Saturday March 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I have a horrible, heavy cold. But work must go on. We were visited by John, Janette, Jill and Tim. A pity really because I was in no mood for such revelry. Baby talk basically. Jill says they might have a Jonathan. Janette said that a son might be Simon, at which John replied: "I'm having no Simon under my roof." They all hung around until 1am saying how tired and ill I looked. Ally kept dropping hints and yawning theatrically, but it didn't work.

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Friday March 22, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Princess Anne has been interviewed on Wogan's dreadful show and was apparently very good. She has had good media treatment recently. Mum didn't get out of bed to watch it, saying: "she (the princess) wouldn't get out of bed to see me." Ally looked in on the interview and her peals of laughter could be heard throughout the building. I must say I have always admired Mrs Mark Phillips. HM should have made her Princess Royal by now. I am a stickler for tradition.

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Thursday March 21, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

New Moon

Parkinson or Redgrave?

Cold. The first day of Springtime. Sir Michael Parkinson has died aged 77, from Redgrave's Disease, or is it the other way round?

The decorators conclude. Ally suspects that in the latter stages they tired somewhat and found the task a toil. The small, Scottish and bewigged decorator was dolloping varnish everywhere, but where it was actually needed. They left at 5. We finished at 2 and went to Club Street to paint the bedroom leaving Samuel with Grandpapa. We did half the room and returned home at 5. Maureen did the bar until 8. Poor Mum was in bed all day again. She has had nothing to eat since Saturday except for a small splodge of porridge. She wept tonight. The look of despair I shall never forget.

Archie is to be cremated at Cottingley on Monday at 1:30. I will probably go.

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Wednesday March 20, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Cold. Drizzle. The decorators work at a slug-like speed. The lounge is shut off  and clouds of varnish fumes hang in the atmosphere, like the mushroom cloud over Nagasaki or Dresden. 

One of those boring sieges is going on in London. It's a murderer holed up in a van in Berkeley Square. It must be a smelly, sweaty experience.

Mum is stuck in bed. Why Dad refuses to phone Armitage I do not know. She had a small bowl of porridge but nothing else. Sue, Pete and the boys came at 11:30. It's Peter's birthday. They came after visiting St James's Hospital - you know, Benjamin's heart. His quack is on holiday in Australia. The soddin' NHS. They left after half an hour and refused an invitation to stay to lunch.

The boys from the Station returned to do battle (pool). But we don't have our Archie. We won but lost on aggregate. I was too busy to socialise with Tim and Mary. So much ale spilled - the tap room floor was like the Empire Pool, Wembley.

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Tuesday March 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

An early dray delivery. The decorating continues. They were varnishing the woodwork in the lounge and our lungs are heavy with fumes. Uncle Peter appeared in the tap room in oily overalls - from Spensalls - to see Mum, and he didn't cause a fuss when I clearly lied to him and said Mum was asleep. In truth she was sat up in bed but in no mood to see visitors. We stood at the bar talking about the Wilsons. He has a soft spot for John and speaks affectionately about him. __________. He is so very upset by Mum's illness, and his heart is always in the right place.

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Monday March 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Moorhouse Inn is in mourning for poor Archibald Drummond Adams.  It is unbelievable. He was 42. Madge was hopelessly weeping and by noon we had a full tap room - everyone drinking Archie's favourite Bacardi & coke, and slobbering together. _____. It is hard to imagine our tap room without Archie. He was a troublesome, loud, noisy little Scot, but he had a warm heart and an acid sense of humour which I found so refreshing. It will be a dull place without him. Jim Precious looked quite broken. Tonight they all came out of the woodwork to mourn.

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Sunday March 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Mothering Sunday / St Patrick's Day

Archie (left).

Someone in the pub said that Mother's Day is a ghastly American import, but of course this is not so. It's an ancient religious thing. Mum remembers taking bunches of violets home from church for her mother back in the 40s. I must look it up in Brewer's. A shocking day really. Mum was really low. They (the family) all appeared against our advice, and it proved too much for her. She stayed abed and bunches of people kept drifting in and out. Catherine couldn't understand why 'Granny' was crying and John (Snr) came away pale and upset. Mum had wept before him saying she didn't want to die. My God it's all so awful. Lynn came en route to the Bakers where they were going for Sunday tea. ________.

Our evening off. A sumptuous dinner. Poor Mum prodded a Yorkshire pudding but didn't eat. It was all wrenching. I was in bed at midnight when Jim Precious phoned to say that Archie had collapsed and died outside the Station at 11pm after a pool knock-out. What a terrible shock.

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Saturday March 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

John & Levinyer.

My grandfather, John Wilson, was born on this day in 1890. I can hardly remember him even though I was six when he faded away. An old man plucking a chicken is what I can recall. He was, by all accounts, a quiet, gentle man, very much broken by the cruelty of his vicious and bombastic eldest son and namesake. Mum says that she hadn't thought about it before but her mother, Levinyer, was so very soft with her boys, so soft that they did and said anything in her presence, and on the other hand the girls were all harshly treated and allowed little freedom. Levinyer Wilson, we are told, could move a piano from one end of the house to the other, pulling it across the floor on a rug. 

Quiet afternoon. Margaret and I worked. Archie and Jim in the tap room. Archie still furious about the joke with Sue last night. He doesn't often fall for such little pranks.

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Friday March 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Lynn, Dave and Sue came to see Mum and Dad this evening. Mum, sitting in her chair, said she has lived a good life, and went on to say that we do not have to live to be old and ancient to have had a contented life. She gave the girls a good talking to and said she did not want tears and that we should all be happy and strong together. Downstairs after this intimate and frank exchange they all seemed relieved and almost elated that Mum had talked to them about her illness. A weight off their shoulders. 

Sue and Lynn inspected the decorating in the bar and Archie, on seeing Sue in the tap room, assumed she was Donna Lea, the area manager. It turned into a huge, highly successful leg-pull. Sue, straight faced, told Archie that the tap room was closing as a bar and was to be replaced by an a la carte restaurant. Archie went white, and was furious on being told of the spoof. A busy evening. All jolly. Andy Bowden came in and announced that he was capable of drinking 10 pints of diet pils. Not bloody likely.

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Thursday March 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Margaret worked alone. 

(Redaction)

Wednesday March 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

A bright day to begin with but cloud and rain came later. The alarm sounded at 7, but Samuel remained asleep, and so we switched off and lay in blissful slumbers until 8. I went down to admit the decorators and had breakfast of eggs and beans. Samuel ate the lot unaided. He was 14 months old yesterday. Dad joined us. Mum's new sleeping pills have had no effect and she was awake until 5am. Dad took Samuel to the park and then went to Guiseley to bank a cheque and visit the girls. Mum found some comfort and slept in the afternoon. I went to see her for ten minutes and she complained of her swollen feet. On Dad's return he wasn't very informative and we suspect that he has been to Guiseley to put them off visiting on Mother's Day. We would have preferred them to come in the evening minus offspring and were startled when Dad says he has arranged for them all to come, with children, in a staggered trail throughout the afternoon. The man has no idea. It will be so exhausting for Mum. Tonight at 8 we went out, taking Maureen with us, to the Station (pub) where our pool team was disgracefully slaughtered. It was an enjoyable evening. Ally and I sat with Tim and Mary, the new incumbents. Home after 11. Maureen gave Ally £2 for chauffeuring her around Beeston. Silly girl.

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