Monday June 10, 1974

Wake at 8.15 with Hugo licking my face. Such a sweet dog he is. Have eggs and bacon for breakfast, and set out for north London in pouring rain to do a days work. Spend an hour up to our ankles in deep mud before John calls off the work and we leave for Windsor.

Hear on the 12.30 news that the Duke of Gloucester is to be buried in St George's Chapel later this week - which means that he's either dead or they've decided to dispose of him without waiting for him to go. Every time I come to Windsor a member of the Royal Family dies.

Me and the "Two Johns" go to Beaconsfield, where we tidy a garden up for a couple of hours, having a laugh with a horrible machine which is supposed to collect the mown grass - it nearly kills Uncle John. Back to Windsor at 6 for an evening meal of chicken with Sheila. Chicken. Mum rings at 6.30 and I speak to her for 4 or 5 minutes - they had a good time in Norfolk and I promise to ring them tomorrow. See the 9 o'clock news. The Duke of Gloucester is to be buried in Windsor on Friday - which should, in Uncle John's words - be 'something to write home about'. Also hear that the new duchess is pregnant - though it is as yet unofficial. Go to the Vansittart Arms with Uncle J and J, where the elder J tells us his life story. Back at 10.30. Bed at 11.30.

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Sunday June 9, 1974

Trinity Sunday. Up at about 11. Have a nice breakfast and go with John to the castle, leaving Uncle John and Auntie Sheila to do the laundry work, etc. We walk around the castle, peering through the fence into the private apartments - our curiosity enhanced by the fact that the Queen is in residence - and stand for ages watching a squirrel busily feeding at the foot of one of the battlements. At 3 we take a boat trip to Bovney (?) Lock, down the Thames, which is very boring, and I have a wild sneezing attack, almost like hay fever, which ruins the remainder of the day. We proceed, after our next excursion, to devour half a pound of cherries, then walk part of the Long Walk - with the castle at one end and the statue of George III (the 'Copper Horse') at the other.

John and I go to the Donkey House pub at 8.30 and I persuade J to leave before closing time because of my allergy. See Lord Peter Wimsey on tv.

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Saturday June 8, 1974

Up only hours after leaving Wikis. Rain is the first thing we encounter on drawing back the curtains. Bid farewell to the family and off to London go John and I. Arrive after 1 and John and Sheila are waiting for us in Victoria Coach Station. John and I go on to Windsor in the back of a rickety old car with a huge, loveable Labrador, Hugo, to keep us amused. Thus begins our holiday with dear John and Sheila in beautiful Windsor, the seat of Kings.

(As you are aware I do not write masses whilst holidaying).

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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 September 13, 1973

Grandfather's send off. Go to Benton Park in the morning and come home at 12.0. Mother, Dad and I leave for Pudsey to collect grandfather's oldest friend, Joe Dickinson. He seems upset when he gets in the car, and Dad diplomatically keeps him talking to prevent him dwelling on the sadness. Arrive at Liversedge, or was it Heckmondwike (?) at 1.30. The four of us go for a coffee. See Uncle Harry at 1.45.

The day is somewhat cold and overcast and the five of us go into the local park in order to kill time before 2.30. Auntie Janet comes running into the park to tell us that Auntie Jadwega is coming on the bus (from Nottingham) to Heckmondwike, where we can then meet her. By 2.30 she is still nowehere to be seen. We can do nothing but leave for the chapel of rest without her. Uncle Joe, Auntie Ethel, Jeremy and Janet and young Nicholas are coming down the street with Uncle John and Auntie Sheila. Arrive chapel for brief prayers. Grandma, looking very brave, with her sons, arrives. Thus, we are all assembled. Still no Auntie Jadwega.

Go to the crematorium, where Auntie Dorothy is waiting. No Uncle Les or family. Terrible service - the Salvation Army. It's not as though I have any prejudice against the Salvation Army, but they made it such a theatrical affair. It's not as if Grandfather ever possessed a tamborine. The cremation was terrible. All ultra-modern and repulsive.

It appealed very much to my sense of humour when, at the end, a hymn came on the record player and the curtains were drawn across the coffin. Somewhat like a Dave Allen sketch on tv. One cannot beat a good traditional burial. Auntie Janet was screaming at the end.

Leave at 3.10 for Grandma's at Nelson St, Liversedge, where about 20 members of the Rhodes family are gathered. Auntie Dorothy went immediately home of course. Pandemonium! Auntie Jadwega arrived in a taxi at 3.15 - all in black with a massive black umberella. (She's the Polish-born wife of Dad's brother, Uncle Bert). She was very distressed of having missed the funeral of her father-in-law. Still half in and half out of the taxi she was shouting in her thick Polish accent: "Oh I could cry. We go first to Wakefield, then to Barnsley Oh so slowly. I vos so mad." The noise she was making had everybody out on the street and Grandma with Auntie Janet came to investigate. She bounded from the car and embraced Grandma. "Oh I am so fumigated!" (I think she meant to say she was 'fuming' with rage and not fumigated.) Poor Auntie Eddy (her nickname) had come all the way from Nottingham only to remain at Grandma's for 10 minutes, clutching her big umberella between her massive knees. I think she must be 16st.

Anyway, I hope she really didn't mean 'fumigated' or else our house is lousy today. I may joke, but I love her really. Leave at 3.45. Take poor Joe Dickinson home and bring Auntie Jadwega back to Pine Tops for tea. Spend a quiet night. Mum is being experimented on by Aunt Jadwega, who is a masseuse.

After Dad had taken Eddy for her train at 8 he went out for a drink with Mum and Uncle Harry, my favourite uncle on Dad's side of the family. They came home at 12.0. with loads of drink, and we all sat until 2am. Uncle H stayed the night.

What a day!

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