Moorhouse Inn
Dismal. I went out on foot at 9:30 to the new Holbeck Police Station to see PC Jarvis. I was taken below to the cells to have my finger prints taken. They came out very poor. I hardly leave a print. The jovial constable said I could commit the perfect crime without gloves. It was all very time consuming. Back for 11. I walked home over the motor-way bridge.
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| Denis: 70 |
Just Gary tonight. Walked up the road for fish and chips with David Howard and June at 11:30pm.
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Moorhouse Inn
Morning off. After breakfast we drove to Horton, calling at Settle. We walked around, Samuel toddling along in his red dungarees. To Horton for 12. Poor Mum looked shocking and wanted to sleep and so we had a miserable lunch of bread and cheese with Dad conducting all the conversation at a whisper despite the fact that Jimmy Young was blaring away on the radio, and Mum was yards away in bed. He became quite tearful but we didn't allow the conversation to become too sombre. I found Mum crying in bed. She's been shouting for Dad but Jimmy Young drowned her out. I helped her to sit up and gave her a drink and Paracetamol tablets. She is a bag of bones. So pathetic and sad. I suggested she might have a commode, but she was repulsed by the idea ... "a commode and I'm only 50". So fucking cruel. Lynn and David appeared from Airedale (Hospital) where David had been X-rayed . He is having trouble with red urine. All hush hush. Lynn seemed peeved and was in a glum mood. Home for 5pm. Samuel eating potato crisps in the car. He is such a good little boy. The Moorhouse wasn't unduly seething (sic).
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Moorhouse Inn
The anniversary of VE Day. Forty years on. I don't really see why the fortieth anniversary requires a royal bash in the abbey and Frank Bough showing old newsreels of the Blitz and Belsen on TV from dawn until dusk. Will they do it all again in 1995?
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| VE Day: 40 years on. |
The actress Dawn Addams has died of cancer aged 54, after a five month struggle.
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Moorhouse Inn
Quiet here. Ally and Samuel went across to Guiseley where Lynn, Sue and Janette were sitting in the garden at Thorpefields surrounded by masses of children. Summer, it seems, is upon us. Lynn is usually scantily clad from May to October. Samuel was playing in the gutter with a toy sweeping brush. Lynn says that Mum has a growth of some kind upon her shoulder, a product of the cancer, but says Mum isn't aware of it. Revolting.
I slept on the settee until 4 when Ally and Samuel came back for tea. Ally sat relating her adventures to me and we lost sight of Samuel for a few minutes. We found him in the kitchen with an upturned box of black pepper. His ears, eyes, nose and lungs - full of it. We were both sneezing as we cleaned him up. Minor hysterics ensued.
I phoned Sarah at the YP. David Howard has been pestering her for some time about a bankruptcy case and I wanted to clear the air. I told her about Mum and she began to blubber. I didn't want this. She did see Mum quite a lot at evening soirees in the '70s. You know how emotional Sarah can be. She promised to come here one evening. Seeing is believing.
Later I had to forcibly eject a young violent Welshman with a black vicious dog. Karma Singh ran to my assistance but twas not needed.
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Moorhouse Inn
Bank Holiday in the UK
Cool. The usual flat bank holiday. Rajpaul, the Pakistani jeweller, was sat outside in the car park in his Mercedes Benz drinking his own Bacardi. I went out and told him that this is strictly forbidden. Good heavens, no. At lunch Ally provided only sandwiches which sold better than I expected. A bustling lunch really. Later I cleaned the deep fat frier whilst Ally slumbered. I l later gave our son 'high tea', a bath, Horlicks, &c. Bed then for our tiny progency, and then I set about making the pool sandwiches. Ally criticised my furious activity before collapsing on the settee ______.
Tonight I felt dead to the world. Janet worked. I went to phone Dad from the corner of Admiral Street. Yes, they made it to Waltergarth . Mum travelled in the front passenger seat of Dave B's car wrapped in blankets. Horrendous journey. The Baker children were left at Pool-in-Wharfedale. Mum was completely exhausted on arriving at Waltergarth and fell into bed. Very weepy. Dad pleased to be home. Dr Brewster is going tomorrow to remove Mum's stitches. He hasn't seen Mum since November.
A flat evening. We had an extension until 11:30pm. Useless. Karen Pratt came in. Ally played darts with our lady champion, Vicky Pearson.
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Moorhouse Inn
4th Sunday after Easter
Sun, but cold. To Horton with potted plants and Mum's suitcase. I drove the car from the 'dark arches' in Leeds to the other side of Ilkley. My feet are too big for the pedals. Joined by Sue, Pete and the boys at Waltergarth for 12 and Sue made a chicken stew and Yorkshire puddings. It's such a sad place. Thirty years to build a home, and for what? (Don't become bitter and twisted, Michael, please). We stayed until 3 and then left in convoy fashion. Samuel is obsessed by his Nason cousins. He loves the company of other children. Christopher spewed up outside the Anchor at Gargrave. Gary worked PM. Phoned Papa. Mum is so bloody weak. She has been downstairs since Easter.
News: Yehudi Menuhin has taken British citizenship so now he can use his knighthood and now be styled Sir Yehudi. He was made Hon. KBE in 1965. Interesting.
Before leaving Horton we watched the royal tour of Italy on the news. Gondolas in Venice. Later saw the young princes arrive and join their parents on Britannia for a short cruise in the Adriatic.
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Moorhouse Inn
Full Moon. To Bradford this morning. Ally dropped Samuel and me and we walked to Club Street and found Mum flat out in bed. Tearful. Mum is set on journeying to Horton on Monday. It will be one hell of a ride if she makes it. The bedroom at Club St is claustrophobic after the palatial setting here. Her stitches are coming out next week. Samuel didn't want to go in and kiss her, and she was upset by this. The little mite doesn't understand. It was all something of a rush because Ally came back and we had to back at the Moorhouse for 11 to let the drunken reprobates in.
Marjorie worked the evening. Nothing to report on this score other than the fact that I have agreed to babysit for her parrot when she goes on holiday in September.
Dead: Douglas Hurd's mum.
Married: the Hon David Erskine to Viscountess Chandos.
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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.
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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.
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| Waltergarth ... |
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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.
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Moorhouse Inn
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| Mum. |
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.
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