Thought for today:
"My dear father died 27 years ago today. Of all the good things he accomplished in life, the best thing he ever did was to marry my mum! In many ways, my mother was the opposite to dad, and the best way to understand the kind of man he was is to know my mother well and to ascribe to dad all of her opposite character traits, with the exception of four which they shared in equal abundance; sheer goodness, generosity, industriousness and love of their children.
All that I am and ever hope to be, I owe to my parents, but mostly my mother. While it required both mum and dad to give me life, my mother gave me soul and infused me with the belief that anything is possible if you never disown or disgrace yourself, your background or your God. I was taught to honour all three by my mother. My dad who had been reared during a time when a man's word was his bond added, 'Honour your word' as the fourth commandment of the Forde family. The first three children of the family were born in Southern Ireland and the next four were born in West Yorkshire. As the photo above shows, I have always been bonnier than the next two girls in the chain of command.
Next month will be the anniversary of my dear mother's death who died at the early age of 64 years. At least, Dad could once say he bested her when he reached 75 years. Although their great grandchildren never knew them, they meet them on every occasion that they come across one or more of the Forde clan. Some even see their features daily in the image of their children, though they may not recognize it as readily as myself and siblings.
Although a non-academic who left school to work as soon as she entered her early teens, my mum was nevertheless a woman of substance who taught all seven of her children the finest lesson of all; to look out for each other as long as we live. Her education may have been unfinished, but her wisdom and depth of thought was profound and started each of her children in their journey of life along a wholesome road. She was a born storyteller or as others may prefer to have described her, 'a teller of tall truths' and I'm sure that my sixty-seven published books are down to her indirect influence. Dad also left school before his education was complete to enter the market of work. He never experienced the same close family bond with his parents as mum did, and for the whole of his life, he never came across as being a tactile person. It was not until after mum died that he started to become more expressive and was prepared to show his more vulnerable side.
Mum always encouraged the honest expression of one's feelings at the moment of their birth, whereas dad rarely revealed what he was thinking. She never thought to cry to be unmanly and believed that tears are the raw expression of the bravest of thoughts. I only ever saw my dad cry once, after I told him that I was getting a divorce. I never quite knew if he was crying for me or the possible loss of my soul and slight to Catholic Church orthodoxy.
Mum also said to think before speaking as one can never retrieve the spoken word nor get back the stone after the throw. One of her nicest pieces of wisdom though was when she told us to walk gently through the world as we are not always aware when we tread upon the fragile feelings of others. She also said that we should know the earth's beauty all the days of our life. Dad never came across as being the romantic type, although mum said that he would cycle thirty miles each way midweek when they were courting, just to see her in Portlaw where they went walking the fields and meadows.
I remember the last time I saw mum looking out of the hospital window from her bed in Staincliffe Hospital the day before she died. I had just spent an hour visiting her and said that I'd visit again tomorrow. She was smiling. My last image of dad was to see him in tremendous pain in his flat in Liversedge. He had seemingly had a stomach cancer for at least two years before he died from it, and had never once sought medical assistance for it. To dad, there were always people worse than himself who needed the attention of the medical services more.
My mum wasn't faultless by any stretch of the imagination, but by God, she was a good person and a loving mother. I would best describe her as being a perfect example of how to find oneself and remain happy and content with the person found. Through the very example of hers and dad's existence, they taught me the two most treasured lessons that any set of parents could teach their child. Mum taught me 'how to live happily' and dad taught me 'how to die with dignity'. Mum's secret was simple; never keep your love distant from others and always keep a smile close by. Dad's secret was to always stay close to God and dignity will stay with you until the end.
My father also was far from faultless. He cared too much about 'image' and how one presented themselves to the neighbours. His shoes were always polished to the point that one could see one's face look back at you, whereas mums would be frequently scuffed. My mother's favourite taunt of dad was, 'I've known murderers, Paddy, who could see the reflection of their crimes as they were committing them in their highly polished shoes!' Another favourite taunt of mums was, 'If only the neighbours could see and hear you now, Paddy. They'd soon see the gentleman you're not!'
My parents were no different to lots of other parents of the time with many children to care and provide for. Their marriages could be separated into three parts; the loving years, the practical years and the reconciling years when all the children have grown and flown the nest. Being their firstborn, I enjoyed their most loving years, which made my grounding as happy and as emotionally stable as it could have been. By the time that the youngest two children were born, I'd left home and rows between them grew more frequent and intensive. They were never violent arguments they had; they merely demonstrated to the other the quickest way of throwing a pan across the room, or how to smash a pot against a wall into a thousand pieces!
I often wondered how mum and dad ever managed to get together in the first place, with them being so dissimilar in character traits. Dad was shy and non-expressive; a man who didn't mix easily, whereas mum could make friends with any stranger or the first beggar she met. My mother's greatest criticism of dad was that he didn't dance, enjoy a drink, sing or have fun. Dad never drunk apart from the odd half on family occasions; largely because his own father drank too much. Dad never danced in his life, (except on the football field when he played soccer for Ireland), and although mum might never have heard him sing, there were two songs that he always sang in the bathroom when getting a bath, 'Some Enchanted Evening' and 'Sweet Sixteen.' Myself and sisters Mary and Eileen would giggle as we listened to him outside the bathroom door.
Dad was 'too religious by half' according to mum. Whereas he would always be knelt down in his pew on a Sunday morning, a good ten minutes before Mass started, Mum always arrived five minutes late and left five minutes early to have a quick smoke outside. Mum always said, 'An hour's sermon is long enough for anyone to get to heaven. I've things to do! Things to do!' As for tobacco, dad hated smoking whereas mum was a chain smoker. Everytime mum lit up a cigarette in the house, dad would open one of the windows, whatever the season. It was often like living in an open field.
Given all of these differences between my parents, I once asked mum why she had married dad. Her reply was, 'Billy, apart from being pregnant with you at the time, how could I not marry him? He was handsome and played football for Kilkenny and the Irish soccer squad; and besides, I was ready for leaving home: and I loved him!'
God bless you Dad from your oldest child, Billy. I only knew you to sing two songs in the whole of your life, while mum would sing all day long, every day. Your two songs were, 'Some Enchanted Evening' and 'Sweet Sixteen'. I have sung 'Some Enchanted Evening' this morning for you and will sing 'Sweet Sixteen for you this evening to celebrate your life as head of the Forde Family.x"William Forde: March 27th, 2018.
https://youtu.be/9YXJBZWRbFc
"My dear father died 27 years ago today. Of all the good things he accomplished in life, the best thing he ever did was to marry my mum! In many ways, my mother was the opposite to dad, and the best way to understand the kind of man he was is to know my mother well and to ascribe to dad all of her opposite character traits, with the exception of four which they shared in equal abundance; sheer goodness, generosity, industriousness and love of their children.
All that I am and ever hope to be, I owe to my parents, but mostly my mother. While it required both mum and dad to give me life, my mother gave me soul and infused me with the belief that anything is possible if you never disown or disgrace yourself, your background or your God. I was taught to honour all three by my mother. My dad who had been reared during a time when a man's word was his bond added, 'Honour your word' as the fourth commandment of the Forde family. The first three children of the family were born in Southern Ireland and the next four were born in West Yorkshire. As the photo above shows, I have always been bonnier than the next two girls in the chain of command.
Next month will be the anniversary of my dear mother's death who died at the early age of 64 years. At least, Dad could once say he bested her when he reached 75 years. Although their great grandchildren never knew them, they meet them on every occasion that they come across one or more of the Forde clan. Some even see their features daily in the image of their children, though they may not recognize it as readily as myself and siblings.
Although a non-academic who left school to work as soon as she entered her early teens, my mum was nevertheless a woman of substance who taught all seven of her children the finest lesson of all; to look out for each other as long as we live. Her education may have been unfinished, but her wisdom and depth of thought was profound and started each of her children in their journey of life along a wholesome road. She was a born storyteller or as others may prefer to have described her, 'a teller of tall truths' and I'm sure that my sixty-seven published books are down to her indirect influence. Dad also left school before his education was complete to enter the market of work. He never experienced the same close family bond with his parents as mum did, and for the whole of his life, he never came across as being a tactile person. It was not until after mum died that he started to become more expressive and was prepared to show his more vulnerable side.
Mum always encouraged the honest expression of one's feelings at the moment of their birth, whereas dad rarely revealed what he was thinking. She never thought to cry to be unmanly and believed that tears are the raw expression of the bravest of thoughts. I only ever saw my dad cry once, after I told him that I was getting a divorce. I never quite knew if he was crying for me or the possible loss of my soul and slight to Catholic Church orthodoxy.
Mum also said to think before speaking as one can never retrieve the spoken word nor get back the stone after the throw. One of her nicest pieces of wisdom though was when she told us to walk gently through the world as we are not always aware when we tread upon the fragile feelings of others. She also said that we should know the earth's beauty all the days of our life. Dad never came across as being the romantic type, although mum said that he would cycle thirty miles each way midweek when they were courting, just to see her in Portlaw where they went walking the fields and meadows.
I remember the last time I saw mum looking out of the hospital window from her bed in Staincliffe Hospital the day before she died. I had just spent an hour visiting her and said that I'd visit again tomorrow. She was smiling. My last image of dad was to see him in tremendous pain in his flat in Liversedge. He had seemingly had a stomach cancer for at least two years before he died from it, and had never once sought medical assistance for it. To dad, there were always people worse than himself who needed the attention of the medical services more.
My mum wasn't faultless by any stretch of the imagination, but by God, she was a good person and a loving mother. I would best describe her as being a perfect example of how to find oneself and remain happy and content with the person found. Through the very example of hers and dad's existence, they taught me the two most treasured lessons that any set of parents could teach their child. Mum taught me 'how to live happily' and dad taught me 'how to die with dignity'. Mum's secret was simple; never keep your love distant from others and always keep a smile close by. Dad's secret was to always stay close to God and dignity will stay with you until the end.
My father also was far from faultless. He cared too much about 'image' and how one presented themselves to the neighbours. His shoes were always polished to the point that one could see one's face look back at you, whereas mums would be frequently scuffed. My mother's favourite taunt of dad was, 'I've known murderers, Paddy, who could see the reflection of their crimes as they were committing them in their highly polished shoes!' Another favourite taunt of mums was, 'If only the neighbours could see and hear you now, Paddy. They'd soon see the gentleman you're not!'
My parents were no different to lots of other parents of the time with many children to care and provide for. Their marriages could be separated into three parts; the loving years, the practical years and the reconciling years when all the children have grown and flown the nest. Being their firstborn, I enjoyed their most loving years, which made my grounding as happy and as emotionally stable as it could have been. By the time that the youngest two children were born, I'd left home and rows between them grew more frequent and intensive. They were never violent arguments they had; they merely demonstrated to the other the quickest way of throwing a pan across the room, or how to smash a pot against a wall into a thousand pieces!
I often wondered how mum and dad ever managed to get together in the first place, with them being so dissimilar in character traits. Dad was shy and non-expressive; a man who didn't mix easily, whereas mum could make friends with any stranger or the first beggar she met. My mother's greatest criticism of dad was that he didn't dance, enjoy a drink, sing or have fun. Dad never drunk apart from the odd half on family occasions; largely because his own father drank too much. Dad never danced in his life, (except on the football field when he played soccer for Ireland), and although mum might never have heard him sing, there were two songs that he always sang in the bathroom when getting a bath, 'Some Enchanted Evening' and 'Sweet Sixteen.' Myself and sisters Mary and Eileen would giggle as we listened to him outside the bathroom door.
Dad was 'too religious by half' according to mum. Whereas he would always be knelt down in his pew on a Sunday morning, a good ten minutes before Mass started, Mum always arrived five minutes late and left five minutes early to have a quick smoke outside. Mum always said, 'An hour's sermon is long enough for anyone to get to heaven. I've things to do! Things to do!' As for tobacco, dad hated smoking whereas mum was a chain smoker. Everytime mum lit up a cigarette in the house, dad would open one of the windows, whatever the season. It was often like living in an open field.
Given all of these differences between my parents, I once asked mum why she had married dad. Her reply was, 'Billy, apart from being pregnant with you at the time, how could I not marry him? He was handsome and played football for Kilkenny and the Irish soccer squad; and besides, I was ready for leaving home: and I loved him!'
God bless you Dad from your oldest child, Billy. I only knew you to sing two songs in the whole of your life, while mum would sing all day long, every day. Your two songs were, 'Some Enchanted Evening' and 'Sweet Sixteen'. I have sung 'Some Enchanted Evening' this morning for you and will sing 'Sweet Sixteen for you this evening to celebrate your life as head of the Forde Family.x"William Forde: March 27th, 2018.
https://youtu.be/9YXJBZWRbFc
