Monday March 26, 1979

_. Are all the Daves in my journal causing confusion? I do try to put the initial of the surname of each Dave after his name in an entry, and so Dave Lawson is Dave L and Dave Baker is Dave B, &c. Dave Glynn is obviously Dave Y, and Dave Wainwright is Arthur Hailey. Prince Andrew = David Ben Gurion, and the late Duke of Windsor, always David to his family, is now Wally.

Uncle Tony's mother, Mrs Doris Gadsby, was cremated at Rawdon this morning. She died at Pudsey last Thursday. The poor old girl was deserted by her husband, Norman, in 1937, and nobody has heard of him since.

Alison phoned Lynn today. All is now over between her and John Pinder. She now wants to move back to Yorkshire and take a flat in the vicinity but until this is achieved then she will come and live with us. Isn't this exciting, folks? Our little Ally coming to Pine Tops. I informed Mama that I will write to Alison and invite her to stay with us because she is far too bashful to suggest this herself.

"Fear is realising you can't do it the second time, and panic is realising for the second time that you can't do it." Eh? I don't get that.

The poor, broken Shah [of Iran] would like to come and die of a broken heart here in Britain, but the revolting Socialist MPs are protesting. What possible harm can the old boy do? The harshness and cruelty of the jealous crew at Westminster is forever reaching new bounds. They would leap around with joy, urinating in their pin-striped trousers if the Ayatollah purchased Buckinghamshire or Chou En-Lai took over Mentmore Towers. Did anyone complain when Ben Lyon came to live here? Precisely. Besides, just think how our economy would be boosted by all those millions of Iranian rupees, or whatever the Iranian currency is. I doubt very much that His Imperial Majesty would want to live off our social security. It's a repeat of the Tsar Nicholas case in 1918.

Watched "Fawlty Towers" on the BBC ~ the last of the series which is very sad.

Peter came here at 8. Susan sat making a rug and he sat facing her in another chair. Normally they are joined together on a sofa, but I suppose we all tire of constant molestation after years and years of endless groping.

Bed at 12 with The Secret of Chimneys. Lay there listening to the wind howling outside.

-=-

Tuesday February 20, 1979

_. Kathleen is mad. Her very existence entirely justifies the presence in our society of acid bath murderers, insane axe-men and left-wing schizophrenic rapists. ___________________.

Yesterday I met Jacq at lunctime and paid her the customary £5. John phoned tonight. Maria isn't having the baby until August, and so he is delaying bringing her down for the confinement. I don't like the idea of them being up there in that barbaric land. _____________.

Susan cut my hair tonight. No trace of a perm now, and I feel quite smart. It's a sort of Duke of Windsor-John Snagge-Kenneth Kendall-Reggie Maudling-Ian Ogilvy-Roger Moore-King Farouk coiffeur. I've even got a side parting. Mum doesn't like it but says I look like John.


-=-

Wednesday November 8, 1978

Christine phoned. A remarkable coincidence would seem to have cropped up. She told me she's going to London with Mrs B at the weekend and I leapt in and said "so am I" - to be told she's returning home from Victoria Coach Station at 6pm on Sunday, and Jacq and I will be on the same coach! It's going to be a riot. The poor driver won't know what's hit him. The passengers of a nervous disposition are going to have to delve for inner strength and courage. The combination of CB and I on a charabanc will be like the assassination of Robert Kennedy, three Royal Variety performances and the Pope's hire~wire trapeze act ~ all rolled into one.

CB is going to the Fox tonight and is working tomorrow. I am going to ring and suggest we go to Oakwood Hall after she finishes.

Jim Rawnsley says he is meeting the Prince of Wales, in his official capacity, when HRH visits Leeds next week. He and Muriel are in the official party to go to the Opera at the Grand {Theatre}. He's dreading it and would do anything to avoid going. Life is very unfair. I'd sacrifice my left knee to be sitting in the Royal Box.

Tonight we watched the first part of 'Edward and Mrs Simpson'. Thoroughly enjoyed it. I can see why some people wanted the series stopped.


Bed at 12:18am.

Monday October 23, 1978

An article in one of the bawdy newspapers said that our own dear Prince of Wales leads a very normal and active sex life. I never imagined for one minute that Davina Sheffield was merely his partner at billiards. However, discussing the sexual antics of our heir apparent is quite simply not on.

This afternoon Jacq and I went to the Ostlers. For some reason I had to get out of the office. Sarah was being particularly painful. She is always very trying after a riotous weekend. Like a baby, she is sulky, bad tempered and tired.

Alison and Mrs Dixon phoned and spoke to Lynn and Mum. Alison has asked Lynn to go down and see her. She and David are going on Thursday. Even Dave is looking pale and emotional about it all. He was quite fond of John P. _________.

Saw a Robert Mitchum film tonight and went to bed at about 11. Read The Duke and Duchess of Windsor by Ralph G. Martin (again). The poor old Duchess (of Windsor) is on her last legs in Paris. The powers to be down at Thames Television are no doubt praying for her end to come to coincide with the start of the tv series "Edward and Mrs Simpson".

-=-

Friday June 23, 1978

A damp, miserable day. Passed a happy, solitary afternoon with the photo files of the Duke of Windsor. Some are amazing and revealing. We have one which appeared in the YP in August, 1936 of the King (as he then was) on holiday abroad with 'a party of friends', and the picture editor has simply and ruthlessly cut off Wallis Simpson when he marked up the image for publication.

Met Jacq at 5:30on Wellington Street and we got a train to Pudsey arriving at 6:20. To Auntie Mabel's. Cousin Jackie is also there for tea ~ it was marvellous to see her. She was thinner. The conversation was tense because we didn't mention Uncle Jack, who is dying in agony from cancer.

Jacq seemed to hit it off with Auntie Mabel. We all demolished a massive salad together. The traditional hysteria over old photographs followed and by 9:30 we had gone through Auntie Mabel's entire life (pictorially). All very nostalgic.

At 9:30 Jacq, Jackie and I set off for home and had a couple of drinks at The Sun in Stanningley before I deposited Jacq onto a Leeds bus.

At 11 Jackie with her boyfriend, Peter, came back to Pine Tops for a few drinks and a chat with 'Auntie Nora'. On the journey home she said "you know Dad is very ill, don't you?" and I said how sorry I was, but isn't it futile trying to find the right words?

-=-

Tuesday November 9, 1976

Not a particularly historic day by any means. Not a particularly energetic one either and if you think I'm going downstairs for a bottle of ink you've got another thing coming. [The fountain pen dried up after 'by any means' and the rest was completed in biro].

Ring Tony at 7.30. He isn't in. He rings me 10 minutes later and we chat about nothing of importance. He's found a new love by the name of Deborah or something. He's coming up here tomorrow night.

No contact with Lynne today. Don't worry though, we're still very good friends. Write to Glen in Stockport and assure him that he and Dave Glynn can come here any time. Next weekend may be a good idea. We shall see anyway.

Read 'Edward VIII' by Lady Donaldson tonight. How many books dedicated to him have I read? Each one alters my opinion. No doubt about it he was an extremely complex fellow. Freda Dudley Ward played a bigger part in his life than I thought.

Bed at 11.15. Having a half day on Friday to getmy hair cut. Weekend without Lynne. No doubt this will signify a night of debauchery at the Stoney Lea.

-==-

Tuesday August 10, 1976

Bored at the YP and leave at 12. A very hot day and I'm home an hour later after struggling up the lane in putrifying heat. Have a sandwich with Mum in deckchairs in the front garden. Go down to Guiseley Library at 2. Get two books for self and one for Mum. 'The Grand Duke's Woman' by Pauline Gray, about the brother of Tsar Nicholas II of Russia and his morganatic wife. It's so good that when I get home at 3 I sit on the lawn and read 100 pages. Dad sits nearby in a deckchair snoozing. The sun is extremely hot and I scowl continually. Must get some sunglasses. The other book is 'Eva and Adolf' by Glenn Infield [sic]. Hitler doesn't particularly interest me but I thought I'd broaden my knowledge for once.

Ring Lynne at Burley-in-W but I'm told she's off until Thursday. Oh I remember her telling me now. Will ring Thornton-le-Dale tonight.

News: I have no objections to the Arabs purchasing the Dorchester [Hotel], London's Post Office Tower, the Victoria & Albert Museum, and the National Gallery, but I draw the line when it comes to Fort Belvedere. The Duke of Windsor's favourite home - where he abdicated - is now the home of an Arab businessman! It's disgusting and Gerald Lascelles ought to be thoroughly ashamed of himself. What next?

Read in the garden until 5 o'clock and then retire inside for tea with the family. Spend all night reading about poor Grand Duke Michael and his wife. Finish the book - all 200 pages. The fate of the Russian Royal Family is fascinating. Did they die in the cellar as it is supposed, or is the Tsarina working as a cleaner in a newsagent's shop down the Old Kent Road? We shall probably never know.

-==-

Friday September 26, 1975

Do not wake until after 11. Staying in bed for hours on end is shear bliss. No work. Absolutely free until Sunday night! These days off are such marvellous things. (OK Michael, don't get carried away about having a few hours off work. It isn't the 'be all and end all' you know).

Finish reading The Duke & Duchess of Windsor by Ralph Martin. How much in love they were. The final chapter left a lump in my throat. The Queen should really feel ashamed for not letting the poor bloke do a job for us in Britain. All that talent and ability was rejected simply because he married out of the Establishment. Shameful.

To the Hare & Hounds with Carole at 8.30. Christine is in. I'm uneasy when both she and Carole are together. The animosity between the two is transmitted straight at me. With Peter M and Christine D in his van to Wikis. Carole and I don't dance until the final record, but we got on well enough. See Ann Greep, Marian, Maura, Lynne Mather, &c. My old girlfriends all in one night! Ann Greep especially was a surprise. I thought she'd married a guy called Ellis from Essex (no it's not a Limerick) and never imagined laying eyes on her again. At 2am walk Carole to Menston and then walk home. Arrive at 3am. Have a drink with Dad and then go to bed.

-==-

Wednesday September 24, 1975

Two years ago at about this time we all drew the conclusion that our beloved Prince of Wales would make Miss Amelia Rose Clifton his princess. Rosie Clifton, however, must have different intentions, because after finishing with the prince at Balmoral she tagged herself along with old Prince Michael of Kent. This romance too proved useless because earlier this year she married the younger brother of millionaire Lord Vestey and became the Hon Mrs Mark Vestey.

The horror story circulating Fleet Street at the moment is that His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is attached to MRS Rosalind Ward, a married mother with two children. Tut, tut. This will never do. The Duke of Windsor was all very well, but we don't want another one. The prince will be 27 in November and if he's not married soon I intend washing my hands of him.

Let's hope Prince Andrew will find the marriage market easier to deal with when it falls his lot to give the nation a Duchess of York.

John's birthday tomorrow. I think I'll buy him a record or something similar. He's the owner of far too many pullovers, shirts, socks and trousers and they're beyond my price-range at the moment.


-==-

Monday September 22, 1975

Up at 9.30. Ernest Blackwell is in for a cup of coffee with Dad and Sue, and I show him 'The Story of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor' by Ralph Martin (which I bought on Saturday by the way). The book is really excellent and I believe theirs is the greatest love story of all time. To give up the throne for a woman!

Back to this diary peeping lark. I was mad with Carole. Reading someone elses diary is like opening someone elses drawers and reading other peoples mail. It is worse in fact. However, I'll bear no grudges and continue to say horrible things about people whether they are reading it behind my back or not.

She rang me at 11am to ask if I still loved her. Of course I do. She must think I am a cruel swine. I love her in a silly sort of way really, and she is the only girl I have fallen for who didn't knock me off my feet at first sight. Strange really.

Today is Mark Phillips's 27th birthday. I am disappointed really. Twenty-seven years old, two years married life behind him, and still no grandchildren for the Queen. A fortune teller in one of the Sundays says Princess Anne is going to have a baby girl next year. I am no medium, and it certainly takes no magic powers to se that 1976 will see Princess Anne in the Olympics, and no offpsring will appear until late 1977, or even 1980.

Carole comes round with Maria at about 8.30. We sit and drink Campari in the dining room and I give Carole a free hand with the record player. We don't really have the same taste in music, but Tamla Motown is just about bearable. I walk her home at a ghastly late hour and then walk all the way back in a slight drizzle.

Leap into bed with the Duke and Duchess of Windsor which is a tremendous book.

-==-

Thursday January 9, 1975

Go to work despite the fact that I'm not too brilliant yet. They are all surprised to see me. Kathleen had given up hope of seeing me before Monday. Derek Naylor, one of our beloved feature writers comes into the office and asks "who would be on the throne now if the Duke of Windsor hadn't abdicated?" I am astounded beyond all description. How can anybody not know the answer to that? Look at it logically, it cannot be that hard. King Edward VIII doesn't abdicate in December, 1936 and goes on to reign until death catches up with him May 28, 1972. Having no legitimate issue, the throne would then pass to his next brother, the Duke of York, who had unfortunately died in 1952, leaving two daughters, Elizabeth & Margaret. So the Crown would have devolved upon the elder daughter, the 46-year-old Elizabeth. Answer: Yes, the present Queen would have succeeded in 1972 instead of 1952.

A busy afternoon in the office. A chap from Leicester CID rings me with a weird request. He tells me that a man died in Leicester yesterday from injuries sustained in an accident he had in May, 1937, whilst installing decorations in a Wakefield street for the festivities celebrating the coronation of King George VI. After half an hour rummaging through the YPs for May 1937 I failed to find anything relevant. 

Christine rang again today. This sudden rush of attention from Miss Braithwaite is certainly of a heart-rending quality. Her sudden freedom is a novelty I suspect, and now that she can ring as many males as she likes in the shortest possible time I suppose it gives her a boost. Understandable really.

Home on the 55 with Sarah. Lynn is unusually nice at tea time and she can be beautifully pleasant when she tries, but as the poem goes 'when she's good, she's very very good, but when she's bad she's horrid'.

Go with Denny to the Hare & Hounds at 9 - walking from Pine Tops. Have a few drinks. To her horror I tell her that Lorraine's wedding day, June 14, is the Queen's official birthday and the Trooping of the Colour. Devastated we scrap our plans and begin over again.

-==-

Wednesday December 11, 1974

James II abdicated 1688. An absolutely perishing day. By the way things are going I forsee Bing Crosby's dream about a white Christmas coming true.

Eileen and I go shopping at lunchtime. We drift around the centre of town in agonising cold and get fish and chips from a little place near the Corn Exchange. Come back to the YP after an hour and with nothing to show for it.

Pleasant afternoon with Sarah. It certainly seems ages since we were in bed together that night at the Johnson residence - and our relationship is degenerating into a mediocre sort of thing. May have better luck with her at Christmas.

38 years ago today King Edward VIII renounced the throne, in order to have his way with Wallis Simpson. Every other book published this year is either on the subject of the Duke of Windsor or the Royal Family since 1917.

A rumpus in the Press about the Prince of Wales spotted at an X-certificate film 'Percy's Progress' at a London cinema. His Royal Highness is reported to have told the usherette that he had 'enjoyed it very much'. And we are all informed that he devoured an ice-cream in the interval. The film deals with a man who has had a penis transplant, and is a follow-up to 'Percy' a good film of a few years ago. A cartoon in the Daily Mail this morning implies that Mary Whitehouse wants a referendum on the monarchy, following this plebian act by our beloved heir.

John and I go to the Hare & Hounds with Mum & Dad, where we consume an excessive amount of alcohol. Following this we move on to the White Horse at Burley-in-Wharfedale, where cousin Dorothy resides. Unfortunately, she's having a night off, and we spend the last hour supping ale.

-==-

Sunday January 20, 1974

2nd after Epiphany. Death of George V in 1936. My theory about toilet paper rationing was used by Giles in his Daily Express cartoon this morning. He pictured thousands of football fans queuing for sheets of toilet paper to throw at the match. Whatever became of petrol rationing anyway? They soon quietened down about that didn't they? The poor, deranged MP was said we should all clean our teeth in the dark apologised - it seems he tried it on several occasions, and emerged with his hair spattered in Macleans, or something equally nauseating. Old Lord Carrington suggests that if we're good we may be put on a four-day week very shortly! Isn't it nice of him? But in general, this week's been another step down the path to destruction. Pity really. Wake up at 2.45 in the afternoon! Have a nice lunch and see a very funny film about marriage. Completely domestic evening. See Monty Python's Flying Circus. Died laughing. The poor Duke of Windsor became King Edward VIII thirty eight years ago today. The massive burst of 'Windsor mania' which erupted at the time of his death in May '72 is now quite stagnant again. No one gives a damn about the duchess, who winters in Cap d'Antibes. The poor old thing will be 78 in the summer. --==--

Monday January 14, 1974

Climb out of bed at 7.30. Listen to Noel Edmunds until 8. Get the usual train. Very busy at the YP.

Surprised that we have no file for Lady Patricia Ramsay, who has died. This woman was one of the last surviving granddaughters of Queen Victoria, and she broke the tradition of marrying within the royal circle. Instead she married the son of the Earl of Dalhousie, disclaiming her royal rank. The Queen, still at Sandringham, has ordered Court mourning to be observed by the Royal Family until after the funeral of Lady Patricia. I think the Countess of Athlone is the only surviving grandchild of the old Queen, and she is on her way to South Africa at the age of 91. Still obviously a lively old soul.

See the tv all evening. Depart to my bedroom with a book on the modern monarchy by Sir Charles Petrie, Bt, which is not what I expected. In effect it's a copy of all the other books on the British monarchs since 1837. Traces of Wheeler-Bennett, Pope-Hennessy, Nicolson, the Duke of Windsor, and Strachey are all evident. But it entertains.

-==-

Monday May 28, 1973

Bank Holiday Monday. The good old Duke of Windsor died one year ago today. Brings to mind my trek down to see his lying-in-state.

Lynn is working in my stead on Saturday when we go down to London. She intends taking over from me in September.

At 1 o'clock go to CW. Work until 6.25. Quite busy. Sue pays me £2. Come home and watch a film of the Coronation, 1953. Have a bath at 9. Bed at 10.30. How's that for an early night!

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