20211230

Saturday March 20, 1982

 Out of bed at 10:30 suitably refreshed from my night of tranquil repose.

Had poached eggs and gallons of tea. We do enjoy our breakfasts on a weekend, and they sometimes stretch to an hour or more.

We made a visit to the vast metropolis of Bradford and were disillusioned by the ladies fashions in the shops. Store after store with nothing more than the frilly 'Princess of Wales' look which is no problem if you're 6ft tall and heavily pregnant, but nothing is suitable for Ally. We went to the market for our fruit and veg. Morrison's too. We bottled beer afterwards. _______.

Phoned Peter to offer birthday congratulations. He casually mentioned that Dad is in hospital with a foot problem. I phoned Mum who says David has taken him to Otley hospital with a suspected broken ankle after taking a fall in the dark last night behind Aireborough Grammar School. We have no further news.

On to Sarah and Trevor's at Horsforth. A very pleasant evening. Sarah gushes and flows like Ellen Terry's Lady Macbeth. We had Martinis and Trevor gave us a guided tour of the house. Joined by other guests Sue and Graham. They were very down to earth and amusing. He is very much like the EPs David Riley. They are in antiques. Chicken for dinner. Gossiped. Home at 3am. Did we overstay our welcome?

-=-

Friday March 19, 1982

 Felt buggered all day. Went out at lunchtime and bought Mum a Mother's Day card. Wet. Sarah took a half day and left at 12 swearing on the Official Secrets Act on the subject of our visit to Providence House for dinner. She refuses to have 'the cats' Marilyn and Beverley in her house. They have bought Sarah and Trevor a biscuit tin for a wedding present.

Home at 6 and collapsed onto the settee. Ally was bright and chirpy and all I could do was grunt. We had lasagne and watched Basil Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes on BBC2. I slept afterwards while Ally knitted and read [she's on with Jane Austen's Mansfield Park at the moment]. I only returned to consciousness when something on the telly hit a certain pitch. Heard on the news that the actor Alan Badel has died. I remember him as the Count of Monte Cristo from about 10 years ago.

Went up to bed at 10. I could easily have gone at 6. Ally is such a delight to be with. It's not like being with any other person. We don't have to pretend or force anything. Affinity is what I'm trying to describe. Love too.

-=-

Thursday March 18, 1982

 I do not feel in the rudest of health today. My throat is still playing up, and taking a closer inspection in the mirror I see a terrible abrasion close to my tonsils. All day I felt hot and listless.

I check the Court Circular every day to assess the royal engagements in the summer to pin down when the baby prince/princess is due. President Reagan and the Pope are visiting the Queen in early June, and HM goes to the Palace of Holyroodhouse on June 28, and so the middle of the month appears to be free. I feel sure that the Queen will be in London for the birth of her heir of line. We shall see.

Home to Piggy at 6. Cracked open a couple of bottles of beer and sat watching Esther Rantzen doing a programme on childbirth.

Salad sandwiches. Robin Day's 'Question Time' which always sees me blowing raspberries and shaking my fists at the TV. Silly old Baroness Wootton of Abinger, CH, is one for instance who never fails to draw raspberries and rude gestures from me.

Bed after 12.

-=-

Wednesday March 17, 1982

 St Patrick's Day - Bank Holiday in Ireland & the Republic of Ireland

Bugger St Patrick. A man on the radio this morning stated that St Patrick was in fact Welsh. Very dubious.

Bacon sandwiches and tea for breakfast. The suspense about Ally's condition is on our minds all day. We try not to think about it and promise not be disappointed if a baby isn't on the way. In quiet moments though, supping tea at work and buried behind the Daily Telegraph, my thoughts drift over to Bradford and that litttle woman, without whom life would be pointless and not worth living.

YP: Carol's diarrhoea. Kathleen's mum diarrhoea. Went out and bought waders -just in case. 

James Anderton says the country is being undermined by Marxists and that nothing is safe. I couldn't agree more, Jimmy. I filled in some coupons from the national papers and despatched them to the Police Federation agreeing with them that capital punishment should be restored. Obviously, not a snowball in Hell's chance, but at least I've expressed my opinion. I am all for hanging, flogging, cutting off ears, fingers, toes, noses, anything to bring peace and quiet back to our streets. We've all gone soft in the head.

-=-

Tuesday March 16, 1982

 YP: Carol's diarrhoea continues, and to make matters worse Kathleen's mum is now overcome by the illness too. Kathleen had to go home early to muck out Brooklands Close.

Sarah was amiable and almost like her old self.

On March 11 and March 13 PHS of the Times Diary was speculating about the Garter. He reported that the last occasion upon which the Queen made a single appointment was Lord Ashburton in 1969. This is incorrect. Lord Casey was also appointed a KG in 1969. The last single appointment was Viscount Cobham in 1964. I wrote to this PHS chappie enclosing a list of all Garter knights appointed since 1952. Am I becoming a crank?

Ally and I dined by candlelight at 6:30, chicken soup, bacon, sausages and eggs. The phone rang. It was Sarah asking us to dine on Saturday. Startling. __________.

Watched TV. Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall and Edward G. Robinson. Ally is unimpressed by these old John Huston films and cannot understand my fascination. She says I only like them because I'm supposed to. Sorry, but that isn't me.

To bed at 9:30 with Lord Mountbatten.

-=-


20211127

Monday March 15, 1982


 Ally is the most beautiful creature in the whole world. I sit and fix my eyes on her, soaking every bit in until she spots me, becomes restless, and looks up from her book. Luscious.

YP dull. Carol has diarrhoea, and leaves at 12. Margot suffers from some affliction which prevents her working after lunch. Sarah spent the afternoom grousing about Trevor's sisters, who are very annoyed that their children haven't been invited to their wedding. Nephews are a little too close to be ignored, I fear. Cousins, yes.

Diana: pale and thin
Home for chicken stew and dumplings at 5:30, still in daylight. Ally has a delicious tale of Frank and Bessie's weekend trip to Le Harve with the ghastly Winchester Rotary Club people. Apparently, one of their number, an alcoholic, went berserk on the rough Channel crossing and had to be kept under close guard locked in his cabin. What's more, the incarcerated gent is president of the club. Bessie giggled like a schoolgirl when she related this tale to Ally this afternoon. Gillian was absent today, and so Ally had a better day.

The Princess of Wales looks pale and thin on page 1 of today's YP. Pregnancy doesn't suit everyone, does it? Lord Spencer, we are told, is hoping for a grandson to solve the 'succession problem' and kill Michael English's Bill stone dead. Johnny is such a sensible man and I feel sure that his KG will be well received. Bed at 10.

-=-

Sunday March 14, 1982

 3rd Sunday in Lent

Out of bed at 11:30. I made an enormous fried breakfast and large pot of tea. We sat smiling at one another over our cups. Ally loves and admires my fried creations. She compares then to the photos one sees in glossy food magazines. The way to make a good fried breakfast is not to let the frying pan think it's in charge. Always show the kitchen utensils who is the boss. Romantic, that is until the handle snapped on my china cup, sending a deluge of hot tea over the mahogany table. The breakafast things were cleared away very quickly.

An afternoon of tranquil repose. Watched 'The Cruel Sea' on the BBC. A good, sloppy naval tale with a cast of thousands. Donald Sinden so young he had acne, &c.

Chicken for dinner. We are so greedy. To bed at 10. Mum phoned just as I turned out of the light. They are safely returned from Scotland. JPH is growing up. They bought him a belt of which he is very proud.

-=-

Saturday March 13, 1982

 John and Maria were joined together in Holy Matrimony six years ago this day. I sent them a card bearing the following verse:

'Sing, dance and cheer, for our John and Maria,'

'Who now for six years have been wed'

'To Scotland they went'

'Now the money's all spent'

'And I don't think they get out of bed'

Mum and Dad went to Stranraer yesterday with Jim and Margaret. I can picture the mad, heaving party at Port Patrick. Ally foolishly spent all day doing housework and then at 4:00 we went to Morrison's and spent £16, quite a lot for us.

[Deletion of personal and graphic medical details]

Jackie and Barry came at 8. We had a pub crawl to the 'Fiddler's Three', the 'Fire Brigade', the 'Drop Kick', and the 'Royal'. Barry is such amiable company. I attempted to play on the 'Space Invader' machine and give Barry a game, but blew myself up every time. Jackie seems so happy. They are going to join us with Dave L on April 3 for my birthday. Home at 11:30 and had a curry from over the road.

We closed the evening with lemon wine and Advocaat. Pissed. Jackie and Barry left after 1:45am.

-=-



20211126

Friday March 12, 1982

 Stubbornly refused to climb out of bed until the very last moment. Felt slightly rough after Mary's ridiculously extravagent measures of whisky. We were lectured on race relations last night. We were told that the Indians and Pakistanis are a far superior race to the rebellious West Indian and Caribbean types. The latter, we were told by the mindless ladies, all carry enormous chips upon their shoulders, and will never let us forget that they were once enslaved. The recent Toxteth rioters were not the turban-wearing types.

Ally and I are disgustingly boring this evening. Spaghetti for dinner [very unsubstantial]. We sat snuggled together until 9 o'clock when the ice skating championships from Copenhagen drove us upstairs to bed.

-=-

Thursday March 11, 1982

 I spent the day at the YP dwelling on Knights of the Garter and various statistics. I have discovered that since her accession to the throne the Queen has appointed no fewer than thirty eight knights companion. Her first appointment was Sir Winston Churchill in 1953. Twenty eight KGs were peers at the time of their creation and two [Avon and Slim] were ennobled later. Of all the 38 knights only one was unmarried [Amory], and surprisingly, two [the Earls of Avon and Radnor] were divorced, and re-married. This means that Earl Spencer isn't barred from the order as I surmised yesterday. The average age at the time of their appointment is 66, and of the 38 the youngest to be appointed was the 10th Duke of Northumberland, aged 45 at his elevation in 1959. The oldest gent to collect his KG from the Queen was the late Earl of Iveagh, aged 81 in 1955. The first life peer was Lord Casey [1969], and the only former prime minister now honoured is Sir Harold Wilson [1976]. Alec Home is a Knight of the Thistle. When are we going to see a black KG? Lord Chitnis, a Paki life peer, does good work for the Rowntree Tust. Is he a possibility? Perhaps too controversial, and the Queen doesn't do controversy. there are no non-royal women KGs. Ladies of the Garter to date are the Queen Mother, Princess Juliana of the Netherlands and the Queen of Denmark. When are we to have female knights companion? When Mrs Thatcher retires as PM in 1995, after three terms of continuous office, will HM give her the Garter? How would she be styled? 'Lady Margaret Thatcher, KG', or 'Margaret, Lady Thatcher, KG'? I shall have to consult Sir Anthony Wagner on this. Interesting, eh?

Home at 6. Over to see Mary [Moore] at 7:30. Sat with an enormous whisky until after 12. A pair of mindless and nauseating females joined us, putting me into a long silence. I cannot abide silly, giggly women. Mary is far superior, intellectually. Thank God for Ally's brains and good sense.

--

Wednesday March 10, 1982

 The deaths of two former chancellors of the exchequer, Amory and Butler, create two vacancies among the Knights Companion of the Order of the Garter. Will Her Majesty fill these vacancies on St George's Day? It is a great pity that Harold Macmillan never accepted. Edward Heath is out of the running, and so is [James] Callaghan. Lord Spencer would have been a candidate had he not divorced his first wife, and it's a little too early for Roy Jenkins. I'm backing the Master of the Horse, Lord Westmorland, and Cliff Richard.

Prince Edward is 18 today and the prospect of seeing him Duke of Cambridge or Sussex is a little gloomy. Gloomy for the present anyway. They are going to have to give him something before he finds a bride because what will we call her if not? Princess Edward, yes, but Princess Edward of where? The future bride requires a territorial designation.

Phoned Dave L tonight. It's been ages since we communicated. Ally sat writing and injecting some conversational note into my telephone banter. I filled Dave in on the baby Nason saga, and we arranged to go out for drinks on April 3, to celebrate my birthday. To bed, not too late.

-=-

20211123

Tuesday March 9, 1982

 Budget Day. A mild one, that is the budget, not the day. Rain.

Lord Butler of Saffron Walden, KG, died yesterday. He was perhaps the greatest post-war chancellor, who should have been prime minister.

Out at 6:30 to Guiseley for fish and chips with Sue & Peter. Christopher had slept for most of the night. Sue looks so content now. Peter bounced his son around and wore that proud expression that only new fathers have. Peter clutched his baby. I clutched a large whisky and Ally a port and lemon. 

We discussed finances and mortgages, brought on by Sir Geoffrey Howe. Pete is of the opinion that we should buy a larger house and have a bigger mortgage.

On to Pine Tops to spend a couple of hours with Mum and Dad. Pine Tops is up for sale for £37,500. A man from Edison's put up a sign this morning.

-=-


20211117

Monday March 8, 1982

 David Andrew Baker is 26. Auntie Mabel is 63.

Don't feel communicative. Came home from the YP and found Ally hiding in the kitchen and looking peculiar. Ethel Greenwood had been banging on the wall with her walking stick [a parcel for us had been left there] and for some reason she refused to answer the old girl's summons. Mary [Moore] came across and was knocking on the door, and so with banging from every side Ally decided to hide at the head of the cellar. She is in a highly nervous state and looks exhausted.

Fish fingers. Sue phoned and invited us for tea tomorrow.

Ally was in bed and out cold by 9:30. I sat reading 'Mountbatten' by Richard Hough. I cannot get into it, and find this Hough man offensive. I'm not surprised that Countess Mountbatten has attempted to halt the publication. I read in bed, but it disturbed Ally, and so I switched off at 10:30.

It's the Budget tomorrow. Sir Geoffrey [Howe] won't clobber us too hard because he may only have one more budget to present before the next general election.

-=-

Sunday March 7, 1982

 2nd Sunday in Lent

Hungover. Ally provided me with two invaluable paracetamols and I attempted to battle on. Dave, even at 10am, was doing his books. I marvelled at his dilligence. There he was with a pocket calculator. [He now runs the pub with his mother]. 

Bacon and eggs. Sadie, the German Shepherd, is a fine specimen, and not the vicious, unfriendly dog I expected. Ally was quite taken with the frisky young thing. It's interesting that none of the lads seem to like drinking in the Hollywood these days, and so we had to venture back to the Robin Hood. The fun and warmth of last night is gone and the lads are as lively as a lump of cheese. Garry has been dull since Joanne returned to Jersey. 

Ally reminded me that I was also referring to Anne's bullied Jack Russell as a 'ferret'.

Back at the Hollywood we had turkey for lunch and watched Clint Eastwood's ridiculous [film] 'Magnum Force', which Dave recorded last night. After lashings of tea we left at 7:30. Exhausted, but happy. Home at 8:30. Bed.

-=-

20211116

Saturday March 6, 1982

 Lynn is 24 today. We were out of bed at 8:30 drinking tea and talking to the birthday girl on the phone. David is taking her and Frances to York for the day. After breakfast and baths we went into Shipley to collect our wedding video and then headed down the windswept M62 to Stockport. By 1:30 we were sitting around the snooker table at the Hollywood swilling lager. Lily, a brave woman, looked slightly emotional when she saw our wedding video.

Hot pot for dinner, then out to the Armoury pub at 8 and on to the Ring 'O Bells, where Glynnie phoned Sue and Pete and was hilariously explaining to them the rudiments of breast feeding. On to the Robin Hood. Pissed. We were joined by a new boy, John, a neighbour of Steve's, who is a PhD, and hails from far off Tewkesbury. He was a silent chap until the pils lager got to him. We clowned around like an episode from a 1957 Goon Show. He ended up wearing my boots, and I had his shoes. Garry had my blue pullover, and I had his. Back to Anne's [mother of the Robin Hood publican] for supper and wine. Deeply pissed. I insisted on referring to her Jack Russell terrier as a 'rat', 'cavie', and 'micro organism'. Greatly intoxicated. 

Ally, who hadn't touched a drop of drink, was in perfect health and drove a wobbly Dave and I back to the Hollywood.

-=-

Friday March 5, 1982

Ivy, Duchess of Portland

 To the YP tired and hideously unconscientiously. Saw Geoff Hemingway who told me I'm to receive another £10 next week, and of course Malcolm [Barker] will pay me for the family tree after it appears. Could this genealogical stuff be my lucky break? Am I destined to end my days as Garter King of Arms?

Sit with a coffee hiding behind a copy of The Times. Ivy, Duchess of Portland, has died aged 94. She was the widow of the 7th Duke, and was a Maid of Honour to Queen Alexandra from 1912-1915. They don't make 'em like that any more. The Duke, a Cavendish Bentinck, was of course a kinsman of the Queen Mother.

Worked without a lunch break and escaped the office at 4. Sunny and spring-like. Ally was knee deep in soap suds at Club St cleaning Audrey, but she downed her wash leather to come inside and kiss me.

We ate late, a lamb and pepper creation which tasted good but was greasy. No TV. Beethoven instead.

Susie left hospital at about 1pm today and went home to West End Terrace with Christopher. Mum had deposited a bottle of something bubbly in the refridgerator. We didn't go over because everyone else decided to go, and the last thing they need is a crowd on this essentially private and joyous day.

Edison's the estate agents have valued Pine Tops at £37,500. Mum is happy at this. Who wouldn't be?

Bed at 10:40.

-=-

Thursday March 4, 1982

 Sure enough, the dead dog had gone this morning and we could safely take breakfast without it disturbing our charming view of Lidget Green. We debate who might have removed the canine corpse. Put it this way, it's the last time I eat a curry within a ten mile radius of Necropolis Road. 

Hectic lunch time. Went out to buy rosé wine, films, flash cubes, wrapping paper, photo album, stylus, and greeting cards, and all in a 45 minute period. Home heavily laden at 6. Splashed in the bath. Wrapped David's Pierre Cardin after shave lotion, and Lynn's lasagne jar and got over to Burley-in-W for 8:45.

Found Mum, Dad, Lynn, Dave, Jim and Margaret assembled there. A quiet night though Mum was amusing and on top of the world. Somehow things rarely go with a bang at Lawn Road. No sign of Frances. They now have a very large dresser, from 'Cheap 'n Cheerful'. Margaret is insane. Lynn continues to behave peculiarly and seems to be permanently upset about something. David seems to become more and more dull. Ally is choked about the way people have changed. But then we all change, don't we?

Home and bed after 2am.

-=-

Wednesday March 3, 1982

 'Spring' is in the air. Spoke to Mummy. She told me that a man from Edison's estate agents is coming tomorrow to value Pine Tops and have a 'for sale' sign erected in the front garden. A poignant moment. What will life be like without dear Pine Tops? Mum and Dad had been to Otley [hospital] to see Sue & Christopher, both fighting fit.

Home to Baby. We sat cuddled together eating macaroni cheese, mounds of it.

Had a spot of culture later on BBC2 when we watched Her Majesty the Queen opening the Barbican Centre and afterwards attending a concert of Beethoven's fourth piano concerto. The Queen viewed some hideous French paintings which looked as though they were the creation of the inmates of a top security institution for the criminally insane. And weird Canadian sculpture. HM had a glint her eye throughout. They must surely roar with laughter when back at Windsor surrounded by Leonardo cartoons and equestrian oddments by that nice Mr Stubbs. The Queen looked very chic in a flowing pink and silver creation, but is looking her age.

A dog was knocked down and killed at 11:30pm at the junction of Cemetery Road and Necropolis Road. The canine couldn't have picked a more appropriate place to die. Ally was slightly overcome at the sight of the tragedy, and I did my good citizen bit and phoned the police. All very disturbing stuff on which to go to bed. I attempted to cheer Ally by telling her that the dog is now out of its earthly misery and now resplendent in Glory in the arms of Jesus, but it didn't do any good.

-=-

20211115

Tuesday March 2, 1982

 YP tolerable. It is reported that Kathleen is looking at getting an Irish Wolfhound to help her and her 75 year-old mother recover from the loss of Mr Rainford.

Geoff Hemingway gave me a £10 postal order for tips to the EP over recent months that he says he's overlooked. I can think of none. I drew up the joint family tree of of the Prince and Princess of Wales this morning. It shows their common descent from Henry VII and includes Diana's line from Charles I, Charles II and James II. Prince Charles of course has no lines of descent from those Stuart monarchs. [He is descended only from James VI & I]. I'm tickled pink. It's going to dominate the EP of March 30 when TRH visit St Gemma's and other locations in Leeds. It will be Diana's last big engagement before her accouchement.

Home at 6. We sat and ate coconut and watched Humphrey Bogart [also a distant cousin of the Princess too] in the Maltese Falcon.

-=-

Monday March 1, 1982

 To the YP for 8:30. I put Christopher's birth in the YP and EP announcements for tomorrow. Mum phoned to say that Sue isn't now going to Otley [hospital] until later, and so I went to see her at 2. Bless her, she was all packed like a refugee awaiting the ambulance. Christopher is 'prettier' and less swollen, and certainly 'bouncing'. Sue is totally captivated. The baby looked better in his going out clothes because the nightshirt supplied by Hyde Terrace is a grey, objectionable thing, which made him look like an orphan.  Sue says she hopes that people will call the baby by his full name and not 'Chris'. I fear she's on a loser here. The name, she says, was Peter's choice.

YP dismal. Kathleen was off commemorating the first anniversary of her father's demise. Read with some glee that the Succession Bill of Michael English was put off on Friday when it was opposed by the Tories. It now goes to the bottom of the Bills to be read, and no doubt die the death that Norman St John Stevas predicted.

Home to Ally at 6 in daylight. Chicken broth, dumplings, coffee, TV, books, bath, bed, &c.

-=-

20211111

Sunday February 28, 1982

 1st Sunday in Lent

Sunshine. Went to see Susie and our nephew Christopher Paul at 2. We were the only afternoon visitors. Sue looked so proud of the fine Nason specimen. I see what they all mean about the baby resembling Jim. We left Sue cuddling her son at 2. They move on to Otley [hospital] tomorrow.

On to the Gadsby residence. They have made tomato wine. They were all assembled but we didn't dine, because of an impatient chicken waiting at Club St. Karen and Steve want a son called Alexander James. Very grand.

Poor Uncle Tony is now redundant, and was in his vegetable patch playing with his broad beans. I went out to talk to him. The house and garden at St James's Crescent hold such memories for me - every brick, every corner of the garden brings back incidents from my childhood. We left between 6 and 7. The wine clouds my memory.

Chicken at Club St. Mum and Dad went to see Sue and Christopher again, and managed to have a hold of baby.

Saw 'Nancy Astor' again. Horrid. Bed t 10:30 but couldn't sleep. The roast chicken was playing up.

-=-

Saturday February 27, 1982

 Up at 8:30. Peter came to breakfast and gave us the full tale of Sue's long and difficult labour. A Caesarian section had been considered. She had an unpronouceable injection in the spine to numb the pain, and they used a funny vacuum thing to suck the baby out, which left him with a red ring on his poor little head.

I sat with a knotted brow. Dad thinks I'm addicted to paracetamol tablets. He is so eccentric.

Up to the Hermit at Burley Woodhead at 12 with Mum, Dad, Jim, Margaret, Peter. They went to Hyde Terrace at 2-3. Ally and I waited at Pine Tops. The baby is to be called Christopher Paul. He is, they say, the image of his paternal grandfather.

Home to Club Street and slept for a couple of hours before receiving Mum, Dad, Jim and Margaret for drinks and supper. We supped ale, ate salad sandwiches, and watched 'Dallas'. They left at 12.

-=-

Friday February 26, 1982

 Whilst eating our boiled eggs at 7:40 the phone rang. It was Mum saying Susie has been experiencing some pain all night and is beginning labour. I went off to work and was fed with bulletins throughout the day. 'Progressing slowly' in the afternoon, and so it continued throughout the evening. I worked through at lunch and arrived home at 5. 

We had fish and chips, took a bath, packed a suitcase, and went over to Pine Tops for 7. The vigil began. We watched TV with Mum and Dad. Mum phoned the hospital at 7:15 to be told that Sue was in a labour ward. Lynn, Dave and Frances came at 9 and stayed until 12:30. 'Granny' told Frances that she was about to have her 'nose pushed out'.

We phoned John and Maria to congratulate them on their Scottish baby news [due on August 14]. Spoke to Maria first who told us that John was out in the field with his sheep, goats and hens. One hen had apparently gone astray.

Lynn and Dave had only just left at 12:40 when the phoned trilled. Mum took the call. It was Peter. A baby boy was born at 12:24, just into Feb 27, weighing 8lb 14oz. No name has been decided upon as yet. Jim and Margaret arrived bearing the famous Johnnie Walker Red Label whisky, and we wet the baby's head. Jim had always insisted that the bottle of whisky was only to be consumed upon his demise.

 We sat until 4am, and then to bed.

-=-


20211108

Thursday February 25, 1982

 Received a letter from Norman St John Stevas, MP, who wants to 'put my mind at rest' on the subject of Michael English's succession bill. He says it is very unlikely to make further progress. Sigh with relief at this. You can always rely on the good old Tories to stand in the way of change. If I had my way I wouldn't ever change anything again, except perhaps for underpants. 

Pay day. went to Boots with Sarah to act as adviser as she bought a three week white wine pack. I am something of a Baron de Rothschild when it comes to wine making. Back later to the gloom of the YP. 

I couldn't see Susie today because they clean the wards at Hyde Terrace. It's ridiculous really because this swabbing of the hospital wards takes about 10 minutes.

Home at 6. We made a weekly pilgrimage to Morrison's. Home in time to see Top of the Pops, which we watched while eating cheese toasties and soup on trays. 

Ally had two fillings at the dentist this afternoon, and I bought her a Cadbury's Creme Egg as a tooth token.

We went to bed after listening to Sir Robin Day and his ridiculous panel. Will perhaps William Waldegrave one day be our prime minister?

-=-

20211012

Wednesday February 24, 1982

 Ash Wednesday

Frosty. I forgot to put a blanket on the car last night. I was overcome with grief at the sight of a white, shrouded Audrey. Ally and I had boiled eggs and biscuits. We are off bread as part of the 'Get Michael Slim' campaign. Long and lingering kisses. We want to do something for our wedding anniversary weekend. Perhaps a few days in Northumberland?

Auntie Elsie.
YP: Carolyn Pride, who shared a London flat with the Princess of Wales when she was just Lady Di, has become engaged to a William Bartholomew, who I have found is a sixth cousin once removed of HRH. Both he and the princess have a common ancestor in Stephen Poyntz, MP, an eighteenth century Berkshire landowner. Thrilling, eh?

Geoff Hemingway has asked me to do a family tree for the EP of March 30 when we are planning on going bananas for the P of W's visit to Leeds which will be Diana's last northern engagement before her confinement. Geoff says Malcolm [Barker] will have to give me the go ahead at tomorrow's conference but sees no problem. 

Sunny afternoon. Walked up to see Sue at Hyde Terrace. She says she so misses the fresh air of outdoors after weeks of antiseptic and disinfectant. A friend from Wendy Wools arrived at 2:30 with a blond baby called Trevor - poor thing. Mum phoned at 3:30.

Home at 6. The Yorkshire puddings collapsed. Coronation Street. Watched the dismal news. We decide that Dame Judith Hart looks very much like Ally's Auntie Elsie. We laughed about this.

Do people stop smoking on Ash Wednesday?

-=-


Tuesday February 23, 1982

 Shrove Tuesday. New Moon

On the bus this morning the piped music [which they play to the occupants of the upper deck] went berserk and the song stuck on repeat for one sentence for the duration of the journey. It had a disturbing effect on my fellow passengers. Old ladies got off the bus at Stanningley clinging to each other like automatons. A leather clad man, with violet hair, his jacket covered in pins and paint, got off the bus shouting, and looking for someone to mug. Eventually the repetetive noise so upset the Bengal bus driver that he abandoned the vehicle on Armley Road and sent for another one. 

At the YP I tore newspaper to shreds for 8 hours. Went to see Susie [no change]. A family gathering around the bed with Frances snatching the limelight.

Home at 5:30 to pancakes. A stodgy tea. I have a letter from Downing Street from a B.A. Cross. It reads: 'Dear Mr Rhodes, The Prime Minister has asked me to thank you for your recent letter setting out your views. They have been noted.' Obviously a standard answer to the 48 million letters that the PM receives on a daily basis. At least I've written and got it off my chest.

Mum and Dad came at 8 for a few drinks. Dad went up to the bathroom and mended a temperamental light switch. Watched TV. Roy Plomley talking about his 'Desert Island Discs' now in its 40th year. They left at 11.

-=-



Monday February 22, 1982

 Up at 7 completely recovered from my attack of dog-itis. 

YP not up to much. Unspeakable in fact. Mrs Slocombe fancies herself as Margaret, Duchess of Argyll or maybe the Begum Aga Khan. It is nauseating to see her gliding around the building.

Home for 5:30. A marvellous letter awaits me from John Stokes, MP. It reads: 'Dear Mr Rhodes, thank you very much indeed for your magnificent letter. It is letters of support such as yours that make it so worthwhile to be in public life. With all good wishes, yours sincerely, John Stokes.' I am bowled over by Mr Stokes's letter. It's not as though he is being sycophantic to one of his constituents and was under no compulsion to be quite so nice.

A lamb concoction with stuffed peppers and tomatoes. Ally points out 'it is breast of lamb'. She is currently sitting buried behind The Times [yes, it's still with us] scrolling through the secretarial jobs in London. 'Look at this one', she exclaims, 'you get £7,000 a year, and a car.' Is she thinking of leaving me, perhaps? 'No. You are worth more than that', came the reply.

To bed not long after Coronation Street.

-=-


Sunday February 21, 1982

 Quinquagesima

Woke at 8:30 and took a couple of pills. Felt frozen as if my stomach was full of ice. Ally was frosty too at first, but thawed after breakfast.

Breakfast went on indefinitely and we sat having a heart to heart until well after noon. It was too late cook lamb and so at 5 we had soup, grilled steak, chips, salad, &c. Another delightful nosh.

Watched John Mills in 'The Colditz Story'. I suppose it's a birthday tribute to the old boy. He is 74 or 75 today.

Out at 7:30 to Dave L's at Guiseley [he phoned at 6:30 yesterday]. We helped him make lemon wine and then watched 'Flash Gordon' on his new video machine, and then three episodes of 'Top of the Pops'. A pleasant evening but spoiled slightly by my allergy to Rowan, the Gordon Setter. A splendid dog. Mrs L had left us a marvellous supply of sandwiches and throughout the film Dave provided apricot wine, Bailey's Irish Cream, and banana milk shakes. We left at 11:30 promising to return next week with our wedding film.

-=-



20211011

Saturday February 20, 1982

 Sunny ansd bright. Masses of crumpets at breakfast time. Out at 12:30 to Bramley cemetery where we found John Rhodes's grave. After years of searching I have finally made contact with great-grandpapa. It was biting cold and so we didn't linger at the cemetery. We went to Hyde Terrace at 2 after looking at the antique shops on Burley Road and we found Susie looking well and glamorous. Lynn, Dave and Frances came too and we sat on the bed making noises at the baby, red faced and cheeky. Susie's teeth are shining bright and she told us that she cleans then eight times a day! She says Pete is now leaning towards Claire for a girl. She seems to think that the little beggar is female.

On to Thackley with Lynn, Dave and a snoozing Frances to Cheap 'n Cheerful. Not very good this week as most of the decent stuff has been sold. Lynn took a fancy to a wash stand but Dave wasn't enthusiastic. Back to Ash Tree Cottage for a quick change, &c. Out at 7:30 to see Dave Porritt about the wedding video. Then on to the Commercial [at Esholt] at 8 to join Lynn and Dave in the bar. Dave and Elaine Allinson came in until 11. As usual Elaine dominated the goings on and talked about everything from sex to sex. Lynn looked embarrassed. The booze flowed and we endured tales of Elaine's sexual antics and debated whether her 10 year-old daughter Samantha was about to menstruate for the first time. A dull looking couple on the next table sat spell-bound listening to tales of hanky panky from Rawdon to Menorca. My trousers saw fit to burst open [the fly is knackered] and I spent some time with a safety pin fumbling in the darkness of the gents toilet. 

To the Allinsons at Over Lane, Rawdon at 11 for corned beef sandwiches and more booze. I put back a quantity of Scotch and clowned around wrapping everyone in toilet paper. My recollections of the latter part of the evening are lost forever in the mists of oblivion. Ally was appalled at my behaviour and brought me home at 2am. I vomited in the garden and again later in the bath. I am a revolting and disgusting specimen.

-=-

Friday February 19, 1982

 Cold and wet. Prince Andrew celebrates his twenty second birthday today on the high seas. The Union flag at the YP hung limp and wet. Let us hope that HRH is not similarly displayed.

Mum phoned to say that she and Papa are visiting Sue this lunchtime and so I decided not to go. Besides, it was raining, and the walk to Hyde Terrace holds no excitement.

News: The Times newspaper is knackered. Rupert Murdoch [a Jim Rawnsley look-alike] has tired of his ownership of England's greatest newspaper and has asked for 600 redundancies. Obviously, the [trade] unions are not too happy about this.

The future Marquess of Abergavenny, Guy Nevill, aged 35, has married Lady Beatrix Lambton, 32, daughter of the reprobate and lecher Antony Lambton, who disclaimed the earldom of Durham in 1970.

Home at 6:15 frozen solid. Ally, a vision in red, was waiting for my arrival. We ate avocado and prawns, homemade tomato soup, and lasagne, followed by chocolate 'Angel Delight'. Oh, then cheese and biscuits. A splendid and luxurious dinner. 

Watched some TV. Ally finished 'Woman in White' by Wilkie Collins. Splashed in the bath [together] and to bed.

-=-

Thursday February 18, 1982

 No desire to get out of bed, but I forced myself. It's no good giving in at twenty six. On the bus a chap in front of me was reading a tabloid newspaper. I raged at the sight of the Princess of Wales, clad in a bikini, walking on a beach on the Caribbean holiday island where she and the prince are staying with the Romseys. Of course it was the Daily Star. Such an invasion of their privacy is unspeakable. The poor princess must be hurt deeply by the constant battering from the gutter press.

No visit to Sue today. They clean the ward on Mondays and Thursdays. I went to buy a demijohn at Boot's and escaped at 4, thanks to Ray Buckton and his friends.

At home a letter awaiting me from Michael English, MP. It reads: 'Thank you for your letter of February 9. Actually you may recall that the Swedish monarchy, like the pre-16th century English monarchy did not allow women to succeed at all. In the matter of equality of the sexes ours was far in advance of theirs until three years ago when they changed their laws and brought it completely up to date by, in addition to doing what we already do, making it completely equal as between the two sexes. I note your views but think that in this day and age it can only be regarded as unfair that a girl born as heir to Prince Charles and ultimately to the Crown, should perhaps [their is no certainty about these things] should be pushed out of the succession by the subsequent birth of a younger brother, maybe many years later. Yours sincerely, Michael English'.

This is all very well, but it doesn't answer my probing letter and just skirts over the issue. It was good of him to answer. I now eagerly await the PMs answer.

To Morrison's at 5. We spent £14 on provisions. Home at 7 to watch 'Top of the Pops' while devouring salad sandwiches.

Dave G phoned enquiring about Susie. Garry, he says, is now a postman, and no doubt growing a large moustache and cultivating militant tendencies. Better than the dole.

Ally went off to bed exhausted at 9:20 leaving me watching Cliff Michelmore making a programme about 'Tonight', a news programme which ran from 1957 to 1965. I remember that John as a child was obsessed with the theme tune. Bed 10:30.

-=-


Wednesday February 17, 1982

 Cold and frosty. Went off to Leeds on a smoke-filled bus. YP even more dismal. Kathleen was dark and pensive. It's obvious that Carol J has told K[athleen] of our coming absence to attend Sarah & Trevor's wedding.

Sat with my cup of tea reading the Times. Margaret Thatcher had her weekly audience with Her Majesty last night, no doubt taking along my letter on the succession bill in her handbag. If I fail to receive any satisfactory answers from the MPs I'll go right to the top and communicate with the poor, overworked monarch.

Wernt to see Sue at 2. She was busy making toys. So far she's knitted a blue elephant and a bright red, squinting rabbit. She informed me that she may only be five days over her due date, and not two weeks as she first suspected. This means they may well leave her until February 26 before inducing the little terror. On top of this she looked bright. We laughed at the pigeons on her hospital window sill. Even they looked pregnant.

Home at 6 to fish in a shrimp sauce with Piglet. Our tranquility was disrupted at 7:30 by Paul Calvert, who burst in with a colleague armed with boxes of gadgets, and they spent two hours trying to sell us a Kirby vacuum cleaner which also shampoos carpets, hangs pictures, converts into a speedboat, plays 'the Blue Danube' and mixes a good vodka-based cocktail, and all for a mere £400. It was very uncomfortable. I didn't enjoy the evening. I do not like salesmen. Ally bubbled and asked many delving questions, whilst I sat mute. We opened some lager and got the chaps pissed, well slightly anyway. They went off at about 11 without a sale. We took to our bed.

-=-



Tuesday February 16, 1982

 Cold and frosty. Gloom at the YP. Well, not so much gloom as just bloody boredom. The frost had also penetrated the library because Kathleen senses the re-emergence of Mrs Slocombe in Sarah's affections. It's like Louis XIV's court with all the intrigue. Can't do with it myself.

Went to see Susie at 2pm. She was spread, like a beached walrus, upon a bed with headphones clamped over her ears soaking up Radio One. She was pleased to see me and is bearing up remarkably after almost a fortnight of incarceration. I had some prawn cocktail crisps, and she had pop-corn. Her blood pressure remains disgustingly high, and she had been waiting to see a doctor since 9am. I had to leave her at 3 and she waddled to the lift to see me off the premises. When will baby Nason come?

Back to the YP for afternoon tea at 3, and escaped at 4:30. I had to walk to the bus station to get out of Leeds. The continuing and apparently endless rail strike goes on. It was all on the news tonight, but I do not understand. 

Horrified to read in the Daily Telegraph that Canada say they will give equal rights to women with regard to the proposed succession to the throne changes even if Britain does not go ahead, so that one day Canada and Britain could have different monarchs. We won't dare risk the break up of the Commonwealth and so  I suppose this threat is a good weapon for Michael English to wield. Meanwhile, the Prince and Princess of Wales are off to the Bahamas for a holiday, traveling incognito as Mr and Mrs Hardy.

Home at 6:15 slightly ruffled by the journey. Dined by candlelight with Possum. Ally tired tonight. We have been over doing things somewhat. We watched a good Australian film at 7 and seriously thought about bed afterwards. 

Mum and Dad are furious at Lynn's indecision about the house at Pool. Dad came out with 'a woman's word is her bond'. All good stuff. We sat and ate Ally's chocolate heart and went off to bed to avoid the 'Play for Today' on the BBC which looked horrendous.

-=-


20210913

Monday February 15, 1982

 Washington's Birthday Observance

Andrew [Dixon] is 18, and so a man, today. 

I do resent the way that WH Smith lick up to the Yanks by printing 'Washington's Day Observance' at the head of the page. It is an English diary. Do American diaries print Her Majesty the Queen's Birthday Observance every April 21? At least they avoid Leonid Brezhnev's birthday, which falls in December, I think.

Amateur dramatics at Burley-in-Wharfedale. Lynn phoned Ally in a state of turmoil this morning and said that she and Dave had given backword on the house at Pool because of Ally's criticisms of the place to Mum yesterday. Obviously, Ally was upset to think that her comments had led to such a drastic decision. It is apparent that Lynn has been torn with indecision here. Mum was flabbergasted because the Bakers were at Pine Tops yesterday likeneing the Pool house to Nostell Priory. Lynn is such a changeable little thing. I can picture her laid awake last night night chewing the whole thing over. Dave is strangely quiet on the whole business. 

Home at 6 for a liver creation washed down with wine and then at 8 we went over to Burley, armed with a couple of bottles of wine, to have it out with the Bakers. Lynn was pale and they look to have been squabbling. Dave exclaimed that he doesn't know where 'the bloody hell' he stands. No sight or sound of Frances. It was a baby-free night in fact. We left at 11 but a tyre burst at the bottom of Hollins Hill, and we walked back in the cold to the Shoulder of Mutton. Ally's bladder was bursting and so I helped her over a stone wall so that she could pee in the long grass. Comical to say the least. Dad came down and showed us how to change the wheel. Then man is a saint. Home, exhausted, at 12:30.

-=-


Sunday February 14, 1982

 Valentine's Day - Sexagesima

Sunny and bright and spring-like. Do I detect daffodils poking out from the leaden earth? We were awake at 8:30 and I gave Ally a card and a chocolate heart. She gave me a card with a pig on the front. As you know, we are very fond of pigs. We sat in bed, the room flooded in sunshine, eating cake and supping coffee. Love is a wonderful thing.

Up at 9:30. I brewed ale, and Ally, armed with a bucket and soapy rags, went out to clean poor Audrey.

To avoid 'Carry on Spying' on the BBC we went off in the car in an attempt to locate the grave of John Rhodes [1866-1948], without success. A witless little woman took us to the wrong end of the cemetery which misled us completely. Most people in Bramley seem to have died from cholera.

On to Pool-in-Wharfedale to inspect the house which Lynn and Dave are buying. We sat in horror before the hideous 1950s erection. It may have splendid views of Wharfedale, but it's ugly, inaccessible, and over-priced. On to Guiseley for a coffee, but left after half an hour. They were having Peter for Sunday dinner before going on to Hyde Terrace.

Back at Ash Tree Cottage we had steak by candlelight, seated at the new table. We were dining for two hours. Listened to the radio afterwards. Richard Strauss's 'Don Quixote' [he really shouldn't have bothered], and then a nice piece for two pianos by Brahms. Bed at 10:30.

-=-

Saturday February 13, 1982

 Sunny and Spring-like. Breakfast on scrambled eggs and beans with the wireless thumping away in the background. Ally took a very hot bath [again] and used all the hot water.

We went out to the Co-op at 1, and then went, quite on impulse, to Thackley and bought a mahogany drop leaf dining table and a bureau from 'Cheap and Cheerful', spending £73. Great excitement. We had to make two trips to fit them in the car and after polishing and positioning them it was after 6. At last we can dine in style.

Mum phoned at 7 to say Sue is now on valium tablets and is probably going to be induced tomorrow. Her blood pressure remains very high. So it looks like a Valentine's Day baby for Sue and Pete. Mum says the poor girl was laid in bed chattering away non stop. No doubt the effect of the drugs. Isn't valium supposed to be for nerves?

We dined upon our new table this evening. Steak and kidney with dumplings, followed by chocolate 'Angel Delight'. Felt bloated afterwards. Ally, observing my protruding belly, suggests that perhaps we should have more salads to prevent me swelling to Cyril Smith proportions.

Ally was in bed by 11, but I was wide awake, and sat with a mug of coffee watching an old Margaret Lockwood Gainsborough picture, 'The Wicked Lady'.

-=-

Friday February 12, 1982

 Rain. Tea and toast again with Kitten. The Prince of Wales was on the radio at 7:30 talking about the Mary Rose salvage, and he quipped that the royal baby may well have to be Princess Mary Rose or Prince Henry Charles. I do not like the idea of King Henry IX. However, King Terry would be worse.

Worked until 2 and walked up to Hyde Terrace. Blown around like a wet rag in the wind, I was. At Hyde Terrace I met Papa parking the car and found Lynn, Mum and Frances inside. Mum brought me a prawn sandwich and half a pork pie from home. Susie, still sitting on top of the bed, looking a better colour, but was feeling sour and snappy. I don't blame her. Frances sat on the bed inspecting the ward. I got her clapping and gurgling. With her rosy cheeks and wispy hair she's definitely a Baker.

Back to the YP at 3. Home for 6. Knackered really. We had beefburgers and watched Sherlock Holmes on the TV. Afterwards we sat writing and Ally made a luscious chocolate cake.

Thoughts of the week: the succession to the throne should perhaps be altered to make Freddie Laker heir to the throne. Well it's either that or declaring him a saint. The sun shines out of his arse, if the Press is to be believed.

A future Duke of Somerset was born on February 3. He'll be head of the Seymour family one day.

Tonight Ally and I behaved like lovers in a French film. At about 10 we climbed into a hot, soapy bath together. It was the first time we'd done this, always assuming it was too small .... the bath, that is.

Later we watched Bette Davis in 'The Anniversary', and finally went to bed at 1am.

-=-

Thursday February 11, 1982

 I don't want to write. It's one of those days. Toast and tea with darling Ally. We never seem to be together. It's all sleep and breakfasts. Off to Leeds. Dismal.

Couldn't visit Sue because they clean the wards on Thurdsays. I suppose she will be down in the dumps. It's a week since she was taken into Leeds's answer to Colditz.

Wrote to John Stokes, the MP for Halesowen. I read that Baroness Young is also in opposition to the dreadful succession [to the throne] Bill.

I bought Ally a chocolate heart inscribed with the words 'to Ally with love'.

The Prince and Princess of Wales are heading to the West Indies next week for a holiday. The poor princess is having a hard time with her pregnancy, I fear.

-=-


20210817

Wednesday February 10, 1982

 Uncomfortable day. I have a headache and feel stuffed up and clammy. Is it pneumonia or the plague? Had scrambled eggs and toast with Poppet and went off on something of an adventure. I took the 88 bus instead of the usual 72 and had a guided tour of Pudsey, driving past Hilda and Tony's and then past Hough Side and past Marlene's where I saw Frank, Debbie and Mark in the window. At the YP for 9.

Felt grotty all day. Kathleen spent the day insulting me at every available opportunity. Visited Sue again at 2:15. She was sat with her legs dangling over the side of her bed, but soon they turned quite purple, and so she hid them beneath the sheets. What a state to be in. At 2:45 Mum and Dad arrived with a bunch of irises. I left them shortly afterwards and walked back to the YP.

Grapefruit: welcome change
Saw in today's press that John Stokes, MP for Halesowen is to oppose Michael English's succession bill. Thank God that someone in Westminster has some common sense. I'm going to write to him too.

Home at 5:30. A colonial gentleman was sitting next to me on the bus greedily devouring a grapefruit. It was a delightful experience because the zest and aroma of the lucious fruit, and indeed the spray as he hungrily sucked made such a welcome change from the usual cigarette smoke and ash.

Ate fish fingers before a smouldering TV. A new BBC serial on the life of Nancy Astor. Not too sure about it really. The BBC isn't having much luck with historical dramas of late. The Borgias was a complete wash-out, even though I enjoyed it. It hasn't been the same since the days of Glenda Jackson as 'Elizabeth R' and Keith Michell's 'Henry VIII'.

-=-

Tuesday February 9, 1982

 Out of our warm pit at 6:50 for coffee and toast. The trains are on strike today [yes, Tuesday for a change] and I exited the house at 7:30 to battle my way into Leeds.

St John Stevas: orator
Aghast by an article in the ailing Times which says that Michael English, MP, confidently expects a majority of MPs to support his Succession to the Crown Bill. Nowhere do I see any protests to this monstrous piece of legislation, and without further ado I took to my pen and sent letters to the prime minister, Mr English, and Norman St John Stevas, MP, a great monarchist whose oratory is without equal in the mundane House of Commons.

Visited Sue at 2:30. God bless her. I walked up to Hyde Terrace and stuck my head round the door and surprised her. She was red and bored and hunched on top of her bed. She wasn't expecting any vistors. We had cheese and onions crisps and orange juice. Her blood pressure is erratic and she cannot say just how long they will leave her without delivering the baby. I walked back to the YP feeling quite dismal. Leaving a loved one all alone in an anti-septic prison. I can actually recall Sue's birth and now she's expecting a birth of her own.

YP dull. Spring in the air. I yourn for the rolling hills and Dales. I have missed our Grassington weekend this year. We'll have to get Glynnie over for another Hilltop session.

Home at 6. Ally's had her curls cut off ready for another perm next month. We ate liver and onions and sat doing absolutely nothing. Ally's into Wilkie Collins in a big way.

-=-

Monday February 8, 1982

 Crisp, frosty and sunny. No Sue news. YP utterly dismal. Sarah was full of the joys of spring - not. She was carrying on like an inmate of the Chateau d'If. 

The Princess of Wales fell down a flight of stairs at Sandringham a month ago, but didn't injure herself or the baby. Nasty though. Read the weekend papers and the tributes to Her Majesty - now in her 31st year as Queen Regnant. Both Sir Harold Wilson and James Callaghan oozed with praise for HM and the monarchical system.


Phoned Mum at 12:30 who said Sue's blood pressure is back to normal, but when she asked to be let out the doctor said 'certainly not'. 

John phoned Mum last night and said that Jim and Molly are taking them all to Majorca in April. Poor John hasn't been abroad since we went to Majorca in '75 with Chris Ratcliffe. Will Maria be allowed to fly when 5 months pregnant?

Giggled with Ally on the phone. We have a romantic assignation this evening, and our night is to be passionately re-designed. I'm saying no more.

At lunchtime I went to pay for the washing machine [a monthly installment], and bought 'Therese Raquin' by Emil Zola. Will Ally like it? 

Home at 5:45. To bed. Up at 7. Ate pizza and chips and watched Coronation Street.

Sunday February 7, 1982

 Septuagesima

Slept until lunchtime again. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, &c. Out into the sunshine afterwards to do the windows.We haven't been able to see out of them since the royal wedding. Speaking of royal weddings [and who isn't these days?] Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg was married to Archduke Carl of Habsburg-Lorraine yesterday. Prince Andrew represented the Queen and was accompanied by the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. The prince has since been 'paired off', or so it seems by the gutter press, with the Infanta Elena, daughter of [King] Juan Carlos of Spain. We are going to have to endure ten years of 'randy Andy' tales now. If he's anything like his elder brother the future Duchess of York is now only a 12 year-old schoolgirl, no doubt undergoing a private education in Broadstairs.

Visited Sue in Hyde Terrace. She was sat nursing her bump surrounded by men. Peter, who had stayed the night at Chapel Allerton, was with Gus and Frank. They are quite mad, and never change. Will they ever settle down and have mortgages and carpet slippers? Sue was bright, but bored. Her blood pressure goes up and down like a yoyo, and gives us no hope of uncledom or auntdom yet.

On to Pudsey for a late afternoon tea with Auntie Mabel and her friend, Evelyn. Tea and cake and then whisky. Ally was close to collapse because auntie's gas fire was belting out heat like something at a BSC plant, and she waded through the fruit cake and port and lemon growing steadily redder and redder. Mabel knows no details of her family tree. Most odd. I do love her.

On at 5 to Pine Tops. Dinner with Mum, Dad and Pete. Prawns, turkey, Yorkshire pudding, &c. Splendid. Peter was very quiet. It was very difficult to get anything out of him. Dad was similarly quiet tonight, shattered and working 12 hour shifts from Otley. Mum still 'nervy' and will not relax until a lusty child yells out over Leeds. Home at 10. Bed. Buggered.

-=-


20210815

Saturday February 6, 1982

 Slept until lunch. The postman woke us delivering books from the book club. I went out to buy half a pound of bacon from the Co-op. A horrible old woman with a Jack Russell terrier was in the shop and she insisted on kissing and slobbering over the dreadful pet, because perfectly formed red lip marks were stamped upon the head of the scruffy canine. Horrific sight. I returned and made breakfast.

We visited Susie at Hyde Terrace at 2:30. Lynnn and Dave were with her. She was red faced and chirpy and sitting on top of the bed. A nurse chastised us for overcrowding the ward, but the main problem was Gavin, a noisy four year-old terror, the son of a fellow inmate. Screaming children cannot do much for blood pressure. I do not know how Sue stays so bright.

On afterwards to Bingley. A God forsaken spot really, where we looked at the antique shops. Why are old junk shops always closed when you want to look inside? We didn't get into a supermarket until 5.

Back at Ash Tree Cottage we put a lasagne in the pot and our feet well and truly up. Dave L phoned at 7. He'd been trying to get us for a couple of days to ask us to make up a foursome at Jolly's. Amazingly, he's taking out the teacher he was paired up with at last week's party and sounded terrified at the thought of spending the evening entirely alone with this woman. We would have loved to join them but the sizzling dinner prevented it.

Bed after 'Dallas'. Read the Borgias, by Marion Johnson.

-=-

Friday February 5, 1982

 Exhausted. Yet I worked with great gusto. Nervous energy no doubt. Ally took the day off and dropped me at Rawdon where I got a bus to Leeds. We were very much in love this morning. In the car, in the drizzle, at Rawdon kissing and cuddling.

I left the YP at 4 and went to Burley-in-W to join Ally who'd been with Lynn and Frances since lunceon. The baby is a delight and captivating. We really ought to conceive one. Christine Airey has called her son Kevin, not Keith, which we were told.

To Pine Tops at 6:30 with fish and chips from Harry Ramsden's. Knackered. Mum looked like she'd died and the angels had left her behind. Quiet at Pine Tops. Mum and Dad visited Sue from 8-9 and we left for home at about 10. 

Phoned Dave and called off our visit on Saturday. It couldn't be helped. Lily was grumpy about it.

-=-

20210811

Thursday February 4, 1982

 Susie went to Hyde Terrace for her weekly check up and they told her to go home and pack a bag and return at 6pm.D-Day has arrived by the look of things. Mum broke this news to me at about 4 and I hurriedly passed on the news to Ally who didn't believe me. I sounded too calm.

Home at 5 and ate and prepared to journey to Guiseley. Dave B called in and put the brass knobs on the door and was a killjoy on the subject of the Nason baby. 'Oh, that', he calmly muttered as he screwed 'it could be days or even weeks yet. It's only blood pressure.' We know it's only blood pressure but surely they aren't going to let Sue take up a precious bed for days on end without actually bringing forth the offspring?

We went over to Guiseley at 7:30 with a bottle of apricot wine and something called pomagne. Joined by Jim and Margaret and later by Julie. Peter came back from Hyde Terrace at about 9 and sat quietly looking tired and lost. He says no delivery will take place soon, and that Sue is resting in the antiseptic peace of ward 6. The atmosphere at Pine Tops was tense. Mum paces about like a bear missing a cub. It was obvious that the evening would end in tears. The plonk was drained and no call came from the hopsital. Mum had a weep. She was just the same last year when Lynn was having Frances. Jim and Margaret left at 1am [Margaret was suffering from mild nausea] and we went to bed leaving Mum and Pete crying on each others shoulders. Just like last week, Ally asks me never to give her gin again.

-=-

Wednesday February 3, 1982

 Tired. Got up, looked in the mirror and gasped. I'm growing old. I'm over 12 stone and have obviously been letting things get out of hand. It's Ally I feel so sorry for. She married an adonis and after only six months she's got Cyril Smith, MP. This wouldn't be so bad if he was a Tory, but ... Liberal! I am going to have to make adjustments to my diet and bring a speedy halt to the spread. My hair is hanging about my ears. It was once one of my finest features, but now it's a dead, rabid cat. Poor, poor Ally. I shall have to swim and forgo luncheon, and take long, brisk walks. This door to door bus service hasn't helped.

YP busy, but pleasant. No girls. See in the society betrothals that Francis Dymoke, heir to the Queen's Champion and standard bearer at the Coronation, is engaged to a Gloucestershire lass. The Queen's Champion. Now that's the sort of job I'd like. No industrial disputes, monotonous slaving, or nine to five hours. His role only comes into being at the coronation. He hasn't worked since 1953. I suppose that I will never live to see an old style coronation. A future Labour/SDP/Plaid Cymru Alliance will no doubt scrap the ancient panoply and replace the ceremony with a disgusting inauguration. I cannot see a King's Champion having much of a role in the Space Age 21st century.

Home to Ally and fish at 5. [I made an early exit again from the office with thanks to ASLEF]. 

We watched a film - 'Halloween'. Ally couldn't take it, and took to her bed but I was gripped until 12:15. Too late really.

-=-

Tuesday February 2, 1982

 A brighter morning. I awoke this morning smiling broadly. I'd been dreaming about the Pope. In my genealogical searches I had found that His Holiness is the son of an Appleyard. Cousin John Paul, eh?

YP still without Sarah or Carol. Phoned Sue at 12. She was having breakfast! She said that she and Peter have decided that they cannot be expecting a baby after all.

The Sun newspaper reports that the Prince and Princess of Wales have been seen having a public slanging match at Sandringham whilst out shooting. This is the first public reporting of a 'royal fall out' between the Waleses and the first of many. Typical that the Sun is the rag to start the 'royal divorce' proceedings. I have been fully expecting it. They spent ten years finding Charles a bride and are now going to devote 40 years and gallons of news print to getting rid of her. Poor Diana. It's going to be hard going.

Mum phoned to say that John has got his job back at R & D's. If you recall he was a joiner at R & D's from 1977 until last year when he was made redundant. Since then he's been at the crash helmet place. I suppose he is mindless with joy. Maria hears tomorrow whether she's pregnant or not. Exciting times. Bed at 11.

-=-

Monday February 1, 1982

 It's February, and Sue has yet to deliver. When she and Pete failed to materialize at Karen's we presumed it was due to the coming birth and that perhaps she was experiencing twinges but oh no. They were living it up in Leeds at Chippy and Johnny's farewell party [they are going to Miami, or somewhere]. 

At the YP found both Sarah and Carol J off. Just Margot and I all day. Busy, but not too bad. Went at 1:30 to the Reference Library to look at the 1861 census for Bramley. Found a 21 year-old Samuel Ross living at Eyres Buildings with his parents Joshua and Mary Ross. We have always liked the name Joshua and I've now found a great-great grandfather bearing the name. On the Appleyard side I found Mary, aged 20, at Midgley Hill, with her widowed mother Christiana, and brother Abbott Appleyard, 25, a stone mason and builder, and Hahhah Appleyard, 32, Elizabeth Appleyard, 29. They were an affluent Victorian family. Later generations founded the garages of that name.

Spoke to Mum, whose heart misses a beat every time the phone rings thanks to little sister, and she says that Jim [Nason] has told her that the pub at Litton, near Arncliffe, is going on the market shortly for £49,000 or £50,000. This would be ideal. A homely little place. The sub post office idea was never them really especially after seeing the BBC news on Friday when the prime minister presented bravery awards to a terrified group of post office workers, some nursing hideous wounds. 

Lynn and Dave have been looking at a house at Pool in Wharfedale [close to Dave's parents], and we are told Lynn has her heart set on it. Dave must be making some serious cash.

Home at 5:30, and played with my home brewed wine. Glynnie phoned and invited us over to Stockport on Saturday. We will go. 

Ally 'Spring cleaning' in the bathroom. We sat in bed squabbling about my milky drinks. She is unhappy with my recipe for hot chocolate, and so I have handed over the job to her for the next 60 years.

-=-

Sunday January 31, 1982

 4th Sunday after Epiphany

When we came home from Karen and Steve's we sat amidst the bed sheets eating crumpets and talking about Lynn. Why is she always so 'cool' with Ally? Lynn drifted into the party, clad in a new mini dress, and chatted to everyone with the exception of Ally who, feeling pissed and disturbed, emptied a full glass of punch, including the fruit chunks, over my head. It is a perfect case for a budding psychologist. What happens to a relationship between two very close girl friends when one goes off and marries the brother of the other? Freaky, man.

I first discovered the day at about 8:30 but then slept until 12:30 and struggled out of bed to stuff a chicken. Washing it in the sink I felt like a midwife, if you know what I mean.

Ally, feeling rough, lay sprawled on a pile of cushions reading Wilkie Collins, which cannot have hepled the situation. We had a weird conglomeration of food. Crumpets with bananas, lots of tea, then yoghurt, oranges, apples followed by a sticky loaf with fruit in, covered in thick butter. Roast chicken later, with cabbage, cauliflower au gratin, roast and mashed potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, &c. All reminiscent of Chatsworth House in 1880.

Films: Carry on Regardless, followed by 'A Shot in the Dark' with the amazing [Peter] Sellers.

Bed at 9:40. Roaring with laughter about something, both in the dark, but cannot now for the life of me remember what was the cause.

I dreamt tonight about Percy Illingworth, headmaster of Fieldhead Rd School 1966-78. Is this sexual? 

-=-

Saturday January 30, 1982

 Awoke at 9:30 and flew downstairs like an over-active pre-adolescent on Christmas morning to snatch the mail from Postie. Yes, I had a letter from cousins Edna and Nellie, at Cambridge Gardens, Bramley. A sweet letter, but giving little further information on John Rhodes (1866-1948). They say that Otley is 'probably' John's birthplace but add that he had a sister, Millicent, who 'lived away from home' and wasn't often seen. Mum suggests that this mysterious aunt is probably the 'mad' aunt of Grandad Rhodes's stories who saw her sweetheart drown in the Strid at Bolton Abbey and then went insane. A Highroyds case I think. The twins sound sweet old girls, and gave me a phone number to contact them with the result of my findings.

To Morrison's with Precious. Afterwards we had sandwiches and I laughed, only half-heartedly, at a prehistoric Will Hay film. Ally buried beneath 'The Woman in White' by Wilkie Collins.

To Karen and Steve's at 8:30. The water supply there is cut off and I looked at Ally in horror _______. Guests: Dave L [who left at 9:30 to go to a party at Sandal], Jacq, Paul, Tim [with a sore eye], Jill, Lynn, Dave B, Diane, Paul E[dwards]. The music was switched off and we watched a Paul Newman film, of all things, and Barry Humphries on the Parkinson Show. Home after 3, or was it 4? Ally on automatic pilot - dangerous really.

NB: My great-grandfather did not have a sister 'Millicent'. His only surving half-sister was Anne Eliza Rhodes [later Robinson] 1875-1954. John Rhodes had a step-sister, Matilda Parker, born in 1866, wife of Michael Elsworth. The story of the drowning in the Strid has yet to be corroborated.

-=-

Friday January 29, 1982

 Ally, feeling rough, stayed in bed after my departure at 7:45. I took a half day and was home at 12:45 and climbed into bed. ______. Downstairs for beans on toast and crumpets, for lunch. We watched a 1942 film starring Vincent Price, and then a Sherlock Holmes film starring Basil Rathbone, but fighting the Nazis and saving Britain from the clutches of the Hun.

Not my cup of tea.
Later we had fish and chips, and Ally, feeling better, got stuck into a 'Miss Marple' tale. I sat with knotted brow quite over-faced by the glut of new book purchases. Which one should I read? For some reason I cannot get into the Hobbit. I don't think Tolkein is my cup of tea, but I don't suppose I have given him a chance.

Mum says that Tony is forming his own business with a similarly redundant colleague. Have I said that Tony phoned me on Wednesday about placing an advert in the paper?

The forthcoming royal birth has been spoiled for me by the coming debate on the order of succession to the Crown which next month may take away the right of the eldest son to succeed to the Crown of his forebears. We are not in Scandinavia for God's sake. The succession to the throne has only been tampered with or diverted in times of great national crisis. In 1688 following the flight of James II, and the death of Queen Anne to secure the protestant succession in the person of George of Hanover. To further amend the succession now, at the whim of a jumped up Labour MP, will only detract from the magic and mystique of the monarchy and lower the whole institution giving it a presidential facade.

-=-

20210810

Thursday January 28, 1982

Nellie [left] and Edna Rhodes.

 Black morning. Lay moaning beneath my quilt.

The rail strike continues. At the YP I took at 10 minute lunch break so to escape from the office at 4. Sunny, warm day - Cornish pasty in Park Square.

After lunch Ally phoned from home. She felt faint at the office and has a crippling tummy ache, and is now snuggled down with a book. __________. What will be, will be.

Wrote to my spinster cousins Edna and Nellie Rhodes, twins, who live in Bramley. I picture two sweet old dears not unlike the ladies in 'Arsenic and Old Lace'. It's a little sad writing to cousins, living not ten miles away, whom I have never met. Dad says that his memory of them in the 1950s is that they were very smart, strait-laced old things. Will they tell me where their grandfather, John Rhodes, was born in 1866?

Home at 5. Daylight. Ally in some pain and very weak. We had a pizza. Lynn phoned to report that Christine Airey has given birth to a son. _______________.

-=-

Wednesday January 27, 1982

 No desire to climb out of bed, but we must. I should appreciate my job. It would be quite wrong to pack it in and lay, idle, when the country has 48,000,000 unemployed school leavers. No point in moping. Perhaps Mrs Thatcher should hand over the running of the railways to the unemployed. That would put the wind up Ray Buckton. Perghaps they should force the ASLEF members onto the lifeboats and let them see what it's like doing a proper job. Michael Rhodes, 26, is insane.

The BBC is on the slippery slide. I see little difference between the nine o'clock news and ITN's 'News at Ten'. Is nothing sacred? The Princess of Wales brings cheer to the hearts of this largely sombre nation by smiling up refreshingly from the front page of today's Times. HRH is appearing on stamps throughout the Commonwealth to celebrate her 21st birthday on July 1.

Yorkshire puddings and steak and kidney with Poppet, who was feeling decidedly wobbly, and lay upon the settee, like an Elizabeth effigy, whilst I did the dishes. Afterwards in front of the TV, and later in bed, I thumbed through copies of the Family History magazine, kindly lent to me by Steve Burnip. A Malcolm Fawbert, from Cleethorpes, claims that the Fawbert family are excusively concentrated in the Leeds/Bradford area, and with the exception of only one or two generations, all can be found in Yorkshire. His earliest finds are Abraham and Elizabeth Fawbert, of 'Colbecke' [surely Holbeck?] Leeds in 1560. Direct line back to Isaac Fawbert 1782, baptized at St Wildfred's, Calverley, son of Timothy, son of James. Fawberts are also mentioned in Calverley in 1710 and 1714. I will write to Malcolm and see where Edward Fawbert, my great-great grandfather fits in. 

-=-

Tuesday January 26, 1982

 Steve Burnip is a good lad. He keeps slipping me gems of a genealogical nature and today, when he caught sight of my Wilson [family] tree, he was amazed by the detail. It is warming to have got back to the days of Trafalgar without having to do much hard detective work.

Ally tired and pale tonight. _____________. Home at 6. Out at 7:30 to dinner at Burley in Wharfedale with Lynn and Dave [bearded]. Sue and Pete were dining too and she is bulbous and red and ready [for the baby]. She has to go to Leeds for the accouchement. We had cottage pie and rhubarb crumble by lamp light and drained three bottles of wine. Frances screamed each time they put her down and so she joined us at the dinner table, playing with beer mats and a red dummy. I suppose it's quite wrong to spoil a child at this age but I cannot help enjoying her tiny, yet commanding presence. Even Peter made an attempt to approach his niece and it is dawning on him that babies, for all their inconvenience, are here to stay.

Home after 11. ________.

-=-

20210728

Monday January 25, 1982

 Graham Smith's birthday. My grandfather [Mr X of the 1973 diary] is celebrating his 81st birthday quietly today. [He died Sept 9, 1973]. Ally and I shattered. Paid a lunch time visit to the Ref. Lib. No luck for the whereabouts of John Rhodes in 1891. I re-checked Otley. He was definitely not there.

Home at 6 to Ally and fish. Mum phoned to say she and Dad visited Bramley and found John and Christiana's grave in the cemetery there. Dad was appalled at the devastation of the cemetery, upturned grave stones, others daubed in nazi slogans, but my great-grandfather's grave was intact, black marble, gold lettering, green chippings. John Rhodes, I am told, purchased the family grave in 1914, on the death of his son, Henry [Harry] Rhodes, who died June 9, 1914, aged 21. The next inscription on the stone is John Edward Rhodes, a private in the Royal Engineers [no. 57512], killed in action on Aug 7, 1918, also 21. Christiana Rhodes died aged 73, on June 19, 1939, and John Rhodes died aged 81, March 8, 1948. The final occupant is Nellie Rhodes, John and Christiana's spinster daughter, who died Nov 30, 1955, aged 60. A real hive of information, eh? Dad cleaned the grave and says it now stands out like a 'sore thumb'. Sadly, the powers that be are to flatten the cemetery later this year, and grass over the whole site, removing the headstones to the outskirts, and no doubt making a playing field of the place. I'd better get up there with a camera before the end comes.

Phoned Steve Sanderson tonight. Saturday is still on. Ally and I took to our beds quite knackered. 

-=-

Sunday January 24, 1982

 Slept until 12 noon and leapt up to do our weekend chores with haste to make up for our idleness. Whilst cleaning the car we heard the phone ringing and both exclaimed: 'It's Susan!', but no, it was cousin Jackie asking to come over for the afternoon with Barry. They arrived at about 2 and we sat talking about Easter, the royal family, and Northumberland. ____________. Jackie went off at about 4 to inject an ancient diabetic, and returned at 4:30 for dinner and cocktails. Lasagne and chips preceded by French onion soup. We discovered that our home made lemon wine has taken on a champagne-like fizz, and when mixed with a dash of gin and Advocaat, and decorated with a cocktail cherry, makes a delicious and highly intoxicating drink, so much so that the remainder of the evening is obscured and our movements clouded in mystery. We listened to Ella Fitzgerald and Elgar. They left at about 11 leaving us hungover, thirsty and groggy. A splendid 'spur of the moment' little party.

-=-

Saturday January 23, 1982

 Alarm rang at 8 and after a hurried breakfast we went off to Leeds, a bright almost Spring-like day. 

We got to the Reference library for about 11. I looked at the censuses for 1841, 51, and 71. Ally looked at the Bramley census for 1871 and Otley for the same year. In 1841 the Wilsons lived at Kiln Fold, Pudsey, where William Wilson, aged 25, is described as a clothier. His wife Betty is 25, and son Squire, aged 2. Ten years later the couple are living at Rider's Yard, Chapeltown, Pudsey, but Squire is missing and Peter Barraclough [aged 15] has appeared. Where was he in 1841? And who exactly is Peter Barraclough? In 1851 William Wilson is a 'slubber'. The census for April 1871 shows that William Wilson is dead, and his widow, Betty, 55, is a housekeeper at Rider's Row [I presume close to Rider's Yard] and her five younger children are with her. My great-grandfather, John, aged 18, is a woollen mill hand. I also came across other ancestors the Fawberts who in 1841 inhabited Rider's Row, and thirty years later were at Chapel Fold. Ally couldn't find my great-grandfather John Rhodes anywhere in either Bramley or Otley, but she did find great-grandmother Christiana Ross, living in 1871 at Midgley Hill, Bramley, aged 5, with parents Samuel Ross, 31, shoemaker, born in Bramley, and wife, Mary Ann Ross, 30, cloth weaver. Next door at Midley Hill dwelled Christiana Appleyard, 66, born in Bramley, and her spinster daughter, Hannah R Appleyard, a burler. Mary Ann Ross was born Appleyard, and so I assume that her widowed mother lived next door. Christiana, my great-grandmother, it seems, was named after her grandmother, taking us back to 1805. It was marvellous delving into the past in the company of Ally. We sat in this studious fashion until after 4. The library had no public bogs and so we ran to the Jubilee pub across the road, but didn't have time for a drink. 

To Guiseley at 4:30 with our gathered information. Frances is staying with Mum and Dad owing to illness at Burley.Lynn has shingles and Dave a cold. The baby is amusing but refused to go to bed until 8:30. She sat at the table with us eating beans and rice pudding. I explained to her that she isn't the first Frances in the family. She's six generations in descent from Frances Fawbert, wife of greengrocer Edward Fawbert, bringing up a family in Victorian Pudsey.

Dad was out working on and off and afterwards we discussed the elusive John Rhodes, his grandfather. Dad insists he was born in Otley and was partially blinded, aged 13, on Otley Chevin, by a firework explosion. Just when they moved to Bramley I do not know. Dad recalls his grandfather's funeral [1947 or 1948] and gave me a detailed account of his appearance. A tiny, crooked old man with snow white hair and a bump on the top of his head. He wore thick spectacles and always wore a black starched apron in the house. A cantankerous old so-and-so by the sound of things. Dad says he will go to Bramley on Monday and find John's grave. We've hasd no luck on two occasions. Bed at 3am.

-=-

20210720

Friday January 22, 1982

 Another mild day. We now expect Kathleen to take the remainder of the year off because her aged auntie has been taken desperately ill. The last rites, and all that. So, it's bye bye Kathleen until the first flowering of daffodils.

Dave L.
Home at 6 for pizza, garlic beans, chips, &c. Petal is beautiful and brighter with the influx of iron tablets, though she has sore lips at the moment, cold sores, and finds kissing painful.

Dave L marched in at 8:15 and we sat for a couple of hours with lager talking about old times. He finds reminiscing a depressing pastime and needs to be worked on before pouring out tales of yesteryear. I love talk of our Benton Park days and Andrew Dean stories. I don't often get the chance to wallow because Dave is the only person I have known, barring relations, since March 1967. He went off at 10:15 and we took milky drinks up to bed.

-=-

Thursday January 21, 1982

 Another dawn start to beat the crush caused by Ray Buckton.

Bob [Schofield] has finally used my tip about Jeremy Lascelles. It seems gthat the young man married last July a certain Julie Baylis, of Worcester, and both are employed by Virgin Records. Bob, beaming, told me he has now passed on 'his scoop' to the Daily Mirror. Am I being used? What price will they pay Bob for my work?

Royal news: Princess Margaret is ill with gastro trouble. Prince Andrew is in love with a ballet dancer called Karen. Will we have long to wait for the commemorative mugs?

Phoned Ally, glum at the AHA complaining of not enough work. Told her to keep her pecker up. Phoned Mum. She's having Frances on Saturday because 'Lady' Audrey [Baker] is having a birthday party. No Susie news although she was at the hospital today. She is growing tired of hanging on.

To the reference library again at lunch. They say the 1881 census will be ready for public viewing in three or four months. Overjoyed that the place is open until 4pm on Saturdays. You know where to find us at the weekend.

Morrison's at 5. [I escaped the YP at 4 leaving Carol moaning]. Fish and chips at 6. Dave L phoned to invite himself to ours tomorrow. We haven't seen him since Sue's on Dec 27. He's disappointed because he thought Karen's party was on 23rd, not the 30th, and he's arranged to be elswehere.

'Top of the Pops' - abysmal. Phone Sue for a bulletin. She says baby could be another three weeks. Peter was out in Leeds with the boys. Chippy and Johnny are leaving for Miami next weeks for a two month sojourn. Ghastly thought.

-=-

20210719

Wednesday January 20, 1982

 Fog, but warm fog. Kissed [Ally] goodbye at 7:30 after boiled eggs and toast. I so wanted to stay at home in bed.

Rail strike. The buses are full of ladies in fur coats and businessmen in sheepskin jackets and deer stalker hats, who usually journey by train. I resent imposters. Really, the people who always travel by train should refuse to work when the railwaymen strike.

Buckton: moody.
Papers dull. Full of articles about rape. The Prince and Princess of Wales have been granted joint armorial bearings incorporating the prince's shield and Garter buckle and the Spencer shells - cockleshells, I think. The press seems to be letting them 'rest in peace' since the Buckingham Palace conference asking Fleet Street to 'lay off'. I haven't seen a photo of Diana in the papers since. Poor Lord Spencer is having to sell paintings from Althorp to pay the death duties of the late earl, who died seven years ago.

Steve Burnip has genealogical contacts in Leeds and on my behalf has made enquiries about the Bramley parish registers and things look good. Edward III here we come!

Billy, God bless him, is 42 to-day. _______________. 

It took two hours to get home from Leeds thanks to Ray Buckton's ridiculous moodiness. Had spaghetti and chips, of all things. We are [illegible] on the lines of Coronation Street.

Read 'Key to Rebecca' and sat in bed reading it until the end, at 12:30.

-=-

Tuesday January 19, 1982

Over 40 degrees F again. YP for 9, and took a 2 hours lunch break and went to the Reference Library to search for Wilson ancestors on the 1861 census [April 13, 1861]. After an hour I found I found my great-great grandparents William Wilson and Betty, his wife, resident at Chapel Fold, Pudsey [now long since demolished I fear]. William, head of the family, is 43, a woollen slubber, and was born at Bramley, circa 1817/1818. Betty, aged 45, was born at Pudsey circa 1815/1816. Of the nine children that we know of from Hilda's family Bible, only six are listed on the census. Mary, aged 16, is a worsted weaver, James, aged 12, is a factory worker, Rhoda, aged 10, is a factory worker, John, aged 8 [my great-grandfather], is a scholar, then Martha, aged 4, and Martha Elizabeth, aged 1. All the children are Pudsey-born. I felt very emotional discovering my roots, quite choked thinking of those poor infant factory workers. Without much effort I have managed to trace the Wilsonsn back to the beginning of the 19th century. It's piquant that my Wilson and Rhodes great-great grandfathers were both Bramley born.

From the office I phoned Bramley Parish Church. They don't have the parish records for 1817/1818. Sod it.

Home at 6:15. Fog. Liver. Bath. Out in the fog at 8 to cousin Jackie's, at Amberley Street, Barker End. Joined by 2 friends and then the new boyfriend, Barry. He is employed at A. Baldwin & Co, who have dealings with the AHA. Out to the Coachman's pub for a few pints of Tetley's - weird really. Our first visit to a pub in 1982.A good night. Home at 12:30.

-=- 

20210718

Monday January 18, 1982

 Warm and almost muggy. The clock on the YP building proclaimed 43 degrees F.

We were late out of bed and played, toyed, with breakfast until 8:00. Late to the YP, but it is Monday.

John Wilson.
Went at lunch time to the Register Office to see whether they have my great-grandfather Wilson's birth certificate [March 13, 1853]. They say yes, and that they can let me have it later in the week. Then I went to the Reference Library to make enquiries about the census records, and was delighted to discover that the census returns for Pudsey up to 1881 are at the Leeds office. Tomorrow lunch will see me return to the third floor. Can't wait.

Phoned Mama at 10:30. They visited a pub near Northallerton yesterday and attempted to look at a post office at Kirby Misperton [the home of Flamingo Park Zoo], but the fog got the better of them. At least they are still on the 'look out'. She had no news of Sue.

Esacaped at 4:45, home at 5:45. Fish for dinner. We have received 'Mrs Beeton' and 'The Woman in White' by Wilkie Collins, from the book club. We now lookl like a library here. 

Phoned poor Dave G. They now have an alsatian dog named Sadie, to ward off the numerous attempted thefts and break-ins. His grandad is not well and sounds to be fading. He sounds very much to be tied to the Hollywood and couldn't promise to get away to see us soon.

To bed after the 9 o'clock news. This is ridiculous.

-=-


Wednesday May 9, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c Still dull outside. Who cares? Our alarm clock is on the blink and refuses to sound off. Samuel laid patiently...