Saturday January 15, 1983

 Our alarm let rip at 7 and we lay in the darkened bedroom wondering whether we might be raving mad. We had a hurried boiled egg and went out at 8:15 for the bus to Leeds. We got to the city reference library for 9:15 and immediately tackled the 1881 census. I looked at Pudsey and Ally concentrated on Bramley in an attempt to find the elusive John Rhodes. My great-great grandmother Mrs Betty Wilson was still alive aged 66 in 1881. She was living in Chapeltown, Pudsey, with three of her unmarried children, and a granddaughter, Harriet E. Robinson, aged 17. My great-grandfather John Wilson was a 28 year-old labourer, living in Rider's Row, Chapeltown, with his wife Rella, 25, and two children, William 5, and Harriet, 10 months. Where was Mary, born in 1878? She must have been staying elswehere on the night of April 8, 1881. I found a couple of Fawberts but no direct ancestors. On the Bramley register Ally found John Henry Rhodes, 14, son of Samuel Rhodes, 46, a farmer, of Atkinson's Buildings, Bramley, and Eliza Ann his wife, 41, born in Horsforth. Could John Henry be my great-grandfather? It's the middle name Henry that has thrown us off the scent. She came across numerous Appleyards, all well-to-do brothers of my great-great-grandmother Mary Ann Appleyard (Mrs Ross). We finished for about 1:30 and made our way to the pub next door, Stumps, which is run by the Hartleys who employed Ally three years ago at what was the Belfry. We had one drink. Hideous. We went to Austick's and to Greenhead's to look at the books. Bought a YP. Lady Galway's obit is in. Not that they'll pay me. Dear me, no. Bought a Minton Haddon Hall tea plate bringing our collection to six. Home for 3:30.

I trussed the chicken and prepared dinner whilst Ally giggled at an Alastair Sim film on the BBC. Later she fell asleep on a large cushion. Alastair Sim again in 'The Belles of St Trinians'. Very amsuing.

We ate at 6:30. Ally's nap had done her no good, and she was too tired to eat. Sat reading afterwards. The Duke of Windsor was, if Stephen Birmingham is to be believed, an absolute horror. Ally on with Shirley Conran's 'Lace'.

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Friday January 14, 1983

 New Moon

Everyone insists it is going to snow, but nothing happened. Mrs Slocombe came into the office looking like a trapper from the hills of north America. She was later sat sorting through a batch of photographs and asked: "Is George Bernard Shaw alive or dead?" I giggled nervously but was inwardly terrified. How can a 30 year-old woman with 12 years experience of working in a busy newspaper office not know that GBS died aged 90 in 1950?

Ally phoned and we talked of our future. We are definitely taking on a restaurant or pub one day. The drudgery of office life has hit me like a sledgehammer in recent months. Mum phoned. Sue and Pete have had their offer on a house on Fieldhead Rd accepted. Lynn went to Otley yesterday and she and Katie were photographed by Edward 'Ted' Winpenny. It seems that Katie was the first baby to have been born in Otley in 1983, and a local shop is presenting Lynn with a pram for achieving this amazing fete.

Lucia Viscountess Galway, of Serlby Hall, Bawtry, has died aged 92. She served as a Maid of Honour to Queen Alexandra from 1919 to 1922. I passed this amazing piece of information to Derek Foster on the YP newsdesk, and suppose that an obit will appear tomorrow.

Spoke to Michael Brown. He's thinking of spending a summer holiday in Ostend. Poor soul. We laughed at a picture on the cover of the Church of England Times of the Archbishop of Canterbury with the Russian Orthodox Archbishop of Kiev. We are told in the caption that the Russian is on the left and that Canterbury is on the right. Do the people who regularly take the C of E Times need to be told?

Sandwiches with Ally. The planned chicken hadn't defrosted, and Ally thinks it smells foisty. Surely, it's Friday? Sat with our books and no sound but the ticking of the clock and me making slurping noises with my whisky. Pub management? We are buying a pub now. Why not? 

Watched the nine o'clock news. The Prince and Princess of Wales, skiing in Austria, are being pestered to death by the British reporters, and the palace has asked for restraint. The princess is taking the intrusion very bady and is going around heavily camouflaged.

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Thursday January 13, 1983

 Up at 7. Trying to be helpful I fried three sausages which we bought on Saturday last. Ally came down and moaned about the burning fat and ghastly smell and as I poked at the sausages she related to me the tale of the Clerkenwell Sausage Poisoning epidemic of 1867. By the time they were laying brown and greasy upon our plates we had both lost our appetites. I just pushed mine around with a fork. 

Off to Leeds on my faithful No. 72 and sat near to some 12 year-old chaps smoking like chimneys. They were with a friend, aged about twelve and a half, who was furiously sucking on Polo mints because, he explained, they helped him take his mind off the cigs. What a sorry state of affairs. They are sniffing glue before they can walk these days. And what about the under 5 alcoholics?

At home we sat in the bath together and then went to bed _______________. At 8 we had lasagne preceded by pâté and toast. Frank phoned. I didn't recognise his voice. I'm a biff. He is coming up on business on Jan 28 and will take us back to Winchester that night.

We watched Top of the Pops, and went back to bed at about 10. I sat reading Stephen Birmingham's book about the Duchess of Windsor. The man says that Queen Mary's first language was German. This is not so. Queen Mary was born at Kensington Palace the daughter of an English princess and was as English as I am. Ally has started 'Lace' by Shirley Conran. Lights out before 11. 

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Wednesday January 12, 1983

 Up at 7. Sluggish. My face still aches. I had the distinct feeling yesterday as I lay in the dentist chair that his assistant was laughing behind my back. They found it amusing that all my teeth are filled, each and every one of them. Dad said last night that I really should have wonderful teeth because I've been a regular in the chair since the age of three. No son of mine will be allowed to set foot in a dental surgery until he is at least 36.

We had toast and left a note for Mum and Dad. We crept out at 8 to our daily toils. Went to Greenhead's at lunch to look at the books. I also paid £5.20 for the advert announcing Katie's arrival.

Mum and Dad signed for Waltergarth in Otley today. They could be homeless for three weeks yet. Sue and Pete have put there house up for sale and have made an offer for a semi on Fieldhead Road (£26,000).  It's close to Jim and Margaret's. We are, to be sure, a family on the move.

At home Ally has sandwiches ready. A book 'Wallis Warfield Windsor' by Stephen Birmingham has arrived from our book club. Ten years ago I was furiously pro-Windsor. It was my opinion that King Edward VIII had the right to make anyone he wished his wife and subsequently Queen of the United Kingdom. I now realise that Mrs Simpson would never have made the grade. However, I do question the right of the authorities to withhold the style and title of HRH from the Duchess and will always regard her treatment by the Royal Family as shabby and shameful. The old girl cannot have long to go.

Ally took to her bath after a marathon ironing session. She spoke to Bessie yesterday. Andrew came off his motorcycle and banged his head. A policeman brought the news to the door and gave her a nasty turn. He really should get rid of the bloody thing.

I am considering liquid refreshment. I deserve a good stiff one.

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Tuesday January 11, 1983

 Our alarm clock pinged at 6:30 but we didn't stir until 7. I climbed down to visit Ally in the bottom bunk. Downstairs on tip toes to avoid waking Mum & Dad. Brewed tea and made toast. 

The specification for our grant for the roof arrived on Friday. It looks complex. I keep taking it out of the envelope and looking at it. Mum is going to give us a hand with it. We'll contact Steve O'Connor for an estimate.

The EP carried my tip on the Dundas engagement. I phoned my contact at Debrett's for the date of birth of Alexander Lascelles, Lord Harewood's heir of line. He told me. 

To Rawdon and my dentist at 5. I've been climbing those stairs there for 16 years. Tortuous. The moustachioed little dental person gave me an X-ray and three fillings and put me through an hour of misery. I was laid back in the chair reciting the order of succession to the throne to myself to take my mind off the goings on in my mouth. I never seem to get past Princess Margarita of Rumania. I left at 6:15 minus £13.

Didn't get home until 7:30. Ally looking dishy in one of my old T-shirts and Mum and Dad, cutlery in hand, like starving Third World people. I have no appetite because of my face ache. A pie, peas, and chips, followed by two large, stiff whiskies. A documentary about Alastair Sim helped to cheer me.

Mum and Dad say they will move on tomorrow. They sign for Waltergarth at 11am.

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Monday January 10, 1983

 Mum and Dad hear from their solicitor that Horton-in-Ribblesdale is going to have road improvements and that a major development is going to take place within 200 yards of Waltergarth over the next 15 years. This is a grievous blow. Mum thinks the current owner of the house knows all about it, and has kept quiet. Well, he would, wouldn't he? Dad rang a county councillor at the local pub there who assured him that nothing serious is going to take place, but they'll have to wait for official confirmation from Northallerton which could take six weeks. You know what bureaucracy is like. 

A frantic day at the YP. Mondays are obscene. Lord Bruce Dundas, youngest son of the Marquess of Zetland, has announced his engagement to Sophie Lascelles, 24, a fourth cousin of Lord Harewood. Her mother is a Baring, and so she's also closely related to the divine Diana. I passed it on to the EP newsdesk, but they didn't do anything about it today. They can be very slow at times. I'm going to keep a record of my tips to Geoff (Hemingway). 

Home at 5:40. Ally and Dad were making a fish pie. We all sat watching tv and then it was back to the bunks. Mum and Dad will have to rename Waltergarth 'The Tarmacs', or something else appropriate to the construction industry.

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Sunday January 9, 1983

 1st Sunday after Epiphany

Out of bed at 10:30 to sausages and eggs and beans and things. We haven't had a proper 'full English' since we were both struck down with food poisoning last summer.  A day of furious industry.

I went outside and cleaned all the windows and swept up the dead leaves on the path. Ally did the house from top to bottom. I told her she gets more like Mrs Ford every day. __________.

I splashed around in a luke-warm bath, and afterwards I set about a geranium plant and hacked it to pieces. Is this intricate description of my mundane every day a toil for you? I know I would dearly love to be able to read of the daily activities of my great-grandfather. All I know about any of my 'greats' is their names, and a few dates of birth and death. It is sad that whole lives have disappeared, unrecorded for posterity, with no details of their Victorian existence. I don't want to go the same way. 

Mum phoned from Skipton to say they are on the way over. They stayed in Settle this weekend and spent today in Horton-in-Ribblesdale inspecting their new home, Waltergarth. They arrived at 5 and we dined at 6. It is strange having lodgers. Our house is so small. We gave them our bedroom and slept in the bunks, both in the bottom one, until about 4am when I climed up to the top. Mum and Dad are really ready to move now and want to be in Horton by next week.

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