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Tuesday October 28, 1975

Lynn wakes me from my slumbers at 7am. The day is a beautiful one. It is in Guiseley anyway, but things soon change when travelling to work with Jim. Passing through Horsforth we become shrouded in fog, which grows steadily more dense as we go into Leeds. The temperature falls too, and one would think Guiseley is on the French Riviera or somewhere equally tropical. (Yes, I am aware that France isn't tropical, but my description isn't meant to be taken literally).

At 4.30 I failed to get a bus home and so I walked to the West Yorkshire bus station and got the 5 o'clock 33. At Guiseley I find myself walking up home in the dark for the first time this year. I do not object to coming home in darkness, but I detest have to eat breakfast and contemplate a days work when the moon is shining and it's black as Hell at 7am.

Over tea Mum and Dad tell me about the Craven Heifer. They thought it was a bit scruffy upstairs______.They did like it though, and are optimistic about the bank financing them with the necessary cash. If they do get it we won't be moving in until February next year, so we shall have yet another Christmas at good old Pine Tops. All this waiting around and speculating about the future isn't doing me any good. I'll be a nervous wreck before I'm 21.

I rang Carole at a Menston phone box at 6.30 and we chatted for ten minutes or so. She didn't have much to say other than the fact she's bought four packs of potato crisps to eat whilst she watches a James Bond film on TV tonight.

John and Maria arrived home safely this afternoon, but as yet I haven't seen either of them. After having a coffee with Mum and Dad they went to her place where they remain unrtil this very minute. I'll report on how things went in Shrewsbury tomorrow.

Items of news: I'm saying nothing about General Franco or Juan Carlos. That matter will drag on for years yet. And the Prince of Wales's car accident in Norfolk did not injure anyone seriously, you'll be pleased to hear. HRH seems prone to road accidents.


Monday October 27, 1975

I didn't feel like work today and was glad to get away at 4.30. The news is so monstrous lately. This Dr Herrema kidnapping has been going on for about a month; Franco doesn't know whether he's coming or going, &c.

I rang Mum this afternoon to see how they got on with the bank re the loan and she seemed optimistic. The bank manager was reported to have a wide grin on his face when Dad asked for the money and he's told them to get as much information as possible when they view the Craven Heifer tomorrow afternoon. I do so much hope that we get it this time.

Christine B rang this afternoon and asked me to go see 'The Four Musketeers' with her at Yeadon. I declined because I've already made arrangements to see Carole. She (Carole) rang twice, at 5.25 and at 7.30. She says Mr & Mrs P are still uncommunicative with her and she sounds miserable. I'll have to ring her at work tomorrow afternoon because she is always ringing me to say sweet things.

Mum and Dad go to the Craven Heifer at 8.30 and I stay at home with Sue and Peter watching the television. They come home at 11pm and agree with me that it's a great place.


Sunday October 26, 1975

22nd after Trinity. Get up in time for lunch. Tell Mum and Dad about the Craven Heifer, wherev they have never been. They like the sound of the decorations and I tell them how impressed I was with the stone fireplaces and things.

John and Maria go to Shrewsbury this afternoon to stay with Elizabeth Macdonald, Maria's elder sister who is a lecturer. You'll laugh at what I am about to say because I always say it about John's girlfriends. I realise that I said the same thing about Christine White, Carol Smith, Naomi Downing and all the others, but this time I mean it when I say that I can hear wedding bells chiming merrily in my ears. OK, so they are always arguing, but surely that is what makes a good marriage, and besides, the time they spend together in bed must mean they like one anothers company a little bit at least. I wish them all the luck in the world anyway because Maria is my favourite of all John's mistresses. They return home on Tuesday I think.

Carole rings at 2pm to say that she and her parents have had yet another disagreement. She stormed out of the house and refused to devour her Sunday lunch. I meet her down the lane at 3 o'clock and we go for a walk over the golf course. The sun is shining brilliantly and I'm looking forward with rellish to a decent hike over Baildon Moor when suddenly her shoe capsises beneath her, and though she protests that all is well, I make her accompany me home. It's dangerous to walk on uneven ground in damaged footwear. Broken bones is not the thing I want my darling to get. (Clever grammar isn't it?) We get back home and play records and listen to the radio until 7, and then we watch TV until 10. A good film starring Warren Mitchell was on, but she had to leave before it finished to wash her lovely locks, &c. I walked her to the bus stop and managed to be home in time to see the end of the film. Romantic little devil, aren't I?


Saturday October 25, 1975

I get up at 10.30 and after a small breakfast Mum gives me a lift into Guiseley where I meet Carole at White Cross. We go into Leeds and spend a couple of hours chasing around different shops. I buy a pair of trousers and contemplate getting a cardigan but Carole advises me otherwise.

At 1pm we go see 'Love Story' starring Ally McGraw and Ryan O'Neal. Though it's already a few years old I have never seen this so-called 'weepy' classic. Lynn and Sue saw it with Mum and Jackie M years ago, and when Denise and Marita went to see it they had to sit for an hour afterwards to cry it off. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and have to admit to feeling choked at the end. Carole wept like a three year-old. It was just too much for some people when the second feature was about a ten year-old boy dying from an incurable disease. A woman in front of me sobbed very loudly for two hours or more.

Mum had a letter this morning from Dacre Son & Hartley saying that the Craven Heifer at Addingham is on the market for £50,000. She's actually going to see the bank manager on Monday about the possibilities of getting a loan. Addingham is a fantastic place and I intend investigating the Craven Heifer as soon as possible.

To the Hare with Carole at 8.30. She has false finger nails and they look and feel fantastic. I have this erotic thing about being mauled by a lady with beautifully pointed finger-nails. Perhaps it will come one day.

At 10.30 we go to the Craven Heifer with Martyn, Alison, Peter, CB, CD, Chris, Lynn and Dave. Would you believe John and Maria are babysitting!!! The pub is immaculate and just the thing Mum & Dad will like. I can see them in it now.

On to the Cow and Calf until 2am. Christine B and Carole: one word -bitchy.I hate that.


Friday October 24, 1975

Busy day at the office. Pictures of the one-year old Earl of Ulster, son of the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, are in most of the papers. The likeness between the earl and his father is striking indeed, though I wouldn't say he is a particularly good looking child.

On the subject of the peerage I must say something about Chris Monckton. Chris Dawson was in the office today and he tried to get Sarah to 'take him (Monckton) out' - Chris M must really fancy Sarah because Dawson never seems to be able to let it drop. Sarah says she couldn't possibly date a future viscount whilst the Prince of Wales is still unattached! A clever girl is our Sarah, but I think she should settle for Monckton. I believe in the old saying about 'a bird in the hand', &c.

News: General Franco is getting worse, but this time I'll keep my mouth shut on the subject of Juan Carlos and whether he'll be King of Spain tomorrow. Franco could linger for years and years.

Tonight I go down to Carole's and we make our trip across to the Hare & Hounds. Stand with Sue and Pete for most of the night, and are joined by Alison and Martyn. It's a quiet night really and nothing sensational happens (other than Carole of course, who is always sensational). At 11 Carole, Sue, Pete, CD and I go up to Harry Ramsden's for supper. The other three leave for home on foot shortly afterwards while Carole and I play around in the leaves for nearly two hours. The night is warm and we have a great laugh, and more and more I am realising that Carole means a lot to me. I know I've said it all before about other girls, but I am sure that I am in love.

I walk home in the beautiful night air, and on my arrival home sit with Mum, Lynn and Dave until 3.30. We argued about official nicknames and Dave didn't believe me when I said that Harry was often used as a nickname for Henry.


Thursday October 23, 1975

Beautiful autumn day. I wandered through town this afternoon in my shirt sleeves and didn't feel a bit uncomfortable.

Basil, our esteemed postman, is becoming ratty and upset by Christine B's references to him on the rear of the letters she writes to me. I should never have revealed the forename of Mr Postman, and I suppose CB will have to be told about his latest complaint. I don't want the Post Office taking action. On the subject of the Post Office, I should say something about them and their relationship with Yorkshire Post Newspapers Ltd. Denis Lehane was a YP leader writer until last week, when he foolishly published a piece on the PO saying they had destroyed thousands of Christmas cards and other Christmas mail two or three years ago because they couldn't cope with the amount of yuletide post. They have done nothing of the kind. Italy may well have done something similar, but what they do with glittery Santa Clauses in Rome is hardly the fault of Sir William Rylands. (Sir Gordon) Linacre sacked Lehane on the spot, and so poor Tom Greenwell is now completely alone.

A bomb exploded this morning under a car belonging to Hugh Fraser, the Tory MP. It exploded nea the Fraser home, where Caroline Kennedy, Jackie Onassis's daughter, is living temporarily. I cannot help thinking that Lady Antonia has something to do with it._________. But to be serious, the bomb killed a neighbour of Fraser's who was a leading cancer research professor. The day that capital punishment is reinstated will be a day of national benefit indeed.

I've just heard on the late news that Prince Juan Carlos is ready to take over from Franco, who is on his death bed. We may have a king of Spain tomorrow.

Carole rang at 5.30 and then at 8.30. She is worried about me not liking her latest letter. Fooilsh maiden. __________.


Wednesday October 22, 1975

Up at 7.30 and dash around like something not right for half an hour. As usual it is to Leeds with Jim. Nothing scandalous or anything in the office at the moment so I'll narate something else instead.

I will have to start sorting out my vast collection of letters and other items of nostalgia. Drawers and cupboards in my room are packed with them. Letters from June Bottomley, Christine, Judith, Carole and Dave Lawson are just about taking over the upper part of 58, Hawksworth Lane, and certain indelicate subjects raised in Carole's latest despatch make me somewhat edgy.____________.

After tea we sit in front of the television. 'Carry On Doctor' gives everyone a laugh. I always watch these films with the intention of passing sentence of death upon them, but end up bent double with galloping hysterics.

At 8.10 John and I get in the car but it won't start. In a torrent of abuse I hurry down the lane only to miss the bus and find myself walking all the way to Carole's. I meet her with Mrs P coming out of Oakridge Avenue and I get the impression they had given me up for dead. Mrs P winds her way to Highroyds and Miss Phillips and I nip into the Hare. It is boring in the Hare tonight. After a rum with a few Coca Colas we go back to Carole's for yet another drink. At 11.15 I miss yet another bus and walk home yet again.


Tuesday October 21, 1975

To the office with Jim Rawnsley at 8.30. Items of interest in the news: Crown Prince Fahd of Saudi Arabia arrived at Heathrow yesterday and I was amused to see our beloved Prime Minister grovelling on his hands and knees on the tarmac, in homage to the fat, arabic potentate. The Duke of Gloucester too was in the official welcoming party and I noticed him running after the crown prince in a feeble attempt to make polite chit chat. Little Richard was no match in the race to the VIP lounge and whilst Fahd and the Prime Minister were busily knocking back the duty free vodkas, HRH was fighting his way through the body guards yelling: "I'm Richard of Gloucester. I'm supposed to do the talking!" (No he didn't, I'm just getting carried away).

Nothing much else in the news other than Ireland and I'm not going to dwell on that.

Carole rang me at work and so too did CB, who was going out with Michael Ives until Saturday when she became intoxicated at Mark Naylor's 21st birthday party and left him to his own devices. A little raver she is!

Carole rang again at 8pm and we chatted for ten minutes or so. We are going out tomorrow night and I'm meeting her at 8 o'clock. I always clam up on the phone and can only really talk to Carole when we meet in the flesh.

Heard on the news tonight that General Franco had a heart attack today and is probably on his last legs. He's 82 so I'm not surprised. If I last as long I'll go quite happily.


Monday October 20, 1975

No work today. Glad really because I never feel up to it when I've been travelling the day before. Evidently Sue and John threw a small party last night in honour of Carole and Maria. After champagne and God knows what, they retired to the numerous vacant beds upstairs. John and Maria were in his bed, Carole was in mine, and Sue and Peter were in her bedroom.

Lynn, David, CD, and Martyn Cole were of course visiting Alison in Southampton, and Mum and Dad were spending the night with Uncle Harry at Ravenglass, his new place of refuge. Poor Harry took up employment three weeks ago as a chauffeur and general dogs body for a wealthy man and his housekeeper at Cockermouth. After a tour of northern Scotland, on a staple diet of marmite sandwiches, H got a bit aggressive and resigned, leaving the old gentleman and his lady stranded miles from anywhere! Harry is not the most patient of men, and to picture him in a chauffeurs uniform is too ludicrous for words.

I didn't get up until 11am and after taking a bath I had luncheon with Mummy and Daddy, Sue and John and we discussed the pub business once again. Poor Mum didn't complain this time about being let down, but she so much would have liked the Station. Breweries just don't seem interested in them at all, so I imagine they'll have to buy a free house.

Carole rang me this afternoon and told me I sounded 'different'. As far as I know I don't think I've changed much in four days, but who knows.

Go down to her place at 8pm with John. Sit for half an hour with Carole, who looks divine, Mrs P and Peter, the elder of her two brothers. They discuss sex before marriage and fire questions at me to see if I can be embarrassed. To embarrass Mr Michael Rhodes is just about an impossibility.

We dashed over to the Hare for a few hours and came back to her place at 10.30 to see a film about Lucrezia Borgia (1949). It was quite good really, and I stayed until 12.30.

Walking to White Cross Dad saw us whilst driving around in his cop car and he ferried me home.


Sunday October 19, 1975

21st after Trinity. Last day in Hayes for Pete and me. Clamber out of bed at a suitable hour and plunge into a hot bath. Ten minutes later I'm to be found stuffing my suitcase full of all my wordly goods, and half an hour later we're stood in the arrivals lounge at Heathrow Airport. Don't worry, I'm not doing a bunk or anything like that, but poor Pete so much wanted to see London Airport before returning to the stagnation of Bramhope, and we couldn't find it in ourselves to deny him this little pleasure.

Two hours at Heathrow watching Jumbo jets flitting about was quite sufficient for me, and we then, the three of us, moved on to London's Victoria bus station. Depositing our cases, we went on yet another tour, taking in the National Gallery, Charing Cross Restaurant, the Banqueting House at Whitehall and Buckingham Palace again. The Royal Standars isn't up, and I hazard a guess that SHE is out for tea this afternoon.

Bid farewell to Chris at 5.30 and head home on a little coach to Leeds. I read 'Mandingo' all the way home and keep dropping off to sleep, much to the amusement of Pete.

At home I hear Mum and Dad have passed an embarrassing weekend at Ravenglass with Uncle Harry, and am told by them that the Station in Ilkley is not going to fall to the Rhodes clan for tenancy. Bastard Charrington is more appropriate.


Saturday October 18, 1975

To Windsor with the lads today. Of course I didn't go see John & Sheila. I thought of calling in but decided it would be an embarrassment to them. After all, if no one is staying with them after they told me I couldn't stay because of lack of room, they'd be in a sticky position.

We have a great day. They are both thrilled with the castle, especially Chris who thought the state apartments were incredible. I mentioned to Peter that some of the carving in St George's Chapel and in some of the rooms of the state apartments was the work of Grinling Gibbons 1648-1720, and he excitedly sought information on him. He drifted from bookshop to bookshop for most of the afternoon trying to find suitable literature on him, but failed to do so. However, by the time we'd finished we knew everything there is to know about the Rotterdam-born sculptor and carver who came to England and was 'spotted' by John Evelyn, the diarist, in 1671 and was introduced to Charles II, Wren and others. Trinity College, Cambridge, the royal palaces, Burghley House and St Paul's Cathedral all have bits and peices done by him, and the bronze statues of Charles II and James II are attributed to him, but they may have been done by his 'school'. Gibbons was paid for them anyway. How's that, all from memory?

We have steak again for our evening meal at the London Grill in Windsor, and after having taken a look at Eton and had a swan-tormenting session on the Thames we make our way to Windsor & Eton Railway Station and get a train to Hayes.

At the Arlington we sit for what seems like days in the bar drinking, and a wedding reception in an adjoining room kept us wide awake.


Friday October 17, 1975

We rise from our slumbers at some unearthly hour and head towards the pulsating capital of these Islands (is it called London, or something like that?) After several train rides and a tube adventure we find ourselves at Earls Court. I cannot fail to be completely taken in by that massive structure. The crowds, the people and the atmosphere in general is completely unique, but the only fault in all this is that the magical atmosphere doesn't stay all that long with me. Chris and Peter can wander around looking at the same things over and over again, but I look at everything the once and then call it a day. Three hours in Earls Court is two hours too long for me. I did what most peasants did. I stood wide-eyed in front of the Rolls Royce stand, and pretended not to notice the flashy, American trash. Chris was delighted just to look at clapped out old Vauxhalls and Fords.

After what seemed like hours at Earls Court the three of us go to the Tower of London by tube. Neither Chris or Pete had seen the jewels, and so it makes my fifth visit worthwhile! A guided tour around the tower by an endearing old Yeoman of the Guard ended in the chapel of St Peter Ad Vincula, where Anne Boleyn and all the rest are entombed. The jewels are still as beautiful and the Imperial State Crown takes the breath away from all who see it.

After 'doing the tower' we go over to the Tiger Bar where we have a few drinks until 8pm. We go for a meal at the fairly new Tower Hotel, where Peter nearly rendered himself unconscious on a low-hanging light fitting. Chris tripped and fell off the causeway on the way out and slid down a bank and ended up flat on his back underneath a Mercedes-Benz! This caused for some kind of celebration and so we returned to the Tiger Bar. Leave by train for Hayes at about 10.30.


Thursday October 16, 1975

Up at the crack of dawn and make a few final touches in readiness for my venture south. Complete darkness awaits me outside at 6.45am as I set out, suitcase in hand, down Hawksworth Lane. I travel by 55 bus to Leeds where a slight drizzle awaits me. Meet Peter near Schofield's and he too is armed with a suitcase very similar to mine.

Our journey down is one of little excitement. After combing through the Daily Telegraph and the Sun we eat fruit gums. At Leicester we have a coffee in one of those filthy, giagantic mortuarys. Hardly a decept cup.

In London's Victoria Coach Station for just after 1pm and I'm frozen silly. Tow arm up whilst we're waiting for Chris we attempt to find a coffee bar or something, but somehow end up with my already ice-cold hand wrapped around an equally ice-cold pint of lager. It was whilst we were sat in this position that Chris found us.

Depositing our cases out of the way we proceed to do a quick tour of the famous bits of London close to Victoria. Buckingham Palace is our first port of call and I see with great pride that Her Majesty is in residence. The beautiful autumn day, and the foliage in the park made it a sight to behold indeed. Pete hadn't seen the palace before, so it wasn't a wasted journey. 10, Downing Street was also on the agenda, but as usual it looked deadly quiet. The PM was no doubt having his afternoon nap upstairs with Mary. The old story about Nero fiddling whilst Rome burned could easily adapted to Mr Wilson and his afternoon bedroom activities.

Back to Hayes and the Arlington Hotel for 8pm. We wash and change and go out for a drink. Back for 11, and we sit about laughing and watching Chris's TV until after 12. He certainly is lucky having a place like that. He will be too spoiled to ever re-adapt himself to ordinary home life when the time comes.


Wednesday October 15, 1975

Now that Carole is well again we make the most of it.__________. (Large deletion). Sorry about the mess.

I was in a terrible rage this evening. After arranging to meet Carole at 8.20 I rang John & Sheila to determine the arrangements for my venture south tomorrow. I spoke to Sheila, and to my horror, she said they couldn't put me up this time. I was mad, but didn't tell her so. They've had my letter for a week and haven't had the decency to reply to it. Mum says it's really bad of them and she, for one, won't visit them in Windsor again. I rang Peter to tell him the bad news but he just said we'd have to go on with our plans all the same, except I'd have to stay with Chris too.

Went down the lane at 8 but no bus came until 8.45. I was hopping mad by the time I reached the Hare. Nothing seems to have gone right tonight. However, Carole soothed me somewhat and I cheered up in next to no time.

Saying goodbye to Carole was a bit sad and she kept saying she was going to cry. I came home and stuffed everything into a suitcase. Mum gave me £5 from the Nora Rhodes Trust, and by 12.30 all was ready. Have to be up by 6am. Ugh!


Tuesday October 14, 1975

Yet another day at the office. Kathleen is back at work after nursing her sick family all last week.

Very little in the news and the papers are quite boring.

This morning I bought two tickets for Thursday's London trip. Pete will give me his £5.60 on Wednesday, so I'll be moderately wealthy before the weekend is upon us. Still no word from John & Sheila, but the postal system isn't what it might be, and so they won't be in recepit of my damn letter until the New Year!

On the subject of not hearing anything we have yet to hear from Bass Charrington about the Station pub at Ilkley. If we don't get a pub this time I think poor Mum will go into seclusion. Anyone would think that they (Mum and Dad that is) have something wrong with them because the way they have been refused is really too bad.

Go to Carole's after she rang me to say she'd made a spectacular recovery! John hurries me down the lane in the car and I find her looking absolutely ravishing. The three of us go to the Hare & Hounds and we find it in the midst of being decorated. John leaves us to it after one drink, and we sit in a corner - arm in arm.

Carole is beautiful and sexy. Lynne Mather comes a close second.