Tuesday February 11, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas SO21 1AS

Shrove Tuesday

Pancake Day on Sea. We left early and went to Bournemouth, but had a drive through chunks of the New Forest and ended up in Lymington where we had an awful lunch in a pub near the harbour. Thick, jellified packet soup at 90p a squirt. Samuel sat at the table and was very good despite the harrowing sight of the scruffy, tattooed chef clumping around the joint. Most disappointing, though Lymington is very picturesque. All the buildings leaning in that 1685 fashion. Back at Ch.Cross Bessie just back from 'Inner Wheel' proceeded to make 48m phone calls between 5:45 and 10:30. Ally went to bed in a collapsed state and so did Samuel. I sat, feet up, with a large Scotch watching TV. Michael Caine in 'Get Carter'.

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Monday February 10, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas SO21 1AS

We went to Winchester and whilst Ally and Samuel went to the shops I escaped to the reference library to look at Sarah Ferguson's pedigree. Bliss. A 1985 Debrett's. Well, here goes. Sarah Ferguson was born October 15, 1959, the second daughter of Major Ronald Ivor Ferguson (born Oct 10, 1931), and of Susan Mary his wife (born 1937), daughter of Fitzherbert Wright, Esq, and the Hon Julia Doreen Wingfield (born 1904). We'll look at the paternal side first. Ronald Ferguson is the son of Colonel Andrew Henry Ferguson (1899-1966), and Marian Louisa, his wife (born June, 1908), the eldest daughter of Lord Herbert Andrew Montagu Douglas Scott, fifth son of the 6th Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry. Thus, Marian M D S is a first cousin of Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester. A generation back we have Algernon Francis Holford Ferguson (1867-1943), who married the Hon Margaret Brand (died 1948), daughter of the 2nd Viscount Hampden (1841-1906), who married Susan Henrietta Cavendish, granddaughter of the Duke of Devonshire. Further back up the tree we have Thomas Ferguson (1795-1859), who married Emma Benyon, of New Grange Hall, Leeds. Sarah's maternal branch is just as illustrious. Her mother is a granddaughter maternally of the 8th Viscount Powerscourt, KP, MVO (1880-1947), by his wife Sybil Pleydell-Bouverie (See Radnor E). The 7th Viscount Powerscourt married Lady Julia Coke, daughter of the 2nd Earl of Leicester. The 6th Viscount P married Lady Elizabeth Jocelyn, daughter of the Earl of Roden. Fitzherbert Wright is descended from the Earls of Romney and the Fitzherbert baronets. Sorry about all this, but it makes me feel much better now I've studied Sarah's pedigree. She and Prince Andrew are probably closely related through the Dukes of Devonshire (the Queen Mum is of Cavendish ancestry). Watch this space.

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Sunday February 9, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas S021 1AS

Quinquagesima

New Moon

Very cold. We went after breakfast to Coleford in Frank's disappointing new vehicle. The Merc has been replaced by one of those clones. Very sad. We couldn't understand Frank's driving. He went all over Gloucestershire and Wales to get to Graham's. Poor Ally was green in the back of the car. She's a rotten passenger. Needless to say, Samuel and I slumbered. At Graham's it was the usual Fred Karno's Circus. All the children in a heap on top of the dog. We had soup and sandwiches and went out with a sledge. Yes, all dressed like Scott's Expedition 1912. Or was it 1911? The Titanic was 1912. We left at 5. Graham was grumpy because he wanted to go to the pub. We got back for 7pm. Watched "Spitting Images". Bed after a vast Edwardian-style supper.

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Saturday February 8, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas SO21 1AS

The Old Vine.

We went out to Winchester leaving Samuel with granny. We sat in a pub for a few hours (the Vine?), just watching people. Ally in her raincoat and 'Queen Mum' felt hat. Very county. She ate a giant baked potato covered in chilli whilst I looked on with a pint of Stella Artois. We looked at the shops and browsed. 

The Daily Telegraph has me even more agog re Sarah Ferguson. Major Hugh Lindsay, personal equerry to HM, has been despatched to Switzerland to protect poor Miss Ferguson from the Press. It really must be on. I would really like to spend an hour with my Burke's Peerage. I do miss my 'bible'. In future my reference books will have to accompany me on tours. I cannot accept that Major Ron Ferguson is a FIRST cousin of Princess Alice, but we shall see. 

Tonight we went out. To Chandler's Ford and to a new pub, all Laura Ashley and pine. It won't last. Then to the Otter at Otterbourne, and the funny old Percy Hobbs. Home late. Ally wants to go to Graham's tomorrow.

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Friday February 7, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas S021 1AS

The good old Daily Telegraph has put me out of my misery and has reported on Sarah Ferguson's lineage. She descends from Charles II through the Dukes of Buccleuch. Major Ferguson is a cousin of Princess Alice, Duchess of Gloucester, who is a daughter of the 7th Duke of Buccleuch, and so Sarah is a second cousin of the Duke of Gloucester. Impeccable. I am very happy now. The fact that the DT is speculating is a good sign that something is in the air. Miss Ferguson shares a flat in Clapham Junction with one of the Princess of Wales's ladies in waiting. All this could be a red herring. Sarah might just be a friend of the princess and isn't interested in Andrew at all. The DT says the romance has been going on for 8 months, and Sarah spends days on end at Kensington Palace. Major Ferguson recently remarried and has a baby daughter who was christened last week with the Waleses in attendance. Sarah's mother is Mrs Hector Barrantes. I really didn't like not knowing.

We took to our beds this evening with our books at a luxurious hour and lay in a heap of idleness. In the morning we had ventured into a frosty Alresford with Bessie, where I bought 'George VI' by John Wheeler-Bennett for £3. It was published in 1958 and is in good nick.

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Thursday February 6, 1986

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas SO21 1AS

Chillandham Cross.

Samuel had a bad night. Well, a broken night, and I was up with him every hour or so. Downstairs at 3am for orange juice. Ally got up with Samuel at 7am and she brought me my breakfast in bed at 9. Porridge and bacon sandwiches. I could hardly swallow it down worrying about I would have to pay for this lapse into old style luxury later. But to be honest I d not like eating in bed. The crumbs get everywhere. Snow had fallen in the night. Bitterly cold. The three of us walked down Chilland Lane and over the river to Easton and then back here over the fields. Samuel walked all the way toddling through the snow covered fields. After lunch we went into Winchester and to the library where I looked at Debrett's Handbook 1984 for a reference to Major Ron Ferguson. In what way is he descended from the Stuart Kings? No sign of him in the good book. Sod it. Later, on the BBC news, we saw Miss Ferguson with the Prince and Princess of Wales at Klosters further firing speculation that a royal engagement is imminent. Prince Andrew, de facto Duke of York, goes on NATO exercises this week and so he wasn't in the skiing party. A night around the fire. Read "I, Claudius" which I've wanted to read for years. Robert Graves snuffed it recently. "Blackadder" on the TV.

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Wednesday February 5, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The stock taker Crump came and we had a £20 surplus, that was after we took out the £90 that Ally put in the safe last night. Last weeks sheets were over-banked. Silly Ally. We waited for the Kennedys to come until almost 12. They are the young couple who were with Roy & Marie in Middlesbrough 7 months ago. We went off down the M1 and met patches of snow on the way. We stopped at a motorway café and had steak and kidney pies. It cost a small fortune. A tiny slice of lemon meringue pie cost 75p!

Bad news for dukes. Read in the Daily Telegraph that the Duke of Norfolk, 70, and the Duke of Northumberland, 71, have both had heart attacks. 

Sammy and I slept in the back of the car. To Chillandham Cross for 4:30. All well. log fires. Turkey casserole. Comfy chairs. Snoozes. To bed at 10:30. It is touching how Samuel takes to his granny and grandad Dixon considering how rarely he sees them. Ally thinks he gets 'clever' and shows off, but I don't know. Saw S. Ferguson on the telly.

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Tuesday February 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

This may be historic, but Prince Andrew's so-called flame, Sarah Ferguson, was mentioned in a news bulletin today. I wish I knew more of her antecedents. She is 26. Watch this space. HM The Q lunched on Andrew's ship in the pool of London today. The Princess of Wales is taking Prince William to HMS Brazen tomorrow.

Ally had one of her hunches and went to Club Street with Samuel and found a note pushed through the door from Sister Greenwood, her midwife, telling her she has a water infection and needs antibiotics. Ally went to see Dr York at 5. I went upstairs to listen to music at full throttle and I cleaned the deep fat fryers. Both Lynn and Sue phoned to wish us bon voyage. Susan has bought some patio doors for her dining room and Peter is now broke. Ally came back worn out but insisted on cleaning and packing, &c. I cannot wait to be away on holiday. Maureen worked. The place was like a mausoleum. I watched "I, Claudius". I cleaned the beer lines, bottled up and pottered around until 1am. We sat in bed and breathed a sigh of relief. Oh yes, I phoned Dad and he seemed a bit low.

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Monday February 3, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Phoned Ken Gilbertson at the brewery who told me we are having a couple here (relief managers) Mr & Mrs Kennedy, from Blyth, Northumberland. Later, Ally phoned them to discuss the catering whilst we are away. Ally also went to see Maureen about the Procter & Gamble cleaning gear, but  M isn't impressed. Maureen sprays 'Pledge' around as though she's addicted to it. Audrey came in cursing Chris. They were both supposed to work together yesterday afternoon but he didn't come in until 1pm, when he sauntered in with a bar of chocolate. His performance was poor and he left with an auntie before 2:30. He's totally useless, she says. However, Audrey tends to exaggerate. _______. Chris will have to be told. Life in the Moorhouse Inn is very much like ancient Rome.  Margaret worked tonight. She had a few problems last night with Jim Stone and Mick Marsh, who came in pissed up and looked like trouble. She refused them drink and off they went. They both returned today with their tails between their legs.

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Sunday February 2, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Sexagesima

Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

To Horton early and got to Dad's for 10:30 or so. Bless him, he had roasted a joint of beef and was mixing cheese sauce. The table was set, napkins etc, for lunch. I am always overcome by the feeling of the place. Mum is everywhere. Neighbour Frances came in for a chat. It was bitterly cold. Dad went out to 'attack' Charlie about a hideous erection he has placed on Dad's land without permission. He was furious. We ate at 12 and then Samuel went for a nap in Dad's bed. Photographs of us all hang everywhere. Ally and I drove out to the Cross Streets Inn, which was closed and then to the Gamecock at Austwick. Very homely. Dad and Mum were frequent visitors. On to the Helwith Bridge - quite busy with a warm atmosphere, though the owner is a tatty individual. Back to Dad's for 2. We sat around the fire until 10:30pm. Sam was very good and went back to Dad's bed at 7. Home to the pub for 12. 

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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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.)

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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'. 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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