him, as well as making him an honorary citizen.

Eventually, the song became a country-pop favourite and was recorded by Little Richard on his 1961 Quincy Jones-produced gospel album ‘The King of The Gospel Singers’. Other artists also recorded the song, including Connie Francis (1961): George Jones (1962): Johnnie Cash: Loretta Lynn: Dolly Parton and Faith Hill among numerous others.

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During my early childhood, every boy and girl in the land would attend the Saturday morning Matinee at the local cinema. Those friends who didn't have the money for the entrance fee would stand outside the emergency exit door that was always situated near the toilets. After the auditorium lights had been dimmed at the start of the film, someone would go to the toilets, open the emergency door and admit their penniless friends to a free showing.

It mattered not that the film changed every Saturday morning as the experience which cinema-goers encountered would always remain the same. The film would always be a cowboy film of the wild west. The story would never alter and would be set around the travels of a long wagon train, travelling from the east to the wild west of America. The covered wagons would carry hard-working families of good character beneath their moving canvases. The story would tell about their individual struggles across the dangerous plains and their courage in overcoming them. All the travellers would be looking for a spot of land where they would build their log house and settle down peaceably with their family. Here they would live out the rest of their lives happily.

The place where the travellers would find and settle was always the very same image. It would be in the centre of a 'peaceful valley', with rich green pasture surrounding it on all sides, sheltered by a mountain at either side. Running through its vale will be a stream of the purest and coolest water that ever sprang from God's earth.

We all share the same dream today, but unfortunately, most of us will never experience anything like the peaceful surroundings of a family home. Those of us who have the good fortune to own our own house, spare a thought for those couples who will never own their own property however long and hard they work and save. Those of us who have a dry roof over our heads, give a thought to those who sleep rough on the open streets, in shop doorways, on park benches and beneath arches in cardboard boxes for warmth and protection. Those families who live in accommodation of sufficient room to afford each their own personal space, please give a thought for the many families on Social Security who live in 'emergency accommodation' for years., that comprises of no more than one room in which a family of five is expected to live, cook, eat, toilet and sleep!

I pray that they too could find 'Peace in the Valley'.

I jointly dedicate my song today to three people (two relatives and one neighbour), all of whom celebrate their birthday today. First, my nephew Gary, who is the son of my sister Mary and who lives in the Salford area of Manchester. Have a smashing birthday, Gary. Uncle Billy and Sheila xx

Next, is my great-nephew Jack who is the grandson of my brother Michael and his wife, Denise. Happy birthday from Great Uncle Billy and Sheila xx

Last but not least, is my close neighbour and friend, Andrea Leathley, who organises the 1940’s weekend in the village of Haworth yearly. Thank you for all the effort you put in throughout the year, Angela with your husband, Brian. Have a happy birthday, Love from your near neighbours Bill and Sheila xx

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 11th November 2019

11/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to Margaret Landsdell who is celebrating her birthday today and lives in Manilva in Spain. I also jointly dedicate my song to my good Facebook Friend, Elaine Craven who lives in the South of England. Elaine is known to love all jazz songs.

Today’s song is ‘Cry Me A River’. This song was a popular American ‘torch song’, written by Arthur Hamilton. It was first published in 1953 and made famous in 1955 with the version by Julie London.

Arthur Hamilton later said of the song: "I had never heard the phrase. I just liked the combination of words... Instead of 'Eat your heart out' or 'I'll get even with you,' it sounded like a good, smart retort to somebody who had hurt your feelings or broken your heart."

A bluesy jazz ballad, ‘Cry Me a River’ was originally written for Ella Fitzgerald to sing in the 1920s-set film, ‘Pete Kelly’s Blues’ (released 1955), but the song was dropped. Fitzgerald first released a recording of the song on ‘Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie!’ in 1961. The song was also offered to Peggy King, but Columbia Records objected to the word ‘plebeian’ in the lyric and its first release was by actress/singer Julie London on Liberty Records in 1955. A performance of the song by London in the 1956 film ‘The Girl Can’t Help It’ helped to make it a bestseller (reaching Number 9 on the US and Number 22 on UK charts). It became a Gold Record, and in 2016, it was inducted by the ‘library of Congress’ in the ‘National Recording Registry’.

Other recordings made were by Shirley Bassey: Barbra Streisand: Dinah Washington: Lesley Gore: Crystal Gale: Mari Wilson and Michael Buble among many others.

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I recall first hearing this song when I was in my mid-teenage years. What is unforgettable to me was the haunting sound of the opening line. The song is about a love betrayed; an experience that is capable of emotionally destroying a person and breaking their heart in two.

From my own knowledge of how one can best deal with emotional trauma, I often found the best start is the shedding of tears. My own reading and work experience tell me that there are many positive physiological reasons for expressing tears created by sad emotion through the eye ducts. Proven benefits are broken down into eight categories:

(1) Crying is Soothing: Research has found that in addition to being self-soothing, shedding emotional tears releases oxytocin and endorphins. These chemicals make people feel good and may also ease both physical and emotional pain. In this way, crying helps reduce pain and promote a sense of well-being.

A person cries for three reasons. The tear ducts constantly secrete basal tears, which are a protein-rich antibacterial liquid that help to keep the eyes moist every time a person blinks.

(2) Reflex also cause tears. These are tears triggered by irritants such as wind, smoke, or eye-watering foods like onions They are released to flush out these irritants and protect the eye.

Emotional aspects also lead to crying. Humans shed tears in response to a range of emotions. These tears contain a higher level of stress hormones than other types of tears. Crying reduce distress and it also elicits support from others.

(3) Crying helps to relieve pain. In addition to being self-soothing, shedding emotional tears releases Oxytocin and endorphins. These are chemicals which make people feel good and may also ease both physical and emotional pain. In this way, crying can help reduce pain and promote a sense of well-being.

(4) Crying may also enhance one’s mood. It helps to lift people's spirits and make them feel better. As well as relieving pain, oxytocin and endorphins can help improve mood. These two chemicals are often referred to as being ‘feel-good’ chemicals.

(5) Crying is known to release harmful toxins and relieves stress. When humans cry in response to stress, it is thought that their tears contain a number of stress hormones and other chemicals; all of which are harmful to the individual when they remain inside the body.

(6) Crying aids sleep. A small study in 2015 found that crying can help babies sleep better. Whether crying has the same sleep-enhancing effect on adults is yet to be researched. However, it follows that the calming, mood-enhancing, and pain-relieving effects of crying above may help a person fall asleep more easily.

(7) Crying fights bacteria. It helps to kill bacteria and keep the eyes clean as tears contain a fluid called Lysozyme. A 2011 study found that Lysozyme had such powerful antimicrobial properties that it could even help to reduce risks presented by bioterror agents, such as Anthrax.
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(8) Finally, crying is known to improve one’s vision. The basal tears, which are released every time a person blinks, help to keep the eyes moist and prevent mucous membranes from drying out. As the ‘National Eye Institute’ explains, the lubricating effect of basal tears helps people to see more clearly. When the membranes dry out, vision can become blurry.

So, I hope that you all now appreciate how and why crying is good for you, whether it is sobbing after a traumatic incident, watching a weepy movie or feeling extremely happy or sad. A bereavement, a birth or a wedding can bring out the hankies just as experience, emotion and event can bring on the tears.

I jointly dedicate my song today to Margaret Landsdell who is celebrating her birthday today and lives in Manilva in Spain. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Margaret and I hope your day is most enjoyable. I also jointly dedicate my song to my good Facebook Friend, Elaine Craven who lives in the South of England. Elaine is known to love all jazz songs. Have a nice day, Elaine. Bill x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 10th November 2019

10/11/2019

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Today is a day of multiple celebrations along with being a day of remembrance.

I jointly dedicate my song today to myself on my 77th birthday: I jointly dedicate my song to me and my wife, Sheila. We also celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary today: I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friends, Liz Venables from Pembrokeshire and Paul McGrath from County Waterford, Ireland, both of whom celebrate their birthdays today. Finally, I jointly dedicate my song to all those brave men and women from the two World Wars of 1914-18 and 1939-45 who gave their lives for us so that we might have the freedoms we enjoy today and their loved ones who fought on the Home Front. We shall never forget their courage and shall always remember the freedom they won for us.

Today is my 77th birthday and 7th wedding anniversary. I have had the richest of lives and even was it to end tomorrow, I cannot think of anything I really regret. Every hardship I encountered, I dealt with and became stronger because of. Every bad thing or un-Christian act I ever did, only made my belief in Christ more meaningful when good acts I later performed had the spiritual effect of wiping my slate clean. My Maker has never given up on me and I know He never will. I am a living example of a known sinner who truly knows that only the grace of God has given me peace of mind, the purpose of spirit and pardon of self, besides having endowed me with compassion and a natural inclination to forgive others. I rejoice in my own birth doubly, ever since Sheila married me on my 70th birthday, seven years ago.

I cannot honestly recall a time in my life when I have felt unloved, and since I met and married my wife, Sheila, I have been heaped with her constant love. Since I started to develop recurring cancers in my body, I have been blessed by the love of so many people across the world who graciously remember me daily in their prayers and regularly light a candle for me in their church settings. Such kind thoughts not only provide me with the physical and mental strength with which to withstand my body cancers but constantly remind me how kind people can be and how goodness flourishes in its most wholesome form within this wonderful world of ours.

Indeed, I can honestly say, I do not know of a man more loved than I feel today. It is a love to which I am truly receptive and appreciative of, if not always sufficiently deserving.

I had the very best of starts in my life when I was procreated by parents who were deeply in love with each other and was given birth to by a mother who never once throughout my childhood and teenage years failed to let me know that she loved me, along with her daily statement, ‘Never forget, Billy, that you are a special person’. Not only did I not forget (forgive the double negative), but I eventually started to believe that I was ‘special’. After a time, any good or unusual thing which happened to me merely strengthened and convinced me in my belief ‘that I was special!’

I spent the first thirty years of my life believing in my ‘specialness’ before realising something even more important. Yes! My mother spoke the truth, but it was only ‘a part truth’. It was certainly true that I was ‘special’ BUT SO WAS EVERY OTHER PERSON AND LIVING CREATURE ON GOD’S PLANET!

I spent my life from thirty years onwards doing things in ways that tell and show others their own unique brand of ‘specialness’. I have met so many people who cannot seem to believe in their own sense of self-worth, despite the goodness within them that is evident to any outsider. Such people are not weak. Many of them simply lacked sufficient love and encouragement as a child and grew up into a less confident adult who never learned to accept and love themselves. Some may have had a happy childhood, but who later experienced in their adult lives a traumatic experience like death, divorce or another form of emotional distress and instability to knock their confidence and self-belief levels.

Had I experienced during my early development the very same responses from significant others that they probably experienced, or had I incurred their traumatic experiences of adult life, and they mine, then our situations today would simply be reversed.

Every gardener worth their salt knows that unless planted in the proper place and soil, and maintained with loving care and vital sustenance, no crop will ever fruitfully grow. This is the very same truth that loving parent intrinsically knows. It equally follows that even well-planted flowers, which in later life find themselves being pulled up by their roots or emotionally trampled on, will show immense distress and start to wither and die unless re-grounded in love.

Parents, family, teachers, priest, employers, neighbours, friends, workmates, strangers and even enemies; all have positive things to offer us throughout our lives. If we remain open to their offerings and keep ourselves emotionally honest in our dealings with all whom we come into contact, it naturally follows that the more we take on board from one group of people, the more we have to give back to another group.

We all have personal failings, that however hard we try, seem to stay with us forever. Pride has undoubtedly been one of my greatest downfalls throughout my life, along with a level of personal selfishness that is often concealed beneath the cloak of a good character. I cannot remember any time in my life when I did not do what I wanted to do, (whether it was right or wrong to do it then, where, how or whomever with)! Surely, such is selfishness born in pride itself.

I thought long and hard whether it was appropriate to dedicate a song to myself today with it being my birthday and wondered if it was simply my ego in overdrive once more? However, there is one song that is appropriate for a man with the character trait of selfishness and pride that I previously highlighted. It is a very difficult song to sing, even for the most accomplished of singers and I only wish I had a £5 note every time I’ve witnessed some person who was plied with too much alcohol attempt to sing it at the end of the night on some pub/club stage. The song is certainly way outside my own comfort zone and vocal range, but, if instead of screeching out the highest of notes, I make a few key changes downwards, I can hopefully produce a respectable rendition of a fine song that is appropriate to my person.

I also consider this song appropriate to my wife and me on our 7th wedding anniversary, as we are both independent people who have learned to depend on each other’s love in our happy life together.

I suspect that the song is also suitable for my Facebook friends, Liz Venables and Paul McGrath who also have their birthday on the same day as mine.

I know the song to be suitable for all those brave souls from past wars, whose natural way was to stand up, fight for and die for the country they loved and the freedoms they enjoyed. They will always be remembered and shall never be forgotten.

So, on this momentous of occasions, and in celebration of a wonderful life to press, I would like to sing you ‘My Way’ that the late Frank Sinatra sang and popularised in 1969. Its lyrics were written by Paul Anka and set to the music of the French song "Comme d'habitude".

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song For Today: 9th November 2019

9/11/2019

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Today, I jointly dedicate my song to three people, each of whom are celebrating their birthdays; two relatives and one Facebook friend.

I jointly dedicate my song today to my nephew David’s wife, Alyson Forde, who lives in the area of Cleckheaton, West Yorkshire. Alyson is my brother Patrick’s daughter-in-law. It is Alyson’s birthday today.

I also jointly dedicate my song today to my great-niece, Kennedy Rose, who lives in Birstall, Batley, West Yorkshire with her parents, Michael and Amanda. Kennedy Rose is the granddaughter of my brother Michael and his wife, Denise. It is Kennedy Rose’s birthday today also.

Finally, I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend and artist whose work I greatly admire, Adele Doxy from Huddersfield. Adele also celebrates her birthday today.

Today’s song is ‘A Teenager in Love’. This song was written by Doc Pomus and partner, Mort Shuman. It was originally recorded by ‘Dion and the Belmonts’ and was released in March 1959. The song reached Number 5 on the Billboard pop charts. In May 1959, the three different versions of song held positions in the British Top 20, the other two versions being by Marty Wilde and Craig Douglas. The song is considered by many music critics to be one of the greatest in rock and roll history.

The song was covered in 1965 both by ‘Bob Marley and the Wailers’ and by Lou Christie. It was also covered by ‘Simon and Garfunkel’ in 1970 in their final show as a recording duo at Forest Hills Tennis Stadium in Queens, New York City. Others to cover the song included: The Fleetwoods: Helen Shapiro: Connie Stevens: Sha Na Na, along with many others.

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I remember my teenage years well. I was always a hopeless romantic who fell in love with every good looking young woman I ever dated, but as I never had the slightest intention of ever settling down into marital domesticity with any of them, my relationships during my teenage years would usually last a couple of weeks before I ended them. Such frequent break-ups never caused me any heartache, but there were occasions when the boot was on the other foot, which never sat easily with my pride.

On those few occasions when the girl in question ended with me before I had the opportunity to end it with her, my heart reacted with such intensity of feeling that it literally did feel as though it had been broken in two; never again to be mended.

You see, a sequence of important phases would always be negotiated in all my teenage relationships which both served my immediate needs of gratification and my long-term intentions of remaining single until I attained the age of thirty at the earliest.

Initially, I would find a girl who attracted me. Next, I would ensure that I asked her out, and usually by the end of our first date, I would have fallen madly in love with her, with an intensity of feelings that would have been too strong for Romeo and Juliet to cope with. By the second date, she would have usually started to become besotted by me. Whenever I noticed this emotional bond start to develop, I would take fright and usually end it speedily; believing if I didn’t end the relationship before the week was out, that I’d soon be in danger of being wed before I was twenty, let alone thirty!

Were that to happened, I knew that I could forget about my dream of ever travelling to Canada and America when I reached the age of twenty-one. In short; I valued my freedom too much ever to allow myself to get and remain emotionally attached to any young woman, however attractive in look they were or whatever else they offered as an inducement to settle down.

That, however, was not the norm for teenagers in the late 50s. These were the days when most young men and women would be married by their age of majority (21 years old) and it would not be unusual for young married couples to be parents twice over before they were 23 years old.

The late fifties reflected the tail end of pre-war values which had prevailed for the best part of a century. It was a time when the main aspiration of a young woman was to find herself a respectable young man to marry and start a family with before she was considered ‘to have been left on the shelf’. As for the type of occupation to fill in the few years between leaving school and getting married, young women from the working-classes would be content to work in a factory, the mill or a shop, while those who felt a bit above themselves would try to be a typist or train as a hairdresser for five years. As for the possibility of university entrance, such was left to the grammar school and private school pupils who came from the wealthier middle and upper classes of society and who tended to live down south and never up north!

Being a teenager in the late 1960s, however, was so much different than being one today is. The 1960s ushered in the age of rock and roll, free love, cannabis and the contraceptive pill. In America, hippy communes were popping up all over the place and it was not unusual for teenagers to become members of all manner of cults. Where books were read by young people, out went the reading of classical literature and in came literary musts like the unexpurgated edition of ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ in 1960, after the watershed obscenity trial against the publisher Penguin Books failed. There was also compulsory reading material like ‘Portnoy’s Complaint’ in 1969 and ‘the Female Eunuch’ in 1970. The former book by Philip Roth was filled with masturbation scenes that risked ‘one burning in hell’ whilst the latter, Germain Greer’s book was the forerunner to the Women’s Liberation Movement that mushroomed across the ocean and led to ‘the mass burning of bras’

Nowhere was it fashionable any longer for young men and young women to dress like their parents, hold the same values and life expectations as their parents or be like their parents in any shape or form. The young were now part of an ‘all round’ group in society whereas their parents were simply regarded as being ‘squares’.

Over the successive decades of the 80s and 90s, the gender, the looks and the mannerisms of male and female became so intermingled that it would take a university degree today (of which 50 per cent of the population has one), to be able to distinguish between Adam and Eve. No longer could it be assumed that just because it wore a dress or a pair of trousers, walked in a pair of high heels or mules, it was a male or a female? Whereas today, whether one is heterosexual, homosexual, bi-sexual, trans-sexual or any other kind of sexual, the only thing that remains common between man and woman is that sex will always have a valuable part to play.

To tell the truth, I’m glad I’m not a teenager today in 2019. It would just be too confusing.

I jointly dedicate my song today to three people; each of whom is celebrating their birthday.

First is my nephew David’s wife, Alyson Forde of Cleckheaton, West Yorkshire. It is Alyson’s birthday today. Happy birthday, Alyson. Uncle Billy and Sheila x

I also jointly dedicate my song today to my great-niece, Kennedy Rose, who lives in Birstall, Batley, West Yorkshire with her parents, Michael and Amanda. Happy birthday, Kennedy Rose. Enjoy your special day. Great uncle Billy and Sheila x

Finally, I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend and artist whose work I greatly admire, Adele Doxy from Huddersfield. Thank you for being my Facebook friend, Adele. Have a smashing birthday. Bill x

Love and peace Bill xxx.
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Song For Today: 8th November 2019

8/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Chrissie Rockettt from Portlaw, County Waterford in Ireland (the village of my birth), whose birthday it is today.

I also dedicate my song to Steve Jones, the husband of my niece, Sharon, who lives in Hightown, Liversedge, West Yorkshire. It is Steve’s birthday today.

My song today is ‘My Happiness’. This song is a pop music standard which was initially made famous in the mid-twentieth century. An unpublished version of the melody with different lyrics was written by Borney Bergantine in 1933.

The most famous version of the song, with lyrics by Betty Peterson Blasco, was published for the first time in 1948. The first known recording of this version was in December 1947 by the Marlin Sisters, but the song first became a hit in May 1948 as recorded by Jon and Sondra Steele, with rival versions by the Pied Pipers and Ella Fitzgerald entering the charts that June, and reaching respectively Numbers 4 and 8, with the Marlin Sisters version finally charting with a Number 24 peak that July. A version by John Laurenze entered the Billboard magazine charts on August 1948 where it peaked at Number 26.

Others to cover the song included Vera Lynne (1956): Connie Francis (1958): Andy Williams (1959): Pat Boone (1959): Teresa Brewer (1961): The Andrew Sisters (1964): Slim Whitman (1968): Daniel O’Donnell (2007) and Elvis Presley (2015).
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This song was written in 1933, nine years before I as born, but was not published and recorded until 1948 when I was aged 6 years.

I believe that the first time I heard this song was by Connie Francis in 1958. I had just started work at a Cleckheaton mill and was a cocky 15-year-old boy who prided himself on being a good singer and ‘a good catch’ for any young woman who wanted pleasing at no more cost than the gift of her heart and the loan of her body. I was also a big head, and like every handsome-looking 15-year-old who had a head full of dreams and an empty pocket to line them with, I walked with the purposeful stride of a Mr Micawber from ‘David Copperfield’ in an unfailing assertion of faith that ‘something will turn up’.

In fact, to be precise, a bad traffic accident which I incurred at the age of 11 years, and which nearly killed me, put me in hospital for nine months and left me being unable to walk for almost three years. When I did eventually walk again, I had lost my purposeful stride and instead, I hobbled with a pronounced limp.

After my more serious injuries had been dealt with during my first three weeks of hospitalisation as the surgeon and medics battled to save my life, they then turned their attentions to my damaged legs. When the wagon ran over me and twisted my body around its main drive shaft, I’d been left with multiple injuries, of which saving my legs were of more minor consideration. My spine had been badly damaged, I had a lung puncture and twenty-two of my twenty-four ribs in my chest were broken and matted. Both legs and arms were also broken; my left leg the worse of all. My left leg had been broken several times on the kneecap as it was twisted around the wagon’s driveshaft. Although my parents were initially told that my damaged spine would prevent me from ever walking again, they would still try to make my legs look presentable.

Over an 18 month period, I had over fifty operations at Batley General Hospital breaking and re-setting my left leg. I would have a leg operation one week after another, whereby my leg would be broken, re-set and placed in Plaster of Paris with a steel contraption attached that would be turned to forcefully bend and straighten my leg a fraction of an inch. No sooner than the Plaster of Paris had dried on my leg, it was cut off, my knee was checked, re-set and the process was repeated.

After all my leg operations, my growth was stunted, and I was eventually left with my left leg being three inches shorter than my right leg. After, I had regained the mobility of my legs (which the hospital consultant was never able to explain, other than surmising that the broken connection between my damaged spine and brain had somehow reconnected itself),

I spent the following six years learning 'not to limp as obviously as a three-inch deficiency between two legs would usually produce'. This practical improvement was made possible entirely by a mental process which essentially involved continuous imaginary exercises in which I would see myself walking without limping too badly. Believe it or not, but the desired result was eventually achieved in large measure.

When I walked, I did not visualise myself limping (even though I did limp). It was as though through visually imagining myself walking without the type of limp associated by a three-inch shortfall in one leg to the other, I did not limp as badly as I otherwise would have done! However, towards the end of the day when my mind and body grew more exhausted, I would always limp much worse than I had done in the morning of that same day. That fact confirmed to me that my limp could be substantially reduced by my mind and it still applies over sixty years later in my life.

Over time, between boyhood and manhood, my hips readjusted in a slanted mode, because I always refused to wear a raised shoe on my left leg to produce an actual and visible balance to my posture and stance.

Then, one day while having a drink at the bar in ‘The Shoulder of Mutton’ in Hightown (my local pub), an old man who’d served in both World Wars pulled me to one side and gave me some valuable advice that was to serve me well during the years ahead. I had naturally been conscious of the difference in my leg lengths since I’d regained my walking mobility after my childhood accident, especially when I started going to the pub to have a drink or went dating and dancing at the Town Hall on a Saturday night.

On such outings, whenever I stood still, I had a choice to make. I could either stand on my right leg and be 5 feet 7 inches tall (my longest leg) or on my left leg and stand around 5 feet 5 inches tall (my shortest leg). Presumably, as my hips slanted over time, it affected my overall height. Naturally, if I stood with both feet on the ground, I would always stand more crooked, and in my own eyes, I’d be stood ‘less of a man’. One way around this which disguised my leg deficiency was to always perch myself at the bar with my shortest leg on the foot rail and my longest leg stood on the floor. Such a stance always gave me the semblance of normality on the first impression and maximised my height.

On the evening in question in the pub, the old man said, ‘Forgive me saying so, lad, but I’ve noticed that your legs are uneven in length. I noticed this because I got wounded in France and returned from the ‘Second World War’ with a stiff leg and a huge limp. For ages, I was self-conscious of my war wounds until one day, a lady friend advised me to ‘learn to walk with pride’. She told me never to forget how I’d got this bad leg of mine and said that providing I learned to ‘limp with dignity’ like a soldier returning from the war, I would always remain attractive in the eyes of a good woman looking for a real man.”.

Afterwards, I thought long and hard on the old soldier’s words. I thought about my own battles; the battles I’d been through between the age of 11 years onwards, and I started to see myself in terms of a survivor, akin to a war hero returning home from battle. More important, however, I learned how to ‘limp with dignity’ and can honestly say that from being a young man in his mid-teens to that of a fully grown man, the difference in the length of my legs never once made a difference to whether or not I caught the girl/woman of my choice or if I was able to stand my ground. I also learn that all good women don’t care a fig about any man without ‘personality and charm’, whether he possesses the finest pair of legs that ever graced a male torso or not! Without personality and charm, every bit of a woman’s long-term interest goes out the window. I often think upon this as I limp into the arms of my beloved Sheila at the end of a mentally exhausting day.

There are many things that bring one happiness in their lives and not least in importance is the good advice one will be given from time to time by the vast number of people we stand next to in the queue of life; whether that queue be at a bus stop, the butcher’s shop or the pub bar! The only question we need to ask ourselves is do we truly consider all advice we are given, and if we find truth in it, do we act on it?

I jointly dedicate my song today to two people, each of whom are celebrating their birthday.

To Chrissie Rockett, I wish the happiest of birthdays. May it be blessed with much love, happiness…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Chrissie lives in Portlaw, County Waterford in Ireland. This is the village where I was born. Have a smashing birthday, Chrissie. Love Bill x

I also dedicate my song today to Steve Jones, the husband of my niece, Sharon, who lives in Hightown, Liversedge, West Yorkshire. Steve presently lives on the estate where I lived most of my childhood. It is also Steve’s birthday today. Have a good day Steve. I hope your special day is also filled with much love, happiness…and…lots of cake and ale. Uncle Billy and Sheila x

Love and peace Bill xxx
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Song for Today: 7th November 2019

7/11/2019

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I jointly dedicate my song today to my granddaughter, Jessica who lives in France with her parents and her brother, Sam. Jessica is the daughter of my firstborn, James and his wife, Elisa. It is Jessica’s 13th birthday today.

I also dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Sharon Glover Dunn of Pudsey, Bradford, West Yorkshire. Sharon also celebrates her birthday today.

Today’s song is ‘More Than I Can Say’. This song was written by Sonny Curtis and Jerry Allison, both former members of Buddy Holly’s band, the Crickets. They recorded the song in 1959 soon after Holly's death and released it in 1960. Their original version hit Number 42 on the ‘British Record Retailer Chart’ in 1960. It has been notably performed by singers Bobby Vee, Leo Sayer, and Sammy Kershaw.

The most successful of all versions of this song was covered by Leo Sayer. Sayer’s cover version of ‘More Than I Can Say’ spent five weeks at Number 2 on the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart in December 1980. Leo Sayer's version of the song was certified a Gold Record by the RIAA. It also spent three weeks at No. 1 on the ‘Billboard Adult Contemporary Chart’. In the U.K., the song peaked at Number 2 on the ‘UK Singles Chart’, while it spent two weeks atop the ‘Kent Music Report in Australia. Sayer has stated that while looking for an ‘oldie’ to record for his album ‘Living in A Fantasy, he saw a TV commercial for a greatest hits collection by Vee and chose the song on the spot: "We went into a record store that afternoon, bought the record and had the song recorded that night."

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This song was first released in 1960 when I was 18 years old. This was a time when the world was my oyster and I was flying high. Although of working-class status, I had just been appointed the youngest textile shop steward in Great Britain, along with being the youngest Youth Leader in England. Although I’d left school at the age of 15 years without taking my GCE examinations, to work in the mill, I was an intelligent young man. At the age of 18, going on 19 years of age, the ‘Textile Trade Union of Dyers and Bleachers’ offered me a scholarship to Ruskin College that would ‘fast track’ me from that of Shop Steward to that of ‘Trade Union Area Representative’. However, I declined as I planned to travel and wanted to emigrate to Canada or the USA in the immediate years ahead.

I was at a time in my life when I considered no person or task to be beyond my reach and capabilities. Only my ambition to travel and see the world/experience the world/change the world surpassed my mounting ego.

The years between 12 and 14 had seen me unable to walk after I’d been run over by a large vehicle. The years between 14 and 18 witnessed me learning to become mobile once again and to engage in every kind of sport and activity imaginable to regain my balance and agility of movement.

The years between 18 and 21 were the years I romanced as many young women as I could, rock and rolled regularly at every dance hall within a twenty-mile radius, and had fisticuffs fights with every male who dared to mention my limp uncharitably. After fifty-three leg operations, my left leg was now a couple of inches shorter than my right leg. I was encouraged to wear a built-up shoe to compensate, but my childhood vanity wouldn’t even consider the prospect.

I’d always had a good singing voice since being a boy and had won several prizes between the years of 8-15 years. By the age of 18 years, I thought I was probably one of the finest undiscovered pop singers in the country and held out dreams of one day ‘making it big’ when I launched my singing career across the Atlantic Ocean after I emigrated as planned.

At this time in my life, it would be true to say that I thought too highly of myself. Indeed, one might safely conclude that ‘I LOVED ME MORE THAN I CAN SAY’.

Having been told by my mother the whole of my childhood that ‘I was a special child’, I naturally came to believe it. Everything I tried to do thereafter, I attempted to do in a special way. However, I needed to do a lot of growing up, growing wiser and become more worldly-wise through travel before I accepted the full truth. I realised that though I was indeed ‘special’, so was every other man, woman, child and creature who inhabited this earth! I was to learn that one does not have to deny one’s own ‘specialness’ in order to acknowledge the ‘specialness’ of another person.

That is why, this old man, who is but three days off attaining the age of 77, can say to my first granddaughter, Jessica on her 13th birthday, ‘I love you more than I can say’. Have a smashing day. Lots of love, Jessica from Granddad Forde and Sheila x

Happy birthday and have a lovely day, Sharon. May your day be filled with much happiness and love…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Thank you for being my Facebook friend. Bill x

Love and peace. Bill xxx
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