Thursday September 6, 1979

_.Uncle Harry arrived this morning at dawn and I had an encounter with him in the steam filled bathroom. He is so thin, and emaciated, like Gandhi in fact.

To work really early, which shocked Kathleen. At lunchtime to Da Mario's with Sarah and Eileen, and had a good nosh, but spent almost four English pounds, far too excessive.

Tonight Uncle Harry wanted to eat fish and chips. The seclusion of a broken down caravan on the windswept coast of Cumbria is no place for an intelligent Yorkshireman wo actually understands the problems of the Middle East and Palestine. He should perhaps be President Carter's secretary of state. I was so impressed by his knowledge of the Balfour Treaty of 1922. Poor Harry like many Rhodeses is wasted. A life of ridiculous waste. Am I going in the same direction perhaps?

Jim, Margaret, Lynn, Dave and Ally came over. We all discussed the dreaded Yorkshire Ripper, and attacked again on Monday in Bradford. Ally seems to have taken it very much to heart. She's terrified.

-=-

Wednesday January 3, 1979

Ruth Rhodes (nee Upton)

Still snow. We have just been having a laugh talking about our ancestry. Dad's paternal grandfather must have been a frightening character. He had long, flowing white hair, and always wore a black apron. The only thing Dad remembers about John Henry Rhodes's house is the piano with brass candle~holders, and the large, framed portrait of Gladstone on the wall. (Dad says jokingly: "Or was it Disraeli?") The picture frightened him almost as much as grandad did. John Rhodes (1866-1948) was a strong nonconformist lay preacher, and he sang solo in the chapel on Sundays. He was partially blinded when making  his own fireworks when aged 13 or 14. His wife, Christiana Ross, came from a moderately wealthy background, related to the Ross mill owners in Bramley. She died when my father was five or six years old (in June, 1939), and his only memory of her is when she was 'lying in state' in the front parlour after her demise. What did these aloof, God~
fearing folk make of the family of the woman who married their son, Albert Rhodes (1901-73) ? I shudder to think. The Uptons were a colourful bunch of people. My paternal grandmother was Ruth Ellen Upton, the illegitimate daughter of Polly Upton (1882-1932). Polly was from Sussex and spent her formative years on Epsom racecourse. It is said that the father of her illegitimate daughter was a member of the racing fraternity. Polly was only 18 years old when Ruth was born on September 3, 1900. A few years later Polly married Charles Edwin Henty, a jockey, and had a further thirteen consumptive children. In about 1913/14 Charles Henty came to Yorkshire to the stables of the wealthy Gunter family at Wetherby. At the outbreak of the Great War he went off to Europe to fight for King & country, and Polly took her growing brood off to Leeds to find work. The story goes that the first time my grandmother ever saw a tram she worked on it - Ruth would have been about fourteen. She later worked in a woollen mill in Bramley where she met Albert Rhodes. They married at Bramley register office in March, 1922. John Rhodes, the singing Methodist, boycotted the wedding because Ruth was a Roman Catholic. He didn't speak to his son for years, and comfortably off himself, he almost allowed his family to starve during the depression. My Uncle Harry was born in Oct 1922.

-=-

Sunday October 2, 1977

17th after Trinity.I received a frosty reception this morning. Mum said my behaviour was reminiscent of Uncle Harry. Dad said he has never seen me as drunk as I was last night. They both set about recalling some of the incidents that took place in the Commercial but I stopped them. I didn't want to hear.

John Pinder, Alison Dixon and Dave B.

Lynn just sat looking at me and grinning and poor Alison dodges out of the way every time I go near her. Evidently I ruined her dress with drink and half drowned her in the process. Poor girl. John (Pinder) and David gave me funny looks too. Blimey, what did I get up to? I can recall very little and shudder to think what passed between Sarah and I.

Lynn, Dave, Alison and John went to Haworth and all that Bronte country for a picnic with the spare trifles and left over pate from last night, and the half consumed bottles of Cinzano. They know how to enjoy themselves, don't they?

I entertained Tony and Martyn. They had a good time at Rawtenstall. Martyn kept saying 'fucking this' and 'fucking that' and dear Mama was only in the kitchen. I registered my displeasure. __________. I didn't mention the Muswell Hill campaign next weekend. They left after half an hour and I re-immersed myself in 'Decline and Fall' by Mr Waugh. The picnic party returned at 5 and Jack Simon came to photograph Lynn and Dave for an engagement portrait. I watched from the window as they frolicked happily on the lawn. Isn't love nice?

Just watched TV tonight. 'Poldark', the Sunday film, and all that. To be honest, I felt horribly tired. Will I live long enough to receive my telegram from the King? If I ever get one from a president I'll tear it to shreds.

-=-

Thursday September 8, 1977

Miserable bloody weather. I had a rare half day and managed to escape at 12. At lunchtime I went with Sue, Peter and Uncle H to the Commercial where we had roast beef and dripping sandwiches and a few pints. Mum and Dad came in at 2. Annie (Lindley) sat on my knee and we laughed our heads off.

Annie Lindley.

Uncle H, being alcoholic, is pissed as a frog after three pints, and to make matters worse he bought a bottle of whisky from the bar to take back for a further session.

Later we were joined by Edith and Ernest and knocked back ginger beer, wine, whisky, lager and beer. By 7 o'clock we were all canned and some of the party were complaining of hunger. Within minutes we were at the Hare (where Judith was playing at barmaids) on our way to the Flying Pizzatoo at Burley-in-Wharfedale. The restaurant was jam packed and we seemed to be waiting hours for our food.

Harry's changed a good deal since April. He's older and not half the fun he once was.

We all went back to Edith and Ernest's at about 11 for glasses of his cloudy pink champagne, but the end of the night was ruined by Uncle Harry's behaviour. At 12.30 he stormed out, packed his pathetic belongings and was away down the lane with his dog, Tan, telling me to 'piss off' and that he will never come back to Yorkshire. Isn't it a terrible thing? Mum came home with a raging headache.

Dom(inic) Melville arrived at some late hour to say he had seen Harry walking towards Rawdon and wanted to know if there was anything he could do.

-=-

Tuesday September 6, 1977

Lady Jane Wellesley

Chatting with Uncle Harry tonight we decided to form a new political party. The National Rhodes Party, or the NRP. I'm going to be chancellor, Mum is going to put on her big hat and make history by being the first woman Home Secretary, and Uncle H is earmarked for Prime Minister. The small moustache and grey hair are his credentials. We haven't yet decided just what job Dad will fill, but no doubt we'll come up with something. A good idea, don't you think? We would do a damn sight better than Mr Callaghan and Company, of this I'm sure.


The YP was up to its usual standard. Kathleen was a pain in the neck and Sarah was in a ghastly mood all day. So we had quite a cheerful time of it.

Harry: Prime Minister.

One of the papers (the Sun, I think) says Lady Jane Wellesley is back on the scene with the Prince of Wales. The woman is in her 27th year and I hardly think she's up to any rigorous sessions of child-bearing which will of course be necessary if she marries the heir. Besides, we don't want a Queen with ________.Will she do for Prince Andrew, perhaps?


Watched TV tonight. Mum, Dad and Harry went to the Commercial for a quick one, and it was on their arrival home at 10.30 that the plans for Britain's new political leadership emerged.

-=-

Monday September, 5, 1977

 A most interesting day all in all. Lynn was nasty this morning about me going to the barbecue on Saturday. It made me angry because never have I felt so right about an action in my whole life. ___________.

At tea time Susan made a massive meal for the family expecting the arrival of Mum, Dad and Uncle Harry - but they didn't arrive, and the food intended for them was devoured by me at various periods throughout the evening.

I phoned John G in Rawtenstall and told him we'd be over on September 17. Watched a TV programme on Lord Lichfield which was good. Mum, Dad and Harry and the dog, Tan, arrived at about 10 and we had a minor home brew session which took us through until 12.45. We discussed the Lane Fox family and the fact that old Wetherby people Brigadier Hargreaves, the pompous Lord Lieutenant, and Sir Kenneth Parkinson, our beloved chairman, are married to sisters.

-=-

Sunday September 4, 1977

13th after Trinity. Yes, Naomi and I put up a Christmas tree and decorated it with newspaper. Oh what a state it was in this morning. I was actually beginning to believe that the festive season was upon us.

with Martyn at Bolton Abbey.

Tony and Martyn came at about 3. I wasn't all that talkative. Wendy, Georgina and G's sister (I've forgotten her bloody name) joined us in Ilkley and we motored to Bolton Abbey for the remaining portion of the afternoon. We walked by the river taking the occasional silly photograph and then went for a riotous cup of tea and a bun at the Bolton Abbey Cafe. My ginger cake was a collector's piece - mid 18th century, I think..

We returned to the flat for cheese on toast and then shot off to the Craven Heifer for a hectic, hot, and horribly sticky night out. It was like the 1975 London Tube Disaster all over again - only worse. We were crammed in a corner away from the music and the dirty jokes. By now I was decidedly dull-witted and uncommunicative. Home at midnight. Everyone nicely tucked up in bed except Mummy and Daddy who are visiting Uncle Harry in Cumbria (since Saturday noon) and I do the same. Retire that is.

-=-

Tuesday April 12, 1977

Dreadful day back at the YP. My eye-balls ached all day long and it took Lord Home-type will power to keep them open throughout the whole tiresome charade. Yes, I am feeling rotten.

Uncle Harry and JPH

Argue with Mum about Uncle Harry. I will not accept that he is alcoholic. Drunkard maybe (if there's a difference) but not a alcoholic. Mum hits the roof and says I should not defend him because it's my type who encourages him to be what he is, but I refuse to stand down and say she's making mountains out of Ilkley Moor. He may neglect himself and be a trifle squalid, but it goes too far to give him such a label. We became quite heated and violent about the whole issue. Regrettable really. Good Old Mum - she means well and has Harry's best interests at heart but why does everything have to be so melodramatic and serious?

Martyn

Out with Tony and Martyn to the Hare, Half Moon and Fox & Hounds. They've been to Scotland with Linda and Ruth. Martyn says he's ____________________. I find boasting about sex grotesquely childish. Tony didn't say much.  He's still ________________.Home at 10.30 thinking I'm being made fun of.  Arranged with Martyn to go out with him and Gayle - me escorting Emu, or whatever her name is. They were amazed I'd consider such a thing.






-==-

Monday April 11, 1977

Bank Holiday in England, Ireland and Wales. Last night  was ghastly. Feathers abounded and my poor lungs almost gave way to it all. Gasping and wheezing my way through a Bank Holiday is hardly what you'd call enjoyment, but I suppose it's better than being at the Yorkshire Post.

The morn is warm and sunny and the birds are singing gaily. In fact I accidentally kicked a sparrow off it's feet thinking it was a stone. What's wrong with the bird-life in Cumbria? Our feathered friends in Yorkshire wouldn't let you do such a thing.

Breakfast again consisted of eggs, sausages and the lot. Have a laugh with Maria about her half-cast Irish accent. She has a good sense of humour for sure, and the weight is falling off her. A slip of a girl in fact.

A photographic session outside the accursed Kell Head (pub) and then whilst I'm inspecting the urinals John, Sue, Peter and the baby disappear down a lane on some sort of nature trail. I gave chase and after 10 minutes I found them hiding in a field in the hope that I'd walk merrily past and fade away over the horizon. They had even gone to the trouble of lifting John (baby version) in his pram over a five barred gate and into a derelict barn to perfect the dastardly scheme. Swines that they are.

The party arrives from Uncle H's abode and Mum pays her bill. She was still fuming about last night's snub. Lynn laughed and said that Susan resorted to smoking in bed to calm the violence of her temper over the 10.30 closing horror. The offending cigarettes were borrowed from Mrs Maria Rhodes.

Hurriedly pack and within half an hour we're back on the road to St Bees - in somewhat more clement circumstances than yesterday. I take off shoes and roll up trousers and hurtle myself in the direction of the sea. Maria likens my prancing over the sands to that of a frisky stallion. A photographic session followed as the clan gathered 'neath a concrete barrier in the weak sunshine. Memorable it was.

Fish and chips back at Uncle Harry's and at 3pm we're on the trek homeward. Me, Mum, Dad, John, Maria and baby in one car, and the others with Peter. Stopped off at the Anchor Inn again but otherwise it was straight home. The usual Bank Holiday traffic jams but that can only be expected. On a starving rampage on my arrival home. The Cumbrian sea air must have brought it on because I just could not stop eating. Beans on toast, cheese, jam, buns, cream crackers, &c. You name it, pal, I ate it tonight.

-==-

Sunday April 10, 1977

Easter Day. Raining at first, but brighter later. Woke up with an incredible hangover. Have I died in my sleep? Feel really grotty at first. A run up the garden to the (Kell Head) pub and a dip in the bathroom followed by eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread &c &c rejuvenated me greatly and by half past eleven I was quite ready for anything. The rain proves no deterrent and the whole party sets off in a convoy for St Bees. Yes, the seaside. A quick dash in the drizzle on the 'front' by most of the party was enough but for the more adventurous the call of the pub proved irresistible.

Have a few drinks with Uncle Harry who tells me that once (during the war) he worked down the pit. Yes, a miner no less. I didn't know that. Mum sat in the car, closeted with JPH, and was thoroughly enjoying it by the look on her face. How long is it since we had a baby with us at the seaside? Must have been when Susan was in nappies. The rain was pounding in St Bees and following a Cabinet meeting in the pub comes the announcement that the party will adjourn to the Nethertown HQ. However, on our return to H's caravan the sun  broke from behind a cloud and cascaded down upon us. We danced in a frenzied mob on the Nethertown beach and hurled pebbles at one another. Cameras came out too. Baby was pushed up and down in his pram and some of the boys found solace in crab murdering. Papa stood gazing out to see, in dark spectacles, like Fidel Castro. Isn't it strange how salty sea air works up a thirst in young men?

Back to the Kell Head for a couple of hours. Plenty of Elvis Presley and egg mayonnaise sandwiches too. All quite pissed we were - again. Then back to the Nethertown encampment. Blimey, it's up and down like a yoyo isn't it? See Lord Grade's 'Jesus of Nazareth' on Uncle H's minute tv set and prepare ... yes, you've guessed it ...to return to a certain pub presided over by a certain fat barmaid. The Kell Head again. For some reason, probably because of the fact that it's Easter Sunday, a sobering influence hangs over the lounge of the above mentioned tavern. Uncle Harry isn't three sheets in the wind. All very distressing, eh? At 10.30, when I'm just about to settle down and start some serious drinking 'Big Jean' drops a bombshell upon us. "I'm closing on time tonight, Ducks", she calmly announces. Mum especially looked horribly pained and I had to offer assistance to John who came over all faint. Big, horrible Fat Jean has no right to do such a thing. Don't patrons have rights? Are we to be walked upon as though we're in the Soviet Union? No, No, No. But yes. Back to the caravan for a French-cut (pyjama) party with Dave and Pete. Didn't really feel like drinking at all and sat watching the light ale running away.

-==-

Saturday April 9, 1977

One of those horrible mornings when one wishes one had remained in ones bedroom. A nice sunny day true enough, but the chaos and pandemonium and general escalation of activity due to our forthcoming departure north for Easter took away the elation and joy.

Princess Louise, Duchess of Fife

I sat reading the morning papers amid the panic of suitcase packing. Princess Anne is the main topic in the press. Will the Queen's grandchild be Master or Miss Phillips, or will the Cap'n be forced into accepting an earldom, marquesate, or even a dukedom? I've read in the papers that no precedent exists for a monarch to bestow a title upon a grandchild by-passing the parents. But in fact the granddaughters of King Edward VII (daughters of the Princess Royal, Duchess of Fife) were created Princesses in 1905. Here's the citation coming up: "King Edward VII was pleased to declare on Nov 9, 1905 that his daughter, HRH The Princess Louise, Duchess of Fife should bear the title Princess Royal, and that her daughters should bear the title of Princess with the qualification of Highness, and should rank immediately after all members of the Royal Family bearing the style of Royal Highness." Why not make Anne Princess Royal and  create all her children Princes or Princesses as indeed the offspring of Charles, Andrew and Edward will be? This would solve all the petty problems of peerages, honourables and such like.

To Cumbria at 1.30 or so stopping at the Anchor Inn at Skipton (sic) on the way. Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Sue, Peter, John, Maria, JPH,  and me. Ten of us. Get to Uncle H's before 5. He's pissed out of his mind and cooking a diabolical meal for us. We all eat grinning all over our faces. The Yorkshire puddings were like nothing on earth. All go to the Kell Head pub which is in the middle on nowhere. (2 miles from Egremont and St Bees), where all except Mum, Dad and Harry are to pass the next couple of nights. By 7.30 we're all in the bar. The baby hates the place and he cried and screamed until midnight. I don't think the little fellow appreciated the juke-box the sound of which vibrated on his bedroom floor. We all sat there until about 2am. The 'landlady' - call her what you will - is affectionately known as 'Big Jean' Sherwen. Never a more repulsive woman could you wish to lay eyes on. A horror indeed. All pissed up and singing. Dave, Pete and I in a caravan in the garden. Dave wears 'French cut' pyjamas - what he does in the privacy of his bedroom is no concern of mine, but I cannot help marveling at them. Die laughing in fact.

-==-

Sunday March 13, 1977

3rd in Lent. Up at 12. To the Commercial with Sue, Peter, Uncle H, Lynn, Dave, Richard & Mandy Baker, Chris Baker, Julie Harris, Alison and John Pinder.

John Pinder and Alison Dixon.

Uncle H tells the pathetic tale of how, in a Tadcaster pub, he tried to tell his father that he was dying. The old sod wouldn't hear of it and refused to believe he was going until he actually went.

Back to Pine Tops. Lynn was pissed up again. Drinking brandy and smoking cigars. She says ________.Good lunch. Wine heavy.

Alison and John leave with Uncle H and I for Leeds at 5 and I'm working by 5.30. I like Alison immensely. Just Ursula and I.  Got a taxi home at 11. The driver smelled like a pig. What can have befallen the taxi driving snake expert?

The family had been to John & Maria's for drinks and cake. First wedding anniversary and all that. Has it been a long or short year? I can't quite make up my mind.

Oh, no Lynne M last night. She must have been out with her Hussar playmate.

Retired to my chambers at 12 after scrambled eggs on toast and watching the tail end of a Joan Fontaine epic. Isn't Joan the sister of Olivia de Havilland?

-=-

Friday January 21, 1977

It's just about a year since John & Maria announced that they were expecting the arrival of a new addition to the family. It seems longer, somehow. Did my brother ever live here with us? Did I ever share a bedroom with him? These things seem deep in the past, and I cannot imagine him without Maria or baby JPH.

Ruth Upton, later Rhodes.

Home at 5. Uncle H is at the tea table. Discuss his mother and the Upton family. (Refer to the family papers, no room to discuss them here). He is slightly pissed, and at 6.30 he goes with Mum & Dad down to see John & Maria and the poor baby. Measles at 4 months old seems a little odd to me.

Down at the Hare: Lynne, John, Maria, Harry, Dad, Sue, Peter N, Lynn, Denise, Michelle, Tony, Chris, Pete M, &c. Pay Denise our £10 deposits (£70 in all) and all is nicely arranged now. I'm miserable when, at 11 o'clock, all the mob, including Carole and Naomi too, move on to Oakwood Hall, whilst Lynne and I had to drive to Thornton-le-Dale and miss all the fun and excitement. Had a serious talk on the journey. Lynne talks about moving back over here. I remind her of Stephanie Ferguson's flat in Burley-in-Wharfedale. I enjoy getting things off my chest like that. Like what? At Ty-Onnen we swill Martini with Karl and a pal of his. Bed at 4.30 and sit reading one of Peter's Enid Blyton books. Ugh!

-==-

Tuesday January 18, 1977

Sweet dreams until midday. The hour of 12 no less. I emerged from my bed in no placid frame of mind. I attempted to bite Mama's head off and swore and cursed as I devoured my lunch. People do tell me that I can change suddenly from being the perfect specimen of gentility to a snarling beast within seconds. A split personality do you think? My cousin ________is a schizophrenic so perhaps I am too. Is it hereditary? Yours worriedly, Mr Hyde. From my mental state to the physical side. I am much improved today, but not ready for the great responsibilities of the Yorkshire Post. Well, not until Thursday anyway. -=-

Cousin Sam, me and Papa ....

Michelle (the friendly travel agent) rang me this afternoon to say the Hotel Pacific was booked provisionally until 4.30. She is sweet. I ask her to hang on until tomorrow. I'm sure everyone will agree. I ring Chris and he says 'yes'. So does Peter M. Glenn rings and we go into raptures over 'Ibiza 77' chanting 'Up Pam' &c. Watch a play on the TV and discuss Papa's parentage with him before retiring to bed. He says his mother was born at a place called Lewis in Wiltshire. There are only two Lewises. One is in the Outer Hebrides and the other is spelt LEWES and is in Sussex - near Eastbourne. That must be the place, but first I'll write to Uncle Harry in Cumbria for confirmation.

Wednesday October 6, 1976

Good Old Uncle Harry's birthday [54th]. Take my umberella with me to Leeds this morning and, quite naturally, this particular region of the British Isles sees temperatures in the mid-nineties. Not a drop of rain to be felt within 48 million miles of my soddin' umberella.

See in the late editions of the EP that Margaret Hilda Thatcher attended the memorial service for the late Sir Edward Heath, thus ending months of speculation that at the time of the former PM's death the pair were not on the best of terms. Margaret Hilda really should have Sir Edward stuffed, mounted and placed on castors so that she can wheel the old gent onto the platform at the party conference each year. Votes would pour in.

Take the bear round to John's at 6 o'clock with Mum. See JPH and actually hold him in my arms. He's absolutely gorgeous. Mum cannot take her eyes off him. He was more interested in sucking his clothes and even thought Mum's ear was a source of nourishment. Maria looked a little pale. Didn't see much of John. Molly was full of cold, and so was Jim. Home at 7 o'clock for dinner and then it's decorating the hall and landing until 11.45pm. Believe it or not, I quite enjoy daubing paint on doors, walls and banisters, &c. So rewarding to stand back when it's all completed knowing you are responsible for the whole bloody lot.

-==-

Saturday September 11, 1976

Go with Harry, Sam, Mum and Dad, Lynn, Sue & Pete to 69 Silverdale Drive. Somewhat chaotic though because John is laying a floor of woodden blocks in his lounge, and poor Uncle H found himself glued to the floor. He was seconds away from becoming a permanent fixture in his nephew's home. Introduce Sam to Maria. He doesn't believe us when we say she's only 18.

Sue and Peter go off somewhere like a pair of love birds and the rest of us trip off down to the Conmmercial in a deluge. The great dramatic actor Frazer Hines is sitting in the bar surrounded by followers, make-up artists and piss artists. Later we see them filming in the carpark. A dour, old local chap in the tap room says 'somebody should bloody well blow up Emmerdale Farm and have done'. Hear, hear. Joined by Anne, Carol [Americans] and Raymond [Bond]. devour beef sandwiches and knock back lager. A chap [telly producer type]chats with Lynn but nothing comes of it.

John and Maria come up at 5.30 for an evening meal. Beautiful food. Down to the Hare at 9. Joined by Tony. CB goes off to Ilkley to meet Martyn. At 10.45 Tony goes up to Horsforth for Mrs Johnson and they go on to Ilkley too. Family comes back to Pine Tops for a continuation of last night's booze-up. Drink until 3am. Uncle H is one of the most humorous men I have ever encountered.

-==-

Friday September 10, 1976

A wet and blustery day. Go into town at 1.30 and take my latest film into the chemist for developing. Very exciting.

See in the Daily Mail [and later in the EP] that Prince Charles and Davina Sheffield will probably marry next year - according to their friends. Who needs friends with people like that around? Or even who needs enemies with friends like that? [Keep trying the different friends angle and you'll eventually get it right, Michael.] Mum asks if Davina is 'suitable Queen material'. I say yes.

Go to the Hare with Lynne and Susan in Peter's car [Peter N's that is] after 8 o'clock and meet Christine White and a bearded Stuart, who come in to investigate Maria's forthcoming confinement. They leave shortly afterwards. Lynn and Dave come down with cousin Sam [Rhodes] who I haven't seen since 1970-71 or so. He is alright but somewhat withdrawn. Mum and Dad come in with Harry. Back home in pouring rain at 11.30 or so after seeing Carole and Naomi.

Give Lynne a pile of old copies of 'Private Eye' and a packet of tea for Mrs Mather as repayment for all the supplies I consumed last weekend. She goes off in a rainstorm at midnight for Thornton-le-Dale and the rest of us have a drink [a serious one]. Bed at 3.30am.... intoxicated.

-==-

Sunday August 22, 1976

10th after Trinity. Lynne wakes me at 9 o'clock to say bye bye. She's wearing her new jeans and looks fantastic. I give her a peck on the lips and fall back into a coma for a couple of hours. Lynn wakes me at 11.30 to say CB is on the phone. Christine says I'm a "lazy bugger" and says it's the second time she's tried to phone today. She went out with David L last night, but says she is depressed about something. She even said she wanted to drown herself in the bath. God!

After a cooked breakfast, and clad in my new jeans, and 'winkle pickers' I go for a walk over the top and to Hawksworth village. Carole and I always walked on that path and my mind drifts back to those days. I think of last night's sighting of Carole. I remember one moment just before the end when I suddenly went cold feeling I was being watched with some intensity. I looked into the mirror behind the bar and could see Carole's eyes glued on me in the midst of the Martini and whisky optics. A horrible, sad moment.

I sit for a while on a gate and look down to Menston village and the grounds of Highroyds. The earth is so parched and un-English in appearance. Trees are brown and dead. This country has not experienced anything like this since before records were first kept 250 years ago. I take it all in because I will probably never see anything like it again.

Sit with Sue and Peter on the lawn. Lynn makes tea in readiness for Mum & Dad who get back [from Cumbria] at 7pm with cousins David and Edward [Uncle H's sons if you don't already know]. Haven't seen either of them since 1970 or so, but neither are really changed. Mum and Dad take them home to Wakefield at 8.30, but they're coming back to see us for the weekend of September 10/11.

See the film 'El Cid' until 10.30 and then watch a Bridget Bardot film until after midnight.

-==-

Sunday March 7, 1976

1st in Lent. A funny Ha Ha day. Wake up at what seems like late afternoon but it's only lunchtime. Uncle Harry is just making off downstairs and I yell my farewells through the bannister. I will never forget the hysterics we had in the early hours of this morning.

Marlene, Frank and the kids come half an hour after I'm up and the screams of childish laughter aren't the remedy for a hangover at all. To avoid further punishment we, that is Carole, Sue, Pete, Jackie and I walk down into Guiseley in a mild snow storm (not joking either) and we end up at 69, Silverdale Drive - John's future abode. Everyone remarks how tiny the place is, but we all agree it's all they require - that is unless Maria is blessed with quads or sextuplets.

Back to our place for 4 where Marlene & Frank are still being entertained. We talk of memories of Marlene & Frank visiting us at Goldthorpe, &c, and of John's baby speech defect. (He found difficulty pronouncing the letter 'R').

For the rest of the afternoon and evening we're sat in front of the TV and I go to bed at about 12.30 after having had a whisky with Jackie & Mum. David, who is 20 tomorrow, took Carole home at about eleven o'clock.

-==-

Saturday March 6, 1976

Lynn's 'Coming of Age' party at the Yorkshire Rose.

Carole and I spent the whole afternoon buying Lynn's present and finding something suitable for John & Maria. The strain imposed on us by this harrowing shopping nightmare did nothing to make either of us better natured, and by 3 o'clock - after 3 solid hours walking around Leeds - we were near to blows.

We bought John and Maria a dinner service for £13.50 and I was compelled to haul the whole lot around numerous boutiques and ladies fashion boudoirs. My arms were just about paralised by 4.30. Home we came on a 33 bus and we parted company on icy, cold terms. I rang Dad from the call box on Fieldhead Road and he drove me home.

Everyone is busy at home. Jackie is the first guest to arrive at about 5.30. Met Carole - who looks adorable - at 6.20 off a bus at the bottom of the lane, and we have a few drinks at home before leaving for the Yorkshire Rose at 7.30.

The party is a success. Jackie is stunned to see the bruises on Carole's arm that had been done by her revolting father. We had to tell Jackie who'd done it because she was looking straight at me as though I'd been battering her about.

Lynn made a nice little speech from a table top amidst the remnants of half eaten cheese sandwiches and sausage rolls.

I've no idea what time the family returned home, but I do know it was after 2am when Uncle Harry found himself locked in the cellar of the Yorkshire Rose. We all had a tremendous piss-up at our place and were still grooving away at 4am.

Cousin Jackie and I were in hysterics when Uncle Harry accidentally set fire to his trousers, and I just about choked.

--===-=