Tuesday April 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Gunther von Reibnitz.

6:30am start. Went to shift barrels around the cellar in readiness for the dray delivery. Up at 8 for bacon. Ally couldn't get up. Switched on Breakfast TV and saw the news. The headlines are the revelation that Princess Michael of Kent's father was a member of the Waffen-SS from 1933. Bit of stink. I fail to see why such excitement has been generated by this. A palace spokesman says the news, printed in a new and scurrilous book, came as a shock to Princess Michael. Has there been a cover-up? Did the Queen know? &c. It is nonsense. You'd hardly expect a German aristocrat with the name Baron Gunther von Reibnitz to join the Scots Guards. Living in Germany in the 1930s he would have had little choice. Princess Michael did not meet her father until she was 18. He disappeared to Africa after the war. All very tenuous and trumped up. The anti-monarchists are having a field day. The coverage on the BBC news is outrageous. Pictures of Hitler and Eva Braun at Berchtesgaden intermingled with horrific shots of Belsen and the Kents wedding in Vienna in 1978. Surely, not acceptable? HRH is expected later to be at a Buckingham Palace banquet later for the state visit of the president of Malawi.

Phoned Dad.

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Monday April 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Went out at 9 driving with Karen Hudson. I am at stalemate really because I have done no driving since my last lesson, and practice is what I need. She has the impression that I am nervous and need to relax, but I tootle along  feeling confident and not in the least  bit intimidated. Must be my quiet manner. I have never been one to chatter aimlessly with anyone. To strangers I may come across as shy, but to those who know me well see the fun-loving clown that I really am. 

I have been reflected that since Mum's illness we have been shunned by some friends. Is it that people just do not know what to say? 

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Sunday April 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

1st Sunday after Easter

Dad phoned as I was opening the doors at 12 to say Mum has had a fall. She didn't wake Dad at 4am when she climbed out of bed to go to the loo and she lost her grip and fell backwards banging her head with force on the floor. At 3 we went to Club Street. The place was like a kindergarten. JPH & Catherine were there. Having lanigans, as they say in Hunslet. Unbelievably, John and Dad were replacing a skirting board and were sawing a plank of wood on the carpet. Ally was displeased. Mum was upstairs and I questioned why no doctor had been called when she was clearly in some pain in her neck and shoulders. She is so thin now it is a miracle she didn't break bones. A pile of Catherine Cookson books lay on the bed. Spring flowers on the dressing table, and Mum flat out , withering before our very eyes. Ally and Sam left me with Mum alone. That quick mind has gone. That vitality has already died. It is so wrong that people have to suffer in such a way. How lucky are those people who drop like a stone with a massive heart attack? Watching a loved one, aged only 50, wasting away, is pure Hell. She was always so good and thoughtful and a lover of family life and all that goes with it. All snatched from her by this evil disease. ______.

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Saturday April 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

(The page was blank. A rare occurrence. Probably the first blank page in the twelve years blogged so far. Dear Reader, as I compile this blog I am reading my journal for the first time since it was penned. Some entries of early 1985 I am finding very difficult to re-live. Harrowing stuff.)

Friday April 12, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Back to it. A sunny start. Dad came down to wake us at 6:30. Upstairs Sam was asleep crouched face down with his face buried in his pillow. The car was packed and we drove to Leeds for 8:50. Andrew Snowden is a scruffy, unkempt individual. Ally was furious that he had left all the washing up. Ronnie did the stocktake. A £63 deficit. We learn from Audrey that he deposited much ale from the drip trays down the sink. Silly bugger. The annoying thing is that he swans around looking so superior and confident when in fact he's made a cock-up of the whole business. Tonight at 10 Ally sprung a surprise birthday party and brought me a large blue cake with a '30' inserted in the top. It was made by June, David Howard's girlfriend. Lots of sandwiches too, which were passed around the pub. I was stunned. Open mouthed and wide-eyed, &c. Dear Ally, how very sweet of her.

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Thursday April 11, 1985

 Chillandham Cross

We slept in and Bessie gave Sam his breakfast, Bacon, eggs, &c. So we were late packing and setting off. We left at 12:30, Bessie in her tweeds waving us off in a heavy downpour. Tortuous drive homeward. Six and a half hours! We sat for half an hour in a jam on the M1.

Bessie.

At Club St for 6:30. Mum has been in bed since Monday. She looked tired and thinner. Dad says that she is very 'weepy' and that Club St is too quiet for her. She needs people. I told him that they could come back to the noise of the Moorhouse whenever they liked. No need to linger in Bradford.

Sue came with Jim, Margaret and Julie. Sue so cheerful and bubbly. I cannot put on such a show. Sue cut Dad's hair. We watched 'Minder' and had fish and chips, and then, after Sue had left, we sat on Mum's bed giving a detailed account of our week in Hampshire. Bed - or more correctly - floor at 11. I couldn't sleep. We both lay tossing and turning.

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Wednesday April 10, 1985

 Chillandham Cross

Fine day. We went with Bessie and dear Sammy to Marwell Zoological Park. Bessie in a headscarf looking like the Sovereign Lady herself. We looked at the Vietnamese pot bellied pigs, &c. Strenuous walking. Samuel didn't enjoy it and he wailed a good deal. He is in a sweat all the time with his teeth. The cages at the zoo are covered in plaques bearing the names of the good people who have paid to 'adopt' the animals. We are told that Graham and Charlotte Smith have adopted a snowy owl here, but we saw no evidence of this. I find zoos sickening really. The inmates always look suicidal. Lunch at Ch. Cross. We left Samuel with Bessie and went shopping at 3. Shoes for Ally and a Khaki creation for Sam. TV tonight. 'Dallas'. Gin & tonic. _________.

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Tuesday April 9, 1985

 Chillandham Cross

At Chillandham Cross.

To Winchester all day. Frank gave me a cheque for £13 for my birthday. I want Kenneth Rose's 'George V' in hardback. Impossible. Ally bought a Laura Ashley creation (£33) and had her hair played with (£11).

Phoned Dad. Mum has been in bed all day and has eaten nil. Sue had visited with the boys and no doubt exhausted her. 

At 6:30 we went to Salisbury (Ally looking beautious in her new off the shoulder number and sweeping hair, &c). Got £2.80 seats at the playhouse to see 'And Then There Were None' by Agatha C. Because of the race relations fiasco the play can no longer be called 'Ten Little Niggers'. Not a good play, but we were entertained. To the Salisbury Berni (inn). (Newly done out) at 9:30. T-bone steaks, &c. Home for 11:30. Sam had had another bad night and was keeping Bessie on the go. It's his teeth.

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Monday April 8, 1985

 Chillanadham Cross

Bank Holiday in the UK (except for Scotland)

Out we went with Samuel for a muddy walk down the lane. Ally squealed in horror at the sight of a flattened frog. She is so deliciously squeamish. Frank, a workaholic, went off to Southampton to sit in his empty office and so later we took Bessie to Alresford to look at swans and the Watercress Line, &c. Bright and warm. The second hand book shop was open and I managed to get lost amidst the Spy cartoon reproductions. Ally was livid. Samuel squealed at all the dogs and children. He really does need a friend. Such a cute, affectionate child. I do loathe Bank Holidays and the silly sheep-like mob. I do not like to be counted as one of them. This evening, to the Otter at Otterbourne, the Hut at Chandlers Ford - squalid. Then to Southampton. The Oriental is no longer a Berni Inn and so we slummed it in Portswood at the miserable Berni Inn there and we returned home at 10:30. Samuel was awake and weeping copiously for a worried Graham Dixon. Oh dear.

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Sunday April 7, 1985

 Easter Day

Chillandham Cross, Martyr Worthy

The baptism of Simon Thomas James Dixon.

That awful Bishop of Durham now says that Christ didn't rise from the dead at all. Isn't it just bloody marvellous? Christ wasn't the result of a virgin birth either. I suppose Pontius Pilate didn't wash his hands and that Judas Iscariot played for Plymouth Argyle.

Samuel at Bembridge vicarage.

We took the ferry to the Isle of Wight from Portsmouth. Sam in full Victorian naval outfit. Just us. with Frank, Bessie. Andrew and Lorraine followed the Mercedes in Bessie's car. He's looking for one of his own. The crossing took 25 minutes. I sat gulping down my anti-dog pills and a bearded gentleman sitting opposite was smiling to himself thinking I must be sea sick. The sea was like a mill pond. Graham met us with Michael Lynn. Drove to Bembridge. All Victoriana. Church impressive. Service short. I sat beneath a stone tablet to Admiral Sir Francis Tottenham, GCB. Back to a buffet at the vicarage for a couple of hours. Samuel was something of a show stealer. Simon is huge, reminiscent of a 1914 photo of Great-Aunt Elsie. Back at Chillandham Cross for 7. Out to the Bush at Ovington and the Horse & Groom at Alresford later - just the two of us. Phoned Dad.

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Saturday April 6, 1985

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Little Frances is 4. Fine day. Hideously hungover. I went and lay on Mum's bed. She was breathing very heavily as though she was fighting. She smiled and remarked that I was laid in a very similar position 30 years ago too. 

We packed and left at 10:30. Samuel, so very well behaved. A jolt saying goodbye to Mum. On the journey south I was sick on the hard shoulder of the M1. Last night's steak au poivre and broccoli. To Winchester without a break. A sunny arrival at about 3pm. Bessie was gardening. We had tea and cake. She doesn't go over the top or go bananas on seeing Samuel. She believes in re-introducing herself to her grandson very gradually. 

Tonight we had a turkey dinner. I phoned Dad. To bed very early.

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