Thursday June 29, 1978

St Peter

Pay day. Met Jacq at her place at lunchtime and we managed to walk round town without resorting to having a drink. She went to Barclays and drew out more cash and I took a film to be developed at Gratispool's and ordered my £90 holiday money from the bank in Park Square.

Back at the office I altered my wall chart showing the order of succession to the throne. Prince Michael is wiped from the list from tomorrow and Princess Alexandra moves up from the 17 position to number 16. ______.

Tonight: The Nasons and Blackwells made their weekly visit to Pine Tops. We had a subdued evening watching television and Ern especially was a misery. This house buying and associated upheaval at his advanced age (he's 71) is a mistake. It's a wicked thing to say but I'm sure one of them will not live a year to reap the enjoyment ~ if any ~ of living in ghastly Devon. Cream teas and all that.

-=-

Wednesday June 28, 1978

On the subject of our royal monarchs of the past I'm sure you'll be intrigued to learn that had he been alive today, King Henry VIII would have been celebrating his 487th birthday. It's probably just as well he died when he did because the distribution of the royal Maundy money would have proved chaotic.

Ode to King Henry VIII

A fat man you were,
by all accounts,
Or so I was told at school,
Six Queen's in all you managed to use,
but which one was Lady Jane Grey?

To be serious, I'd just like to say that these odes are becoming far too frequent and in future I promise to limit them to exceptionally rare and wonderful occasions. Blimey, I don't want you thinking I'm compiling poems just to fill up the blank spaces in my diary. That would never do.

Ode to you

Thanks for ready me,
Thanks a lot,
Thanks for reading me,
I'm glad I'm not.

-=-

Tuesday June 27, 1978

Moon's last quarter 12:44

I have been looking at my ancient diaries to see what I have done on June 27 in previous years and it has left me quite sad and reflective. One thing's for sure ~ June 27, 1978 isn't going to say anything outstanding.

This day in 1830 was a different matter altogether. On June 27, 1830 King William IV was proclaimed throughout the land and the bells pealed, as did the potatoes, carrots, and mangold wurzels. Poor William IV was probably an idiot. He was unpopular, and his only claim to fame is that he sired scores of children to an actress, Dorothea Jordan ~ and they all took the surname FitzClarence (William had been Duke of Clarence). His wife, Queen Adelaide, produced 2 sickly daughters who died in infancy. William's demise in 1837 after a thoroughly unstable and feeble reign saw the accession of Victoria the Great ~ his niece.





Ode to William the Fourth

Poor William,
You were stupid,
I've often been told so at least,
I think you were best in the navy,
You're the King I remember the least.

Bum!Bum!

-=-

Monday June 26, 1978

Christine phoned and we arranged to go out on Thursday evening. She has definitely set her heart on clearing off to Jersey next year to work in a bar. God knows how life will be without her bringing devastation and chaos to it. I must write to her soon because our correspondence is of vital historical importance. Since 1973 she's sent me over 70 witty, wonderful letters all of which I have stored away. One day we'll be bandied about in English Literature classes and on 'O' Level syllabuses with the likes of John Donne and E.M. Forster.

An Ode to Christine

You have for five years been a source of great joy,
You bring warmth to my heart which none can destroy.

Your virtues are many,
Your faults are quite rare,
But I'd never tell you,
I don't think I'd dare.

It's a pleasure to see you,
Of this I am sure,
My heart beats like fury,
I know of no Cure.

So, off to Jersey and see if I care,
I'd like to come with you,
But I don't have the fare.

M.L.R.

Sunday June 25, 1978

5th Sunday after Trinity

Excessively cold day. Had a very comfortable night's sleep. Woke at about 11. Grandad Glynn (minus dentures) made our breakfast of eggs and bacon.

The usual Stockport luncheon followed which consisted of about five pints between 12 and 2 with Garry, Dave and Billy. Billy goes on about his niece's wedding. Garry joked about my hilarious trousers. I'm definitely taking them on holiday after this reception.

Afterwards David, Mr Glynn and I watched a dreadful Tony Curtis film after which I was the only conscious survivor.

Before long it was the World Cup Final between Argentina and Holland. Bill and Garry came to watch. At half time with the score at 1-0 to Argentina the lads took me to Manchester where I boarded a coach full of rebellious children ~ nothing short of yobbos ~and off it was to Leeds.

Home by 10:30. Glenda Jackson's 'Touch of Class' was on tv. Poor Mum hasn't been too well. I am worried about her really.

David, Lynn and Dad have decorated the bedroom at Lawn Road.

-=-

Saturday June 24, 1978

Sun rises 04:44 Sun sets 21:22 St John, Baptist

Mum woke me at 6:30 and I got a train from Guiseley to town. My coach left for Manchester at 7:20am and I was with David in time for breakfast at about 10.

Mrs Glynn, or Auntie Lily, made me eggs and bacon and at opening time we had a few beers in the pool room. Grey skies above. I'm clad only in a thin shirt and my leather jacket.

At 12:30 to the Woodford Air Display.

Drizzle, frost, smog, &c. The Red Arrows were impressive and the Harrier Vertical take-off plane sent vibrations over our crate of Wembley Ale. Little else to take my mind from the perishing draught. Steve, Garry, & Dave loved the event though, as did about half a million other people for some obscure reason. However, five bottles of beer and a pile of corned beef and onion sandwiches helped to alleviate some of the misery.

Back to the Hollywood by 6. Slept in Dave's double bed until 9:30. At 11 we went to Rotter's disco for the night ~ me wearing the grey, narrow-legged trousers. I received some favourable attention. A couple of women followed me round all night. Back to the Hollywood at 1:30.

-=-

Friday June 23, 1978

A damp, miserable day. Passed a happy, solitary afternoon with the photo files of the Duke of Windsor. Some are amazing and revealing. We have one which appeared in the YP in August, 1936 of the King (as he then was) on holiday abroad with 'a party of friends', and the picture editor has simply and ruthlessly cut off Wallis Simpson when he marked up the image for publication.

Met Jacq at 5:30on Wellington Street and we got a train to Pudsey arriving at 6:20. To Auntie Mabel's. Cousin Jackie is also there for tea ~ it was marvellous to see her. She was thinner. The conversation was tense because we didn't mention Uncle Jack, who is dying in agony from cancer.

Jacq seemed to hit it off with Auntie Mabel. We all demolished a massive salad together. The traditional hysteria over old photographs followed and by 9:30 we had gone through Auntie Mabel's entire life (pictorially). All very nostalgic.

At 9:30 Jacq, Jackie and I set off for home and had a couple of drinks at The Sun in Stanningley before I deposited Jacq onto a Leeds bus.

At 11 Jackie with her boyfriend, Peter, came back to Pine Tops for a few drinks and a chat with 'Auntie Nora'. On the journey home she said "you know Dad is very ill, don't you?" and I said how sorry I was, but isn't it futile trying to find the right words?

-=-