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'.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

-=-

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. 

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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. ________.

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