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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December 31st, 2017

31/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"Did I ever tell you about the giant-sized potato that my late, maternal, Irish grandfather from Ireland once grew in his vegetable garden. No! Well, that's probably because it never happened! Incidentally, my grandfather did once tell me that 'any gardener who grew flowers was a man of vanity, and that real gardeners only grow things that can be eaten by human and whose waste can be fed to the pigs and donkeys'.

I recently overheard an allotment holder I know tell another how next year's crop would hopefully be bigger and better. Then I saw this picture recently on Facebook, and apart from it looking sweet, it reminded me of many gardeners I have known who prided themselves on growing prized overgrown specimens of one vegetable or another.

This thought took my mind back to a story that my mother once told me as a child about a cruel headmaster of her youth who delighted in beating his pupils with the swish of his cane at every opportunity during his forty-year career in one of the Waterford schools. It was said that his chastisement was crueller than even that of the nuns! He became so proud about the discipline of his class that he frequently boasted about it on a night time in the pub to many an adult whom he'd beaten as a child. In fact, it was said that he was never seen inside or outside the school without his cane in one hand, which he carried like a swagger stick, like commisioned officers in the infantry regiments are seen strutting around with.

He carried it like a badge of pride in his school and community and even had it to hand in his home, should ever his wife step out of line and cross him.

When age compelled the cruel headmaster to retire, he became a lost soul without any purpose in his life. One day, whilst drinking in the village pub, he was reading about the latest winner to lift 'The Waterford Cup' for having grown the 'Best in Show'. The retired headmaster had always believed he was the best man in Portlaw and he hated the idea that anyone in the county of Waterford could possibly be better than he was.

Greatly missing being 'number one' in his former school position where he would beat his pupils daily, he decided to start beating everyone else in the Portlaw, Waterford community who dared to try and win 'First in Show' in the annual 'Waterford Vegetable Cup.' So, he developed an interest in growing vegetables and would spend at least seven hours daily up at his allotment growing 'a winner'. Within the first year of him tending his allotment, he started winning at the vegetable shows all around the County of Waterford

For seven years he won the trophy for 'Best in the Show' and bragged constantly to all and sundry at every opportunity that he was the best man in Portlaw. Everyone detested his presence. They got fed up with his constant bragging about beating every man who dared compete with him, yet the fear he had instilled in them at school decades earlier was reinforced each time they saw him wave his cane in the air.

The day came when one of Portlaw's former residents returned from America, where he'd emigrated to as a young boy. Following the ex-headmaster's boasting in the pub that 'he could beat any man in Waterford at the annual show', the returned native to Portlaw accepted the bully's challenge, along with a hefty wager as to who would grow the largest vegetable and win next year's show. When this quiet man from Portlaw had been a boy, he'd attended the school of the cruel headmaster and had often been beaten mercilessly by him with the swish of his cane for having committed some minor transgression.

Determined to get his revenge, he discovers the bully's secret to growing giant-sized vegetables, and assisted by a secret ingredient of his own, he wins the wager and carries off the cup for 'Best in Show.'

I won't reveal the secret here of growing big spuds and spoil it for any future reader of the book. I elaborated the germ of my mother's tale, and with the use of a dash of poetic licence, I have written it up as one of my 'Tales from Portlaw' which can be freely read on my website or bought in book form. The story is entitled, 'Bigger and Better' and is freely accessed to be read in its entirety by following the link below. Anyone wishing to purchase the book in either e-book format or a hard copy can do so from www.lulu.com or amazon.com All profits from book sales will go to charity in perpetuity." William Forde: December 31st, 2017.

http://www.fordefables.co.uk/bigger-and-better.html

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December 30th, 2017

30/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"Forgive me using a picture I have used before, but its appropriateness for this post warranted its return. I often feel that many New Year resolutions often warrant a return also; especially those we fail to keep but wish we had, and in our heart of hearts still intend to make and keep one year in the future.

Leaving to one side the more common ones like the giving up or reducing the intake of alcohol and cigarettes, I would like to address one that is frequently made but invariably not kept; the resolution to someday write that story and publish that book we have in us. 

You would be surprised to know how many frustrated authors we have out there. I was recently messaged by a close Facebook friend called 'J', telling me that he really must get pen to paper and start that book this coming year. Indeed, 'J' possesses all the skills that is required to be successful in getting his story written and I know the general outline of the story he wants to write is one that will make a good read. 'J' however, is but the tip of the iceberg in a literary sea of budding authors, and if I really tried, I could substitute 'J' to represent other 'want to be' and 'could be' writers with every letter in the alphabet except 'x-y-z', even from those messages I have received this year alone.'

Here are a few tips that will help, should you proceed in having a genuine go this year:
(1) If you decide to write your book, do it because 'you want to' and not because you think 'you ought to'; and most importantly, 'do it for yourself'!
(2) Know that every person who lives has a story in them that is worthy of the telling; be it long or short, suitable for a child, young person or adult.
(3) Don't restrict yourself to having your story form a book as there are hundreds of magazines out there that might be suitable. Even if your story does not seem to say what you want it to say when you write it down in print, if it's a children's story, go to a school and tell it! At the very least you should get some valuable feedback. if your story is for adults then it might help if you join a writers/readers group. There is usually one in every area of the country.
(4) To get you back into the routine of writing, enrol in 'homeschool' where you are the student, teacher and examiner. Pluck a word/thing/type of person/event out of the air and compose an essay around it. That's all I do every morning in my 'Thought for Today'. And practice, practice and practice! This way, you will discover your best style of writing; the style that suits you best.
(5) We all write better when we are writing about something we know; hence the importance of placing our experiences within the lives of our story characters. The beautiful thing about stories is that writing them is so therapeutic. By putting your own real feelings, words, views and thoughts into the lives, actions and mouth of one of your characters, when you are writing about them, you always have enough to say that is meaningful to you because you are in fact writing about yourself in part. If you find what your characters say as being meaningful, you can bet that your readers are likely to find them meaningful also.When someone who reads your story remarks,'Your characters seem so real' it is usually because they are!
(6) Everyone's style of composition is different and we arrive at the one that is most suitable for our use by much practice and walking down different paths of exploration. I have always found it helpful to outlay my story in image form. For example, I imagine every paragraph I write as one image and then write what I see in my mind. The process between writer and reader goes like this:
I have an image and I turn that image into words to make one paragraph. The words and image reinforce each other because they match.The reader reads the words from the page of their book and automatically form an image in their mind as they are reading. When the image they have in their mind is the same image that I initially turned into words, I know that I've cracked it and have them on board.

Without recounting the ups and downs I've experienced during the past year, I have to conclude that there have been more ups than there have been downs. In fact, folks, come to think of it, I do not believe that I've ever lived through a year when there hasn't been.

Do you know what my New Year resolution is for the year 2018? It's the same resolution I have had for more years than I care to remember: I'm determined to laugh more. So there you have it. I'm game for a laugh if you are, Buster. Bring it on!

Sheila and I wish all our family, friends and neighbours a Happy New Year. May it be filled with much love, happiness, peace, health, compassion, forgiveness, and generosity." William Forde: December 30th, 2017.
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December 29th, 2017.

29/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"I was recently in a shop in Brighouse looking at birthday cards and a young woman tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Is it Bill Forde, the 'Sleezy Fox' and the 'Douglas Dragon' man?' I would like to say that I was able to put a face to her, but I wasn't. It turned out that she was a pupil at Lindley Junior School in Huddersfield during the early 1990's (The photo is of one of my visits to Lindley Junior School in the 1990's). In those days I was a well known children's author in Yorkshire, and I used to read in school assemblies throughout Yorkshire around five times weekly. When I retired from my job as a Probation Officer in 1995, it was usually twice daily (over 2000 assembly readings between 1990-2005). Between 1990 and 2002 I brought over 860 national and international celebrities and famous faces into Yorkshire schools to read from my books to the children.

One of the strange things about being a regular visitor to any school is that you grow with it. I recall reading to children at 'Battyeford First School' in Mirfield when I first started writing children's books. At the time, The late Princess Diana had contacted me and requested that I send her copies of my books 'Douglas the Dragon' and 'Sleezy the Fox' for her to read to her 9 and 7-year-old sons, Princes William and Harry, at their bedtimes. One of the many famous names read my books in Yorkshire schools during these years included the Queen's cousin, the late Earl of Harewood and the Countess (they read from my books on four occasions). It was the Earl who recommended my books as being suitable for the young Princes William and Harry to Princess Diana. It is a gratifying feeling for any author to know that their book has been read to a future King of England by a Princess and read in four schools by a royal cousin to the Queen.

Following her royal endorsement of my stories about the dragon and the fox, the books sold like hot cakes throughout Yorkshire schools. There were approximately over 100,000 copies sold in Yorkshire schools alone; faster than we could print them, and with all profits from their sales going to charity.

Four years ago, Prince George was born to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, and Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. Two year ago, the royal couple parented their daughter, Princess Charlotte of Cambridge. I felt it would be remiss not to send the Prince and Duchess of Cambridgeshire a copy of the two books that Princess Diana used to read to her children William and Harry when they were young. Two years ago, the wheel of life also turned full circle regarding my readings of 'Sleezy the Fox' and 'Douglas the Dragon' in Yorkshire schools.

When I last read to an assembly of children at 'Battyeford First School', sitting in the front row at the time was my daughter Rebecca and her best friend, Karen. Were I to walk into 'Battyeford First School' today, I would be able to see Karen's youngest son sitting a few rows back and Karen working as a teacher's assistant. Were I to walk into Karen's house this teatime, sitting opposite her at the table, I'd see my son Adam. He and Karen have been an item for the past year now and are expecting their first child in March 2018. It is Karen's birthday next week, and before my next grandchild is born, I will have published my next book which includes her as a character in the story and which is dedicated to her. It will be something to remind her of an old granddad she once had.

When I first wrote 'Sleezy the Fox', the book was dedicated to my sons James and Adam. Anyone wanting to hear the four fox stories or the four dragon stories for free can access these stories, which are professionally read, from my website by following the links below. The stories are suitable for being 'read to' 5-7-year-olds or being 'read by' 7-11-year-olds:

http://www.fordefables.co.uk/douglas-the-dragon.html
http://www.fordefables.co.uk/sleezy-the-fox.html

Or alternately, the stories can be bought in e-book format from www.smashwords.com or in hard copy from www.lulu.com and www.amazon.co.uk with all profits from their sales going to charitable causes in perpetuity. They make good Christmas presents for young readers who like stories with a moral." William Forde: December 29th, 2017.
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December 28th, 2017.

28/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"There is nothing so wild as beauty unleashed from its chains; nothing so beautiful as a wild thing wanting to break free and run with the wind of fortune. To see someone/something that is no longer bound to the chains of social constraint and the mores of polite society is to view the true mark of independence streaking through the flames of defiant valour.

I have always admired strong-minded women who refuse to be defined by the wishes and desires of any man. As an avid reader of British History, chief among these wild spirits who fought all their lives to break free were women of the Suffragette Movement of the late 19th and early 20th century, led by Emmeline Pankhurst.

When they became determined to no longer remain mere chattels in a man-made-world, ruled exclusively by men, and for the benefit of men, they decided to do something about it. Their defiance landed them in prison, subjected them to forced starvation and took many to the point of death in order to obtain the suffrage they had been long denied by virtue of their sex and for no other reason than being a woman, the property of their husbands!

Many people are so disillusioned with politics today that when the elections come around, they refuse to exercise their democratic right and vote. They are usually the first ones to moan about what their Government of the day is or isn't doing, or how it's doing it! It makes me particularly angry when it is women who don't vote especially when I think about all the suffering the suffragettes went through on their behalf. When I used to visit primary schools in Yorkshire daily over a period of ten years to hold special assemblies, I always made a point of reminding the girls in the school never to place themselves second in consideration to any boy, and not to allow anyone, adult or child, teacher or parent to put them in that position without protesting about it. I reinforced my view that in the final analysis, it was all about 'self-respect' and reminded the girls that one needed to feel comfortable in their own skin before they could prove effective in their society.

A great novelist at the time heard of my work in this area and was also made aware of the twelve children's stories I'd written about a girl called 'Annie' who refused to be put down by any boy or problem she faced and kept on trying until she got what she wanted. The novelist was Dame Catherine Cookson and she asked me to send her recordings of the Annie stories; saying that she was almost blind and now recorded her books into a microphone instead of writing them before they were published. As it happened, the television actress, Brigit Forsyth had recently recorded these twelve stories for radio transmission. After listening to the Annie stories, Dame Catherine and her husband Tom said they would like to fund a 500-limited-edition publication of all twelve stories and allow the profits from book sales to go to Mencap.

This was a few years before Catherine and Tom, who became good friends of mine and supporters of my charitable work and published books, died within weeks of each other. I was to learn in the brief time I knew Catherine that had she lived at the time of Emmeline Pankhurst, she would have willingly marched in the front line, carried the Suffragette flag and even thrown a few stones through windows in protest.

'The Action Annie Omnibus' has been published a number of times over the years and is ideal reading for the 5-9-year-old. It is suitable for either boys or girls. There is one seasonal story for each month of the year and all profits from book sales go to charitable causes in perpetuity. Another old friend of mine, the great, late Sir Norman Wisdom, travelled from his home in the Isle of Mann to Mirfield Library as a favour to me during the 1990s to read from this book to two hundred children sitting in the forecourt. The event was widely covered by television and radio broadcasts and Norman did a number of his favourite stumbles throughout his rendition of the story. The book is available from www.lulu.com or www.amazon.com.

My message to all females is simply this: Place not your anchor in the harbour of splendid isolation. Instead, hoist your sails high and fly your flag proudly wherever you travel. Forever walk free, dream your own dreams and live a life you feel suitable for yourself. Remain determined to chart your own map of journeys and plot your own course of travel in this brave new world. Now, that's what I consider to be a fitting New Year's resolution for any girl or woman, worth their salt!" William Forde: December 28th, 2017.
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December 27th, 2017.

27/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"When I was growing up in the 50's, 'sexism' was simply an unnamed everyday activity that most males considered to be a normal way of life and most women were prepared to tolerate. What jobs there were to be had outside the home were generally filled by men, as were most of the seats occupied by serving Members of Parliament, along with the heads of most businesses and professions. When the average wife held a job outside the home, it was usually part-time and was performed to get some 'pin money' (A Yorkshire term for money that the husband wouldn't give his wife for essentials or little extras).

In those days, everyone knew their place, especially the women. Even the children in First School knew the natural order of things: girls aspired to become secretaries, bus conductresses, and hairdressers. If girls were very clever and were able to obtain twice the number of higher qualifications than boys could, they could aspire to one day become nurses and air stewardesses. On the other hand, boys could dream of being train drivers, firemen, miners, doctors, air pilots, headmasters and blacksmiths etc.

This general attitude prevailed until the late sixties when the 'Women's Liberation Movement' which was a loose arrangement of feminist thinking, began to emerge and persisted throughout the 70's.

Many things are responsible for advancing the rights of women throughout the past fifty years including 'The Equal Pay Act' of 1970, 'The Sex Discrimination Act' of 1975 and 'The Equality Act' of 2010. However, none of these Acts ever advanced the cause of women's freedom more than the emergence of the contraceptive pill during the 1960's. For the first time in their lives, women could have control as to whether they gave birth to fourteen children or none!

For a number of years into the New Millennium, one heard about some women who were breaking into certain jobs which had traditionally been held by men. One of the chaps I knew was a house husband and his wife was a lorry driver and I even heard of a young woman in the Rochdale area who had decided to take over the role of neighbourhood Smithy after her father had died in the job. I was also told that if anyone thought that the female blacksmith from Rochdale was a member of the overweight feminist brigade, they should think again, as she was one of the Rochdale beauties who refused to be branded by any man or have a dress code imposed on her at work. She was wholly independent, had a number of irons in the fire should she ever decide to change professions, and had absolutely no intention of ever allowing herself to get hot and bothered by any sexist comments of her customers.
Any chap saying something inappropriate to her got a bucket of water thrown at him!

I have always held the view that major social change comes at a heavy price. I know that many men and women might feel that the cost of sexual advances and the changes such 'progress' has brought about within marital roles and family life has been too high a family price to pay. As a general rule, if a father works outside the home and is the traditional breadwinner, he usually doesn't constantly feel guilty for not being with his child during the day, whereas most working mothers do, whatever nature and satisfaction degree of their job. I also know very few children in any family, who given the choice, would not prefer to have their mum at home and dad at work than vice versa! I know that these feelings are generally governed by hundreds of years of conditioning, and perhaps it is too much to expect that they can be changed overnight and adapted to in decades rather than centuries?

None of the above is to argue that society ought to be rearranged back to what it once was ordered, or that men should have more right to work than women, earn more than them generally and be expected to perform manual work roles that most women were never built to do. It is simply to indicate that the role of 'motherhood' is now beyond the dreams of most women to either afford or perform to their satisfaction.

Many young couples simply cannot afford to have children today and provide for their upkeep because of the uncertainty of the economic times in which austerity rules. There are no more 'jobs for life', not enough jobs for both men and women to fill, and a worker is just as likely to get their redundancy notice at the end of the year instead of a raise in their wages like they could once look forward to. People are remaining out of work for a decade, getting married much later in life, getting on the housing ladder decades later than ever before, and having their 'only child' when they approach their 40's. Only the couples who depend upon the welfare state totally to provide all cost cover can even contemplate having more than one child or having children whenever the mood takes them!

I recall when I was doing a course at Manchester University during the 1970's of being told of a panel beater attempting to knock out a dent in a sheet of metal. Whenever he succeeded in knocking out one dent, up it would come in another place on the metal sheet. This is essentially how I view the advancement of all change in the roles of men and women since the Industrial Revolution.

The advancement of sexual equality seems to have had the same consequences as a beaten sheet of metal, where the removal of one injustice occurs, only to see the appearance of another take its place. Whenever women have seemed to advance with regard to one thing from the 1900s onward, they invariably discover that they have lost out in respect to something else; often something more important!

Don't get me wrong, I will not pretend to like every 'advancement' that has taken place in the changing roles of man and woman, husband and wife and mum and dad over the past century; and nothing will ever persuade me that the people in either role today, are any happier today than in my parent's time. I don't know what the answer is, but I do believe that the more roles any person is expected to perform (whether man or woman), that more and more difficulties will emerge in consequence." William Forde: December 27th, 2017.
https://youtu.be/hms_GdvOKZY

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December 26th, 2017.

26/12/2017

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​Thought for today:
"Boxing Day is traditionally the day following Christmas Day when servants and tradesmen would receive gifts from their masters and superiors. Having never considered anyone else superior to myself nor found anyone who I was superior to, I had nobody to receive a gift from.

On Boxing Day of 2016, I was rushed to hospital after one of my lungs had collapsed. My terminal illness of C.L.L, had transformed itself into a Lymphoma and a more aggressive form of chemotherapy was recommended for the new cancer which had developed, should my body recover. Over the following two months, I almost died twice and I later discovered that a 'Do Not Resuscitate' had been placed on my medical file during the time it looked like I wouldn't make it.

For two months of hospitalisation, I had literally dozens of Masses and thousands of prayers said on my behalf. Through my church, family members, neighbours and Facebook contacts, my wife Sheila and I daily received hundreds of messages of support and encouragement. Never, in the whole of one's life had any man ever felt so loved as I did! To have died then would simply have been the wrong ending to my story.

I am pleased to say that though my illness is terminal, it is presently stabilised, and the past six months have been the best six months I have experienced over the past four years. During these last six months, I have not needed blood or platelet transfusions, nor any hospital visits, apart from two to see my cancer consultant for my three-monthly check-ups.

Last year, when my front door was opened to be rushed to Airedale Hospital, on the step was a cardboard box. It was so light in weight when lifted, it appeared empty of all contents. I thought that my brother Peter must have been playing a huge joke on me. The box stayed unopened and remained so at my hospital bedside until after I had seemingly turned the corner.

When I eventually opened the cardboard box, as soon as I lifted the lid I was silently blasted with an explosion of prayer and good will, and what a difference they had made to my recovery! It was some time after I'd returned back home that I remembered that there was another who was superior to me; my Lord and Master. It had been He and You who had brought me back home with your Boxing Day gifts of love.

Thank you, everyone, for your love, prayers and support over the past year. May your God go with you, may the sun shine down on you, and the wind of good fortune be forever at your back. Happy Boxing Day, 2017." William Forde : December 26th, 2017.
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December 25th, 2017.

25/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"On this, the holiest and special of days, Sheila and I wish all our family, neighbours and Facebook friends a very Holy Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I approach the end of 2017 a happier and healthier person than I began it. Having been born in the 'Year of the Horse' in the Chinese calendar, I am able to say that my wife has kept me well fed and warmly stabled since she rounded me up on Main Street during December 2010 and corralled me for the wild stallion I was. She has been and shall always remain the greatest of treasures I have discovered in my life. I'm so glad now that she shut the stable door and harnessed me to her affections before I broke into familiar gait and bolted for the wild beyond.

Today is a good day to share your happiness with others and to thank the Lord for all the good things in life that surround us. It is, after all, that day of the year which is capable of melting the hardest of hearts and fulfilling the promise of the Christmas star. I recall one Christmas as a young child growing up the eldest of seven in a materially poor family. It was snowing deep outside and the only pair of footwear I possessed was holed in the sole, inside which, dad had placed a piece of stiff card to stop the damp coming through as quickly as it otherwise would have. This was seemingly a common practice used by many working-class families during the war years, and up until the late 1950's.

As I looked at my shoddy shoes I felt sorry for myself and shed a tear. Mum saw me cry and she said, 'Cheer up, Billy, and thank God that you and your family are all safe and well.' Then she reminded me that as a child in Southern Ireland, she had often gone without the benefit of sound footwear. She also said that her mother used to wear an apron which had been fashioned and stitched from a flour sack. As the oldest child in her large family, her mother frequently told her that it was her duty to show a proper example to her younger brothers and sisters by not whingeing over slight discomfort. Then mum told me in her matter of fact way,' I cried when I had no shoes, Billy, but I never knew how lucky I was until I met a man with no feet!'

My dear mother was one of the most generous people I ever knew. She would give her last penny to any tramp for the mere asking and her precious time to anyone who wanted it. She never gave less of herself than was asked for, or ever expected more from another that could be given. My mother gave her respect to everyone she met, not because they had earned it, but because she thought they deserved it. When I questioned her boundless generosity to people outside the family, citing that we needed all we could muster together for Christmas presents and food for the table. she would tell me, 'Billy, look to your heart for the presence of Christmas. You'll never find it under a tree.'

​God bless you Mum and Dad for your wise guidance and all of the Forde and Fanning family who now occupy a place in that other life which requires no shoes.

​Christmas is the road home to your family, friends, neighbours, and your God. It is that special time of year when there exists the will to right past wrongs, heal old wounds that have festered for far too long and make peace with oneself. Christmas stirs a natural wish to renew contact with all those people who mean so much to us.

Sheila and I wish you all a Merry Christmas. May happiness and generosity of spirit come to you all in abundance: and those, for whom this festive season still holds a tinge of sadness because of the loss of a dearly departed whose anniversary occurs around this time, may you find the strength to experience this special day in peaceful reflection and loving remembrance, and may your God go with you.

My very first task before preparing today's post was to send birthday greetings to my Facebook contacts whose birthday is today. In particular, I wish a very happy birthday to Rose Pradeep from Dubai. What a wonderful day to be born. What a special day to celebrate one's birthday and to be a part of. Please enjoy my favourite Christmas song. Merry Christmas all. Love and peace from Sheila and I xxx" William Forde: December 25th, 2017.

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December 24th, 2017.

24/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"As Christmas Eve arrives and Christmas Day draws closer, my feelings are always a mixture of happiness and sadness. I am happy to know that I will spend Christmas with my wife, my daughter and brother-in-law. I am happy to know in this holy hour that my God, family and friends have never given up on me and never will. My feelings are, however, always tinged with a touch of sadness, and Christmas can never go by without me giving thought to the passing of loved ones and particularly that of my dear mother many years ago. I will never forget all my years between five and twenty-one walking to midnight mass with her one and a half miles down the Hightown New Road to the Catholic Church in Cleckheaton.

My late Uncle Willie, who lived in Ireland until he died surprised us all by turning up at Midnight Mass one Christmas during the 1950's. Unfortunately, my mother's brother was, until he gave up the drink and took up walking, five years before he died, an alcoholic. He was the most unreliable person I ever knew, yet amusing and generous to a fault. He never married and after my maternal grandparent's died, he returned to Ireland and was the guardian of their house until the day he died. Never once did he move one object from the place his mother had it all her married life; effectively turning the humble house into a shrine to his parents.

During one Christmas Midnight Mass in the 1950's, mum heard coughing and a spluttering from behind us. We looked around and at the back of the church in danger of dropping off to sleep, we saw Uncle Willie, drunk as a skunk. He came home with us and stayed over Christmas before returning to my grandparent's house in Ireland. As he left, Uncle Willie smiled and said, 'Look out for me now when you come to Midnight Mass next year, won't you?'' We said we would.

It was many years before I laid eyes on Uncle Willie again, but never a year went by on Christmas Eve when mum and I talked about whether Uncle Willie would be there at Midnight Mass this year to surprise us. He never was, but we never stopped looking for him every Christmas Eve at Mass. Though he's been dead a number of years now, it doesn't stop me looking around whenever I hear someone coughing and spluttering behind me.

The one thing that Uncle Willie and I shared was the love we felt for all our family, but in particular, our mothers. The greatest hero in anyone's life is that person who never gives up on you. When the going gets tough they help you to stick it out and make it work. They sacrifice things in their life like their energy and dreams in order to help you grow up wiser and better. They give up what they want in case you need it more. They work hard and overcome all adversity that impedes their long-term hopes for you. If they flag or fail for a moment, they quickly get back up on their feet to show you that nobody ever has to stay down. They tell you that they love you at every opportunity and show you through their actions that they deceive not. They teach you that having a voice is a form of expression not to be to be wasted, and voicing your fears and expressing your feelings honestly is a courage never to be denied. They may sometimes stay silent to make you feel more comfortable but love you enough to tell you when you are wrong, whether or not you want to hear such truth.They are fearless and will do whatever it takes to bring about the greatness in the ones they love because doing so brings them peace and satisfies their prime purpose in life. Their name is 'Mum' and their wisdom spans the bridges of all ages. They are your 'Mum', the fountainhead of all fortitude and the cradle of your courage.

As my first teacher, mum taught me the art of loving and living and how the two cannot be separated if I wanted to get the most out of each. My mother told me early on in life to give her flowers when she could smell them instead of putting them on her grave. I recall opening my very first wage package at the age of fifteen years and going home via the nearest garden centre. The first thing I bought was a bunch of flowers for mum. Until I first married and left home, I never once arrived home from work on a wage day without some flowers for mum which I bought along the way. Never a spring has passed since she died when I do not plant another rose in memory of her.

A Merry Christmas to all my family and friends and all you young children out there. Allow this old man to tell you the most powerful secret I ever learned. If you want to give your mum the very best Christmas present she will always treasure, before you go to bed on Christmas Eve, look your mum in the eye, smile and say, 'I love you, Mum.' Then make your New Year resolution a promise to never allow one day to pass without repeating this action. You can even add dad to your love list if you want to! And when you are old enough to pick wildflowers, pick a bunch for your mum. All mums just love a posy of daisies from your tiny hands more than the biggest bouquet of red roses that the world has ever seen bunched.

You will never lose the child in you while you have a mother to go home to or remember. Miss you and love you lots, Mum. 
I include your favourite song and singer below. Merry Christmas from your oldest boy, Billy xxx.” William Forde: December 24th, 2017.


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December 23rd, 2017.

23/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"Given all of the lovely food we indulge in over the Christmas week, I still love my toast and marmalade for breakfast along with my Sheila's soda bread and malt loaf.

It never fails to surprise me what we men will do for an attractive looking woman who possesses a body to die for with the smile of a Mona Lisa and a heart of gold; and who is carrying a pot of her delicious homemade marmalade in her fair hands ready for the chief taster?

Until I've eaten all my toast and marmalade, I'm afraid that I am of little use to any man/woman/beast on a morning. Merry Christmas everyone. x" William Forde: December 23rd, 2017.
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December 22nd, 2017.

22/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"I came across this saying three years ago, but it sums up my thought for today. I have probably had the best six months I've had over the past four years and I'm looking forward to Christmas Day, soon to be followed by the spring to come.

There is only one thing to do now before Christmas finally arrives and that is to get your happy on! So, put to one side any worries you may have been focusing on, start counting your blessings instead of your pennies and rejoice that Chrismas is here again.

And if you take my advice, you will use any spare time that you get over the festive season allowing yourself to laugh more spontaneously as well as learning to jump in puddles for no other reason than the sheer hell of it. Enjoy yourselves and remember others during your festivities. Merry Christmas everyone xxx" William Forde: December 22nd, 2017.
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December 21st, 2017.

21/12/2017

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​Thought for today:
"Humans who believe that animals are incapable of expressing emotion obviously have never had one to share their life and experiences with. I believe this so strongly that throughout my life, any woman whom I met that neither had time for animals nor didn't recognise the importance of families, however rich or attractive she may have been, she certainly wasn't the one for me.

Most of the young ladies I went around with, I probably met on some dance floor at Cleckheaton Town Hall on a Saturday night. I've never done this modern 'speed dating' where one has a three-minute conversation of introduction in rotation around the room, in the forlorn hope that one will find a lifelong partner; although I did rotate my female conquests on an almost daily basis as a handsome young man in his early twenties. At that time when I had an abundance of 'testosterone to burn', I came closer to the fires of hell than I've ever come.

Anyway, while I would never enter into the practice of speed dating today, were I obliged to, I would ask every woman over the table, the same three questions. 'Do you like animals? Do you appreciate the importance of family, and thirdly, can you make a steak pie, a malt loaf, homemade jam and a Bakewell tart that will make my mouth water as much as watching you undress for the first time? Answer all three questions correctly and the jackpot is yours and I'll make you my Sheila to the exclusion of all others.'

I got a resounding 'yes' to all three questions I asked one day in Haworth during the cold December month of December 2010. As I walked up Main Street at the most leisurely pace, I entered Gascoigne's Restaurant where I saw three tables, each one with a woman sitting there on her own, obviously waiting for the man of her dreams to arrive. One by one I made my way slowly around each table and asked each woman my three 'love test' questions. Needless to say, only one of them came up with the right answer and I've never looked back since. Merry Christmas everyone. x " William Forde: December 21st, 2017.
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December 20th, 2017.

20/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"Every Christmas among the many fine meals my wife Sheila cooks will always be some pork and apple sauce. I love all the other meats, and can do with or without goose, turkey, chicken or beef, but never pork! It is one of the few times during the year when I thank God I'm not of the Jewish persuasion.

​I recall being once told about a social gathering between all the religious leaders in a certain community. In attendance was the Catholic Priest, the Rabbi, a Baptist Minister and even a Wesleyan Preacher. Seemingly the Baptist Minister and the Wesleyan Preacher got on well enough, but there had always been a contentious relationship between the Catholic Priest and the Rabbi. Both felt that their fate was the one true religion to follow and whenever they happened to find themselves in each other's company, while on the surface they might seem politely respectful, in essence, they were always wanting to get one up on the other.

After five minutes or so, when they found it impossible to avoid each other a moment longer, the Catholic Priest and the Rabbi entered into social collision, followed by brief discussion. A few minutes of uneasy silence existed before the Catholic Priest said, 'Pray tell me, Rabbi, and please be truthful in your response. I have always wondered, but have you... have you ever...you know...have you ever eaten a pork pie since becoming a Rabbi?' The Rabbi looked at the Catholic Priest and adamantly said, 'Of course not!'

Then, after a minute or so, the Rabbi said to the Catholic Priest, 'Pray tell me, Father Macquire, and please be truthful in your response. I have always wondered, but have you...have you ever...you know... have you ever had sex with a woman once since becoming a Catholic Priest. The Catholic Priest looked at the Rabbi and adamantly said, 'Of course not!'

An uneasy silence fell on the couple again and the two decided to separate and go their own way. As the Catholic Priest walked away, the Rabbi whispered in his ear in a voice of one-upmanship, 'I don't know about you, but I'd rather give up eating pork pies any day than forfeit the other for even one night!'

The social gathering was called to a close with all the religious leaders agreeing to put on a joint Christmas dinner for all of the elderly in their community. The two women elected to be the cooks for the seasonal feast was a staunch Roman Catholic and an Agnostic. The Agnostic had no time for any religion, however pious it purported to be, but she did genuinely care for every elderly person and was prepared to contribute her labour to the event.

Being women, both naturally found it impossible to get on with all the food preparation without chatting about this and that as they worked alongside each other in the kitchen. Naturally, after talking about the politics of the day, and men's inability not to pee on the bathroom floor, or to go straight to sleep when they get into bed on a night, the topic under discussion eventually came around to religion.


After exchanging their views upon religion forthrightly, they fell into a heated argument when they started discussing the meaning of the Christmas message. Eventually, the Agnostic cook had heard enough. Throwing her apron down in disbelief and total exasperation, she said to the other cook, 'Get away with it, woman! I'm prepared to accept the possibility of a virgin birth, but as to there being three wise men...... pull the other cracker.You'll be telling me next that men are capable of ever thinking about more than one thing, Santa comes down the chimney and pigs wear woolly coats!' Merry Christmas everyone xxx" December 20th, 2017.
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December 19th, 2017

19/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"Imagine for one moment wishing for the most precious pearl in the world to come your way, and one day finding this treasure on the seashore. You cannot believe your good fortune that you happened to walk that way that very moment. You put it down to fate to have been so blessed and wherever you go in the future, your pearl goes with you. For over fifty years, you and your pearl travel together and are never once out of each other's presence. Then, at a time when your height of happiness and contentment could not have been greater, you and your pearl are walking on the seashore again, hand in hand, and before you know it, your precious pearl slips from your fingers and is washed back into the sea from whence it first came.

There will be so many of you out there at this time of year, who also lost their precious pearl after a lifetime together and can still feel the pain of their loss. Death of a loved one isn't nice to experience by anyone at any time of the year, but if there was a time that I would ban anyone from dying and leaving their loved ones, it would be Christmas time. As is often said, 'Life can be hard, but there are times when it is almost too hard to bear.'

For all of you out there who lost a loved one around this time of year, know that if they could speak to you today, they would undoubtedly tell you the words that you are silently speaking to them, and express those loving feelings that you are now feeling for them as you think of each other. Imagine that they could exchange Christmas presents with you this year. Do not doubt that your presents to each other would be any other than exactly the same. They would wish you happiness and tell you how much they miss you and love you. They would wish that they'd done things with you they hadn't done or not done some things they had. They would wish that they'd done some things better and left some things unsaid from time to time. There is nothing wrong in wishing the dead well or even wishing them alive; such is the most compassionate and enduring feature of human nature.

Just as one can derive comfort from placing fresh flowers on a visit to their resting place this Christmas, similar comfort can also be derived by the most simple of symbolic acts that even a child can understand and healthily join in with.

This year, blow up a balloon and write on it their name and the Christmas message that meant so much to each of you. Tell them that you still love and miss them. Then, release your feelings of Christmas good-will into the heavens, knowing they will collect and unwrap your spiritual gift on Christmas morning. Alternately, write down all the things that you would say to them were they here now; seal your letter of love and then burn it. As you watch the flames consume your words of endearment to your loved one, know that they will reach their ears in time for Christmas cosmos celebrations.

Believe me, it will make you feel much better to express your feelings rather than keep them unspoken. I know; I've done it every year since my mother died. Every day I do it in prayer and every December Christmas week, I do it either in balloon form or written flames. I introduced this practice to hundreds of groups I've run over the years and can personally testify to the quiet peace that can be found within the uneasy relationship that exists between life and death. I know of so many others who have benefited enormously from this seemingly innocent action. I have found the practice to have been beneficial to all, and none more than innocent little children who have lost a parent to the ravages of some terminal illness.

Merry Christmas Mum and Dad and all the Fordes who no longer grace this earth with their presence. And a Merry Christmas to everyone at this special time of year whose loss of a loved one around this time tinges sweet joy with sweet sorrow for all the days past, for this holy Christmas time and all our tomorrows. I love you all." William Forde: December 19th, 2017
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December 18th, 2017.

18/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"During this festive season, as we spend time with our families and loved ones within the comfort and security of our own homes, I urge you to say a prayer for those countless others throughout the world who know no such comfort and peace.

Thirteen years ago today, the world witnessed one of the greatest natural disasters of all time when a 9.0 magnitude earthquake created a devastating Tsunami in the Indian Ocean. In less than 24 hours over eighteen countries were affected and over 1.7 million people were left homeless and 250,000 people were left dead.

Families lost brothers, sisters, parents, children, cousins; generations wiped out before many had time to realise what was happening to them. Nobody who saw the images of despair upon the faces of the bereaved survivors can ever forget that look of utter loss which captured the minds of the world as we watched on in horror. Many survivors experienced a sense of purpose thereafter which shaped their attitude and lives to such an extent that numerous charitable institutions were created in the memory of their deceased and loved ones which helped to rebuild vast areas and produce new employment for the indigenous population.

The world instantly responded to the people's plight with aid, materials, medical needs and people-power when they first saw such images on their television screens. The mere fact that it was Boxing Day, coupled with the awareness that they watched from the comfort of their family rooms as they celebrated Christmas added a poignancy to the occasion that was undeniable.

Let us spend a few moments today in reflective thought and prayer for all of those families affected by this disaster thirteen years ago as we hold on that little bit tighter to the loved ones we are blessed to be in the presence of today. Just over one year ago when I was hanging onto my life attempting to survive a new and more aggressive cancer, it wasn't the medicines that brought me back, it was the sheer volume of love and the many prayers expressed on my behalf that administered my miracle of life. How great might be the result if we all prayed again for all those other people in the world struggling for their survival today.

The Tsunami in the Indian Ocean resulted in 1.7 million homeless people and left 250,000 dead. However hard it is to comprehend such a degree of suffering, never forget that there isn't one day in any year when there are fewer than 1.7 million people who are homeless throughout the world or 250,000 people do not die from some illness mankind has still to conquer.

The Tsunami of thirteen years ago had the impact it did on our senses because the number of people left for dead and destitution was concentrated in one specific region of the world, and this disaster enabled our minds to concentrate and focus on the totality of the loss. Had the 250,000 dead been scattered individually in different places all around the world, nobody would ever have known; yet we need to ask ourselves, would that have been any less of a loss to humanity? Would that have represented any less of a disaster in the world?

The same effect is daily present when someone rattles a charity box in front of us as we make our way around doing our family Christmas shopping, and we find ourselves sidestepping a direct confrontation. And that my dear friends, is precisely what we are doing; we are avoiding 'confrontation' of the uncomfortable meeting between our wealth and another's poverty, our health and another's illness, our accommodation and someone else's homelessness, our overfilled stomachs and the starvation of millions of others; our hope for the future and another's despair.

If you have ever wondered, 'When do I know when I've given enough?', my dear mother once provided me with the answer. She replied, ' Ask yourself, Billy, does it hurt you to give the amount you have given. Only if it does, can you know that you have!' Mum was essentially telling me that everything in life is proportionate and that the degree of sacrifice felt by me in my loss will be precisely the degree felt by them in their gain!

We are all guilty of sometimes not being charitable enough in our actions because we have found ways of avoiding 'confrontation' within our consciences that leave us feeling uneasy with the world. Were we to pass a charity box for abandoned children, we could probably overlook our action without any great difficulty. But were we to arrive home on a cold evening and find an abandoned baby on our doorstep crying with cold, whom among us, be they poor or privileged, would be able to ignore the obstruction and walk by the infant, leaving it to die of cold and starvation, instead of bringing it inside our home and providing its needs?

I bet that the very next time you go out to town, if you place a £1 coin in every charity box that is put in front of your nose, you will get back home at the end of your outing without needing to have outlaid £10 for charitable causes. If you don't believe me, try it and see!

God bless you all. Love Bill x "William Forde: December 18th, 2017.
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December 17th, 2017.

17/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"Of all sights designed to raise the body temperature of all hot-blooded males, none is so bodily alluring and sensuously attractive as a half-robed well-formed woman from behind; or as we Yorkshire folk choose to describe as the 'derriere delight.' The Greek sculptors quickly cottoned on to this when they were artistically portraying the human body; whether male or female. While often restricted modesty led to a partial concealment and covering of certain frontal private parts by the judicious placement of a fig leaf, the rear of their statues left nothing to the imagination of the viewer.

​Be reassured ladies, that behind every good woman there stands an admiring man watching your back." William Forde: December 17th, 2017.
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December 16th, 2017.

16/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"A wise Irish woman once told me that all lasting relationships should be built on a solid foundation of fun and sarcasm, a liberal sprinkling of alcohol, the occasional willingness to be inappropriate in the most unlikely of places, the ability to enjoy whatever pleasure takes your fancy, and finished off with a good splashing of shenanigans for everyone who still lives with hope in their heart and has still got much to be thankful for!

Whatever one's situation, however bad that things may get for us, every day of our lives we have something to be thankful for. We may be without gainful work, live rough or in unsuitable accommodation, even lack sufficient food, but as my mother used to say,' Billy, with a song in your heart, you can go on!'

Today, this loving couple in the photo were thankful that the photographer was behind them instead of coming to meet them face on. The day they first met and instantly fell in love seventy years earlier, they were determined to go on and live their life together.

For me, it is the arrival of another day and an opportunity to live that day that most pleases me. Since April 2013 when I learned I had terminal leukaemia, I have been blessed with family and friends and my beautiful wife and soul mate, Sheila. I have also been blessed with seeing out four more Christmases. I love Christmas; I'm a Christmas person through and through, and Christmas, 2017 represents another landmark for which I am truly thankful.

As we approach Christmas Day, my prayers remain with all who cannot find peace, comfort, contentment or happiness on this, the most sacred of all seasons. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and thank my wife, family and friends for all their support over the past year. However strong a person is or thinks they are, we are each made infinitely stronger facing the New Year when we don't have any need to ever stand alone, regret the past or fear our future. Merry Christmas everyone and God bless you all and your families this Christmas season. xxx." William Forde: December 16th, 2017.
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December 15th, 2017.

15/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"It is an absolute certainty that no one can know their own beauty or perceive a sense of their own worth until it has been reflected back to them in the eyes of another loving being. Like the tide that ebbs and flows, the love we give out always comes back to us in waves of affection, to give out again. One minute you meet a stranger; the next moment they may start to become a lifelong friend. On another occasion, you meet someone for the first time and the next time you look, a lifetime together has happily passed between you, and they've become your eternal sweetheart and soul mate. When you embrace a person and touch their heart, be they friend or sweetheart, the plain truth is that they'll remember that moment forever.

Are you like me? When you see a couple of complete strangers in a romantic or marital relationship, have you ever thought, 'What a contrast! I wonder what he/she sees in her/him. I wonder what he sees in him or what she sees in her? Or instead, do you look for the similarities in the couple, or notice the magical manner that their dog has grown in the image of its owner, or perhaps they in the image of their pet? Whether opposite or like makes the best coupling for you, I know that lasting relationships are the ones where the couple concerned grow to respect their diversities and love their similarities.​

Seven years ago today was the very first time that Sheila and I met. Some believe that opposites attract while others swear by like-and-like making the best partners. And then, there are those who dare not make a move unless it's 'written in the stars'. They are the ones who prefer to rely on the planets and the astrological signs to tell them 'who is the right one for me?' instead of going with their gut instinct.

I am a Scorpio who has fallen in love many times, but who has only ever loved deeply on four occasions; twice with good outcomes, once sad, and the other, bad. The similarities and coincidental factors in the lives of my four loves are too spooky and far too numerous to simply regard as being mere 'coincidences'. If I didn't believe in the star signs when first walking up Main Street in Haworth and meeting Sheila, I've since started the slow walk down my road of astrological conversion.

As to the similarities of my four loves, each woman had long dark hair and was beautiful in face and fetching in body features. All four women were strong in character, independent in mind and highly educated. Two women had been born under the star sign of Scorpio and two under the star sign of Sagittarius. Two of the women had identical birthdays, having been born on the same day, same month and in the same year, while the other two women had been born on the same day and same month (but not the same year). Incidentally, both my first and last loves were born under the sign of Sagittarius with a Scorpio Moon Sign.

For those Scorpios like me and those born under the sign of Sagittarius like my wife Sheila, here are a few indicators of our personality.

Sheila is a Sagittarius with a Scorpio Moon Sign; her most prominent emotion being 'Secrecy', and with an unfathomable depth of character (Sounds to me like the kind of wife that every man has and no man ever truly understands!).

I am a Scorpio with a Sagittarius Moon Sign; my most prominent emotions and characteristics being, Optimism, Joyfulness, Philosophical, Outward Looking, Impulsiveness, and a person with strong sexual urges; but that's enough about me for the present!

I can vouch from personal experience that when two Scorpios love, they do so with an intensity of the Richard Burton/Liz Taylor stormy relationship; where it seems that you can neither live with them nor without them. But when a Scorpio and a Sagittarius with the Sun and Moon Signs like my first and last woman in my life 'fall in love', it tends to last a lifetime.

I truly loved the first real love of my life, but for a variety of reasons, we never married. I believe that relationship would have lasted had we married. When I met Sheila, the last and the best love of my life, I soon came to know that if we married, it would be forever. Our marriage date and my birthday coincided when we wed in Haworth on the 10th November.

Please note, Sheila has been interested in Astrology for the past forty-five years and has seriously studied the subject for the past twenty years. It was she who provided me with the astrological interpretations of the birth signs mentioned in this post.

At long last, I now know why the very words that Sheila spoke to me when we first met were, ''You'll do. I'm having you!'.

I was walking up Main Street in Haworth at the time past Gascoigne's Restaurant (Now called Haworth Steam Brewery). It was a cold, Wednesday afternoon and the date was the 15th December 2010. I vividly recall the precise moment we first met, as though it was yesterday. I'd never met such a forward, confident and more resolute woman in all my days. Our only contact previously had been a number of e-mails and a few phone calls upon nothing too exciting; the subject of 'relaxation'. With me being a Relaxation Instructor and she a Yoga Instructor, we had lit a mutual spark of interest a month or so earlier to our first meeting that was to ignite into a passionate flame.

Sheila now admits to having done a reading on me before we first met in person. At least she knew what she was getting, whereas I was merely taking a chance on love and hadn't the slightest idea what I was letting myself in for!

There is no greater joy than to love and to feel loved in return. There is no more comfortable feeling at the end of the day than knowing that you are right next to the one you love. A good and lasting union is one where both partners know the enduring pleasure to be gained from a simple hug, a kiss at the start and end of every day and the occasional surprise caress; along with having the stars aligned in your astrological favour!" William Forde: December 15th, 2017.
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December 14th, 2017.

14/12/2017

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"Thought for today:
"One of the earliest rhymes I ever learned was 'Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.' I later discovered that the reason my mother pushed this motto down our throats was to make up for what food deficiency was ever present and because she knew that more heat could be generated quicker by many bodies under the sheets and coats of a bed than in front of an electric-barred fire with no shillings to light up the gas. She also knew that hunger bites less in one's sleep than wide awake.

We grew up on Windybank Estate in Hightown. I was the oldest of seven children, my mother was a 1950's 'mother' and my father worked as a miner for most of my early years. Although materially poor, we were rich in imagination and prosperous in worldly experience. Indeed, it could be said that we lived in a wonderful time on Windybank Estate, where, in the main, every family was as poor as their next door neighbour. Even had such luxuries as fridges then existed outside the U.S.A., no food would ever have remained around long enough to have ever resided within.

Each year, my mother would take us to a camping site in Cayton Bay, Scarborough. It was known as Otways and was run by a tally-man who frequented our estate. My mum would beg, steal and borrow between December and April each year to pay a deposit for one week's camping in July. The balance would be paid for at a few shillings weekly and would require final payment of all money owed by the following December (five months after the holiday had been taken). All money to pay for food and entertainment for the week's vacation would be paid for by my father working through his annual week's holiday. Any money still required to cover basic expenditure would come from unpaid rent, along with any money my mother was able to extract and borrow from the gas metre.

The family always knew that when we returned from holiday, our kindly grocer, Harry Hodgson and his good wife Marion, would stock us with necessary food and provisions until dad next got paid. For the whole of my growing life, Harry Hodgson allowed our family, plus half the families on Windybank Estate, to pay for this week's food with next week's wages!

There were two campsites at Cayton Bay; each catered for folk who'd been born on different sides of the railway tracks. Otways was for the poorer families and Wallis' Holiday Camp was a forerunner to Butlin's. Wallis' had been in existence since the early 1930's and catered for families who never had to rely on the tick to get by. The poorer campers were allowed to visit the posher camp across the road during the day, but couldn't use their better facilities.

As our family was large, the owner of Otway's site allowed us to rent an old railway carriage that he kept in the field and reserved for large Catholic families. The old carriage had been painted white on the outside and a dark colour of paint on the inside ceiling roof to disguise the damp ceiling mold.

These were the days of the 50's when children were reared on lots of fresh air, Beano comics and an appreciation for what we had instead of regret for what we didn't. They were also the days when we often retired to bed early to avoid any remaining pangs of hunger, and yet, they are fondly remembered times by me and my siblings; the happiest of childhood days.

It was during the years of the 1960s when one young lad from Otway's Camp decided to cross the road and pay a visit to a young woman who was staying at Wallis' Camp. The upshot was the girl became pregnant after their secret holiday romance, but after her father had got the name of the person who had fathered his daughter's unborn child, and had written to the young man's parents on Windybank Estate, a shotgun wedding was hastily arranged. The young girl's mother argued against the 'suitability' of the match right up until her daughter's wedding day, telling her husband it would never work out. As far as the girl's father was concerned though, he was of the old school. In no way did he hold the views of a Brexiteer forerunner who believed that 'no marriage was better than a bad marriage!'
​

The couple married and had their child, but the wide gap in their upbringing, backgrounds and expectations always proved too much for them to handle. Before the child to their marriage was old enough to attend First School, the depressed father was found dead; having hanged himself in a moment of despair. After that episode in my upbringing on Windybank Estate, I never heard of another young camper to Otways cross the Cayton Bay road in search of true love. It was generally felt to be better if one married their own kind. " William Forde: December 14th, 2017.
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December 13th, 2017.

13/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"When I was growing up in a large Catholic family on a West Yorkshire council estate during the 1950's, our parents used to walk all the children to church in Cleckheaton and back each Sunday; a round journey of some three miles. We would walk down 'The New Road' and always pass the most beautiful of privately-owned properties that were occupied by doctors, accountants, police inspectors, retired army colonels and the like.

There was one house half-way down which was different to all the others, and which oozed charm by the bucket load. It was much smaller than the rest of the large 1940's/1950's red-bricked properties that had grown up around it and had been built in the previous century. It was mid-Victorian in age and had roses growing around its porch that framed the old lintels of its frontage.

This was my mother's favourite property of all the houses our walk to church took us by each week, and as we approached the cottage she would say, 'One day, Billy, we'll live in a house with flowers around its door. It will be our own little cottage.'

My mother was never the material type and having given birth to seven children, she had always been poor, yet remained unstintingly generous until the day she died. As a rule, she didn't covet things belonging to another and I suppose that the little cottage represented a dream it pleased her to have, although she knew in her heart of hearts that the dream would never come true. Had I ever won the lottery in my lifetime (or rather the football pools that was then the nation's weekly flutter), I was determined that the very first thing I would buy for my mother was that little cottage. I had visualised the purchase on many an occasion over the following years. I would approach the little cottage in question, knock on its door (as idyllic cottages display no vulgarities at its entrance such as doorbells), and make the owner of the property an offer they couldn't refuse, even if I'd to pay three times its value to persuade them to sell! I'd then wrap a huge ribbon around its chimney with a gigantic message that mum would read the next time she walked past the cottage on her way to church. The message would read, 'To the best mum in the world from her children.'

My mother died at the early age of 64 years in April 1986, and until the last three years of her life when she and dad moved to a small council flat, she lived in the family home; a three bed-roomed council house on Windybank Estate, Liversedge. Mum never did get to live in her little country cottage, but if you are listening in up there, Mum, be pleased that I now do. It doesn't have a garden, but my Sheila frequently fills it with flowers inside and I grow roses around its door entrance. We also have a lovely allotment nearby and every year we plant a red rose in your memory.

The good thing I learned from mum, among the many valuable lessons she taught me was that dreaming is never a waste of time. I now know that no dream was ever designed to be owned by one person only and that the beauty of one person's dream is that it will always come true, if not for them, then for another." William Forde: December 13th, 2017.
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December 12th, 2017.

12/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"I am frequently asked by personal message to provide some detail or aspect relating to my life and background, particular experiences, some of the people I know, attitudes I have, writings of mine, or information about relaxation or anger management etc. Many people also like a number of my thoughts about my family, especially tales about my dear mother, along with some of her many sayings I still remember.

Between 1990 and 2005, because of a number of things I involved myself in that attracted the support of hundreds of famous people, I was a regular interviewee on local radio and television. I also had something written about me in the regional newspapers half a dozen times weekly and before too long, I became a big fish in a small pond; my predominant work being largely confined to West and South Yorkshire. Over a 15 year period, I personally visited and held storytelling assemblies in almost two thousand schools in Yorkshire. I would often visit daily, and sometimes twice daily after I retired from the Probation Service. I would usually be accompanied by some famous face who had volunteered to read from one of my published children's books, and because my special visitor who accompanied me was either a national or international celebrity who was seen regularly on television or stared in productions in film and stage, such visits naturally attracted a surfeit of tv, radio and media coverage.

It was no coincidence that my decision early on in my writing career to allow all book sale profit from my publications to be given in their entirety and perpetuity to charitable causes, encouraged/persuaded such people in the public eye to support my work. We were fortunate to have raised over £200,000 for charitable causes during these fifteen years; raised largely from the profits from my book sales. The people who bought my books were predominantly, Yorkshire Schools, and undoubtedly did so, not because I was the best children's writer they'd come across and wanted to introduce to the minds of their young pupils, but because of the themes, my stories addressed. Teachers recognised the relevance of such themes in today's world.

I wrote about feelings like love, fear, jealousy, bullying, homelessness, racism, sexism, separation, loss. bereavement, anger and the importance of giving and receiving second chances. I wrote about these things because I knew them to be major stressors in the lives of many of my young readers, and I also knew them to be emotions that adults find extremely difficult to appropriately express, let alone little children who only started their journey of life a matter of a few years earlier.

I never actually considered myself an being an accomplished writer at the time; I saw myself more as being 'a social crusader masquerading as an author'. The fact that my writing achieved some prominence was mostly due to two personal telephone calls from two of the world's then most famous people.The first was the late, Princess Diana who heard about my writing and contacted me to request that I send her two of my books that she could read to the then young Princes, William and Harry at their bedtime. These two books, 'Douglas the Dragon' and 'Sleezy the Fox' went on to sell over 100,000 copies in Yorkshire schools over a 12 year period and raised an enormous amount for various charitable causes. The second of the most famous people to phone me at my home was the late President of South Africa, Nelson Mandela. He had read two of my African storybooks and phoned to congratulate me and describe them as being 'lovely stories.' That contact of the South African President found itself being reported briefly on News 24 television, which in turn brought me to the attention of Chris Woodhead, the then Head of Ofsted in Great Britain, who described my work to the press as 'high-quality reading.' It also brought me to the attention of the Minister for Education and Youth Culture in Jamaica, with whom I went on to work with, in a special trans-Atlantic pen-pal project between 32 Yorkshire and 32 Jamaican schools, designed to raise awareness of different cultures and hopefully reduce racism between black and white pupils. I also wrote the Jamaican schools in Falmouth, four books with which to raise vital school funds for educational equipment.

After such famous endorsements of my work, it would have been virtually impossible for the press to have ignored my writings. I had essentially grabbed onto the coat tails of famous people to bring my work to the attention of thousands of children it would not otherwise have ever reached. I had never been a person who was shy at coming forward and knew how to take the best advantage of any stage fate placed me on. This regional fame provided me with so many opportunities and contacts that would never otherwise have come my way.

After fifteen years of lending myself to charitable causes, I incurred two heart attacks in the space of one week and had to review my overall workload. After much thought, I arrived at the uncomfortable conclusion that though my work raised the profile on so many important issues of the day in the lives of children, as well as having raised a good deal of money for charity, it had also elevated my profile greatly in the process. I had placed myself in danger of 'becoming the story' in the eyes of the press and media instead of 'writing the stories.'

I decided that I needed to actively work against the danger of my own ego taking over, so I stopped using celebratory visitors to schools and decided to read the books to the children myself. I also put the brake on press and media publicity and with a few exceptions between 2005 and 2017, I have only done a few press and radio interviews.

In arriving at this decision, I was guided by a quote by the writer T.S.Eliot from his dramatic play, 'Murder in the Cathedral' that portrays the assassination of Archbishop Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral in 1170. Not only was Becket murdered for his belief, but some thought that he was guilty of seeking martyrdom. As Eliot quoted: 'The last act is the greatest treason. To do the right deed for the wrong reason.' My work for literature, charity and raising awareness of important causes was unquestionably 'the right deed', but how could I be sure that it was all for the right reason? It was very much like placing a £50 note on the church collection plate in full view of the assembled congregation, in the knowledge that your generous act would not go unnoticed!

By the time I met my wife in 2010, I had put away my pen some nine years earlier. It was she who persuaded me to start writing again, which I did. This time, my writing would be for adults, and although I would allow all book sale profit to be given to charitable causes, such an act would be incidental, as I would be writing for 'me', not to change the world! The themes covered in my stories would be adult and romantic themes, with a lot of sauciness thrown into the cooking pot to make the finished story served up, spicy, but palatable and playful!

After three hard years of my wife's endeavours taking thousands of hours, Sheila produced an extensive website for me: www.fordefables.co.uk from which some worth may still be derived from my presence on this earth.

The website is essentially a biography of myself and will tell any reader all they need to know about me. It doesn't have to be read chronologically and can be dipped into at random. Included in the website are my 'Thoughts for today' dating back over six years, along with free access to all twelve of my romantic story books that I've written over the past years by searching the 'Tales from Portlaw' section of the website. There are also some radio interviews I have given, my free relaxation tape to help improve good sleeping practice, along with a number of children stories read by famous people that can be freely accessed from the audio section of the website.

I suppose that in some ways I can honestly say that circumstances conspired in 2012 to place me back on the stage acting the part of 'Social Crusader' after I discovered I had an incurable blood cancer. Today, the writing I consider being my most important work is my 'Thought for today' that I write for my Facebook page. This daily post deliberately discloses so many of my past and present flaws and failings as a human being, that it actively works against me ever again becoming too big for my own boots. My memories invariably remind me and my readers of my own fallibilities. Also, being a man of ageing years, my recount of daily thoughts about my past, and growing up with my parents and seven siblings, enable me to keep the child alive in me while I gradually die. And at the risk of making me sound too arrogant, I hope that my attitude towards my own life and illness helps people to live and die better.

​God bless you all and a very Merry Christmas from Sheila and me. The tree has been put up and I now formally declare Christmas to have commenced. Love and peace, Bill x " William Forde: December 12th, 2017.
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December 11th, 2017.

11/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"I love Christmas for it possesses a magic that no other season can ever know. It is that time of year when hope for a better tomorrow can be found in the promise of a new-born star; it is that special time during December when the smallest amount of generosity possesses the power to enter, soften and melt the hardest of hearts.

I recall as a child looking out from my bedroom window, hoping to see the snowfall from the starlit sky over the estate where I lived, knowing that if it snowed all night, in the morning, the harsh and rugged landscape of the Pennines would be transformed into a picture postcard of seasonal delight. I'd watch the soft white snowflakes fall to the ground like small pieces of compassionate sky, bringing a message of goodwill to everyone in the world that the time had come to strengthen fragile relationships and to heal old wounds that still festered.

My dear mother used to say that in December, it only takes one kind word to warm three winter months! Her message remained constant throughout her life, 'Billy, if you don't find the spirit of Christmas in your heart, you'll find the crib empty!' She was so right. Unless you can open your heart, forget opening your presents, as your good intentions will never last a full year. You will merely finish up saying lots of things in summer that you don't mean in winter.

I give thanks for the year which is soon ending. There have been times during 2017 which I have found difficult to cope with. I refer not to my emergency hospital admission on the past Boxing Day, and while I could have done without that experience, it didn't dishearten me. I was frequently disheartened by mankind's cruelty to his fellow man. 2017 proved to have been such a difficult year for so many people across the world. We have seen countries ravaged by civil war and shaken through political instability; millions of people have been killed and an absence of food and access to clean water has affected the ongoing health of a number of third world countries. 2017 has witnessed mass displacement of populations followed by the greatest exodus of people ever counted; people fleeing their homeland in search of a safer place to live. Such dangerous journeys have been made across seas in overcrowded and unsafe crafts in which many have died. Many of the lucky ones who survived the sea crossing then marched hundreds of miles across Europe with their aged and young family members, but many still haven't found welcoming homes for the future.

Back inside Great Briton, millions of people have faced their own levels of austerity and mounting debt, while others, less fortunate, have depended on cardboard boxes as blankets for their cold nights on the streets. Even some in full-time employment have found themselves with insufficient funds to survive on and have had to rely on food banks to feed them and the charity of family and friends as they struggle to stay in their inadequate and overpriced rental accommodation.

During the months ahead they face many uncertainties, but for the next two weeks, they will place their worries to one side and do all that they can to make their children's Christmas as happy as they possibly can. It is this hope that 'something will turn up' that makes the people of the world believe in the Christmas star.

From all the sixty plus books I've written and had published, there is but one book that is set against the background of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and tells of the hope to come. It is called, 'Tales from the Allotment' and it is the book that gave me the greatest pleasure to write. The story is dedicated to my deceased father, an ex-miner.

It is suitable reading for any teenager and adult. Although set in the 19th and early 20th centuries, it is a timeless story that is just as relevant today as it was 150 years ago. 'Tales from the Allotment' tells the story of a mining village where the local pit is the sole employer. The pit is closed down and the miners are made redundant. Many of the villagers move in search of new homes and jobs, but the families of 18 miners who own an allotment refuse to leave their homes and village. After months and years of unemployment, increased poverty and the onset of hopelessness, all 18 ex-miners begin to work their allotment plot which becomes their saviour and provides them with a new purpose in life as well as fresh produce for their family tables.

If there is anyone who is looking for a good heartwarming Christmas story that is filled with hope to give as a present, 'Tales from the Allotment' could be the book for you. It is available from www. smashwords.com in e-book format and Amazon Kindle. It is also available in hard copy from www.lulu.com and www.amazon.com. All profit from book sales goes to charitable causes in perpetuity. Merry Christmas to you all." William Forde: December 11th, 2017.
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December 10th, 2017.

10/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"There have been a plethora of reported incidents over the past few months about the inappropriate advances of some men towards a woman/women, plus a few by a woman toward a man. The vast majority of these approaches, whenever they were committed and within whatever range of circumstances they occurred, were criminal; particularly any rapes, indecent assaults, inappropriate touching and sexual harassment. The overwhelming majority reflected offences having been committed from positions of one person wielding power over another.

I'm sure it happens today, that in some overcrowded situations, personal space will always run the risk of being violated and result in some necessary 'brushing past', some of which will have been contrived and some unavoidable.

I also worry today about dating etiquette between a man and a woman, and particularly where it extends into courtship. Who knows, apart from reading the obvious signs and being presented with a clear and unambiguous 'No' when the line is being overstepped for any proposed activity?

Ever since society started being politically correct about everything that incorporates any form of social interaction, I've never been quite sure how much of a gentleman to behave like in social situations. I have even known of highly independent women who have been offended and feel patronised because a man has held open a door open for them until they passed through first. I have also heard of similar offence been caused because a man has offered up their seat on crowded transport to a woman because they were standing up.

For over twenty years, I taught hundreds of groups of reserved people how to appropriately deal with embarrassing social situations, like complimenting a person they liked or were attracted towards, on their appearance. I'm not sure, if I was I running similar groups today, how acceptable my past advice would now be, had the person being appropriately complimented taken offence at the sheer effrontery of her admirer?

Put it this way, for a great deal of my life, riding horses was a favourite pastime, but there is simply no way that I would help a woman mount her horse today for fear of being all fingers and thumbs." William Forde: December 10th, 2017.
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December 9th, 2017.

9/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"The one thing that all the young men and women in my day of the early 60's could count on was that life usually comes with a few surprises; a few so memorable that they are undoubtedly worthy of keeping in the back of one's memory drawer, along with a few other items of dirty laundry.

I once recall in my late teens dating a young woman from Cleckheaton briefly. This was about three months before I went off to Canada for a few years, and the very last thing I wanted at the time was for any young woman, or myself for that matter, coming over all serious about each other.

She was the only daughter of a Police Inspector, a fact itself, which proved sufficient to frighten many male suitors off; especially any, who like me, had ever received a police caution. As I went out to meet my date that evening, my mother straightened my tie and warned me at the door, 'Now don't forget what I told you about those Cleckheaton girls, Billy. Once they get their claws into you, they won't let go until they draw blood and get you down the aisle.'

I laughed at mum's warning. For some reason or other, mum had never trusted any girl who hailed from either Heckmondwike or Cleckheaton, especially with the most handsome of her sons. Apart from thinking that no girl was good enough for her eldest son, another part of mum always felt that any girl from Cleckheaton or Heckmondwike who wasn't engaged to be married by their 18th birthday would go to any lengths to walk that aisle before finding themselves 'on the shelf.'

I'd been on three dates with this girl, which, was in itself, a record for this 'Gallivanter', as mum would call me. A gallivanter was a young man who flitted from girl to girl without a second thought. On the night of my third date, I arrived at her house to collect her for a dance at the Town Hall we were going to. When I saw her, she looked stunning, especially in a big flouncy hat she had the confidence to wear, along with the looks and carriage to carry it off. It would seem that her parents had gone out for the evening to a work's dinner.

Initially, my date (whose name totally escapes me), had decided to go out to the dance in knee-high boots which were then the fashion rage, and carry some dancing shoes in her handbag to change into once we arrived at the event. In short, she was a young woman who was always prepared for any eventuality. She yelled out from upstairs and called for my assistance, as I waited downstairs for her. Her new boots were too tight and were pinching her toes, and after she'd tried to change them for footwear more comfortable, she found that they were too tight to get off. She asked me to pull them off for her.

Little was I aware as I tugged at her long boots that graced her long lean legs that she was baiting a Cleckheaton trap that she knew I'd willingly enter. At the very least, she was effectively tugging at my heartstrings and tempting me in a way that no high-blooded testosterone-driven twenty-year-old ever possessed the willpower to resist. One thing led to another and another fine day in my life was rounded off nicely!

Needless to say that we never did manage to make the dance at 'Cleckheaton Town Hall' that Saturday night, but I'd have to confess that it didn't seem to matter to either of us. I wasn't surprised to learn that by the time I'd returned from Canada that the young woman had married a butcher's son from Batley.

I have often wondered what would have happened during that night of love, had I finished up on the wrong side of the law again; especially had her parents returned from their meal out sooner than anticipated? Would her father's sense of instant justice have let me off with another caution or might he have risked the forfeiture of his police pension and instead settled for nothing less than the fatherly retribution of a Cleckheaton castration? I wish I could remember her name. It's about the only thing I ever forgot about that night!" William Forde: December 9th, 2017.
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December 8th, 2017.

8/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"They say that you only fall in love once, but I know that cannot be true, for every time I look at my wife, Sheila, I fall in love all over again!

It has been said that one needs to kiss many a frog before they meet their prince. I can see the truth in that proverb. I also know that whereas there are those sweethearts who fall in love in their youth, marry young and stay in love for the rest of their lives, such love is a rarity. For me, I have always found it easy to 'fall in love', perhaps, some might think, too easy for my own good. I am probably one of those romantic people who is in love with the thought of 'being in love'; or could I possibly be the type of person who finds love in almost everyone they encounter?

When I was a boy, my mother would frequently boast about this handsome young man she used to 'go around' with at the school she attended back in Portlaw, before she met my father. He reportedly had a fine head of black, wavy hair, hazel brown eyes and a smile that never left his face. According to mum, he was a fine dancer and was fun to be around.

With my mum being the earthy type of person, I was never quite sure when she used to say, 'went around with', whether she meant 'courted' or 'went around the back of the bicycle shed' with. Like the majority of Irish men, the young man who first got my mum's heart skipping a beat was known as Paddy. I won't disclose his surname as I'm sure he will have some relatives/descendants still living in Portlaw, and for the purpose of this post, I'll call him 'Portlaw Paddy.'

Anyway, my mother used to frequently tell me and the rest of my siblings about this most handsome man that was there for the marrying had she not chosen my father instead! And whenever she and dad had a row, his name might be thrown up as an example of how rosy mum's life might have been had she chosen the right Paddy.(Please note that my father was also referred to as Paddy throughout his life).

During our upbringing, mum would frequently take her three oldest children on a holiday to Portlaw to stay with my grandparents. I will never forget one year in my mid-teens whilst on holiday in Portlaw. I occasioned to meet 'Portlaw Paddy' whose Adonis looks my mother had extolled for most of my young life. I saw 'Portlaw Paddy' in the pub one day, but didn't tell mum. I found it impossible not to engineer a photograph with mum's first love at its centre before I returned back home.

The upshot was that the years had not been kind to 'Portlaw Paddy. His early ambitions to one day have his own farm had come to nothing, and just as this dream of his had faded, so had his one-time good looks! He was now bald-headed with a heavily-scarred eyebrow he had picked up in a pub brawl, and a toothless set of gums which contorted the shape of his mouth, as he didn't wear dentures, or had forgotten to put them back in that day. Though mum had also been on holiday with us that same fortnight, she never once mentioned 'Portlaw Paddy', and neither did I. I never knew if she had seen him out and about, but if she had, she either didn't recognise him, or she did, but didn't want to say so!

I returned from holiday with my secret photograph of mum's first love, ready to show her the very next time she mentioned the man with the stunning looks who she could have married instead of my dad (whose only dancing he had ever done was seemingly around a football field). I was determined that the very next time mum was telling me and my two oldest sisters 'what could' have been had she married 'Portlaw Paddy', that I'd whip out the snapshot and show her 'what would' have been!

I never did show mum my up-to-date photograph of 'Portlaw Paddy', and after he'd died some years later, I destroyed it, just in case my sheer devilment would one day become overwhelming and tempt me to use it. The sad truth about this tale is while I know how 'Portlaw Paddy' looked the day I finally met him face-to-face in the Portlaw pub, I'll never really know what he used to look like when my mum first met him, 35 years earlier. Had mum intended to make a jackass out of her children with her fanciful fairy tales? Or had 'Portlaw Paddy' indeed been the hottest potato she'd ever pulled from the fire of passion, or was his good looks and fine head of hair simply part of my dear mother's vivid imagination?" William Forde: December 6th, 2017.

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December 7th, 2017

7/12/2017

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Thought for today:
"The weather is bitterly cold at the moment, and with a chilly forecast ahead, there is every chance we could see snow on the ground by Christmas morn. It's funny how the association of Christmas, the snowman, Santa Claus and baby Jesus remains forever bonded in the memory of many adults since their childhood.

Who among us can deny the pleasure to be obtained from eating hot chestnuts outside on a snowy December day, tasting a mince pie and drinking hot mull wine down the Main Street of Haworth as they visit the Christmas Market? What more pleasant experience can a family have than singing carols with a group of like-minded souls in the chill night air,wrapped up warm and holding lit candles; and not forgetting that choked up emotion many of us get when attending Midnight Mass and singing 'Silent Night' as we tearfully remember those loved ones who are no longer with us, but who remains a part of us for as long as we live.

And as for seeing the magic of Christmas, simply gaze upon the smile and look of wonder on any small child's face as they open their presents on Christmas morning beneath the Christmas Tree, or catch sight of Father Christmas with his sack of goodies in the distance for the first time in their little life, or delve into a big bowl of Christmas trifle, smothered on top in rich cream. Roll on December 24th and all that follows this Christmas tide.

While there are many current trends to downgrade the spirituality of Christmas in today's modern society, I think such to be a grave mistake. I have always loved Christmas time and always will, and I always feel sorry for anyone who does not feel able to celebrate this season of the year.
As for the Scrooges and the perennial grumblers who cannot find anything good to cheer about; well they are welcome to kiss my.....Adam's apple." William Forde: December 7th, 2017.
https://youtu.be/0A8KT365wlA



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