Wednesday January 30, 1974

Charles I was Martyred, 1649. Can't be bothered to become involved in the intricacies of everything. Work as usual, and I don't intend writing anymore.

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Tuesday January 29, 1974

Dad points out that in the present 'crisis' the Royal Family know what to do and that is to get out! It seems as though the Queen, the Duke of Edinburgh, Prince of Wales, Princess Anne and Capt Phillips are all out of the UK. Even Lord Snowdon seems to have deserted the sinking ship. However, the good old Queen Mother is still moving among us, and what we woulod do without that dear lady I shudder to think.

Quite a busy day. Typed the paper up this morning. Janice was on half-day. I am taking Thursday and intend goint to Rawdon Library and calling in at Benton Park.

Train strikes will take place next week, and I am now beginning to seriously wonder whether the whole country will live to see the first daffodil of Spring. A General Strike cannot now be avoided. Lord Carrington made suggestions that a 'Two Day Week' will be seriously considered by the Cabinet. The Confederation of British Industry says economic collapse of unprecedented proportions can only arise from such an action...and all MPs can find to argue about is whether it is immoral for a man and his wife to take a bath together! I think it's a very good thing. The poor woman who suggested the idea must think that is an original idea! All the best couples have bathed together since the beginning of time.

Mum and Dad go to Esholt at 9. Sue and I make beans on toast. See a good tv programme about Hugh Heffner, owner of the magazine 'Playboy'. Oh, what it must be like to own all that wealth!

(Greed, greed, envy envy, etc).

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Monday January 28, 1974

Nothing much today. Kathleen is now well and truly at the helm of the ship. Janice Bloody Williams will receive a mouthful of naughtiness from me before the week is over and done with. The little bitch really puts my back up. Oh, she's so superior. The poor child is taking on all the airs and graces of Carol, who is no more than a strip of a girl herself. I can tell you, it's not an easy life working with 5 bitchy females.

The Commonwealth Games are dominating the few hours of evening tv which we are permitted to see. The 10.30 deadline is quite pathetic. Poor Mr Heath looked awful on 'Panorama' tonight. Joe Gormley, Mick McGahey and all those train drivers cannot be doing his health much good. Not forgetting the miners. However, I admire the Prime Minister for showing courage and fortitude and not giving into the demands of the miners, who are controlled by a strong Communist force. My opinion is that the present dispute has nothing to do whatsoever with wage claims. Instead it's an outright attack by Marxist union men to overthrow the elected government of this country. Evidently, Mr Heath thinks so too.

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Sunday January 27, 1974

Mama is going to flog the family jewels so that she can make her annual pilgrimage to the hot climate of the Continent. Lynn and Sue will be taking Al and Christine Dibb along as chaperones.

Get up at nearly 12. Have beans on toast for luncheon then see the tv until bedtime. Monty Python closed the evening. A boring Sunday by anyone's standards and the weekend is over far too suddenly.

The selling of the family jewels seems to be the only item of excitement, and what poor Lady Crawshaw would say if she heard I don't know. You may recall from last year that Lady Crawshaw is Dad's only sister. Born Dorothy Claptrap-Rhodes she married in 1951, the Hon Leslie Muggins-Disley-Cutout, DSO, and the peerage is held by 'Aunt Dot' in her own right. She's the 18th baroness. The heir to the title is her eldest son, the Hon Robert Muggins-Cutout, educated at Trinity College, Cambridge.

The items of value in Mama's jewelry collection amount to a semi-platinum-nu-form-vinyl-type locket (Woolworths Ltd circa 1963) valued at fifteen shillings in old currency. The other main article in the Muggins Collection is a plastic, unbreakable mug (1923) commemorating the birth of Lord Harewood. The last article, is, in fact, quite priceless.

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Saturday January 26, 1974

Andy, Linda, Christine W and myself today saw 'Jesus Christ Superstar' at Yeadon. Both Christine and I had doubts about going, but we all thoroughly enjoyed it. However, it wasn't the type of musical which you could dislike. Very modern. I have a tendency to like religious films. We called in at the Clothiers before and after the film. Andy cannot remember when he last only had had 2 pints on a Saturday night. We met John, Chris and Pete Mather at 10.20, the latter bringing us home at 10.45. Unbelievably quiet for Saturday evening, but nevertheless an enjoyable one.

Saw Martin V-B and Helen Taylor in Yeadon High Street - looking a lot more more friendly than 'just good friends'. Helen looked somewhat 'put out' when I made a comment. But the poor girl saw me leaving the cinema with Christine W. The poor dear must still fancy me.

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Friday January 25, 1974

Miss Kathleen Rainford today succeeded as head librarian, Yorkshire Post Newspapers Ltd. Very busy. Anne and I spent the afternoon making photostats of the Leeds Intelligencier from June/July 1815 - 'The capture of Buonoparte', and praises of the Duke of Wellington.

Miss W (as you can see) appeared in the paper this morning - and the photograph stands as a comparison with the usual attempts of the YP photographers - hopeless. Poor Miss W -though I say it myself - looks much more pleasant than this. The poor girl didn't really want to leave.

Whilst travelling home on the train with Judith I see in the stop press that James Pope-Hennessy, the renowned author and biographer, was murdered today in his London home. The thing I remember him for is the official biography of Queen Mary, completed in 1958. The poor man died of stab wounds in hospital.

Chris rings at 7.30 and we decide to go to the Queen's in Apperley Lane. John and I are on our own until Andy, Chris, Laura and Martin (her new boyfriend) arrive at 9. We all sit in the little room with the large picture of Her Majesty over the fireplace. I think it's one of Leonard Boden's creations, and it stands as a reminder that the poor Queen is ageing along with the rest of us. What a beauty she was 20 years ago.

After 3 pints in the Queen's Martin drives us to the Emmotts. He then takes Laura to Horsforth. Give Sue Crosby a birthday kiss - can hardly believe that we have endured a year since her 18th birthday. I remember her last birthday as though it was yesterday. John and me get the 11.10 55 bus. Home at 11.40. Dad gives us a demonstration with the new kettle, and I retire at 12.30.

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Thursday January 24, 1974

I have finally rid myself of the old bag - namely Miss W. Things should now begin to brighten up. Anne and I discussed the changes we'd like to see at the YP whilst going for the train. Sarah, Carol, Kathleen etc, had gone with Miss W to the party in Mr Linacre's private suite -

Feel very tired on the train and sleep until we reach Guiseley station. At home, Mother entertains me with her home-made tea cakes. Nothing quite equals the smell of warm, newly baked loaves of bread.

See Prince Philip opening the Commonwealth Games in Christchurch on behalf of the Queen on tv. The poor duke looked quite ill bare-headed in the hot New Zealand sun. He read the Queen's message in a hoarse voice, and by the look of things he won't be with us for his 53rd birthday.

See Jimmy Savile on Top of the Pops. 'Tiger Feet' by Mud pushed the New Seekers from the number one spot on Tuesday. It's truly an amazing little disc. Everyone enjoys it.

Still reading Sir Thomas More. Have a bath. Generally a momentous day on all accounts. Let's hope Kathleen doesn't change from her lovable self. A quick surge of power can often ruin a sane being.

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Wednesday January 23, 1974

Up at 8.30. Listen to Noel Edmonds as usual. Mum doesn't have much to say for herself, and I leave at 8 for my train. See Helen and Ian Appleyard. The poor boy is quite insane. Just because he's got himself a girlfriend he thinks no one else has ever experienced such feelings of elation & joy. His temperament is that of a 14 year-old male. Helen saw my amusement.

Kathleen had a day off, and Miss W saw it as a good opportunity to inform us all that 'Miss Rainforth' was her successor to the Kingdom. This gives me the idea to call Kathleen 'Miss Rainforth' on a joking-full-time-respectful basis. She'll hate me for it I'm sure.

Quiet evening at home. Chris rings and says he's failed his driving test - doesn't seem particularly bothered, but after all - he's used to failure. Make the usual arrangements for Friday. However, on Saturday night I think that Linda is arranging a party to the cinema. I think it's 'Jesus Christ Superstar'. I am very pleased that Andy and Linda are once again tete-a-tete, or whatever phrase you use to describe an intimate, cosy relationship. One can hardly believe that it's a year since he and Linda began dating one another, and this time last year holds many memories of romantic importance for me. But I will not go into lengths about my failures in life. Last year was beautiful while it lasted but I no longer desire to dwell on the subject of JB. She's through with my life once and for all.

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Tuesday January 22, 1974

Poor Queen Victoria suffered one of the inevitable incidents which eventually comes to each and every one of us, namely death seventy three years ago today. The saintly old lady was in my thoughts throughout the day. Of all the people in history who fascinate me, Queen Victoria probably leads them all. What an adorable character she must have been.

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Monday January 21, 1974

Miss Went is a very tiresome person. I'll be glad when she's gone. At lunchtime she bought the presents with the £50 we had raised. A silver tray and a watch. My lunch is spent in the reference library. I am disillusioned to discover that the Right Hon William Lawies Jackson was later 1st Baron Allerton, of Chapel Allerton in the county of York. No one from the Wilson family could possibly have married a peer of the Realm. However, my genealogical studies into the roots of the Jackson family are far from over. Come home at 6.30 expecting a peaceful evening, but these dreams are shattered when Andy phones. By 8.30 John, Andy and myself are in the Rose and Crown at Ilkley with Linda and a multitude of college bods. The place is a bit of a tip, with a large reproduction map of 17th century Middlesex in pride of place on the central wall. The wallpaper is made up of completely senseless colours simply hanging in place surrounded by the minimum of furnishings. Philip C and Ray (Bond) come in at 9. At 10.30 a few of us walk to the college, breathing in the sweet moorland air. Ilkley is such a wonderful place. The college is what I expected it to be. Totally institutionalised - like a hospital - lacking in any signs of homely comfort. Thousands pile into Linda and Mary's room. We drink hot, insipid coffee until 12. Philip brings us home - and I'd rather not comment on the journey. Bed 12.30. -==-

Sunday January 20, 1974

2nd after Epiphany. Death of George V in 1936. My theory about toilet paper rationing was used by Giles in his Daily Express cartoon this morning. He pictured thousands of football fans queuing for sheets of toilet paper to throw at the match. Whatever became of petrol rationing anyway? They soon quietened down about that didn't they? The poor, deranged MP was said we should all clean our teeth in the dark apologised - it seems he tried it on several occasions, and emerged with his hair spattered in Macleans, or something equally nauseating. Old Lord Carrington suggests that if we're good we may be put on a four-day week very shortly! Isn't it nice of him? But in general, this week's been another step down the path to destruction. Pity really. Wake up at 2.45 in the afternoon! Have a nice lunch and see a very funny film about marriage. Completely domestic evening. See Monty Python's Flying Circus. Died laughing. The poor Duke of Windsor became King Edward VIII thirty eight years ago today. The massive burst of 'Windsor mania' which erupted at the time of his death in May '72 is now quite stagnant again. No one gives a damn about the duchess, who winters in Cap d'Antibes. The poor old thing will be 78 in the summer. --==--