I dedicate today’s song to my friend Lewis Howcroft who lives in Guiseley, Leeds, West Yorkshire, and Conor Keane (area of residence not known). Both Lewis and Conor celebrate their birthday today. Enjoy your special day.
My song today is ‘Halfway to Paradise’. This song was released by Billy Fury in the United Kingdom in 1961. The song became known as Fury's theme tune and remains one of his most popular singles.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I was 19 years old, and at the height of my teenage romantic years when this record was released by Billy Fury. Ever since the age of 15 years, I had planned to go live in Canada for a few years and travel around some of the U.S.A. when I was 21 years old. Because of a bad traffic accident, I incurred as a young boy aged 11 years, I had a sizable amount of compensation awarded to me, which would become due at my age of majority (21years). I must stress that I was brought up in an age when it was not unusual for a person to be born, live, and die within a ten-mile radius and that the farthest a working-class boy or girl might travel would be Blackpool; and that would be on a day outing and not the luxury of a week’s holiday. The only way that a working-class man might travel then, was if he joined the Army and was prepared to put his life on the line in order to see places abroad, he would otherwise never see.
The most common aspiration for all young men and women in the late 1950s and early 60s was to get married and to start a family of one’s own before they reached 22 years of age. Thereafter, daily life would become one of work, eat, shit, sleep, work, eat, shit and sleep, with the added variety of visiting one’s in-laws on a Sunday, where afternoon tea would be proudly served in once-a-week best china cups that invited sipping and discouraged slurping, accompanied by triangle-sliced sandwiches of potted meat, each part sandwich a perfect replica of the other five. Even the rationing of six part-sandwiches (two quarter-sandwiches for each guest and one-quarter of a sandwich each for the hosts) was a tradition carried over from the ‘Second World War’.
The Sunday afternoon conversation at the in-law's house was always the same: “When are the two of you going to start a family?” These words would be spoken by one’s in-laws as if to constantly remind young married couples that the only purpose of them sharing the same bed was to bring another hungry mouth into the world to feed. No Sunday afternoon tea was ever had without the traditional mother-in-law sermon and father-in-law nod of obsequious spouse approval.
As I approached the age of 21 years, I was determined not to follow the trend for the time and to get myself married before I had any chance to travel anywhere or see life beyond my back yard. The only fly in my romantic ointment was that I was forever ‘falling in love’, and while I loved the experience of ‘falling in love’, I did not want the responsibility of ‘being in love’. In short, I wanted my cake and eat it! The answer I arrived at was to keep my courtships brief to three or four dates and ending the relationship before either of us had the opportunity to become emotionally involved. I was a young man who was seeking nights of fun and romance with attractive young women, and nowhere was I in the market for any other committed relationship which brought me within a mile of marriage or the delicate eating of potted meat part-sandwiches on a Sunday afternoon!
I was to a cocky and confident young man who was too full of himself ever to be left empty-handed whenever I wanted a good-looking woman on my arm to take to the dance or to sit on the back row of the cinema with. In truth, I would have to admit that I always enjoyed being 'the hunter' and never 'the pursued'. I needed the thrill of the chase, much more than any excitement of the catch. I was usually confident in the outcome whenever I pursued a girl’s favour. After all, when one thinks highly of themselves, they are less likely to let themselves down, and as far as I was concerned, I had everything going for me.
I was good looking, and I could sing, dance, and fight with the best of them. There was absolutely no reason why I would not be considered as being a good catch for any young woman on the lookout for a decent young man to marry. In many ways, they could not lose. I was as presentable a young man who they could always bring home for afternoon tea on a Sunday in the sure knowledge that mum and dad would approve by bringing out the best china.
That was the safe side of me that appealed to prospective in-laws. However, the young women I dated also knew another side of me, a more dangerous side. They could sense aspects of my personality that their mums and dads would have been too streetwise to take at face value as being in their young daughter’s best interests. I was romantic, but I was also risky. I was educated and well-spoken, but I was streetwise to all common goings-on. I was industrious in nature, but too much of a play-boy and pleasure-seeker to settle down to a life of domesticity and daily drudgery, just to occasionally eat and drink from china crockery. I was obviously someone who would go far in life, but like any wild stallion who found themselves footloose and fancy-free, I could not disguise that wandering spirit within me that would resist all attempts to be rounded up and broken before I was ready to take life at a steadier trot instead of a gallop. Always within me lay a streak of unpredictability; a hint about me that excites and invites further investigation, yet both scares and attracts the opposite sex. The young women whom I dated would never know if they’d be sorry they tried to rope me in, or sad they hadn’t.
When it comes to experiencing the satisfaction in one’s relationships, ironically, the thing about success, in whatever quarter it is pursued, the more one gets, the more one expects, and in time, the whole process becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, as the confidence of the actor continues to meet the expectation of the audience. I have always had a part to play in life, and I have never shied away from the many roles handed to me. Indeed, one might say that I have always found a stage somewhere, upon which to strut my stuff.
I was the most fortunate of young men, always to be courting somebody who was both a good dancer and a good looker. I can count on one hand, the Saturday nights when I did not walk a girl home at the end of the night. Walking allowed a young man the opportunity to ‘get to know the girl better’ before I agreed to see her at next week’s dance or take her to the picture show at the cinema during the week. My trouble was that I had too much going for me, as I was as popular with the gang of mates I went around with as I was with the women on and off the dance floor. Until I went to Canada and America at the age of 21 years, I could never decide what I enjoyed the most; a good old brawl between one rival gang and another (a weekly event) or a romantic stroll down a country lane with a beautiful young woman who fancied me as much as I fancied her. Either way, most of my weekends attending the Cleckheaton Town Hall would end up either fighting down a dark alley or courting in one as I escorted my date for the night back home.
I had never been found wanting in the good-looks department, and by the early age of 15 years, even my next two sisters could see the wind of favour blowing my way. By the age of 15 years, I looked ‘cute’, but by the time I had reached 18 years of age, I could easily have been a stand-in for the film star, James Dean, with my wild ways, my suggestive smile, and my manly-looks-in-the-making. Indeed, apart from his money, I had more going for me and I considered myself more talented than James Dean. Whereas his fights on the screen were ‘make-believe’ ones with some poor stand-in taking his punches on the chin while he took his money, smirking all the way to the bank, my fights always involved personal pain, the loss of blood, the fracture or breakage of bones (either mine or my opponents), with the ‘Belt of Pride’ or the ‘Walk of Shame’ as the ultimate presentation of peer approval/disapproval.
Other advantages I had over James Dean was that I was a much better singer, my fighting prowess kept me popular with my peer group, I could bop with the best of them, and I exuded confidence in everything I did. I also spoke perfectly in Queens English and did not drawl or mumble my words in some American slang. However, more important than anything else, I had good fortune and lady luck on my side. We both had horrific vehicle accidents, but there the similarities ended. He was driving his own car too fast when he crashed and killed himself, while I was innocently playing football on the street when a large wagon ran over me and almost left me for dead.
With an abundance of good looks, sufficient dancing skills, singing talent, and being popular with my peer group (male and females), I was always ‘Halfway to Paradise’, besides getting the occasional access to the vaults of feminine heaven.
Love and peace Bill xxx
My song today is ‘Halfway to Paradise’. This song was released by Billy Fury in the United Kingdom in 1961. The song became known as Fury's theme tune and remains one of his most popular singles.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I was 19 years old, and at the height of my teenage romantic years when this record was released by Billy Fury. Ever since the age of 15 years, I had planned to go live in Canada for a few years and travel around some of the U.S.A. when I was 21 years old. Because of a bad traffic accident, I incurred as a young boy aged 11 years, I had a sizable amount of compensation awarded to me, which would become due at my age of majority (21years). I must stress that I was brought up in an age when it was not unusual for a person to be born, live, and die within a ten-mile radius and that the farthest a working-class boy or girl might travel would be Blackpool; and that would be on a day outing and not the luxury of a week’s holiday. The only way that a working-class man might travel then, was if he joined the Army and was prepared to put his life on the line in order to see places abroad, he would otherwise never see.
The most common aspiration for all young men and women in the late 1950s and early 60s was to get married and to start a family of one’s own before they reached 22 years of age. Thereafter, daily life would become one of work, eat, shit, sleep, work, eat, shit and sleep, with the added variety of visiting one’s in-laws on a Sunday, where afternoon tea would be proudly served in once-a-week best china cups that invited sipping and discouraged slurping, accompanied by triangle-sliced sandwiches of potted meat, each part sandwich a perfect replica of the other five. Even the rationing of six part-sandwiches (two quarter-sandwiches for each guest and one-quarter of a sandwich each for the hosts) was a tradition carried over from the ‘Second World War’.
The Sunday afternoon conversation at the in-law's house was always the same: “When are the two of you going to start a family?” These words would be spoken by one’s in-laws as if to constantly remind young married couples that the only purpose of them sharing the same bed was to bring another hungry mouth into the world to feed. No Sunday afternoon tea was ever had without the traditional mother-in-law sermon and father-in-law nod of obsequious spouse approval.
As I approached the age of 21 years, I was determined not to follow the trend for the time and to get myself married before I had any chance to travel anywhere or see life beyond my back yard. The only fly in my romantic ointment was that I was forever ‘falling in love’, and while I loved the experience of ‘falling in love’, I did not want the responsibility of ‘being in love’. In short, I wanted my cake and eat it! The answer I arrived at was to keep my courtships brief to three or four dates and ending the relationship before either of us had the opportunity to become emotionally involved. I was a young man who was seeking nights of fun and romance with attractive young women, and nowhere was I in the market for any other committed relationship which brought me within a mile of marriage or the delicate eating of potted meat part-sandwiches on a Sunday afternoon!
I was to a cocky and confident young man who was too full of himself ever to be left empty-handed whenever I wanted a good-looking woman on my arm to take to the dance or to sit on the back row of the cinema with. In truth, I would have to admit that I always enjoyed being 'the hunter' and never 'the pursued'. I needed the thrill of the chase, much more than any excitement of the catch. I was usually confident in the outcome whenever I pursued a girl’s favour. After all, when one thinks highly of themselves, they are less likely to let themselves down, and as far as I was concerned, I had everything going for me.
I was good looking, and I could sing, dance, and fight with the best of them. There was absolutely no reason why I would not be considered as being a good catch for any young woman on the lookout for a decent young man to marry. In many ways, they could not lose. I was as presentable a young man who they could always bring home for afternoon tea on a Sunday in the sure knowledge that mum and dad would approve by bringing out the best china.
That was the safe side of me that appealed to prospective in-laws. However, the young women I dated also knew another side of me, a more dangerous side. They could sense aspects of my personality that their mums and dads would have been too streetwise to take at face value as being in their young daughter’s best interests. I was romantic, but I was also risky. I was educated and well-spoken, but I was streetwise to all common goings-on. I was industrious in nature, but too much of a play-boy and pleasure-seeker to settle down to a life of domesticity and daily drudgery, just to occasionally eat and drink from china crockery. I was obviously someone who would go far in life, but like any wild stallion who found themselves footloose and fancy-free, I could not disguise that wandering spirit within me that would resist all attempts to be rounded up and broken before I was ready to take life at a steadier trot instead of a gallop. Always within me lay a streak of unpredictability; a hint about me that excites and invites further investigation, yet both scares and attracts the opposite sex. The young women whom I dated would never know if they’d be sorry they tried to rope me in, or sad they hadn’t.
When it comes to experiencing the satisfaction in one’s relationships, ironically, the thing about success, in whatever quarter it is pursued, the more one gets, the more one expects, and in time, the whole process becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, as the confidence of the actor continues to meet the expectation of the audience. I have always had a part to play in life, and I have never shied away from the many roles handed to me. Indeed, one might say that I have always found a stage somewhere, upon which to strut my stuff.
I was the most fortunate of young men, always to be courting somebody who was both a good dancer and a good looker. I can count on one hand, the Saturday nights when I did not walk a girl home at the end of the night. Walking allowed a young man the opportunity to ‘get to know the girl better’ before I agreed to see her at next week’s dance or take her to the picture show at the cinema during the week. My trouble was that I had too much going for me, as I was as popular with the gang of mates I went around with as I was with the women on and off the dance floor. Until I went to Canada and America at the age of 21 years, I could never decide what I enjoyed the most; a good old brawl between one rival gang and another (a weekly event) or a romantic stroll down a country lane with a beautiful young woman who fancied me as much as I fancied her. Either way, most of my weekends attending the Cleckheaton Town Hall would end up either fighting down a dark alley or courting in one as I escorted my date for the night back home.
I had never been found wanting in the good-looks department, and by the early age of 15 years, even my next two sisters could see the wind of favour blowing my way. By the age of 15 years, I looked ‘cute’, but by the time I had reached 18 years of age, I could easily have been a stand-in for the film star, James Dean, with my wild ways, my suggestive smile, and my manly-looks-in-the-making. Indeed, apart from his money, I had more going for me and I considered myself more talented than James Dean. Whereas his fights on the screen were ‘make-believe’ ones with some poor stand-in taking his punches on the chin while he took his money, smirking all the way to the bank, my fights always involved personal pain, the loss of blood, the fracture or breakage of bones (either mine or my opponents), with the ‘Belt of Pride’ or the ‘Walk of Shame’ as the ultimate presentation of peer approval/disapproval.
Other advantages I had over James Dean was that I was a much better singer, my fighting prowess kept me popular with my peer group, I could bop with the best of them, and I exuded confidence in everything I did. I also spoke perfectly in Queens English and did not drawl or mumble my words in some American slang. However, more important than anything else, I had good fortune and lady luck on my side. We both had horrific vehicle accidents, but there the similarities ended. He was driving his own car too fast when he crashed and killed himself, while I was innocently playing football on the street when a large wagon ran over me and almost left me for dead.
With an abundance of good looks, sufficient dancing skills, singing talent, and being popular with my peer group (male and females), I was always ‘Halfway to Paradise’, besides getting the occasional access to the vaults of feminine heaven.
Love and peace Bill xxx
