My song this afternoon is ‘Santa Baby’.This is a 1953 Christmas song that was written by Joan Javits and Phillip Springer. The song was initially sung and popularised by Eartha Kitt. It was recorded in July 1953.
The song essentially is a long list of expensive Christmas presents by some seductive woman looking for a Father Christmas ‘sugar daddy’ to lavish her with seasonal riches and presumably worldly wealth. A kind of ‘Gold Digger’ I imagine.
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I remember the first time I heard this song being sung in the seductive voice of Eartha Kitt over the family radio. It was one of the songs doing the rounds during my last few months of normality as an 11-year-old child. Within months of the song having been released, I had incurred multiple life-threatening injuries after a wagon had knocked me down, run over me and stopped on top of me; wrapping my body like a barley twist around the main propeller drive shaft. I was a patient for nine months in Batley Hospital and was unable to walk for over two years following my hospital discharge.
During my first three weeks in the hospital, I was in and out of consciousness, and the hospital doctors told my parents that I was dying and that my chances of pulling through were remote, given the extent of my injuries. The major injuries included a damaged spine (leaving me without feeling beneath my waist), a crushed chest (breaking all but two of my two dozen ribs) a punctured lung, and all four limbs broken in at least two places each. My left leg had been broken badly on the knee and over the following two years, it would be broken and reset during dozens of leg operations.
Prior to my accident, my dad had bought me a rusty old bike from the Market Place in Cleckheaton for me to learn to ride, for the price of ten shillings. It was a relic from the ‘Second World War’ era and probably lost its brakes and mudguards during the bombing of the Blitz. Still, despite its age, I loved that bike to bits, and I did learn to ride it before my legs became mangled when the wagon ran over me.
When I was at my worse, and knocking at death’s door, my father held my hand and promised that if I lived, he would buy me a brand-new bicycle. He really thought it was a promise he would never have to keep but would be glad to. When I pulled through, he was then informed by the medics that my damaged spine would prevent me from ever walking again.
I need to explain here that though my father was the poorest of men with a wife and seven children to support, he was a proud man who would sooner die before breaking a promise. The fact that I would never be able to ride any new bicycle he bought me was neither here nor there as far he was concerned. He had pledged such a purchase on my behalf, and his word was his bond. Indeed, one of the things he would often tell me was “The only thing a poor man has to give, Billy, is their word, and once given there can never be any cause to break it.” He would also tell me, “The only thing we need to stay honourable is our ‘good name’. You are a ‘Forde’, Billy. Never shame the family name!” With such a philosophy to uphold, there was never any question that my father would find the means to buy me a new bicycle once pledged to do so.
I was the oldest of seven children and my father was a miner whose weekly wage was always less than the average household spends on bare necessities. Consequently, we were always in debt. There was never a week during my first 16 years of life when the food that the family ate this week wasn’t paid for by my father's wages the following week. The household accounts never once balanced, and the dog would have more chance of catching its tail than mum ever had of paying the bills on time.
My father kept his promise and bought me a brand-new Raleigh bicycle with the latest Sturmey Archer three-speed attachment. The bicycle was naturally purchased on the ‘never-never’ and it took my father three years to pay it off. During this period of bicycle repayment, dad forfeited five shillings weekly from his ten shillings weekly spending money. Fortunately, dad never smoked nor drank alcohol, and his only earthly pleasure was a bag of toffees and a bar of dark chocolate which he bought every wage night.
For many months after my hospital discharge, the brand-new bicycle stood in the hallway, and although I could not ride it, it did not stop me polishing it twice daily. It took me two years before I could ride the bicycle properly again, and fully regain the mobility of my legs. I would be almost 14 years old before I was able to properly ride the bicycle dad had struggled to buy me.
Between the age of 14-16 years of age, I would help the family out as much as I could. As the oldest of seven children, not only was it expected of me to contribute more than my younger siblings, but I wanted to give something back to my brothers and sisters for them having had their needs placed second to mine during my previous years of recuperation after my accident. I was a clever young man, and my greatest talent as being the possessor of an excellent singing voice (pop not classical). I had won every talent contest I had ever entered since the age of 9 years, and the breaking of my voice seemed to make it much better.
Before my accident, my ambition was to play football for Ireland as my father had done in his early twenties, but my road accident put paid to that. After my accident, I was more prepared to settle for a singing career that would provide me with fame and fortune like Tommy Steele, who was six years older than me, but not quite as good a singer in my modest opinion.
My answer was to maximise the money I could earn without working down the pit eight hours a day like my mining father. I decided to use the one asset that could earn me enough money during the month of December to provide enough presents to fill the Christmas stockings of my six brothers and sisters so that they could enjoy Christmas mornings like other young boys and girls. From the 1st December until 11:00 pm on December 24th, I would carol sing every night alone between the hours of 7:00 pm and 10:00 pm.
I chose to sing alone because it suited me better. I wanted to earn as much money as I could and singing alone meant I need not share any takings with others. Also, I was a good singer who did not want my harmonious notes wrecked by the musical mutterings of someone who was in it for the laugh. I knew all the Christmas carols and would always sing all the verses before I knocked on the door. I wanted them to hear my voice, like my voice, know that I was a good singer who knew all the words and could sing the correct notes. In short, I wanted to give them their money's worth., which was usually one shilling's reward instead of the customary 'thruppence' most carol singers could expect.
Even at that age, though I did not realise it at the time, I was making good use of psychology lessons which I would not be formally taught until I trained to be a Probation Officer at the age of thirty. I always made sure that I was clean looking but dressed in older clothing befitting a young boy from a poorer household.
I had deliberately decided to sing in the wealthiest area between the estate where I lived and Cleckheaton, known as the Pack Horse and Moorside. This area comprised mostly of large private properties that were occupied by solicitors, doctors, accountants, bank managers, factory owners, and all manner of professional monied people. Indeed, they were the very areas where no boy from my estate would normally choose to carol sing, either due to an inverted form of class prejudice or fear of rejection ‘by one’s betters’.
My Christmas carol strategy worked perfectly, and during the three weeks leading up to Christmas Eve, I would earn as much money in three hours a night, weekly, as my father brought home from his torturous work down the pit in eight-hour shifts. For three years, I was proud to be able to provide my mother with enough money to cover the Christmas cost of presents for my younger siblings (a fact I have never let them forget ever since) at family gatherings.
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There will be many a child this year who will receive far too many presents under the family Christmas tree, but there will be just as many children with empty stomachs in other parts of the world who will receive nothing. For these deprived children and their families, while Christmas would not appear to be a time to celebrate, ironically it is the most relevant time of the year for the poorest in the land. The birth of Jesus is a cause for celebration for people across the world with the emptiest of stomachs, the most painful of life experiences and worse of earthly prosperity, for it is such people who are most likely to be granted eternal life in the next world while the richest among us will find it harder to get into Heaven. Indeed, MATTHEW 19:24: says, “Again I tell you it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”
Many families living on the poverty line in Great Britain, will view this seasonal time, as being the time of year that highlights gross inequalities, injustices, and wide disparities that exist between our richest and poorest citizens in the land.
In modern society, too few children have a true appreciation for the most special presents of all. The most special present of all one can have this Christmas is the presence of a loving God, loving parents, a loving family, good neighbours, and reliable friends. To have one’s own roof to safely sleep beneath, and enough income to heat one’s home and provide adequate clothing and suitable footwear is a material bonus. To have sufficient income to provide food, shelter, and heat is the basic requirement for one’s good health, hope, and happiness, and yet, far better to have none of these basic requirements than never to know the true spiritual message of Christmas, as life without the knowledge of the true significance and purpose of Christmas is the worst of all deprivation.
I will never forget the words of my dear mother after I complained to her once about the family being poor. I was moaning that we never had enough money to provide sufficient food, and even added that most of our clothes either came from jumble sales or were hand-me-downs. In a final uncharitable aside, I also indicated that coming from a poor family, I could never expect to inherit anything substantial when my parents died like some of my better-off friends might. My mother smiled and said, “When me and your dad dies, Billy, we will leave you the greatest inheritance of all; your six brothers and sisters. Make sure that you look after each other.” How right she was!
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Should any of you know a child aged between 4-8 years who likes stories, my most popular story for this age range is about a precocious young girl called ‘Annie’. The story is called, ‘Annie’s Christmas Surprise’. This is one of the stories to be found in my book ‘The Complete Action Annie Omnibus’.
The first publication of this book of twelve seasonal stories spread throughout the year became a reality when the late Catherine Cookson listened to the very first Annie story of mine. It was at a time in Catherine Cookson’s life when her eyesight was failing, and she would dictate all her writing into a tape recorder. She learned from some unknown source about the twelve stories I had written for very young children that Brigit Forsyth (best known for her television roles as Thelma Ferris in the BBC comedy ‘Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads’) had recorded for radio transmission to schools. Catherine Cookson asked me to send her the recordings to listen to as she was extremely interested in anyone promoting the interests of girls in male-dominated society. The upshot was that she was taken so much with my ‘Action Annie’ stories that as a combined Christmas and wedding anniversary present between herself and her husband Tom, the couple fully funded the very first limited publication of the ‘Complete Action Annie Omnibus’, and all money from book sales was given to child charities.
The story which enthralled Catherine most within the twelve-story omnibus was inspired by a question that puzzled the curious Annie. It is the very question that millions of children have often puzzled about as well as Annie. “Why does Father Christmas give his biggest and best presents to the children with rich parents, and his smallest and cheapest presents to the children with poor parents?” When Annie asks her mother this question, her mum replies, “He doesn’t, Annie!” The answer provided by Annie’s mother represents the theme of “Annie’s Christmas Surprise”
The then ‘Chief Inspector of Schools for Ofsted’ (the late Chris Woodward), read ‘Annie’s Christmas Surprise’ to a school assembly of children in Littletown, West Yorkshire. Later, in a press interview he gave to ‘The Guardian’ newspaper, Chris Woodhead kindly described my book as being of ‘high-quality literature’. He also told the school assembly he read the story to that “Had I the power, I would make the ’Action Annie’ stories obligatory reading/listening to for all girls aged 4-9 years of age.”
‘The Complete Action Annie Omnibus’ is one of my most popular books with the young children who have not yet learned to read and are read to, as well as young readers under the age of 9 years of age. ‘The Complete Action Annie Omnibus’ book can be purchased in either hardback or e-book format. Any of the twelve stories can also be purchased individually in e-book format from Amazon/Kindle for just over £1.
IT IS ALSO POSSIBLE TO ACCESS ‘Annie’s Christmas Surprise’ FREE OF CHARGE in e-book format by accessing:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/115301
I have done this as an introduction to the character of ‘Annie’ and the other eleven seasonal stories about her. These books were written to educate as well as entertain, and all profit from their sales go to charitable causes in perpetuity (over £200,000 given to charity between 1990 and 2003). Anyone wishing to buy all twelve ‘Action Annie’ stories in hard copy can purchase ‘Action Annie: The Complete Omnibus’ from Amazon for the price of £9.99.
Have a nice Christmas everybody. Love and peace Bill and Sheila xxx