Sunday February 5, 1984

 5th Sunday after Epiphany

Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas, Hampshire

Rain. I was unable to get out of bed when Samuel woke and left Ally to it. My eyes felt like lead weights. I finally climbed out at 10:30. Ally was bright and breezy and had eaten breakfast and clad in red pants and blue wellies was washing Mandy Metro on the drive. Frank had dried the car floor and fixed the radio. The man has an obsession with car radios. Later we had a cozy gathering around the log fire - a pile of sausage rolls, 'Bonanza' on the telly and the Sunday newspapers. Sir Geoffrey Howe is doomed, though the PM sticks by him. The Duke of Edinburgh has been to visit the Grenadier Guards (?) in Ulster and the Roman Catholics are playing hell because the barracks house the UDR regiment, who have been killing Roman Catholics right, left and centre with apparent rellish. Bessie took out her camera and used a whole film on Samuel. Samuel with Mum, Samuel with Dad, Samuel with Frank, Samuel on rug, Samuel on chair, &c. Read Nancy Mitford until darkness fell. We were too lazy to switch on the lights. Ally slept cuddled next to me. Dined with F & B at 6:30 in the kitchen. Yorkshire puds and a large leg of lamb. A jolly affair. Frank knocked a glass of wine over me whilst I was holding Samuel, but the spill missed the baby. I was sodden. Watched Edward Woodward in a film afterwards, and Bessie took another film of Samuel pictures. To bed after 11. Nancy Mitford. TCP. Snores. Baby farts, &c.

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Saturday February 4, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

with Samuel.

A horrible night. We got no sleep. We snatched only a few minutes sleep after 5. I was laid amongst my pillows listening to a cock crowing. Who has a cock in Martyr Worthy? (You don't have to answer that one). I had a bath at 9 and left Ally sleeping and went down for breakfast with Bessie. We sat watching the young gardener digging in the mud. Poor sod. Looked at the Daily Express. Sir Geoffrey Howe isn't going down too well. Bessie is right when she commented: 'he should have stuck to looking after the money.' The man lacks the polish that's required for the Foreign Office. Samuel stirred at 10:45 and I took him down to his grandmama. Rain outside. Frank and Bessie seem lost for something to do. We are told that Andrew has sought Dad's advice about becoming engaged to Lorraine and Frank told him straight that he didn't think much of it. They have only known each other for 10 months and have no money and both are so very young. She's only 18. Andrew was 'hot under the collar' at his father's advice and relations have been strained since the conversation took place last weekend. They have decided that this is all Lorraine's idea and that she is pushing Andrew. They do underestimate the poor lad and I cannot help feeling sorry for him. He will do exactly what he wants in the end no doubt and I hope he'll be happy. A bit of responsibility and the love of a good woman might just give him the impetus to pull his socks up. 

Keeping the log fire stoked is a full time job which helped to pass the afternoon. Frank bruised his face chopping logs and gave himself a black eye. We watched the sport on the BBC. Skiing, &c. Boiled ham and chips for tea followed by more fire stoking. Ally and Samuel retired at 9:30 and Bessie, Frank and I watched Olivier in The Boys from Brazil - Gregory Peck playing Josef Mengele. Remind me never to have a Doberman Pinscher. Bed at 11:40 after gins and tonics.

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Friday February 3, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas, Hampshire

Their is nothing quite like sitting in bed at 5am with a TCP mouthwash and the June 1983 edition of Homes and Gardens draped across ones knees, and sweaty knees at that. Feel 'throaty'. Bloody typical. I always go down with something in Hampshire. I got up and crept around making pots of tea at dawn but bumped into Frank heading towards his study. The man is a workaholic. What will he do when he retires?  ______. In bed until 8:30 and then I washed my son and bedecked him out in a peppermint creation and passed him on to his mama for breakfast. The usual fried repast for us. Bessie, unwell, is like a ghost. We sat around the log fire. I continie with Homes & Gardens reading about how the top 2 per cent live. 'Bubbles' Rothermere's flat, &c. 

Winchester Cathedral.

We took Samuel to see Winchester Cathedral - a thousand years old and still unfinished. Little men in overalls with baskets of cement whistling along to Boy George on Radio 1. Back at 4 and slept in the chair before the blazing inferno. Chicken for dinner which seemed to cook for hours and hours. The kitchen was like a Turkish bath. Ally phoned Graham who was dashing out. Bessie asked vaguely whether Graham still 'plays games'. Eh? 'Does he still go out and play that game where you roll things at something', she vaguely inquired. 'Skittles', she decided. Frank came in at 9 from a bank leaving do. He frowned. The bank manager who was leaving had a peroxide wife who was pissed and wearing polka dots. We watched a Channel 4 programme on childbirth. Bessie sat with her hand over her eyes, a little embarrassed. As an 18 year-old St John's Ambulance worker she saw the very first baby born in 1940 in Colne. To bed at 11:30 and looked at a Nancy Mitford book. Ally was half asleep waiting for Samuel to wake, which he did at 12:45. He was hot and red like a lobster. Exquisite.

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Thursday February 2, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

River Itchen at Martyr Worthy.

The Rhodes family on holiday at Martyr Worthy. The three of us. Samuel was fed at about 6am and then slept until after 10. Poor Bessie didn't get up and was in her bedroom. A sunny, bright and crisp day. The south is always so mild after the wilds of bleak Bradford. By the time we've had a cooked breakfast and changed the baby eighteen times it was 2pm. I feel 'heady' with a creeping sore throat. We bundled Samuel up and pushed him down the lane to the river but turned round because of the mud and walked down the road to Itchen Abbas. A house on the site of the old derelict railway station is called 'Beeching' - no doubt after Lord Beeching, who closed the place down, and by this act of vandalism, brought about the construction a new housing estate. Saw Mrs Bullock driving around feeding the 'Over 60s'. She didn't recognise us. Back to Ch. Cross after an hour. Bessie was slumped in a chair with her knitting. Log fire, deep velvet chairs, &c. Baby bathtime. Samuel cried like a lamb throughout the hair washing but was stunned to silence on entering the water. Bessie took photos of him splashing. We dined on grilled braising steak because Bessie went to the freezer without her specs and picked up the wrong meat. Tough. Washed nappies. David Attenborough on the telly. News: Mrs Thatcher goes to Budapest draped in furs looking like Catherine the Great or Zsa Zsa Gabor. Bed at 12.

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Wednesday February 1, 1984

Chillandham Cross.

 5, Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford

New Moon

6:00am chorus. Very good because Samuel went through the night with no feed. Pots of tea and the radio. My hair is sticking out all over and I have decided to have it taken away. Rain. We pushed Samuel over the road to the church hall and have him weighed at the clinic and an MOD inspected his knees, which click. This is nothing to worry about. He weighs 8lb 9oz. Ally was quite revolted at the size of some of the other babies. Great fat things with thighs like legs of pork in a butcher's shop. Samuel is so pleasantly proportioned. At 10:30 I walked down to have my hair cut but the place was closed. Got soaked to the skin and stamped around in puddles. I dislike having my plans thwarted and I stormed home. When Samuel slept Ally went to Vallances and ordered a new washing machine and dryer for £24.75 a month. Not bad. We packed in a disorganised fashion. In fact I didn't pack at all. That sort of thing is Ally's department. Set out to Winchester at 3 and arrived at 7:30. Samuel slept until Oxford and wailed from then on. Heart rending to hear him crying with hunger in the back. We found Bessie full of cold and looking ghastly. Neither she or Frank touched the baby because of it. We ate pork chops and watched TV. Looked at photographs. Hasn't the baby changed in three weeks. It's frightening. He'll soon be a rebellious teen with green hair, sniffing solvent adhesives and sleeping around. To bed at 12.

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Tuesday January 31, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

2:50am. Samuel was chattering like a cheetah, or the chimps in those Johnny Weissmuller 'Tarzan' epics. I got up to look at him and he was sucking his mittens with great concentration. Pots of tea, &c. To knock Samuel out I continued with the Windsor saga and he dropped off somewhere after George VI's coronation and the emergence of the Hitler threat. Much more interesting than stuff about three bears. Went back to bed for a few hours. At breakfast time I went out and bought a fresh loaf and a newspaper. Slippery under foot. We messed around until after 12 changing, feeding, then changing again. I sat with Elizabeth Longford's book. Eventually we put the pram in the car and went into town where we inspected washing machines and pine beds (£180 at Cheap 'n Cheerful). Ally inspected the bed and I stayed in the street pushing Samuel around in his pram. Negotiating snow drifts is something of a military exercise. We arrived home at 4 to find Harry and Marian Miller driving into the street behind us. They came in for a cup of tea but Samuel screamed with hunger. He had been patient all afternoon. The Millers were drivern out after half an hour. Harry almost talking to himself about a pub near Eggborough Power Station. We later phoned our mothers. We're going to Winchester tomorrow after clinic and to Horton on Tuesday Feb 7. Ally phoned the Moorhouse and asked if we can store some furniture there on Sunday Feb 12. The Piries said yes. They are flogging the microwave oven for £125. A bit steep? Cottage pie. Watched 'Dallas' and the news. Ronald Reagan is to run again as expected. His only rival is Fritz Mondale, but he'll get back in. That's a cert. Bed at 11. The little boy slept from midnight but seemed to be having nightmares twitching and flinching in his cot.

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Monday January 30, 1984

 5, Club Street

Auntie Mabel and Samuel.

4am rise. Pots of tea. __________. Slept until 8 and then decided we really must visit the Moorhouse Inn today and so I went down and phoned Michael Pirie. No breakfast and instead we packed the slumbering child into the car and drove to Leeds eating biscuits en route. We couldn't find the pub although we could see the blocks of flats nearby. We found the Piries in a state of chaos - half packed. We met a vague Irish cleaner and saw Audrey ('a first class barmaid' according to Chris Wills). They took us upstairs for coffee  and Pirie gave us a run down again of the trouble he's had in two years. Not bad at all when one thinks of the Why Not. The dogs and cats sat licking their lips (if they actually have lips?) at Samuel's pram which we placed on a table midst the potted palms and Victoriana. I do not trust cats with babies. I have seen too many Hitchcock thrillers. We left at 12. Should we buy the Pirie's microwave which they paid £169 for in September? How much should we pay them? Home at 1. We all fed. We had a full-English. Rain. Then back to Pudsey. Mabel was out and so we went to Marlene's. She was out too. So we went to Jill's. Tim is in London. Samuel made a dive for Jill's bossom. Back to Mabel's at 5. Samuel was crying with hunger. We stayed for half an hour and auntie cuddled him so tightly that she almost squeezed the life out of him. We promised to return next week. Home at 6. Fish fingers. Bed at 10. No TV.

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Sunday January 29, 1984

 5, Club Street

4th Sunday after Epiphany

3:45 again. I stepped out to inspect my growing progency, who patiently awaited his morning repast. I went down to wash nappies and crept around. Greater love hath no man .....

Talked of visiting Auntie Annie in Colne eager to get out and about with our beady eyed angel. The thaw is here and we feel sure that the roads over the border will be passable now. I cooked a full-english (breakfast) which Ally moaned about because I fried with the kitchen window wide open. Margaret Nason phoned to say that Christopher has mumps and saw an emergency doctor in the night. Ally phoned Sue to sympathise and spoke to the invalid who told her he has 'umps'. 

Auntie Annie with Samuel and Ally.

At 1pm we set off to Colne in a burst of sunshine. I sat in the back of the car like a nanny next to my well-wrapped issue. We got to Auntie Annie's at about 2 and Samuel immediately squealed until he was fed and changed. Ally fed Samuel in Uncle Bert's downstairs bedroom. We had soup and sandwiches. I questioned Annie about the Dixon lineage and she went away to find old family photos and certificates. She came back from the loft covered in dust and with her father's birth certificate (a copy dated 1905) which was in three pieces and like the Dead Sea Scrolls. Thomas Dixon was born on July 13 1890, registered by his father who signed with a mark being unable to write. he was born at Sherfin Side, Henheads, Haslingden, son of Thomas Dixon, farmer and stone quarrier, and of Mary Dixon formerly Ashworth. Ally's grandpa's birth was registered Aug 27 1890. So, Ashworth is another branch to contend with. She showed us Great Auntie Ellie's death certificate too. She was born a Jobling and was found dead by Annie on March 24 1973. Poor Uncle Bert sat in his armchair like a lump of cheese, but he spoke much better than on previous occasions. We took our leave after 5 and jouneyed home the picturesque way through Haworth in the dark, Ally shouting for Heathcliff over the moorland road.  We sat with more sandwiches and pots of tea and watched a Richard Burton film The Medusa Touch. Quite good. Bed at 11. I nursed Samuel until he dropped off and instead of telling him all about Goldilocks and the Three Bears I recounted to him the tragedy of the Abdication Crisis of 1936 which soon knocked him out. Read the Queen Mother by Elizabeth Longford and lights went out at midnight.

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Saturday January 28, 1984

 5, Club Street

Baby was awake at 3:45 and was immediately fed by his saint of a mother. I went down to brew tea coughing as I went, rasping like George V might have done at Bognor Regis. Back to bed until 10am. Ally woke me shouting from the bathroom to tell me the phone was ringing below. It was John, who said he is heading to Bradford to go to Wickes, a nauseating DIY centre close by. He appeared with Janette at 11 and we had tea together, before going off to buy wooden doors and brass handles. I bought an interior mirror for Mandy Metro - £1.90. Janette says she is in love with Martyn Cole and has dreams about him. Much laughter. Home at 12:30. Ally wore jeans for the first time since last May or June. Janette made some tuna sandwiches and we had slurps of alcoholic refreshment listening to the (Rolling) Stones. John and Janette left at 4 squabbling, but not seriously. Janette's sister and brother-in-law are arriving and apparently John knew nothing about it. We had an omelette and listened to Radio 4. It was Princess Michael of Kent on 'Desert Island Discs'. She has a beautifully gushing personality and is obsessed with our feline friends. Supremely aristocratic. In comparison Princess Anne is like Rita Webb. I stayed up until 1am watching Peter Cushing in one of his hopeless films. I read too. Ally and Samuel departed at 10:30.

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