Sunday June 2, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Trinity Sunday

Sunshine. At lunchtime we bombed over to Thorpe Lane and found everyone sprawled out on the lawn at Thorpefields. The children were all blond and red. Sam looked so 'wishy washy' in comparison. They all played together in the Wendy house. Dad, red from the sun too, had been converting the lounge into Brighton Pavilion. Dave B is such a good man about the house. We brought Dad with us back to Leeds. Samuel looking very superior sitting with his idol in the back of the car. 

Gary worked with Ally. Dad and I stood at the bar chattering. He worries about money. He had Mum insured for £1700 but this will not cover the funeral bills, &c. We will lend him some cash of course. He didn't shed a tear until after 11 when he and I were left alone in the pub. At times he says he cannot go on.

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Saturday June 1, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ally went to do lots of shopping and I entertained Samuel. No sooner had she gone when in came joiners who removed our lounge window, supposedly rotten. Samuel loved it.

I tend to drift around in a daze for most of the time. I must be shocking company. Thank God May is out of the way. What a hideous month. _________. Roll on Monday. We don't even know who is coming to do the relief management. They can send Josef Mengele for all I care. The last one (relief manager) was a little prick. Pink track suit, &c.

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Friday May 31, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Toe awful. Ally took me at 9 to see Dr Smith. I queued and then went in and he smiled and said: "How's your Mum?" in answer to which I told him that she had died - "faded away" on May 18. He just said: "Brave lady" and put away his fountain pen and shuffled the papers on his desk, like Jan Leeming does at the end of the Nine O'clock news on the BBC. He gave me anti-biotics which seem to have done the trick immediately. Ally has been very unsympathetic about my toe. She always brushes minor illnesses to one side. On top of everything I have a really snotty nose, heavy head, green slime, &c. Phoned Dad. He is spending the weekend with Lynn papering the lounge ceiling, inhabiting the attic bedroom. Susan did him the world of good at Horton and Peter had him mowing the lawns, &c. I do hope we all are not pushing him too hard. Lynn is eager to parcel up all Mum's things and send them to the Ethiopia appeal. It's far too early. Mum's things should be left alone.

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Thursday May 30, 1985

Punk rockers ....

 Moorhouse Inn

Football: we go to Europe to indulge in sporting activities  and it has all ended like Goose Green. Awful. 

Our Punk Party. Donna Lea came in at 4:30 as I was dyeing my hair pink and silver. We giggled. Ally had become so tense about it but came down at 7:30 looking like Annie Lennox. Janet worked wearing an old bin-liner. Very good really. Abysmal turn out. We invited no family because we didn't think it a proper thing to do whilst in mourning. However, these frivolous things have to be done because we live in a pub. I was determined not to enjoy it. I did though, but just a little. About six people made an effort and came as 'punks'. Independent judges selected Edna (again) as champion with Pam Newton in second place. Edna was not the best this time, but was very good. She always puts her heart and soul into getting into character. She would make a brilliant actress. Sighs of relief at 11 when it was all over. Splashed in the bath together to wash off the dye. We can now think about our holiday.

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Wednesday May 29, 1985

Moorhouse Inn

Sunshine. Frank, Marlene, Debbie and Auntie Mabel came at lunchtime. They sat inside with ploughman's lunches. Jointly they demolished 36 tons of wet lettuce. _________. Mabel giggled at Samuel. They left at 4:30. It was Debbie's first visit in ages. She never saw Mum ill. ____. Busy. Lots of people have died at the European Cup Final in Brussels - 38 trampled to death.

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Tuesday May 28, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We are having a silly promotion on Thursday and have decided on a 'Punk Rock Fancy Dress'. Outdated, I suppose, but there you are. Our hearts aren't in it really. We went to Boots and bought hair gel and pink and silver dye. I am going to look a right proper poof. Gary worked. He is obsessed by soccer and women. He is doing some chemistry exams soon and I casually asked if he's doing CSEs or 'O' levels. He smirked. "No, it's the Royal College exam". No doubt he is going to be to chemistry what Michelangelo was to cherub paintings on ceilings.

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Monday May 27, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Bank Holiday in UK & USA

Bloody Bank Holiday. We expected visitors all day but none came until almost 2 o'clock. I was sat writing this 'ere (diary) when Ally shouted "look out of the window". This I did and there was Dad with Sue, Pete and the boys smiling up at me. We left Margaret in the bar and came upstairs. (Audrey is having the week off). Dad sat in Mum's high-backed chair and kept saying: "Hey, dear", with a sigh. He went and inspected every room. They spent 98 days here after Mum's so-called 'operation'. Ninety eight bloody days. Dad says he is so grateful for what we did. What did we do?  Mum was laid here dying while we sold ale below. We have suffered so much too, haven't we? We have to go on with this trauma for the rest of our lives. Hopefully, Mum sleeps soundly beneath Guiseley soil. 

Karen, Steve and Hayley came. Dad and Sue & Co left, and the Sandersons stayed until 9pm. Steve came down to the bar with me.

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Sunday May 26, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Whit Sunday 

Hot day. Ally played outside with Samuel and then they sat at a table with Werner, and his Diet Pils swilling friends, celebrating a birthday. Later we demolished roast beef for lunch. Samuel slept from 1pm and so missed his lunch. We ate upon our new pine table acquisition. 

Margaret worked tonight. Toe hurts. Am I going to be lame?

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Saturday May 25, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Guiseley cemetery.

A deep sleep again. It's a form of exhaustion I'm sure. Woke at 8:30. Poached eggs. A dull, overcast day. A typical start to a bank holiday. Feel particularly glum. It's a week since Mum was taken. It's obscene. I am having trouble with a toe-nail. It's a hideous sight. I sat in the bath soaking it, much to Samuel's amusement. Maureen suggested cutting the toe out of an old shoe, and this I did. It could set a new fashion. We were supposed to have a bank holiday extension in the bars tonight but I feel so awful, and on top of the festering toe I have a bad stomach too. Feel cold from inside. Ally was upstairs watching "Where Eagles Dare" for the 48,000,000th time. I kept running up and sitting on the toilet. John and Janette are at Horton. Dad, God bless him, is all I have got left to look up to. I phone him every day. Parents are so precious. 

(Yesterday, we visited the cemetery at Guiseley in the afternoon. Samuel played in the long grass and we looked at Mum's flowers and stared in disbelief at the wet, clay mound on top of her. It is a quiet corner though. On to Sue's afterwards. Pete was creosoting a fence.)

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Friday May 24, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Uncle Albert.

The first of May was the day on which Mum must have decided to get everything off her chest and then be at peace. If you can recall it was the day she told Papa and I that she wanted to be buried at Guiseley. Hilda and Tony visited that night and Dad took Tony to the Oddfellows for a drink leaving Mum and her sister alone. It was when they were upstairs together that a very poignant exchange occurred. Mum told Hilda that she was the daughter of Levinyer and Uncle Albert. She told Hilda that her mother (Levinyer) had disclosed this news when she herself was on her deathbed in 1957. Mum was so shocked that she only ever repeated this to Dad. (Dad told me of this in 1969). It was then that a bombshell came. Hilda told Mum that she too was the daughter of Uncle Albert, and neither had ever suspected that they were similarly sired. Both had spent the years from 1957 thinking they were alone, outcasts and virtual freaks. How sad that they both discovered that they were full sisters 18 days before one was taken away forever. How wrenching. I find it particularly annoying that Levinyer didn't have the sense to inform both her daughters together, to help them share the peculiar burden. I have always pondered, since I was told this story in 1969, on the structure of the Wilson family, and I decided long ago that Hilda must be Albert's child too. I cannot see Levinyer switching from one brother to the other and then back again. Dad says he cannot pretend to understand the relationships but recalled going along to St James's Crescent in December, 1953, to ask John Wilson for his daughter's hand in marriage to be confronted by the sober supposed father of the bride, who immediately responded: "Yes, you can marry Nora and I request that Hilda is the chief bridesmaid". Dad thought this was a strange proviso and now looking back he can see John's reasoning. The only people who could ever explain the antics of this ménage à trois are not going to reveal anything now. Poor Hilda. I must speak to her about this.

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Thursday May 23, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

The funeral of my poor, young mother.  (Redaction).

We went to Guiseley. Left the car at Sue's and walked to Lynn's. A full house. Long, lost relations too numerous to mention. Ally was annoyed at the way so many family and friends treat Mum's funeral like an enjoyable family reunion. Flowers galore. I didn't read any of the cards because I didn't want to blubber. 

St Paul's, Esholt.

To St Paul's, Esholt. The church was full of friends. Mr Barnes, the vicar, attempted to ease the pain but could not justify the death of a loved and lovely 50 year-old wife and mother. St Paul's letter to the Thessalonians didn't help. We wept through the hymns. To Guiseley cemetery at 11:45. A dull, but thankfully dry morning. Mum was lowered into the damp earth and we huddled around in the damp grass. 

(Redaction).

Back to Lynn's  for whisky. Just the four children, spouses, JPH and Catherine - two impeccably behaved children. Dad walked back to Thorpe Lane after seeing all the mourners off. It was what she wanted. No large gathering afterwards. No wake. Just a funeral and then home. Collected Sam. Home for 5. I was in bed at 7:30 totally exhausted. ______Tragic.

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