Wednesday April 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Princess Michael of Kent, clad in sackcloth and ashes, was on TV-AM talking about the discovery that her father, Baron von Reibnitz, served in the Waffen-SS. The poor girl did a good job. How can she be blamed? Blimey, Prince Philip's sisters married German officers. So what? The war ended in 1945 for goodness sake. It would be a far worse and more deeply upsetting thing if it was revealed that the Queen Mother's father was once a Labour voter. I suppose it all depends were ones political affiliations lie. The BBC used Marie-Christine's interview and later TV-am obtained a high court injunction  to halt this so called broadcasting 'piracy'. Prince Michael is a pal of Tim Aitken, the TV-am chief, and is on the board of Aitken Hume. I am not too sure about royals going into the business world. Look what befell poor Angus Ogilvy in '76?

We had a visit from Bob Walker's side-kick. They are taking down our shutters. To Bradford at 2. Dad had just returned from Horton where the carpets had to be re-laid (£500!). Mum in bed, drowsy, looking old. We gave Samuel tea and returned to Leeds at 5. I am glum. Our night off. Had chilli con carne and watched 'Dallas'. 

It was the palace banquet for President Banda tonight. Princess Michael was escorted into dinner on the arm of the Duke of Norfolk.

We went to bed at 10. 

Tuesday April 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Gunther von Reibnitz.

6:30am start. Went to shift barrels around the cellar in readiness for the dray delivery. Up at 8 for bacon. Ally couldn't get up. Switched on Breakfast TV and saw the news. The headlines are the revelation that Princess Michael of Kent's father was a member of the Waffen-SS from 1933. Bit of stink. I fail to see why such excitement has been generated by this. A palace spokesman says the news, printed in a new and scurrilous book, came as a shock to Princess Michael. Has there been a cover-up? Did the Queen know? &c. It is nonsense. You'd hardly expect a German aristocrat with the name Baron Gunther von Reibnitz to join the Scots Guards, could you? Living in Germany in the 1930s he would have had little choice. Princess Michael did not meet her father until she was 18. He disappeared to Africa after the war. All very tenuous and trumped up. The anti-monarchists are having a field day. The coverage on the BBC news is outrageous. Pictures of Hitler and Eva Braun at Berchtesgaden intermingled with horrific shots of Belsen and the Kents wedding in Vienna in 1978. Surely, not acceptable? HRH is expected later to be at a Buckingham Palace banquet later for the state visit of the president of Malawi.

Phoned Dad.

-=-

Monday April 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Went out at 9 driving with Karen Hudson. I am at stalemate really because I have done no driving since my last lesson, and practice is what I need. She has the impression that I am nervous and need to relax, but I tootle along  feeling confident and not in the least  bit intimidated. Must be my quiet manner. I have never been one to chatter aimlessly with anyone. To strangers I may come across as shy, but to those who know me well see the fun-loving clown that I really am. 

I have been reflected that since Mum's illness we have been shunned by some friends. Is it that people just do not know what to say? 

-=-

Sunday April 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

1st Sunday after Easter

Dad phoned as I was opening the doors at 12 to say Mum has had a fall. She didn't wake Dad at 4am when she climbed out of bed to go to the loo and she lost her grip and fell backwards banging her head with force on the floor. At 3 we went to Club Street. The place was like a kindergarten. JPH & Catherine were there. Having lanigans, as they say in Hunslet. Unbelievably, John and Dad were replacing a skirting board and were sawing a plank of wood on the carpet. Ally was displeased. Mum was upstairs and I questioned why no doctor had been called when she was clearly in some pain in her neck and shoulders. She is so thin now it is a miracle she didn't break bones. A pile of Catherine Cookson books lay on the bed. Spring flowers on the dressing table, and Mum flat out , withering before our very eyes. Ally and Sam left me with Mum alone. That quick mind has gone. That vitality has already died. It is so wrong that people have to suffer in such a way. How lucky are those people who drop like a stone with a massive heart attack? So see a loved one, aged only 50, wasting away, is pure Hell. She was always so good and thoughtful and a lover of family life and all that goes with it. All snatched from her by this evil disease. ______.

-=-

Saturday April 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

(The page was blank. A rare occurrence. Probably the first blank page in the twelve years blogged so far. Dear Reader, as I compile this blog I am reading my journal for the first time since it was penned. Some entries of early 1985 I am finding very difficult to re-live. Harrowing stuff.)

Friday April 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Back to it. A sunny start. Dad came down to wake us at 6:30. Upstairs Sam was asleep crouched face down with his face buried in his pillow. The car was packed and we drove to Leeds for 8:50. Andrew Snowden is a scruffy, unkempt individual. Ally was furious that he had left all the washing up. Ronnie did the stocktake. A £63 deficit. We learn from Audrey that he deposited much ale from the drip trays down the sink. Silly bugger. The annoying thing is that he swans around looking so superior and confident when in fact he's made a cock-up of the whole business. Tonight at 10 Ally sprung a surprise birthday party and brought me a large blue cake with a '30' inserted in the top. It was made by June, David Howard's girlfriend. Lots of sandwiches too, which were passed around the pub. I was stunned. Open mouthed and wide-eyed, &c. Dear Ally, how very sweet of her.

-=-

Thursday April 11, 1985

 Chillandham Cross

We slept in and Bessie gave Sam his breakfast, Bacon, eggs, &c. So we were late packing and setting off. We left at 12:30, Bessie in her tweeds waving us off in a heavy downpour. Tortuous drive homeward. Six and a half hours! We sat for half an hour in a jam on the M1.

Bessie.

At Club St for 6:30. Mum has been in bed since Monday. She looked tired and thinner. Dad says that she is very 'weepy' and that Club St is too quiet for her. She needs people. I told him that they could come back to the noise of the Moorhouse whenever they liked. No need to linger in Bradford.

Sue came with Jim, Margaret and Julie. Sue so cheerful and bubbly. I cannot put on such a show. Sue cut Dad's hair. We watched 'Minder' and had fish and chips, and then, after Sue had left, we sat on Mum's bed giving a detailed account of our week in Hampshire. Bed - or more correctly - floor at 11. I couldn't sleep. We both lay tossing and turning.

-=-

Wednesday April 10, 1985

 Chillandham Cross

Fine day. We went with Bessie and dear Sammy to Marwell Zoological Park. Bessie in a headscarf looking like the Sovereign Lady herself. We looked at the Vietnamese pot bellied pigs, &c. Strenuous walking. Samuel didn't enjoy it and he wailed a good deal. He is in a sweat all the time with his teeth. The cages at the zoo are covered in plaques bearing the names of the good people who have paid to 'adopt' the animals. We are told that Graham and Charlotte Smith have adopted a snowy owl here, but we saw no evidence of this. I find zoos sickening really. The inmates always look suicidal. Lunch at Ch. Cross. We left Samuel with Bessie and went shopping at 3. Shoes for Ally and a Khaki creation for Sam. TV tonight. 'Dallas'. Gin & tonic. _________.

-=-

Tuesday April 9, 1985

 Chillandham Cross

At Chillandham Cross.

To Winchester all day. Frank gave me a cheque for £13 for my birthday. I want Kenneth Rose's 'George V' in hardback. Impossible. Ally bought a Laura Ashley creation (£33) and had her hair played with (£11).

Phoned Dad. Mum has been in bed all day and has eaten nil. Sue had visited with the boys and no doubt exhausted her. 

At 6:30 we went to Salisbury (Ally looking beautious in her new off the shoulder number and sweeping hair, &c). Got £2.80 seats at the playhouse to see 'And Then There Were None' by Agatha C. Because of the race relations fiasco the play can no longer be called 'Ten Little Niggers'. Not a good play, but we were entertained. To the Salisbury Berni (inn). (Newly done out) at 9:30. T-bone steaks, &c. Home for 11:30. Sam had had another bad night and was keeping Bessie on the go. It's his teeth.

-=-

Monday April 8, 1985

 Chillanadham Cross

Bank Holiday in the UK (except for Scotland)

Out we went with Samuel for a muddy walk down the lane. Ally squealed in horror at the sight of a flattened frog. She is so deliciously squeamish. Frank, a workaholic, went off to Southampton to sit in his empty office and so later we took Bessie to Alresford to look at swans and the Watercress Line, &c. Bright and warm. The second hand book shop was open and I managed to get lost amidst the Spy cartoon reproductions. Ally was livid. Samuel squealed at all the dogs and children. He really does need a friend. Such a cute, affectionate child. I do loathe Bank Holidays and the silly sheep-like mob. I do not like to be counted as one of them. This evening, to the Otter at Otterbourne, the Hut at Chandlers Ford - squalid. Then to Southampton. The Oriental is no longer a Berni Inn and so we slummed it in Portswood at the miserable Berni Inn there and we returned home at 10:30. Samuel was awake and weeping copiously for a worried Graham Dixon. Oh dear.

-=-

Sunday April 7, 1985

 Easter Day

Chillandham Cross, Martyr Worthy

The baptism of Simon Thomas James Dixon.

That awful Bishop of Durham now says that Christ didn't rise from the dead at all. Isn't it just bloody marvellous? Christ wasn't the result of a virgin birth either. I suppose Pontius Pilate didn't wash his hands and that Judas Iscariot played for Plymouth Argyle.

Samuel at Bembridge vicarage.

We took the ferry to the Isle of Wight from Portsmouth. Sam in full Victorian naval outfit. Just us. with Frank, Bessie. Andrew and Lorraine followed the Mercedes in Bessie's car. He's looking for one of his own. The crossing took 25 minutes. I sat gulping down my anti-dog pills and a bearded gentleman sitting opposite was smiling to himself thinking I must be sea sick. The sea was like a mill pond. Graham met us with Michael Lynn. Drove to Bembridge. All Victoriana. Church impressive. Service short. I sat beneath a stone tablet to Admiral Sir Francis Tottenham, GCB. Back to a buffet at the vicarage for a couple of hours. Samuel was something of a show stealer. Simon is huge, reminiscent of a 1914 photo of Great-Aunt Elsie. Back at Chillandham Cross for 7. Out to the Bush at Ovington and the Horse & Groom at Alresford later - just the two of us. Phoned Dad.

-=-

Saturday April 6, 1985

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Little Frances is 4. Fine day. Hideously hungover. I went and lay on Mum's bed. She was breathing very heavily as though she was fighting. She smiled and remarked that I was laid in a very similar position 30 years ago too. 

We packed and left at 10:30. Samuel, so very well behaved. A jolt saying goodbye to Mum. On the journey south I was sick on the hard shoulder of the M1. Last night's steak au poivre and broccoli. To Winchester without a break. A sunny arrival at about 3pm. Bessie was gardening. We had tea and cake. She doesn't go over the top or go bananas on seeing Samuel. She believes in re-introducing herself to her grandson very gradually. 

Tonight we had a turkey dinner. I phoned Dad. To bed very early.

-=-

Friday April 5, 1985

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Good Friday. My 30th birthday. Who would have ever thought it would be such a day? We woke up on the floor at Club St. Sleeping bags, &c. I took my birthday cards upstairs and we sat opening them on Mum & Dad's bed. Samuel loves singing 'happy birthday'. He always thinks it's for him. Mum's card was very touching with such weak handwriting. These anniversaries are a strain for her. The next big one is June 19. God knows what will be happening by then. I walked out to the bakery and bought two dozen hot cross buns. A good breakfast. We walked out with Samuel investigating Lidget Green. I steered clear of our usual haunt - the old cemetery.

My birthday visitors.

TV this afternoon. Bliss. Just flopped down in armchairs. Mum struggled out of bed at 5. I took some photographs. The others came here at 8. John and Janette last at 8:30. To the 'Fire Brigade' pub - awful Tetley's. Then at 9:30 to Mamma Mia's Pizzeria on Manningham Lane. The eight of us crammed around two very tiny tables. An excellent intimate dinner. Lashings of vino. Lynn appalled at my Bacchanalian attitude. ____. The Italian waiter came out with a small, round chocolate cake. All back to Club Street. I was violently sick on the garden wall. Went up to see Mum who was asleep and drugged. Downstairs I broke down and wept.

-=-

Thursday April 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Our holiday is here. Andrew Snowden came breezing in at 9, and got in the way a good deal. His mother came too, puffing on a Woodbine. She'll be wearing the trousers. Mick Thompson did the stocktake and gave us a £15 surplus. We escaped at 1 o'clock in a packed car. Samuel buried beneath piles of clothing. To Club St. We left Samuel with Dad and went to buy Easter eggs for Mum for her grandchildren. Dad enjoys playing with Samuel.

Rain later. We watched TV. The Queen distributing Maundy Money at Ripon today.

Sit on Mum's bed. We say very little to each other. We just look. I ger choked for something to say.

Tonight we just festered in front of the TV. We watched 'Minder' and scoffing on a box of chocolates. Robin Day is ill and so another chap did 'Question Time'. Sad. We made a bed up and slept on the floor.

-=-

Wednesday April 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

To Club St this afternoon with Samuel's high chair. He had his tea there. Mum came down to see us and was propped up with pillows by the piano. Gone is that friendly amusing chatter. That lovable wit. She just sat and watched us. Sam kept making wild dashes to the kitchen and the cellar steps. He is happier in our enormous flat. 

Our last night (holiday looming). Marjorie. Quiet.

-=-

Tuesday April 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I am such a dreary old pillock. I do not ask for sympathy, but you really cannot expect me to pen flowing prose. Here I am only days away from the commencement of my fortieth decade and life seems so pointless and futile. If I was in Mum's shoes I'd be so bitter and resentful. How can we all come smiling out of all this. God knows. That's if God really cares. Sometimes I do wonder.

-=-

Monday April 1, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Club St.

Mum and Dad moved out and went to Club Street. We went to Bradford in a convoy fashion. Mum did very well. It was horrible watching her struggling down the stairs to get to the car. We, that is Ally, Sam and I, went to Duckworth Lane to get Mum some 'Orovite 7', recommended by an old customer John, who lost his wife last year. Whilst we were out Mum climbed the stairs at Club St and wept at the sight of her bedroom. She thinks we have gone to too much trouble. I am a morbid old sod, but I look at her and wonder if she will ever leave our little cottage alive. She is so frail and burnt out. What torment.

-=-

Sunday March 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Palm Sunday / British Summer Time Begins

I hate all this buggering around with the clocks. Felt tired all day. To Club St this evening to conclude the decorating. I thought we would be able to escape the pub at 9 o'clock, but by 10 we were still hard at it. I wanted to nip over to the Butcher's to look at Rob & Kath's baby. At 10:30pm Ally was complaining of feeling hungry and so I phoned the Berni Inn, but we were too late to eat. Instead we went to Giuseppi's Backyard in the centre of Bradford. We were the only customers. I had a cold trout followed by a marinara pizza washed down with a dry white wine. Ally demolished a corn on the cob. I spent my Grand National winnings. £4 in all. 

-=-

Saturday March 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Grand National day. Yes, and for the second year running I won the pub sweep. Much talk of a 'fix', &c. Hilarity.

Uncle Peter phoned to say that he and Auntie Jean and Beverley want to come and see Mum this evening. She viewed this with some trepidation. I was put in a spot, but told them to come. They came at 8. Mum was propped up in bed, with subdued lighting, but she looked quite bright. Ally was watching 'Dynasty' and we pointed Peter in the direction of the lounge, and after five minutes he said: "Come on, let's go and see auntie." In they went. Mum gave them a pile of old photographs to look at, and they sat with her for half an hour. Beverley is an attractive girl - leather pants, &c. They stayed until after 12 and went back to Pudsey in a taxi. I filled Peter in on my family tree developments. Amazingly, he knew nothing. 

-=-

Friday March 29, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

My cousin Sam is back looking frightening. Quite hideous. Frankenstein-like to say the least. Shaved head, mad, wild eyes, and a melancholic expression. Weird old fashioned clothes too. And he was smoking a pipe. Very reminiscent of Grandpapa Rhodes. A sad, pathetic figure. He asked for Great-Aunt Ann's address and went away with it saying he'll offer to do her garden and run errands. Like a boy scout. He will probably frighten the life out of the old girl. He asked to see Dad but I knew that Dad didn't want to come down. I suppose I should have let Sam go upstairs, but Mum was in no mood to see anyone.

-=-

Thursday March 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunny start, but dull by lunchtime. Up at 7 an hour before Samuel. We breakfasted on beans and poached eggs and went for a walk up Dewsbury Rd. Ally collected my anti-Tara pills from the chemist. 

Dear Auntie Hilda is 49 today. Mum slept well but felt horribly sick and vomited at the smell of the aroma of food and our cooking fat. She was down in the dumps too, like she was on Lynn's birthday. God knows what she must be going through. To have an imagination is always an asset, but not at a time like this. Dad was later pottering about making a sheep's head broth.

We were so very excited about our 'Greek' evening. We went out at 7:30 to town by bus. More or less the full company of our lounge customers. To a pub, I've forgotten which, and then on to Scorpio's for 9:30. A merry evening. Ally and I sat with Pam, Tina and Carole (daughter of one of the Bachelors group). Taramasalata  and lamb kebabs, &c. Much wine. Much dancing. They had me up limbo dancing, supposedly in celebration of my coming birthday. Quite jolly. 2:30am finish. Home in a taxi with a poor bugger who'd been on the ouzo. Really awful.

-=-

Wednesday March 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

An early start. Up at 7. Dad went to Horton and he deposited me at Beeston Medical Centre en route. I sat in one of those horrible queues full of wheezing old men and snotty-nosed wailing three year olds. Very lowering it all is. Saw Dr Danks at 8:30 who prescribed some pills which will prevent me going into an asthmatic attack on seeing Tara (the retriever) next week. I am told that they do not mix with alcohol. Back home for 9. Mum was bright and cheerful and I made a mug of Complan  and helped her to sit up. At lunchtime she poked at a beef curry, but didn't eat, and then had six fried scampi which she enjoyed.

-=-

Tuesday March 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Uneventful. Not feeling very descriptive these days. This year has been full of gloom. The wind has been knocked out of our sails. Here I am, at 30, but for a week. I have a pot-belly in the making and signs of a developing double chin. Not a grey hair though, but neither has my mother.  ___________.

-=-

Monday March 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Armitage came to see Mum. He can do very little but he does boost her morale and always goes away leaving her cheery and fighting. I do not think Mum sees enough of the health people. She now has bigger and stronger sleeping pills. 

Archie (left).

To Archibald Drummond Adams's funeral at Cottingley (crematorium). The crematorium resembles a cinema. A full Moorhouse Inn turn-out. (The Rev Terry) Munro took the modern, almost slapstick service. Pitiable, really. Mavis (Adams) didn't weep and sat with a stony face throughout. I found a back-row seat and travelled in a taxi with Taffy, Lesley Heaton, and an anonymous mourner. Aren't funerals awful? The pub was packed afterwards. Archie would have liked that. 

Tonight was also like a gala night. The mourners, covered in cuts and bruises after a brawl in the club, hit the booze with a savagery that took my breath away.

-=-

Sunday March 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

5th Sunday in Lent

Still groggy. Feel half dead. Watched Peter Sellers in a 'Pink Panther' film this afternoon. Ally made gammon at tea time. My wife resents me being ill and banged around a good deal. Mum instructed me to go to bed, but I managed to stay on my feet.

-=-

Saturday March 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I have a horrible, heavy cold. But work must go on. We were visited by John, Janette, Jill and Tim. A pity really because I was in no mood for such revelry. Baby talk basically. Jill says they might have a Jonathan. Janette said that a son might be Simon, at which John replied: "I'm having no Simon under my roof." They all hung around until 1am saying how tired and ill I looked. Ally kept dropping hints and yawning theatrically, but it didn't work.

-=-

Friday March 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Princess Anne has been interviewed on Wogan's dreadful show and was apparently very good. She has had good media treatment recently. Mum didn't get out of bed to watch it, saying: "she (the princess) wouldn't get out of bed to see me." Ally looked in on the interview and her peals of laughter could be heard throughout the building. I must say I have always admired Mrs Mark Phillips. HM should have made her Princess Royal by now. I am a stickler for tradition.

-=-

Thursday March 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

New Moon

Parkinson or Redgrave?

Cold. The first day of Springtime. Sir Michael Parkinson has died aged 77, from Redgrave's Disease, or is it the other way round?

The decorators conclude. Ally suspects that in the latter stages they tired somewhat and found the task a toil. The small, Scottish and bewigged decorator was dolloping varnish everywhere, but where it was actually needed. They left at 5. We finished at 2 and went to Club Street to paint the bedroom leaving Samuel with Grandpapa. We did half the room and returned home at 5. Maureen did the bar until 8. Poor Mum was in bed all day again. She has had nothing to eat since Saturday except for a small splodge of porridge. She wept tonight. The look of despair I shall never forget.

Archie is to be cremated at Cottingley on Monday at 1:30. I will probably go.

-=-

Wednesday March 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Cold. Drizzle. The decorators work at a slug-like speed. The lounge is shut off  and clouds of varnish fumes hang in the atmosphere, like the mushroom cloud over Nagasaki or Dresden. 

One of those boring sieges is going on in London. It's a murderer holed up in a van in Berkeley Square. It must be a smelly, sweaty experience.

Mum is stuck in bed. Why Dad refuses to phone Armitage I do not know. She had a small bowl of porridge but nothing else. Sue, Pete and the boys came at 11:30. It's Peter's birthday. They came after visiting St James's Hospital - you know, Benjamin's heart. His quack is on holiday in Australia. The soddin' NHS. They left after half an hour and refused an invitation to stay to lunch.

The boys from the Station returned to do battle (pool). But we don't have our Archie. We won but lost on aggregate. I was too busy to socialise with Tim and Mary. So much ale spilled - the tap room floor was like the Empire Pool, Wembley.

-=-

Tuesday March 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

An early dray delivery. The decorating continues. They were varnishing the woodwork in the lounge and our lungs are heavy with fumes. Uncle Peter appeared in the tap room in oily overalls - from Spensalls - to see Mum, and he didn't cause a fuss when I clearly lied to him and said Mum was asleep. In truth she was sat up in bed but in no mood to see visitors. We stood at the bar talking about the Wilsons. He has a soft spot for John and speaks affectionately about him. __________. He is so very upset by Mum's illness, and his heart is always in the right place.

-=-

Monday March 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Moorhouse Inn is in mourning for poor Archibald Drummond Adams.  It is unbelievable. He was 42. Madge was hopelessly weeping and by noon we had a full tap room - everyone drinking Archie's favourite Bacardi & coke, and slobbering together. _____. It is hard to imagine our tap room without Archie. He was a troublesome, loud, noisy little Scot, but he had a warm heart and an acid sense of humour which I found so refreshing. It will be a dull place without him. Jim Precious looked quite broken. Tonight they all came out of the woodwork to mourn.

-=-

Sunday March 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Mothering Sunday / St Patrick's Day

Archie (left).

Someone in the pub said that Mother's Day is a ghastly American import, but of course this is not so. It's an ancient religious thing. Mum remembers taking bunches of violets home from church for her mother back in the 40s. I must look it up in Brewer's. A shocking day really. Mum was really low. They (the family) all appeared against our advice, and it proved too much for her. She stayed abed and bunches of people kept drifting in and out. Catherine couldn't understand why 'Granny' was crying and John (Snr) came away pale and upset. Mum had wept before him saying she didn't want to die. My God it's all so awful. Lynn came en route to the Bakers where they were going for Sunday tea. ________.

Our evening off. A sumptuous dinner. Poor Mum prodded a Yorkshire pudding but didn't eat. It was all wrenching. I was in bed at midnight when Jim Precious phoned to say that Archie had collapsed and died outside the Station at 11pm after a pool knock-out. What a terrible shock.

-=-

Saturday March 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John & Levinyer.

My grandfather, John Wilson, was born on this day in 1890. I can hardly remember him even though I was six when he faded away. An old man plucking a chicken is what I can recall. He was, by all accounts, a quiet, gentle man, very much broken by the cruelty of his vicious and bombastic eldest son and namesake. Mum says that she hadn't thought about it before but her mother, Levinyer, was so very soft with her boys, so soft that they did and said anything in her presence, and on the other hand the girls were all harshly treated and allowed little freedom. Levinyer Wilson, we are told, could move a piano from one end of the house to the other, pulling it across the floor on a rug. 

Quiet afternoon. Margaret and I worked. Archie and Jim in the tap room. Archie still furious about the joke with Sue last night. He doesn't often fall for such little pranks.

-=-

Friday March 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Lynn, Dave and Sue came to see Mum and Dad this evening. Mum, sitting in her chair, said she has lived a good life, and went on to say that we do not have to live to be old and ancient to have had a contented life. She gave the girls a good talking to and said she did not want tears and that we should all be happy and strong together. Downstairs after this intimate and frank exchange they all seemed relieved and almost elated that Mum had talked to them about her illness. A weight off their shoulders. 

Sue and Lynn inspected the decorating in the bar and Archie, on seeing Sue in the tap room, assumed she was Donna Lea, the area manager. It turned into a huge, highly successful leg-pull. Sue, straight faced, told Archie that the tap room was closing as a bar and was to be replaced by an a la carte restaurant. Archie went white, and was furious on being told of the spoof. A busy evening. All jolly. Andy Bowden came in and announced that he was capable of drinking 10 pints of diet pils. Not bloody likely.

-=-

Thursday March 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Margaret worked alone. 

(Redaction)

Wednesday March 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

A bright day to begin with but cloud and rain came later. The alarm sounded at 7, but Samuel remained asleep, and so we switched off and lay in blissful slumbers until 8. I went down to admit the decorators and had breakfast of eggs and beans. Samuel ate the lot unaided. He was 14 months old yesterday. Dad joined us. Mum's new sleeping pills have had no effect and she was awake until 5am. Dad took Samuel to the park and then went to Guiseley to bank a cheque and visit the girls. Mum found some comfort and slept in the afternoon. I went to see her for ten minutes and she complained of her swollen feet. On Dad's return he wasn't very informative and we suspect that he has been to Guiseley to put them off visiting on Mother's Day. We would have preferred them to come in the evening minus offspring and were startled when Dad says he has arranged for them all to come, with children, in a staggered trail throughout the afternoon. The man has no idea. It will be so exhausting for Mum. Tonight at 8 we went out, taking Maureen with us, to the Station (pub) where our pool team was disgracefully slaughtered. It was an enjoyable evening. Ally and I sat with Tim and Mary, the new incumbents. Home after 11. Maureen gave Ally £2 for chauffeuring her around Beeston. Silly girl.

-=-

Tuesday March 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine. Dad went to Horton to meet a carpet cleaner and telephone engineer. It was a pleasant surprise when Mum appeared in the sitting room dressed and looking lovely ay 10:20. Mr Armitage has really boosted her morale. Dad is amazed that Mum has fallen for such 'conmen' as he refers to Hall and Armitage. 'What good have they done your poor Mum?' he said. Dad cannot appreciate that Mum needs someone or something to cling onto outside the family - someone who appreciates her terrible plight. At 11 Dr Smith appeared and I sat in on his chat with Mum. She told him she couldn't sleep, eat or walk. He just nodded and coughed into his briefcase. What could he say? He gave her a prescription for sleeping pills and water tablets to deal with the swelling in her ankles. She told him that Armitage doesn't want her to take the latter pills. She told Smith of her depression. He told her it was only to be expected because she must be so frustrated to have her active young life shattered. He told her not to feel guilty at living with us and 'putting on us' because, he added: 'if the situation was reversed you'd look after them, wouldn't you?' She agreed. I said very little. It wasn't my place to. I took the doctor down and off he went. Dad came back at 4:30 with a large cheese plant flapping in the back of the car. Mum complained of feeling exhausted and took to her bed. Maureen worked 5:30 to 8 and then Ally and I went down. It was a quiet day. We only took £185 from both sessions. I felt particularly glum tonight. _____. On the juke box I played 'Unchained Melody' by Al Hibbler. Ally phoned Bessie. They are going to Cheltenham Races tomorrow. Bessie has blood pressure and pains. Kissed Mum goodnight. She had taken two new pills. To bed at 11:15 with Lady Longford's biography of HM and a large glass of brandy and dry (ginger). 

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Monday March 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Up at breakfast with my wife, son, and Selina Scott on the TV. She (Selina) always looks as though she's spent the night with the Royal Green Jackets, or just completed a spell in Holloway.

Gorbachev: ruling until next century?

On the news were hear that Russian TV is playing Chopin and showing images of swans gliding on a Russian lake. Something must have happened to dear little Mr Chernenko. He was such a cuddly old thing. Sure enough it was then announced that the Siberian dwarf passed away last night. Mikhail Gorbachev, 54, succeeds. They say that Gorbachev will be ruling the Kremlin until the next century. One never knows, does one?

Mum was supposed to be seeing a Mr Armitage, FRCS in Keighley but was too weak. After a call from Mrs Hall she was told that Mr Armitage will come here at 9 o'clock tomorrow.

Dr Smith is also coming here tomorrow from the clinic at Beeston. 

Dad was out walking with Samuel when at 12 Uncle Peter appeared in his overalls to see Mum. I first went upstairs and asked Mum whether she wanted to see her brother and after what seemed like a long hard think she agreed. I showed him up. He kissed her and sat with her. _________. He seemed very shocked by her appearance.

The decorators arrived here. At least twelve of them. The tap room was the first room to receive treatment. They say they will be hard at it for a week. I can hardly wait because we have lived in near squalor for a year.

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Sunday March 10, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

3rd Sunday in Lent

Andrew: licentiousness?

A 'Knobbly Knees' contest here. My God, the Diet Pils has brought new life into the old lounge here. Phyllis, who for years sat demurely with a slim-line tonic, is now knocking back the pils and flaunting herself like a good time dancing girl from the days of the Wild West. Underwear flashers predominate. Large thighs, &c. I was snapping away with the camera and the place was really swinging this afternoon.

The Prince Edward, a Duke of Cambridge-to-be, is 21 today. He looks very much like the Queen. HM can be very proud of her sons. Only Prince Andrew shows any signs of developing that Hanoverian  strain of licentiousness. I have the recurring nightmare that Andrew goes off and marries a Cockney beauty queen.

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Saturday March 9, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

My first Saturday afternoon behind the bar in ages. Worked with Margaret. It was dead too. Archie's vitriolic behaviour  had us in fits of merriment. Ally upstairs ironing like a _______.

Ted the Grass.

News: the Daily Telegraph headline 'Glacier Britons rescued' is all news to me. Reg Freeson, the Labour MP is quitting because of 'hard left' pressure. Poor bugger. 'Heart operation girl, 5, is doing well'. That's good. 'Mortgage rate rise expected' - that's bad. 

In Stevenage a public house called Edward the Confessor is known locally to young people of the town as 'Ted the Grass'. That's funny.

Someone asked the Duke of Gloucester whether he thought we should return the Elgin Marbles to Athens and he is reported to have responded: 'No, it would be more sensible to ship the rest of the Parthenon here.' Bloody marvellous.

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Friday March 8, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

David Baker is 29 today. Mum thought he might phone to thank her for his birthday card but he did not. Lynn phoned to say they had been to the zoo at Knaresborough and were very disappointed at what they found. The animals were ailing and slumped around gasping for breath in their cages.

Auntie Mabel is 66 today. As expected, she appeared at 1pm with the Harwoods for lunch which they had upstairs. Mum looked weary and sat in her armchair as we ate.  Auntie M had a very large ploughman's lunch. ______. Frank borrowed our nuptials video to transfer to Betamax cassette. Dad sat very quietly.

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Thursday March 7, 1985

 Full Moon

Moorhouse Inn

Little Lord Snowdon is 55 today. They say that Princess Margaret is back on the cigs. It would be foolish of HRH to say the least. 

A gang of Egyptians are buying Harrods.

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Wednesday March 6, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

_________. Mum is hopelessly 'down'. It is Lynn's 27th birthday. It is the fact that it's her daughter's birthday that has so upset Mum today. She was weeping in bed at lunchtime and I made some attempt to comfort her. She said writing Lynn's birthday card was a wrench. "I won't be here next year, will I?"

Lynn and Dave are on holiday this week - at Scarborough today, and they called in with the girls after their seaside jaunt. Mum broke down in front of Lynn too.

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Tuesday March 5, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I have the most disgusting hangover I have perhaps ever experienced. Ally too lay whimpering beneath the quilt and refused to climb out of bed. I had to persuade Maureen to open up at 11 and I stood around red-eyed. I made a lasagne and pies, and fed Samuel. Poor Terry (Teri/Terri/Theresa/Teresa??)  came in to work and I sprawled upon the settee and slept. Ally found some inner strength and climbed out of bed to cook. Audrey enjoyed it and found it a huge joke. Then, at 2pm, when the calm of post-lunch activity descended who should appear but David and Jean Watts with the Dowager Watts and Hannah. I could have died. We gave them coffee and attempted conversation, but I had to make an exit to spew up. Have you ever tried to vomit quietly? Back in the lounge I think my indisposition had gone undetected. David W is going to college in Leeds on Tuesdays and they will be back in a few weeks when we will be in a better situation.

Mum and Dad came back at 5. She is always 'done in' after travelling.

Andy Bowden's last night. He attempted to persuade me to buy him a drink at 11pm but I told him to be gone. Staggered to bed bleary-eyed and at deaths door. 

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Monday March 4, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The miners strike has fizzled out after a futile year and they have gone back to work, on bended knees. Serves 'em right. 

Driving lesson at 9.  Ally got a helper in the kitchen today. She's called Terry (Teresa), one of the nice lounge customers.

Sir Iain Moncreiffe of that Ilk has joined the choir invisible. Succeeded in the baronetcy by Lord Erroll and in the clan chieftainship by his second son the Hon Peregrine. Only last month Sir Iain was accused of having made vulgar suggestions  to the dear prime minister in the Palace of Holyroodhouse, which he fervently denied.

Jill and Tim called in at 8 for half an hour. It was Andy Bowden's penultimate session. At 11 we found ourselves continuing in the revelry and the three of us, Andy and Ally and I hit the Diet Pils with a vengeance. It was soon 4:14am and we were pissed as arseholes. Andy is a stimulating friend.

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Sunday March 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

2nd Sunday in Lent

with dear Phyllis.

Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of his doting grandad and devoured his bacon and eggs splendidly. Today is day one of our new stream-lined system and I worked 12-2 with Margaret and 7-11 with Mavis. Enjoyable really. I always did enjoy Sundays in the bar. We had a 'knobbly knees' contest at 2pm and Geoff's wife Phyllis fell on top of me demolishing a chair. All in good fun. Terry Egan has legs like a Christmas turkey. 

At 3 I drove Ally and Sam to Pudsey where we spent an hour at Wilsby. Mum was bright and pretty, and sitting in the bay window eating an orange. Hilda is such a good tonic. Tony busy as ever. Di came in covered in muck from renovating her Calverley home. Sam was hot and petty. He cried on seeing Uncle Tony and pulled a large 'pet lip' on catching sight of Pepper, the frustrated terrier. Dad looked pale and fed up. Home for prawn cocktails, chops, &c. by candlelight. Snoozed afterwards but struggled down at 7 to do my bit.

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Saturday March 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We were both in foul tempers at breakfast and escaped the close confines of the Moorhouse and went with haste to Bradford at 11:30 where Ally shopped at Linfood and afterwards we went to Club St for a fish and chip lunch on the floor. Samuel did very well with a plate on his knees and a tea towel improvising as a bib. He loves investigating at Club St and soaks up the happiness and tranquility of the place, our haven for 5 years. Thank God we have held on to this retreat. We can regain our sanity and squat like monks, if need be. To Cheap 'n Cheerful where we bought a large, sturdy bed frame and a tiny bookcase for £22. Then to a lovely little place called Ali Baba Carpets where we bought a bed base for £35 after a car ride to a warehouse with a little Pakistani salesman. He could have been taking us anywhere. This stuff is for Club St so tat we can stay overnight during our Easter break and Mum can retreat here if need be.

Steady evening with Mavis. Ally was upstairs spring cleaning. Phoned Mum at Pudsey. No visitors today. Hilda was babysitting for Hayley at Karen's and Tony was doing his paperwork. I said we might drop in tomorrow.

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Friday March 1, 1985

 St David's Day

Moorhouse Inn

The first of March. I am very gloomy and black today. Mum is declining rapidly. I cannot foresee her living to see my 30th birthday. Last night she was a pathetic sight. We phoned Lynn and Susan to warn them of mother's weakening condition. Both understand the situation. When they saw at Christopher's party on Wednesday they saw a distinct change for the worse. Sue had a bad day yesterday. Hilda must be a good tonic for Mum because she will eat when staying at Pudsey and get out of bed for breakfast, where he she lies helplessly in bed. Ally now thinks that this is not the place for Mum. I phoned Auntie Hilda later, and spoke to Mum who was so different from the despairing soul of last Thursday. She sat all day reminiscing over old photographs and talking about Uncle Albert, &c. Jill and Tim say they have never seen Hilda so low and depressed as she has been since Christmas.

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Thursday February 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Brigadier Gerard: 'Posh'

Mist. Final day of the HCTB (1) course at York. Took a taxi to the railway station and met Debbie Bailey for a coffee. 87p I spent. At Stonebow House we went straight into our final demonstrations. A very relaxed affair with Don, Debbie and Barrie. I went last - after the coffee break - I cleaned shoes and demonstrated the task for Barrie. The polishing cloth was a tatty, old pair of Ally's discarded knickers. Debbie is such a hopeless giggler. Lunch at the Brigadier Gerard - very posh. Our guarded opinion is that the manager, whose name escapes me, is a complete 'tit'. We travelled everywhere by taxis on expenses. After lunch we had another session with Don and then played games relating to employer/employee relations. Very amusing. I am something of a Dustin Hoffman. One by one we went to Don's office to be told we had passed our 'exam' and can expect a cheque for £25 and a certificate. Home with Debbie. Mum wasn't good and struggled out at 9pm to go see Hilda & Tony. I phoned at 9:30 and they were safely installed. I phoned Lynn and Sue and told them of how weak Mum is, and add that she probably hasn't got long left. It's so awful.

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Wednesday February 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Back to York with Farting Frank. We have exactly the same opinion of the Pirie family and it is so refreshing to meet a person who doesn't idolise Pirie as the Moorhouse staff and punters do. Frank is one of those who resents all authority and he looks upon Sam Smiths as a mere stepping stone to better things. He is of the opinion that the HCTB  course is a complete waste of time and is thinking of walking out if it becomes any 'sillier'. To do that would be a grievous mistake. We all assembled for coffee and roared with laughter. Managers together have such good stories to relate. We had another task to perform and I chose the chipping of a potato. Lunched in town with Barrie and Mel. Barrie, at Levenshulme, is but a stones throw from the Hollywood at Edgeley. What a large, jovial character he is. Sensational developments followed after lunch when John (?) from the Master Cooper and Farting Frank informed Don that they did not want to continue with the course, and they walked out. Don, was clearly stunned, and we all hung our heads in embarrassment at the childish act. Mike Walker will go through the roof. Home on the train with Debbie, who is a mixed bag. She fired questions at me on all topics, and loudly, which other passengers found gripping. 

Christopher's party was just too much for poor Mum.

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Tuesday February 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Frank Marshall, the incumbent of the Horse & Jockey at Ossett, came here at 8:30 and off we went to York for three days with the Hotel and Catering Training Board. Frank is one of those down to earth sort of people, with a severe bowel disorder. The car windows had to be wound down on our journey because of the ghastly fumes emanating from Mr Marshall's rear. We were late arriving at Stonebow House. Poor Mike Walker was just finishing a talk and making his excuses to disappear, and we sat - about 12 of us - around a table with Don Bywater and a plump blond called Clare. I sat with Frank (right) and dear Debbie Bailey (left). The only other faces I recognised were Barrie Ashworth (the Bluebell, Levenshulme) and ear-studded Mel (the Roebuck, Rochdale). Don, puffing a cigar, gave us a film show 'Marie and the manager', which we all hoped would be a 'bluey'. Sadly, it dwelt on employer/employee relations. To the Hansom Cab for lunch. This afternoon we broke into two groups. I was with Frank, Debbie and Barrie and we each demonstrated a small task. I showed Barrie how to create a ham sandwich. Talk about giggles. These few days are going to be a hysterical adventure, and a welcome break from pulling ale day and night. To was home for 5pm just as Ally was opening the doors. Knackered and exhausted. Sat and had a few Diet Pils. Mum, horrribly weak, was determined to bake Christopher's birthday cake. Hilda had phoned Ally who told her how 'low' Mum was feeling and so at 7:30 in walked Hilda & Tony (T dropped H with Mum then went on to Ossett to see Dutch Nell, a friend).  After closing Ally and I had a Chinese, and Mum set about icing Christopher's cake at 11pm. It was too much for her. She was breathless, and a stooped figure in the kitchen, like a 93 year-old. Hilda is such a good tonic for her. Dad's taking Mum to Pudsey on Thursday for three or four days.

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Monday February 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Driving lesson at 9am with Karen Hudson, who is very much into plastic jewelry. A personable young lady who puts me at ease. Driving instructors seem to be obsessed by chewing gum. Is it good for the nerves?

Frank Marshall phoned to say he will collect me at dawn instead of me having to find my own way to Ossett, which is good. We will be able to have a chat on the subject of our mutual predecessor, the ghastly Pirie. 

Little Christopher is three on Wednesday and it is under debate as to whether Mum is capable of attending the birthday party. It will be riotous and exhausting. It is a tragedy that she no longer enjoy her grandchildren and that none, except JPH, will remember her. It is so hard to accept that her young life is to be stubbed out. It makes me want to go out and kick the first wrinkled old pensioner I bump into.

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