Tuesday February 11, 1975

Foggy day. See in the papers that the good old Prime Minister will propose a pay rise for the Queen and the other people on the Civil List either today or next week. Good old Harold. It's the one good thing he's done in his first year in office. He can't be such an old sod really. He only pretends he's one.

Margaret Hilda Thatcher is now Head of the Conservative party and Leader of Her Majesty's Opposition. She beat Mr Whitelaw by about 50 votes. Truly a historic occasion and I think nothing but good can come of it. Whether she'll ever become Prime Minister is another matter altogether. Good Old Harold looks like seeing the 1970s out.

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Tuesday January 7, 1975

Wake at about 8.30 feeling slightly better, but do not intend going back to the office until it has cleared up entirely. Mum, in her infinite wisdom, says that the doctor really ought to visit me instead of vice versa, but on ringing she discovers that he's far too bogged down with other cases to find the time for me.

I lay in bed with the radio banging away in my left ear 'ole until lunch. In the midst of Johnny Walker's show one of the news features holds a story on the horror of horrors, Anthony Wedgwood Benn. I was relieved to hear a top authority on politics say that Mr Benn is far too rebellious ever to become Prime Minister. A sad day it would be indeed if it dawned with Lord Stansgate behind the door in no. 10 Downing Street. Even fat, little Harold Wilson is better than him one hundred fold.

See in the morning paper that little Lady Jane Wellesley is now escorting James Balfour, the estranged husband of Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia. Over in France the Paris newspapers still carry futile, impossible stories about her and the Prince of Wales. There is no doubt in my mind that His Royal Highness gave her the push months ago - and rightly so. Never did like the idea of her being Queen Jane. (Correction: I have just called the husband of Princess Elizabeth of Yugoslavia James Balfour. In fact he's Neil Balfour, and I apologise deeply to all the relatives of the 20th century Prime Minister).

Later: a plane hijacked at Heathrow by a mad Arab is, at this moment, preparing to fly to Stansted Airport which has been disguised to look like a 'typical French airport'. The demented Arab wants to go to Paris, but Mr Giscard d'Estaing won't let the plane enter France. How they are going to make Stansted look like France I do not know.No doubt they'll get a crowd of men in berets, bicylces, and festoon them with strings of onions, playing old Maurice Chevalier records over the loud speakers. We shall see.

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Saturday December 28, 1974

Death of Mary II, 1694. Feeling quite well, which is unusual for Saturday mornings. Lynn and I sit listening to the radio until 8.0am. This John Stonehouse case is a right bloody fiasco. It makes one wonder just how many other vice-ridden, corrupt sods flock each day to the Palace of Westminster to help govern this nation of ours. It's a nasty embarrassment for 'Uncle' Harold and his so-called Labour party.

Work until 3.30 when I decide to pack up and go. I was only half an hour early - no catastrophe.
John, Sheila and cousin Valerie came after tea, and John and I only had a few minutes with them before departing for Horsforth. The Ratcliffe party commences in the evening and is a tremendous success. The clan meet in the Fleece, a nice little ale house which we rarely visit throughout the drinking year. See June. We don't speak. Miss Bottomley fails to excite my emotions like she did once upon a time.

The party is underway by 10.30 and goes on until 11 the following morning. I can't remember much about the occasion at all, though I do recall a certain enjoyable experience with Christine Braithwaite. I gradually drank myself into a state of semi-consciousness & Denny was the only one who came to my aid. We walked all over Horsforth together and I felt much better afterwards. Home with Lynn, David, Christine Dibb and Denny at 4am.

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Friday October 11, 1974

Back at the YP as usual. Surprised that Harold (Wilson) will not be seeing the Queen, who is still at Balmoral, to accept her invitation to form a government. But really, I suppose he has been Prime Minister throughout, and it would have only been necessary for him to see the Queen had he been defeated. HM must have been quite confident of a Labour victory because no plans were laid, or any attempt made, for her to return to London.

Go to Otley at 8, and meet Lynne (Mather) at half past. Acutely cold evening and we go into the pub close to the Victoria Memorial Clock. Stay till 10.30. Lynne is a very nice girl, though she reminds of June in many ways, & doesn't like going out in a crowd, which is unfortunate really. At 11, after seeing her safely onto a bus, I go to Wikis, where all the mob except Chris and Phyllis Whitethighs are assembled. Even Laura and Philip Cartwright. Get quite fresh.

See Sarah whos says her hair-do cost her £8 at Vidal Sassoons in Leeds! Bloody madness. John and Carol bump into Dave Slater and he proceeds to buy bottles of champagne and Bacardi, &c. Naturally, John and Carol become quite intoxicated. Dave Slater was already pissed up to the eye balls. We decide to come back to Pine Tops, and Dave drives me in the Bentley - a memorable journey to be sure. Sit till after 3.30.

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Thursday October 10, 1974

King Henry III born 1206. Polling Day again. John and I go (vote) in the car at about 7.30. He votes Labour, and I Liberal. I know it's shocking of me to desert the poor Tories in their hour of need, but they made such a mess of it last time I feel as though it would be almost criminal to get them elected again. YP all day. Quite busy, but nothing of importance happens. Home at 6pm and see tv until 1am. It's quite clear by midnight that 'Darling Harold' will remain Prime Minister. Go to bed feeling very tired, and fall asleep with the knowledge that the nation is now doomed to destruction under the crushing hammer of Antony Wedgwood Benn's nationalisation plans.

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Monday October 7, 1974

Weather terrible all day. Read biography of the Prince of Wales all night, with the exception of the 9 o'clock news. Denny rings after 9 to give her impressions of the letter I wrote to her on Saturday. She especially liked the bit about my not writing any more 'in case Auntie Evelyn sees this letter'. She's put one in the post for me, and I should be on the receiving end by tomorrow morning. See the election thing on the TV again, and decide that in this coming General Election I am going to vote Liberal. Neither Mr Wilson or Mr Heath have achieved anything int the past four and a half years, and I'm developing a growing admiration for Jeremy Thorpe. Besides, the liberals have had long enough out of office to have made some decisions about exactly what to do when they get in. (P.S. Harry, the driving instructor, calls after 9 to arrange my future driving lessons with him. I'm to take test on November 20, and have about six lessons before that. Should earn a few bob out of it for himself.)

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Tuesday September 24, 1974

Typical Autumn day. Very bright, sunny, but cold and chilly.

Nothing in the newspapers worth mentioning, though the electioneering bumf is once more rolling off the Press. Anthony Crosland attacked dear old Margaret Thatcher, who, if I remember correctly, abolished school milk and performed a great, kind service to the millions of little milk-haters throughout the United Kingdom.

Mother says she's lost heart with creepy little Harold (Wilson), and intends placing her vote with Mr Thorpe on Oct 10th.

Marita rings me at the YP in the morning and says she'll be at the Generation Bar in order to celebrate John's birthday tomorrow, and Denny rings in the afternoon to say the same thing. Quite looking forward to Wednesday's birthday gathering in that small ale cellar beneath the Jubilee pub close to Leeds Town Hall. With some relief on my part, though not on John's, tomorrow will see the legalisation of his drinking habits, which have gradually increased over the past 2 years.

Sit watching TV all evening. Nothing other than election rubbish, which deals with speculation that another so-called Labour peer is planning to defect to the Liberals. Harold Wilson refuses even to accept that Lord Chalfont is a member of the Labour party. Cowards way out I say.

That aristocratic drunkard, Lady Jane Wellesley, is making a name for herself in electioneering circles. Her brother Lord Douro is a Tory candidate in the Islington constituency, and she's going round the streets singing slogans and handing out leaflets. The Prince of Wales can hardly marry a girl who has led an active political life, and I suppose this is the straw that'll break the camel's back. Her drinking was bad enough, but this?


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Wednesday September 18, 1974

Brilliant day. Denny and I are up and out by 8.15 and are in London by 10am.

Very wam morning and we stand outside Buckingham Palace where a large crowd is assembled to watch the changing of the guard. A very impressive scene with the Welsh Guards follows. We go by tube to the Tower of London, where a Yeoman warder rumages through Denny's handbag looking for bombs and grenades. Have a guided tour before seeing the Crown Jewels again. the Imperial StateCrown is the ultimate in beauty.

See from the newspapers (hanging about the place) that we are going to the polls on October 10. Denny and I move on to Downing Street where a large crowd of BBC, Thames TV and ITV cameras are displayed awaiting the arrival of Mr Wilson or some other worthies. See Lady Falkender arrive and capture the event on camera for posterity. Get the tube to Westminster and stare at Big Ben and the new statue of Sir Winston Churchill which is an unsightly object. Quite exhausted we go back to Victoria and get the train to Windsor arriving back at 7.

Go for a pizza at the restaurant near Queen Victoria's statue at the head of Peascod Street and leave 10 minutes later after scoffing loads of the stuff. Sit in front of the TV all evening with John and Sheila seeing "Steptoe and Son" which gets more and more hilarious each time the series is churned out. Get some beer in from the Copper Horse pub and feel drowsy in front of the gas fire. Not at all surprised about the election date...

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Sunday September 8, 1974

Wake up snug as a bug in a rug at 10.30. A wasp settles in Dave L's hair, and the hilarity caused by Pete spraying Dave's curly mop with fly-killer will be remembered long after the events of the weekend have passed into oblivion.

Hear on the news over toast and marmalade that Harold Wilson is with the Queen at Balmoral no doubt discussing election dates and tactics. October 3 or 10 seems to be the likely choice but nobody knows which one it is other than Harold, Her Majesty and Mrs Wilson (surely he passes on these little secrets to his dear wife?).

Dave L and I go with a camera for a tramp over the moors, taking hurried shots of sheep and large fungi plants feeding off the bark of rotten trees.

Very nice afternoon and the first nice weather we've had all weekend. Dave Lawson is a great chap. I've known him since 1967 and he's never changed one iota since that time - he has physically and mentally of course - but as far as outlook, humour and general appearance - not at all. One thing's for certain. I get on with no one better than Dave, never have done.

Back from the moors at 6.15. Sit cooling feet and sipping hot tea until the end of 'Pick of the Pops' at 7 - when we have a mad half hour with the camera. Back to the pub in Linton. Fruit machines too. Dave L, Dave B, Phyllis Whitethighs and I form a syndicate on the fruit machine and manage to lose £2 between us. All heartbroken. Leave for home at about 10.15.

Back before 11. Mum and Dad are at Pudsey but I wait up for them, eating steak until 12. See the newspapers for the first time since Friday. Fantastic weekend.

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Friday June 14, 1974

Scorching hot day. Up at 8.30 after a terrible night. Far too warm for comfort. John and Sheila go off to work and I persuade John to leave the house at 10.15. See in the morning papers that the Prince of Wales is dating a 20-year-old American, Laura Jo Watkins, and she was in the House of Lords yesterday to see him make his maiden speech to the peers.

Outside Windsor Castle by 10.20. A crowd gathers to see the goings on. See Edward Heath come, then Jeremy Thorpe and finally Harold Wilson. The Royal procession leaves Victoria Barracks, and 5 princes follow the cortege: the Prince of Wales, Duke of Edinburgh, the new Duke of Gloucester, the Duke of Kent and Prince Michael of Kent. We have a perfect view of the mourners, and they process through Windsor to the castle passing John and I not 3 yards away. Didn't see the Queen because she was already at the castle before the funeral.

Because of the heat John and I return to the house, where we see the funeral on tv.

Later: we take John and Sheila to the Hart and Garter in Windsor for a meal. Very enjoyable, and the bill, excluding wine etc, is only £7.50. Home and bed at 12.

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Sunday March 17, 1974

3rd in Lent. St Patrick's Day. Out of bed at 12.30 - which is really 11.30 because we altered the clocks at 2am. Truly pathetic. Why should we always be messing about with the precious time I don't know. It seems so wasteful. I've been robbed of an hour.

Nothing much happens today - only the horrid political situation. Mr Heath and Uncle Jeremy all planning to destroy old Wilson tomorrow, and the tv people are getting excited about the possibilities of a constitutional 'nasty'. All the news bulletins are saying the same thing. What will the Queen do with Mr Wilson? Will she send for all the party leaders and let them fight it out at the palace? Quite tiresome really. Anyway, Her Majesty is far away from Buckingham Palace at this moment in time. Indonesia actually. No doubt she'll have to fly back from the clammy temperatures of wherever she is to pat little Harold on the head and say: 'Now then, what's all this then?'


Billy Don't be a Hero by Paper Lace.

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Tuesday March 12, 1974

The Queen opened Parliament today in a most unusual way. No robes, crowns or regalia of any sort. Not even the coach and horses. It's the first time since the war that the opening has taken place without pomp. Her Majesty wore the same outfit which she bedecked herself in at the Royal Wedding in November. Crowds on the Mall. No doubt Mr Wilson wanted a very quiet affair - most odd to say the least. Anyway, the infernal government were unable to do everything they promised in the manifesto___.All that nationalistation is out as well - phew!

We almost have no private companies left, and we all know how state owned companies manage, don't we? Precisely, they don't manage at all.


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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.

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Monday March 4, 1974

A very historic day today. Take breakfast at 7.30, and the radio is disapointing again, giving nothing away on the present Constitutional crisis. All they can say is that Jeremy Thorpe holds the balance of power and the result of the Liberal/Tory negotiations will be announced today. Nothing is announced in any editions of the EP, but at 6.30 the result is announced on 'Nationwide'. Poor Mr Heath, having failed to unite with the Liberals, handed his resignation to the Queen. The scene outside No, 10 was stunning. Thousands of people shouting. Women weeping. Photographers waiting for the kill like half-starved vultures. Poor Mr Heath had to face them all at 6.30. At about 8 it was announced that Her Majesty had asked Mr Wilson to form a Labour government, which he accepted. So, within the space of 90 minutes Mr Heath was gone, and Harold and Mary were braving the Press and photographers on the steps of No 10. However, I must stress the point that the Labour Government is not like the one which took office in '64 - with the slightest opposition they can be defeated in the Commons and yet another General Election will be thrust upon our poor countrymen.

Dad sits smugly in his chair saying he knew all along that Harold would get back into office. Poor Ted is no doubt quite doomed to extinction now. I cannot really see him being returned to No, 10 ever again - poor old slob - he must feel a bit. I stagger to bed sobbing my heart out (not) - a Labour Government - ugh!

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Friday March 1, 1974

St David's Day. Climb into bed after 4am cursing the fact that Wilson will probably be Prime Minister before night is with us once again. Awake at 7am feeling quite awake and unaffected by the late night. The BBC announce that deadlock exists with the result of the election. It seems as though neither party is capable of achieving the necessary 318 seats in order to obtain a working majority in the Commons. Jeremy Thorpe suddenly becomes important because he holds the balance of power between the two major parties. The poor Queen rushed home from Australasia with Princess Anne and Capt Phillips in order to let the nasty Mr Wilson kiss her hands. However, it isn't as simple as that, and by midnight no call from the palace has been made to either of the party leaders. Nothing like this has occurred since 1929 or something. I should know when, but the actual date slips my mind for the moment.

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Thursday February 28, 1974

Polling day throughout Britain today. I cast my vote at about 8.15 tonight, and believe it or not, I didn't really know who to plum for. However, the Conservatives receive my cross, and I left Hawksworth School to find the snow pounding down. A kindly gentleman gave me a lift home, and I sat back to watch the election results on tv. Mum and Dad went round to the Smiths and I joined them at 12 when everyone else had gone to bed. John fell to sleep laughing at the thought of bloody Harold Wilson moving into No. 10. At 4am I retire, completely unaware of who had achieved victory in this election. All the tv announcers were saying that stalemate had been achieved, and that no one party is capable of forming an administration. Anyway, at this time in the morning I don't care who gets into office - no doubt it will all turn out right in the end.

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Wednesday February 20, 1974

The General Election..........Harold Wilson..........Edward Heath..........Jeremy Thorpe..........General Election..........Roy Jenkins..........Rising Prices..........Nationalisation..........Wilson..........Inflation..........Anthony Wedgwood Poulson..........WG Pottinger..........Edward Heath..........Rising Prices..........Cyril Smith..........Liberals..........Opinion Polls..........Even More Liberals..........the Miners..........Fuel Crisis..........Watergate..........Henry Kissinger..........John Poulson..........Edward Heath..........Ludovic Kennedy.................................................................Marilym Monro........................................................................................................................................Maudling..................................................................

Tuesday February 19, 1974

Kathleen is worrying about the holidays this year. Everyone appears to be arranging weeks off except me. When I arrive home I discuss the details with John. We decide it would be nice to go to Windsor in June, when the Trooping of the Colour takes place of course. However, I am ignorant of the actual date upon which the Queen celebrates her official birthday this year. Anyway, I soon remedy the fact by ringing the YP library where Ray tells me that the event occurs on Saturday June 15. We make up our minds to stay with Uncle John and Auntie Sheila - all being well anyway - from June 8 to June 16. I could not miss my annual London excursion for anything in the world.

At 6.30 I had my third driving lesson.Feel much more confident than I did on last Tuesday's race around Horsforth. The bloke is a great guy. I am booked through until the end of March on the same day at the same time. If I don't pass first time round I will be resigned to the fact that I am an absolute failure.

A pleasant unusually mild day. Prince Andrew is 14 today, and I am disgusted with Yorkshire Post Newspapers for not flying the Union Jack above the building, which was so at 8.45 this morning, but at 1 o'clock when I went out for lunch, I was pleased to see the flag hoist above the bright, carefree skies of Leeds. It all goes to show that nationalism and patriotism is not yet dead in this decaying country of ours. Even the girls knew what flag flying day it was without being informed - the YP girls I mean - not my own dearest sisters.

See tv in the evening, and have a bath. The General Election is still the main topic. I am sick of hearing Harold Wilson insulting Lord Hailsham, and vice versa. Utterly sick of politics.

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Thursday February 14, 1974

Valentine's Day. This general election is making me sick. The tv can do nothing other than show Harold Wilson attacking Robin Day. The Prime Minister is spending his time walking round the Tory strongholds, bare-headed in the rain, making amiable noises to innocent shop assistants, and patting the heads of Tory babies. And where is it all getting us I ask? Jeremy Thorpe is the only decent politician left - it's a shame he doesn't stand a snowball in Hell's chance of forming a government.

A very exciting afternoon. At 1 o'clock I made my way into the Headrow in order to purchase my sandwiches from Malcolms Confectioners & Co. The shop was more than laden with gentlefolk, who were themselves pursuing the daily task of purchasing sustainance. This gathered multitude formed an orderly queue - out onto the sunlit Headrow like a peninsula or reproving finger. My person was near the end of this line, and in my idleness my eyes gazed in mild approval at the Victorian structure, commonly called the Town Hall, whilst at the same time my stomach insisted on reminding me that the ancient, noble Leeds buildings could not restore peace to the empty cavern in the hollow of my belly. My hunger was appeased by the touch of gentle female hands on the back of my neck turning my thoughts to other forms of sustainance. Yes, it was dear Sue Crosby. Such an eccentric she is! We fled like petrified sheep to the Central pub where we encountered Peter Lazenby, who still seems enamoured of dear Sue. Consumed 2 pints and a pleasant, much needed corned beef sandwich. Sue and I nearly crawled back up Wellington Street............to......work.....


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Tuesday February 12, 1974

Travel by bus again to Leeds - arriving at the YP at 8.45. Quite an exciting afternoon really because whilst I was sat typing I heard one of Mr Linacre's assistants approaching the library with several guests. "My Lord, here we have the Library", and "this way, Sir Kenneth". Sarah whispered in my direction that the Archbishop of York was standing behind me. The cleric was in fact Dr Treacey, Bishop of Wakefield. He commented on the speedy typing of the staff at the YP. The accompanying gent was Sir Kenneth Parkinson, the Yorkshire squire and socialite. Both seemed lively characters.

The funeral of ,Lady Cecilia Howard took place at Castle Howard today and her son, Henry, was banned from driving for 18 months following drunken driving which occurred on the day of Lady Cecilia's death. Mr Howard pleaded that he was distressed. To be honest, I don't know what is becoming of the landed gentry__.

The tv is dominated once again by the Prime Minister and Mr Wilson. I haven't the remotest idea who will win the election, but one thing is certain, and that is the lack of confidence of the people in the two political leaders - both have no good personal support in the nation. Let the best man win, that's what I say.

PS - The churchman in the office was in fact Dr Coggan, Archbishop of York.

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