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 warm 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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