Saturday February 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A day of industry. Ally made a corned beef hash and floated chunks of pickled beetroot on her plate. A real Lancashire thing to do. Down in the cellar at 3:30 to play with the cleaning materials. Made a pack of bleach, detergents  and Brasso for Dad. He will appreciate this. Chris worked tonight and at 11:30 he went away with carry-out jugs of bitter to the value of £17 to attend a wild 21st birthday party. I reminded the boy that he is down for working tomorrow and he promised not to let me down. 

Baby names: Undecided between William and George.

Boys: William, George, Joshua, Aaron, Jacob, Edward, Tobias, Oliver

Girls: Clementine, Alice, Nora, Lucy, Mary, Eliza, Sophie, Levinyer, Amelia.

-=-

Friday January 31, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Marita is 31. I sent her a birthday card picturing football boots and a pint of beer. This afternoon we went out 'en famille' to the YEB to pay for our new space-age vacuum cleaner. We pottered around the shops but were nithered with cold. Blue extremities, &c. W.H. Smith's, Boots, the building society, Greenhead's, Mothercare, &c. Samuel, in his yellow suit, raised a few smiles toddling through the Bond Street Centre. He sat in one of those small trains wherein one inserts 10p, but he was forced out after one go by a mob of ______ hooligans. I love book shops, but Samuel prevents any serious browsing. The letters of Ann Fleming look like a good publication. Published letters and diaries are really my scene. Ann Fleming is of course a Charteris, sister of Laura Duchess of Marlborough, and a former wife of  the late Viscount Rothermere, and then widow of Ian Fleming. 

-=-

Thursday January 30, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Cold, but no more snow. My bloody driving test. Went out with Ally this morning. Silly really as I've been a capable driver for years. We went to Harehills where to my horror and dismay I am told that the test has been cancelled due to the bad road conditions. What a let down. Totally deflated. I suppose I should have phoned. My test is now postponed until July

We went on to Linfood and Club Street (see yesterday's entry).

We returned to the Moorhouse at 11:30pm Samuel, wide-eyed, wrapped in a tartan rug. 

How is this for a disgusting complement? "I'd use her shit for toothpaste". I heard a customer say this in the back bar while looking at the TV personality Anneka Rice. He then took a sip of his ale and said: "I'd let her shite on my chest just to see the flaps of her arse working." Nice.

-=-

Wednesday January 29, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Shuttle, Shuttle, Shuttle. But it makes a change from Westland. To Linfood again. Some snow on the ground but nothing drastic. On to Club St at tea time for fish and chips. I bathed Samuel and he slept in our bed. We sat watching TV. I phoned Dad and Ally phoned Bessie. We have had details of some pubs for sale in today's post. The Helwith Bridge for £90,000 ono, and the Cross Streets Inn, Austwick, for £125,000. Dad says the latter is a big barn of a place inhabited only by gipsy-like fairground men. He has only been in once with Mum, and she was uncomfortable and wanted to leave even before they had a drink. Dad thinks it grossly over-priced. Our cottage is so peaceful and homely. So better to be here on an evening off and not sitting above the pub with the thudding of the jukebox coming up through the floorboards. I sat with my feet up reading about the naughty Borgias. We now have a substantial library. 

(Oh shit. Everything I have written today should have been written tomorrow. Today I worked all day. Ah, well. Snow falls.)

-=-

Tuesday January 28, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

We have been thinking about the future. We do this occasionally. We asked Dad if he fancied taking a 'free house' with us. He was largely silent and would not commit himself but it prompted Ally to phone a few auctioneers and asked to be added to their mailing list. Oliver, Kitchen & Flynn, and Dacre Son & Hartley, &c. We await news of some free houses with anticipation. We would like a place in the country, in some sleepy Yorkshire dale.

Dad left after breakfast to take Susie and Christopher to the Clarendon Wing for C's genital inspection. _________. They didn't come back here. We had a wedding reception in the lounge for a heavily pregnant Linda and a moustachioed Tom. Semi-Irish. A buffet, &c. A doddle. 

Tragedy. Watching TV at 5pm a newsflash interrupted the children's programme announcing the explosion and destruction of the 25th Space Shuttle mission with the loss of seven crew. Horrible scenes of the relatives of the dead watching the launch followed by the blast a minute after take-off. NASA called it a 'malfunction'. 

-=-

Monday January 27, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Took an early cup of tea in for Dad and he looked bog eyed. Samuel is totally captivated leaning over the side of his cot and 'Gan Gan'. Breakfast was a repeat of the conversation we had last night which Dad had blocked from his mind. He told us, again, of the details of Guy's wedding and Uncle Leslie 'dog-house', a self-contained cell within the Blackpool guesthouse. 

A rush this afternoon. I went upstairs at 3:30 and instead of getting ready for the summit at the Emmott Arms I sat listening to Mrs T's speech on BBC2. She made a few apologies and insisted she had  not known of any leak (the Solicitor General's letter to Heseltine), and later Leon Brittan got her off the hook when he admitted that everything was his fault. The vote gave the government a massive majority but the PM's stature must have taken a knock. We left Dad, looking very sleepy, with a buoyant Samuel and went over to the Emmott Arms for probably the most long-winded meeting of managers I have ever experienced. A Mr Bullock from Huntley & Palmer's, no, Procter & Gamble, gave a deliriously lengthy oration on the wonders of his cleaning agents, and Don Whitfield and others slept in the cosy chairs. LG tried to conceal his giggles, but all in all it was drab, drab, drab. Ally and I went on to the Station Hotel, Guiseley, the Menston Arms and the Barge at Rodley. Ally's back and legs ached and wasn't receptive to the balmy atmosphere of the various hostelries. She though that because I wore a brewery tie that all eyes were upon us. Home at 11:15. Dad was abed.

-=-

Sunday January 26, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Septuagesima

Full Moon

Cold. Some bright sun though. We devoured a roast chicken at luncheon before a smouldering, crackling Cary Grant film. It was a repeat of last Sunday but without the hysteria and Mussolini-like demonstration by Ally. We lounged around this afternoon and I wrestled with Samuel, who is rapidly becoming a hooligan. He is also, sadly, keen on TV snooker and claps along with the audience at the mindless antics of the likes of Stee Davis. He shouts "Balls, balls". I tend to agree.

Dad came in at 8pm popped up. He tottered in from a rum drinking session at John's pulling faces and squinting _______. I really do not like observing someone drunk when I am stone cold sober. Ally gave him coffee and later a pile of sandwiches. Dad joined me downstairs from 9 o'clock. Liz worked. Dad stood with Davis Howard talking about the sun and the colours to be found in the firmament above. Later we took a drink upstairs and Ally stayed up for an hour. Dad pulled out a tiny purse and gave me Mum's wedding ring. Tears rolled down his face. Lynn has the engagement ring and Sue her eternity ring. Janette is have Mum's watch.

-=-

Saturday January 25, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Grandfather.

The fortunes of our dear PM are at their lowest ebb in the whole of her six years tenure of office. That is of course if the Press is to be believed. She is to make a speech in an emergency debate on Monday which could save or sink her. Leon Brittan, tail between his legs, has returned to his constituency. Paul Channon is the new Secretary of State, DTI. He is of course 'half a Guinness' - son of 'Chips' Channon and Lady Honor Guinness. Midas rich to boot. In comparison Michael Heseltine is like Stan Ogden (deceased).

Ally went shopping and bought tons of provisions. Samuel slumbered upstairs. Chris worked at lunch and Margaret and Liz worked together this evening. Atrociously quiet. I stood at the bar with a glass of lager talking to Jack Collett and his Glenda Jackson look-alike daughter, Sandra Woodcock. I gave them a plate of black pudding. Well, it is Burns Night. Albert Rhodes, my semi-rehabilitated grandfather was given life this day in 1901. I say rehabilitated because he was the father of my own father and more and more I hear Dad's fond memories of his father. He has spoken more of him since Mum's death. ______.

I am taking another driving test on Thursday January 30, 1986. Oh God.

-=-

Friday January 24, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Poor Leon Brittan has had to resign from the cabinet because of this silly Westland helicopter business. The fire is getting very close to Mrs Thatcher. I had a sleepless night tossing and turning imagining a nation without Margaret Hilda at the helm. Shudders of horror. Taffy, the all-knowing Welsh punter, came in and we speculated about Tory fortunes, peering into an imaginary crystal ball. Taffy insists that Margaret will go before the next election. This isn't so. She will go on to a historic third term. We do agree however that N.B. Tebbit will be the next Tory leader. Taff says Norman Tebbit will get the sympathy vote now that Mrs Tebbit is confined to a wheelchair. A ramp up to the front door of No. 10, perhaps? One thing is certain, the Heseltines, Parkinsons and sadly now the Brittans of this world will not see high office again. I went down tonight and mixed. Sat on a stool in the tap room observing the antics of the customers there.

-=-

Thursday January 23, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally phoned Saint Street Clinic at dawn and went for an anti-natal inspection, taking Samuel along. As she was inspected he played with buckets and swabs. ________. She was back at 4pm, feet up, for cups of tea.  We are so pleased that where our baby is going to be born has now been resolved. Another little Bradford chap. Tired and hungry. Maureen worked from 7pm, and I walked up Dewsbury Rd for fish and chips at 8:30. Ally, slumped in an armchair, watching 'Minder'. Maureen must really hate me. What with the scrapping of tip sheets (remember them?) and the supping of ale whilst working, I now have a reputation far worse than Ivan the Terrible and Genghis Khan rolled into one. I love it.

-=-

Wednesday January 22, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ 

We went to Bradford at 3:30 after closing. Lucy told us that Mary (Moore) is in hospital. Samuel slipped on the slippery path and banged his head. Ally went to her hairdresser and later Samuel and I walked out for our haircutting. It was Sam's first professional haircut. His baby looks are gone, but he looks very angelic. At 5 we went to see Dr York. Ally loathes him. We are accepted back into the practice without any questions but the evil receptionist asked "where is the little boy going to be treated?" as we have only handed over our medical cards. When we responded that Samuel is under another GP she whined: "Do not expect us to come and see him when he is ill". She didn't express this with concern, but with a twisted malice. The doctor had a prod at Ally's tummy and he too, like Dr Sykes, said he though she was bigger than 15 weeks and said that her continuing sickness could point to twins. Doctors will say anything. We went triumphantly back to the cottage confident that Ally is now a patient under Dr Duck (who returns at the end of February) and will not have to endure the indignities of St James's. Cattle market. Lasagne by the TV. At the cottage Ally snored in our bed. A twenty minute back to the pub at 11:30pm.

-=-

Tuesday January 21, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Awfully quiet here. Ally was worn out and in bed after 10am in Samuel's room, in his bed, whilst he languished in his cot. Liz worked this evening and I went upstairs at 8:30 to read the DT to be called back down to see Leslie Gledhill and Colin Black. A good humoured twosome just having a nosy around the Leeds hostelries. LG says that everywhere he has been this week my name has cropped up. A reference to Monday's trip around North Yorkshire. They are curious and decide between themselves that I am looking for a move. The baby was also brought up and Colin said: "I suppose it's a girl? Where will she sleep?" How ridiculous. Samuel and the baby do not require separate bedrooms until at least 1996 and his bedroom is bigger than at least three Tay Homes and a Barratt house rolled into one. I did not bring up the Menston Arms but will do so next Monday at the managers' meeting (held at the Emmott Arms, would you believe). They said the Moorhouse had had a very good Christmas (takings). LG, laughing, asked me to sniff his hand, and asked me to guess where he had been. His fingers stank like the proprietor of a Turkish brothel. When I expressed puzzlement he said: "I've been to see your friend Michael Radford at the Old Red Lion. He speaks very highly of you." Oh dear. Much hilarity. We discussed Aids, homosexuality, and the size of the Old Brewery Bitter glasses at the Harewood Arms, &c, and away they went. Ally slept all night in the single bed. I spoke to Dad who told me that he has applied for a job as a deputy registrar of births, marriages and deaths in Skipton. This came out of the blue. He wants more money and a needs a new car. His business is so unpredicatable. B & Bs aren't regular income.

-=-

Monday January 20, 1986

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

If I miss the YP for anything it is that daily morning scan of the national newspapers. I do not have time for reading the paper in this caper. I do miss the gossip and dear Nigel Dempster, &c. I would love to know exactly how Sarah Ferguson descends from Charles II. No titled Fergusons fit. Sarah's mother is Mrs Susan Barrantes, wife of Hector Barrantes, an Argentinian from Buenos Aires. Dear me. Prince Andrew won't like the Argie connection I do suppose.

Dorothy & Lynn.

Ally has brightened considerably. I did some heavy ironing at 12. Watched Mrs T on the TV news with Francois Mitterrand in Lille discussing the Channel Tunnel. A twin rail by 1993 and a motorway by 2379, when I'll be fossilized. I am unsure about this business. What's wrong with flying, for God's sake? Let us stay an island, please. No, on second thoughts give Mr Heseltine a shovel and set him to work at Dover.

Phoned Dad tonight. He came home from Arnold's at 5pm. He filled me in on the Holland wedding. Guy is a barrister in Hong Kong as is his wife. The bridesmaid, he says, wore a bowler hat. My cousin Robert is a doctor working in London for the Wellcome organisation and is married to a doctor (Alison) who works for Beecham's. They have a joint income of £48,000. Dad stayed with Dorothy on Saturday night, just ten minutes from the lapping blue waters on Blackpool beach. He and Leslie were pissed up on whisky and poor L was cast from the marital bed into a broom cupboard for the night. Dorothy, says Dad, is more like Lynn than Lynn, if that makes sense. Carmel Corcoran though having some links with Australia denies any links with the MP of that name.

-=-

Sunday January 19, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

2nd Sunday after Epiphany

Samuel much better and Ally much worse. I 'bottled up' and then worked downstairs with Chris and then roasted a chicken with all the trimmings, Yorkshire puddings, &c. I had wine from downstairs. _______.

Bernard Manning: farted.

Margaret worked tonight. In the pub I did a testicle survey. Dad says that Christopher, at 4, already has large balls. Surely this is unusual? I asked guys downstairs, as I pulled the pints, whether they had balls at 4, and received some classic looks and answers. Most people cannot remember all that much before puberty. The TV went on at 10:15 for the last bit of 'Spitting Images'. It ended with Sir Alastair Burnet announcing that Mr Bernard Manning, the comedian, has farted. He was 55. It happened on the stage of his Manchester club and anyone with relatives at the performance are asked to ring Fartline 061-837-1674. So very amusing. The News of the World says that the Princess of Wales had a 'nose job' in 1982.

-=-

Saturday January 18, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

After a bad night with Samuel we got up at 9am. It was dawn before he fell asleep you see, and then slept late. I phoned Dr Sykes and we took Sam to see him at 9:30. He was full of fever and complaining about his eyes. I do worry. The doc took a listen at the boy's chest and declared he has an infection and prescribed some new tablets which Sam can chew. We felt easier after seeing the doc. Back at the Moorhouse Ally and Sam went to bed and I was up and down . Margaret worked 12-3:30 and Chris pm. Poor Ally worn out and low spirited. Baby has taken everything out of her and 'bump' is becoming very obvious.  A fight in the pub. A yob attacked Gary Rhodes, who can also be something of a bother causer. I dragged the lad outside and he bled all over my new shirt. I stood around, arms folded, looking suitably vicious, with my clothes dripping, reminiscent of President Kennedy in Dallas. Some customers think I am incapable of violence but they saw the tough side of me tonight. It did some good.

-=-

Friday January 17, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

A funny, low day. I phoned Dad at 11:15 because I remembered he was setting off to Arnold's this afternoon to attend Guy's wedding. He was just about to leave and discussed Mum's jewelry, and the disposing of it, which I found out of place. He somehow gets a topic in his head and it sticks. He asked me whether I can remember what happened to Mum's watch. _______. He is now puzzled and frustrated by his early eagerness to remove all Mum's possessions from Waltergarth. He went to his neighbours Frances and Brian for whisky last night. ___________. A very busy evening. Liz and Chris in. A swarming tap room. Madge and Frank, &c. Samuel isn't well and is warm and sweaty, and he came int our bed later on. For some reason our curtains give him nightmares.

-=-

Thursday January 16, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Club Street.

Over to Bradford this afternoon with our medical cards to transfer back to Dr B.E. Duck, but the apple-eating viper on the reception desk booked us in to see a doctor next Wednesday. The receptionist recognised Ally and a sick grin spread over her over-painted features. They better not become awkward with us because we have every right to health care in Bradford 7. Whatever happens we are not having junior in St James's. ______. Later, to Linfood where Samuel explored and did his Ben Hur routine in a trolley. On to Ash Tree Cottage, so warm and homely. Found a pile of Christmas cards behind the door. We had fish and chips and drank tea watching the tiny black and white telly. Home for 7:30. Audrey had opened up. News: Leon Brittan has survived Admiral Lygo's whopping fibs. The naughty, deceitful sea dog. I'd clap him in irons.

-=-

Wednesday January 15, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Samuel slept in his bed as opposed to the cot, and was very good and didn't fall out or attempt to escape, until 8am. We lounged in bed with newspapers and cups of tea. Ally had her compulsory cornflakes to ward off the nausea. She is 14 weeks pregnant today and phoned Dr Sykes and went to see him at 3:40. He told her she has lost weight, which is ridiculous, but later he changed his mind. He also told her that she must be 16 weeks. This is also impossible. Our dates are spot on. This was her last visit to the Beeston Hill centre as we plan to transfer back to Bradford tomorrow when we nip over to Club Street. 

If the Daily Star has its way Prince Andrew and Prince Edward will have a double wedding this year. Andrew and Sarah Ferguson, daughter of Major Ronnie Ferguson, the polo player, and a direct descendant of King Charles II, then Edward and Eleanor Weightman, daughter of an ICI executive, living in a £130,000 red-brick bungalow close to the Jodrell Bank Observatory. At least this news is more fun than the Westland saga, which grows more and more out of proportion with each passing day. A full-scale debate today. Mrs Thatcher, quite rightly, is playing the whole thing down. Michael Heseltine has lost his marbles. Goodbye Tarzan. 

-=-

Tuesday January 14, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Winds at 92MPH. Biting cold too. Dad left via Guiseley at 1pm. We had a good food lunchtime and took £22 which was quite staggering. LG appeared at 12:30 and I had been warned by Rob, who phoned me from the Butcher's, Pudsey. LG came upstairs to see Ally and was affable and inoffensive. He looked at the cellar without any adverse comment. Next time, maybe. He made a passing reference to the baby, and joked about our holiday suggesting it was the cause of the pregnancy. "William" was of course conceived here in late October. Our holidays for the whole of '86 have been approved by Ken Gilbertson, and we have 10 days booked provisionally from July 17. 

Tregonning Hill House.

The DT obits. reveal that Lydia Quiller Collick has died at Helston, aged 75. We stayed with the big Mrs Q-C for two idyllic summers in 1970-71 with Hilda and Tony. Tregonning Hill House will forever remind me of very hot, lazy days, the last days of my childhood. Later I phoned Tony to tell him the news.

Quiet night. Margaret worked. I sat upstairs (Ally was in bed at 9pm) and watched "I, Claudius" on BBC2. A repeat of the old series from '77 or '78. Excellent. I am always game for a Roman orgy. The (Westland) helicopter furore is now getting out of hand. They are now saying that Leon Brittan may have to go. Heseltine is positively potty. We debated this in the pub with much hilarity.

-=-

Monday January 13, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A raging thirst all night. Bloody Hell, I feel like Richard Burton. I was up in the dead of night swigging pop and creeping around the flat like a venomous creature. Ultra relief pills saw off the heavy head. By breakfast I was conscious, but docile. Dog tired all day, and so was Ally, who didn't touch a drop. But you know how children's parties can weary one. Ally had a dreadful conversation with Lynn yesterday, on the subject of Mum. She says the nightmares persist. ________. I told her to try and think of Mum as she was living and cast the haunting skeletons aside. Surely, Mum is a spirit, large and warm, untouched by decay? Tonight after Sam retired Ally and I went on a pub crawl. The Harewood Arms, the Radcliffe Arms at Follifoot, the Crown at Wetherby, the Fox & Hounds at Boston Spa. A very pleasurable, relaxing evening. The Crown was a tip, which surprised us. We bought some Chinese food in Leeds and took some back for Dad, who had nipped down to the bar for a few pints. Maureen and Chris had worked.

-=-

Sunday January 12, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

1st Sunday after Epiphany

Sam: flaxen haired

Our lovely son is two. Flaxen haired, sweet natured and a God send. He climbed into our bed at 8am to open presents and cards. His face a joy to see. Magic moments. He loved his toy record player and carried it around all day looking like Nigel Lawson on budget day. Dad's card was touching. He gave Sam a fiver. He says it isn't much, but he does have a dozen grandchildren to buy for. We had a 'full-English' and prepared a gaily coloured table for Sam's party. We moved furniture and hid priceless china. Filled vol au vents and inflated balloons. Dad came at 10. I worked 12-2pm with Margaret. Ally brought Sam down to the pub at 2:30 - he was in his new grey velvet suit and bow tie. People came at 2:30. John, Janette, JPH, Catherine, Charlotte Nora, Sue, Pete, Chris, Ben, Lynn, Dave, Thomas, Frances, Katie, Karen, Steve, Hayley, Tim, Jill, Thomas John. A full jolly household. All very well behaved with party games, &c. Lynn is always good at organising things like pass the parcel, &c. We drank much vino and the party disbanded at 6 o'clock or thereabouts, with the exception of Karen, Steve, and Hayley. Downstairs at 7 with Steve for a few pints, and they stayed until after 9. Later, bacon sandwiches with Dad upstairs. A late finish.

-=-

Saturday January 11, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A very hard (illegible) day. I opened up at 11 expecting peace and tranquillity, for that is my usual lot on a Saturday with just Jim and George and the 'Daily Star'. But Oh no. In walked 73 rugby league fanatics, all very good humoured, who proceeded to drink us out of house and home for two hours which gave us our busiest lunch time ever. Just me, no staff. Ally came down with Samuel . Knackered at 3. I left a tap open in the back bar and flooded the tap room. Lanigans. To Morrison's at 4. We thought Margaret was down to open up at 7 but she didn't appear until 8. Audrey was told this afternoon that her working hours would now be more varied in the future, and 12-3:30 might be a thing of the past. She wrongly thinks I'm a swine who wants rid of her. However, she has no argument because her contract states she'll work when I say, &c. Ally was still up at 11:30pm. Samuel's party is now ready. Watched a Hammer horror.

-=-

Friday January 10, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Jack Collett.

Audrey held an impromptu 'privy council' meeting here with old favourite Mavis Ingham and Margaret Milne in attendance. The meeting commenced at 2pm on Audrey's escape from the bar. Little does she know that this 12-2pm run is going to be a permanent thing. I am going to have to cut lunchtime staff hours. Phoned Dad. What a mess he was in. He had supped half a bottle of whisky plus two large bottles of home brewed beer and was totally pissed. I could weep for him. I do worry about Dad. Who wouldn't get pissed up in his position? He has been a tower of strength for us. He lets himself go when all alone at Waltergarth. I told him that we all love him. 

Chris and Margaret worked PM. I sat at the bar with Jack Collett and Brian (beard) discussing Westland, Heseltine, Robert Runcie, Heseltine, Westland, Westland, Westland, &c. They say that the shaggy haired former defence secretary will one day lead the party. No way. 

Ally made a few attempts to make Samuel a birthday cake, but they were sad. Watched a late film.

-=-

Thursday January 9, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Lay in bed drinking tea in the dark at 7:30am. Ally cannot get up without a bowl of cereal which she ate propped up by pillows. Samuel is a good boy. He just say playing with toys until we pulled round. We must be getting old. Later we went to collect a batch of photographs and bought Samuel a toy record player from a store on Wellington Street. I am looking forward to this birthday party. Ally has baked buns and has bought some of those little trifle dishes with the crinkly edges which jolt one back to 1959, or so. Later Ally and Sam came downstairs (11am) to quash the rumours that she has left me. Samuel is so good for business and he went around in the back bar at the wheel of his Postman Pat car kissing the aged customers.

Heseltine: resigned

Newsflash: Michael Heseltine has resigned as Secretary of State for Defence over the Westland helicopter takeover affair thingy. A very able man, but probably too unconventional to lead the (Conservative) party. Long hair, &c.

Worked alone from 2pm. Audrey sat having a drink at the bar until 3. Later Ally and Sam had spaghetti bolognese, and I nothing. Couldn't be bothered. But later at 8 when Margaret arrived I nipped up to the fish and chip shop and bought a pile of soggy, fried fayre which we ate in front of a smouldering Michael Heseltine on the telly. Phoned Dad. He wasn't quite a buoyant today, and was sat watching 'Minder'. We spoke of Michael Heseltine. It's Dad's opinion that the Tory MP 'didn't do much anyway'. The pub was jovial. Lots of noise. Mary (Knight), the widow - blond and randy - kissed me on the way out. I am something of a Clark Gable. To bed at 11:50. Ally was already out for the count.

-=-

Wednesday January 8, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Snow, ice and a general chill. After breakfast Samuel and I went out with picks and shovels to move the snow from the carpark. It was a slushy, half-hearted affair. We went over the white moor to inspect the frozen park. Samuel's little fingers were blue. He refused to wear his Thomas the Tank mittens. What a cherub he is. 

Baby names: Ally wants Nora in the middle of our future babe's three names, not at the end. So Clemmie will have Nora then Mary or Lucy. For a boy George is the top, but we like William. I favour the former because 1). I dislike the nickname Bill, and 2). People will say we have named him after Prince William of Wales. I could not do that. I also like Harry, but that name will be discarded for the same reason. All our baby names with the exception of Clementine can be found in our genealogical table.

Bliss. A night off. Audrey opened up at 5:30, and then Maureen and Chris worked. Very quiet. Just (illegible) and drank wine and chatted by a smouldering TV set. We had trout. I love it, but Ally picked and poked at it. Fear of bones. I hid the gaping fish heads beneath lettuce. 

Frank and Bessie flew to Tenerife yesterday for a week. Phoned Dad at 8:30. He seemed cheerful and he talked about the jet crash at West Burton, Wensleydale, yesterday. Near him.

-=-

Tuesday January 7, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A 7am start again. What long days we have. Samuel is still raving about 'Agadoo', dancing with Lucy the dolly and his Teddy. We are being driven slowly insane. We went up Dewsbury Road together and collected his £28 family allowance lolly which we later went out and spent on a grey velvet suit with knee length trousers and bow tie. Wearing it he looks edible. For his birthday party of course. Grey shoes to match. Even at his tender age he is aware he is wearing something new and stands so proud. Young Liz worked PM. Stone dead. I stayed below to keep an eye on her but drifted off for a cup of tea only to fly back down in horrific haste because I had left THIS volume on a shelf behind the bar and visions of her prying into my innermost recesses. I often compile this journal as I stand behind the bar on quiet, long, wintry evenings. Leaning against a dormant beer pump shrouded in cobwebs and layers of dust --- the place echoing with long forgotten ghost-like voices of customers asking 'pint of bitter, Guv'ner'. Politics tonight. Old Harold says that Britiain will become the 51st US state, and that Mrs T is a 'dictator'. Harold Wilson, he says, was a 'Spiv'.

-=-

Monday January 6, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Epiphany

Gone but no forgotten: Lord Derwent, CBE; Lord David Cecil, CH; Dustin Gee; Phil Lynott ....

Forgotten but not gone: Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson, Judith Chalmers, Lord Lucan.

The feast of the Epiphany, &c. Dawn start. 7am. Very dark. Gave Ally and egg, and Sam a crumpet and then to Leeds Market at 8 to buy pies and cheap cuts of meat. Came away with bags of fatty, pink flesh which made Ally bilious. We saw Marjorie Murphy, a plain, slow little woman to be sure. Back at the pub I had three customers this afternoon. Thirty three and a third of them were ex-Gestapo. Things are going to have to change. I told Audrey that our staff hours are going to have to be cut next week. Se sneered and said that they were always the same until we came on the scene. _________. Steamed fish for dinner. Played with Samuel at building brick towers and then demolishing them. He is such a good talker. He loves the stereo and danced, clutching his Teddy, to 'Agadoo' by Black Lace. Phoned Dad at 7. He phoned his sister Dorothy last night and after the wedding he is going on to Blackpool for the night. He has spent today brewing (ale) and ironing. _____. A dead night. Margaret worked. Later watched a tv documentary on Terence Conran. Very good. What an enterprising old stick.

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Sunday January 5, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

2nd Sunday after Christmas

Downstairs this morning to conclude stripping the pub of its Yuletide finery. It looked a drab place afterwards. January will be stone dead now. The lunchtime takings were lamentable. £89 or thereabouts. Silly. Up at 2:30 for the Eastenders omnibus, roast beef, Yorkshire puddings. Samuel is probably cutting some back teeth. Rosy cheeks and a temper this afternoon. _______. Liz and Chris worked tonight. Stone dead again. Like Tales from the Rue Morgue. I stayed upstairs with my ailing wife who was laid propped up with pillows and wearing a baggy dressing gown. Cary Grant in a Hitchcock movie. Silly scenes on Mount Rushmore. Cary Grant tussling on Teddy Roosevelt's nostrils, &c. Dad phoned at 8:30 to say he has received a wedding invitation. My cousin Guy Maxwell Holland (Dorothy's third child) is to marry on January 18, at St Helen's, Merseyside, to one Carmel Patricia Corcoran. Dad wasn't wearing specs and giggled. Did he mean Carol? (No he was right in the first instance). He asked if he should go, and I responded with a definite 'yes'. I am all for family reunions, and life is too short for acrimony, except for where uncle John Wilson is concerned. _______.

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Saturday January 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Yesterday Ally bought Hilda flowers and bunch of tea roses for Mum's grave which we took to the cemetery before Katie's party. Samuel thinks Granny Rhodes lives in a pretty garden and his waves at her headstone. Very touching. 

Today: I did lunch alone. So quiet. Only the Egans, Jack Collett, &c. Ally made steak and kidney for dinner. This baby is a little beggar. Ally is breathless, nauseous, tired, worn out and weak kneed. Surely, it cannot go on? Aren't we over the worst?

Liz worked. Dim as a Toc H lamp. Afterwards, I went around at 11:30 taking down the Christmas decorations. Bernie, aghast, said this was a terrible thing to do and will bring bad luck down on our house.

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Friday January 3, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Fat little Katie is three today. It's three years today since we went through that Fred Karno's circus routine on Thorpe Lane. I have no hangover, which is interesting. Do keep off the beer, Michael. To Hilda's at 12. (I had previously phoned them at 10, and Sam had said "Tony, Porridge"). Samuel has been an angel. Hilda had bathed him, put him to bed and says he had been 'as good as gold'. Hilda has enjoyed having Samuel and says she will help when the baby comes along. Crisp and cold. I walked over to the fish and chip shop at Waterloo and saw my hideous uncle John Wilson, puffing on his pipe in his car parked outside. I ignored the swine. His wife Kathleen Powell was in the shop but didn't recognise me. What a wrinkled old thing she is. A Mother Theresa look-alike in fact. As we drove through Pudsey we saw Mabel but didn't stop. She waved. On to Katie's birthday party. Dad there. Lynn is a good organiser of childrens' games. All very Tranmere Park though. Tonight MM, Marita and Dave L appeared. Marita announced that she wants to go live in Tenerife. _______.

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Thursday January 2, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Bank Holiday in Scotland

Mum & Dad's birthday, but with that awful feeling of loss. I phoned Horton and found Dad to be out and Sue to be in. I phoned later. Samuel sang 'happy birthday' which was sweet. It must be a dreadful day for Dad today but suppose that Susie is using all her powers to keep him smiling. We took Samuel to Hilda's at 5 o'clock. I had a large whisky with Tony. Hilda was wearing one of Mum's dresses. Touching. Samuel seemed to settle with Hayley's toys and at 6 we escaped. Ally looking delicious in her new mohair creation. Her hair is superb these days. To the Menston Arms where we accosted the landlord, a man in his 60s, who says that Sam Smith's brewery are 'the most unprincipled bastards' he has ever encountered. He is due to retire in two years and Ally and I had the same thought. We would go to the Menston Arms before any other pub, and Leslie Gledhill is the area manager here. We shall have to push ourselves for this one and see what LG has to say. To the Hare & Hounds for 7:30. We the first to arrive and stood at the bar. I drank whisky and stayed off the beer. Susie and Pete came in next with Dad, who looked scruffy._______. He was distant and struggling to keep control. We dined at 8:30 or 9 on a table for 10. I cringed. There was an empty chair next to Dad. Steaks all round. Me a Porterhouse. Ally a fillet. Jolly, jovial dinner. At the salad bar away from Dad Susie whispered that Dad had broken down at the New Year. To Sue's afterwards. Whisky. Marx Brothers. Home at 1.

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Wednesday January 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

New Years Day - Bank Holiday in the UK

The Moorhouse Inn.

Awful morning. Ally disgusted at my drunken arrival to bed in the early hours took off  and slept in Samuel's room. Morning came and we were both in bed with Samuel pleading with us to get up, plodding between the bedrooms. I ventured out and staggered around making breakfast. Ally had scrambled eggs in bed. I opened up at 11 with bloodshot eyes and my hair standing on end. Busy lunch. The place went mad with revellers topping up from last night. The argument in the tap room about 'Gone With the Wind' versus the racing went on, and an old man called Tom sloshed a pint over old George. Scuffles followed. No blood. Tom was ejected with his coat in shreds. A festive start to the year. Phoned Dad again. Ally slightly peeved that no family have phoned us with good wishes. Quiet night. Chris worked again. He has been something of a god send this Christmas.

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Tuesday December 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Bernie McCarron.

Ally opened up and so we got into town early where Ally found a woollen mohair dress, green and red, for £45 and a red handbag and shoes. 'Gone With the Wind' this afternoon. What an exceedingly long and silly film full of people overacting. Vivien Leigh really should be thoroughly ashamed of herself. Is she still with us? Old men in the tap room squabbled over the telly. Racing from Newbury, they decide, is more important than Scarlet O'Hara. I tend to agree. Not a busy night. Chris worked. I hit the Diet Pils and the hour of merriment and ringing of bells is now lost in a fuzzy wuzzy Auld Lang Syne, &c. I did run upstairs minutes after midnight to kiss my wailing Piglet. My eyes were similarly wet. The coming of the New Year can be an emotional moment and this one is particularly jerking. What an evil year '85 was. Perhaps we will breathe better in '86.Perhaps we will be able to lead a life again without black shadows. 'Time is a great healer'. The man who said that should be shot.  No, castrated. Chris stayed in the bar until 2am with Bernie and Frank McCarron. Quiet. Phoned Dad at 1am. He was distant and no doubt Horton-in-Ribblesdale was awash with tears. I don't remember any of the conversation.

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Monday December 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Dear Brown.

Quiet day. Michael Brown came again today with another journalist whose name escapes me, who works in Aldershot at the moment, but plans to write news bulletins for radio. Michael told me he is now banned from drinking with his father after their last, long drinking session here. Old Mrs B was livid. They left here that Saturday afternoon at 4:30 in pouring rain, and both stood urinating in a bus stop on Dewsbury Road to be verbally abused by a passing clergyman's wife. Harold Brown arrived home, wringing wet, saying he was 'poorly'. "Pissed, more like" exclaimed the irate and quick tempered Mrs B. 

To town at 4 but forgot to take the trousers back. We had bought Dad a pair with a 36 inch waist when he needs 38ins. Bought Dad a diary for his 1986 bookings. Ally too tired and the place was too busy.

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Sunday December 29, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

1st Sunday after Christmas

We ate roast beef which was too rare and oozing with blood - no good for Ally at all. Watched Erroll Flynn in 'Robin Hood' again. Played with Samuel. My Uncle Albert died at 2:30am on this day in 1969.

Tonight. Quiet. But who should appear but Richard and Debbie with Philip Middlebrough. You know, they used to be Richard and Eileen, who hosted the 'Pink Eagle' party in November 1979.Whatever happened to poor Eileen? They were talking as though I was a youngster, and thought I was only 25 which cheered me greatly. Debbie is an Aries too - April 4. She seemed to warm to my star sign. Ally disappointed at feeling too poorly to come down.

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Saturday December 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A fancy dress evening in which I did not participate. Not a good turn-out. A few elves, pixies, a Cinderella and a Prince Charming. I raffled the hideous garden gnome that some wag had presented to me, and it was won by Terry and Doreen. They fell out with the Gestapo whilst holidaying with them in the summer. By Gestapo of course I mean Werner and Hildegarde, our Teutonic lounge customers. They all expected 'afters' but got none. We are having no 'stoppybacks' when Ally is feeling so ill.

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Friday December 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Peter & Hilda.

A bloody kindergarten this place is. Sue is a slave to her children and they were up at dawn running rings around her. Pete was laid, legs akimbo, beneath his duvet. Samuel delights in other children and plays excellently. Roll on July. Dad took the Nasons back to Guiseley at 11. We were left alone. What a tremendous help Dad has been this week. He is such a good, brave man. Hilda looked sad yesterday watching all the children play. I know what she was thinking. ___________. We collapsed this afternoon. Three hours of 'Ben Hur'. Charlton Heston won the chariot race, yet again. Seafood pancakes. Chris Mawson worked PM. I put on sandwiches and things for Cliff, who was 70 yesterday.

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Thursday December 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally and Samuel.

Boxing Day. A family party. Ally feverishly cutting up left-over turkey and pork pies. I opened up. Dad drove over to Guiseley for Sue. Hilda and Tony came at 11:30. She has had a new car for Christmas. A Fiat tied up with a bow outside No. 6 St. James's Crescent. Dad went on and on about Colonel Gadaffi owning Fiat. It was news to me. But then I have become a 'news no go' area since quitting the YP. At one time I would have known instantly just who was chairman of the CBI, and prime minister of Iraq, but now it's all awash. The Bakers came for a few hours. Lynn and Hilda are not on the same wavelength as we are. John and Janette didn't come until about 7pm. Janette was slightly 'off-ish' and announced that they would not be staying the night. I was news to John. ______. Ally, not feeling too good, stayed upstairs. Sue was fun. She continues to have nightmares about her baby, and debates the name he'll be given. A daughter is to be Samantha. Peter was great fun. He mixed cocktails. It was a late night but not one of over-intoxication. Jayne Waite phoned asking Janette and John to go back to Menston to finish the night. ______.

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Wednesday December 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Dad in his tatty pyjamas, and Sam.

Christmas Day. Oh, what memories. We woke at 8, and lay abed with cups of tea. Dad joined us in his tatty pyjamas. Down to open Samuel's presents. It was the start of a magical day for him. He was as good as gold throughout. He found a large Postman Pat car from Winchester, and we gave him a wooden tool kit with a hammer, pegs and spanners, &c. Dad put the turkey in the oven. A 15lb thing. We opened between 11am and 1pm. The usual faces. We took £140. Audrey worked and I relaxed my 'no staff drinks' ban. Large whiskies abounded. It was all a very pleasant atmosphere though. Will Christmas mean anything at all to me when I'm old and grey? I think we should love the magic of Christmas even when one has experienced it seventy or eighty times and not be cynical about it. We closed at 1 and went upstairs. A long, happy lunch with Ally, Dad and Samuel. The TV only went on at 3pm for The Queen. This year we saw no scenes of family life at Windsor with the royal kiddies, which was sad. But HM knows what she is doing, no doubt. We lounged and played. I hung Ally's amethyst earrings in a cracker on the tree and she didn't discover the gift until later. We put on records and danced to Wham and Boy George. Dad washed up. Sam to bed. TV at night. No tears or overwhelming sadness. Mum wouldn't have wanted that.

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Tuesday December 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally very poorly. Vomit, pains, &c. When Samuel went down at noon she went too. I was alone making seafood pancakes. Dad was late. He didn't get here until 6pm. Sue had been having a soirée at Thorpe Lane. Dad looked tired. Chris here tonight. Worked like stink. Not over festive. Dad went to the Station (pub) for gas. Upstairs for 12:30am. Had a large stiff drink by the large stiff Christmas tree. 

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Monday December 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Busy. Stocktake. Good old Ronnie came. He gave us a £140 surplus. I do not like surpluses. The next one will be £140 down. Baked mince pies and played Christmas carols on the stereo. Samuel thinks carols are dull, and says so. He prefers Feargal Sharkey. LG appeared with a calendar for '86 and a smile. I told him of Ally's condition and off he went giggling saying "it's nice to get them all over with early". Little does he know that this is only the beginning. He didn't want to discuss figures or be gloomy at this time of festive rejoicing. Silly prat. We rushed into town at 3:30 and the place was mad. Ally was feeling bad and couldn't buy anything but I went to Dyson's and Denton's and bought a pair of amethyst earrings for £65 and a bottle of Diorissimo for £15. I do love pig so very much. She looked faint. Samuel didn't like the experience of a packed Leeds Market. Laura Ashley was stripped of contents - panic buying. We should buy shares.

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Sunday December 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

4th Sunday in Advent

Crisp & cold. A pink and yellow sky as JPW Turner would have splodged, or was he JWP or JPM? We went over to Guiseley at 3 and sat in Harry Ramsden's carpark eating chips. Sam enjoyed the adventure. Then, to the cemetery to see poor Mum with some carnations and Chinese orchids. It was biting cold and I had no coat. Stood mutely looking at the slab of stone. Lynn had been before us with some unopened daffodils. On to John and Janette's for whisky, and a nurse of Charlotte. JPH and Catherine were there watching 'Ghostbusters'. JPH wearing a gold chain. __________. On to Lynn's. The scrubbed kids were watching a Dickens serial. Lynn called it "Twist". ______. Liz phoned in sick at 6:50pm, and Chris, an angel Gabriel to be sure, worked instead at a moments notice.

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Saturday December 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Shortest Day

Dear Brown.

A juvenile bastard smashed a window in the tap room last night at 12 as we were locking up. Not a customer of course. Dad went home. It's always sad to see him go. Samuel watched from an upstairs window and sobbed. Michael Brown and his father, old Harold, appeared at 1pm and remained until 4:30 or so. We argued about religion. Old Harold claims to be an atheist and he became very heated when Michael spoke of Christ and 'God incarnate' &c. Harold taunted his son. "Do the 12 million turkeys slaughtered this Christmas have souls too?" "No. Only humans go to heaven" explained Michael. "Well", said Harold, "heaven must be an awful place for a) St Francis of Assisi, b) Barbara Woodhouse,  and c) the Birdman of Alcatraz". Old Mrs Brown phoned and was fuming. They had spent too long here. I took Samuel down to see them. I do like Brown. Such a fun person.

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