Sunday June 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

2nd Sunday after Trinity

Father's Day

The £1: still tucked in the journal pages.

Samuel gave a card and a crumpled £1 note. I might save it forever. I certainly cannot buy anything of value with it. At first I thought Ally had forgotten but after breakfast, made by me incidentally, I found the little envelope tucked behind the telephone. 

To John's at Menston. Then to Guiseley. Janette was just getting up and both had forgotten we were expected. ____. Catherine has had a severe haircut. On to Sue's. They were sitting down to lunch. Dad was there and we gave him a card, but left after half an hour. I sprawled on the floor clutching an apricot wine feeling quite miserable. Sue and Pete had been to the cemetery and the sight of mud and dead flowers broke her up so much so that she says she doesn't ever want to return. Dad says this is the problem with burials. People, he says, feel as though they should visit and then feel guilty when they don't. Dad asks me to decide upon the wording to go on the headstone.  A busy night. Just Gary and I. Ally stayed above.

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Saturday June 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The official birthday of HM. Honours, Trooping the Colour, &c. I have taken little interest in the activities of our dear Queen this year. Everything overshadowed by domestic events. This morning I couldn't be bothered listening to Tom Fleming going on and on broadcasting from Horse Guards Parade. HM was on the news earlier this week unveiling a Falklands war memorial at St Paul's.

No real bombshells in the birthday honours list. Most of the victims from last October's Brighton bomb tragedy have collected gongs. Bob Mellish is a peer, and a poet from Hull becomes a Companion of Honour. Nothing for me. 

Ally and Samuel went to Club St to weed the garden. I haven't been inside since Mum left the place. Ally did a lot of shopping afterwards. Four weeks since Mum died. Dad will be on top of Ingleborough with John this afternoon. 

Jill and Tim came in at 9 o'clock and we drank with them until almost 2am. Ally regrets such late nights as she takes days to catch up on her sleep and recover. I had alcohol. I have been drinking only minerals at the Moorhouse. Watching my weight, and there's nothing worse than a pissed up publican.

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Friday June 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

A cellar service man called in from the brewery at lunchtime and reported that Chris and Elaine Wills have just been fired for returning a cask of Old Brewery Bitter to Tadcaster which contained 20 per cent water. Silly bugger. It must be a very recent sacking because they were at the Gaston Ladies Darts final on Wednesday, where our own Vicky Pearson was defeated. Only Jim Precious accompanied her. The Moorhouse has never been very 'sporty'. A busy lunch. Teri (the cook) needs some motivation. No menus on the blackboards were displayed in our absence and a pound of three week old roast beef crawled out of the fridge to greet us this morning. It was positively green. Oh dear.

Dave L is 30 today. He will not enjoy this anniversary. It might not complement his Mohican hairstyle and trendy image. I sent him a postcard of the Ribble Head viaduct as a birthday greeting. He ceased from sending greeting cards some years ago. He is my oldest friend. Eighteen years, in fact.

A busy pm. Much merry-making in the tap room. A festive air in fact. A slow-witted old woman consumed about a dozen 'snowballs' demolishing almost a bottle of Advocaat. Yuk. 

We are now going all out to produce another baby in '86. God willing. Samuel really needs a playmate. Susan has seen a doc who says she is due on January 1st. Dad jokes that the baby could come any time before next Easter. Sue is always way out with dates. _______.

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Thursday June 13, 1985

 Waltergarth

A fine morning. We had to be up at 6:30 to prepare for our journey home. Ally had a bath and then made breakfast. Dad looked sad. What will he do with himself when we are gone and he is left alone? We drove off just after 8am. To Leeds for 9:30. As we drove down Admiral Street a bloody van threw itself into reverse and backed into us denting the number plate. Ally's first bump in a decade. The attitude of the van driver was frustrating. He explained he could not be liable because "you can't expect me to see a little mini metro out of the back of this thing". He looked at Ally and sneered: "women drivers". Offensive bastard. Ron Brooks, the stock-taker, escaped as we arrived. He was going to the Butcher's Arms at Pudsey and then returned to us to do a print-out of the stock at lunchtime. A £10 surplus. The place was a general mess. Someone has scratched their initials into our polished mahogany table. The beer cellar looked like Hiroshima. We are told that L. Gledhill and Colin Black were here snooping around yesterday. Coming home after a holiday is the worst aspect of pub life. Totally disorientated. The customers and staff singing the praises of the relief manager. "He had everyone out for ten past eleven", &c. He doesn't have customers he wants to keep a hold of though, does he? A relief manager is free to be a Mussolini. I have to be slightly more sensitive. An atrociously quiet evening. Phoned Dad. He seemed lost.

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Wednesday June 12, 1985

 Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Bright, but wet. We went with Dad to Hawes. Beautiful countryside. We walked around the village looking a pub menus. Samuel toddled along with his grandad. We went into a pub - the name escapes me - and we had rabbit pie. Samuel had an enormous sausage which looked to be raw in the middle. Pink. Driving back to Ribblehead we had a burst tyre. Dad found the spare and changed it. Later, Dad, Sam and I played in the garden. Dad blowing down a large tube, an old water pipe, making noises reminiscent of those similar to the ones made by Sir Rolf Harris, that ancient Australian musician. Samuel then played with a spade digging holes on the drive. He got very wet, and cold too. Tonight we just sat with mushroom soup watching TV. Mum's homemade soup out of the freezer, made last autumn. Dad then ate the last piece of fruit cake that Mum had made. We watched 'Dallas' and went to bed early. Well, 11pm. Dad was better this evening. News: The Waleses attended the new (James) Bond premiere, but we didn't bother watching.

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Tuesday June 11, 1985

 Waltergarth

Awful weather. We sat at Waltergarth by a blazing fire. Mum saved old newspapers and I went through them clipping out the relevant items. Birth announcements, engagements, weddings, &c. It was easier to do than I imagined. Ally doesn't feel guilty going through Mum's possessions. Mum would have wanted us to do it. Afterwards, when Samuel was asleep and after I had consumed a large whisky, Ally and I went to Settle. Dad wanted some new lampshades. We didn't find any. Shopkeepers openly laughed when we asked for them. We spotted a nice little restaurant and decided to go back there tonight. We booked for 8:30. Dad looked particularly sad today. He says that he and Mum once tried to book a table at the Little House Restaurant (for that is the place), but it was full. We dressed, had a drink with Dad and went to dine. To Fred's first. Ally in her blue frock. A beautiful dinner. Home for 11. Dad was in his dressing gown. We could hear him sobbing in his dark bedroom. What a hopeless, bleak situation.

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Monday June 10, 1985

 Waltergarth

Phil the Greek is 64 today. 

We left Samuel with his grandad and went to Skipton for an hour so. Market Day. Returned for lunch to Waltergarth without having bought a thing. We do this quite a lot. Shopping and coming empty handed. Our obsession with anything made of pine is steadily growing. Ally tells me she has bought a pine wash stand at Cheap 'n Cheerful before we came away and it has to be collected on our return.

Tonight. We found Dad in the bedroom rummaging through cupboards and so we assisted. He bagged up lots of Mum's clothes with the intention of posting them to Oxfam or somewhere. Most of the stuff too good to destroy. So many memories. Mum kept every greeting card she had received since about 1980. Some of Dad's cards go back thirty years. The photographs too. Dad has taken 500 snaps in the three years since going to Yugoslavia on May 17, 1982.

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Sunday June, 9 1985

 1st Sunday after Trinity

Waltergarth

An early start. The Bakers were up at dawn to go to York to the joint christening of Richard and Mandy's offspring. Samuel really appreciates seeing his cousins. He seems especially fond of Katie. Breakfast was a mad, noisy affair. At least I feel better today. Ally told the others in my absence that I was cut up about mother and yesterday's gathering was too soon, and too painful. I found the gala atmosphere quite obscene. Though I do know we have to go on. Mum would have loved yesterday so much. 

Lynn and Dave left at 9, Sue and Pete at 12 and John and Janette soon after. Dad hadn't slept well. He'd been on the settee all night, and so when Sam went to bed at 1pm Dad joined him. Ally did Dad's ironing and I cooked roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for lunch. Three sitting at the table. So odd. What a gap. Later Dad composed a one sentence letter to Earl Stephens in New Zealand informing him of Mum's death. Every word was like a dagger to the heart. Later Dad sorted through mounds of old papers, throwing them out. Mum kept everything. A bill for the new carpet at Pine Tops from Oct 1970 - £120. Ally retired early, at 10pm, and Dad and I watched the puffed-cheeked Marlon Brando in The Godfather Part 1. Bed after 12.

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Saturday June 8, 1985

 Waltergarth

The Crown, Horton.

We all left Dad after breakfast and went into Settle for a few hours. Blustery, though dry. Dad closeted yet again with the boilerman. This afternoon I was in the kitchen with Ally. She had me whisking cream for a trifle that nobody will ever eat , and then when she realised we were under her feet she packed John and I off to the Crown with Samuel for an hour. We left Ally and Janette making a buffet luncheon. We sat the garden at the pub with pints of Guinness. Sam played with some children but one set about him and slapped his face in an unprovoked assault. Poor Sam looked bewildered but didn't wail. John seems fond of Sam. Babies do not interest my brother, but Sam is now an energetic little boy. Back to Waltergarth at 2. Lynn and Sue and throng had arrived. Sue announced that she is expecting a baby in January. We ate, but something was missing. I felt awful and went to bed for an hour. The others looked at me as though I was mad. 

Evening: The Davidsons arrived. Charlie and Betty Davidson and Betty's sister. All painful. Mum never liked them and now here they are visiting Dad as soon as Mum is out of the way. We went to the Crown leaving Dad with them. We had a good natter in the pub. Home for 10. Boxing on the telly. I went to bed feeling bloody awful, leaving Ally with Dad, Pete and John.

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Friday June 7, 1985

 Waltergarth, Horton

The Station, Ribblehead.

We went to Settle with Dad to do some shopping. His cupboards are bare. We went to the Co-Op and trudged round the town but threatening rain drove us into the Royal Oak for lunch. Samuel was restless and trundled around on the upholstery practicing his athletics. We sat in a corner.  (Redaction).

The boiler at Waltergarth is knackered. A man from Grassington, covered in oil, spent the day in the kitchen. I made roast lamb. John and Janette came at 9. We left Dad looking after Sam and went with J & J to the pub at Ribblehead. I touched alcohol for the first time in ages.Large whiskies and ginger, no less. We were in the pub until after 12:30. Janette wants Simon or Paul (?) for a son, but later tonight decided on Lawrence John. I do hope she keeps this one.

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Thursday June 6, 1985

Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Waltergarth.

Wet. A long drive from Winchester to Horton-in-Ribblesdale consumed the whole of the day. Samuel was remarkably good and sat in the car without so much as a murmur for the whole journey. Up the wet M1 to Leeds, through Guiseley, Skipton, and finally dear old Waltergarth was reached. We ate cheese and bread. Samuel slept soundly after his long journey. We sat tonight and helped Dad write letters in response to the many messages of sympathy he has received from family and friends. I sat and read them all. A tearful experience. Messages from Gerald Werrett, Martin O'Neill , Uncle Arnold, Dorothy, &c. All touching. A letter from Uncle Bert too. He became the grandfather of twin girls recently. I did the writing, dictated by Dad, sat next to a blazing fire. Dad couldn't bring himself to write anything and was appreciative of my efforts. We were working until after 12. You can almost see and hear Mum about the place. How the old china cabinet used to rattle as she thundered past in that busy, happy manner. Happy ghosts everywhere.

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