Sunday May 19, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Sunday after Ascension

We had bacon and eggs and cried at the breakfast table. It has hit Ally this morning. Here we are waking up to a new day, but Mum isn't. Sue took Dad back to Horton this lunchtime. We visited Auntie Mabel and Auntie Hilda. Mabel was entertaining Connie. Hilda was alone. Phoned Dad at 6:30. He has an appointment to register Mum's death at Settle tomorrow and is meeting his brother Arnold at the Royal Oak. He is phoning the vicar (Barnes) tomorrow at 7pm and wanted some suggestions for hymns. At their wedding they had the 23rd Psalm (Crimond) and 'O Perfect Love'. Let's sing these again, says I.

-=-

Saturday May 18, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We arrived at Horton at 10:30. Mum was lying flat and breathing heavily. Her eyes have gone and cannot focus. I touched her hand - ice cold. Dad looked at me. "She cannot go on much longer". Dad didn't leave her side. I kept leaving the room to blubber. He says the most touching things to her. ______. The last thing he said to her was: "We are going to do it all again one day, aren't we lass". I went outside and sat on the wall looking up at Pen-y-ghent and the sheep. Ally out walking with Sam in his pushchair came back as John and Janette were driving through the village. They went straight in to see her. John holding her hand and with a look of despair. I went back outside, Then, just before 1pm I saw Dad signal for me to go back inside. Ally passed Samuel to Frances, the neighbour. With Dad holding her hand and John, Janette, Ally and me sitting on the bed Mum died at 1pm exactly. I closed her eyes. We drank tea as if it was a normal thing to do, phoned Dr Brewster. He came in and pulled a sheet over her face. When he walked out I uncovered her face. Frances looked after Samuel for the afternoon. I didn't even notice he was gone.

(Large mournful redaction).

At 8;30-9 o'clock Jack Denison, the funeral director, came from Guiseley and took Mum to the chapel of rest on Otley Rd, Guiseley. We followed to Susan's. John and Janette taking Dad. We sat until 11:30. Samuel slept in Sue & Pete's bed. We took him home to Leeds, saying goodnight to Mum as we drove past Denison's. 

Lynn  spent the evening in Otley hospital with Tom. Strange as it may seem, I slept.

-=-

Friday May 17, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

We went back to (see) Mum. This time just Ally, Sam and I. It was a lovely, sunny day. We stopped off in Settle to look at the shops and eat fish and chips on a park bench. Samuel enjoyed this. He is very good. I think he would like having a dog. 

We arrived at Waltergarth after 12 . The (Macmillan) nurse was with Mum who was sitting propped up and looking lifeless and hideous. Black haunting eyes. I wept on a bench in the garden. Dad now says that she will go at any moment. The neighbour Frances said this morning that she found Dad hanging out his washing and sobbing like a baby. I had some bread and cheese and went to hold Mum's hand. So weak, and unable to drink. She has had a horrible, rasping cough since 8am. She appears to be distressed by any noise. We left at tea time and came back to Leeds. 

A nightmare of an evening. I feel ill, throbbing headache. Some gypsies in the tap room gave me a bit of bother.

Lynn, David, Hilda and Tony went to see Mum this evening. Every time the telephone rang I leapt with fright, but nothing happened in the night. We are going back to Horton tomorrow.

-=-

Thursday May 16, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Ascension Day

Ally went out picking flowers with Sam. Donna Lea appeared with a briefcase to address the dwindling sales and the crisis facing us and the Moorhouse should the trend continue. She was so very sympathetic about Mum and says the brewery will do anything to help. She lost her Papa aged 45. "Buy a piano", she says. Otherwise, drivel. You know what area managers are like. 

Phoned Dad tonight. He was in a bad way. Weeping, &c. Mum isn't drinking water now either, and so it's just a matter of time. He was so desolate. I flapped about this and phoned John, Janette and Susie. I decide to go back to Horton tomorrow, but Sue says she will go on Sunday. I advised her that Sunday might be too late. I walked back from the call box in a dream. It is all so very hard to believe. Can it really be my jolly, zestful mother we are talking about? Ally looked at me as I walked into the bar, and from the look on her face it was obvious that she thought I had ghastly news. We are under a lot of strain.

-=-

Wednesday May 15, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

To Horton-in-Ribblesdale with Sue, Christopher and Benjamin. Rain. We found Mum greatly deteriorated. She now cannot eat or swallow any of her pills, and takes sips of drink from a baby cup. She looked at Ally as she sipped, and said: "Just look at the state I'm in ...". Sue provided a liver casserole for the kids, and both Dad and I had a bowl. Later, Dad and Ally took the children out into the village for a walk. Spitting rain. I sat holding Mum's hand, Sue in a chair looking uncomfortable. She doesn't like the long silences. When Mum speaks it is weak and distorted. Obviously distressed and fed up with living. Dad says the end is near. We drove away later and saw Mum raise her weak, thin arm as an act of goodbye. Dad stood next to the apple tree blinking back tears. Night off. Thank God.

-=-

Tuesday May 14, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Phoned Susie and suggested that she might join us on a visit to Horton tomorrow. She was very pleased. The horrible weather is driving her and the kids scatty (sic). It will be a dawn attack on Ribblesdale. Poor Sue believes in nothing in the hereafter, and once we are gone that is it. She finds Mum's suffering too painful to discuss. She also firmly believes in the idea of euthanasia and she has an agreement with Peter that should she ever find herself in a position similar to Mum that he will do something to put her out of her misery. I cannot condone this. Any life must be better than death, surely? I suppose that is easy for me to say, as I am fit and well. _______ (redaction) _______ Mum is to be cheated of her old age and I am so very bitter and twisted about it.

-=-

Monday May 13, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

Teri (Collinson) was off, and so we did the lunches. Took ten pound-ish on food. I am now ploughing through the Daily Telegraph. I chuckle at so little news these days. What a glum year it's been. Albert Einstein, one of the greatest mathematicians the world has known, once received a letter telling him off for his sums - from Mrs Einstein. "Genius is little respected by it's own fireside" says Dr William Thomson. How I have come to realise that.

-=-

Sunday May 12, 1985

Moorhouse Inn

5th Sunday after Easter

Mother's Day, USA & Canada

A terrible fire at Bradford FC yesterday destroyed an old wooden stand and killed 50 people. Many were so badly burned they will never be identified. The whole stand was ablaze within minutes.

The Bradford FC fire tragedy.

We had a full-English breakfast. The ancient, white-haired cleaner Anne had to bash on the doors and windows to get us out of bed at 8:45. Even Samuel had over-slept. He is 16 months old today. 

An afternoon at home today. Scampi for lunch followed by 'Carry On Teacher' (1958). Samuel played merrily on the floor. I think he is going to be a sprinter. I tend to bite my nails when watching the telly which niggles Ally, and today I was soundly beaten with a rolled up copy of the Sunday Telegraph.

You will be startled, and yes reassured to hear that I have renounced alcohol, but only temporarily of course. Recent months have seen an increase in my girth. Looking at photographs of my birthday I spy a bulging tummy and sagging chin. I refuse to go the way of so many other publican types. Dear me, no.

Historical trivia: The Queen Mother was anointed as Queen Consort 48 years ago this day.

-=-

Saturday May 11, 1985

 Moorhouse Inn

I have been phoning Papa daily, but not always reported here. He has little to report. Nurses now come and go. A doctor dressed as a TA major appeared in a sports car, and, joking, offered to carry Mum away. They have had no visitors since Thursday. John is due to go tomorrow, no doubt with the family.

At 3:30 we went to see Great-Aunt Ann in Bramley (she was born 6 July, 1905). We discussed cousin Sam. He has not been to visit her, but she received a call from a psychiatric boffin. Poor Sam must be incarcerated somewhere in an asylum. Little old Gt-Uncle John (Kirk) is very ruddy faced and Dickensian, and almost blind. He leapt around playing with Samuel and when we left he gave him a 'forget-me-not' flower. Aunt Ann had just returned from a wedding - a heap of blue chiffon, and with a 'lady-in-waiting' and constant companion of 16 years in tow. She told me some family details. My Great Aunt Nellie (Ann's sister) died at 5am one Sunday morning in January. They were both mortified about Mum. Dad had written to her about Mum's illness. "Such a lovely girl", she says. 

To Auntie Mabel's. Samuel ate her dessert of strawberries and ice-cream, with his fingers. His sandwiches he devoured with a fork. She adores him and says he reminds her of a baby Derek Myers (born Sept, 1950). Home for 6:30.

Margaret worked. Stone dead. Marlene and Frank appeared after 9. 

-=-

Friday May 10, 1985

 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.

Denis: 70

Daily Trivia: MI5 is having a shake-up. Its about time. A Tory MP has joined the choir invisible. A by-election will now follow in Brecon & Radnor. The welfare state is to be abolished. The Waleses are back from the Med. Christopher Nevill, son of Lady Rupert Nevill is engaged to a Miss Venetia Maynard. Christopher's elder brother is heir to the marquisate of Abergavenny, but as yet childless. Denis Thatcher is 70 today. In a more noble era he would have been sent to the Lords. Those days are gone. Disraeli sent his missus to the upper house as Viscountess Beaconsfield before he himself took on the Beaconsfield title. You never know with Mrs T.

Just Gary tonight. Walked up the road for fish and chips with David Howard and June at 11:30pm.

-=-

Thursday May 9, 1985

 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).

-=-

Wednesday May 8, 1985

 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?

VE Day: 40 years on.

Dray day. It's a day late because of May Day. At 3:30 we went to Bradford. Linfood. Club Street. I stayed in the car with Samuel and Ally went in the house. It would have been a tear jerker for me. Mum's hospital bracelet was lying on the bed. I will treasure it forever. On to Duckworth Lane. Ally and Sam went to Cheap 'n Cheerful and I went to get a haircut at Clip Joint (£6) - carried out by a young man called Andy -very Duran Duran. Not happy. I came away with a centre parting looking like Oscar Wilde.  Back at Club St Ally phoned Bessie. Night off. TV upstairs. J.R. Ewing, &c. Out at 8 to phone Papa. We are venturing to Horton tomorrow. Dad wants us to collect a few loaves of bread in Settle. Mum is now on different pills - 12 in all. VE TV -- yawn.

The actress Dawn Addams has died of cancer aged 54, after a five month struggle.

-=-

Tuesday May 7, 1985

 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.

-=-

Monday May 6, 1985

 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.

-=-

Sunday May 5, 1985

 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 hasn’t 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.

-=-

Saturday May 4, 1985

 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.

-=-

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.