Moorhouse Inn
Cold, blustery. May Day. Horrific. To Shipley and the denist this morning where Ally had a chipped tooth looked at. Samuel and I went to look at books and buy a [news]paper. I bought a novel by Brenda Jagger for Mum and a picture frame for a group photo I've given her. Samuel played with a plastic green frog in the shop.
To Sue's for lunch. We sat in the garden. Soup and sandwiches. On to Club Street at 2. Mum is awful, A shocking mess. Weary, weepy and weak. I sat with her alone and she clutched my hand. The only reason she has never gone back to Horton is that she doesn't want to die at Waltergarth and be 'left behind buried in the village'. She says she wants to be laid to rest in Guiseley cemetery to be 'near somebody' and deplores the idea of cremation. Once said she went on to say she would not speak of such morbid things again. She had the same conversation with Dad last night, which broke him up. I kept my calm and felt better knowing of her wishes. She did stress that she wants 'no bun fight' afterwards. I agreed with her. Wakes are ghastly. I will go away and get quietly pissed. Ally sat on the bed with her afterwards and began to cry, but Mum cheered her. Such a brave angel she is.
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