Thought for today:
Thought for today:
"It would be remiss of me not to begin today's post by failing to thank all of you who congratulated Sheila and me yesterday upon our 5th wedding anniversary and my 75th birthday. Your good wishes were greatly appreciated by us both, along with the fact that you remembered.
Today is 'Remembrance Day' which marks the anniversary of the day that the 'First World War' ended. We owe so much to those brave soldiers who gave up their lives to fight for the freedom we now enjoy, and when I see so many people wearing the poppy today, it makes me so glad that they remembered also, those brave men in their millions whose action defending our country in two world wars provided every man, woman and child with those freedoms we enjoy today and sadly sometimes take for granted.
I never knew anyone who fought in the 'First World' but my passion for reading British history over my lifetime has lead me to read about heroic exploits by men and women of the time who rarely spoke of their deeds. This was an age where men and women did what they had to do without shouting about it. They just got stuck in, got on with the task at hand, and when it was done, they got on with the next thing to do without resting on their laurels. In the quietness of their souls where it matters, all combatants knew there was no glory in bragging about the number of enemies they killed on the battlefield. They knew that there was no celebration to be had in the death of any man, and when the war had ended, the greatest respect they could pay to their brave comrades who fell by their side was 'to remember' what they had fought for.
Today's post concerns my own account of 'The Second World War' through the experiences of England, its capital city and a single woman and her soldier sweetheart whose planned future was not to be.
During the 1990's, it became the official policy of national educational guidance for school teachers not to teach their pupils about the two world wars, in the misguided belief that to do so might be viewed by the non-British person as 'glorifying' war and our part in it. A retired Yorkshire school teacher, who had been a war veteran and then aspired to become a Headmaster was so disgusted with this school policy that he used some of his pension to fund a limited-edition publication of a book that he commissioned me to write which gave an account of war events and British bravery. Believing that no soldier should die for his country without the children in later years learning what he had died for, I readily agreed. The book I wrote was 'Butterworth's Brigade' and it was highly praised at the time. It is told from the perspective of young eyes.
I also wanted to tell children about London and the Blitz and so I wrote a book called, 'Robin and the Rubicelle Fusiliers'. The story is about a Jewish family living in London and their son, Robin, who becomes one of the many wartime evacuees at the time. The actress, Prunella Scales, praised this book as being an accurate account of the times it portrayed and read from this book in our Yorkshire schools on a number of occasions with her husband, Timothy West.
My dear late friend and mother substitute, Etta Denton, whom I looked after like a son for the final ten years of her life, lived half her life looking after a bedridden mother and being under the guidance of a highly strict father. Etta fell in love with Bill but they had to keep all knowledge of their relationship with each other from her father, mother and older brother. When Bill went off to war, the couple planned to marry on his return. Sadly, Bill never returned from the battlefields. His body was buried in an unmarked grave abroad, and as a spinster who had never been officially engaged to her soldier sweetheart, Etta was left to carry her grief alone until her death in her 94th year of life. Apart from one close friend of Etta's who knew of her soldier sweetheart, only Etta was left to remember the love they shared and the dream they lost.
I stayed in Etta's house caring for her night and day during the last few weeks of her life. Just before she died, Etta told me about her secret love and asked me to get her a book from her Georgian reading cabinet downstairs. I returned with the book and being too weak to open it, she then asked me to open it at a certain page for her. Inside, was a pressed flower that her sweetheart soldier Bill had given her before he went off to war to fight for the freedom of future generations. After Etta died, as I arranged her funeral, I ensured that her precious pressed flower was buried with her. I also wrote a poem about her love for Bill and the life they planned when he returned from battle.
Both books mentioned in this post are available in e-book format from www.smashwords.com or in hard copy from www.lulu.com and www.amazon.com with all profits going to charitable causes. The poem I wrote for Etta and Bill is called 'Arthur and Guinevere' and can be accessed freely from my website. My dear friend, Vera Lynn praised the poem:
http://www.fordefables.co.uk/arthur--guinevere.html
We shall not forget." William Forde: November 11th, 2017.
Thought for today:
"It would be remiss of me not to begin today's post by failing to thank all of you who congratulated Sheila and me yesterday upon our 5th wedding anniversary and my 75th birthday. Your good wishes were greatly appreciated by us both, along with the fact that you remembered.
Today is 'Remembrance Day' which marks the anniversary of the day that the 'First World War' ended. We owe so much to those brave soldiers who gave up their lives to fight for the freedom we now enjoy, and when I see so many people wearing the poppy today, it makes me so glad that they remembered also, those brave men in their millions whose action defending our country in two world wars provided every man, woman and child with those freedoms we enjoy today and sadly sometimes take for granted.
I never knew anyone who fought in the 'First World' but my passion for reading British history over my lifetime has lead me to read about heroic exploits by men and women of the time who rarely spoke of their deeds. This was an age where men and women did what they had to do without shouting about it. They just got stuck in, got on with the task at hand, and when it was done, they got on with the next thing to do without resting on their laurels. In the quietness of their souls where it matters, all combatants knew there was no glory in bragging about the number of enemies they killed on the battlefield. They knew that there was no celebration to be had in the death of any man, and when the war had ended, the greatest respect they could pay to their brave comrades who fell by their side was 'to remember' what they had fought for.
Today's post concerns my own account of 'The Second World War' through the experiences of England, its capital city and a single woman and her soldier sweetheart whose planned future was not to be.
During the 1990's, it became the official policy of national educational guidance for school teachers not to teach their pupils about the two world wars, in the misguided belief that to do so might be viewed by the non-British person as 'glorifying' war and our part in it. A retired Yorkshire school teacher, who had been a war veteran and then aspired to become a Headmaster was so disgusted with this school policy that he used some of his pension to fund a limited-edition publication of a book that he commissioned me to write which gave an account of war events and British bravery. Believing that no soldier should die for his country without the children in later years learning what he had died for, I readily agreed. The book I wrote was 'Butterworth's Brigade' and it was highly praised at the time. It is told from the perspective of young eyes.
I also wanted to tell children about London and the Blitz and so I wrote a book called, 'Robin and the Rubicelle Fusiliers'. The story is about a Jewish family living in London and their son, Robin, who becomes one of the many wartime evacuees at the time. The actress, Prunella Scales, praised this book as being an accurate account of the times it portrayed and read from this book in our Yorkshire schools on a number of occasions with her husband, Timothy West.
My dear late friend and mother substitute, Etta Denton, whom I looked after like a son for the final ten years of her life, lived half her life looking after a bedridden mother and being under the guidance of a highly strict father. Etta fell in love with Bill but they had to keep all knowledge of their relationship with each other from her father, mother and older brother. When Bill went off to war, the couple planned to marry on his return. Sadly, Bill never returned from the battlefields. His body was buried in an unmarked grave abroad, and as a spinster who had never been officially engaged to her soldier sweetheart, Etta was left to carry her grief alone until her death in her 94th year of life. Apart from one close friend of Etta's who knew of her soldier sweetheart, only Etta was left to remember the love they shared and the dream they lost.
I stayed in Etta's house caring for her night and day during the last few weeks of her life. Just before she died, Etta told me about her secret love and asked me to get her a book from her Georgian reading cabinet downstairs. I returned with the book and being too weak to open it, she then asked me to open it at a certain page for her. Inside, was a pressed flower that her sweetheart soldier Bill had given her before he went off to war to fight for the freedom of future generations. After Etta died, as I arranged her funeral, I ensured that her precious pressed flower was buried with her. I also wrote a poem about her love for Bill and the life they planned when he returned from battle.
Both books mentioned in this post are available in e-book format from www.smashwords.com or in hard copy from www.lulu.com and www.amazon.com with all profits going to charitable causes. The poem I wrote for Etta and Bill is called 'Arthur and Guinevere' and can be accessed freely from my website. My dear friend, Vera Lynn praised the poem:
http://www.fordefables.co.uk/arthur--guinevere.html
We shall not forget." William Forde: November 11th, 2017.
