Showing posts with label martyr worthy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label martyr worthy. Show all posts

20190618

Friday August 24, 1979

_. So, Ally and I eloped, at long last. At 12:30 she collected me from the YP and we headed down the M1 arriving at Oxford for just after three. My first visit to the place and not quite as grand as I expected.  We ate cheese and biscuits in a grubby café called Kane's and then made a modest tour of the city. Balliol College, &c.

On the road again at 5:30 arriving at Martyr Worthy for about 7 o'clock. Tea and scones with Bill [sic] and Bessie Dixon. Bessie was more scatter-brained than ever. Mr Dixon had spent a busy day negotiating with the Libyan government over their request for a £5m loan to purchase bullet-proof vests. Barclays have flatly refused to contemplate a loan.

Out to the Ship Inn, at Alresford. I had scampi and Ally whitebait [?]. On to the Plough Inn, Itchen Abbas, where we became quite intoxicated.

-=-

20190617

Thursday August 23, 1979

_. All the best people are getting married these days, aren't they? The Duke of Sutherland; Twiggy; Rod Stewart; Christine Braithwaite; Lorna Luft; Nikki Lauda; Jack Parnell; Tina, Marchioness of Blandford [died 1971]; Prince Bertil of Sweden and his bit of stuff, Lil, to name but a few. So, with this in mind Ally and I have decided to elope. Tonight's Jim and Margaret session really went with a bang following our announcement, and Mummy lapped it up, showering us both with kisses when we retired to bed at `1:30am. I am only agreeing to elope because I want to be made a ward of court, but Dad ruined things by pointing out I am too old to be made subject of such a court order. We don't know whether to go to Gretna Green or just find a village parson in Hampshire on our way to Martyr Worthy.

At 1:30 Ally came to my room and I crammed a few of my worldly possessions into her suitcase. I have never shared a suitcase with a young lady before. I reflect that for most of my twenty five years I have lived like a future Pope. Entirely blameless and as pure as the driven snow. I wouldn't want Ally to realise this. It cannot be good to be stereotyped into the Cliff Richard mould.

Just a half-day to work and then it's a nice long break. Bye, bye.

-=-

20170613

Sunday April 22, 1979

_. Low Sunday.

The pizzas last night were diabolical. Just thought I'd say that. Had a usual breakfast at the usual time and at about 11 we headed off for Alison's at Martyr Worthy. I had been feeling guilty about dragging the lads away to Winchester but following yesterday's session I don't think I could keep them away, especially Garry who is very smitten.

With Alison at Winchester Cathedral
Alison was bashing the top of her boiled egg, looking so voluptuous in her dressing gown. Mrs Dixon, as usual, was staggering around her mansion with a vague expression on her face. In fact she looked pale and ill.

At 12 we ventured to the Plough in Itchen Abbas for drinks and sandwiches. Graham was working in the bar with Midge, the landlady, who is the image of comedian Ronnie Barker when in drag. Had a quite a heavy drinking session and went on afterwards to Winchester to look at the cathedral. A hot, sunny afternoon too.

Back to Alison's for apple wine and a session on the piano. Poor Bill slipped into a coma. At about 7 we went to the Ship Inn for grub and more poisonous liquid and then back to the Plough to conclude the day's activities. Bill was really on top form, and was incredible all evening and at times I almost wet myself laughing. A more sensitive and genteel mob would have been more than slightly embarrassed.

-=-

20130611

Sunday April 23, 1978

Full Moon 05:11 4th Sunday after Easter St George (England)

I was awakened at 9:30 by Alison who was waking John (in another bed in the room) in order to get him to work on time. That poor boy seems to do little else. Graham Dixon, Alison's brother, was also in a third bed in the room, and was introduced to me for the first time. Shaking hands with somebody in bed doesn't seem quite right somehow. He is quite scarred after a recent car accident.

A really beautiful day. Open top car weather, shirt sleeves, and all that. Alison took Jacq and I on a pub crawl of the area and we knocked back Pernod in a way that brought the beaches of Ibiza to the forefront of my pickled mind. The pubs included the Cart & Horses at Kings Worthy, the Plough at Itchen Abbas, the Bush at Ovington, the Globe at Alresford, &c. Most of the inns appear to be packed with over fed stockbrokers, retired field marshals and accompanying ladies.


Hurtling through Hampshire with Alison.

Back at Alison's I met Mr & Mrs Dixon for the first time. Very amiable folk. We contemplated staying until tonight but on phoning Victoria we are told we cannot exchange our tickets unless we go there in person, which defeats the object. So at 3:30 we spent £7 for the two of us to go from Winchester to London Waterloo by train. It took just an hour. We larked about on the Embankment and in Parliament Square which took us to 6pm and home time. I took a picture of Jacq dancing next to a statue of Jan Christian Smuts - it should be quite good. It looked as if the old boy was tap dancing too.


Jacq dancing with Jan Christian Smuts

A long coach journey. We were an hour late in Leeds. Jacq only just made it to the hostel on time and I was certain I wouldn't get a bus home. Daddy was phoned and he and Mama collected me at 11:30. Back for supper and a hot bath. By 1am I was in bed with Samuel Pepys.


-=-

Saturday April 22, 1978

Sun rises 5:51 Sun sets 20:08

First Day of Passover (Pesach)

Up at 7am to the sound of Trixie frying breakfast and singing in her kitchen. Obviously, she suffers none of the 'morning after' effects. Peter S actually came home late last night (supposedly a rare thing for Mr Sate) and was forced to sleep on the chaise lounge, or whatever you call those French sofas with a roll at one end and no back.

After a dash round the bathroom Jacq and I went out for the 8 o'clock bus to Finsbury Park where we found the tube to Victoria. At 9:15 we got a coach to Wallingford in Oxfordshire, a 2 hour journey.

Jacq and I amused ourselves on the back seat, much to the horror of a family of hikers, who stared at us in disbelief. Some of the countryside though which we passed was stunningly beautiful. The money is thickly spread around in Oxfordshire, if you ask me.

At Wallingford we were collected by Mr George Oakes, father of the bride. The house, though being very ordinary, possessed an astounding photograph collection of members of the royal family - and all SIGNED! One photo on top of the television was a signed portrait of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. Others were spread around the sitting room from the Queen Mother, Princess Margaret, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, Princess Alexandra, &c. It transpires that Mr Oakes was for ten years, 1966-76, secretary to the Queen's Flight.





Jacq was upstairs with Gina (the bride) and I sat drinking gin and tonic with a strange lady who is married to a relation of somebody. Brilliant sunshine erupts at 2:30, when Gina (Miss Georgina Margaret Oakes) is married to Flight Lieutenant Hugh Monroe Dawson. The ceremony was a Methodist one and I found it quite the most sincere solemnization I have yet experienced. Afterwards, at RAF Benson, we boozed and noshed. I was alone and wandering about like a lost sheep for some time because Jacq, in her capacity as bridesmaid, was for most of the time tied up with the photographer and other necessary annoyances. I was befriended by a humorous old boy, whom Jacq later labelled ACDC. He seems to have taken a shine to me.






At 7-ish we went back to the Oakes residence travelling there with Auntie Nancy and Uncle Percy. More gin and jokes followed and finally we took our leave at 10:30.

To the Green Tree pub in Wallingford where we waited for Alison's arrival.She bombed up in a sports car at about midnight and by 1am we were back in Winchester and at the Berni Inn where we met John P.

Meeting John at the Berni almost got the poor bugger dismissed because the manager's wife took offence when he served us with a drink at that time in the morning. John did chuck £3 in the till and poured the manager a brandy but all the same she took exception to this. It was an embarrassment all round.

Alison, John, Jacq and I returned to Ally's house at Martyr Worthy. John, who has worked a long shift, almost passed out with exhaustion, and at sometime after 3am we all retired.

Alison's house, though large and attractive, is not the Versailles of Lynn's tales. I fear the Rhodes imagination has run amok in this direction.

-=-








Sunday March 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn British Summer Time begins 3rd Sunday in Lent Bacon sandwiches and the Sunday Telegraph. Fuss about the Queen's visit to ...