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

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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 is 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?

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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.

-=-

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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