I realise that Christmas is but a pleasant memory for most of you; for my self it seemed to pass me by this year. Only on Christmas Day did I eat in the dining room, and only a miniscule portion of food at that...
Read a sample from my autobiography “No Love Here”.
"We don't publish fiction" a publisher told Martin Gordon, after reading a synopsis of "No Love Here". It has been said that 'truth is stranger than fiction'. This remarkable book strongly supports that theory.
'The lion sleeps- rest in peace, Cesar.' Words attached to Sir Rod Stewart's wreath for Billy McNeill.
“If Tom Gordon had not fled the family farm in the West of Ireland, his political opponents in the recent civil war would have murdered him. Instead, helped by the local priest, he took the first available boat from the Port of Sligo to Glasgow. Tom Gordon was my father.”
And Thus my story began. I welcome you to my website, a brief introduction of myself, that of my story and who I met on my way.
How the sun danced for joy on Easter Sunday morning, 1946; the sunsets that foretold the outbreak of three wars; the murder of 'The Holy Lady' in London; the day the threshing machines of Ireland stood silent and why Fr Gordon was called 'The football priest'.
Just a few of the pearls of glittering detail to be found in "No Love Here".