Monday January 5, 1981

 _.The Yorkshire Ripper [Peter William Sutcliffe, born June 2, 1945], a Bradford man, was charged, at Dewsbury police station, with Jacqueline Hill's murder this evening. A mob exceeding 2,000 thronged the streets shouting abuse, and behaving likes wolves. It hasn't sunk in yet. Quite amazing. The Ripper has been at the forefront of our lives, hanging over our every move, since '75, and now we know he's a 'respectable' chap from the Bradford suburb of Heaton who wouldn't say 'boo to a goose'. Jim Rawnsley reckons that Mrs Ripper will easily make £250,000 out of the case. Obviously, Sutcliffe isn't an engineer with a Tyneside accent, and neither does he stutter or have a gap in his front teeth. I imagine George Oldfield will be having a skinful tonight. Busy day at the YP, naturally. Home at 6.

Stick photos into my new album. John and Maria walked round from Ridgeway at 9 and sat until 1am. Mum departed suddenly to her chambers at 11. Maria informed me that an 'old style' gathering is taking place at the Hare & Hounds tomorrow at which my presence is a necessity. I've no money, but agreed to go.

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Sunday January 4, 1981

 _. 2nd Sunday after Christmas

Slept late again. Ally's delicate condition has made her an invalid. Our breakfast took place in the early hours of the afternoon. She took tea and bread and butter and I had kippers.

A sunny, cold day. In the afternoon we helped Mum prepare for tonight's 'home movie show' party at which scores of relations are once again to put in an appearance.

John, Maria and the children descended upon us in the afternoon. They were at a party last night at Tony Brotherwood's. Catherine alters by the hour and is a gorgeous character, endowed with charm and cunning.

At 6:30 Marlene, Frank, Auntie Mabel and her thermal underwear clad companion [Connie?] arrived with the kids, followed by sweet Lynn, Dave, Sue, Pete, Jim, Margaret and Julie. We sat in the dark watching Frank's movies of the Baker wedding of '78, and the Nason wedding of '80, followed by a sumptuous supper washed down with fine wines. I played at barman, assisted by Ally, because Dad had been at Otley playing at jailer for 12 hours from 6am [he's doing this because of the prison officers' strike, you know], and was too tired to apply his mind as to whether Mabel wanted brandy in her Advocaat, or whether Debbie was old enough to sample the Emva Cream Sherry.

Amazing news tonight: heard at about 8pm that a Bradford man arrested in Sheffield is now at Dewsbury Police station helping the police with their enquiries with regard to the Yorkshire Ripper murders. An astounded house heard from Papa that he'd been told this afternoon.

I gave Ally £2 for necessities to keep her until Thursday. Took a bath and climbed into bed at 1:30am.

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Saturday January 3, 1981

 _. High winds, rain. Woke up at 10 and switched off my alarm and slept until 12. Downstairs mother was going through her papers, settling bills,&c, and was composed after last night's upset. Dad was nowhere to be seen and was out on constabulary duties. I bathed. Ally showered. I stood looking at my face in the bathroom mirror wondering what to do about my beard. I haven't shaved since last Tuesday, and resemble a convict.

At about 2 [Ally and me] walked down the lane to look at spin dryers in Wigfall's. Mrs D is posting Ally a cheque by way of a Christmas present, and a dryer is top of the list. We found nothing suitable in this 'olde worlde' electrical appliance shop but caused a scene gasping at a news bulletin on the TV there proclaiming the death of Princess Alice, Countess of Athlone, Queen Victoria's last surviving granddaughter. The old girl would have been 98 next month. It seems that the Queen cannot get through a Bank Holiday without have to pack and head for Windsor and a family funeral.

We returned home at 3:30 bedraggled. Dined with Mum and Dad and then sat very quietly watching Sophia Loren re-enacting her own life on film. Mum and Dad were slightly subdued. It always takes them a while to recover from a bust up. Saw 'Arsenic and Old Lace'. Went to bed at 1:15.

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Friday January 2, 1981

 _. Bank Holiday in Scotland

Mum and Dad's birthday. Whilst Ally and I were back at work the rest of the family  went to Cracoe for lunch. I spent the whole day watching the clock wishing I could be with them. Ally phoned to say she'd bought a fern for Mum and Dad - a temporary present until I get some money. Oh, how I need money.

Ally met me in Guiseley at 6 and we found a full house knocking back wine at Pine Tops. Dad was drunk. They all left at about 7 so that Mum and Dad could get ready to go down to Giovanni's, but it soon became painfully obvious that Papa was in no fit staten to go anywhere. He was tottering around with an ashen face and bloodshot eyes. However, they did leave at 8, but were back within the space of half an hour. Dad staggered up to bed and Mum burst into tears, saying he has ruined her birthday.

Ally went to bed at 10:30 and I sat with Mum for two hours.

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Thursday January 1, 1981

 _. Michael Lawrence Rhodes: age 25 years, 8 months, and 26 days.

Bank Holiday in UK, Republic of Ireland, USA & Canada.

Woke up at some point in the morning still wearing my Tudor regalia, and chain of office. Dreadful, really dreadful. I have never seen Ally look so ghastly.

At 1:30 we walked in the sun to the Plough to join Graham and Gill, who were with Midge, Mel and Barbara. Mel was very drunk and he went on and on singing the praises of Margaret Thatcher. 'Our greatest leader since Churchill, or maybe even Queen Elizabeth I'. Ally, looking like death, didn't drink.

Midge, the beleaguered landlady told me I was a very good looking Henry VIII, but was most peturbed, and still reeling from the dressing down I gave her last night. Evidently I commanded her presence in the dining room to inform her that the salmon mousse wasn't up to standard.

Back to Chillandham Cross. Had roast lamb for lunch, but brought it all back two hours later. Watched 'Great Expectations' on the BBC and left at 7:30 during 'Dr Zhivago'. A hideous journey home, without a break, and back to Pine Tops for 11. To bed exhausted. 

Oh yes, a Happy New Year, to all my readers.

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Wednesday December 31, 1980

 _. To Portwood [Southampton] this morning where Ally had a fitting for a pale blue bridesmaid dress, in readiness for Graham and Gill's wedding in March. Afterwards, we had one drink in the local Berni Inn, where Ally and [John] Pinder once spent a week, and then to the home of a theatrical lady where we were kitted out with fancy dress gear for tonight. 

Back at Chillandham Cross we dressed. I was transformed into King Henry VIII, and Ally an exquisite Anne Boleyn. Graham = Wurzel Gummidge, and Gill = Aunt Sally.

At 9 to the vicarage at Kings Worthy and out with the Lynn family to a depraved do at the local rugby club where we all became horribly drunk. We arrived back at the Plough Inn at 11:45, the straw from Wurzel Gummidge's hat hanging out of my doublet and hose. A debauched evening. In my capacity as monarch I gave Scotland to Neil [the bar man], who likes sheep, you know. Other minions received dukedoms. I then knighted Neil with the command: 'Kneel, Neil'. Barbara, the alcoholic lady from Easton, took a great shine to me. I was administering Holy Communion in the dining room [using Midge's silver gravy boat filled with port and brandy] when in walked the Rev Matthew Lynn, just as Graham spewed all over the sideboard. The clergyman took it in good spirits [geddit?].

Neil, King of Scotland, and I ran the after hours bar, despite the advanced intoxication. I found Anne Boleyn, in a precariously treasonable position , fighting off the advances of Lord Nelson, on a settee. By 4am I was on the phone to France in search of an expert swordsman. I also stole all the toiletries from Midge's bathroom and hid them in my doublet. Dreadful of me. Home covered in damp ermine and feathers, dribbling Bacardi. Oh, God. See you next year.

Fin.

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Tuesday December 30, 1980

 _. To Southampton with Ally, Graham and Gill. He bought us lunch at an Italian place and afterwards we spent hours shopping for furniture. Tonight was far from alcohol free. The Plough Inn featured, but it's all very vague.

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