Wednesday January 21, 1987

 Granary Cottage, &c

Mild day. Some sunshine. I now sit and eat breakfast with trepidation. Will Mrs Stephenson, the Angel of Death, come across in her wellies, with more tales of doom and gloom? This morning we went to Stanhope and Eggleston, over the moors, and down to Barnard Castle and to Prestos. Shopping in the high street. Samuel kept escaping. Back for 2. Sam and I cleaned the car, and he kicked a cat around the yard. Such a bully.

Poor Uncle Arnold was cremated at Elland at noon. _____. I did think of my poor Rhodes cousins.

A letter in the Daily Telegraph from Brian J. Dunleavy, in Cardiff, caught my eye: "I am reminded of a comment made by a German journalist during the Yorkshire Ripper trial. 'Why is it in your country that when you talk to God you call it praying and when he talks to you you call it schizophrenia..."

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Tuesday January 20, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

Roy.

At 11 we set off for Middlesbrough where we found the Linthorpe Hotel demolished. A total ruin. The pub is trading from the tap room only and clouds of cement dust wafted across the Cleveland skies. Saw the barmaids Sally (just sacked), Rose and Carol. Roy was upstairs with Tim (ex relief, see 1983), who left as we arrived. Roy is such a character. He gave us coffee and we discussed business. Over Christmas and New Year he took £35,000. Oh, God. Marie was in Darlington sorting out Mags, who has left Mr Gaskin, taking with her the eight month old Sarah-Jane, &c. Sam played with Sam, the dog, and Saxon, who is an evil canine and was soon locked away in the kitchen. On to Yarm shopping. Phoned Dad at Janette's. He's going to Arnold's funeral with John & Janette. Uncle John is home from Lanzarote. Harry and Bert are attending too. A proper reunion.

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Monday January 19, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

Uncle Arnold.

Over boiled eggs at 9:30 Mrs Stephenson came to the cottage asking me to phone Dad immediately because "your uncle has died". Oh God. I put on my wellies and went to phone Dad at Horton. Uncle Arnold collapsed and died while shovelling snow last Thursday over in Halifax. Judith had gone to see him and was clearing the snow from his drive. He insisted on helping her but within minutes he was down and out. Dead on arrival, &c. Dad kept saying 'Poor Bill' over and over. (Arnold was always known as Bill, by his siblings). So very sad that he is gone. Dead at 54. We only saw him a week ago. The funeral is fixed for Wednesday. He is going with John and I made my excuses. Under normal circumstances I would have attended but I cannot cart the kids from County Durham to Halifax and back again. We went to Bishop Auckland. Biting cold. 

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Sunday January 18, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

2nd Sunday after Epiphany

A restful day. Ally and Samuel went into Wolsingham for newspapers and for the remainder of the day we sat by the fire playing with Lego, building cars, garages and dogs. Samuel beside himself with excitement and is a non-stop chatterer. 

The newspapers are a disgrace. The News of the World headlines: "RAT ROMY TWO-TIMES PRINCE WIMPO" - referring to Miss Romy Adlington, from Micheldever, a 20 year-old friend of Prince Edward, now labelled 'Wimpo' for resigning his commission in the Royal Marines.

The Sunday Times is full of the Guinness business. City affairs go over my head.

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Saturday January 17, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn

The freeze continues. The papers are full of nonsense about Barbara Barnes leaving the Royal nursery. What a spoilt little swine Prince William is, they say. How awful. Adulation one minute and hatred the next. What a dreadful Press we have.

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Friday January 16, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Wolsingham

Sub-zero conditions continue. We drove to Crook, where Ally bought three litres of wine and Samuel attempted to do some shoplifting in Boots. Stuffing mars bars into his pockets and flashing his big brown eyes at the hard north east shopping assistant. The newspapers have stories of Barbara Barnes quitting the royal nursery. All saying that Prince William is a 'spoilt' little boy. How awful. Adulation one minute, hatred the next. What a Press we have.

Much needed books: The diaries of Sir Alan Lascelles

                                   The diaries of Hugh Dalton

                                   The complete diaries of Samuel Pepys

What is the collective noun for someone who collects other peoples diaries?

Graham phoned Mrs Stephenson at 9:30am and asked us to contact him before 10. Ally was upstairs having 40 winks. I was making breakfast. Obviously, I feared the worst that perhaps Frank had gone down into the foaming brine en route to Jersey, or some similar tragedy. Ally was similarly perturbed and she hurriedly dressed, wellies too, and down to the farmhouse she went. She returned saying Graham wanted to come here with Gill, and the boys for the weekend. We do not have room to swing a cat here. Had we been staying in a bigger place it would have been fine.

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Thursday January 15, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn &c

We went out to Wolsingham to buy a ton of provisions from a 'supermarket' unchanged since 1956. Deep snow. We went into a pub and phoned Dad. He wasn't at home. Phoned Sue to say we had arrived safely. I made lunch which took me hours. Britain is shivering in Arctic conditions. Wind, &c. Weather dominating the news makes a change from all this talk about AIDS.

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Wednesday January 14, 1987

 Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn DL14 0PU

Full Moon

The snow continued to fall and we were house-bound. Ally, the angel, had the good sense to bring a tin of corned beef and other provisions because no way could we have gone out. Samuel sat on a window sill watching a farmer in a tractor clearing the snow. The Stephensons have a daughter at public school in Harrogate.

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Tuesday January 13, 1987

Granary Cottage, Bradley Burn, Wolsingham, Bishop Auckland

I went out snow shovelling this morning. Will we be able to make it to Wolsingham? The relief managers came, named Golding & Jones, from Birmingham. Golding & Jones? Sounds like a Tamla Motown  singing duo. The are not married. Does Humphrey Smith know they are living in sin? He is bearded and fat. She has peroxide hair and looks shifty. Poor Moorhouse. The stock taker, Crump, a cold, odd man, brought no machine with him and so we left at 1pm without a stock result. I will not worry, but I would have preferred to leave with a result. Heavy snow. A precarious journey north. Up the A1, which was clear of snow, and we turned off at Piecebridge, where the road became steadily worse. Ally wanted to drive and I was in the back clutching a snoring Clementine. Sam, watching from his car seat, became perturbed and was was convinced we were going to collide with another car. Our drive took us to West Auckland and past Raby Castle. All new scenery to me. Treacherous conditions when we arrived at Wolsingham. A Mrs Stephenson was waiting for us showering great praise on Ally's motoring prowess. Later, the road leading to Alston, was closed. Our place, Granary Cottage, is a converted granary (surely not?), and looks better from the outside. It's too 'new'. A real coal fire though. The bedrooms are no bigger than cupboards, but oh the peace and quiet. Ecstasy. A night watching the snow fall, bathing the children, sipping whisky and watching TV. Wednesday was similar.

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Monday January 12, 1987

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Our little Samuel is three today. He bounded into our room early for presents and cards. We didn't go berserk with gifts - so soon after the Christmas excesses - mainly clothes, but good clothes. He knocks around in shirts and pants more expensive than mine. He had a party at nursery today - a cake and buns with Dermot and the Ladybirds. He came home at 4 wearing a large hat and with chocolate all over his face. Oh, to be 3. Heavy snow tonight. It was bitterly cold. Gabrielle worked and only just made it here in the blizzard. Clemmie was squealing away and so Ally brought her downstairs. The pub was dead but Clemmie entertained Jack Collett, Tommo and Pam. We go on holiday tomorrow. Bliss.

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Sunday January 11, 1987

Samuel (1987).

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

1st Sunday after Epiphany

Samuel's party. Pub packed. Snow. Guests came at 2pm. Karen, Jill, Tim, Steve, Hayley, Thomas, Sue, Pete, Christopher, Ben, Mantha, Dad, who brought Arnold, Janet, Judith, Roger, Dorothy - thin and old - Les, and Guy. Graham Rhodes followed on later. Our lounge upstairs was packed and flowing with Liebfraumilch. Sadly, the children's party was pushed a bit into the background with the influx of a plethora of aged adults, but a cake was lit and a tea party atmosphere persisted. The aunts and uncles left after an hour or so. We did have a quick chat with Judith and Roger. The Sandersons stayed until after 9.

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