Wednesday February 10, 1982

 Uncomfortable day. I have a headache and feel stuffed up and clammy. Is it pneumonia or the plague? Had scrambled eggs and toast with Poppet and went off on something of an adventure. I took the 88 bus instead of the usual 72 and had a guided tour of Pudsey, driving past Hilda and Tony's and then past Hough Side and past Marlene's where I saw Frank, Debbie and Mark in the window. At the YP for 9.

Felt grotty all day. Kathleen spent the day insulting me at every available opportunity. Visited Sue again at 2:15. She was sat with her legs dangling over the side of her bed, but soon they turned quite purple, and so she hid them beneath the sheets. What a state to be in. At 2:45 Mum and Dad arrived with a bunch of irises. I left them shortly afterwards and walked back to the YP.

Grapefruit: welcome change

Saw in today's press that John Stokes, MP for Halesowen is to oppose Michael English's succession bill. Thank God that someone in Westminster has some common sense. I'm going to write to him too.

Home at 5:30. A colonial gentleman was sitting next to me on the bus greedily devouring a grapefruit. It was a delightful experience because the zest and aroma of the lucious fruit, and indeed the spray as he hungrily sucked made such a welcome change from the usual cigarette smoke and ash.

Ate fish fingers before a smouldering TV. A new BBC serial on the life of Nancy Astor. Not too sure about it really. The BBC isn't having much luck with historical dramas of late. The Borgias was a complete wash-out, even though I enjoyed it. It hasn't been the same since the days of Glenda Jackson as 'Elizabeth R' and Keith Michell's 'Henry VIII'.

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Tuesday February 9, 1982

 Out of our warm pit at 6:50 for coffee and toast. The trains are on strike today [yes, Tuesday for a change] and I exited the house at 7:30 to battle my way into Leeds.

St John Stevas: orator

Aghast by an article in the ailing Times which says that Michael English, MP, confidently expects a majority of MPs to support his Succession to the Crown Bill. Nowhere do I see any protests to this monstrous piece of legislation, and without further ado I took to my pen and sent letters to the prime minister, Mr English, and Norman St John Stevas, MP, a great monarchist whose oratory is without equal in the mundane House of Commons.

Visited Sue at 2:30. God bless her. I walked up to Hyde Terrace and stuck my head round the door and surprised her. She was red and bored and hunched on top of her bed. She wasn't expecting any vistors. We had cheese and onions crisps and orange juice. Her blood pressure is erratic and she cannot say just how long they will leave her without delivering the baby. I walked back to the YP feeling quite dismal. Leaving a loved one all alone in an anti-septic prison. I can actually recall Sue's birth and now she's expecting a birth of her own.

YP dull. Spring in the air. I yourn for the rolling hills and Dales. I have missed our Grassington weekend this year. We'll have to get Glynnie over for another Hilltop session.

Home at 6. Ally's had her curls cut off ready for another perm next month. We ate liver and onions and sat doing absolutely nothing. Ally's into Wilkie Collins in a big way.

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Monday February 8, 1982

 Crisp, frosty and sunny. No Sue news. YP utterly dismal. Sarah was full of the joys of spring - not. She was carrying on like an inmate of the Chateau d'If. 

The Princess of Wales fell down a flight of stairs at Sandringham a month ago, but didn't injure herself or the baby. Nasty though. Read the weekend papers and the tributes to Her Majesty - now in her 31st year as Queen Regnant. Both Sir Harold Wilson and James Callaghan oozed with praise for HM and the monarchical system.

Phoned Mum at 12:30 who said Sue's blood pressure is back to normal, but when she asked to be let out the doctor said 'certainly not'. 

John phoned Mum last night and said that Jim and Molly are taking them all to Majorca in April. Poor John hasn't been abroad since we went to Majorca in '75 with Chris Ratcliffe. Will Maria be allowed to fly when 5 months pregnant?

Giggled with Ally on the phone. We have a romantic assignation this evening, and our night is to be passionately re-designed. I'm saying no more.

At lunchtime I went to pay for the washing machine [a monthly installment], and bought 'Therese Raquin' by Emil Zola. Will Ally like it? 

Home at 5:45. To bed. Up at 7. Ate pizza and chips and watched Coronation Street.

Sunday February 7, 1982

 Septuagesima

Slept until lunchtime again. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, &c. Out into the sunshine afterwards to do the windows.We haven't been able to see out of them since the royal wedding. Speaking of royal weddings [and who isn't these days?] Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg was married to Archduke Carl of Habsburg-Lorraine yesterday. Prince Andrew represented the Queen and was accompanied by the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. The prince has since been 'paired off', or so it seems by the gutter press, with the Infanta Elena, daughter of [King] Juan Carlos of Spain. We are going to have to endure ten years of 'randy Andy' tales now. If he's anything like his elder brother the future Duchess of York is now only a 12 year-old schoolgirl, no doubt undergoing a private education in Broadstairs.

Visited Sue in Hyde Terrace. She was sat nursing her bump surrounded by men. Peter, who had stayed the night at Chapel Allerton, was with Gus and Frank. They are quite mad, and never change. Will they ever settle down and have mortgages and carpet slippers? Sue was bright, but bored. Her blood pressure goes up and down like a yoyo, and gives us no hope of uncledom or auntdom yet.

On to Pudsey for a late afternoon tea with Auntie Mabel and her friend, Evelyn. Tea and cake and then whisky. Ally was close to collapse because auntie's gas fire was belting out heat like something at a BSC plant, and she waded through the fruit cake and port and lemon growing steadily redder and redder. Mabel knows no details of her family tree. Most odd. I do love her.

On at 5 to Pine Tops. Dinner with Mum, Dad and Pete. Prawns, turkey, Yorkshire pudding, &c. Splendid. Peter was very quiet. It was very difficult to get anything out of him. Dad was similarly quiet tonight, shattered and working 12 hour shifts from Otley. Mum still 'nervy' and will not relax until a lusty child yells out over Leeds. Home at 10. Bed. Buggered.

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Saturday February 6, 1982

 Slept until lunch. The postman woke us delivering books from the book club. I went out to buy half a pound of bacon from the Co-op. A horrible old woman with a Jack Russell terrier was in the shop and she insisted on kissing and slobbering over the dreadful pet, because perfectly formed red lip marks were stamped upon the head of the scruffy canine. Horrific sight. I returned and made breakfast.

We visited Susie at Hyde Terrace at 2:30. Lynnn and Dave were with her. She was red faced and chirpy and sitting on top of the bed. A nurse chastised us for overcrowding the ward, but the main problem was Gavin, a noisy four year-old terror, the son of a fellow inmate. Screaming children cannot do much for blood pressure. I do not know how Sue stays so bright.

On afterwards to Bingley. A God forsaken spot really, where we looked at the antique shops. Why are old junk shops always closed when you want to look inside? We didn't get into a supermarket until 5.

Back at Ash Tree Cottage we put a lasagne in the pot and our feet well and truly up. Dave L phoned at 7. He'd been trying to get us for a couple of days to ask us to make up a foursome at Jolly's. Amazingly, he's taking out the teacher he was paired up with at last week's party and sounded terrified at the thought of spending the evening entirely alone with this woman. We would have loved to join them but the sizzling dinner prevented it.

Bed after 'Dallas'. Read the Borgias, by Marion Johnson.

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Friday February 5, 1982

 Exhausted. Yet I worked with great gusto. Nervous energy no doubt. Ally took the day off and dropped me at Rawdon where I got a bus to Leeds. We were very much in love this morning. In the car, in the drizzle, at Rawdon kissing and cuddling.

I left the YP at 4 and went to Burley-in-W to join Ally who'd been with Lynn and Frances since lunceon. The baby is a delight and captivating. We really ought to conceive one. Christine Airey has called her son Kevin, not Keith, which we were told.

To Pine Tops at 6:30 with fish and chips from Harry Ramsden's. Knackered. Mum looked like she'd died and the angels had left her behind. Quiet at Pine Tops. Mum and Dad visited Sue from 8-9 and we left for home at about 10. 

Phoned Dave and called off our visit on Saturday. It couldn't be helped. Lily was grumpy about it.

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Thursday February 4, 1982

 Susie went to Hyde Terrace for her weekly check up and they told her to go home and pack a bag and return at 6pm.D-Day has arrived by the look of things. Mum broke this news to me at about 4 and I hurriedly passed on the news to Ally who didn't believe me. I sounded too calm.

Home at 5 and ate and prepared to journey to Guiseley. Dave B called in and put the brass knobs on the door and was a killjoy on the subject of the Nason baby. 'Oh, that', he calmly muttered as he screwed 'it could be days or even weeks yet. It's only blood pressure.' We know it's only blood pressure but surely they aren't going to let Sue take up a precious bed for days on end without actually bringing forth the offspring?

We went over to Guiseley at 7:30 with a bottle of apricot wine and something called pomagne. Joined by Jim and Margaret and later by Julie. Peter came back from Hyde Terrace at about 9 and sat quietly looking tired and lost. He says no delivery will take place soon, and that Sue is resting in the antiseptic peace of ward 6. The atmosphere at Pine Tops was tense. Mum paces about like a bear missing a cub. It was obvious that the evening would end in tears. The plonk was drained and no call came from the hopsital. Mum had a weep. She was just the same last year when Lynn was having Frances. Jim and Margaret left at 1am [Margaret was suffering from mild nausea] and we went to bed leaving Mum and Pete crying on each others shoulders. Just like last week, Ally asks me never to give her gin again.

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Wednesday February 3, 1982

 Tired. Got up, looked in the mirror and gasped. I'm growing old. I'm over 12 stone and have obviously been letting things get out of hand. It's Ally I feel so sorry for. She married an adonis and after only six months she's got Cyril Smith, MP. This wouldn't be so bad if he was a Tory, but ... Liberal! I am going to have to make adjustments to my diet and bring a speedy halt to the spread. My hair is hanging about my ears. It was once one of my finest features, but now it's a dead, rabid cat. Poor, poor Ally. I shall have to swim and forgo luncheon, and take long, brisk walks. This door to door bus service hasn't helped.

YP busy, but pleasant. No girls. See in the society betrothals that Francis Dymoke, heir to the Queen's Champion and standard bearer at the Coronation, is engaged to a Gloucestershire lass. The Queen's Champion. Now that's the sort of job I'd like. No industrial disputes, monotonous slaving, or nine to five hours. His role only comes into being at the coronation. He hasn't worked since 1953. I suppose that I will never live to see an old style coronation. A future Labour/SDP/Plaid Cymru Alliance will no doubt scrap the ancient panoply and replace the ceremony with a disgusting inauguration. I cannot see a King's Champion having much of a role in the Space Age 21st century.

Home to Ally and fish at 5. [I made an early exit again from the office with thanks to ASLEF]. 

We watched a film - 'Halloween'. Ally couldn't take it, and took to her bed but I was gripped until 12:15. Too late really.

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Tuesday February 2, 1982

 A brighter morning. I awoke this morning smiling broadly. I'd been dreaming about the Pope. In my genealogical searches I had found that His Holiness is the son of an Appleyard. Cousin John Paul, eh?

YP still without Sarah or Carol. Phoned Sue at 12. She was having breakfast! She said that she and Peter have decided that they cannot be expecting a baby after all.

The Sun newspaper reports that the Prince and Princess of Wales have been seen having a public slanging match at Sandringham whilst out shooting. This is the first public reporting of a 'royal fall out' between the Waleses and the first of many. Typical that the Sun is the rag to start the 'royal divorce' proceedings. I have been fully expecting it. They spent ten years finding Charles a bride and are now going to devote 40 years and gallons of news print to getting rid of her. Poor Diana. It's going to be hard going.

Mum phoned to say that John has got his job back at R & D's. If you recall he was a joiner at R & D's from 1977 until last year when he was made redundant. Since then he's been at the crash helmet place. I suppose he is mindless with joy. Maria hears tomorrow whether she's pregnant or not. Exciting times. Bed at 11.

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Monday February 1, 1982

 It's February, and Sue has yet to deliver. When she and Pete failed to materialize at Karen's we presumed it was due to the coming birth and that perhaps she was experiencing twinges but oh no. They were living it up in Leeds at Chippy and Johnny's farewell party [they are going to Miami, or somewhere]. 

At the YP found both Sarah and Carol J off. Just Margot and I all day. Busy, but not too bad. Went at 1:30 to the Reference Library to look at the 1861 census for Bramley. Found a 21 year-old Samuel Ross living at Eyres Buildings with his parents Joshua and Mary Ross. We have always liked the name Joshua and I've now found a great-great grandfather bearing the name. On the Appleyard side I found Mary, aged 20, at Midgley Hill, with her widowed mother Christiana, and brother Abbott Appleyard, 25, a stone mason and builder, and Hahhah Appleyard, 32, Elizabeth Appleyard, 29. They were an affluent Victorian family. Later generations founded the garages of that name.

Spoke to Mum, whose heart misses a beat every time the phone rings thanks to little sister, and she says that Jim [Nason] has told her that the pub at Litton, near Arncliffe, is going on the market shortly for £49,000 or £50,000. This would be ideal. A homely little place. The sub post office idea was never them really especially after seeing the BBC news on Friday when the prime minister presented bravery awards to a terrified group of post office workers, some nursing hideous wounds. 

Lynn and Dave have been looking at a house at Pool in Wharfedale [close to Dave's parents], and we are told Lynn has her heart set on it. Dave must be making some serious cash.

Home at 5:30, and played with my home brewed wine. Glynnie phoned and invited us over to Stockport on Saturday. We will go. 

Ally 'Spring cleaning' in the bathroom. We sat in bed squabbling about my milky drinks. She is unhappy with my recipe for hot chocolate, and so I have handed over the job to her for the next 60 years.

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Sunday January 31, 1982

 4th Sunday after Epiphany

When we came home from Karen and Steve's we sat amidst the bed sheets eating crumpets and talking about Lynn. Why is she always so 'cool' with Ally? Lynn drifted into the party, clad in a new mini dress, and chatted to everyone with the exception of Ally who, feeling pissed and disturbed, emptied a full glass of punch, including the fruit chunks, over my head. It is a perfect case for a budding psychologist. What happens to a relationship between two very close girl friends when one goes off and marries the brother of the other? Freaky, man.

I first discovered the day at about 8:30 but then slept until 12:30 and struggled out of bed to stuff a chicken. Washing it in the sink I felt like a midwife, if you know what I mean.

Ally, feeling rough, lay sprawled on a pile of cushions reading Wilkie Collins, which cannot have hepled the situation. We had a weird conglomeration of food. Crumpets with bananas, lots of tea, then yoghurt, oranges, apples followed by a sticky loaf with fruit in, covered in thick butter. Roast chicken later, with cabbage, cauliflower au gratin, roast and mashed potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, &c. All reminiscent of Chatsworth House in 1880.

Films: Carry on Regardless, followed by 'A Shot in the Dark' with the amazing [Peter] Sellers.

Bed at 9:40. Roaring with laughter about something, both in the dark, but cannot now for the life of me remember what was the cause.

I dreamt tonight about Percy Illingworth, headmaster of Fieldhead Rd School 1966-78. Is this sexual? 

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