Good morning. William Forde here with your daily song from the heart of Bronte land. Have a nice day,
I dedicate my song today to seven Facebook friends who celebrate their birthday. We wish a happy birthday to Lisa Fitzgerald Chase who lives in Spofford, New Hampshire, USA: Robyn Murphy Burke and Pat Kerwick who comes from Carrick-on-Suir, Tipperary, Ireland: Christine L. Blackwood who lives in London, United Kingdom: Taruna Tombling who lives in Northampton, England: Tim Curtis who lives in the village of Haworth, West Yorkshire: Blake Enron Hite, a family friend from America. Enjoy your special day, everyone, and thank you for being my Facebook friend.
My song today is ‘Free Bird’. This song was written and performed by American rock band Lynyrd Skynyrd. The song first featured on the band’s debut album in 1973 and has been included on subsequent albums. Released as a single in November 1974, ‘Free Bird entered the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart at Number 87 and became the band's second Top 40 hit in early 1975, peaking at Number 19. A live version of the song re-entered the charts in late 1976, eventually peaking at Number 38 in January 1977.
‘Free Bird#’ achieved the Number 3 spot on Guitar World’s ‘100 Greatest Guitar Solos. It is Lynyrd Skynyrd's signature song, the finale during live performances, and their longest song, often going well over 14 minutes when played live.
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I find the guitar playing on this record fantastic and there are very few songs I would willingly give ear to for almost ten minutes. This was one record I did not want to end. It was the type that I could imagine being played at a rave concert during the late 1970s as the first and last record of the night, with no other song being played in between. Imagine the rave starting and the intake of alcohol and drugs being liberally dispensed. Someone loves the opening song so much that they spike the DJ’s drink, and he faints in front of two thousand party-goers and is taken to hospital. As the DJ is being stretchered from the rave party, the needle gets stuck in the record groove of ‘Freebird’ where it remains for the next ten hours to the sheer delight of the dancing ravers. At 8:00am the following morning as the rave empties, the same song that opened the rave is closing it, having been played and played without pause throughout the night.
‘To be as free as a bird' is one of mankind’s most popular sayings. The birds of the air have often represented ‘freedom’ in the eyes of mankind. They come and go at their own pleasure, and they either settle where they nest all year round or they migrate towards warmer climate as the colder seasons come around. It is not much different than experiencing a life of backpacking for many humans who cannot accustom themselves to daily routine and too much of any type of conventional lifestyle.
When I was young, I would spend many an afternoon in the back garden of our council house, trying to catch a bird. I would erect a box and perch it on its side with breadcrumbs in abundance at its centre, Attached to a wooden stick keeping the box upright would be a long piece of string or mum’s washing line. The trap would be set and I would position myself on the shed roof awaiting my prey to bite. We had a mongrel dog at the time (whose name I cannot recall). The reason I cannot recall its name is probably because we never named it. It had followed me home from school one day and I encouraged mum to feed it. When dad got home, he wanted it out of his sight saying that we did not possess enough food to feed the seven children of the family, let alone a mangy dogs who answers to no name. We reminded dad that was because we had not given the dog a name, because we did not expect to see it the day after. You see, dad was no animal lover, and we all knew that there was not a cat in hell’s chance of him allowing us to keep the dog as a family pet.
After the dog had been fed, dad put it in some sack and mounted his bicycle. Half an hour later, dad returned with an empty sack and that was that; except it wasn’t. The dog turned out to be far cleverer than my father gave ‘the dumb critter’ (as he called it) credit for. No sooner than dad had dumped the dog, it followed him home. The day after, my father took the dog another bicycle journey; this time twice as far as the initial bicycle ride, and surprise, surprise, the dog found its way back home to us again. After trying to abandon the dog three or four times, my father must have spent so much time bicycling it around the countryside that he grew attached to it. He even started feeding it but he never gave it a name.
The dog and I became good friends, but it had never been trained and had learned too many bad traits that we were unable to alter. For instance, it would follow me when I did not want it to follow me, and it always interfered with my bird catching. I would get the box set up in the garden and take up my position on the shed roof out of sight, but as soon as a bird approached and looked like it might take the bread crumbs bait, the dog would see it and run to chase it away. On other occasions, the dog might see the trap with the bread beneath, and feeling hungry, it would decide to eat the bread itself.
I do not know what happened to the dog. It was to disappear from my life almost as quickly as it had entered it. I came home from school one day, but it was not there. We all searched high and low, but to no avail. My mother always accused my father of poisoning the dog and burying it down the fields or discarding it down an old well or disused mineshaft, but my father never gave her the courtesy of responding to her ‘wild charges’, and mum could never prove her darkest suspicions.
It took a large wagon to run over me at the age of 11 years to change my concept of having one’s freedom restricted and to make me realise how cruel a practice I had engaged in trying to ensnare and capture innocent birds. The wagon had knocked me down, run over me and wrapped my twisted torso around the main propellor drive shaft. I was left with extensive injuries which included a damaged spine, a crushed chest a lung puncture, plus every bone and limb in my body broken. First, my parents were told for the first three weeks of my hospital stay that I would not live, to be followed by three years of being told that I would never walk again. It would be three years before I walked one foot in front of the other, and I would be 18 years old before I could walk without too much of a hobble.
Just like the bird who had been born to fly, I found myself caged within a cloak of my own fear, looking out at the world and not knowing if I would ever be afforded the opportunity of being let out in it again in free flight. My legs were attached to the main shaft of my body but they were functionless as they were unable to walk me forward. I was trapped inside my own body, like a bird in a cage whose clipped wings were a constant reminder of their onetime freedom of movement.
In my later life, I have frequently used the analogy of bird flight to represent the freedom of individual spirit. Just like a caged bird will always feel trapped, in time, its warden may open its door in the full knowledge that the bird is no longer confident enough to attempt to flee its prison. The captive bird has entered the stage of ‘learned helplessness’ and has been conditioned to remain a lifelong captive; indeed, even fearing one day release from its imprisonment.
My work as a Probation Officer in West Yorkshire for 27 years, would bring me in contact with so many people whose unresolved emotional experiences had effectively trapped their mind and body in some past trauma that they had grown so accustomed to having around them ( like a cage of fear) that their ‘problem in life’ had become ‘their only purpose for living’. Without the familiar chaos of life constantly surrounding them, even drama queens cannot cope with the enactment of their daily trials and tribulations.
I have also met many people in my life whose possessiveness was to lead to their most feared loss. The love of an individual is such a treasured thing that it should never risk being devalued from within a cage of human fear. In order to protect the person we love most, we must be prepared to see them vulnerable from time to time. In order to increase the likelihood of them never wanting to leave us, we must give them the freedom to do so if they wish.
The best way to ensure that your lovebird never wants to leave your nest is to always make it possible for them to fly, should they ever choose to do so. Nobody ever wants to stay where they are not wanted, or where they are wanted too much by a possessive partner and are valued too little by an unappreciative one.
The same is true in teaching our young how best to gain their wings. Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes; to choose wisely or foolishly, and to live in the manner of ones suiting, whether conventional or otherwise. To be free is to be able to exercise ones’ individual judgment which neither conflicts with the law of the land nor the signpost of the soul. Freedom in all things however can never be sanctioned as being right and just, for every line of ‘responsibility that freedom crosses (individual or collective), the toll charge of displaying appropriate behaviour’ should be paid.
Love and freedom Bill xxx
I dedicate my song today to seven Facebook friends who celebrate their birthday. We wish a happy birthday to Lisa Fitzgerald Chase who lives in Spofford, New Hampshire, USA: Robyn Murphy Burke and Pat Kerwick who comes from Carrick-on-Suir, Tipperary, Ireland: Christine L. Blackwood who lives in London, United Kingdom: Taruna Tombling who lives in Northampton, England: Tim Curtis who lives in the village of Haworth, West Yorkshire: Blake Enron Hite, a family friend from America. Enjoy your special day, everyone, and thank you for being my Facebook friend.
My song today is ‘Free Bird’. This song was written and performed by American rock band Lynyrd Skynyrd. The song first featured on the band’s debut album in 1973 and has been included on subsequent albums. Released as a single in November 1974, ‘Free Bird entered the ‘Billboard Hot 100’ chart at Number 87 and became the band's second Top 40 hit in early 1975, peaking at Number 19. A live version of the song re-entered the charts in late 1976, eventually peaking at Number 38 in January 1977.
‘Free Bird#’ achieved the Number 3 spot on Guitar World’s ‘100 Greatest Guitar Solos. It is Lynyrd Skynyrd's signature song, the finale during live performances, and their longest song, often going well over 14 minutes when played live.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I find the guitar playing on this record fantastic and there are very few songs I would willingly give ear to for almost ten minutes. This was one record I did not want to end. It was the type that I could imagine being played at a rave concert during the late 1970s as the first and last record of the night, with no other song being played in between. Imagine the rave starting and the intake of alcohol and drugs being liberally dispensed. Someone loves the opening song so much that they spike the DJ’s drink, and he faints in front of two thousand party-goers and is taken to hospital. As the DJ is being stretchered from the rave party, the needle gets stuck in the record groove of ‘Freebird’ where it remains for the next ten hours to the sheer delight of the dancing ravers. At 8:00am the following morning as the rave empties, the same song that opened the rave is closing it, having been played and played without pause throughout the night.
‘To be as free as a bird' is one of mankind’s most popular sayings. The birds of the air have often represented ‘freedom’ in the eyes of mankind. They come and go at their own pleasure, and they either settle where they nest all year round or they migrate towards warmer climate as the colder seasons come around. It is not much different than experiencing a life of backpacking for many humans who cannot accustom themselves to daily routine and too much of any type of conventional lifestyle.
When I was young, I would spend many an afternoon in the back garden of our council house, trying to catch a bird. I would erect a box and perch it on its side with breadcrumbs in abundance at its centre, Attached to a wooden stick keeping the box upright would be a long piece of string or mum’s washing line. The trap would be set and I would position myself on the shed roof awaiting my prey to bite. We had a mongrel dog at the time (whose name I cannot recall). The reason I cannot recall its name is probably because we never named it. It had followed me home from school one day and I encouraged mum to feed it. When dad got home, he wanted it out of his sight saying that we did not possess enough food to feed the seven children of the family, let alone a mangy dogs who answers to no name. We reminded dad that was because we had not given the dog a name, because we did not expect to see it the day after. You see, dad was no animal lover, and we all knew that there was not a cat in hell’s chance of him allowing us to keep the dog as a family pet.
After the dog had been fed, dad put it in some sack and mounted his bicycle. Half an hour later, dad returned with an empty sack and that was that; except it wasn’t. The dog turned out to be far cleverer than my father gave ‘the dumb critter’ (as he called it) credit for. No sooner than dad had dumped the dog, it followed him home. The day after, my father took the dog another bicycle journey; this time twice as far as the initial bicycle ride, and surprise, surprise, the dog found its way back home to us again. After trying to abandon the dog three or four times, my father must have spent so much time bicycling it around the countryside that he grew attached to it. He even started feeding it but he never gave it a name.
The dog and I became good friends, but it had never been trained and had learned too many bad traits that we were unable to alter. For instance, it would follow me when I did not want it to follow me, and it always interfered with my bird catching. I would get the box set up in the garden and take up my position on the shed roof out of sight, but as soon as a bird approached and looked like it might take the bread crumbs bait, the dog would see it and run to chase it away. On other occasions, the dog might see the trap with the bread beneath, and feeling hungry, it would decide to eat the bread itself.
I do not know what happened to the dog. It was to disappear from my life almost as quickly as it had entered it. I came home from school one day, but it was not there. We all searched high and low, but to no avail. My mother always accused my father of poisoning the dog and burying it down the fields or discarding it down an old well or disused mineshaft, but my father never gave her the courtesy of responding to her ‘wild charges’, and mum could never prove her darkest suspicions.
It took a large wagon to run over me at the age of 11 years to change my concept of having one’s freedom restricted and to make me realise how cruel a practice I had engaged in trying to ensnare and capture innocent birds. The wagon had knocked me down, run over me and wrapped my twisted torso around the main propellor drive shaft. I was left with extensive injuries which included a damaged spine, a crushed chest a lung puncture, plus every bone and limb in my body broken. First, my parents were told for the first three weeks of my hospital stay that I would not live, to be followed by three years of being told that I would never walk again. It would be three years before I walked one foot in front of the other, and I would be 18 years old before I could walk without too much of a hobble.
Just like the bird who had been born to fly, I found myself caged within a cloak of my own fear, looking out at the world and not knowing if I would ever be afforded the opportunity of being let out in it again in free flight. My legs were attached to the main shaft of my body but they were functionless as they were unable to walk me forward. I was trapped inside my own body, like a bird in a cage whose clipped wings were a constant reminder of their onetime freedom of movement.
In my later life, I have frequently used the analogy of bird flight to represent the freedom of individual spirit. Just like a caged bird will always feel trapped, in time, its warden may open its door in the full knowledge that the bird is no longer confident enough to attempt to flee its prison. The captive bird has entered the stage of ‘learned helplessness’ and has been conditioned to remain a lifelong captive; indeed, even fearing one day release from its imprisonment.
My work as a Probation Officer in West Yorkshire for 27 years, would bring me in contact with so many people whose unresolved emotional experiences had effectively trapped their mind and body in some past trauma that they had grown so accustomed to having around them ( like a cage of fear) that their ‘problem in life’ had become ‘their only purpose for living’. Without the familiar chaos of life constantly surrounding them, even drama queens cannot cope with the enactment of their daily trials and tribulations.
I have also met many people in my life whose possessiveness was to lead to their most feared loss. The love of an individual is such a treasured thing that it should never risk being devalued from within a cage of human fear. In order to protect the person we love most, we must be prepared to see them vulnerable from time to time. In order to increase the likelihood of them never wanting to leave us, we must give them the freedom to do so if they wish.
The best way to ensure that your lovebird never wants to leave your nest is to always make it possible for them to fly, should they ever choose to do so. Nobody ever wants to stay where they are not wanted, or where they are wanted too much by a possessive partner and are valued too little by an unappreciative one.
The same is true in teaching our young how best to gain their wings. Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes; to choose wisely or foolishly, and to live in the manner of ones suiting, whether conventional or otherwise. To be free is to be able to exercise ones’ individual judgment which neither conflicts with the law of the land nor the signpost of the soul. Freedom in all things however can never be sanctioned as being right and just, for every line of ‘responsibility that freedom crosses (individual or collective), the toll charge of displaying appropriate behaviour’ should be paid.
Love and freedom Bill xxx
