Sunday July 17, 1983

 7th Sunday after Trinity

5, Club Street

I cannot recall a day when I was quite as nervous. Not even June 27 1981 compares to this. I have managed to refrain from biting my nails. At 12 I went up to Duckworth Lane on the bus with mounds of old, unwanted clothes and deposited them on the doorstep of the Oxfam shop and then scurried away on foot back to Club Street. The sky darkened as I came up Cemetery Road and a flash of lightning and loud clap of thunder sent a score of gaily garbed Asian girls screaming for shelter. I reached home just before the storm. Ally and I cuddled on the settee listening to the furore without. Mary came to see us and we gave her a key and showed her the plants. She's going to be our waterer for 8 weeks. Of the storm she exclaimed: 'Penny is shaking like an aspic leaf'. Penny is of course the poodle. We were exhausted and excited. The phone was off because of the storm and so I went to the corner and phoned Mum and Dad. They were cheerful and full of good wishes. Apparently John has seen no divorce papers and says he doesn't need any. We went up to bed at 9. Our last day at home before the great change.

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Saturday July 16, 1983

On the garden wall.

 Overcast. After breakfast we phoned Susie and invited them over to Bradford this afternoon. Peter was working and so she said they might be with us at 3. Ally and I walked up to the Fiddler's Three or whatever it's called and we sat and had pie and peas. Ally was receiving some looks. I dislike the pub._____. Sue and Pete arrived at 3:30 and we went and sat on the garden wall with our glasses. Sue informed us that John and Maria are now divorced and that John celebrated the occasion last Thursday going out with Peter. Maria is to marry Alex McHarrie next month in a simple ceremony. John is going off on a holiday to the Lake District with Chris R and Pete M. We went at 6 to Mucky Willie's and sat outside until the place opened - and had a couple of drinks. Christopher insisted on teasing us by making a run for the traffic but Peter was close at hand to save him. Pamela is to have a Caesarian section on Monday. They left at 7:30. I bought a prawn curry. Phoned Glynnie who wished us well.

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Friday July 15, 1983

 Today is the first St Swithun's Day to dawn without the presence of Mrs Ethel Greenwood since 1888. It is worth pausing and thinking about this for a moment. Once again my pink Pig and I returned to town to ransack the shops. In the last two days we have disposed of £300 on next to nothing. Ally says £1m would be such an easy amount to get rid of. Ally found a pair of particularly attractive red shoes reminiscent of the sandals worn by a Roman legionaire. At lunch we found solace in a rough bar beneath the Berni Inn where we disposed of fish and chips cooked by an enormous woman with great arms and bulging thighs. And I wasn't the only one to comment on this. At home and to keep awake Ally phoned Bessie. She was told that Andrew is in a mess. He recently gave up his job without informing his parents of his intentions and is now painting the utility room to earn the money with which to go on holiday. He is a problem. Frank was at a dinner in Bournemouth. Ally had her hair trimmed. Mum phoned. ____. Too hot to sleep.

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Thursday July 14, 1983

Ally (1983).

 Ally and I were up and out at a reasonably hour and we took to the shops with a gusto not seen in these parts for a good many years. I had a haircut at 10. _____.Spent money quickly but on only the humblest array of goods. I bought trousers suitable for a pub landlord and Ally a pleasant flowing frock which will easily accommodate her growing bulk. At lunch we found ourselves in a dark cellar bar with flashing lights that annoyed Ally. I had chilli con carne and Ally a beef salad. Potted plastic plants everywhere and bar staff hand picked from______. Onward with our shopping until late afternoon when we returned home laden with bags. We laughed as I paraded around in my new clothes and changing them without any regard of passing vehicles and pedestrians. I am becoming nervous about my new employment. After all, it is a great change.

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Wednesday July 13, 1983

With cousins Nellie (left) and Edna.

 A historic meeting. Clad in our finery we went off at lunchtime to Bramley and Cambridge Gardens the home of my first cousins once removed twins Edna and Nellie Rhodes. We found number 33 a quaint, well-painted house. We tapped at the door and an elderly lady emerged who looked just like Dad in drag. We were ushered into a little sitting room and sat with scones and cups of tea. We didn't dwell too long on the family tree. Edna is the elder by half an hour (born July 5, 1915), and Nellie was drip white at birth and very weak and spent three days in a basket in front of the fire - a home made incubator. The spinsters worked together for 47 years in the same mill and were both made redundant when they reached 60. Nellie, they say, is the double of her own aunt Nellie (my great-aunt) who died also unmarried in November, 1955. Their grandfather, John Rhodes, a market gardener, was known in Bramley as 'Donkey' Rhodes and recently in Bramley park the old ladies were accosted by a very old gent who exclaimed: 'well, if it isn't Donkey's granddaughters!' It was certainly eerie to see these typical Rhodes people on whom I have never set eyes on before. Our visit seemed short and at 4:30 we said farewell to the ladies who escorted us to the top of the garden and wished us well in our Sam Smith's venture. From here we walked up to Warrels House on Upper Town Street, a sprawling 17th century erection, the home of Mr & Mrs Harry Miller. We were met at the door by a fussy Mrs Marion Miller and a large Alsatian dog, Rum. Marble fireplaces and high ceilings, passages, and rooms hideously decorated. Mrs Miller is a Mrs Perfect (see diary 1973/4), powdered like a clown, and Harry is a Bill Dixon and 'Twitch' Thompson combined. We had a guided tour of the house followed by a salad for tea after which we were led into a sitting room and given half a bottle of whisky. We were joined by their lady-killer son Nigel, who left his pregnant wife upstairs in a sulk. Tracey, for that is her name, is a mere three weeks further advanced on the pathway to motherhood than Ally but is much larger, so they say. The Millers brought us home after 12, and we collapsed after showing them our abode.

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Tuesday July 12, 1983

Ally: blue stripes

 The hot weather continues. A scorcher. No painting today - thank God. Reflections of 1976 and all that. Ally had no desire to leave her bed but did so for her eggs. She kept a packet of biscuits close at hand in the pink suite. Breakfast with Mum and Dad. They were peeved that the Royston boys had left and gone up Pen-y-Ghent with all their toilet rolls. Mum and Dad took us to Settle at 11:30 and we sat in the railway station listening to Dad give an oration on the typical British Rail worker. He should really be on the stage. Our engine came at 12:05 and we had a hot and sweaty journey to Bradford. Into a pub in town. ______. Warm beer. Home. Mary (Moore) brought us our milk which she had taken in because it was starting to boil on our doorstep. She told us the details of Britt's funeral. An odd affair. Mrs Greenwood's granddaughter Anne wore a fur coat, and the temperature was over 90F. The coffin, she says, was no wider than a plank. Mary was surprised at this. Obviously she hasn't looked closely at Mrs Greenwood in recent years. We went shopping for a dress for Ally and came back with blue stripes. Sweltered. Sat around naked all evening. Read Jane Eyre. I used to liken Ally, when in one of her moods, to Mrs Rochester.

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Monday July 11, 1983

 At Waltergarth Guest House

Dad & Mum:

We were up early. A red faced Irishman was having his breakfast. The belligerent neighbour Norman had suggested he might be a bomb-maker. Felt tired but still I managed to mount a ladder and splash paint around. More wasps to kill. It disturbs Papa to see me derive so mich pleasure exterminating the hymenoptera. And yet he's the one who would bring back hanging for the likes of Ronald Gregory, CBE. Mum and Ally lay in the sun. We are all sore from the midge bites. Four paying guests arrived. A couple in their forties and two fresh faced youths from Royston near Barnsley and Dad asked them whether they worked down the pit. The small, pimply lad says no. He works in a bank. The big lad in shorts has just finished his A-levels. Coughs all round. Papa quickly changes the topic of conversation. 'Is Roy Hattersley the second coming?' Discuss. Saw 'Minder'. Mum isn't too jovial this weekend. Hilda has had a medical procedure which was a success. She is now quite well. Karen of course won't be having her baby until Easter.

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Sunday July 10, 1983

with Mum & Ally at Horton.

 6th Sunday after Trinity

New Moon

Spent the day painting Waltergarth and murdering wasps. Hot and humid. Dad is still ranting and raving about his old boss Ronald Gregory and how he should be clapped in irons. The restoration of the death penalty too, that was debated from the top of our ladders, brushes in hand. Dad wearing sunglasses which were splattered with white spots. He grows more and more eccentric. He and Mum also discussed what name we might give our child. Mum suggests it could be Winston. (Little does she know that Clementine is our girls name, i.e. Winston's wife). We like George and discuss Frederick, but only between ourselves mind. The family are going to have to wait until January. Mum has given us two baby nighties and a tiny white cardigan. This evening we had a barbecue. But first Dad and I went to the off licence where I spent £9 on wine. It was the least I could do. We barbecued steaks and sausages and sat in deckchairs. Mum had violent hiccoughs which echoed to Pen-y-ghent and back again. Much giggling too. We were chased indoors by a plague of midges. Very bitten. Joined later by Winnie (the neighbour) and a man named Norman, who was once a fireman, who talked of various village fracas. He has had raging battles with all his neighbours. We went to bed at 12 and he was still ranting on and on.

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Saturday July 9, 1983

At Horton-in-Ribblesdale.

 Hot. Up with the larks and off to Horton leaving Bradford at 9am to Settle via Keighley. We found ourselves in the company of a ghastly woman aged 65 and wearing denims, who pestered us as we hurtled through the scenic dales. Her husband, she announced loudly, once played the organ at a silver wedding party which was attended by the Duchess of Kent's father. Who bloody cares? At Settle for 10. The place was seething and a carnival atmosphere prevailed. Bunting was fluttering for Settle Show. We phoned Mum and Dad from the Royal Oak and they collected us. Mum thought Ally looked very pale. But it's the traveling. On to Horton where I was immediately pushed up a ladder with a paint brush. Dad was doing similar, and Mum and Ally sat with cups of tea in the striped deckchairs. Ally had phoned Lynn last night because today they have gone to Wales and Lynn hinted that we have a great surprise in store. However, we have yet to receive one ... or was the paint brush the surprise? Spent the evening with our feet up.

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Friday July 8, 1983

The Rock & Heifer.

 Hot, humid and dismal. The forecast for the weekend is good. Let's hope it lasts for our Horton trip. Looking forward to seeing Mum and Dad. Our meetings in recent months have been rare and I do miss them. Ally sees her parents rarely and she thinks I should withstand my separation with similar resignation. She can be a hard old stick at times. I snapped a photo of Ally leaving home last time for the AHA as Derek Jenkins's lackey. She smiled gleefully among the roses. See in the Daily Telegraph that George Thomas is to be Viscount Tonypandy. Very quaint. Stephen Patrick Michael O'Connor brought me his bill for the work he did to the roof, &c. It added up to £862.50. We pay 90 per cent of this and Bradford Council the remainder. I went out to the shops and came back at about 3pm to find my precious wife bearing parcels and looking like a dish. Jenkins had given her a few hours off and she fell in the door, hot, but happy to be rid of Bradford Area Health Authority. Her retirement 'do' had been a quiet affair and they had gone to the Rock & Heifer
with a group from the office but nothing spectacular occurred. They gave her Minton china which we already have. We can now look forward to a relaxing week and the commencement of our new career on July 18. What bliss. And baby too. It's all too much. Ally went up at 9 and I watched a ghost story on TV which wasn't remotely ghostly. To bed with Jane Eyre.

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Thursday July 7, 1983

 A batch of photographs arrived and we sat in bed looking at them. Britt's sons were next door disposing her humble possessions. The funeral is set for Monday, but we'll be at Horton. Neighbour Pat came and asked for a contribution for a Club Street floral tribute and I gave her £1. She said it is the usual street policy to send a joint offering. But is it right to send flowers to a woman who was allergic to the damn things for 95 years and would never have a bloom in the house? I find the subject of death, funerals and eulogies extremely hypocritical. Later I met Ally at Duckworth Lane in a steaming sweat. To the pub for our lunch. At 1:30 I went in to town and bought rail tickets to Settle (£12.80 for two returns), paid the telephone bill, bought a Minton dinner plate (£8.95) with the money Mama sent for our wedding anniversary. I walked back to Lidget Green and arrived dripping wet. I sat in the garden with a beer minus my shirt. Next door was seething with scrounging relations going over Britt's possessions. Her real name was of course Ethel. This evening we expected a visit from Jill and Tim but they didn't materialise and we sat like 2lb of tripe. Ally to bed at 9:20. I watched a German film directed by Fassbinder.

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