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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

-=-

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.

-=-

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.

-=-

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.

-=-

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?

-=-