Thursday February 22, 1979

_.  The Duchess of Kent is not pregnant - Fred [Manby] has this information directly from York House, her London home. Her cancellation of various public engagements is due to ill health. Happy 46th birthday, your Royal Highness all the same.

A funny night. Peter and I went to the Shoulder, as usual, at 8 o'clock. Chippy was working at the asylum until 9:30 and so we sat about drinking our traditional ale and waited.  Unfortunately, he never materialised, and Peter became quite agitated, and drove desperately around in search of him, from the Shoulder to the asylum, and even to his home. Mrs Ash said he'd left work at 9:30. Peter was like a petrified sheep. _______________ .

I'm a bit fed up of Oakwood Hall. It's far nicer to accompany a young lady to the place instead of relying on a pack of pissed -up whores to take a shine to one when one actually walks through the door half canned, bleary of eye and obviously on the 'pick up'.

Honestly, the older I get the harder it is to chat up the talent. This is because the talent is growing younger and younger. Blimey, most of them nowadays never even saw the 1950s.

Anyway it was to Oakwood Hall with Peter until 2am. Met and danced with another Sarah. She was horribly drunk and had no recollection of seeing me at Oakwood on February 8. Not pissed-up myself.

-=-

Monday February 19, 1979

_. A restless night. The wine at Pudsey and the late hour of retiring had a knackering effect, YP was dull.

The Duke of Westminster, possibly the wealthiest man in Britain, died today aged 68. Earl Grosvenor succeeds, and his wife, the former Natalia Phillips, is not 20 until May. When did we last have a teenage duchess, I wonder? Natalia is a daughter of Lt-Col Harold Phillips, the Queen's great friend, and a granddaughter of Lady Zia Wernher, &c. Her sister is the Marchioness of Hamilton, destined to be Duchess of Abercorn. And on the subject of duchesses I should say something about the Duchess of Kent. A few weeks ago it was reported that her figure had expanded. The Daily Telegraph even published a photo. Then, she cancelled a public engagement and instead the duke took her place. She will be 46 on Thursday. Can HRH be pregnant? I'd be surprised, but it must be remembered she had a miscarriage in October, 1977, which proves that her equipment must still be in fairly reasonable working order. I think she is too old. Besides, wouldn't it be dangerous? [You budding gynaecologists out there can probably settle this one for me].

Meanwhile, that breathing Aphrodite, Princess Michael of Kent, is laid up at Kensington Palace awaiting the birth of her first child in April.

Watched 'Fawlty Towers' tonight. John Cleese is a genius.

-=-

Monday October 10, 1977

Margaret Thatcher: party conference in Ibiza?

The valiant Margaret Thatcher is loading her guns in readiness for the Tory conference which opens at Brighton tomorrow. Why do they insist upon holding these stupid gatherings in hideous 19th century watering places? Surely, if little me can can manage a fortnight in Ibiza then the great bulwark of the Conservative party machine can surely do the same? I can understand the feeble Liberal party holding its annual circus on English soil because they are rather dull, aren't they?

The Duchess of Kent left hospital yesterday looking well and smiling. It was the duke's 42nd birthday. They are such a loving, close couple and the children all seem so nice. The 'Princess Margaret sort' are all very well, but our monarchy would not survive if all members of the Royal Family were like her.

Saw television which was quite dead. Also kept on with 'The Count of Monte Cristo' which has drifted from the original theme somewhat but I refuse to be defeated.

Phoned Tony. He said he's been 'let down' at the weekend and that he'd not taken Toni (confusion) for dinner at all. "We had a party at the flat instead" he said.  ________________.Heard from Martyn. He started work at Samuel's today.

-=-

Thursday October 6, 1977

Squash with Sarah. I don't ache quite as much as I did last week, but still feel as though it isn't for me. I despise physical exercise and all that goes with it. The sweaty changing rooms, the showers, rowdy young men who can only talk about football. It just isn't Michael Rhodes. But, as I told Tony on the phone on Tuesday,  Sarah and I play squash quite simply for sexual reasons. Yes, the game is over by 7.30 and it gives us three or four hours afterwards to indulge in more normal activities in the lounges of pubs _______.

Sarah: discussed relationships

From the Leisure Centre we went to the Commercial where we sat in a corner and discussed our relationships. She talked about Lynne Mather, and looked me straight in the eye and said: "you had me worried there because I thought you were going to go off and marry her." She told me she could never marry because it would be a crime to inflict herself on some poor man. I said she was talking rot, but she stuck to her guns, adding how "sweet" it was of me to be so nice and understanding. ________.

We saw Annie (Lindley) who said I was paralysed on Saturday. We also had a few words with American Carol (Shires) who told me she is going to marry in May. She looked painfully thin and ill, but was friendly and enquired after the whole family. We came back home for coffee (or was it tea?) at 10.30 and saw David's engagement party photographs. Sarah sat and screamed with laughter at them.

The Duchess of Kent suffered a miscarriage - as expected and is to remain in hospital until early next week. What a damn shame. So the three royal Silver Jubilee babies are reduced to two. Ah well.

-=-

Wednesday October 5, 1977

To work today with Jim and Jennie Rawnsley. I could almost see Jim shivering in terror as his eight year-old daughter commanded him to 'overtake the bright yellow car in front. It might be Miss Higginbottom, my history teacher'. ______.

Duchess: abortion.

The Duchess of Kent crisis continues. The Archbishop of Canterbury is now involved and keeps making short visits to the hospital, no doubt to persuade the religious duchess that it would not be wrong to under go some sort of procedure  to terminate her pregnancy. We know what the opinions the duchess has on the subject of abortion and I can understand the torment she must be going through. However, the life of the mother is far more important to that of an unborn child. All you Roman Catholics can now rip out this page and eat it.

Norman Conquests.

Just watched TV tonight. Saw an Alan Ayckbourn play 'The Norman Conquests' starring Penelope Keith and Richard Briers which is first class - for a change. The quality of television plays is usually disgustingly low and I was delighted to se something well done. I think Penelope Keith is marvellous and cannot understand where she's been hiding for the past 20 years. Isn't it strange how these actress, and not particularly young ones, suddenly emerge from obscurity overnight?

Tuesday October 4, 1977

Sarah and I passed lunchtime together. We went to the Art Library and she took out three or four books on pottery and potting for her 'O' level evening class before going on to Malcolm's (sandwich shop) where we inadvertently robbed the assistant of the price of two egg mayonnaise sandwiches.

Back at the YP we phoned the (Leeds) Playhouse and booked to see 'Twelfth Night' by a man called Shakespeare on November 10.

The remainder of the day went by quite blissfully and nothing much more happened, except for perhaps two things. Christine phoned to say she's asked Philip Knowles to take her back, and that she expects a reply within the next few days. I expressed my surprise and hope that all will be well in the end. Poor Philip. I talked her out of this idea over the last Christmas season. Will he be dropped again?

Duchess of Kent.

The other thing. The Duchess of Kent is probably going to lose the baby she was expecting in February. The duke, who flew out to Iran yesterday, came rushing home today and took his wife to the King Edward VII Hospital, where no doubt her pregnancy will cease in the next few days. I've said all along that 44 is a bit on the old side for such a venture. All the remaining pregnant royal ladies will be quaking in their maternity smocks tonight. Poor, poor duchess.

Rang Tony tonight just to mention Muswell Hill, and just as I thought he has a prior engagement. He says he's taking Toni to some joint for dinner and a dance afterwards. ________.





-=-

Tuesday June 28, 1977

Decent weather for a change. Going down the lane on my journey to the metropolis I was stunned by the sight of vast quantities of nettles in the hedgerows. I decided to set about making nettle wine. "Oh Goody!" I thought to myself: "I can hardly wait to get started!" Subsequently, after tea on this bright, sunny evening I marched out armed with protective rubber gloves and a red plastic bucket on my quest for the most succulent nettles. After half an hour I was more than laden and my wine-making began. In fact I was boiling nettles until long after sun-set and by midnight my part of the creation was complete and the rest was in the capable hands of Mother Nature.

Ruth Ellis.

I did manage to see a bit of television. A documentary on Rubens, the 16th century painter and decorator, and a documentary on Ruth Ellis, the last young lady to die by the rope in these weak-kneed Isles. If I had my way a good many more women would receive the distinction of swinging by the neck from the gallows. Those pretty IRA lady bombers would go for a start. No doubt about it, they knew how to treat criminals in the 1950s.

Retired to bed at about midnight with Burke's Peerage. Did you know that the Duchess of Kent is descended from Oliver Cromwell? (If not then you haven't studied these diaries carefully enough because I've told you before). Felt exhausted and fell to sleep with the bedroom light blazing, only to be discovered by Mama at 3.30am. What was she doing prowling around the house at that God forsaken time?

-=-

Friday June 24, 1977

Met Dave B at 1 o'clock and went to Parker's (wine bar) where we see Delia, Sarah, Marilyn and Barbara Wheeler. We had a couple of drinks. Dave chats with Stephanie Ferguson who is in with Linda Shaw and Jo, the editor's 'fallen secretary', who leaves this afternoon.

Duchess: pregnant at 44.

Sarah and I went back to the office at 2 to relieve Carol J who also went over to Parker's to annoy Jo, and no doubt get pissed up. I intended having a quiet afternoon but the phone rang and Sarah spoke to the York Office who want everything we've got on the Duchess of Kent. They say she's pregnant. I just do not believe it. The woman is 44 years-old. Speak to the news desk and yes it is confirmed. Three royal babies before next February. Quite startling really but great news to the ears of one who relishes the spread of the Royal House of Windsor.

Tony returned from the wilds of Hampshire today. He and Martyn came up tonight and the three of us went off to the Bod. Sue (WH Smith of Bradford Sue), Michelle and Co. are in the pub but I'm not too communicative. Michelle tells me she is going to Morocco tomorrow. I just smile and say "nice" but really think going to such a place can only be a mistake. She could end up in the harem of King Hassan. Poor child, she is so naive too.

Tony is fit and cheerful. Pete M, Chris and Steve Hudson came in at 10.30. We left at 11.

-==-

Wednesday November 24, 1976

Sarah says she thinks Peter [Baker] is a damned liar and can never trust him & that the whole relationship is on the rocks. Do you know why I am so content in that miserable dead-end hole, the [Yorkshire Post] library? I'll tell you. It's because of Sarah Elizabeth Collis. I'm sure I must love her. She is very much aware that I worship her. Funny, isn't it?

Tony rings tonight and enquires about my movements over the weekend. It's the first time I've heard from him since Saturday when he, Martyn and Stuart disappeared from Oakwood Hall at 1am or so. He says Stuart wasn't feeling too well and an emergency exit was necessary.

See the [British] Film Awards on TV. The Duchess of Kent actually went onto the stage and made a brief speech at the end of the show. An unusual move for royalty. They normally stand up, wave, and clear off.

-==-

Tuesday November 25, 1975

She came today. The Duchess of Kent that is. I had a marvellous view of the spectacle and was in the reception lobby when she arrived. She dashed in through the main door and the managing director and his cronies fell upon her like a pack of wolves. She was quite nice about it though, and came through it unruffled.

Carol J and I were on the front line and when HRH started her 'walk about' we were in direct line of fire. She came straight for me and I went weak at the knees. Carol was squealing with a mixture of terror and delight. She decided not to question me, but bombarded one of the little joiners. She couldn't have stood much nearer to me if she'd tried. So slim, blond and attractive. I have quite fallen for her. What's more, Carol says we are on at least four photographs with her. Fame at last! Photographed with the only daughter of a Yorkshire baronet who just happened to marry the shy, little cousin of Elizabeth Windsor. Who'd have thought it? Oh, if my grandmother could see me now. Aaargh. It's all too bloody much.

Meanwhile, back to reality. How at the usual time for the usual tea with the usual people. Mum says she'll tell everyone at work that I've captured the heart of a duchess. Let's not over do it, Mother.

Ring Carole who's at Maria's place. At 8.30 we go for a walk in the rain round Tranmere. Arguing again. We mean no ill will by these attacks on one another, but I somehow can't help it. She brings out my devilish, argumentative nature.

Carole is a Scorpio, which probably accounts for our fiery relationship.

-==-

Monday November 24, 1975

Top people were prowling around the office this afternoon making sure that all is in readiness for tomorrow's royal visit. They've put new carpet in the lift, and all our desks have been polished for the first time since the Prince of Wales visited in 1970.

Royal visits certainly give the chiefs galloping Ooojahs. All the things they've been putting off for years are done, as if by magic, overnight.

Kathleen, who won't curtsey, has bought a brand new wardrobe especially for it and I've noticed quite a few abnormally decently dressed reporters crawling around the office.

Tuesday November 18, 1975

Another bright, wintry day. Almost like January or February really.

Busy day at the office. I make sure that the Duchess of Kent's cuttings and pictures are all in order for next Tuesday. She will be coming through the library and I have warned everyone that I intend bowing if the need arises. Rabid socialist Kathleen says she will never curtsey, which to me seems childish, and she amused me by saying I really ought to take down my chart showing the order of succession to the throne. 'It might dishearten her to see it', she said. I am sure that the duchess is well aware of the position held by her husband and children in relation to the Throne.

The Daily Mail makes me sick. The Daily Mail Diary especially deserves my wrath. The Prince of Wales may be a 'self-confessed Romeo' but why should that give licence to the press to open up a 'let's expose Prince Charles's sex-life campaign'. Every day without fail they tell how the prince can be found in the bar at Annabel's, the London disco, with a vodka and lime in one hand and a blond deb(utante) in the other. OK, so he does have sexual urges like the rest of us, but why plague us to death with the details? It's not even as though any of these women will get him in the end. The latest to be named is blond, nubile Claire Leveson, sister of Lady Hopetoun. I'm saying no more but I thought I'd tell you just in case he springs an engagement on us all. I wouldn't like to think the prince had popped the question without my having given you any prior warning.

Carole rings at 5.30 to say she bought the black dress we saw in Miss Selfridge a week last Saturday. It really is nice, and she intends covering her Aphrtodite-like form with it on Thursday. Sue and Pete are coming out with us tomorrow for a few celebratory drinks, and of course Lynn and Dave are joining me for a pernod party on the birthday in question.

Lynn was ________when I showed her the locket I bought Carole. She told me it looked cheap. A cruel, hard piece she can be at times. Do nothing all evening other than watch snatches of a Doris Day epic. Saw the BBC news about three times.

Yet another bomb exploded in London tonight. One can hardly go for a scampi and chips these days without returning home with shell-shock and a leg missing.

--==--

Thursday October 2, 1975

Excitement at work this morning. As ever, I was going through the Court Circular quenching my daily thirst for knowing what Her Majesty has been up to, and to my great surprise I see that the Duchess of Kent is to visit the Yorkshire Post on November 25. I know that over the years I have said horrible, unforgivable things about Yorkshire's own Royal duchess, but I can assure you that I've out-grown this childish phase now. The duchess does a brilliant job, and I must state categorically that the stories I wrote about her were nothing more than figments of my imagination. My vendetta against the House of Kent is over.

To Leeds in a thunderstorm with John at 7.30 and we meet about six lads in a despicable pub called the 'Tam O' Shanter' or something. After winding our way up the Headrow we end up in Cinderella's in something of a dislocated, drunken fashion. Raymond ends up grovelling on the floor, and Dave, the groom-to-be, is with a sizeable wench in a red dress. If his intended looks anything like that object I sincerely feel for him in his last week of freedom. John and I get a taxi from Cinderella's at 2am, and the thing cost £3.30. Split between the two of us it wasn't all that tragic. Slept soundly after devouring a sandwich.

-==-

Tuesday March 18, 1975

Quite a day of excitement really. That treasured relic of the Parliamentary system, namely Uncle Harold, announced today that the Labour government is in favour of our nation remaining a member of the Common Market. I can't really see why he made such a fuss about it in the first place. The one good thing which the late Mr Heath did was to obtain our membership of the E.E.C. and at the time I thought it was most childish of Uncle Harold to say he'd bring us out. Anyway, the so-called referendum will decide categorically what we're going to do - but if both Conservative and Labour parties think we should stay in, I fail to grasp why we have been consulted at all. I'm intending ignoring the referendum when it comes. Futile things like this should be of no concern to the general public at all. It's a bloody disgrace really.

Snowed again today. Weird weather. Went for a jog around Leeds at lunchtime. Consumed a couple of sandwiches in Park Square and made several useless attempts to lay hands on a copy of 'Private Eye'.

The editor ran around the library in a flap this morning shouting 'Sheila Viscountess Devonport' in a hurried voice at irregular intervals. No news cuttings were to be found on the dear, noble lady, but I did lay hands on a photo, dated 1952. 'Devonport. Sheila Viscountess D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T. Lady S-H-E-I-L-A Devonport. She's a viscountess. A peeress. L-A-D-Y S-H-E-I-L-A-D-E-V-O-N-P-O-R-T'. OK, we get the message. We enquire exactly what's happened to the peeress to cause such a panic. He says she's been kidnapped by the Black Panther, and leaves the library laughing hideously. Clearly not a devotee of the aristocracy. We later discover that she's only been forced out of her home in the early hours of the morning, and that no harm has befallen her at all. No doubt you're overjoyed on hearing this.

The Duchess of Kent was in Leeds today on university business.

See a Cary Grant and Doris Day film on BBC2 and stagger to bed at about 11 with P.G. Wodehouse, after listening to Uncle Harold talking a load of old rubbish on the late night news. It's really terrible the way he's trying to hoodwink everyone over this referendum nonsense.

-==-

Monday January 13, 1975

At the YP all day. Sarah is strangely subdued and almost sharp with us. Probably because Kathleen is off, and the heavy mantle of responsibility weighs too heavily on her slender shoulders. Sarcastic sod, aren't I?

Whilst waiting for the bus this evening I did comprehend an amusing sight. Christopher Monckton, the heir to that glorious viscountcy, marching down the central reservation of the dual carriageway on Wellington Street, rotating his umbrella at a fantastic speed, as though something sinister and unnatural possessed his very soul. I smiled all the way home.

Heard on the news briefly this morning that the IRA planned to kidnap the Prince of Wales several months ago but then changed plans without any explanation. It's an impossibility. The security surrounding the prince is so tight that even his own grandmother would be unable to nab him.

A man rang me today and asked me if the ventriloquist Arthur Worsley is the father of the Duchess of Kent. Can you imagine it? Arthur Worsley and his dummy - parents of the Duchess of Kent? I pretended to be unsure on this one, and went away sniggering to look in Burke's Peerage. He, the befuddled member of the public, seemed quite surprised when I informed him that HRH's father was Sir William Worsley, 4th Baronet. What a laugh.

What can have happened to Marita? Hang on folks whilst I go ring her. All will be revealed herein. Now then, where shall I begin? MM moved into his own residence before the weekend, and so the letter I posted today will have gone to the wrong house. Marita is going down by train next Friday evening and wants to know if Christine and I are going down with her. Super idea it seems to me.

Mum and Dad go to Esholt and the girls go to bed. Strange having no visitors for a change. Dave and Peter are almost permanent fixtures these days.

See TV all evening. Retire at 11.50 after writing to MM again, for the second time today. My first letter went to Horndean Rd which he vacated last week. My chat with Marita was the first one since the New Year.

-==-

Friday December 13, 1974

Princess Marina, Duchess of Kent, born 1906. Friday the Thirteenth. I'm not saying I'm superstitious in any way, but one must always be careful on these days. Undoubtedly, if being terrified of walking under a ladder is classed among superstitious things I'm the world's leading superstitious person - but to my mind, not walking under a ladder is an inbred thing, and besides, one may as well be on the safe side.

Go to the Hare in Kevin Teale's Bedford van. The place is done out for the coming festivities and Sandra L informs me that she's leaving tonight. Horror of horrors. The place won't be the same without a Lawson behind the bar. In one way or another I am with Sandra for the majority of the evening - leaving the others to their own devices. John goes off with his old school pals to Ilkley, on a whoreing expedition. We, that is Keith, Chris, Carol, Andy, Linda, Dave, Lynn, George, Jane, Christine Dibb and dear Christine White - all go to the Commercial. From this little but comfortable abode we move on to Wikis, where I use one of Dave B's spare cards. Don't really enjoy it, but I am pleased when Kevin Teale offers me £25 for my suit. Hell, it only rushed me £25 in May, so if he buys it I will have had seven months wear out of it for no cost at all. Perhaps he was a bit pissed, but I was flattered all the same to think that somebody wanted the clothes I was stood up in.

-==-

Wednesday November 27, 1974

Nice day at work. Mess around all afternoon with Sarah. I do a spot of research after being reminded that Sarah is descended from Oliver Cromwell. She says that her mother's family stems from the marriage of General Henry Ireton and Bridget Cromwell, who were married in the midst of the Civil War. Sarah is quite thrilled when I inform her that the Duchess of Kent is a great-great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter of the same Mr Cromwell. You may well remember that not long ago I was forever tarnishing the Royal House of Kent in a derogatory and cruel way. The poor duchess of that noble line doesn't deserve any of the nasty insinuations I have levelled against her over these months. Never again will I be so childish to say such things.

See in the morning papers that the Earl of Lichfield is not to remain the gay bachelor we all imagined he would. It seems that Lady Leonora Grosvenor, daughter of the Duke of Westminster, is the lucky, and extremely wealthy bride-to-be. Sarah was most down-hearted that he was out of the running. She fancied herself as Lady Lichfield. Not that she's ever met his Lordship...

The buses home are hours late again. Don't get in until 6.30. Still no word from Worcester. I'd hate to have to pay the full train fare when it would only rush me £3 with Dave's pass. Well, that's life I suppose. On the whole it's been a terrible day. Hail, rain, bloody wind, and more bloody wind being the prominent factors involved.

-==-

Wednesday October 2, 1974

Terrible day, with no end of rain from morning till night. Get a bit of soaking at 8 whilst leaving for the YP, but Mr Rawnsley picked me up before the deluge had any real effect. However, I did feel the full force of the torrents whilst coming back up the lane tonight.

October is forecast as a bloody awful month. Home at 6 to find Mum is unwell and has spent the afternoon in bed. She looks a bit peaky and has done for the past week.

See 'Carry On Spying' then depart upstairs for a bath. All night I've been desperate for something good to read.

Today I attempted to join Leeds Library but they wouldn't let me have any books until I can prove that I am actually Michael Rhodes. I was unable to do so today. I intend going back tomorrow with my driving licence. John and crowd go out, but I decide not to, due to severe financial difficuties. I'll have some fun tomorrow when Marita and I go for a drink somewhere.

Saw Philip Knowles on the bus. We had a laugh and he gave me information about Christine. One of these days I'll bump into Miss Braithwaite whilst on one of my scrounging trips around the banks in Leeds fair city.

Kathleen says she caught a glimpse of Princess Margaret when she was in London and says she looked shocking. People are always nasty about poor Margaret, but I see nothing wrong with her at all. She's far better than the Duchess of so-called Kent. See in the paper that Prince Andrew's been to France on an exchange holiday, he went round telling people he was from a landowning family, and that his mother was no-working! Her Majesty a non-working person indeed!

-==-

Thursday March 7, 1974

PEOPLE I DO NOT LIKE VERY MUCH IN PUBLIC LIFE:-

1. The Right Honourable James Harold Wilson, MP.

2. Max Bygraves.

3. Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Kent.

4. All Labour MPs.

-==-

Wednesday December 5, 1973

The train to Leeds is getting hideous. More and more people have to stand, and when petrol rationing comes in it can only get worse. The train will be even worse on Tuesday, when the railworkers go slow. What a state this nation is in.

See in the YP that Sir William Worsley, father of the Duchess of Kent, died at Hovingham last night. The new owner of Hovingham Hall is Sir Marcus Worsley, 5th Baronet, who is 49. I do not pretend to be a keen admirer of the Worsley clan, but the late Sir William was born on April 5, and for that reason alone he deserves a mention.

At 1.0 I meet Chris and Laura at the Jubilee, near the Town Hall, a pleasant half an hour. For lunch I had 2 egg and cress sandwiches.

The honeymoon of Pcss. Anne and Capt. Phillips ended today and they began an official visit to Ecuador in South America. The couple were all bronzed with the sun, and Mark looked quite pleased with himself. I am afraid to say the princess looked somewhat sullen.

Tv boring all evening. Bed 11.0pm.

-==-