Wednesday February 4, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The usual frantic sort of day. Work, work, work, &c. Tonight Mags worked from 8 and I joined in Alan Batey's quiz and partnered poor Mary Knight. She is so embarrassed about her relationship to our cig machine bandit. We won and I gave the £5 winnings to Mary for something for Sarah-Jane, 2. 

We have a letter from St Edmund's Hall Prep School re an open day on March 4, prior to Sam's entry into school life on April 28. We were thinking it would be September. 

Frank and Bessie have gone to Tenerife, Islas Canarias for 2 weeks.

In the news: Liberace, the flamboyant American popular pianist who has died aged 67, was the world's single highest paid performer throughout the 1960s and 1970s.

Demolition for Royal lodge: A Victorian hunting lodge once considered by the Queen as a wedding gift to the Prince and Princess of Wales has been offered to the Army to dispose of in a demolition exercise. The 12-bedroom Delnadamph Lodge, adjoining Balmoral estate in the Highlands, has been empty since it was bought by the Queen for £1 million 10 years ago. The property came with 7,000 acres and several cottages.

Lady Rendlesham, who has died in her sixties, was (as Clare Rendlesham) the doyenne of London fashion retailing and in 1969 had the distinction of opening Rive Gauche, Yves St Laurent's first franchise in London. 

-=-

Tuesday February 3, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally is livid at LG's attitude. He has obviously phoned Bonnie & Clyde and discussed the diluted spirits, and it has caused irritation. Apparently, he needs this nauseating couple. He says that nothing can be proved at this stage anyway, and he laughed it off. We are out of favour most definitely. 

Today. Hungover. The draymen woke me at 7:30. I have been over doing it with the orders in recent weeks and and so they dropped only a little. No doubt we'll be dry by Saturday. Buggered. Maureen opened up until 8 and then just Ally and I did the remainder. Liz has asked for a reference.

From the Daily Telegraph, Peterborough column, I think: Hard to crack -- LAST week's Surrey Comet reported: 'A cement mixer was stolen from Birkenhead Road in Kingston on Tuesday night. A police spokesman said yesterday "there was nothing concrete to go on".

-=-

Monday February 2, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Ally spoke to Leslie Gledhill, who was very casual and 'laid back' about our diluted Bacardi. Annoying really. He was more concerned about how much they had taken over the counter. The reliefs did £2,700 last week. To the General Elliot at 6. The couple at the Raynville, Bramley, have been dismissed, but are refusing to quit the premises, hence this new venue for a meeting. It was a long meeting. We drank until 9 with the Darringtons, so very nice and normal - she especially so. Saw Ann Revell too, who was stunned beyond belief that 'Our Billy', as she calls him, is dating Margaret Rushton. We invited them back to the Moorhouse and surprisingly they agreed. Ann came for an hour or so, but the Darringtons were here until 12:30, going home in a taxi. Dearest Marjorie (our former barmaid) was babysitting.

From the Daily Telegraph: Safe hands? Passengers on a Qantas flight from Bombay to London the other day were greeted with this announcement from the flight steward: "I would give you the emergency safety instructions but I'm afraid the tape machine has broken down." He paused, and went on "never mind, I'll read them manually."

The Americans seem to have great difficulty in understanding Thomas a' Becket's place in history. Following my note about the tourist in Canterbury Cathedral who wanted to know where Becket had been shot, a former chorister assures me that he was approached some years ago by an American who asked: 'Say, can you show me the spot where Joe Beckett was knocked out?' Joe, as boxing fans will recall, was not a saint but a heavyweight champion of the 1920s. 

-=-

Sunday February 1, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

4th Sunday after Epiphany

Thick frost. A rough night with Clemmie. I was up at 4:30 watching Damien: Omen II - a murder every 45 seconds or so. A 'full-English' and then over to the paper shop with Samuel, a precocious beast. Later, two Margarets worked and we escaped to Harewood House. The grounds were open today for the first time this year. St George's flag was fluttering above, and the lake was frozen solid and no amount of sticks and stones thrown in by Samuel would break the surface. Back at 4. Watched a chunk of 'Omen II' (tape) that I missed in the small hours. Dined on fish. Watched part II of 'Bertram's Hotel' at bedtime. Dear old Joan Hickson is an excellent Miss Jane Marple.

From the News of the World: Princess Margaret's son Viscount Linley is to marry his long-time lover Susannah Constantine. He has already been secretly shopping for an antique engagement ring with his sister Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones.

-=-

Saturday January 31, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ 

A trying day . A police constable (PC Bassey 1711) came at 8:30 as I was feeding the children. Ally having a laker. Simultaneously, a washing machine repair man appeared, and Samuel fell down and cut his lip. Oh, dear. The PC was told that Anthony Cheetham, 24, was responsible for the recent bout of cigarette machine thefts. The police constable was beaming. Obviously, the Cheetham guy has 'previous'. He wanted some concrete proof, an eye witness, &c. My only hope is old Ada Dickinson, a terrified rabbit and octogenarian. Later in the day after talking to Ada I phoned the police to be told that they were holding someone for my robberies in the cells. Such joy. Sue phoned. She's seeing Dr Glass on Thursday ____. Messy business. Went to a managers meeting at the General Elliot on Vicar Lane. Bev came to babysit. Awful night. Tony Cheetham the sole topic of conversation. To bed at 1:15.

-=-

Friday January 30, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, &c

It was 'one of those days'. We were still complaining about the relief couple when I noted that a Bacardi bottle on the optics looked odd so much so that I took it down and found  another bottle from the cellar to compare. My worst fears were realised. They have watered down the spirits. Not only are Golding & Jones squalid they are also thieving bastards. Ally phoned LG who wasn't in, and spoke to Mr Cawood, who showed some concern and said he will inform LG on Monday. What else in our tavern is let down with Co2? The mind boggles. Clementine was a picture today sitting in her pram and giggling, playing at peeping and chewing her toy keys. Baby has actually slept better. The screaming banshee of County Durham is now a blue-eyed slumbering cherub. Aly took Sam to a pet shop to buy seed for Reg (the budgie) and to a wallpaper shop (??) and to the local old people's home which he calls 'the pantomime' because he remembers the Christmas 'do' they laid on for the kids at nursery - "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs". Tonight. I opened at 6pm. Oh, and yet another cigarette machine 'vanished' last week, and Tony Cheetham has been openly selling cigs in the Junction this very afternoon. I phoned the police today and the policeman involved will contact me tomorrow. I want 'Cheesy' behind bars. He is of course the father of Mary Knight's granddaughter. Anyway, at 8 in walked 'Cheesy' and I immediately clotched him. He went away threatening to raise the establishment to the ground calling me a 'dick head' as he left. Then, Gabrielle's French mother phoned to say the girl had just fainted and would be unable to work tonight. Just Mags in. Ally came down looking lovely. And so a pleasant time.

From the Daily Telegraph: Maj Hugh Charles Lyttelton Lindsay, 9th/12th Royal Lancers, is engaged to Sarah Patricia Brennan.

Eva, Countess of Rosebery, who has died aged 94, was the key figure in the founding of the Edinburgh International Festival after the 1939-45 War ... &c.

-=-

Thursday January 29, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

A historic day. Michael Lawrence, dear reader, went to a blood transfusion centre and did give up - nay sacrifice - a pint of his precious blood - so that others might live. Dad will be so chuffed. He's a gold medallist having donated blood for 30 years. It was a day of slagging off the Golding and Jones couple. Margaret Rushton was in tears at their behaviour. The woman was knocking back the brandy and Babychams before 11 o'clock. Gabrielle reports that the intoxicated couple were swearing, fighting and beating the hell out of each other one night. Taking holidays in this business are simply not worth it. Our flat is very tacky today. None of the doors fit in their casings. The walls are awash and stained with beer. Roy Barnes warned me that she (the relief) would be hitting the bottle. Just Ally and I tonight. Alan had a quiz game.

-=-

Wednesday January 28, 1987

 Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

We got up at 6:30 and had a cooked breakfast with Dad, who has this off to a fine art. Clemmie ate crusts of brown bread with relish. I had a very 'thick' head and slumped over the table. I always return from holiday looking half dead. We left at 8. Dad is going to the dentist at Rawdon and then on to Cambridge to his brother John and Sheila's. He has drawn to his brothers and sister and to our detriment. It's not jealousy by any means, but I think that in his grief he has returned to his childhood affections, those that are pre-Nora. I suppose this is normal. We drove back to Leeds. Ally the only conscious occupant of the car. Back to the Moorhouse at 9:30. Our departing stock take was £148 up. Phew. Ronnie didn't come until 10:45. The relief managers Golding & Jones have a £124 deficit. They were filthy pigs. The flat is very shabby. The catering kitchen absolutely filthy, covered in grease and fungus. Rotting veg, &c. Their bed was still made up. This is unprecedented. Even Ron Brook stripped the beds of dirty linen. Cig ends everywhere. The house plants dead. The washing machine damaged. No doors now close properly. Filthy cloths everywhere. How disgusting. Ally is livid and went on about them all day. The cash was wrong and fiddles abound. Watered down orange juice &c. The optics had been tampered with. Funny to be back, really. Tom Kennedy and Pat Johnson died last week. Margaret Rushton has ducked out of work a few times. Margaret M says she didn't see 'eye to eye' with 'Bonnie' Jones. Jack Collett told me that barmaid Gabrielle wants to quit. Samuel was hysterical al day. No nursery. Clemmie screamed all day too, and did so until 11:45pm/ I had a haircut at 4pm.

Dead: Sir Ian Auld Mactaggart, Bt, on January 27. 

From the Telegraph: "That plaintive publication Singles, offers this month the following catch: "Sagittarian, 46, divorced, fleeced, limp [walks with], failing eyesight, been doctored, shares Quasimodo's tailor, bitter, temporary mysogonist, recently mugged, answers to the name Lucky. Requires pleasant , slim lady, 35-40, to restore faith in women ... Sense of humour and bike essential."

Letter to the Editor: Question of Degree

Sir- Can anyone explain why the media use Centigrade for temperatures in the winter [still below zero etc] and Fahrenheit in the summer [80 degrees - phew what a scorcher!] - Robert Salter, Kenley, Surrey.

-=-

Tuesday January 27, 1987

 Bradley Burn, Co Durham

Clemmie and Teddy.

We packed and left Bradley Burn at 12. Our electricity bill was £23 which Mrs Stephenson was over the top, but we thought reasonable. We said goodbye to the cat that has the continuing hanging out tongue. Aids, perhaps? We drove via Barnard Castle to Richmond, Aysgarth, Hawes and to Horton-in-Ribblesdale for 3pm. Dad was pottering around cooking a meal with the radio blasting at full throttle. He is so eccentric these days. He infuriated Ally and I and I was 'on edge' for some reason. We hear of Arnold's funeral. A packed crem. Someone stood up and read "If" by Rudyard Kipling. Dad weeps at this poem at the best of times. Arnold kept a journal and it revealed that only a few days before his demise he wrote that when he eventually collapsed that no 'do gooder' would resuscitate him. He wanted to go, I think. This death has hit Dad very badly. We ate and then put the children to bed. Samuel proud in a large double bed in his own room. We sat watching 'Goldfinger' drinking the remnants of our whisky. We bought Dad underwear for Christmas and he had to bugger around swapping the items at Debenham's. He disappeared into his room and then emerged clad in the garments to give us a fashion display. Ally averted her eyes. We went to our beds at 10:30. Clemmie was a piglet and refused to sleep. She is sitting up now, by the way.

News from the Daily Telegraph: The Duke of Kent yesterday took the oath of allegiance in the Lords to enable him to be the Duke of York's sponsor when he is introduced in the House.

Mr Younger, Defence Secretary, confirmed to MPs last night that he had set up an inquiry into the leaking of a letter from Prince Philip to the Commandant-General of the Royal Marines about Prince Edward's resignation from the Corps.

The Marquess of Huntly, who has died aged 78, was premier Marquess of Scotland and did homage on behalf of the marquesses at the Coronation of King George VI in 1937.

-=-

Monday January 26, 1987

 Kilmacolm to Bradley Burn

We went back to Durham where Samuel requested fish and chips in newspaper by the river. He loved the experience and so did I. Clemmie had a mad morning in her pram and so our visit was as pleasurable as the one on Tuesday. Home via a car wash at Crook - Sam's face was a picture. Dined on trout (me) and steak (Ally) tonight, but Clemmie wailed throughout. The joys of parenthood. Candlelit dinners are not what they were. 

Society engagements: The Earl of Dundonald and Beatrice Russo, and the Earl of Macduff and Caroline Bunting.  In the Daily Telegraph we are told that "two million Britons could be dead or dying from Aids by the turn of the century, according to a report by Dr Martin Schweiger, a community physician working in Leeds". 

Cannon Law: overheard the other day in Canterbury Cathedral: an American tourist making enthusiastic inquiries about the cathedral's history. "And where exactly," he asked, "was Thomas a' Becket shot?"

-=-

Sunday January 25, 1987

 Kilmacolm

3rd Sunday after Epiphany

Lynn is very flippant about Aids. "Oh, it's no concern of mine." She tore up the government leaflet on the disease without reading it, for instance. I do not subscribed to this. In ten years time she will have two teenage daughters, juices flowing, and open to danger. It's no joke. We went to the park in Kilmacolm. Not like Scotland in the Stranraer sense, more like Harrogate. David has selected a good spot for his new erection, surrounded by mature Scots pines. However, a council estate looms at the rear. "I suppose they have to live somewhere", said Lynn, in a Marie Antoinette sort of way. She isn't a snob in the way that I am. She doesn't approve of private education, for instance. "All that gingham", she sniffed. We bid our farewells and left at 1pm. A long journey. Samuel wet his pants and walked around Alston, legs akimbo, in obvious discomfort. Back to the cottage for 5 o'clock after several stops for milk, papers, &c. Ally totally exhausted took to her bed at 8:30 after "At Bertram's Hotel" part 1 by A. Christie (Dame). I lingered with the Sunday mags and a drink. Clemmie did her 'Sarah Bernhardt routine' well into the small hours.

-=-

Saturday January 24, 1987

 Kilmacolm

with Sam at Largs.

The garlic bread continues. Tea in bed - a luxury. Joined by Frances and Katie - the latter with china blue eyes like my dead mum. Went downstairs to a 'full-English'. Ally and I were laughing amidst the bedding at the way Lynn was talking to David, who had alighted into the bathroom shower at peak bathroom time, 9am. "You're a joke, David", she ejaculated. It was reassuring for Ally, who said: "See. I am not the only one to nag". The vacuum cleaner was humming before I climbed out of bed. 'Houseproudaphilia'. To Largs. Fog. Looked at Tay sites. Fed large, ugly swans. Discussed condoms. Had lasagne. Sitting room session this evening. Whisky bottle. TV. Whisky. Dame Edna Everage's 1984 TV chat show. More condom talk.

Daily Telegraph obit: "Dame Ann Parker Bowles, who has died aged 68, was Chief Commissioner of the Girl Guides from 1966 to 1975 and ably led the movement through the only significant changes since its foundation. She received the Silver Fish, the highest award, in 1969."

Daily Telegraph: "From the Bournemouth Evening Echo. "A blaze ripped through a Bournemouth store early today causing damage estimated at £10,000. The cause of the fire, at Harpers, Westover Road, is still being investigated ... a clairvoyant at the store George Lucas, said he did not predict the blaze because 'Sunday's are my day off.'"

-=-

Friday January 23, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

Kilmacolm.

Spent the morning preparing to travel to Scotland. Packing the car took Ally hours. Of course, I am not allowed to touch any of the packing. Ally is very fastidious about the positioning of things in the car boot. We left at 12. (David B's detailed map having arrived today by post). We crossed to Carlisle and then up the motorway to Glasgow and on to Kilmacolm, where Lynn and Dave have lived since November 26, 1986. David, an architect with Tay Homes, has now 'metamorphisised' into a company director of Tay Homes (Scotland). They staying only temporarily in a large but cowboy erected converted house on the Tay Homes estate within view of the site where they are to build David a large detached house of his own design. What luck, eh? They look affluent. Lynn has a short 'Sheena Easton' haircut and wears leather gear.________. The children are lovely. Thomas is a bundle of trouble. Samuel, yet again, is ecstatic. We ate shepherd's pie. Lynn has discovered garlic bread. David came in at 6 and when all the children were bedded we sat and watched TV. 'Papillon (1973). We had such a good discussion. The first in years. Guiseley was obviously too close.

A Daily Telegraph obit for Sir Graeme Finlay 'the distinguished jurist who has died aged 69, may have the melancholy distinction of being the last person ever to be created a baronet.'

-=-

Thursday January 22, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

Durham Cathedral.

A bright, crisp sort of day. We went to Durham. Our first visit to this ancient city and we were very impressed. We had never imagined it to be old, walled, and dominated by a cathedral. We were expecting something like Barnsley. Samuel was full of himself and excited by the adventure. We took him into the cathedral where he proceeded to give a guided tour to a bemused pair of students. We closely inspected the tomb of St Cuthbert, and fondled several marble memorials. Sam took a shine to an effigy of the Duke of Wellington's brother. The only fly in the ointment is the knowledge that David Jenkins is the Lord Bishop herein. He is such a toe-rag. We took to the shops. The Swan and Three Cygnets, a Sam Smith's house hugging the river seemed desirable. The city crawls with students which must be good for barrelage. We sat on a damp bench near the river throwing chunks to the gulls. Samuel insisted on calling them 'gulls'. I am no ornithologist. We phoned Susan from a coin box in the cloisters of the cathedral to be told that Papa is at Hilda and Tony's. We wanted the route to Kilmacolm spelling out to us. You know what we are like with our poor sense of direction. Phoned Lynn too, but was cut off.

-=-

Wednesday January 21, 1987

 Granary Cottage, &c

Mild day. Some sunshine. I now sit and eat breakfast with trepidation. Will Mrs Stephenson, the Angel of Death, come across in her wellies, with more tales of doom and gloom? This morning we went to Stanhope and Eggleston, over the moors, and down to Barnard Castle and to Prestos. Shopping in the high street. Samuel kept escaping. Back for 2. Sam and I cleaned the car, and he kicked a cat around the yard. Such a bully.

Poor Uncle Arnold was cremated at Elland at noon. _____. I did think of my poor Rhodes cousins.

A letter in the Daily Telegraph from Brian J. Dunleavy, in Cardiff, caught my eye: "I am reminded of a comment made by a German journalist during the Yorkshire Ripper trial. 'Why is it in your country that when you talk to God you call it praying and when he talks to you you call it schizophrenia..."

-=-

Tuesday January 20, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

Roy.

At 11 we set off for Middlesbrough where we found the Linthorpe Hotel demolished. A total ruin. The pub is trading from the tap room only and clouds of cement dust wafted across the Cleveland skies. Saw the barmaids Sally (just sacked), Rose and Carol. Roy was upstairs with Tim (ex relief, see 1983), who left as we arrived. Roy is such a character. He gave us coffee and we discussed business. Over Christmas and New Year he took £35,000. Oh, God. Marie was in Darlington sorting out Mags, who has left Mr Gaskin, taking with her the eight month old Sarah-Jane, &c. Sam played with Sam, the dog, and Saxon, who is an evil canine and was soon locked away in the kitchen. On to Yarm shopping. Phoned Dad at Janette's. He's going to Arnold's funeral with John & Janette. Uncle John is home from Lanzarote. Harry and Bert are attending too. A proper reunion.

-=-

Monday January 19, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

Uncle Arnold.

Over boiled eggs at 9:30 Mrs Stephenson came to the cottage asking me to phone Dad immediately because "your uncle has died". Oh God. I put on my wellies and went to phone Dad at Horton. Uncle Arnold collapsed and died while shovelling snow last Thursday over in Halifax. Judith had gone to see him and was clearing the snow from his drive. He insisted on helping her but within minutes he was down and out. Dead on arrival, &c. Dad kept saying 'Poor Bill' over and over. (Arnold was always known as Bill, by his siblings). So very sad that he is gone. Dead at 54. We only saw him a week ago. The funeral is fixed for Wednesday. He is going with John and I made my excuses. Under normal circumstances I would have attended but I cannot cart the kids from County Durham to Halifax and back again. We went to Bishop Auckland. Biting cold. 

-=-

Sunday January 18, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

2nd Sunday after Epiphany

A restful day. Ally and Samuel went into Wolsingham for newspapers and for the remainder of the day we sat by the fire playing with Lego, building cars, garages and dogs. Samuel beside himself with excitement and is a non-stop chatterer. 

The newspapers are a disgrace. The News of the World headlines: "RAT ROMY TWO-TIMES PRINCE WIMPO" - referring to Miss Romy Adlington, from Micheldever, a 20 year-old friend of Prince Edward, now labelled 'Wimpo' for resigning his commission in the Royal Marines.

The Sunday Times is full of the Guinness business. City affairs go over my head.

-=-

Saturday January 17, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

The freeze continues. The papers are full of nonsense about Barbara Barnes leaving the Royal nursery. What a spoilt little swine Prince William is, they say. How awful. Adulation one minute and hatred the next. What a dreadful Press we have.

-=-

Friday January 16, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Wolsingham

Sub-zero conditions continue. We drove to Crook, where Ally bought three litres of wine and Samuel attempted to do some shoplifting in Boots. Stuffing mars bars into his pockets and flashing his big brown eyes at the hard north east shopping assistant. The newspapers have stories of Barbara Barnes quitting the royal nursery. All saying that Prince William is a 'spoilt' little boy. How awful. Adulation one minute, hatred the next. What a Press we have.

Much needed books: The diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles

                                   The diaries of Hugh Dalton

                                   The complete diaries of Samuel Pepys

What is the collective noun for someone who collects other peoples diaries?

Graham phoned Mrs Stephenson at 9:30am and asked us to contact him before 10. Ally was upstairs having 40 winks. I was making breakfast. Obviously, I feared the worst that perhaps Frank had gone down into the foaming brine en route to Jersey, or some similar tragedy. Ally was similarly perturbed and she hurriedly dressed, wellies too, and down to the farmhouse she went. She returned saying Graham wanted to come here with Gill, and the boys for the weekend. We do not have room to swing a cat here. Had we been staying in a bigger place it would have been fine.

-=-

Thursday January 15, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn &c

We went out to Wolsingham to buy a ton of provisions from a 'supermarket' unchanged since 1956. Deep snow. We went into a pub and phoned Dad. He wasn't at home. Phoned Sue to say we had arrived safely. I made lunch which took me hours. Britain is shivering in Arctic conditions. Wind, &c. Weather dominating the news makes a change from all this talk about AIDS.

-=- 

Wednesday January 14, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn DL14 0PU

Full Moon

The snow continued to fall and we were house-bound. Ally, the angel, had the good sense to bring a tin of corned beef and other provisions because no way could we have gone out. Samuel sat on a window sill watching a farmer in a tractor clearing the snow. The Stephensons have a daughter at public school in Harrogate.

-=-

Tuesday January 13, 1987

Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn, Wolsingham, Bishop Auckland

I went out snow shovelling this morning. Will we be able to make it to Wolsingham? The relief managers came, named Golding & Jones, from Birmingham. Golding & Jones? Sounds like a Tamla Motown  singing duo. The are not married. Does Humphrey Smith know they are living in sin? He is bearded and fat. She has peroxide hair and looks shifty. Poor Moorhouse. The stock taker, Crump, a cold, odd man, brought no machine with him and so we left at 1pm without a stock result. I will not worry, but I would have preferred to leave with a result. Heavy snow. A precarious journey north. Up the A1, which was clear of snow, and we turned off at Piecebridge, where the road became steadily worse. Ally wanted to drive and I was in the back clutching a snoring Clementine. Sam, watching from his car seat, became perturbed and was was convinced we were going to collide with another car. Our drive took us to West Auckland and past Raby Castle. All new scenery to me. Treacherous conditions when we arrived at Wolsingham. A Mrs Stephenson was waiting for us showering great praise on Ally's motoring prowess. Later, the road leading to Alston, was closed. Our place, Granary Cottage, is a converted granary (surely not?), and looks better from the outside. It's too 'new'. A real coal fire though. The bedrooms are no bigger than cupboards, but oh the peace and quiet. Ecstasy. A night watching the snow fall, bathing the children, sipping whisky and watching TV. Wednesday was similar.

-=-

Monday January 12, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Our little Samuel is three today. He bounded into our room early for presents and cards. We didn't go berserk with gifts - so soon after the Christmas excesses - mainly clothes, but good clothes. He knocks around in shirts and pants more expensive than mine. He had a party at nursery today - a cake and buns with Dermot and the Ladybirds. He came home at 4 wearing a large hat and with chocolate all over his face. Oh, to be 3. Heavy snow tonight. It was bitterly cold. Gabrielle worked and only just made it here in the blizzard. Clemmie was squealing away and so Ally brought her downstairs. The pub was dead but Clemmie entertained Jack Collett, Tommo and Pam. We go on holiday tomorrow. Bliss.

-=-

Sunday January 11, 1987

Samuel (1987).

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

1st Sunday after Epiphany

Samuel's party. Pub packed. Snow. Guests came at 2pm. Karen, Jill, Tim, Steve, Hayley, Thomas, Sue, Pete, Christopher, Ben, Mantha, Dad, who brought Arnold, Janet, Judith, Roger, Dorothy - thin and old - Les, and Guy. Graham Rhodes followed on later. Our lounge upstairs was packed and flowing with Liebfraumilch. Sadly, the children's party was pushed a bit into the background with the influx of a plethora of aged adults, but a cake was lit and a tea party atmosphere persisted. The aunts and uncles left after an hour or so. We did have a quick chat with Judith and Roger. The Sandersons stayed until after 9.

-=-

Saturday January 10, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Samuel is having his third birthday party tomorrow and in a routine phone call to Papa he announced that Dot, Les, Arnold and Janet, and Guy Holland are staying at Horton and he probably won't make it to the soiree. Such disappointment. He was also supposed to be bringing Sue, Pete and Co from Guiseley. We fume. Dad doesn't see that we want him to be with us in his capacity of much loved grandfather. Samuel will be disappointed. I phoned Susie and offered to pick her up at 11 tomorrow. Ally hates diversions to our plans.

-=-

Friday January 9, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

It's all fixed. We are going to County Durham next Tuesday for 2 weeks. A converted granary at Bradley Burn, Wolsingham, Bishop Auckland. Everyone thinks we are mad. Durham in January. Why not Capri or Benidorm? Oh, no. Life isn't so cut and dried. We just need the rest. Four walls, a bed and no hand pumps, bar staff, or Joe Public. To me Durham sounds like heaven. Snow is coming too, ony let us get to our retreat first. Madge appeared with £15 cake arrears for June.

-=-

Thursday January 8, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Railway Inn.

Last night we the quiz team went to Spofforth with a coach load of our lounge types to the Railway Inn (Miss Anne Revell). We won. I was in the team. Ally a scorer. Such a popular night. Beware: I have promised to dine with Doreen and Terry in February. ____________.

The Earl of Macduff, a direct legitimate descendant of King Edward VII, is engaged.

-=-

Wednesday January 7, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Prince Edward quits marines.

Cop a load of this about Prince Edward. Obviously it means curtains for the armed services and I back HRH all the way. Why should all the males of our Royal House always have to give such a macho image? Leaping from planes and running with Gurkhas, &? Why is it always a military career for 10 years or so? Princess Anne went straight from school into the royal routine, and just look at the Duke of Gloucester. He even wears spectacles. He doesn't give a sod.

-=-

Tuesday January 6, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Obituary. Viscount Lifford.

Epiphany

Feast of the Epiphany. We Three Kings of Orient Are, &c.

Excuse the news cuttings (glued herein). It is the new lay-out of my 1987 journal. Better than nothing. Starved of my Burke's Peerage I'll glue appropriate cuttings here from the Daily Telegraph. I've been too bust to keep an old style diary since the arrival of Clementine. Life's been so frantic and running at a fast pace. Will I see 32? 

Leslie Gledhill came in beaming & joyful. Our Christmas takings were fantastic.

-=-

Monday January 5, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Clementine cannot find contentment at all and lays scratching and writhing pitifully. We are taking her up to the doctor tomorrow. She had another jab at the clinic today and screamed . A doctor inoculated her in the thigh. Surely, buttocks are best? I picked up Samuel from the nursery and joined Ally at the clinic where Sam played on a battered rocking horse, the walls covered in AIDS posters. Poor boy. What will the world be like when he is my age?

News: The 1st Earl of Stockton was buried at Horsted Keynes, Sussex, at noon. His grandson, bearded and looking delighted with himself, announced that the former PM's last words were: "I think I'll go to sleep now."

-=-

Sunday January 4, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

3rd Sunday after Christmas

Not too hungover. I avoided beer and lager and stuck faithfully to drinking 'shorts'. Up for 10. Yes, 10. Ally had taken Bev to work at 8 and brought me my morning tea. We had two staff 12-2 and so Ally and Sam went to bed and I sat reading about 'Supermac' in the Sunday Times. My God, the former PM isn't even buried yet and already they are beginning to print all sorts of claptrap. I slept from 1:30 to 3pm and then did a roast lamb lunch. The children were particularly vociferous. The lamb was a £3.60 joint. Clementine, the little treasure, knows just how to wail that bit too much.

-=-

Saturday January 3, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Picked up the phone and it was Katie Davina - four today - talking from Kilmacolm. A sweet little girl. Tonight at 9 Ally and I went over to the Stone Trough at Rawdon for Chris Ratcliffe's annual (sic) bash, where I thoroughly and unexpectedly enjoyed myself. Pissed of course. Saw John, Janette, MM, Marita, Chris, Andy and Linda Graham, Carol Smith, Christine Dibb, Laura and Dave Pattison, Jacq, Ian, Tony and Margaret Brotherwood, Martyn and Fay Cole &c. Back to Chris's on Canada Rd (or drive). All stripped pine, and cottage-like. I did my usual 'ice bucket down the trousers' routine, much to Ally's chagrin. Ally sank a fair few Martinis. We dropped the Matthewses at home at 3am.

-=-

Friday January 2 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Bank Holiday in Scotland

Dad enters the 54th year of his age looking well, with fresh complexion, but almost white hair. Everyone says he looks years younger (my customers say that but they are debauched, wrinkled, town-dwellers. Dad kept going until 5am on New Years Day and the women flock to him. Mary Knight would have him tomorrow. No, today, in half an hour. We found a bottle of Asti spumante and had it with our boiled eggs for breakfast. Dad stayed until lunchtime and then went on to Guiseley. Tonight he went out with Sue, Pete, John & Janette to the Indian restaurant at White Cross. _________.

-=- 

Thursday January 1, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

New Years Day - Bank Holiday in UK

I now attempt to revive my limp journal which began on January 1, 1973, and only ceased in August, 1986, when the author, over-worked and flattened, laid down his pen. It has not been easy. I have looked at those blank, white pages and have suffered pangs of torment. So here goes. This day is lost in a painful stupor, an alcoholic haze. The New Years Eve party - a Bacchanalian orgy no less - dispersed at 7:30am.  We'd seen Phyllis Dean's tits. Joe House's knees, &c. I deserted Margaret Milne this afternoon and returned to bed. Fizzy Andrews Liver Salts my only nourishment and then Julie Andrews in 'Mary Poppins'.

-=-

Wednesday December 31, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

New Moon

Ally: flapper.

A New Years Eve fancy dress thrash here. V. successful. Dad brought Sue, Pete and Co this afternoon. A full house. Ally in shimmering pink. A flapper girl. I was in loud stripes and a boater. Up until dawn. Riotous. Janette went to Maria's and John came here alone. Oh God. __________. Phyllis stripped to nowt and then fell over and did her eye in. Joe House, 75, batted until 7:30am.

-=-

Tuesday December 30, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The Earl of Stockton died last night aged 92. Good old Supermac. Our last 'elder statesman', because surely they won't use this label for a) Edward Heath, b) Roy Jenkins, c) Lord Wilson of Rievaulx, KG, d) L.J. Callaghan, e) D. Steel, MP, f) Janet Fookes, MP

(That's enough elder statesman - Ed)

Friday November 28, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Lynn and Dave emigrated to Kilmacolm, Renfrewshire.

Wednesday November 26, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The Sam Smith's brewery dinner dance at Garforth. I developed conjunctivits.

Sunday November 23, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Sunday next before Advent

Very wet. To Haworth. Scar Top Pine, &c.

Saturday November 22, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Graham & Gill came for the weekend.

Saturday November 15, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Lynn had a party at Thorpefields. A farewell party before leaving for Scotland.

Wednesday November 5, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas

To Beaulieu Palace for the day with Bessie. Samuel loved the experience. Holiday until Nov 10.

Friday October 31, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Holiday stock take. To Winchester.

Thursday October 30, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Sacked Karin Ireland.

Wednesday October 29, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Quiz at the Eagle Tavern.

Wednesday October 22, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

With Dad to the Butcher's Arms at Pudsey for a quiz.

Monday October 20, 1986

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

We moved out of Club Street and Roger Whetnall (husband of my cousin Judith Rhodes) took the tenancy.

Sunday October 19, 1986

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green

21st Sunday after Trinity

We lunched with Mary Moore.

Sunday October 12, 1986

 20th Sunday after Trinity

To Club Street. Fish and chips.

Friday October 10, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Clemmie 10 weeks old today.

Thursday October 2, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

To dentist 8:30am. Dad home from Lanzarote.

Thursday September 18, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Dad went to Lanzarote with Arnold and Janette for two weeks. Pat Phoenix died from lung cancer.

Monday September 15, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Samuel started at a nursery on Hunslet Hall Road, and grew up over night. We both went to the dentist 4:45.

Sunday September 7, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

15th Sunday after Trinity

Lunched with Frank and Bessie at the Barleycorn Inn, Collingham.

Saturday September 6, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

John and Janette (1986)

John and Janette married at Bradford Register Office, followed by a 'do' at the Yorkshire Rose, Guiseley. Julie and Steve married at Pudsey. The 'do' was at the Norfolk Gardens Hotel, Bradford.

Ally and I with the bride and bride groom

Thursday September 4, 1986

Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

New Moon

Ally had a post-natal inspection at 10:40. Dr Duck.

Monday September 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally saw Dr Duck.

Wednesday August 20, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

August 1986:

Back to the pub in early August totally exhausted and yes depressed despite the arrival of our beautiful daughter. Over-tired, over-worked, under-paid, &c. We saw Leslie Gledhill at the brewery (Aug 11) and got it into our heads that the Menston Arms was ours. I visited the BRI regarding my allergies and we lunched several times at the Menston Arms. Samuel was accepted at nursery (on Hunslet Hall Rd) and Dermot visited us (Aug 27).

-=-

Tuesday August 19, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

This journal is now closing down until next year, I wish all my readers a comfortable and prosperous year.

Goodnight.

National Anthem.

Monday August 18, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Sam and Clemmie.

Cold and wet. I went out after breakfast to do the banking and some shopping but forgot the cash and had to come back for it. No bloody petrol in the car either. Samuel was delivering a hell-fire ultimatum to old Anne (the cleaner). His favourite expressions at the moment are "boggerts" no doubt a derivation of bollocks and buggers, and "sod" remains a particular favourite. We think it perhaps best to ignore these gross acts of anti-social naughtiness. He was particularly abusive in Sainsbury's on Saturday, much to Ally's embarrassment. We received a letter from Uncle Bert saying he will be at John's wedding, bringing his grandson Richard, aged 3.

-=-

Sunday August 17, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

12th Sunday after Trinity

Sunshine. Ally went out over the moor with Samuel and a perambulated Clementine to soak up some warmth. They returned at 12 and we sat in the car park with a christening party from St Peter's. Clementine is so big and hungry. She cannot be awake without feeding. Karin says she is like me but she only had the slightest of glances and baby was laying on her side in a deep pram and wearing a frilly bonnet. Tonight we composed a long and splendid letter to LG asking for the Menston Arms. Surely, no other interviewee can have penned a more eloquent epistle. It is the sort of thing Leslie Gledhill appreciates. Very crawling, but basically sincere. Watched a film, the one with Jimmy Cagney crying en route to the electric chair. You know the one.

-=-

Saturday August 16, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Prince Alfred, second son of Victoria and Albert, was created Duke of Edinburgh, Earl of Kent and Earl of Ulster, in the Peerage of the United Kingdom, May 24, 1866. He succeeded his uncle Ernest II as Duke of Saxe-Coburg & Gotha, the reigning duke of that principality, August 22, 1893. He died at Schloss Rosenau,  30 July, 1900, when his peerages became extinct. He was succeeded as Duke of Saxe-Coburg by his nephew, the Duke of Albany, son of Prince Leopold, Queen Victoria's youngest son.

-=-

Friday August 15, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

'Princess Michael of Kent' by Peter Lane arrived from our book club. Interesting that the book has no photographs of the Princess prior to her engagement in May 1978. A few painful errors too. A chapter on the 'House of Kent' reveals that Prince Alfred, second son of Queen Victoria, became Duke of Kent in 1866, and went on at length to discuss Alfie's life and times. Prince Alfred was in fact Duke of Edinburgh and EARL of Kent, and later succeeded as Duke of Saxe-Coburg & Gotha on the cessation of the then Prince of Wales. Sloppy writing makes my blood boil.

-=-

Thursday August 14, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, &c

A letter arrived from the brewery saying our Wellington Inn application has been cancelled. A postcard from Lynn in Gourock. Samuel went to the nursery for an hour 2-3. Exhaustion and lethargy. Bessie phoned.

(My sister and her husband David were temporarily living in Scotland to test the waters and see if they could actually go live there with David's work)

-=-

Wednesday August 13, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Quiet and wet. The White Rose Choir came in with a Teddy for Clementine which we have christened Elvis because he has a button and when pressed it sings 'Love Me Tender', a melodious old tune much warbled by that old thigh shaker, the late Mr Presley. Clemmie weighs 9lb 14 oz.

Graham and ? (unknown) came from the Raynville for an hour with a couple from Farsley Working Mens' Club who are fancying taking on the Yorkshire Cobble at Redcar. 

Sandra Woodcock (nee Collett) had her portrait sketched by Mick (who signs 'Mik') from Tempest Rd. Another superb likeness.

-=-

Tuesday August 12, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

An evening of collapse. Ally watched 'The Thorn Birds', a terribly long, drawn out and far-fetched tale. I wrote a long, boring letter to Lynn. My powers have gone. My fluency is waning.

-=-

Monday August 11, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

We were interviewed by Leslie Gledhill for the Wellington Inn at Knaresborough, but we switched our choice of pubs on arrival to the Menston Arms - which he expected us to do. We took Clemmie with us leaving Samuel at Guiseley.

-=-

Sunday August 10, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, &c

11th Sunday after Trinity

Post wedding blues.

Saturday August 9, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

My cousin Jacqueline married Barry Raistrick at Cleckheaton. A good bash. It was Jacqueline's 30th birthday.

Friday August 8, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Received a circular from the brewery re the Menston Arms!! But we are seeing LG on Monday re the Wellington, Knaresborough. Sod it.

Thursday August 7, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The pool team were at home. We won. Uncle Peter says Eleanor was taken aback and rendered speechless when I phoned about the wedding arrangements because she had no idea I had been invited  to the nuptial shindig. It was, he said, something that Jacqueline had decided to do on the quiet. Jacqueline of course attended our wedding ________. Peter says none of the wicked uncles will be there on Saturday. Phew. Spoke to Dad. ______.

-=-

Wednesday August 6, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Clemmie weighs 9lb 6oz. Ally had her up Beeston Hill this afternoon and naked on the scales. Samuel refused to do likewise. He must be growing shy and sensitive like his father. I have never been one to bare all in a public place. Public toilets, swimming baths, changing rooms, &c - they have always revolted me. Ones genitals are ones own affair. If only others less stoic than myself could behave similarly the world will be a far healthier dwelling place. Beverley worked. I phoned Auntie Eleanor re Jacqueline and Barry's wedding, and she was a brick. We can take the children by all means but decide just to take Clementine. Eleanor sounded so much like Mama on the phone.

-=-

Tuesday August 5, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

New Moon

An artist came in the pub tonight touting for business and did me in ink. A good likeness. I 'm recognisable. Samuel saw it and gasped: "Ah, Daddy". So it can't be bad. I gave the artist £4. No Peter Paul Rubens by any means. Stuck tonight. Liz cried off sick and at 9 I went across for Audrey to assist. It was busy later on. Little Clementine came below for ten minutes to meet the customers and slept throughout. Ally didn't want the baby stinking of cigarette fumes and stale ale.

-=-

Monday August 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Back to work. I went alone back to Leeds for 9 o'clock leaving my three pigs in bed. The relief couple (the Watsons) were closeted upstairs with the strangely silent stock-taker (Rob). They say the pub has had two break-ins since July 22 and the change box and the large charity bottle were the principal casualties. This stinks. Watson phoned LG who told him he would have to put the money in because it had disappeared from a (undecipherable) in licensed hours. If it had been in the safe it would have been insured. A very fast couple if you ask me. I went back to collect Ally and the children at 3 o'clock.

-=-

Sunday August 3, 1986

 5, Club Street

10th Sunday after Trinity

The last day of our historic little holiday. Mr Glynn's and Janette's birthday. We went walking again in Scholemoor cemetery. Its the nearest thing to a park Lidget Green can provide. The roses are particularly enchanting. Samuel and Ally had a sleep this afternoon whilst I made lunch and watched the Jack Le Vien film 'A King's Story' (1966). What a shit was Edward VIII. I am so glad he went. The more I hear of him the more convinced I am that he would have weakened the monarchy had he been crowned. Quiet evening. Lynn phoned from Scotland. Ally wrote to Glenda at he brewery to say thank you for the flowers.

-=-

Saturday August 2, 1986

 5, Club Street

We are bog eyed today because Clementine insisted on waking throughout the night. ___________. Samuel's relationship with Postman Pat continues heavy. We have Pat three times a day now. I went to Morrison's and filled the car with petrol in readiness for Monday's migration back to Leeds. After 2 we went on a jaunt. First to MM and Marita's. They were delighted to see us. Clementine is the first new baby Marita has held. On to Wilsby. Tony, H and Jill with the children. Hilda nursing Clementine says baby is the double of 'Grandad Dixon' adding "I'm afraid". Tony was painting the ceiling. On to Mabel's. She was drinking sherry and feeling dizzy. Samuel fell and cut his lip. Home for streak and courgettes. 

-=-

Friday August 1, 1986

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford BD7 2PB 

Better day. Sunshine. Up at 7 o/'clock to a sunlit room to see Ally changing Clementine white of pallor and with sunken eyes. The broken nights are doing her no good. She was feeding at 1:10 and then again at 6. Poor Clemmie is sproggy and has a cough and matted eyes. Samuel and I had a fried repast and took our morning constitutional to the Co-op and the newsagents. The Daily Telegraph dominates with the coming sanctions against Pretoria which the PM has fought against for ages. Sir Geoffrey Howe doesn't seem to me to have any bottle whatsoever. The PM mut know what she is doing. Later, Samuel played in the garden hung, nay festooned, with washing. I joined him and sat on the wall with a copy of 'Moonfleet'. Sat baking like 'Fergie' (the ginger Tom from down the street). Mince for lunch, then peaches. Samuel has an excellent appetite. The midwife made her last visit and she looked bog eyed when I said: "see you next time". One never knows, does one. We had a card from Delia Collis in which she says our choice of names is beautiful.

 -=-

Thursday July 31, 1986

 Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Waltergarth.

We woke up in a big, sweaty heap. Ally, Samuel and I in the same bed. It had been a rough night because Ally had to switch on the lights to feed Clementine, which woke Samuel who leapt from the bed and bounded around like a competitor in the Commonwealth Games. We went (Sam and I) to find Dad, who was cooking breakfast for his guests. To get out of mischief Sam and I went and poked around in the fireplace and got it blazing. Fire. How many hundreds of generations have stood in wonderment at the sight of a crackling, spitting new fire? We had our breakfast when the walkers left at 9 o'clock. The usual 'full-English'. I put a quotation by Virgil in Dad's visitors book which wasn't appreciated. 

"Begin, Baby boy: a child that has no smile for a parent will not be thought fit inviting for dinner by a God or taken by a Goddess to bed."

I took Samuel down to the river in a misty rain and we lobbed rocks into the grey waters under the bridge. Spent some time looking for a Troll. Bought Dad some bread (three loaves), and a Daily Telegraph for £2. Disgusting. We left at 1 and we were home before 3. Ally knackered. A health visitor came and injected Clementine, stabbing her in the foot which made her scream. Lambs liver a la Chernobyl for dinner. Collapsed tonight. Sneezy, &c. The beginnings of a cold? 'Minder'. Campari.

-=-

Wednesday July 30, 1986

Dad with Samuel & Clementine.

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Up early. Ally had been up in the night and had fed Clementine without waking me. I just snore through the zoo-like hullabaloo. So different than when Samuel was tiny, and Ally says it's much easier this time. My services are no longer required. Heavy rain. We phoned Dad after breakfast and left for Horton at 10:30. Me at the wheel. A long journey. I arrived with a thick head and took some of Mum's paracetamols. Poor Waltergarth. The place depresses me. Mum's empty perfume bottles in the bathroom and her old faded flowered dressing gown hanging behind the door. Her hair curlers in the cupboard under the sink with fine strands of her golden hair still entwined. Ghosts everywhere. 

Clementine's first visit to Waltergarth. We hardly know we have her. She just eats and sleeps and then lays midst the white broderie anglaise cooing and gurgling. I tasted Mum's orange wine (April, 1984 vintage) which is excellent. We always said we'd sample it when Clementine arrived. Dad had four lads staying there for B & B from 6pm. They were wet and bedraggled and had been out in the hills for five days and they fell in front of the fire and clamoured for the Daily Telegraph with heart warming enthusiasm. The youth of today are obviously not all loutish. The children were all tucked up and asleep for 8pm. Ally and I went to Settle for a couple of hours. The Talbot Arms and then the Little House restaurant for yet another exquisite dinner for £23. Returned at 11 sated. Clemmie still out cold.

-=-

Tuesday July 29, 1986

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green

We went out to town this morning to buy Samuel some new shoes. A nice red pair for 'best' and some trainers for 'playing out'. He looks very grown up. A little colt. Just an hour in town floored Ally who was near to collapse. I have warned her that she could be doing too much, too early. We returned for lunch and Ally and Sam went to bed. Later, it was a bright afternoon and we went to the park in Manningham where we found a fun fair where Samuel rode on an apparently never ending roundabout sitting on a fire engine ringing the bells. I weakened and had a toffee apple and it cost me a filling in the process. The park was swarming with eastern types all from our great Commonwealth of nations. Tonight: Lynn and David phoned from Scotland. Very chatty. I watched a recording I'd made of Bette Davis in 'The Little Foxes' (1941). It ended suddenly. Did my tape run out?

World News: The Yorks sailed into Ponta Delgada in the Azores yesterday. The PM is to have an op on her right hand next week. Ella Fitzgerald, 68, has heart failure. Sir Osbert Lancaster has snuffed it along with Vincente Minnelli. The Dowager Duchess of Devonshire is 91.

-=-

-=-

Monday July 28, 1986

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Ice, wind, rain, &c. Not a typical July. We waited all day for the Philips engineer to come to look at our washing machine. He didn't appear until 4pm when Ally and I were watching a tape of the Royal wedding and laughing at the puerile commentary of the great broadcaster Sir Alastair Burnet. He should really be horsewhipped ... along with the Philips engineer, who charged me £30 just to tighten up the points and connections and did nothing but moan about the inaccessibility of the appliance. British workmen. God Bless 'em. However, the machine was going again and within minutes of his departure the nappies were spinning furiously. All two dozen of them. Ally wrote a couple of thank you letters. Auntie Annie Wilkinson sent £15 and Aunt Elsie a dress. I sat over my D. Telegraph reading of the furore over Michael Shea. The man should go. The palace is standing by Mr Shea and his is defended by Sir W. Heseltine, the private sec, but to quieten things down his head should roll. Damage has been done to Her Majesty and the PM over this. Heseltine has a letter in the Times today which makes it clear that the Queen accepts Mr Shea's version of events and not that of the Sunday Times, who published an article alleging HM was dismayed by Mrs Thatcher's policies. HM wouldn't be so unprofessional. My blood  boils. The poor maligned sovereign.

-=-

Sunday July 27, 1986

 5, Club Street

9th Sunday after Trinity

Samuel and I went for a walk to collect the morning papers and to walk-off our enormous breakfast. I bought a Sunday Telegraph, but weakened and also bought the News of the World. We came back and sat in the garden midst the flower pots. 

Sam always talks to the neighbours ginger Tom cat and is very cross when it declines to answer back. Well, I am on holiday. One must be light-hearted every so often. The latter organ leads with an account of poor Princess Michael of Kent's supposed 'affair' with the Earl of Suffolk & Berkshire, the thrice married millionaire, who is 51. Inside was a tale of the Duke and Duchess of York’s
pre-nuptial Ball at Windsor where 'Fergie' introduced Paddy McNally to Prince Andrew. All good stuff. The Telegraph leads with a train crash. In other news, Averell Harriman has died aged 94.

A warm afternoon. We put a chicken in the oven and took Clemmie out in her pram. Her first walkies. We went of all places to Scholemoor cemetery where the roses were beautiful and where Samuel could run around unhindered. The dead don't mind, I'm sure. Looking at tombstones both old and new one thing emerges very clear and frightening. One is so very lucky now to reach three score years and ten. People are not living longer despite the NHS, Giros, British Rail, Concorde, PVC, penicillin, or Margaret Thatcher. Most disturbing. Bessie phoned. Ate an enormous dinner. Our washing machine went kaput. I phoned Dad who said automatic machines are too complex for the amateur and I will have to call in Philips. Sod it. Sue goes to Scotland tomorrow.

-=-

Saturday July 26, 1986

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Susan and Peter's sixth anniversary of blissful wedlock _______. We phoned tonight and Sue seemed cheerful. They were both drinking whisky, a present from Jim Nason. The boys both have spots and they are going to Horton in the morning and then to Scotland in Dad's car. Jill and Tim came here at 7 o'clock with Thomas. Clementine's first visitors. "Where have you got Clementine from -- the name that is?", Jill asked. 

-=-

Friday July 25, 1986

 Club Street, &c.

Went again in the car again to Duckworth Lane with Samuel clinging on in the back of the car wide-eyed with amusement at my new found mobility. The Co-op is doing very nicely out of me this week. We went to Cheap 'n Cheerful to give our glad tidings to Mrs Whitehead but it was her day off. Bought some notelets for announcing our child's arrival to friends we haven't phoned. Sarah C and the Rawnsleys, &c. She is a gorgeous fat little thing - like Samuel, but rounder and with a different nose. The little girl has no eye-lashes and of course her eyes are blue. They always are. Clementine has a perfectly shaped head, so unlike some babies, but am I slightly biased? Just think if I go along and collect my grandmother's birth certificate and find that she is really spelt 'Lavinia'! Dad says that his mother-in-law was a rotten speller too. Was she spelling her name 'Levinyer' because she knew no other? Mum's birth certificate definitely says her mother was Levinyer, but I am gripped with paroxysms of doubt.

-=-

Thursday July 24, 1986

 5, Club Street

Sunshine and midwives, &c. Samuel and I went up to Duckworth Lane in the car for an hour and spent it amongst the frozen veg in the Co-Op. We lingered in a newsagents shop over the royal wedding editions. You have no idea how satisfied I am that Prince Andrew is now Duke of York. Hugh Montgomery-Massingberd says that the last time a son of the sovereign married without a peerage title 'appears' to have been in 1374 when Thomas of Woodstock, a son of Edward III, married Eleanor de Bohun. He later became Duke of Gloucester. I cannot dispute this because as yet the plethora of dirty nappies has prevented my researches. I could have been physically sick today over breakfast while reading the offering compiled by our talented poet laureate  in honour of the York nuptials. Called 'The Honey Bee and the Thistle', it is written as a song, and Ted Hughes should be thoroughly ashamed of himself. Come back John Masefield, all is forgiven. I enclose the 'poem' here.

The Honey Bee and the Thistle

Upon this day in Westminster

That brings the Prince his Bride

Out of the Sun there swoops a song

that cannot be denied.

While every television trembles

In the organ blare

And their cardiographs' two butterflies

Are trying to touch in air.

While some weep at the foamy veil

That surges her to bliss

And some drink to the princely hand

That lifts it for the kiss

Before the country's dried is eyes

Or bells begin to ring

That cherub in a shaft of light

sweetly starts to sing:

When all the birds of Roxburghshire

Danced on the lawns, and all the

The Salmon of the Tweed cavorted

Over the Garden Wall

Gold as the Honey Bee

etc etc

-=-

Wednesday July 23, 1986

 5, Club Street

A bright day. Nothing quite like a Royal wedding. Samuel and I went out at breakfast time before the television had 'warmed up' and we did our shopping amongst a throng of housewives all eager to get home in front of the box. It was with great relief that I heard on the 10 o'clock news that Prince Andrew is to become Duke of York, Earl of Inverness, and Baron Killyleagh. Phew. My reputation as a royal boffin is saved. We watched TV all day. It darkened here later and rained heavily. Dr Duck came at 10:15 and Dad at about 11. A splendid wedding. Miss Ferguson wearing a very suitable, traditional frock. Pretty bridesmaids. A relaxed sovereign, and a beaming Grand Old Duke of York. At 3 we went (Dad, Sam and I) to the Kwik Fit Tyre place where the Maestro had new brake pads. We then went to register the baby in her lovely Christian names at Manor Row. Today is Levinyer Wilson's birthday. Quite fitting really.

-=-

Tuesday July 22, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn

Something of a frantic day. Dad with Bessie and Frank moved vast amounts of personal belongings to Club St. I had a stock take. A flash little couple, the Brendan Watsons, came to relieve me here. They've been promised the 'Sir Gawain and the Green Dragon' pub near Mold. The drip with the beard did the stock take, and I didn't escape at the wheel of my vehicle until almost 2pm. I picked up Ally at 3 and took our daughter home. Such a feeling of fulfilment and elation. We had a photo session at Club St. Our visitors departed and left us with our rapidly expanding family. Darling Clementine. Will she perhaps resemble me?

-=-

Monday July 21, 1986

Moorhouse Inn

Bessie & Clementine.

Full Moon. Two visits to Ally and our pink daughter. Back at 9pm to find Hilda and Tony with Dad partaking of ale. We were joined downstairs by Frank and Bessie and Uncle Peter, who came to collect Bev, and was stunned to see his shunned sister here. No acrimony really. It's such a pity that they all don't get on. Life is too bloody short, &c. Dad found himself in a furious row on the subject of charitable organisations and was opposed by Frank, Bessie and Tony. Poor Bessie. She now works as a prison visitor at Winchester nick brewing tea for the mad axe men and child molesters. Oh dear. It was quite late, 1am. Hilda and Tony disappeared in their farting Fiat. A mobile hairdryer. It's dear Sue's birthday.

-=-

Sunday July 20, 1986

5 Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford 

8th Sunday after Trinity.

Clementine.

Sunny. Day off. We went for lunch to the Radcliffe Arms at Follifoot. Bessie, Frank, Samuel and I. Busy. A blind young man spilt a pint over me. Samuel well behaved and cute. He enjoys the company of his grandparents. On to see Ally via Norwood Edge and the scenic route around Otley. I slept on way to Bradford. Samuel is fascinated by the electric windows of grandad's Granada. Back to see Ally tonight. Both tired. Thank God I can use the motor. Called in to see Hilda on the way home and had a couple of glasses of wine. Later, back at the pub Dad was close to tears. Downstairs with F & B, Dad, Uncle Peter, &c. The church lot began brawling and an embarrassing scene ensued. Bessie was about to join in.

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Saturday July 19, 1986

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford BD7 2PB

Up with the larks. I had slept in a heap on the floor with my head against the TV and feet up the chimney. A hearty breakfast was consumed and then we went back to Leeds in a convoy - me leading the way. Back for 9am. Went breezing in and saw Maureen and Audrey. They swoon at the news, but obviously don't like our choice of names. B & F took Sam to Leeds Market and I went down to Morrison's and bought Ally a display of dried flowers, a baby book, and a baby card, all predominately green for some reason. I was in a trance with joy really. The afternoon passed. The name Clementine doesn't go down too well in Hunslet. Terry Egan and Margaret Milne say we should call baby Levinyer as a first name and think it beautiful. We do not heed their advice. We visited BRI noon and night. Ally so relaxed in hospital and is making the most of her bed rest. If only I could join her.

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Friday July 18, 1986

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford BD7 2PB

Clementine Nora Levinyer.

I slept until 5am, and on waking Ally says her pains have stopped.  We waited until 9am and then went back to Hilda's for Samuel, who had been crying for his Daddy. Back to the Moorhouse. Did the wages for the staff. I went to the bank &c. By late morning it had all started again. We went back to Club Street to wait for Bessie and Frank , who had been informed of Ally's condition in the early hours. Ally paced around looking very uncomfortable. I went to the Co-op to buy brown rolls and a tin of salmon and when I came back the situation had altered. Her contractions were very regular. I ate greedily. At the BRI when will I eat again? Ally's pains were worse. I grabbed Sam by the hand and picked up a bottle of lemonade and a door key and went to Mary Moore's who agreed to have him until Bessie and Frank arrive. Poor Mary is 72 and on two sticks. She told me not to worry because she had been a teacher. Ally and I piled into the Maestro and I drove like a madman to the BRI where they put us in a room. It was 1:30pm. (Gynaecological redaction). At 4:16pm Clementine Nora Levinyer was born. I shed tears. Baby weighs 8lb 3oz. Ally so brave, despite the pain. She phoned people, everyone, at 5 o'clock. I went to Club St and collected a few cans of Carlsberg. Sam couldn't understand. F & B got here at 4pm. They went to bed at 10:30 and I went through the phone book to let everyone know. Dad was choked.

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