1st Sunday after Christmas
Moorhouse Inn
Auntie Mabel phoned and we had a long, chatty conversation. Hilda phoned too and was glad to hear that Mum and Dad are having a quiet weekend at Horton. Later, I phoned Horton. Dad was trying to persuade Mum to eat some roast chicken. Dad says the house is damp, cold and forbidding and they want to be back with us as soon as possible. He loves Waltergarth and the village, that is easily observed, and yet for some reason Mum, he says, is very bitter about the place. She enjoyed guest house life at first but this year has been disillusioned and recently yearning for Guiseley. Poor Pine Tops. How convenient would that be now. Nightmare, a bloody nightmare.
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