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.

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