Thursday January 16, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Club Street.

Over to Bradford this afternoon with our medical cards to transfer back to Dr B.E. Duck, but the apple-eating viper on the reception desk booked us in to see a doctor next Wednesday. The receptionist recognised Ally and a sick grin spread over her over-painted features. They better not become awkward with us because we have every right to health care in Bradford 7. Whatever happens we are not having junior in St James's. ______. Later, to Linfood where Samuel explored and did his Ben Hur routine in a trolley. On to Ash Tree Cottage, so warm and homely. Found a pile of Christmas cards behind the door. We had fish and chips and drank tea watching the tiny black and white telly. Home for 7:30. Audrey had opened up. News: Leon Brittan has survived Admiral Lygo's whopping fibs. The naughty, deceitful sea dog. I'd clap him in irons.

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Wednesday January 15, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Samuel slept in his bed as opposed to the cot, and was very good and didn't fall out or attempt to escape, until 8am. We lounged in bed with newspapers and cups of tea. Ally had her compulsory cornflakes to ward off the nausea. She is 14 weeks pregnant today and phoned Dr Sykes and went to see him at 3:40. He told her she has lost weight, which is ridiculous, but later he changed his mind. He also told her that she must be 16 weeks. This is also impossible. Our dates are spot on. This was her last visit to the Beeston Hill centre as we plan to transfer back to Bradford tomorrow when we nip over to Club Street. 

If the Daily Star has its way Prince Andrew and Prince Edward will have a double wedding this year. Andrew and Sarah Ferguson, daughter of Major Ronnie Ferguson, the polo player, and a direct descendant of King Charles II, then Edward and Eleanor Weightman, daughter of an ICI executive, living in a £130,000 red-brick bungalow close to the Jodrell Bank Observatory. At least this news is more fun than the Westland saga, which grows more and more out of proportion with each passing day. A full-scale debate today. Mrs Thatcher, quite rightly, is playing the whole thing down. Michael Heseltine has lost his marbles. Goodbye Tarzan. 

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Tuesday January 14, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Winds at 92MPH. Biting cold too. Dad left via Guiseley at 1pm. We had a good food lunchtime and took £22 which was quite staggering. LG appeared at 12:30 and I had been warned by Rob, who phoned me from the Butcher's, Pudsey. LG came upstairs to see Ally and was affable and inoffensive. He looked at the cellar without any adverse comment. Next time, maybe. He made a passing reference to the baby, and joked about our holiday suggesting it was the cause of the pregnancy. "William" was of course conceived here in late October. Our holidays for the whole of '86 have been approved by Ken Gilbertson, and we have 10 days booked provisionally from July 17. 

Tregonning Hill House.

The DT obits. reveal that Lydia Quiller Collick has died at Helston, aged 75. We stayed with the big Mrs Q-C for two idyllic summers in 1970-71 with Hilda and Tony. Tregonning Hill House will forever remind me of very hot, lazy days, the last days of my childhood. Later I phoned Tony to tell him the news.

Quiet night. Margaret worked. I sat upstairs (Ally was in bed at 9pm) and watched "I, Claudius" on BBC2. A repeat of the old series from '77 or '78. Excellent. I am always game for a Roman orgy. The (Westland) helicopter furore is now getting out of hand. They are now saying that Leon Brittan may have to go. Heseltine is positively potty. We debated this in the pub with much hilarity.

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Monday January 13, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A raging thirst all night. Bloody Hell, I feel like Richard Burton. I was up in the dead of night swigging pop and creeping around the flat like a venomous creature. Ultra relief pills saw off the heavy head. By breakfast I was conscious, but docile. Dog tired all day, and so was Ally, who didn't touch a drop. But you know how children's parties can weary one. Ally had a dreadful conversation with Lynn yesterday, on the subject of Mum. She says the nightmares persist. ________. I told her to try and think of Mum as she was living and cast the haunting skeletons aside. Surely, Mum is a spirit, large and warm, untouched by decay? Tonight after Sam retired Ally and I went on a pub crawl. The Harewood Arms, the Radcliffe Arms at Follifoot, the Crown at Wetherby, the Fox & Hounds at Boston Spa. A very pleasurable, relaxing evening. The Crown was a tip, which surprised us. We bought some Chinese food in Leeds and took some back for Dad, who had nipped down to the bar for a few pints. Maureen and Chris had worked.

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Sunday January 12, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

1st Sunday after Epiphany

Sam: flaxen haired

Our lovely son is two. Flaxen haired, sweet natured and a God send. He climbed into our bed at 8am to open presents and cards. His face a joy to see. Magic moments. He loved his toy record player and carried it around all day looking like Nigel Lawson on budget day. Dad's card was touching. He gave Sam a fiver. He says it isn't much, but he does have a dozen grandchildren to buy for. We had a 'full-English' and prepared a gaily coloured table for Sam's party. We moved furniture and hid priceless china. Filled vol au vents and inflated balloons. Dad came at 10. I worked 12-2pm with Margaret. Ally brought Sam down to the pub at 2:30 - he was in his new grey velvet suit and bow tie. People came at 2:30. John, Janette, JPH, Catherine, Charlotte Nora, Sue, Pete, Chris, Ben, Lynn, Dave, Thomas, Frances, Katie, Karen, Steve, Hayley, Tim, Jill, Thomas John. A full jolly household. All very well behaved with party games, &c. Lynn is always good at organising things like pass the parcel, &c. We drank much vino and the party disbanded at 6 o'clock or thereabouts, with the exception of Karen, Steve, and Hayley. Downstairs at 7 with Steve for a few pints, and they stayed until after 9. Later, bacon sandwiches with Dad upstairs. A late finish.

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Saturday January 11, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A very hard (illegible) day. I opened up at 11 expecting peace and tranquillity, for that is my usual lot on a Saturday with just Jim and George and the 'Daily Star'. But Oh no. In walked 73 rugby league fanatics, all very good humoured, who proceeded to drink us out of house and home for two hours which gave us our busiest lunch time ever. Just me, no staff. Ally came down with Samuel . Knackered at 3. I left a tap open in the back bar and flooded the tap room. Lanigans. To Morrison's at 4. We thought Margaret was down to open up at 7 but she didn't appear until 8. Audrey was told this afternoon that her working hours would now be more varied in the future, and 12-3:30 might be a thing of the past. She wrongly thinks I'm a swine who wants rid of her. However, she has no argument because her contract states she'll work when I say, &c. Ally was still up at 11:30pm. Samuel's party is now ready. Watched a Hammer horror.

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Friday January 10, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Jack Collett.

Audrey held an impromptu 'privy council' meeting here with old favourite Mavis Ingham and Margaret Milne in attendance. The meeting commenced at 2pm on Audrey's escape from the bar. Little does she know that this 12-2pm run is going to be a permanent thing. I am going to have to cut lunchtime staff hours. Phoned Dad. What a mess he was in. He had supped half a bottle of whisky plus two large bottles of home brewed beer and was totally pissed. I could weep for him. I do worry about Dad. Who wouldn't get pissed up in his position? He has been a tower of strength for us. He lets himself go when all alone at Waltergarth. I told him that we all love him. 

Chris and Margaret worked PM. I sat at the bar with Jack Collett and Brian (beard) discussing Westland, Heseltine, Robert Runcie, Heseltine, Westland, Westland, Westland, &c. They say that the shaggy haired former defence secretary will one day lead the party. No way. 

Ally made a few attempts to make Samuel a birthday cake, but they were sad. Watched a late film.

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Thursday January 9, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Lay in bed drinking tea in the dark at 7:30am. Ally cannot get up without a bowl of cereal which she ate propped up by pillows. Samuel is a good boy. He just say playing with toys until we pulled round. We must be getting old. Later we went to collect a batch of photographs and bought Samuel a toy record player from a store on Wellington Street. I am looking forward to this birthday party. Ally has baked buns and has bought some of those little trifle dishes with the crinkly edges which jolt one back to 1959, or so. Later Ally and Sam came downstairs (11am) to quash the rumours that she has left me. Samuel is so good for business and he went around in the back bar at the wheel of his Postman Pat car kissing the aged customers.

Heseltine: resigned

Newsflash: Michael Heseltine has resigned as Secretary of State for Defence over the Westland helicopter takeover affair thingy. A very able man, but probably too unconventional to lead the (Conservative) party. Long hair, &c.

Worked alone from 2pm. Audrey sat having a drink at the bar until 3. Later Ally and Sam had spaghetti bolognese, and I nothing. Couldn't be bothered. But later at 8 when Margaret arrived I nipped up to the fish and chip shop and bought a pile of soggy, fried fayre which we ate in front of a smouldering Michael Heseltine on the telly. Phoned Dad. He wasn't quite a buoyant today, and was sat watching 'Minder'. We spoke of Michael Heseltine. It's Dad's opinion that the Tory MP 'didn't do much anyway'. The pub was jovial. Lots of noise. Mary (Knight), the widow - blond and randy - kissed me on the way out. I am something of a Clark Gable. To bed at 11:50. Ally was already out for the count.

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Wednesday January 8, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Snow, ice and a general chill. After breakfast Samuel and I went out with picks and shovels to move the snow from the carpark. It was a slushy, half-hearted affair. We went over the white moor to inspect the frozen park. Samuel's little fingers were blue. He refused to wear his Thomas the Tank mittens. What a cherub he is. 

Baby names: Ally wants Nora in the middle of our future babe's three names, not at the end. So Clemmie will have Nora then Mary or Lucy. For a boy George is the top, but we like William. I favour the former because 1). I dislike the nickname Bill, and 2). People will say we have named him after Prince William of Wales. I could not do that. I also like Harry, but that name will be discarded for the same reason. All our baby names with the exception of Clementine can be found in our genealogical table.

Bliss. A night off. Audrey opened up at 5:30, and then Maureen and Chris worked. Very quiet. Just (illegible) and drank wine and chatted by a smouldering TV set. We had trout. I love it, but Ally picked and poked at it. Fear of bones. I hid the gaping fish heads beneath lettuce. 

Frank and Bessie flew to Tenerife yesterday for a week. Phoned Dad at 8:30. He seemed cheerful and he talked about the jet crash at West Burton, Wensleydale, yesterday. Near him.

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Tuesday January 7, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A 7am start again. What long days we have. Samuel is still raving about 'Agadoo', dancing with Lucy the dolly and his Teddy. We are being driven slowly insane. We went up Dewsbury Road together and collected his £28 family allowance lolly which we later went out and spent on a grey velvet suit with knee length trousers and bow tie. Wearing it he looks edible. For his birthday party of course. Grey shoes to match. Even at his tender age he is aware he is wearing something new and stands so proud. Young Liz worked PM. Stone dead. I stayed below to keep an eye on her but drifted off for a cup of tea only to fly back down in horrific haste because I had left THIS volume on a shelf behind the bar and visions of her prying into my innermost recesses. I often compile this journal as I stand behind the bar on quiet, long, wintry evenings. Leaning against a dormant beer pump shrouded in cobwebs and layers of dust --- the place echoing with long forgotten ghost-like voices of customers asking 'pint of bitter, Guv'ner'. Politics tonight. Old Harold says that Britiain will become the 51st US state, and that Mrs T is a 'dictator'. Harold Wilson, he says, was a 'Spiv'.

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Monday January 6, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Epiphany

Gone but no forgotten: Lord Derwent, CBE; Lord David Cecil, CH; Dustin Gee; Phil Lynott ....

Forgotten but not gone: Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson, Judith Chalmers, Lord Lucan.

The feast of the Epiphany, &c. Dawn start. 7am. Very dark. Gave Ally and egg, and Sam a crumpet and then to Leeds Market at 8 to buy pies and cheap cuts of meat. Came away with bags of fatty, pink flesh which made Ally bilious. We saw Marjorie Murphy, a plain, slow little woman to be sure. Back at the pub I had three customers this afternoon. Thirty three and a third of them were ex-Gestapo. Things are going to have to change. I told Audrey that our staff hours are going to have to be cut next week. Se sneered and said that they were always the same until we came on the scene. _________. Steamed fish for dinner. Played with Samuel at building brick towers and then demolishing them. He is such a good talker. He loves the stereo and danced, clutching his Teddy, to 'Agadoo' by Black Lace. Phoned Dad at 7. He phoned his sister Dorothy last night and after the wedding he is going on to Blackpool for the night. He has spent today brewing (ale) and ironing. _____. A dead night. Margaret worked. Later watched a tv documentary on Terence Conran. Very good. What an enterprising old stick.

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