_.Uncle Harry arrived this morning at dawn and I had an encounter with him in the steam filled bathroom. He is so thin, and emaciated, like Gandhi in fact.
To work really early, which shocked Kathleen. At lunchtime to Da Mario's with Sarah and Eileen, and had a good nosh, but spent almost four English pounds, far too excessive.
Tonight Uncle Harry wanted to eat fish and chips. The seclusion of a broken down caravan on the windswept coast of Cumbria is no place for an intelligent Yorkshireman wo actually understands the problems of the Middle East and Palestine. He should perhaps be President Carter's secretary of state. I was so impressed by his knowledge of the Balfour Treaty of 1922. Poor Harry like many Rhodeses is wasted. A life of ridiculous waste. Am I going in the same direction perhaps?
Jim, Margaret, Lynn, Dave and Ally came over. We all discussed the dreaded Yorkshire Ripper, and attacked again on Monday in Bradford. Ally seems to have taken it very much to heart. She's terrified.
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The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
Showing posts with label 1922. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 1922. Show all posts
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Saturday August 31, 1985
Moorhouse Inn Hilda: blue. Wet day. The marriage of Diane Gadsby and Paul Anthony Edwards at Pudsey St Lawrence. Ally went off at 8:30am to...

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Moorhouse Inn 2nd Sunday in Lent with dear Phyllis. Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of ...
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Moorhouse Inn Cold and quiet. Dave Glynn phoned tonight but Ally and I were in the cellar, and when we phoned back Lily said that David has...