I jointly dedicate my song today to my Facebook friend, Chrissie Rockettt from Portlaw, County Waterford in Ireland (the village of my birth), whose birthday it is today.
I also dedicate my song to Steve Jones, the husband of my niece, Sharon, who lives in Hightown, Liversedge, West Yorkshire. It is Steve’s birthday today.
My song today is ‘My Happiness’. This song is a pop music standard which was initially made famous in the mid-twentieth century. An unpublished version of the melody with different lyrics was written by Borney Bergantine in 1933.
The most famous version of the song, with lyrics by Betty Peterson Blasco, was published for the first time in 1948. The first known recording of this version was in December 1947 by the Marlin Sisters, but the song first became a hit in May 1948 as recorded by Jon and Sondra Steele, with rival versions by the Pied Pipers and Ella Fitzgerald entering the charts that June, and reaching respectively Numbers 4 and 8, with the Marlin Sisters version finally charting with a Number 24 peak that July. A version by John Laurenze entered the Billboard magazine charts on August 1948 where it peaked at Number 26.
Others to cover the song included Vera Lynne (1956): Connie Francis (1958): Andy Williams (1959): Pat Boone (1959): Teresa Brewer (1961): The Andrew Sisters (1964): Slim Whitman (1968): Daniel O’Donnell (2007) and Elvis Presley (2015).
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This song was written in 1933, nine years before I as born, but was not published and recorded until 1948 when I was aged 6 years.
I believe that the first time I heard this song was by Connie Francis in 1958. I had just started work at a Cleckheaton mill and was a cocky 15-year-old boy who prided himself on being a good singer and ‘a good catch’ for any young woman who wanted pleasing at no more cost than the gift of her heart and the loan of her body. I was also a big head, and like every handsome-looking 15-year-old who had a head full of dreams and an empty pocket to line them with, I walked with the purposeful stride of a Mr Micawber from ‘David Copperfield’ in an unfailing assertion of faith that ‘something will turn up’.
In fact, to be precise, a bad traffic accident which I incurred at the age of 11 years, and which nearly killed me, put me in hospital for nine months and left me being unable to walk for almost three years. When I did eventually walk again, I had lost my purposeful stride and instead, I hobbled with a pronounced limp.
After my more serious injuries had been dealt with during my first three weeks of hospitalisation as the surgeon and medics battled to save my life, they then turned their attentions to my damaged legs. When the wagon ran over me and twisted my body around its main drive shaft, I’d been left with multiple injuries, of which saving my legs were of more minor consideration. My spine had been badly damaged, I had a lung puncture and twenty-two of my twenty-four ribs in my chest were broken and matted. Both legs and arms were also broken; my left leg the worse of all. My left leg had been broken several times on the kneecap as it was twisted around the wagon’s driveshaft. Although my parents were initially told that my damaged spine would prevent me from ever walking again, they would still try to make my legs look presentable.
Over an 18 month period, I had over fifty operations at Batley General Hospital breaking and re-setting my left leg. I would have a leg operation one week after another, whereby my leg would be broken, re-set and placed in Plaster of Paris with a steel contraption attached that would be turned to forcefully bend and straighten my leg a fraction of an inch. No sooner than the Plaster of Paris had dried on my leg, it was cut off, my knee was checked, re-set and the process was repeated.
After all my leg operations, my growth was stunted, and I was eventually left with my left leg being three inches shorter than my right leg. After, I had regained the mobility of my legs (which the hospital consultant was never able to explain, other than surmising that the broken connection between my damaged spine and brain had somehow reconnected itself),
I spent the following six years learning 'not to limp as obviously as a three-inch deficiency between two legs would usually produce'. This practical improvement was made possible entirely by a mental process which essentially involved continuous imaginary exercises in which I would see myself walking without limping too badly. Believe it or not, but the desired result was eventually achieved in large measure.
When I walked, I did not visualise myself limping (even though I did limp). It was as though through visually imagining myself walking without the type of limp associated by a three-inch shortfall in one leg to the other, I did not limp as badly as I otherwise would have done! However, towards the end of the day when my mind and body grew more exhausted, I would always limp much worse than I had done in the morning of that same day. That fact confirmed to me that my limp could be substantially reduced by my mind and it still applies over sixty years later in my life.
Over time, between boyhood and manhood, my hips readjusted in a slanted mode, because I always refused to wear a raised shoe on my left leg to produce an actual and visible balance to my posture and stance.
Then, one day while having a drink at the bar in ‘The Shoulder of Mutton’ in Hightown (my local pub), an old man who’d served in both World Wars pulled me to one side and gave me some valuable advice that was to serve me well during the years ahead. I had naturally been conscious of the difference in my leg lengths since I’d regained my walking mobility after my childhood accident, especially when I started going to the pub to have a drink or went dating and dancing at the Town Hall on a Saturday night.
On such outings, whenever I stood still, I had a choice to make. I could either stand on my right leg and be 5 feet 7 inches tall (my longest leg) or on my left leg and stand around 5 feet 5 inches tall (my shortest leg). Presumably, as my hips slanted over time, it affected my overall height. Naturally, if I stood with both feet on the ground, I would always stand more crooked, and in my own eyes, I’d be stood ‘less of a man’. One way around this which disguised my leg deficiency was to always perch myself at the bar with my shortest leg on the foot rail and my longest leg stood on the floor. Such a stance always gave me the semblance of normality on the first impression and maximised my height.
On the evening in question in the pub, the old man said, ‘Forgive me saying so, lad, but I’ve noticed that your legs are uneven in length. I noticed this because I got wounded in France and returned from the ‘Second World War’ with a stiff leg and a huge limp. For ages, I was self-conscious of my war wounds until one day, a lady friend advised me to ‘learn to walk with pride’. She told me never to forget how I’d got this bad leg of mine and said that providing I learned to ‘limp with dignity’ like a soldier returning from the war, I would always remain attractive in the eyes of a good woman looking for a real man.”.
Afterwards, I thought long and hard on the old soldier’s words. I thought about my own battles; the battles I’d been through between the age of 11 years onwards, and I started to see myself in terms of a survivor, akin to a war hero returning home from battle. More important, however, I learned how to ‘limp with dignity’ and can honestly say that from being a young man in his mid-teens to that of a fully grown man, the difference in the length of my legs never once made a difference to whether or not I caught the girl/woman of my choice or if I was able to stand my ground. I also learn that all good women don’t care a fig about any man without ‘personality and charm’, whether he possesses the finest pair of legs that ever graced a male torso or not! Without personality and charm, every bit of a woman’s long-term interest goes out the window. I often think upon this as I limp into the arms of my beloved Sheila at the end of a mentally exhausting day.
There are many things that bring one happiness in their lives and not least in importance is the good advice one will be given from time to time by the vast number of people we stand next to in the queue of life; whether that queue be at a bus stop, the butcher’s shop or the pub bar! The only question we need to ask ourselves is do we truly consider all advice we are given, and if we find truth in it, do we act on it?
I jointly dedicate my song today to two people, each of whom are celebrating their birthday.
To Chrissie Rockett, I wish the happiest of birthdays. May it be blessed with much love, happiness…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Chrissie lives in Portlaw, County Waterford in Ireland. This is the village where I was born. Have a smashing birthday, Chrissie. Love Bill x
I also dedicate my song today to Steve Jones, the husband of my niece, Sharon, who lives in Hightown, Liversedge, West Yorkshire. Steve presently lives on the estate where I lived most of my childhood. It is also Steve’s birthday today. Have a good day Steve. I hope your special day is also filled with much love, happiness…and…lots of cake and ale. Uncle Billy and Sheila x
Love and peace Bill xxx
I also dedicate my song to Steve Jones, the husband of my niece, Sharon, who lives in Hightown, Liversedge, West Yorkshire. It is Steve’s birthday today.
My song today is ‘My Happiness’. This song is a pop music standard which was initially made famous in the mid-twentieth century. An unpublished version of the melody with different lyrics was written by Borney Bergantine in 1933.
The most famous version of the song, with lyrics by Betty Peterson Blasco, was published for the first time in 1948. The first known recording of this version was in December 1947 by the Marlin Sisters, but the song first became a hit in May 1948 as recorded by Jon and Sondra Steele, with rival versions by the Pied Pipers and Ella Fitzgerald entering the charts that June, and reaching respectively Numbers 4 and 8, with the Marlin Sisters version finally charting with a Number 24 peak that July. A version by John Laurenze entered the Billboard magazine charts on August 1948 where it peaked at Number 26.
Others to cover the song included Vera Lynne (1956): Connie Francis (1958): Andy Williams (1959): Pat Boone (1959): Teresa Brewer (1961): The Andrew Sisters (1964): Slim Whitman (1968): Daniel O’Donnell (2007) and Elvis Presley (2015).
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
This song was written in 1933, nine years before I as born, but was not published and recorded until 1948 when I was aged 6 years.
I believe that the first time I heard this song was by Connie Francis in 1958. I had just started work at a Cleckheaton mill and was a cocky 15-year-old boy who prided himself on being a good singer and ‘a good catch’ for any young woman who wanted pleasing at no more cost than the gift of her heart and the loan of her body. I was also a big head, and like every handsome-looking 15-year-old who had a head full of dreams and an empty pocket to line them with, I walked with the purposeful stride of a Mr Micawber from ‘David Copperfield’ in an unfailing assertion of faith that ‘something will turn up’.
In fact, to be precise, a bad traffic accident which I incurred at the age of 11 years, and which nearly killed me, put me in hospital for nine months and left me being unable to walk for almost three years. When I did eventually walk again, I had lost my purposeful stride and instead, I hobbled with a pronounced limp.
After my more serious injuries had been dealt with during my first three weeks of hospitalisation as the surgeon and medics battled to save my life, they then turned their attentions to my damaged legs. When the wagon ran over me and twisted my body around its main drive shaft, I’d been left with multiple injuries, of which saving my legs were of more minor consideration. My spine had been badly damaged, I had a lung puncture and twenty-two of my twenty-four ribs in my chest were broken and matted. Both legs and arms were also broken; my left leg the worse of all. My left leg had been broken several times on the kneecap as it was twisted around the wagon’s driveshaft. Although my parents were initially told that my damaged spine would prevent me from ever walking again, they would still try to make my legs look presentable.
Over an 18 month period, I had over fifty operations at Batley General Hospital breaking and re-setting my left leg. I would have a leg operation one week after another, whereby my leg would be broken, re-set and placed in Plaster of Paris with a steel contraption attached that would be turned to forcefully bend and straighten my leg a fraction of an inch. No sooner than the Plaster of Paris had dried on my leg, it was cut off, my knee was checked, re-set and the process was repeated.
After all my leg operations, my growth was stunted, and I was eventually left with my left leg being three inches shorter than my right leg. After, I had regained the mobility of my legs (which the hospital consultant was never able to explain, other than surmising that the broken connection between my damaged spine and brain had somehow reconnected itself),
I spent the following six years learning 'not to limp as obviously as a three-inch deficiency between two legs would usually produce'. This practical improvement was made possible entirely by a mental process which essentially involved continuous imaginary exercises in which I would see myself walking without limping too badly. Believe it or not, but the desired result was eventually achieved in large measure.
When I walked, I did not visualise myself limping (even though I did limp). It was as though through visually imagining myself walking without the type of limp associated by a three-inch shortfall in one leg to the other, I did not limp as badly as I otherwise would have done! However, towards the end of the day when my mind and body grew more exhausted, I would always limp much worse than I had done in the morning of that same day. That fact confirmed to me that my limp could be substantially reduced by my mind and it still applies over sixty years later in my life.
Over time, between boyhood and manhood, my hips readjusted in a slanted mode, because I always refused to wear a raised shoe on my left leg to produce an actual and visible balance to my posture and stance.
Then, one day while having a drink at the bar in ‘The Shoulder of Mutton’ in Hightown (my local pub), an old man who’d served in both World Wars pulled me to one side and gave me some valuable advice that was to serve me well during the years ahead. I had naturally been conscious of the difference in my leg lengths since I’d regained my walking mobility after my childhood accident, especially when I started going to the pub to have a drink or went dating and dancing at the Town Hall on a Saturday night.
On such outings, whenever I stood still, I had a choice to make. I could either stand on my right leg and be 5 feet 7 inches tall (my longest leg) or on my left leg and stand around 5 feet 5 inches tall (my shortest leg). Presumably, as my hips slanted over time, it affected my overall height. Naturally, if I stood with both feet on the ground, I would always stand more crooked, and in my own eyes, I’d be stood ‘less of a man’. One way around this which disguised my leg deficiency was to always perch myself at the bar with my shortest leg on the foot rail and my longest leg stood on the floor. Such a stance always gave me the semblance of normality on the first impression and maximised my height.
On the evening in question in the pub, the old man said, ‘Forgive me saying so, lad, but I’ve noticed that your legs are uneven in length. I noticed this because I got wounded in France and returned from the ‘Second World War’ with a stiff leg and a huge limp. For ages, I was self-conscious of my war wounds until one day, a lady friend advised me to ‘learn to walk with pride’. She told me never to forget how I’d got this bad leg of mine and said that providing I learned to ‘limp with dignity’ like a soldier returning from the war, I would always remain attractive in the eyes of a good woman looking for a real man.”.
Afterwards, I thought long and hard on the old soldier’s words. I thought about my own battles; the battles I’d been through between the age of 11 years onwards, and I started to see myself in terms of a survivor, akin to a war hero returning home from battle. More important, however, I learned how to ‘limp with dignity’ and can honestly say that from being a young man in his mid-teens to that of a fully grown man, the difference in the length of my legs never once made a difference to whether or not I caught the girl/woman of my choice or if I was able to stand my ground. I also learn that all good women don’t care a fig about any man without ‘personality and charm’, whether he possesses the finest pair of legs that ever graced a male torso or not! Without personality and charm, every bit of a woman’s long-term interest goes out the window. I often think upon this as I limp into the arms of my beloved Sheila at the end of a mentally exhausting day.
There are many things that bring one happiness in their lives and not least in importance is the good advice one will be given from time to time by the vast number of people we stand next to in the queue of life; whether that queue be at a bus stop, the butcher’s shop or the pub bar! The only question we need to ask ourselves is do we truly consider all advice we are given, and if we find truth in it, do we act on it?
I jointly dedicate my song today to two people, each of whom are celebrating their birthday.
To Chrissie Rockett, I wish the happiest of birthdays. May it be blessed with much love, happiness…and…lots of cake and suitable refreshments. Chrissie lives in Portlaw, County Waterford in Ireland. This is the village where I was born. Have a smashing birthday, Chrissie. Love Bill x
I also dedicate my song today to Steve Jones, the husband of my niece, Sharon, who lives in Hightown, Liversedge, West Yorkshire. Steve presently lives on the estate where I lived most of my childhood. It is also Steve’s birthday today. Have a good day Steve. I hope your special day is also filled with much love, happiness…and…lots of cake and ale. Uncle Billy and Sheila x
Love and peace Bill xxx
