Friday May 3, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

It is six years today since the sainted Margaret [Thatcher] began her premiership. She is in Bonn at the moment attending a so-called economic summit which seems to me to be more like the 'Ronnie Reagan Show'. The poor US president is out of luck at the moment. His speeches seem jumbled and mumbled, and he looks confused and vague for most of the time. He is 74.

I have been reading a review of Anita Leslie's book 'Cousin Randolph', a biography of Winnie and Clem's wayward , prig of a son. It must have been awful for him having such a great man for a father and I suppose this must account for Randolph's faults. How many great men have produced sons to equal them? Where are the offspring of James Callaghan (who?), Harold Wilson (who?), Lord Home of the Hirsel (who?), Denis Thatcher, Dr David Owen, Donald Sinden, &c.

Society tit bits: Elizabeth Countess of Leicester is a gonna. Daughter of the Earl of Hardwicke, mother of Lady Glenconner, and grandmother of the naughty Charlie Tennant. She was a Lady of the Bedchamber to the Queen 1953-73. The Waleses are still afloat.

-=-

Thursday May 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad phoned. Mum, he says, wants to return home to Waltergarth next Tuesday. The decision is made. John is going to take her home. My God it will be her final journey. So sad to think she has been putting off going back to Swaledale because she thought we would leave her in Horton churchyard. If only she had confided in me. 

Waltergarth ...

This evening two thugs in a large white van removed the telephone box from the pub foyer and made off with it. The bloody call box must only have had a couple of quid in it. What a laugh really. I had expected it for a while. A PC Jarvis came in giggling and took away a couple of beer glasses used by the thieves - for finger printing purposes. The theft was the hot topic of conversation tonight in the pub. I went to the Junction (pub) to phone Dad. Hilda and Tony visited them last night - late on. Dad took Tony to the Oddfellows (pub) for 4 pints of Tetley's. Poor Dad. He gets little time off.

-=-

Wednesday May 1, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Cold, blustery. May Day. Horrific. To Shipley and the denist this morning where Ally had a chipped tooth looked at. Samuel and I went to look at books and buy a [news]paper. I bought a novel by Brenda Jagger for Mum and a picture frame for a group photo I've given her. Samuel played with a plastic green frog in the shop. 

To Sue's for lunch. We sat in the garden. Soup and sandwiches. On to Club Street at 2. Mum is awful, A shocking mess. Weary, weepy and weak. I sat with her alone and she clutched my hand. The only reason she has never gone back to Horton is that she doesn't want to die at Waltergarth and be 'left behind buried in the village'. She says she wants to be laid to rest in Guiseley cemetery to be 'near somebody' and deplores the idea of cremation. Once said she went on to say she would not speak of such morbid things again. She had the same conversation with Dad last night, which broke him up. I kept my calm and felt better knowing of her wishes. She did stress that she wants 'no bun fight' afterwards. I agreed with her. Wakes are ghastly. I will go away and get quietly pissed. Ally sat on the bed with her afterwards and began to cry, but Mum cheered her. Such a brave angel she is.

-=-

Tuesday April 30, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Mum.

Mum returned to Club Street from hospital. She left the hospital by car -- she didn't enjoy the recent trip by ambulance. Dad did not expect to see Mum come out of Airedale. Mr Armitage had expressed the opinion that she 'might go'. And, for the first time since Christmas Mum has talked of going home to Waltergarth. This would make Dad very happy, I'm sure. He always looks so lost at Club St, and would be kept busier at Horton. Could Mum withstand the solitude though?

We had a restless, uncomfortable night off. We argue so much these days, not seriously or about anything of consequence, and we blame it on the tension and worry of recent months. We really should pull together at such a time of grief. I suppose it will come.

News: Pictures of the mantilla-clad figure of Diana with the Pope dominate the front pages. Lady Katharine Seymour, great aunt of the Princess of Wales and a lady-in-waiting to the Queen Mother, is dead.

-=-

Monday April 29, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The Waleses with the Pope.

Our bloody phone is on the blink and I spent the afternoon going around the streets trying to find a working public appliance. Futile. Eventually, I phoned the hospital from Audrey's and left a message with the sister on ward 19 that I was 'cut off' in Leeds but thinking of Mum all the same. She looked so very poorly yesterday. Auntie Hilda is very concerned about Dad. What will become of him? He has always relied on Mum for everything, and to imagine him coping without her is impossible. They are such a loving, devoted couple.

The Waleses have had an audience of the Pope. I saw it on the telly. Diana in black, and draped in veils, &c. There is a rumpus over the Queen supposedly halting plans for the couple to celebrate Mass in (Pope) John Paul's private chapel in the Vatican, and then for them to take breakfast with him. It just isn't the done thing. The princess is still demure. 

Sunday April 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

3rd Sunday after Easter

Bacon, eggs. I enjoy Sunday mornings. At 3pm we took Samuel to Pudsey where Hilda and Jill looked after him whilst Ally and I went to Airedale (Hospital) to see Mum.  He wasn't upset when we left and was very interested in Pepper (the Yorkshire terrier). Driving rain and cold.

Mum was asleep and the TV was silent but for the occasional clicking of snooker balls - Steve Davis is at it again. She was soon awake and smiling. Poor Dad looked very forlorn. Mum is uncomfortable and the dripping wound in her tummy doesn't help. She says that in this stay in hospital she has been a coward, and depressed. She seems to think she can return home tomorrow, but it doesn't look likely. She asked to go back to Club Street for some peace, and that the pub 'saw me through the winter'. She added that the bustle, activity, and smells would be too much to endure now. Someone had done her make-up and it looked awful. She looked smudged and dazzling. We left and went back to Hilda's for 6 and on to the Moorhouse. 

Gary worked. Not too busy.

-=-

Saturday April 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Samuel's peals of morning chatter woke me at 8 and I left Ally asleep and created a sumptuous breakfast for my boy. We both sat in the kitchen eating bacon, eggs, and fried black pudding. My head was pounding. I did the tills and Samuel played with his toys. Dad phoned at 9am. Mum feels poorly and in some discomfort from the meddling. I worried all day. Samuel and I went into the cellar to look at the bottles. My wife stayed in bed until 3pm. By this time I had also provided my son with lunch - fish. What a little housewife I am. It was a subdued afternoon downstairs. People with red eyes kept coming in and giggling. 

Mum phoned me at 6:30 feeling better. She said she is phoning us all because she doesn't want us to worry. Auntie Hilda phoned them this morning but Mum was too ill to have any conversation, and Hilda came away very upset fearing the worst. It was good to hear Mum's voice.

We both went downstairs at 7. It was Gary Booth's first appearance behind the bar. He did very well. Competent. 21. No trouble. Exhausted tonight. Quiet in the bars. A steady initiation for Gary. Bed at 12.

Gossip: The Hon Carolyn Herbert has become engaged to a bloodstock agent called Warren. She could so easily have become Duchess of York. How very sad. I do suppose that Prince Andrew's future wife is now a podgy 13 year-old schoolgirl at Roedean.

Friday April 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Dad phoned this morning to say they arrived safely at Airedale Hospital after a bumpy ride over the tops. Mum was put in room 5 but then moved to room 4 because the TV is better there. They got straight down to it and drew off three pints of fluid from Mum's tummy. He said she was very tired and sleeping. Lynn and Sue are visiting this evening, and we'll have a further report then. Poor Mum. How brave she is. We didn't go out after lunch thinking someone might phone with a bulletin. How depressing. 

Phyllis's thighs: like a Rubens painting.

We went down at 8 and sat with the Egans. Ally phoned Lynn at 11 to be told Dad was all alone at Club Street. I was drinking pints and at 11:30 I bolted the doors and informed all those who were fortunate enough to be on the inside remained inside until the crowing of the dawn cock. The wild orgy of merrymakers consisted of us, Ally and I, Audrey, Maureen, Jean, Margaret, Dougie, David Howard, Geoff, Phyllis, Jerry, Mary, &c. Audrey sneaked out after 5 minutes but everyone else were soon pissed as arseholes. I did my usual stuntman impersonation. Clambering around on the furniture and 'sky diving'  - writhing on the floor with Phyllis, &c. Mounds of naked thigh, like one of those paintings by Titian or Peter Paul Rubens. I really went to town. My pyramid proved highly popular. 

-=-

Thursday April 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Very cold. A morning off. Up to Horsforth where we sat in the back of MJM Furnishings with MJM himself supping coffee. Marita came in at 11. They have been looking at hotels in Scarborough. Dropped in on Denise too who is unchanged. She says I am fatter. I am probably 2st heavier since we last met.  On to the Butcher's at 12:30 for lunch. Sam was well behaved and sat with us eating chips. Joined by Ronnie the stock-taker. Rob was in a bit of a dream and we didn't really see him. We went upstairs to see Kath and the baby. He is a bonnie baby - for a change. Recent babies have looked so E.T-like.

To Club St for an hour. Dad took Sam for a walk and I sat with Mum. She was brighter and not in the least frightened about going into Airedale (Hospital). Dad phoned me tonight to say that they are going by ambulance at 9:30 in the morning. I go about my business in a kind of dream world.___________.

-=-

Wednesday April 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine again. Samuel has been cutting some back teeth and is ill tempered and violent. His little red face contorted with rage. I soothed him rubbing whisky on his hard gums, and he was more pleasant afterwards. They must go through such agony. I took him out in his pushchair at 10. I withdrew £50 from the bank to buy various things for the pub lunches. 

See in the DT that Baron von Reibnitz has been cleared of any Nazi atrocities, and was more or less a honorary member of the Waffen-SS. All that fuss for nothing. 

Stocktake. Someone answering to the name Crump came late at 10:45 without our (illegible) and went away at 12 promising to phone us with our stock result this afternoon. He did so. We have a £21 surplus which is good after the £60 deficit incurred by the silly jogging relief (manager). 

At 3:30 we walked up to the local sports centre and took Samuel for his first dip in a swimming pool. He took to the water really well and kicked his tiny legs, but didn't enjoy getting a mouthful of water. A squalid pool really. Dirty and sweaty with open changing rooms. I flash my private little pieces for no one. 

Back at 5 for fish pie. Dad phoned me. Mum is going into Airedale Hospital (Ward 19 again) on Friday. He didn't know how long they might keep her in. We must go to see her tomorrow.

-=-

Tuesday April 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Very blustery. Bright though. St George. Lord Carrington and the Marquis of Normanby have got the Garter.Dray came at 9. We shopped until 10. The girl on the counter in the bank is the most moody cow imaginable. Mavis phoned at 10:45 to give her notice. I accepted it. Since meeting 'lover boy' her heart just hasn't been in it. __________. Ally has kept the names and addresses of the people we interviewed last month and at 5:30 I phoned one Gary Booth, and he snapped up my offer of a job. He starts on Saturday. 

(Phoned Dad. Mum has been brighter - but no food).

Our pool team played the Gemini pub tonight and we won. Much of the zest in the squad has gone since Archie's passing. Jim Precious is still very cut up about it. Andy Bowden and Co. came in. We had a quiz. I am quite good and startle the others at my ability to answer silly questions. Such as: Who died in HMS Hampshire in 1916? Kitchener, of course. Name the tallest cathedral spire in England. Salisbury. We really should have a quiz team. Pool is so bloody dull. To bed at 11:30 with a plate of sandwiches.

-=-