Monday May 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

A gloomy morning. I wanted to see Dad and time seems to have dragged since that fateful hour on Saturday. Dad phoned me early before leaving for Settle to say he had spent a sleepless night pacing the rooms at Waltergarth. He was eating chocolate biscuits and drinking coffee at 6:30am and then he had slept heavily until he was woken by Jack Denison on the phone at 9:30. Uncle John in Lanzarote had phoned Uncle Arnold with the news, and the latter insisted on seeing Dad today. 

Auntie Mabel phoned and said she would bake two dozen scones for Lynn's after the funeral gathering. Ally told her that Mum had specifically requested 'no bun fight' and that after the funeral only Dad and his children would return to Lynn's. No wake. No boiled ham tea. Nothing. Mabel will be put out because this goes very much against tradition. However, Mum's wishes are to be obeyed. _______.

Dad met Arnold and together they went to record Mum's passing. He bought an extra copy for my records.

Tonight Gary worked. He arrived late at 8:30. Jack Denison phoned here (he wanted to talk to Dad). Ally asked him if I could have a lock of Mum's hair. He said yes, but Dad's permission is required. It may seem morbid, but Mum always took locks of our hair when we were children, and so I'm only getting my own back.

Pool match sandwiches.

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Sunday May 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunday after Ascension

We had bacon and eggs and cried at the breakfast table. It has hit Ally this morning. Here we are waking up to a new day, but Mum isn't. Sue took Dad back to Horton this lunchtime. We visited Auntie Mabel and Auntie Hilda. Mabel was entertaining Connie. Hilda was alone. Phoned Dad at 6:30. He has an appointment to register Mum's death at Settle tomorrow and is meeting his brother Arnold at the Royal Oak. He is phoning the vicar (Barnes) tomorrow at 7pm and wanted some suggestions for hymns. At their wedding they had the 23rd Psalm (Crimond) and 'O Perfect Love'. Let's sing these again, says I.

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Saturday May 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We arrived at Horton at 10:30. Mum was lying flat and breathing heavily. Her eyes have gone and cannot focus. I touched her hand - ice cold. Dad looked at me. "She cannot go on much longer". Dad didn't leave her side. I kept leaving the room to blubber. He says the most touching things to her. ______. The last thing he said to her was: "We are going to do it all again one day, aren't we lass". I went outside and sat on the wall looking up at Pen-y-ghent and the sheep. Ally out walking with Sam in his pushchair came back as John and Janette were driving through the village. They went straight in to see her. John holding her hand and with a look of despair. I went back outside, Then, just before 1pm I saw Dad signal for me to go back inside. Ally passed Samuel to Frances, the neighbour. With Dad holding her hand and John, Janette, Ally and me sitting on the bed Mum died at 1pm exactly. I closed her eyes. We drank tea as if it was a normal thing to do, phoned Dr Brewster. He came in and pulled a sheet over her face. When he walked out I uncovered her face. Frances looked after Samuel for the afternoon. I didn't even notice he was gone.

(Large mournful redaction).

At 8;30-9 o'clock Jack Denison, the funeral director, came from Guiseley and took Mum to the chapel of rest on Otley Rd, Guiseley. We followed to Susan's. John and Janette taking Dad. We sat until 11:30. Samuel slept in Sue & Pete's bed. We took him home to Leeds, saying goodnight to Mum as we drove past Denison's. 

Lynn  spent the evening in Otley hospital with Tom. Strange as it may seem, I slept.

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Friday May 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We went back to (see) Mum. This time just Ally, Sam and I. It was a lovely, sunny day. We stopped off in Settle to look at the shops and eat fish and chips on a park bench. Samuel enjoyed this. He is very good. I think he would like having a dog. 

We arrived at Waltergarth after 12 . The (Macmillan) nurse was with Mum who was sitting propped up and looking lifeless and hideous. Black haunting eyes. I wept on a bench in the garden. Dad now says that she will go at any moment. The neighbour Frances said this morning that she found Dad hanging out his washing and sobbing like a baby. I had some bread and cheese and went to hold Mum's hand. So weak, and unable to drink. She has had a horrible, rasping cough since 8am. She appears to be distressed by any noise. We left at tea time and came back to Leeds. 

A nightmare of an evening. I feel ill, throbbing headache. Some gypsies in the tap room gave me a bit of bother.

Lynn, David, Hilda and Tony went to see Mum this evening. Every time the telephone rang I leapt with fright, but nothing happened in the night. We are going back to Horton tomorrow.

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Thursday May 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ascension Day

Ally went out picking flowers with Sam. Donna Lea appeared with a briefcase to address the dwindling sales and the crisis facing us and the Moorhouse should the trend continue. She was so very sympathetic about Mum and says the brewery will do anything to help. She lost her Papa aged 45. "Buy a piano", she says. Otherwise, drivel. You know what area managers are like. 

Phoned Dad tonight. He was in a bad way. Weeping, &c. Mum isn't drinking water now either, and so it's just a matter of time. He was so desolate. I flapped about this and phoned John, Janette and Susie. I decide to go back to Horton tomorrow, but Sue says she will go on Sunday. I advised her that Sunday might be too late. I walked back from the call box in a dream. It is all so very hard to believe. Can it really be my jolly, zestful mother we are talking about? Ally looked at me as I walked into the bar, and from the look on her face it was obvious that she thought I had ghastly news. We are under a lot of strain.

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Wednesday May 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

To Horton-in-Ribblesdale with Sue, Christopher and Benjamin. Rain. We found Mum greatly deteriorated. She now cannot eat or swallow any of her pills, and takes sips of drink from a baby cup. She looked at Ally as she sipped, and said: "Just look at the state I'm in ...". Sue provided a liver casserole for the kids, and both Dad and I had a bowl. Later, Dad and Ally took the children out into the village for a walk. Spitting rain. I sat holding Mum's hand, Sue in a chair looking uncomfortable. She doesn't like the long silences. When Mum speaks it is weak and distorted. Obviously distressed and fed up with living. Dad says the end is near. We drove away later and saw Mum raise her weak, thin arm as an act of goodbye. Dad stood next to the apple tree blinking back tears. Night off. Thank God.

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Tuesday May 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Phoned Susie and suggested that she might join us on a visit to Horton tomorrow. She was very pleased. The horrible weather is driving her and the kids scatty (sic). It will be a dawn attack on Ribblesdale. Poor Sue believes in nothing in the hereafter, and once we are gone that is it. She finds Mum's suffering too painful to discuss. She also firmly believes in the idea of euthanasia and she has an agreement with Peter that should she ever find herself in a position similar to Mum that he will do something to put her out of her misery. I cannot condone this. Any life must be better than death, surely? I suppose that is easy for me to say, as I am fit and well. _______ (redaction) _______ Mum is to be cheated of her old age and I am so very bitter and twisted about it.

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Monday May 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Teri (Collinson) was off, and so we did the lunches. Took ten pound-ish on food. I am now ploughing through the Daily Telegraph. I chuckle at so little news these days. What a glum year it's been. Albert Einstein, one of the greatest mathematicians the world has known, once received a letter telling him off for his sums - from Mrs Einstein. "Genius is little respected by it's own fireside" says Dr William Thomson. How I have come to realise that.

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Sunday May 12, 1985

Moorhouse Inn

5th Sunday after Easter

Mother's Day, USA & Canada

A terrible fire at Bradford FC yesterday destroyed an old wooden stand and killed 50 people. Many were so badly burned they will never be identified. The whole stand was ablaze within minutes.

The Bradford FC fire tragedy.

We had a full-English breakfast. The ancient, white-haired cleaner Anne had to bash on the doors and windows to get us out of bed at 8:45. Even Samuel had over-slept. He is 16 months old today. 

An afternoon at home today. Scampi for lunch followed by 'Carry On Teacher' (1958). Samuel played merrily on the floor. I think he is going to be a sprinter. I tend to bite my nails when watching the telly which niggles Ally, and today I was soundly beaten with a rolled up copy of the Sunday Telegraph.

You will be startled, and yes reassured to hear that I have renounced alcohol, but only temporarily of course. Recent months have seen an increase in my girth. Looking at photographs of my birthday I spy a bulging tummy and sagging chin. I refuse to go the way of so many other publican types. Dear me, no.

Historical trivia: The Queen Mother was anointed as Queen Consort 48 years ago this day.

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Saturday May 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I have been phoning Papa daily, but not always reported here. He has little to report. Nurses now come and go. A doctor dressed as a TA major appeared in a sports car, and, joking, offered to carry Mum away. They have had no visitors since Thursday. John is due to go tomorrow, no doubt with the family.

At 3:30 we went to see Great-Aunt Ann in Bramley (she was born 6 July, 1905). We discussed cousin Sam. He has not been to visit her, but she received a call from a psychiatric boffin. Poor Sam must be incarcerated somewhere in an asylum. Little old Gt-Uncle John (Kirk) is very ruddy faced and Dickensian, and almost blind. He leapt around playing with Samuel and when we left he gave him a 'forget-me-not' flower. Aunt Ann had just returned from a wedding - a heap of blue chiffon, and with a 'lady-in-waiting' and constant companion of 16 years in tow. She told me some family details. My Great Aunt Nellie (Ann's sister) died at 5am one Sunday morning in January. They were both mortified about Mum. Dad had written to her about Mum's illness. "Such a lovely girl", she says. 

To Auntie Mabel's. Samuel ate her dessert of strawberries and ice-cream, with his fingers. His sandwiches he devoured with a fork. She adores him and says he reminds her of a baby Derek Myers (born Sept, 1950). Home for 6:30.

Margaret worked. Stone dead. Marlene and Frank appeared after 9. 

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