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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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