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 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.

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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? 

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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. ______.

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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.

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