Thursday August 7, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

The pool team were at home. We won. Uncle Peter says Eleanor was taken aback and rendered speechless when I phoned about the wedding arrangements because she had no idea I had been invited  to the nuptial shindig. It was, he said, something that Jacqueline had decided to do on the quiet. Jacqueline of course attended our wedding ________. Peter says none of the wicked uncles will be there on Saturday. Phew. Spoke to Dad. ______.

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Wednesday August 6, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Clemmie weighs 9lb 6oz. Ally had her up Beeston Hill this afternoon and naked on the scales. Samuel refused to do likewise. He must be growing shy and sensitive like his father. I have never been one to bare all in a public place. Public toilets, swimming baths, changing rooms, &c - they have always revolted me. Ones genitals are ones own affair. If only others less stoic than myself could behave similarly the world will be a far healthier dwelling place. Beverley worked. I phoned Auntie Eleanor re Jacqueline and Barry's wedding, and she was a brick. We can take the children by all means but decide just to take Clementine. Eleanor sounded so much like Mama on the phone.

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Tuesday August 5, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

New Moon

An artist came in the pub tonight touting for business and did me in ink. A good likeness. I 'm recognisable. Samuel saw it and gasped: "Ah, Daddy". So it can't be bad. I gave the artist £4. No Peter Paul Rubens by any means. Stuck tonight. Liz cried off sick and at 9 I went across for Audrey to assist. It was busy later on. Little Clementine came below for ten minutes to meet the customers and slept throughout. Ally didn't want the baby stinking of cigarette fumes and stale ale.

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Monday August 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Back to work. I went alone back to Leeds for 9 o'clock leaving my three pigs in bed. The relief couple (the Watsons) were closeted upstairs with the strangely silent stock-taker (Rob). They say the pub has had two break-ins since July 22 and the change box and the large charity bottle were the principal casualties. This stinks. Watson phoned LG who told him he would have to put the money in because it had disappeared from a (undecipherable) in licensed hours. If it had been in the safe it would have been insured. A very fast couple if you ask me. I went back to collect Ally and the children at 3 o'clock.

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Sunday August 3, 1986

 5, Club Street

10th Sunday after Trinity

The last day of our historic little holiday. Mr Glynn's and Janette's birthday. We went walking again in Scholemoor cemetery. Its the nearest thing to a park Lidget Green can provide. The roses are particularly enchanting. Samuel and Ally had a sleep this afternoon whilst I made lunch and watched the Jack Le Vien film 'A King's Story' (1966). What a shit was Edward VIII. I am so glad he went. The more I hear of him the more convinced I am that he would have weakened the monarchy had he been crowned. Quiet evening. Lynn phoned from Scotland. Ally wrote to Glenda at he brewery to say thank you for the flowers.

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Saturday August 2, 1986

 5, Club Street

We are bog eyed today because Clementine insisted on waking throughout the night. ___________. Samuel's relationship with Postman Pat continues heavy. We have Pat three times a day now. I went to Morrison's and filled the car with petrol in readiness for Monday's migration back to Leeds. After 2 we went on a jaunt. First to MM and Marita's. They were delighted to see us. Clementine is the first new baby Marita has held. On to Wilsby. Tony, H and Jill with the children. Hilda nursing Clementine says baby is the double of 'Grandad Dixon' adding "I'm afraid". Tony was painting the ceiling. On to Mabel's. She was drinking sherry and feeling dizzy. Samuel fell and cut his lip. Home for streak and courgettes. 

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Friday August 1, 1986

5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford BD7 2PB 

Better day. Sunshine. Up at 7 o/'clock to a sunlit room to see Ally changing Clementine white of pallor and with sunken eyes. The broken nights are doing her no good. She was feeding at 1:10 and then again at 6. Poor Clemmie is sproggy and has a cough and matted eyes. Samuel and I had a fried repast and took our morning constitutional to the Co-op and the newsagents. The Daily Telegraph dominates with the coming sanctions against Pretoria which the PM has fought against for ages. Sir Geoffrey Howe doesn't seem to me to have any bottle whatsoever. The PM mut know what she is doing. Later, Samuel played in the garden hung, nay festooned, with washing. I joined him and sat on the wall with a copy of 'Moonfleet'. Sat baking like 'Fergie' (the ginger Tom from down the street). Mince for lunch, then peaches. Samuel has an excellent appetite. The midwife made her last visit and she looked bog eyed when I said: "see you next time". One never knows, does one. We had a card from Delia Collis in which she says our choice of names is beautiful.

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Thursday July 31, 1986

 Waltergarth, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Waltergarth.

We woke up in a big, sweaty heap. Ally, Samuel and I in the same bed. It had been a rough night because Ally had to switch on the lights to feed Clementine, which woke Samuel who leapt from the bed and bounded around like a competitor in the Commonwealth Games. We went (Sam and I) to find Dad, who was cooking breakfast for his guests. To get out of mischief Sam and I went and poked around in the fireplace and got it blazing. Fire. How many hundreds of generations have stood in wonderment at the sight of a crackling, spitting new fire? We had our breakfast when the walkers left at 9 o'clock. The usual 'full-English'. I put a quotation by Virgil in Dad's visitors book which wasn't appreciated. 

"Begin, Baby boy: a child that has no smile for a parent will not be thought fit inviting for dinner by a God or taken by a Goddess to bed."

I took Samuel down to the river in a misty rain and we lobbed rocks into the grey waters under the bridge. Spent some time looking for a Troll. Bought Dad some bread (three loaves), and a Daily Telegraph for £2. Disgusting. We left at 1 and we were home before 3. Ally knackered. A health visitor came and injected Clementine, stabbing her in the foot which made her scream. Lambs liver a la Chernobyl for dinner. Collapsed tonight. Sneezy, &c. The beginnings of a cold? 'Minder'. Campari.

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Wednesday July 30, 1986

Dad with Samuel & Clementine.

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Up early. Ally had been up in the night and had fed Clementine without waking me. I just snore through the zoo-like hullabaloo. So different than when Samuel was tiny, and Ally says it's much easier this time. My services are no longer required. Heavy rain. We phoned Dad after breakfast and left for Horton at 10:30. Me at the wheel. A long journey. I arrived with a thick head and took some of Mum's paracetamols. Poor Waltergarth. The place depresses me. Mum's empty perfume bottles in the bathroom and her old faded flowered dressing gown hanging behind the door. Her hair curlers in the cupboard under the sink with fine strands of her golden hair still entwined. Ghosts everywhere. 

Clementine's first visit to Waltergarth. We hardly know we have her. She just eats and sleeps and then lays midst the white broderie anglaise cooing and gurgling. I tasted Mum's orange wine (April, 1984 vintage) which is excellent. We always said we'd sample it when Clementine arrived. Dad had four lads staying there for B & B from 6pm. They were wet and bedraggled and had been out in the hills for five days and they fell in front of the fire and clamoured for the Daily Telegraph with heart warming enthusiasm. The youth of today are obviously not all loutish. The children were all tucked up and asleep for 8pm. Ally and I went to Settle for a couple of hours. The Talbot Arms and then the Little House restaurant for yet another exquisite dinner for £23. Returned at 11 sated. Clemmie still out cold.

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Tuesday July 29, 1986

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green

We went out to town this morning to buy Samuel some new shoes. A nice red pair for 'best' and some trainers for 'playing out'. He looks very grown up. A little colt. Just an hour in town floored Ally who was near to collapse. I have warned her that she could be doing too much, too early. We returned for lunch and Ally and Sam went to bed. Later, it was a bright afternoon and we went to the park in Manningham where we found a fun fair where Samuel rode on an apparently never ending roundabout sitting on a fire engine ringing the bells. I weakened and had a toffee apple and it cost me a filling in the process. The park was swarming with eastern types all from our great Commonwealth of nations. Tonight: Lynn and David phoned from Scotland. Very chatty. I watched a recording I'd made of Bette Davis in 'The Little Foxes' (1941). It ended suddenly. Did my tape run out?

World News: The Yorks sailed into Ponta Delgada in the Azores yesterday. The PM is to have an op on her right hand next week. Ella Fitzgerald, 68, has heart failure. Sir Osbert Lancaster has snuffed it along with Vincente Minnelli. The Dowager Duchess of Devonshire is 91.

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Monday July 28, 1986

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Ice, wind, rain, &c. Not a typical July. We waited all day for the Philips engineer to come to look at our washing machine. He didn't appear until 4pm when Ally and I were watching a tape of the Royal wedding and laughing at the puerile commentary of the great broadcaster Sir Alastair Burnet. He should really be horsewhipped ... along with the Philips engineer, who charged me £30 just to tighten up the points and connections and did nothing but moan about the inaccessibility of the appliance. British workmen. God Bless 'em. However, the machine was going again and within minutes of his departure the nappies were spinning furiously. All two dozen of them. Ally wrote a couple of thank you letters. Auntie Annie Wilkinson sent £15 and Aunt Elsie a dress. I sat over my D. Telegraph reading of the furore over Michael Shea. The man should go. The palace is standing by Mr Shea and his is defended by Sir W. Heseltine, the private sec, but to quieten things down his head should roll. Damage has been done to Her Majesty and the PM over this. Heseltine has a letter in the Times today which makes it clear that the Queen accepts Mr Shea's version of events and not that of the Sunday Times, who published an article alleging HM was dismayed by Mrs Thatcher's policies. HM wouldn't be so unprofessional. My blood  boils. The poor maligned sovereign.

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