Friday, 29 November 2013

Okay! You win.

By Stanley Collymore

Give over; and do give it a break will you? Look!
I’ve heard all this baloney before that you’re
giving me from guys like you who swear
as you do that they’re principally interested
in my mind and not my body. Well, go
tell it to the birds! Hey, wait a minute;
what on earth am I saying? For
you’ve evidently and rather
successfully it seems, done that
already and it’s why you’re
now trying it on with me.
Spreading your quite
practised wings
ever further so
to speak!

Nice try; but you’ve got your work cut out for you
mate, as I’m no easy pushover. Mind you, I’m
very susceptible, I must confess, to lapses
of resilience when confronted with
cogent and compelling arguments of persuasion.
It’s a terrible weakness of mine I know; one
that I personally and readily admit to but
rarely confide to anyone else unless
encouragingly placed in the quite
intriguing but none the less
highly compromising
situation of the kind
you’ve clearly
put me in.

And now that you know this I suppose you’re
going to take full advantage of what I’ve
told you; and were you to do so who
could really blame you? I know
that I won’t, as by confiding in you in
this way I would have subliminally
asked for and hopefully as well
quite consciously set myself
up for getting everything
that I’m hopefully, as
I’m sure you well
know, naturally
asking for!

© Stanley V. Collymore
28 November 2013.

Practically every one of us likes to think that for most of the time we’re fully in charge of our individual sexuality. It’s a myth, of course, as unforeseen and even premeditated encounters coupled with the circumstances triggered and generated by them are irresistibly strong determinant factors relative to how we ultimately behave sexually.

But who the hell cares or has any lasting regrets, for that matter, about these outcomes if they succeed not only in unleashing but also spellbindingly manage to liberate and fully sate in the process the surging sexuality, however embarrassing that might be for some of you, that each of us periodically experiences and invariably succumb to; yet for all that still try to pretend, and unconvincingly so, it must be said, that you seriously want to suppress such inclinations from ever surfacing.

Wednesday, 27 November 2013

Unwed, Pregnant and Abandoned!

By Stanley Collymore

Alright, so I’m pregnant! And while I freely admit that
my condition is no more your fault than it is my
own the stark reality all the same is that we’re both
personally responsible for what has happened and there’s
no getting away from that. And rather than you turn
your back on me as you’ve clearly done leaving
me to face this problem, which is of both
our doing, all on my own while
signalling that it’s all my fault, the least you
could have done was to talk the matter
over with me and help us both to
reach a satisfactory compromise of
how best to proceed from where
we currently are, doing so
not just for both our
sakes but that of
our unborn
baby as

Look! I’m not asking you to marry me or anything
like that, as the last thing I want to do is tie you
down in any way, since I know all too well
that you’re neither ready for nor willing,
come to that, to take on the responsibility
of matrimony, bearing in mind that
ours wasn’t what one would call
a serious relationship; but
notwithstanding that
I’m pregnant and
you are my

Having an abortion is for me out of the question as I
couldn’t live with myself if I went through with
it, and that’s a decision that has nothing to
do with moral scruples as I’m not
particularly religious; it’s simply that killing my
own flesh and blood revolts me! So one way
or another I will have and keep this child.
And while it’s a given that you and I
will henceforth live separate and
independent lives from each
other there’s nevertheless one
discernible and inescapable fact
that you can’t run away or
hide from, regardless
of how much you
might try to.

And it’s this: that you’re a dad now; and whether or
not you choose to play a meaningful role or no
part at all in our child’s life, and that’s a
decision which you must conscionably or
otherwise make on your own, our two lives have
irrevocably been changed and can never again
be the same. For we’re parents now with
very serious responsibilities not just to
ourselves but also and quite significantly too
to a child who though we both recklessly
created it, all the same deserves the
best we can jointly offer it as it
didn’t ask to be here. And
that outcome, heedless and
immature as it was, is
entirely our doing;
let’s not forget!

© Stanley V. Collymore
27 November 2013.

A recently published report that surfaced in November 2013 states that the British per se and their womenfolk in particular are now less uptight sexually than at any time previously in their past history. That’s news to me, since from personal experience I know differently; and don’t ask me to provide proof of that, even though I can, as it’s none of your bloody business!

For in reality those whom this report is commending for their purported sexual liberation are actually seasoned sexual practitioners who’ve now opted after generations of deception and pretence, and of which they’ve been crucially a part, to come out of the closet of what was invariably clandestine and unbridled lascivious existences.

A step in the right direction this belated openness of theirs no doubt and something to be fulsomely applauded I’m sure. But while some and perhaps even a majority of you are overly concentrating on this one aspect of contemporary British sexuality let’s not forget in your over-enthusiasm and backslapping the other more sobering and not insignificant one of multiple unplanned pregnancies with their attendant contribution to the increasing social dysfunctionality now prevalent within British society.

Monday, 25 November 2013

Death doesn’t faze me and I have no fear of it!

By Stanley Collymore

Ten years old, and on the eve of the beginning of my
secondary education at the 17th Century established
and prestigious grammar school I was about to
attend my maternal grandmother who I’ve
always had an exceptionally close and
very constructive relationship with
and affectionately referred to as
Mama, sat me down, positively
non-intrusively but highly
commendably and quite
informatively had one
of her welcomingly
inspiring heart
to heart talks
with me.

She began by commending me on my personal and
academic successes to date then progressed to
advising me to always be true to myself
and what I genuinely believed in;
never to depart from either of these things under
any circumstance, no matter how persuasively
tempting such an offer might appear to be;
and not to voice opinions without first
properly thinking them out or the
likely consequences of their
direct impact on others.

When I saw trouble she warned me I should always
give it a wide berth and determinedly walk away
from it, and should such trouble continue to
stalk me I must with all the resolve at
my command she insisted continue to
walk away from it and never, not
even momentarily, consider
let alone actually engage
myself in anyway by
entertaining it.

However, she went on, if those who’re wilfully
involved in troublesomely creating problems
for me which indisputably are inimical to
my general and personal wellbeing or
even my life notwithstanding all I’ve previously
done to avoid them, and what’s more fully
cognisant of those sensible overtures
on my part still persist in their
unwarranted detestation of me that irreversibly
backs me into a corner from which there is no
other escape, then I should unflinchingly
put their lights out and having done
so unapologetically have no
regrets concerning my
actions in that

Her compelling and lucid raison d’être being that
my intractable enemies would as a result be
irretrievably and better off dead, a fate
which they’d asininely and bigotedly
brought upon themselves and
consequently undeserving in those
circumstances of any remorse
from me; and even if my
justifiable actions were to result in my
spending the rest of my life in jail
or even the forfeiture of it on
death row I would still have
the personal satisfaction
of knowing that those
who were involved
were no longer capable
of breathing God’s
wholesome air.

It’s a philosophy I grew up with, have
lived with all my life and cheerfully
inserted into it; but vitally too
one without exaggeration
or disingenuousness on
my part that I have
no qualms or any
at all about

© Stanley V. Collymore
25 November 2013.

I’ve assiduously endeavoured throughout my life to live up to and implement the worthy ideals that from childhood were constructively implanted in my life and would humbly say that I’ve been highly successful in that regard. But I’m also fully cognisant of the darker and more destructive side of human nature which I’ve always essayed and done my utmost best to avoid. Notwithstanding that would I kill if I have to bearing in mind I’ve scrupulously walked away and continuously so from the pernicious dangers gratuitously inflicted by others and which assail me? The answer unhesitatingly to that question is an unequivocal “yes!”

Wednesday, 20 November 2013

Pubertal Disquiet

By Stanley Collymore

I’d no idea at all, nor did anyone or anything either
remotely or illuminatingly, for that matter, seek to
acquaint, counsel much less informatively prepare
me for the unwittingly, in my case, looming
expectation that the seemingly sudden for me,
invasive and completely transformative
realization of the onset of puberty in my life
would be such a complex situation persistently
interposed with a serial avalanche of the most
intensive and highly unpredictable array
of physical and emotional sensations
whose only remit it seemed to me
was to keep me uncontrollably
but all the same profoundly in
a bewilderingly perpetual
state of sexual turmoil.

In tandem with which diverse and powerfully injected
erotic transfusions of unbridled and sustained lust whose
unadulterated and compellingly effective cravings,
involuntarily for the most part though not always
exclusively so, robustly unleash within my
young and compensatory nubile body a plethora
of pleasurable delights liberally laced with lascivious
wantonness that although unskilled as I evidently
am in such matters my untutored shrewdness
coupled with the protracted yearnings now
forcibly released in me inescapably none
the less convincingly persuade me
that I must pressingly and
earnestly address.

At 15 years old, an age which from a societal perspective
as well as a legally entrenched position accumulatively
and unequivocally set out then proceed to universally
with the commonality deemed characteristic of
those of my age discriminatorily label us all
the same, whereupon they then firmly and quite
arbitrarily place the likes of me in the purview of
that unchallengeably prescribed role predeterminedly
decided for me without any consultation on my
part; doing so ostensibly for my own good
and protection it’s claimed, notwithstanding what’s
patently obvious for those with eyes to see, that
for all their stated concern, genuinely expressed
or pretentiously contrived and arrived at, I’m
nevertheless and undeniably so physically
a woman, though legally categorized
as a child, with all the intrinsic
desires and foibles of my
respective gender.

And what I need therefore, and compassionately so,
is a broad understanding of, together with a full
explanation and relevant answers not only to
what’s going on in my head but crucially
also inside my body, and why? Why, for example,
the hot flushes that regularly engulf me; the wet
dreams I’m too embarrassed to talk about even if
anyone would let me; or the sleepless nights
routinely interposed with carnal yearnings
that agonizingly rock my acquiescently tense body with
their exquisitely pleasurable overtures willing me to
welcomingly entertain and avidly seek the release
which I know will eventually come either of
its own contributive accord: the resultant
effect of the churning contents of my
Poseidonian Dam having convulsively
overspilled their relentlessly buffeted
enclosure, or through the clandestine
exertions of willing and collaborative
fingers energetically conjoined in
empathetic solidarity with each
other under the safe nocturnal
privacy of my immodestly
disarranged duvet.

So stop patronizing me, will you? And desist too
because of my age from arrogantly assuming
that I’m nothing more than a gullible or
naïve child who must therefore be
oppressively cloistered for her own good from the
realities of life; or worst still the make-believe
but in your vivid imaginations where such
thoughts perennially live and have full
sway, omnipresecent dangers that
you luridly and ill-advisedly conjure up and
incredibly hoodwink yourselves into
thinking lurk around every corner
and in every sphere of my
unsupervised and young life with the explicit
purpose, it’s duplicitously pointed out, of
at best dishonouring me and at its
very worst occasioning me
grave harm, or even
the forfeiture of
my own life.

It’s all a deliberate lie, isn’t it? This supposedly united front
of yours that the lot of you deceitfully display as you
awkwardly contrive, but for all your scheming
failing miserably in that regard, to assure
me that it’s otherwise than what it really is; yet never
admitting in the process of doing so that much
of this public concern you self-righteously
exhibit has more to do with you than me.
Exemplified in your marked unwillingness coupled in
many cases with a manifest inability on your part
to honestly diagnose and grapple successfully
with your own sexuality let alone have the
capability to accept the fact and deal
realistically with its attendant recognition that
for all your dissemblance towards me I’m
no longer nor do I want to be that child
who you absurdly like to pretend,
for all the many outrageous
reasons you consistently
advocate, that I
still am.

For God’s sake grown-ups get a grip on yourselves and
stop this cursed preaching at and puritan proselytizing
towards girls like me who’re in dire need of your
help and genuine understanding; not your
attritional condemnation. And while
you’re at it lawmakers try cleaning up your
disreputable act that allows the unbridled
commercialism of sex in all its
manifestations yet disapproves of
and even criminally penalizes
lactating mothers from
breast feeding their
hungry babies
in public!

And don’t give me all that stiff upper lip we’re British
and no sex please stuff, for it doesn’t wash with me;
reality I know is much different for I live in the
real world which I also know you’re quite
familiar with, for you created it! Not a
particularly pleasant one you must admit: adulterous
vocational liaisons abroad yet coming home
afterwards as if butter wouldn’t melt in
your mouths. The cuckolding
rigmarole and much more at home where 36%
of us at least don’t even know for sure who
our biological fathers are. All adding
up to the classic hypocritical case
conveyed to us pubescent kids
by you adults of do as we
say but not as we do!

Yet you’ve the gall notwithstanding all that to censure,
belittle and even conceitedly restrict any attempt on
our part at an honest dialogue, which is all we
want with you about our sexuality and how
to sensibly manage it not only in our best
and long-term interests specifically
but also for the overall good of our society
in general, something that our mainland
European counterparts don’t have a
problem with in respect of their
parents or elders; and most
certainly not their

For all the concerned parties there both recognize and
readily accept that sexual maturity, as distinct from
an eagerness for or the demonstrable ability
of itself to have sexual intercourse, is
categorically indivisible from
mental maturity, and that these two sets of apposite
components, separate and distinct in every way
from each other, of what is undeniably the
most privately engaged in of human
interactions shouldn’t ever, they
genuinely believe, either be mistaken for
or confused with each other, as most
British people conveniently and
quite intentionally hiding
behind their mask of
moral rectitude
are prone
to do!

© Stanley V. Collymore
19 November 2013.

Several years ago when I was a comparatively newly qualified teacher and employed at a secondary institution whose name and location I shan’t mention in order to protect the personal identities of those involved even though before writing this poem I sought and readily obtained the unreserved permission of the principal characters concerned, I was allocated as part of the complement of classes that I would instruct a fourth year form which I was warned in advanced contained one of the most, shall we say, challenging pupils in her year if not the entire school.

Every one of my teacher colleagues who’d previously taught this girl, whether it was in my subject or some other, had openly voiced their satisfaction at no longer having to do so and said they didn’t envy me having to take her on. However, not one to take up without sound justification someone else’s fire rage or jump to conclusions only on the basis of other peoples’ say so, something inbred in me from childhood and which I still resolutely and passionately adhere to, I decided to formulate my own opinions of this girl based on incontrovertible facts and how I found her as an individual and not as some stereotype.

Fifteen years old at the time this girl I discovered was indeed a personal challenge but rather than falling back on what I was told about her and judge her accordingly I decided to do what I always undertake in problematical cases of any kind I’m confronted with; I opted to do some intensive investigation of my own.

In the course of this it transpired that the young lady in question had involuntarily become the product of a broken home, with her parents having divorced, dad, to whom the girl was deeply devoted and had a mutually cherished bond with, moving out of the familial home, and as so customary in Britain mom given custody of the child or children involved along with the indeterminate residence, ownership or possession of the said familial home and with an ousted father legally obligated to pick up all the financial tabs, which could include apart from spousal and child maintenance any ongoing or outstanding mortgage payments to guarantee, it’s legally explained even if disingenuously so, to keep a roof over his child or children’s head; regardless of the extent of the contributory role that the ex-wife played in the breakup of her marriage.

And it was evident from information I was made privy to from sources who knew what had gone on that the ex-wife and mother of this girl was very much the guilty party even though our divorce laws had drastically changed to introduce the factor of the irretrievable breakdown of a marriage to speed up divorces and attempt to do away with the stigma of marital adultery.

Even so this girl, no fool, knew well enough what had gone on and readily empathized with the dad she loved and who she felt had been hard done by. A deeply nagging situation that became acerbically bitter as regards her mother when the latter moved her lover into the familial home and announced to her daughter not only that she was going to marry this man but also wanted her daughter to call him dad, and with the distinct likelihood of the girl being made to assume this man’s surname as well.

Bitterly opposed to these planned but totally unwanted changes in her life the girl confided her fears and anger to her biological father whom she still did her utmost best to see as regularly as she could; pleading with him to take her away from the home she’d always known since birth to live with him. But in the ensuing court case initiated by her father the judge while blocking the adoption and name change envisaged by the girl’s mom and her new husband nevertheless refused the girl’s biological father the custody of her that he’d requested. However at the girl’s insistence the judge did increase and also formalized the amount of time that this determined young lady could spend with her father.

Replete with all this information and fully cognisant of how trying and even traumatic all this was for this girl I now earnestly looked for viable and constructive ways in which I could assist her without appearing to be a nosey parker or otherwise intentionally or inadvertently appear as if I were stepping on anyone’s toes. And fortunately as I was wracking my brains on how best to achieve this specific pursuit a God-given opportunity I’m absolutely convinced of this, even after all the intervening years that have elapsed since the, presented itself.

I’d given the class that this girl was in a creative English assignment in which the respective members could choose whatever subject matter they liked and expressively give full vent to their imaginations as it were. The response as I expected was tremendous as they all knew the criteria which I was looking for and accordingly they didn’t disappoint. The subject matter this girl selected and chose to write about was horses; and no word of exaggeration it was a brilliant piece of writing both in its eloquent and material content that estimably transported the reader in utter fascination of what the writer was depicting and saying.

Having marked and complimented the entire class on its excellent work, as a firm believer of democracy in the classroom and a staunch opponent of any dictatorial tendencies regrettably still favoured by far too many teachers in the UK even in 2013, I then allotted to the full class the responsibility of selecting in their collective opinion the three best creative pieces that they wanted me to read out to the entire class prior to my opening up for them the much anticipated task that they always eagerly looked forward to in such classes exercises of them carrying out critical appraisals of their peers’ works.

And I must admit it came as no surprise to me that this young lady’s creative offering came top of that list determined by her peers. When the lesson finished I asked the three winners to stay briefly behind so as to personally thank them for their contributions to a brilliant lesson. It also afforded me the chance to touch on and discover more of this young lady’s love for horses.

Having garnered the information I needed from her in that regard I was now able to embark on the next phase of a carefully worked out plan I had in mind. I grew up in the country and have a tremendous love for and great affinity with rural life in general and the countryside especially and unsurprisingly I have many friends and relatives who are in the same position as me. And it so happened that a longstanding friend whose husband and family are likewise close friends of mine between them owned a farm and also ran an established horsing stables.

This female friend was quite enthralled with the plan I put forward to her and promised that she would do everything she could to help. That out of the way all that was now left for me to do was to find a way to sell the idea to my 15 year old pupil which when told about it she eagerly bought into even after I’d cautioned her that the matter would have to be cleared and approved of both by her mom and dad who I needed to see and fully discuss the matter with. Once again things went swimmingly and with that likely hurdle successfully negotiated and completely out of the way we all went to see my friend and owner of the stables. That meeting was similarly a huge success.

Pragmatic Christians like me who grew up in the church, so to speak, and therefore attach great importance to their religious faith do know that faith can and certainly does move mountains, and moreover that miracles aren’t beyond the remit of God or the attainment of those who seek his help to have them realized. So it’s a massive understatement to describe the transformation that took place relative to this young lady as anything less than miraculous.

Never for once in any doubt myself about her academic ability it was the personality evolution that she underwent that was truly incredible and a joy to behold. At her home the relationship between her mother and herself dramatically improved and she even confessed to me that she no longer regarded her stepfather as the ogre she’d always seen him as and laughingly admitted that she’d even grown to like him.

In marked contrast the bond between her and her father had remained unshakable but it was to my stable owner friend whom she paid the greatest compliment of them all for unassumingly, freely and quite willingly taking her under her wings so to speak, altruistically shouldering, of her own accord, the weighty responsibility of surrogate mother to her as she tenderly, carefully and informatively, a process combined with an abundance of patience and love, enabled her to face up to, effectively deal with and eventually permanently eradicate her several and willingly acknowledged personal demons, including those of puberty. For my part I had long discern that the latter was also a significant contributory factor to this girl’s overall truculent behaviour and having candidly discussed this with my friend who concurred with me and was deeply relieved and proud that she had chosen to deal with it in the successful and engaging way she had.

At school everyone who’d taught this girl or knew her in any capacity remarked approvingly on the striking transformation she’d undergone and speculatively advanced their own theories on what had actually brought this about, with some of my teacher colleagues teasingly dubbing me the miracle worker and humorously vowing if I didn’t let on to dump their difficult charges on me as well. But those genuinely in the know not least the girl herself doggedly kept mum on the matter, and that’s how it stayed until now.

With the heavy weight of the world comprehensively lifted from her young shoulders academic success at school was naturally assured followed by a much deserved place at one of our most prestigious universities; outstanding scholastic achievements in wake of that, and the inevitable embarkation on the career that she’d always wanted to pursue.

Like many of my past pupils and former tertiary education students this young lady too often keeps in touch updating me as the others do with what’s going on in their lives and reciprocally apprised by me of what I’m doing. Eighteen months ago she contacted me and enthusiastically broke the news that the young man she’d met the previous year, had fallen madly in love with as he had with her and who I already knew of, had popped the question and asked her to marry him, revealing that she’d delightedly accepted his marriage proposal and wanted to know if I’d like to attend their wedding.

I replied that other than death nothing would keep me away, and it goes without saying that I was there as was my stables owner friend who was still quite affectionately referred to as her surrogate mum, my friend’s husband and their family, as well as many others from the past that we all knew and were absolutely delighted to see again and together after such a long time. But among the several memorable moments of that truly amazing occasion I was fortunate to be a part of one in particular comprehensively summed up the entire essence of that remarkable day.

Seated expectantly in our pews the congregation waited excitedly for the bride to arrive and we all knew she had when the stirring strains of the wedding march reverberated from the massive church organ throughout the entire edifice of that religious and historic building. In instinctive unison everyone in that packed cathedral rose immediately from their seated positions and not unnaturally necks strained intuitively in the direction of the porch from which the bride and her father began their majestically advance up the carpeted aisle that conspicuously separated the two halves of this impressive cathedral.

Along with my friend and her family we’d been allocated seats in the front pew located on the side of the church reserved for family members and close friends of the bride, and as the bride and her father drew alongside us I espied this stunningly beautiful young woman immaculately dressed in shimmering white the long train of her wedding dress meticulously held in place by her bridesmaids tilt her head almost imperceptibly in our direction, the lustre of assuredness in her sparkling eyes, the warmth of her smile radiating not only inner peace and satisfaction but also a huge thank you to those of us who in our own inimitable ways had contributed to the full realization of this glorious outcome.

None more so perhaps than her own father who despite his own imposed trials and tribulations had never given up on his daughter and was always there for her. And as he proudly escorted her to the side of the man who was about to become her husband I could feel the emotion that this occurrence had triggered begin to well up in me.

British men from infancy are conditioned that they shouldn’t publicly or even in private show their true emotions much less cry, since per the British psyche it’s not considered as macho or even masculine to do so and very much goes against the grain old boy of stalwartly preserving at all costs the purportedly British stiff upper lip. Appreciatively my cultural duopoly which is a combination of British and other negates all that in a deep and rich way and therefore I had no difficulty, or would I ever have had, in taking my handkerchief and dabbing unreservedly at the tears that had silently started to trickle down my cheeks.

A beautiful wedding finalized and a good time had by all the newlyweds said their farewells and to a clamorous send-off from the rest of us set off on an extended honeymoon to Barbados. A complimentary gesture I was informed because of my close links to that Caribbean island. An excellent choice I jovially remarked when I was initially told, as I also happen to believe as they too delightfully and most enjoyably found out in diversity of ways it’s the most beautiful country in the world.

Finally, it should be sagaciously and realistically acknowledged from the outcome of this story that puberty is none of these things: an incurable infection, mental problem or an embarrassing addiction to be talked about, if at all, in hushed tones and only then behind doors; but rather it’s an inevitable part of the process of growing up, and how it’s dealt with invariably determines the level of physical and mental maturity or otherwise, let’s face facts, that one eventually and not unusually in the majority of instances permanently acquires.

And both thankfully and remarkably to her credit my former pupil is an exemplary case of how in this regard and with the proper degree of help lovingly and understandingly applied coupled with a deep and mutual respect for all involved success will immutably triumph over adversity whether naturally occasioned or conspiratorially manufactured.

Monday, 11 November 2013

Even among Ladies who’re unique you Carolyn are discernibly unsurpassable!

By Stanley Collymore

So many years have flown by since that very first and
highly auspicious meeting between the two of
us, yet for all that each of them has been
profoundly and perpetually enriched
by the respective, enduring and
commensurately undemanding friendship
and love we’ve always freely and
spontaneously demonstrated
towards one another
together with an assured and reciprocal
respect for each other; themselves
juxtaposed with the most
powerful and imperishable memories conceivable
to either of us of our very special relationship,
which predictably has only got stronger,
complimentarily beneficial and
significantly indispensable
with each passing year.

And with your upcoming birthday, Carolyn on
the 28th November 2013 it is, I feel, a most
appropriate time not only to honestly
and unpretentiously thank you for
everything that has gloriously transpired
between us throughout the past years
that we’ve known each other but
also a characteristically fitting
opportunity as well to wish you in every regard,
on this emblematically unique of days in
your quite amazing and comfortingly
beneficial life, a distinctively
wonderful and unforgettable birthday, with many
more equally memorable ones to be suitably
enjoyed in the future. Happy Birthday to
you Love, and to someone who in
every sense of the word is
the consummate Lady!

© Stanley V. Collymore
10 November 2013.

Personal Footnote:
There are some relationships formed in life that one intuitively knows that neither time nor circumstances will ever change them or nullify their constructive impact on the recipients involved, who furthermore will be the better off as human beings from having embarked on them; this is one of them!

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Biologically related, familially strangers!

By Stanley Collymore

You are the grandchildren whose presence I’m very much
aware of but who notwithstanding that you’re also the
grandchildren I’ve never seen or embraced; have
never communicated with or been given the
opportunity to welcome into this world
we currently share with each other

My biological offspring, most certainly, but that is all it
would appear to be as things presently stand. A very
awkward state of affairs to fin one’s self in I must
admit, and all because there have been no
overtures on the part of your parent, who ironically is
my own natural child that I love immensely and
forever will, to bury the hatchet respective
to our distant familial falling out and
as such prevents you from either
seeing or having anything
at all to do with me.

Of course I shall respect tough not condone this insufferable
action that has been foisted upon you and to which I’m
being subjected myself, as I have no wish to embroil
you in a matter that isn’t of your making; which
occurred long before your own parents even
knew about each other’s existence or you were yourselves
conceived and ultimately came into this world as fully
fledged members of the human race, but at the same
time as an inactive and involuntarily proscribed
part of mine and your own ancestral lineage.

But what you’re presented with as you look into
the mirror of life and unwittingly see only a
white Caucasian staring back at you is, I
must point out, analogous to the
viewing of well sculptured and impressively laid
out sand dunes strewn across an otherwise bleak
and desolate desert scene whose bewitchingly
captivating landscape can nevertheless so
easily conjure up, if one is not fully
cognisant of the inherent dangers
that lay within, the deceptive
imagery of something that
is entirely different from
what it purports to be.

Nevertheless, even the most treacherous of deserts
are known to facilitate an oasis or two, and it’s
to be hoped that in time with a much better
awareness and more accurate appreciation of who
you actually are that the Oasis of your African
and Afro-Caribbean lineage will no longer
be deliberately disguised as something
either to be ashamed of or summarily
dismissed as an irrelevance to be
completely but instead are most
welcomingly seen and fully
embraced as requisite
attributes of your
personal and

Assets, not hindrances, to be proudly and conscionably
put on display and, significantly, acting as a reliable
bulwark to stop you from needlessly and forlornly
floundering in a contrived desert of folly and
or insentient ignorance of who precisely
you are. And just to let you know I
shall be that welcoming Oasis
securely located in your Desert
of indiscernment and always
there for you whenever
you decide that
you need

© Stanley V. Collymore
5 November 2013.


Several years ago while living in the English Midlands and working there as a teacher I came across an article in the local media which essentially was advertising for grandparents to families that didn’t have any.

Having personally from the day I was born had and thoroughly enjoyed a superb relationship with both sets of my own grandparents who individually, jointly and continuously, even well into my adulthood, played an instrumental, pivotal and absolutely constructive role in my life, I instinctively thought how sad that the children being inferred to in that media plea weren’t as fortunate as me.

Initially I assumed the request was made because the biological grandparents had either passed away or there were some intrinsic and sound reasons why those who were alive weren’t being encouraged or allowed to be involved in their grandchildren’s lives. So the journalistic side of me matched by my own curiosity decided to investigate the matter.

What I discovered when I did really shocked me I must admit. Not least the astonishing revelations that most of the biological grandparents were alive alright and desperately wanted to see their grandchildren, those who knew for certain that they had any such offspring that is, but the most ridiculous and even iniquitous of circumstances I also found out had cruelly conspired against them doing so.

Laziness on the part of the children’s biological parents who’d migrated from different parts of the UK, met in the Midlands, had fashioned lifestyles for themselves there, didn’t bother for a diversity of reasons to keep in touch with Mom, Dad or both of them, or even other close family members come to that, had in the interim period produced children of their own and so the cycle continued unabated. However belatedly realizing how much, and crucially so, their own children were missing out in familial terms by not having grandparents in their lives, sometimes too late as their own parents had died or because acute embarrassment had precluded them from sensibly seeking to bridge the chasmal gap of separation created over the years with those still very much alive but all the same were now desperately attempting for the sake of these grandparent-devoid children to make amends, even if that meant resorting to acquiring manufactured ones.

That was one contributory factor; but there were others, some of them particularly nefarious and even outright pernicious. Parents and now de facto grandparents who’d worked their socks off to give their children the very best start in life that they could realistically afford and in their desire and even obsession to achieve this selflessly neglecting their own personal and material interests in the process for the overall good of their children, had after all that sacrifice found themselves hurtfully forced to stand back and watch these children of theirs with university degrees and their materialistically acquired Middle Class status and ambitions wilfully and inexcusably shut out of their lives.

This having been done because of their parents working class or perceived socially inferior status when set beside that of their newfound and so-called upwardly mobile friends, work colleagues, even acquaintances and the like who they very much want to impress and feel that having their parents around, that’s provided of course they ever mentioned them or the true social background of these parents in the first place, which more often than not they don’t and in the rare cases that they did hugely and lyingly elaborated on, would be a social embarrassment, humiliation or even worst still a major impediment to the consolidation of themselves within the social milieu which they’ve adopted for themselves as well as scuppering prospect, they believe, to their chances of making it further up the social ladder of their self-centred dreams.

Ring a bell with any of you?

However more reprehensible than that, as if that isn’t sickening enough on its own, is the squalid practice of such children premeditatedly choosing sexual or spousal partners of a different race to themselves with the explicit purpose through having children with these people of visibly though superficially so in my opinion of breeding out the genetic composition of what makes them who and what they are; and because these individuals are either too brainwashed or else permanently brain-dead to really think for themselves and resoundingly reject the bigoted and idiotic narrative prescribed by these racist and moronic supremacists, they predictably fall for their garbage hook line and sinker every time. Therefore if you’re someone who is so likeminded and have even one parent and a potential grandparent who doesn’t fit that particular colour scheme, why would you want that parent around?

Over the years there has been a dramatic shift in Britain from the extended family environment to what’s undeniably now a process of ingrained and even endemic dysfunctionalism that affects the entire fabric of British life right up to the very top of our hierarchical societal tree and rather inescapably it would seem even in the 21st Century that we’re in, at least it was so the last time I checked, our deeply embedded class structure too. And when as reported on Sky on Wednesday 6 November 2013 that for a multiplicity of lame, incompetent, utterly ridiculous and thoroughly obtuse reasons hugely significant numbers of UK parents don’t know how to or claim they don’t have the time to play with their own children, no lack of enthusiasm evidenced of them breeding though and quite often so to the financial impediment of genuinely responsible and conscientious individuals who also inhabit these shores, one surely must ask what next?

We were none of us brought into this world we’re currently in complete isolation or through our own doing, however arrogantly or idiotically one might choose to think so; and we should never lose track of that!

Friday, 1 November 2013

Lisa Martin, whistleblower and femme extraordinaire!

By Stanley Collymore

You are the conscience of the nation; someone
instinctively imbued with a committed sense
of duty not only to the well-being of your
fellow citizens but also to the intrinsic
principles which undeniably characterize
and shape the fundamental structures
of what genuinely constitutes and
successfully sustains a truly
vibrant and civilized

In other words what’s evidently and unquestionably
right and must therefore be wholeheartedly
encouraged, enthusiastically fostered,
vigorously reinforced and fully embraced for the
overall benefit of us all and the good of ourselves,
to be pitted unrelentingly and unashamedly at
all times against acts of wrongdoing and the
wrongdoers themselves that perpetrate
these perverse and societal ills with
their intractable tendencies to
seriously undermine the essential cohesion and, if
allowed to, even blight the very fabric of our
respective societies and communities,
and who should be on our constant
watch list to confront and
expose for what they
actually are.

And you Lisa Martin have admirably demonstrated the
authentic characteristics and moral fibre of what being
a genuinely concerned, self-effacingly courageous,
altruistic, unmistakably conscionable and
thankfully for everyone of us who
fully recognize, respect and share your laudable goals
in life, the unquestionably remarkable human
being that you are, who must unreservedly
be saluted not only for your worthy
endeavours but equally as well
and crucially too for being
who and what you are, and importantly also not
in anyway being apologetic for any of that.
While for my part I unhesitatingly take
this opportunity tell you so, to thank
you, and unequivocally and also
unreservedly commend you
for what you bravely but
likewise honestly did!

© Stanley V. Collymore
1 November 2013.


Lisa Martin is British. That aside, if you’ve never heard of her before, is the remarkable young woman who blew the whistle on what was systemic and institutionalized abuse in the Orchid View care home, since shut down, where she worked as a former administrator. In that home there were elderly people that were routinely treated far worst than how most Britons treat their own dogs and some of these very vulnerable individuals died.

Not only were the residents of this particular home badly let down by the misnomer named Care and Quality Commission, the official watchdog whose remit it is to ensure such things don’t happen, but as we all now know from other likewise shocking revelations by equally courageous whistleblowers across the country the Orchid View situation wasn’t by any means unique.

In fact there is an ingrained culture throughout these homes, parts of the NHS and also the Social services across the UK where incompetent, uncaring, venal and grotesquely overpaid Jobsworths, given jobs they were wholly unsuited for and should never have been allowed anywhere near them in the first place, have literally and appallingly got away with shirking their proper responsibilities, not admitting to or even having the common decency to even say sorry for their catalogue of offences including criminal negligence, malfeasance, cover-ups and even the blatant overseering of murderous practices themselves, all in the line of duty as they saw it, only to be substantially rewarded with six-figure sums from the public purse in pay-off settlements for their horrendous inadequacies.

In marked contrast, however, conscionable whistleblowers like Lisa Martin knowing that what is going on is demonstrably wrong but that going to their superiors and acquainting them of it will change nothing and who then bring these crimes both from frustration and a sense of duty to the knowledge of the general public, find themselves ostracised, left out in the cold and what is even more shocking become unintentionally unemployed because the powers that be as well as prospective employers refuse to employ.

What a sick Britain when the likes of Sharon Shoesmith, former Head of Children’s Services at Haringey Council whose £133, 000 a year sinecure as she clearly saw it didn’t mean she should have taken responsibility for the horrendous circumstances that precluded and ultimately led to the death of Baby P and justifiably sacked in my opinion by the then Government minister Ed Ball, who candidly said in a TV interview, October 2013, that he would do it all over again if he had to, gets a six figure sum in compensation for being fired from a job, given her arrogance and track record of not facing up to her contractual responsibilities, she should never have been recruit to in the first place. Now laughing all the way to the bank I understand that she is very optimistic of getting another high-powered job that puts her in direct charge of children.

In the meantime Lisa Martin having conscionably done the right thing not only by the elderly people in her care but the country as a whole, having been made redundant from her job after her disclosures is still without employment as no one will have her for spilling the beans on the wrongdoers. What a sick Britain!