A LIFETIME OF PICTURES Thomas Hoskyns Leonard

In preparation for a film documentary on Attention Deficit Disorder produced by Martin Hocevar



                                                                                     

                                     Tom's Ancestor, Serjeant John Hoskins, M.P. and Poet (1566-1638).


                                                                           

                                       
                                      Tom's great-grandfather (left) and great-great-grandmother (right)

Philip Hoskyns Bryant with his sister Florence and his mother Jane Hoskyns Abrahall Bryant (wife of the Squire of Peter Tavy, the Rev. Dr. Francis J. Bryant) outside the rectory of St Peter's Church, Peter Tavy in 1907.  Ref. 1004/9 Plymouth City archives.  Discovered on the Internet by Tom's older daughter in 2004.

                                                                             

Tom's great grandmother Prothesa Roberts 

Tom's grandmother Ethel May Leonard

                                             Tom's grandfather Emmanuel Leonard (on right)



                                                                   

                                                 Tom's parents Rhona and Cecil Leonard
                                                                       

                                                                              Tom

                                                                               

Tom (left), his brother and three cousins

Tom (right) with his brother

                                                                       

Tom (right) with his brother and mother

                                                                           

                                                          Tom in the back row, fifth from left

                                                                 

Tom aged 19

Tom (right) with his brother and sister-in-law

Tom aged 27

Tom aged 38

INSERT  SEVEN FURTHER PICTURES HERE

Tom aged 39

Tom with father

Tom still aged 39

Tom

Tom

Tom

Tom aged 44 with father

Tom, aged 45, first on left

Tom, aged 50 on left

Tom, inaugural lecture, University of Edinburgh, 1996 

Tom on left

70th Birthday Celebrations

71st birthday cake

Early Morning Blues

FILM DOCUMENTARY ON ATTENTION DEFICIT DISORDER---CALL FOR PARTICIPANTS

The producer Martin Hocevar will be shooting a film documentary entitled 'Perceptions of Attention Deficit Disorder' during the next few weeks, and this will include an interview of myself describing my own experiences with this life-long 'human condition'.

      We are also interested in finding younger participants, If you are interested in taking part for £50 for a short interview, then please contact me on leonardthomas70@googlemail.com.


                                   MY RE-DIAGNOSIS

                                   BEING DYSPRAXIC



                                                                                     

                                   HISTORY OF ADHD

                                   THE LEON EISENBERG CONTROVERSY

                                   VICTIMS OF HISTORIC PLOT?

                                  IMPORTANT DISCUSSION

                                  IN DEFENCE OF NEURODIVERSITY

                                 BULLYING AND EUGENICS

                                A LIFE-TIME OF A.D.D. UNDIAGNOSED (POEM)


                                                   A LIFETIME  OF A.D.D. UNDIAGNOSED

                                                                   Thomas Hoskyns Leonard

                                                                        

                                                          Tom Leonard, Aged 19 in 1967

                                             Huge, massive head;
                                             Couldn't smell his shit;
                                             Of bullies forever in dread,
                                             The stupid, clumsy nit.
                                             Warped by space;
                                             Frightened by a five foot drop;
                                             Totally lacking grace;
                                             Always needing his hair to crop.

                                              Low muscle tome;
                                              Ever in fear to roam.
                                              Ears blocked the sounds,
                                              Eyes couldn't see the leaping chipmunks,
                                              As round Mendota the skunks did their rounds.
                                              Bees buzzing around his cerebral matter,
                                              As if they his skull would shatter

                                              So brilliant and yet so thick;
                                              Indeed quite the pompous dick;
                                              Wallflower drinking cocktails;
                                              Scared of the Yorkshire Dales;
                                              Never would quite make grandmaster;
                                              Always fearing catatonic disaster.
                                              But sometimes rises to the top,
                                              Before falling with a mighty flop

                                              'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
                                              Tomasz for a lifetime cried,
                                              As his relatives snitched and sighed
                                              'Tidy your office, clean your clothes!'
                                              His phobic bosses would declare,
                                              And answer back he didn't dare,
                                              Since to no other dudes could he sell his wares.

                                               'What the fuck is wrong with me?'
                                               He to the crass medics cried.
                                               'Just hypochondria', Dr. Fred Febrolitis replied,
                                               'And a touch of paranoia on the side'.
                                               'You're bipolar!' Dr, Rodney Geralitis proscribed,
                                                When Tomasz his reactive high could not abide.
                                                So on mood stabilizers he was sent,
                                                And they for decades made him fraught and bent.

                                                 Long retired, in doddering old age,
                                                 And after his dumb relatives again did rage,
                                                 He with dear Bon Bon to Professor Cornelius Sparrow went
                                                 'Re-diagnose me for a thousand smackers!' Tomasz gave vent.
                                                 'Do you blurt nonsense during rational conversation
                                                 And feel in need of social salvation?' asked Sparrow,
                                                 Cutting his patient to the marrow.
                                                 'And do you tangentialise,
                                                  As you from topic to topic flit
                                                  Sounding like an idiosyncratic twit?
                                                  Do I hear two Yes's? Great!
                                                  In that case you've got Attention Deficit Disorder, mate,
                                                  And no more medications on your slate.
                                                  Chemical imbalance? That's a figment of poor Fievre's mind,
                                                  Without wishing to sound unkind.
                                                  Your problem's neurological not just psychological,
                                                  And you're particularly hyperbolical.
                                                  At least your perceptions are not deceptions
                                                  As long as you slowly analyse your wilder preconceptions.'

                                                   'I'm sane!' enthused Tomasz,
                                                   Hugging Bon Bon round his mane.
                                                  'And now the world like an oyster I will reign
                                                   And to write a History of Humour I will deign,
                                                   As I campaign for the chemicalized insane with due refrain.
                                                   Like the Emperor Claudius feel I
                                                   As my Gods cast a new die,
                                                   And from this day forth I will never live the lie;
                                                   And like Catherine of Siena I will fly,
                                                   As my relatives my praises forever cry,
                                                   While never comprehending the reason why. 
                                                   And Bon Bon, I'll love you till I die.'

EARLY MORNING BLUES

                                  


After being awoken by bell-ringing from the Air BnB encampers during the night, I was awoken again by the clatterings of my flatmate who needed to leave before work at seven, He retaliated by taking this auspicious picture of me. I proceeded to perform an analysis of the kidney-stone data using my pocket calculator and my three-directional approach.

VISITING SLOVENIA

                                                                                           

                         
                                                                   

                                                     VISITING CAPITAL  (LJUBLJANA)


                                               Best to stay here for easily priced hotels





                                                                           

                           
                                            Then within easy bus rides of

                                                              LAKE BLED

                                                 
                                                                   

               

                            

                           and caverns

                                   
             

 

                                                                             

                                          Should also visit TRIESTE just across Italian border

                                                                           

                                                                       

TO MY ANGELIC STEPMOTHER, a poem by Thomas Hoskyns Leonard

                                                           





                                                             

                                                 TO MY ANGELIC STEP MOTHER

                                      As Gwen lies ageless in her peaceful nursing home,

                                      I recall meeting her when she to fair Madison did roam,

                                     Yon thirty-four years with Capt'n Cecil,

                                     The Farmers' Market on the Capitol Square then so peaceful.

                                     And we from above the wild Mississippi at Winona did peer

                                     At forty miles of wondrous bliss 

                                     From Wyalusing to Lake Pepin, and beyond,

                                     Where the paddleboats and barges sped like ducks,

                                     And Nature itself was once conspired,

                                     Around Wisconsin she would drive us,

                                    Automatic and gearless, no less;

                                    Devil's Lake and Fish Creek we equally blessed,

                                    And aways to Yellowstone, Cancun, and  New York New York,

                                    They sometimes went.

                                    And when nine days by Fisherman's Wharf we spent,

                                    The San Fran cable cars for 15 cents

                                     Through Chinatown received full vent.

                                    The Japanese tea garden, Cliff House,  and Marin County 

                                    Were among Gwen's favourite haunts

                                    Particularly when the maroon double decker took us on a jaunt



                                   When I returned to Jannerland in Fall of 95,

                                  Gwen and Cecil in their tiny cottage in

                                  Ancient Plympton lived,

                                  Where Leonards from Roberts once sprung.

                                  Captain of Plympton Woman's Bowling Team,

                                  Mother of three generations,

                                  She flew like Daedalus, when eighty, in Japan,

                                  And cherished my dear father.

                                  When both blind and deaf was he.


                                 Maybe it was at Auntie Vera's final party at Uncle John's

                                That we last met,

                                Or at Cawsands and the plush Barbican,

                                When Brod brought in his trans-Atlantic wreck,

                                And my family were in total bonhomie

                                 And then she became the voice on the long distance phone.

                                The one on whom I could rely;

                                 Our eternal friendship nobody can deny.