Wednesday June 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Mum and Dad's 31st wedding anniversary. I woke at 7:15 to hear Samuel bawling. I went to him and he was sat in his cot pointing at the lump in the double bed in the corner of his room. It was of course the recumbent form of his sleeping grandfather. We left the room without waking the old man. We had bacon sandwiches at 9. A relaxed affair. We didn't mention the anniversary. What can we possibly say? Lynn phoned at 9:30. They are going to the cemetery together at 3 with flowers and then Dad is going on alone to Horton calling first at a stonemason in Ilkley. 

Later Dad took Samuel out to the park. He looked such a dot in his red T-shirt. He came back exhausted, and by lunchtime the baby was worn out. Dad left at 2. I gave him some words for Mr Hanson (stonemason) :-

"Sacred to the Memory of NORA, beloved wife of Lawrence Rhodes, born 2 Jan 1935 died 18 May 1985." 

At 7 Dad phoned to say he has collected a tomb stone brochure. Prices vary from £250 to £2000. He insisted that my words are used because nowadays it isn't the done thing to include the date of birth on the stone and that the age at death is the norm. I want it included because Mum and Dad have the same birthday, and one day, without being morbid, it will make a poignant feature to the memorial. He said the cemetery was a depressing sight. Both he and Lynn had a good weep. They laid flowers and placed a wooden marker on the grave. He is alone tonight. His boiler is knackered again.

Our night off. A marble topped chest arrived today. We rearranged the sitting room to accommodate it. A domestic pub-free evening. Retired at 11:55pm.

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Tuesday June 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Waterloo Day. Royal Ascot, &c. Garter processions. Peerage news: a certain Mr Patrick Hope-Johnstone is claiming the dormant earldom of Annandale & Hartfell this week. He's a scion of Lord Linlithgow's family. Lady Camilla Fane, a former so-called 'possible bride' for the Prince of Wales, has become engaged to a Mr Hipwood. Her Papa (Lord Westmorland) is Master of the Horse. 

We had a visit over luncheon from Rob and Ryan Piper. They sat in the lounge and we discussed the Red Lion Watering of the Beer Scandal. He tells me that L. Gledhill is coming back as our area manager. That must account for his visit last week. Ally brought Samuel down to the bar to play with Ryan. Sam was more interested in Ben Rycroft's walking stick. Rob left at 2. We sat with a lager. Dad came in looking tired and pale. When staying with Lynn she gets him out of bed at 7:15 and calls it a 'lie in'. We had rabbit pie for lunch. This evening we sat with Werner, the little POW from Cologne, and Dad talked to him about his days as a military policeman in Hamburg and Hanover. It was the first time I had heard some of the stories. Upstairs at 11 for coffee and large sandwiches.

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Monday June 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Bakers.

I went driving with Karen H at 9. My first lesson in a month. I do need some practice, not just my weekly £6.50 jaunts. My test is in nine weeks. Dad, staying with Lynn, set out walking into Guiseley with Katie, supposedly to settle his bill with the undertaker, but she became hysterical in the bank, and she walked around Guiseley wailing uncontrollably, his task unfulfilled. The poor Baker girls are forbidden to sleep in the day, and Dad blames this lack of sleep, the exhaustion, on their violent tempers. He received his police insurance money for Mum today (£1700). He has increased his own cover by £1000 taking it to £5000. It matures when he is 60 (in 1994) when it will have to be transferred. I am named as his executor or beneficiary. He can only name one. Jack Denison's bill was remarkable. We expected it to be £1000, but he charged just over £500. Dad says he chose that particular undertaker because, as a policeman, he has observed him at work and says he has always found him a 'gentleman' behind the scenes treating his corpses always with the greatest respect. Some undertakers must be appalling and slapdash.

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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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