Sunday May 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Rogation Sunday

Yorke Arms.

Up to the Dales at lunch where Frank bought us lunch at the pub in Ramsgill. Frank is always munificent with his lunches. Lamb. Samuel was slightly over-boisterous with his cutlery. Home, tired at 4. Frank and Bessie left for home almost tearful. John and Janette came this evening.

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Saturday May 3, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn Leeds LS11 5NQ

Overcast. To Ossett for a nine gallon of pils from the Horse & Jockey. They are supping with a vengeance here. Frank took us in his car. Later to the Harewood Arms for a pub lunch. Samuel looked angelic and the waitress addressed him as a little girl 18 times, even after we'd said he is a boy called Samuel. Silly cow. A passable meal. On to Otley to see Susan and the baby. She is so tiny and unlike the others. Dad was there and in the Doldrums. David and I took the vast gathering of children into the grounds. He confided in me that he is still fertile and despite the vasectomy he continues to fire live ammunition. I almost fell over an ambulance. Salmon sandwiches and Agatha Christie tonight. Cosy.

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Friday May 2, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The phone trilled at 7:30am. It was Sue to say she had been delivered of a daughter, Samantha, at 6:40am. We are thrilled, and a little peeved that Dad or Lynn hadn't bothered to tell us she had gone into Otley hospital yesterday. Thank God they have had a daughter at long last. It was a perfectly normal birth. We can go over to see them tomorrow. Hot. Busy pub. Frank and Bessie arrived here at 8pm laden with gifts. We all had a gin and tonic and Samuel stayed up to see them and was deliciously well behaved plodding around in his pyjamas. Our lager supply is going to run out, and I will have to get an emergency supply from somewhere. I got a one and a half litre of Dry Martini from the Junction.

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Thursday May 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

May Day. Lady Sarah Armstrong-Jones is 22. Carol Johnson (who?) is 33. The lads from the Craven Gate came here. Pool Knockout. They linger over every shot like some of the boring professional snooker millionaires. How serious these sportsmen are. They played until 11:30. Ally took to her bed before the thrilling sporting climax.

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Wednesday April 30, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Leslie Gledhill came this evening to moan about our takings. The slump in barrelage, &c. "Do you want a move?" he asked. Is it perhaps our personalities that have turned our tap room into a mausoleum? We mentioned that we liked the Menston Arms and he raised his eyes to the heavens. The pub will be much sought after next year and will not be handed to us on a plate. We opened and up and I think said too much. Other less aesthetic managers would have told LG to fuck off. Tonight the quiz team from the Albion at Wakefield came here. Unbelievably, we won. Of course I was in the quiz team.

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Tuesday April 29, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Queen Mother: winsome smile.

Dad went home via Guiseley. Poor man. We took Samuel to see Dr Smith re his tongue. He seems to have trouble with it these days and that tiny strand of gristle annoys him. The doc says no treatment is required unless he begins to talk peculiarly, and in Leeds the snip is rarely carried out. It is a family thing. The midwife snipped my tongue with a pair of kitchen scissors. That was 31 years ago. It is Jill's birthday but we couldn't post a card because of some tiresome postal dispute. Next year perhaps. The Duchess of Windsor was planted at Frogmore this afternoon. The Queen Mother couldn't contain that lovely winsome smile as she stood on the steps of St George's Chapel. She cannot forgive Wallis Simpson. But if you ask me old Wallis did us a great favour taking away that silly man. George VI made a much better King.

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Monday April 28, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Dad came here at lunchtime looking quite chirpy, but wearing such drab clothes. Mum would have called them his 'playing out' clothes and she wouldn't have been happy to see him visiting us wearing such apparel. Upstairs when just about to go down who should walk in but Marlene and Frank. They haven't been for ages. They are taking Mabel up to Horton for a few days on Wednesday. I do hope it won't be all doom and gloom and Biblical. The dear Harwoods left at 2 and we splashed in the bath and clad ourselves in posh gear and went to Bramley - the Raynville Hotel - for our quarterly slap on the wrists and kick in the shins from L. Gledhill . We went after Samuel's tea at 5:30.

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Sunday April 27, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

4th Sunday after Easter

Day off. To Club St. I spent the day undercoating, rubbing down, scratching and sweating. All a change from pulling beer. Ally made a corned beef hash. Bev worked this afternoon with Mags and at 6pm, very tired and weak, I called at Margaret's for the pub keys. Feel frozen and shivery. Not a soddin' cold, surely? Hot bath. Slumbered on the settee with Miss Marple and Mastermind on the TV. Went down at about 9:30 to see Uncle Peter and Jean. Karin and Bev worked. Poor Jean was told by a doc on Monday to stop smoking completely otherwise he might have no alternative but to amputate her legs! This seems a little drastic. We decided, midst laughter, that perhaps she should cut down to about 20 cigs a day and just have one leg off! Oh dear.

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Saturday April 26, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn Leeds LS11 5NQ

Busy and warm. the outside tables come out. Karin worked lunch alone. V. capable. Jacq and Ian came with the proofs of their wedding photos and had a few drinks. Majorca was balmy. A warm Spring afternoon. At 4 we went over to Guiseley and placed a few pansies on Mum's grave. The daffodils are up and bobbing around all over the cemetery. It's almost a year now. I am rendered quite speechless and with a burning anger. It's never a feeling of sadness. Just bloody anger. Margaret in tonight. Stone dead. Jim Precious has a rash. Where's my surgical mask?

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Friday April 25, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Great quarrels in the pub about the Duchess of Windsor. Some sneer at the hypocrisy of letting the old girl rest at Windsor when, for 50 years, she was denied sanctuary within the castle walls. Utter rubbish. Others go so far as to say that in death she should be created HRH. What hypocrisy is that? Clever people at Burke's Peerage say that being the wife of HRH The Prince Edward, Duke of Windsor she was from 1936 HRH The Princess Edward, Duchess of Windsor anyway. Not so. The King, fount of all honour, can do anything and he denied this style to the Duchess and no amount of legal banter and letters to the editor can detract from this. Sarah Ferguson will become an HRH in July because the sovereign so wishes it. 

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Thursday April 24, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

The Duchess of Windsor died this morning in Paris aged 89 and probably hasn't gone to Heaven. Years ago, in a rare flash of romantic foppery before I adopted a more serious mask, I harboured strong feelings of affection for Edward VIII and Mrs Simpson. Not now. However, she did us a great favour. She jettisoned George VI and dear Elizabeth  to the throne sparing us the many embarrassments that "Darling David" would have given us. Wallis is to be buried at Frogmore next Tuesday and the tabloids are speculating as to whether Di will now get the priceless emeralds, &c. 

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