Saturday January 11, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A very hard (illegible) day. I opened up at 11 expecting peace and tranquillity, for that is my usual lot on a Saturday with just Jim and George and the 'Daily Star'. But Oh no. In walked 73 rugby league fanatics, all very good humoured, who proceeded to drink us out of house and home for two hours which gave us our busiest lunch time ever. Just me, no staff. Ally came down with Samuel . Knackered at 3. I left a tap open in the back bar and flooded the tap room. Lanigans. To Morrison's at 4. We thought Margaret was down to open up at 7 but she didn't appear until 8. Audrey was told this afternoon that her working hours would now be more varied in the future, and 12-3:30 might be a thing of the past. She wrongly thinks I'm a swine who wants rid of her. However, she has no argument because her contract states she'll work when I say, &c. Ally was still up at 11:30pm. Samuel's party is now ready. Watched a Hammer horror.

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Friday January 10, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Jack Collett.

Audrey held an impromptu 'privy council' meeting here with old favourite Mavis Ingham and Margaret Milne in attendance. The meeting commenced at 2pm on Audrey's escape from the bar. Little does she know that this 12-2pm run is going to be a permanent thing. I am going to have to cut lunchtime staff hours. Phoned Dad. What a mess he was in. He had supped half a bottle of whisky plus two large bottles of home brewed beer and was totally pissed. I could weep for him. I do worry about Dad. Who wouldn't get pissed up in his position? He has been a tower of strength for us. He lets himself go when all alone at Waltergarth. I told we all love him. 

Chris and Margaret worked PM. I sat at the bar with Jack Collett and Brian (beard) discussing Westland, Heseltine, Robert Runcie, Heseltine, Westland, Westland, Westland, &c. They say that the shaggy haired former defence secretary will one day lead the party. No way. 

Ally made a few attempts to make Samuel a birthday cake, but they were sad. Watched a late film.

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Thursday January 9, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Lay in bed drinking tea in the dark at 7:30am. Ally cannot get up without a bowl of cereal which she ate propped up by pillows. Samuel is a good boy. He just say playing with toys until we pulled round. We must be getting old. Later we went to collect a batch of photographs and bought Samuel a toy record player from a store on Wellington Street. I am looking forward to this birthday party. Ally has baked buns and has bought some of those little trifle dishes with the crinkly edges which jolt one back to 1959, or so. Later Ally and Sam came downstairs (11am) to quash the rumours that she has left me. Samuel is so good for business and he went around in the back bar at the wheel of his Postman Pat car kissing the aged customers.

Heseltine: resigned

Newsflash: Michael Heseltine has resigned as Secretary of State for Defence over the Westland helicopter takeover affair thingy. A very able man, but probably too unconventional to lead the (Conservative) party. Long hair, &c.

Worked alone from 2pm. Audrey sat having a drink at the bar until 3. Later Ally and Sam had spaghetti bolognese, and I nothing. Couldn't be bothered. But later at 8 when Margaret arrived I nipped up to the fish and chip shop and bought a pile of soggy, fried fayre which we ate in front of a smouldering Michael Heseltine on the telly. Phoned Dad. He wasn't quite a buoyant today, and was sat watching 'Minder'. We spoke of Michael Heseltine. It's Dad's opinion that the Tory MP 'didn't do much anyway'. The pub was jovial. Lots of noise. Mary (Knight), the widow - blond and randy - kissed me on the way out. I am something of a Clark Gable. To bed at 11:50. Ally was already out for the count.

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Wednesday January 8, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Snow, ice and a general chill. After breakfast Samuel and I went out with picks and shovels to move the snow from the carpark. It was a slushy, half-hearted affair. We went over the white moor to inspect the frozen park. Samuel's little fingers were blue. He refused to wear his Thomas the Tank mittens. What a cherub he is. 

Baby names: Ally wants Nora in the middle of our future babe's three names, not at the end. So Clemmie will have Nora then Mary or Lucy. For a boy George is the top, but we like William. I favour the former because 1). I dislike the nickname Bill, and 2). People will say we have named him after Prince William of Wales. I could not do that. I also like Harry, but that name will be discarded for the same reason. All our baby names with the exception of Clementine can be found in our genealogical table.

Bliss. A night off. Audrey opened up at 5:30, and then Maureen and Chris worked. Very quiet. Just (illegible) and drank wine and chatted by a smouldering TV set. We had trout. I love it, but Ally picked and poked at it. Fear of bones. I hid the gaping fish heads beneath lettuce. 

Frank and Bessie flew to Tenerife yesterday for a week. Phoned Dad at 8:30. He seemed cheerful and he talked about the jet crash at West Burton, Wensleydale, yesterday. Near him.

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Tuesday January 7, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

A 7am start again. What long days we have. Samuel is still raving about 'Agadoo', dancing with Lucy the dolly and his Teddy. We are being driven slowly insane. We went up Dewsbury Road together and collected his £28 family allowance lolly which we later went out and spent on a grey velvet suit with knee length trousers and bow tie. Wearing it he looks edible. For his birthday party of course. Grey shoes to match. Even at his tender age he is aware he is wearing something new and stands so proud. Young Liz worked PM. Stone dead. I stayed below to keep an eye on her but drifted off for a cup of tea only to fly back down in horrific haste because I had left THIS volume on a shelf behind the bar and visions of her prying into my innermost recesses. I often compile this journal as I stand behind the bar on quiet, long, wintry evenings. Leaning against a dormant beer pump shrouded in cobwebs and layers of dust --- the place echoing with long forgotten ghost-like voices of customers asking 'pint of bitter, Guv'ner'. Politics tonight. Old Harold says that Britiain will become the 51st US state, and that Mrs T is a 'dictator'. Harold Wilson, he says, was a 'Spiv'.

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Monday January 6, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Epiphany

Gone but no forgotten: Lord Derwent, CBE; Lord David Cecil, CH; Dustin Gee; Phil Lynott ....

Forgotten but not gone: Pearl Carr and Teddy Johnson, Judith Chalmers, Lord Lucan.

The feast of the Epiphany, &c. Dawn start. 7am. Very dark. Gave Ally and egg, and Sam a crumpet and then to Leeds Market at 8 to buy pies and cheap cuts of meat. Came away with bags of fatty, pink flesh which made Ally bilious. We saw Marjorie Murphy, a plain, slow little woman to be sure. Back at the pub I had three customers this afternoon. Thirty three and a third of them were ex-Gestapo. Things are going to have to change. I told Audrey that our staff hours are going to have to be cut next week. Se sneered and said that they were always the same until we came on the scene. _________. Steamed fish for dinner. Played with Samuel at building brick towers and then demolishing them. He is such a good talker. He loves the stereo and danced, clutching his Teddy, to 'Agadoo' by Black Lace. Phoned Dad at 7. He phoned his sister Dorothy last night and after the wedding he is going on to Blackpool for the night. He has spent today brewing (ale) and ironing. _____. A dead night. Margaret worked. Later watched a tv documentary on Terence Conran. Very good. What an enterprising old stick.

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Sunday January 5, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

2nd Sunday after Christmas

Downstairs this morning to conclude stripping the pub of its Yuletide finery. It looked a drab place afterwards. January will be stone dead now. The lunchtime takings were lamentable. £89 or thereabouts. Silly. Up at 2:30 for the Eastenders omnibus, roast beef, Yorkshire puddings. Samuel is probably cutting some back teeth. Rosy cheeks and a temper this afternoon. _______. Liz and Chris worked tonight. Stone dead again. Like Tales from the Rue Morgue. I stayed upstairs with my ailing wife who was laid propped up with pillows and wearing a baggy dressing gown. Cary Grant in a Hitchcock movie. Silly scenes on Mount Rushmore. Cary Grant tussling on Teddy Roosevelt's nostrils, &c. Dad phoned at 8:30 to say he has received a wedding invitation. My cousin Guy Maxwell Holland (Dorothy's third child) is to marry on January 18, at St Helen's, Merseyside, to one Carmel Patricia Corcoran. Dad wasn't wearing specs and giggled. Did he mean Carol? (No he was right in the first instance). He asked if he should go, and I responded with a definite 'yes'. I am all for family reunions, and life is too short for acrimony, except for where uncle John Wilson is concerned. _______.

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Saturday January 4, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds, LS11 5NQ

Yesterday Ally bought Hilda flowers and bunch of tea roses for Mum's grave which we took to the cemetery before Katie's party. Samuel thinks Granny Rhodes lives in a pretty garden and his waves at her headstone. Very touching. 

Today: I did lunch alone. So quiet. Only the Egans, Jack Collett, &c. Ally made steak and kidney for dinner. This baby is a little beggar. Ally is breathless, nauseous, tired, worn out and weak kneed. Surely, it cannot go on? Aren't we over the worst?

Liz worked. Dim as a Toc H lamp. Afterwards, I went around at 11:30 taking down the Christmas decorations. Bernie, aghast, said this was a terrible thing to do and will bring bad luck down on our house.

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Friday January 3, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Fat little Katie is three today. It's three years today since we went through that Fred Karno's circus routine on Thorpe Lane. I have no hangover, which is interesting. Do keep off the beer, Michael. To Hilda's at 12. (I had previously phoned them at 10, and Sam had said "Tony, Porridge"). Samuel has been an angel. Hilda had bathed him, put him to bed and says he had been 'as good as gold'. Hilda has enjoyed having Samuel and says she will help when the baby comes along. Crisp and cold. I walked over to the fish and chip shop at Waterloo and saw my hideous uncle John Wilson, puffing on his pipe in his car parked outside. I ignored the swine. His wife Kathleen Powell was in the shop but didn't recognise me. What a wrinkled old thing she is. A Mother Theresa look-alike in fact. As we drove through Pudsey we saw Mabel but didn't stop. She waved. On to Katie's birthday party. Dad there. Lynn is a good organiser of childrens' games. All very Tranmere Park though. Tonight MM, Marita and Dave L appeared. Marita announced that she wants to go live in Tenerife. _______.

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Thursday January 2, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Bank Holiday in Scotland

Mum & Dad's birthday, but with that awful feeling of loss. I phoned Horton and found Dad to be out and Sue to be in. I phoned later. Samuel sang 'happy birthday' which was sweet. It must be a dreadful day for Dad today but suppose that Susie is using all her powers to keep him smiling. We took Samuel to Hilda's at 5 o'clock. I had a large whisky with Tony. Hilda was wearing one of Mum's dresses. Touching. Samuel seemed to settle with Hayley's toys and at 6 we escaped. Ally looking delicious in her new mohair creation. Her hair is superb these days. To the Menston Arms where we accosted the landlord, a man in his 60s, who says that Sam Smith's brewery are 'the most unprincipled bastards' he has ever encountered. He is due to retire in two years and Ally and I had the same thought. We would go to the Menston Arms before any other pub, and Leslie Gledhill is the area manager here. We shall have to push ourselves for this one and see what LG has to say. To the Hare & Hounds for 7:30. We the first to arrive and stood at the bar. I drank whisky and stayed off the beer. Susie and Pete came in next with Dad, who looked scruffy._______. He was distant and struggling to keep control. We dined at 8:30 or 9 on a table for 10. I cringed. There was an empty chair next to Dad. Steaks all round. Me a Porterhouse. Ally a fillet. Jolly, jovial dinner. At the salad bar away from Dad Susie whispered that Dad had broken down at the New Year. To Sue's afterwards. Whisky. Marx Brothers. Home at 1.

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Wednesday January 1, 1986

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

New Years Day - Bank Holiday in the UK

The Moorhouse Inn.

Awful morning. Ally disgusted at my drunken arrival to bed in the early hours took off  and slept in Samuel's room. Morning came and we were both in bed with Samuel pleading with us to get up, plodding between the bedrooms. I ventured out and staggered around making breakfast. Ally had scrambled eggs in bed. I opened up at 11 with bloodshot eyes and my hair standing on end. Busy lunch. The place went mad with revellers topping up from last night. The argument in the tap room about 'Gone With the Wind' versus the racing went on, and an old man called Tom sloshed a pint over old George. Scuffles followed. No blood. Tom was ejected with his coat in shreds. A festive start to the year. Phoned Dad again. Ally slightly peeved that no family have phoned us with good wishes. Quiet night. Chris worked again. He has been something of a god send this Christmas.

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