Monday August 27, 1979

_. Bank Holiday in England, Northern Ireland & Wales

Had a late breakfast and at 12 we left for London. Within an hour we were on the steps of St Margaret's Church, Westminster, having a photo taken. We peeped through the railings at the Palace of Westminster down into the car park where Airey Neave was murdered in March. Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park was amusing but the speakers today were not very articulate and were abusive and offensive. The police outnumbered the listeners by about 10 to one. Ally picked up a blister and with her feet hanging off we took the tube to Marble Arch to collect the car.

We headed for home but wanted food, and not wanting to eat in one of the motorway concentration camps we left the motorway near Birmingham in search of a Berni Inn. However, we were shocked and horrified by two words in large print on a Birmingham Evening News newspaper stand: 'MOUNTBATTEN KILLED'. We were stunned. Especially after our weekend visit to his home. How can this have happened and in what circumstances has he died? We gulped down rump steaks and head back to the car, but the radio was knackered, crackling, and we could not hear the news.

Up the M5 to the M62 and onto Guiseley. Home for 12. Mum gave us the dreadful details. Lord Mountbatten died instantly when his cruiser was blown up in County Sligo this afternoon. His grandson, Nicholas Knatchbull died too, and other members of his family are seriously injured, including his daughter, Patricia, and her husband, Lord Brabourne, the film producer. The IRA have claimed responsibility for this ghastly act of terrorism. The Royal Family will be in a state of turmoil. The Queen is described as being 'deeply shocked' at the news. He was of course her dear 'Uncle Dickie'. Philip and the Prince of Wales worship him as a father figure. The nation is in mourning.

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Saturday August 11, 1979

_. Before retiring last night Ally and I listened to Rachmaninov's 2nd piano concerto [Maura Lympany] sprawled on the dining room carpet. We decided to go out for luncheon today - and WE DID!  At 12:30 we went into Leeds and ate steak at Jacomelli's on Boar Lane. Rare rump steak and red wine. Wonderful conversation. Ally insisted on paying for our lunch and  the £7.44 will be forever engraved upon my heart. Afterwards we walked across Leeds hand in hand gazing into shops and making the usual noises associated with 'window shopping'.

Out tonight with Ally, Dave L, and Maria. A weird combination, but we had a fun evening. Dave is always an adventurous drinker, and he took us to the Travellers Rest at Crimple. We only ever venture in that direction with David. Maria told us all the sordid details of child-bearing. _____.

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Saturday April 22, 1978

Sun rises 5:51 Sun sets 20:08

First Day of Passover (Pesach)

Up at 7am to the sound of Trixie frying breakfast and singing in her kitchen. Obviously, she suffers none of the 'morning after' effects. Peter S actually came home late last night (supposedly a rare thing for Mr Sate) and was forced to sleep on the chaise lounge, or whatever you call those French sofas with a roll at one end and no back.

After a dash round the bathroom Jacq and I went out for the 8 o'clock bus to Finsbury Park where we found the tube to Victoria. At 9:15 we got a coach to Wallingford in Oxfordshire, a 2 hour journey.

Jacq and I amused ourselves on the back seat, much to the horror of a family of hikers, who stared at us in disbelief. Some of the countryside though which we passed was stunningly beautiful. The money is thickly spread around in Oxfordshire, if you ask me.

At Wallingford we were collected by Mr George Oakes, father of the bride. The house, though being very ordinary, possessed an astounding photograph collection of members of the royal family - and all SIGNED! One photo on top of the television was a signed portrait of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. Others were spread around the sitting room from the Queen Mother, Princess Margaret, the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, Princess Alexandra, &c. It transpires that Mr Oakes was for ten years, 1966-76, secretary to the Queen's Flight.





Jacq was upstairs with Gina (the bride) and I sat drinking gin and tonic with a strange lady who is married to a relation of somebody. Brilliant sunshine erupts at 2:30, when Gina (Miss Georgina Margaret Oakes) is married to Flight Lieutenant Hugh Monroe Dawson. The ceremony was a Methodist one and I found it quite the most sincere solemnization I have yet experienced. Afterwards, at RAF Benson, we boozed and noshed. I was alone and wandering about like a lost sheep for some time because Jacq, in her capacity as bridesmaid, was for most of the time tied up with the photographer and other necessary annoyances. I was befriended by a humorous old boy, whom Jacq later labelled ACDC. He seems to have taken a shine to me.






At 7-ish we went back to the Oakes residence travelling there with Auntie Nancy and Uncle Percy. More gin and jokes followed and finally we took our leave at 10:30.

To the Green Tree pub in Wallingford where we waited for Alison's arrival.She bombed up in a sports car at about midnight and by 1am we were back in Winchester and at the Berni Inn where we met John P.

Meeting John at the Berni almost got the poor bugger dismissed because the manager's wife took offence when he served us with a drink at that time in the morning. John did chuck £3 in the till and poured the manager a brandy but all the same she took exception to this. It was an embarrassment all round.

Alison, John, Jacq and I returned to Ally's house at Martyr Worthy. John, who has worked a long shift, almost passed out with exhaustion, and at sometime after 3am we all retired.

Alison's house, though large and attractive, is not the Versailles of Lynn's tales. I fear the Rhodes imagination has run amok in this direction.

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