Tuesday January 4, 1983

 The Lada goes away. We are carless once again. To the YP. Slept soundly on the bus to Leeds. Felt even worse than I did yesterday. The phlegm is no better, and am coughing it up thick and green throughout the day. Hideous.

Sarah's taken the rest of the week off to nurse Delia who is very ill with influenza. She hasn't seen daylight since Christmas Eve.

Geoff Hemingway is giving me some tip money for Christopher Ussher's engagement. He's a godson of Princess Mary, the Princess Royal.

News: a maniac is on the loose in West Yorkshire. He's raping and dumping women, tied hand and foot, into canals. Not nice.

Home to find enough Yorkshire puddings to feed and army. To bed at 9:30 with a gin and tonic. A pleasant change from cocoa.

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Monday January 3, 1983

 We sat at the flat in the early hours watching American basketball on BBC2. Ally, bored, reading the Dalesman. I nodded off but kept waking with a start. Finally, at 2:45am I phoned Mum. Lynn had been gone for a couple of hours. We went back to Thorpefields. Our phone call woke Frances, who sat with her grandad singing. David rang at 4:20 to say baby was on it;'s way. He phoned again at 6, and Mum took the call. It's a girl weighing 5lb 14oz who is 51cm long and is to be called Katie Davina. She was born at 5:03am.

Ally took me to the YP for 9am. A quiet, gentle day. Only Margo and I. Escaped at 3 when Ally picked me up. I wrapped a present for Katie as we drove to Otley. Saw my new niece for the first time at 3:45. Mum, Dad, Sue, Audrey and Henry were at the hospital. Baby is tiny, and like a peach. 

To Sue and Pete's. We wanted to go out and eat but couldn't because of Christopher. John, just back from Scotland and without Janette, was telephoned and he reluctantly agreed to babysit. Ally and I took Sue and Pete to the Fox and Hounds, joined by Mum and Dad. We had Porterhouse steaks. It was £18.50 a couple, and we wrote a cheque to Mum, who paid the bill. We sat in the bar until after 11pm. We told them all that we want to pack in our office jobs and do something together. They all agreed and said we should do it immediately. It's good to know that people share our point of view. I am very tempted to go into the office tomorrow and pack the whole lot in. Home at 12. 

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Sunday January 2, 1983

 2nd Sunday after Christmas

Papa is 49 today and Mama is 48. I have it on good authority that Mum was born after 11pm on the night of the 2nd, whilst Dad was born at about 12:30am, only just into the 2nd. They thought Dad, the sixth child, was stillborn when he was delivered, and he weighed well over 10lb.

We were up at 10 for scrambled eggs.The phone rang. It was Mum who said that Lynn has been up since 4am and is probably in the early stages of labour. The soirée planned for this afternoon is therefor postponed. Can one have a soirée in the afternoon anyway? How about mêlée?

We drove over to Guiseley with our birthday presents. (A black visitors book for Dad to use for his guests at Waltergarth, and Quartz perfume for Mum). Sit and had a drink in John's very cold flat. He is still celebrating Hogmanay with Janette in Lochans. Lynn, Dave and Frances came. Baby was tetchy. She knows something catastrophic is about to happen to mummy, poor thing. Lynn looked flushed and nervous. She loathes the thought of hospital. Jim and Margaret come bringing cards and good wishes. They only stayed a while. By 5pm it was just Mum, Dad, Ally and I. The fish and chip shop across the road was open and so we ate. Then we sat watching 'Songs of Praise' from the Falkland Islands. So bloody boring.

Later the phone rang again. It was Lynn having contractions. Mum and Dad went off to Thorpefields telling us to lock up the flat and join then after Lynn's departure for Otley Hospital. We did as asked, but on arriving at Thorpe Lane Dave's car is still sat on the drive. I got out for a closer look only to see David opening the door. Lynn understandably didn't want an audience to watch her labour and so I bolted like a rabbit back down the garden path and into the car and we took off at speed. We went up and down Thorpe Lane about eight times. It was great fun.

Went to see Susie and Pete. Hilda and Tony were there and they said they were heading to Lynn and Dave's with birth birthday cards for Mum and Dad. Sue tried desperately to delay them by topping up their glasses, but couldn't delay them long. They went at 9. I imagined the scene at Thorpefields. Torn sheets, hot water, all the relations sitting around the writhing expectant mother, like a peep show. We went on to John's flat at about midnight.

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Saturday January 1, 1983

 New Year's Day

The first day of another year. I suppose I ought to pen something quite stunning which will grip you and hold your attention for the remaining 364 days. What can I say? I'm only a simple Bradford lad so you'll have to get used to being thoroughly bored.

We breakfasted with Karen and Steve. It lasted about two hours. We kept draining the coffee and then filling up again. Ally lingered in bed longer. _____________.

Karen and Steve were gone at 2. We, feeling remarkably fit, packed up and went to Guiseley via Shipley where we bought some provisions and on to Lynn & Dave's. They were entertaining Dave and Elaine Allinson. Frances is a beautiful little girl who will sing and recite anything.She knows a baby is coming into the family and beams at the mention of it. They are all coming to Bradford tomorrow. On to see Sue, Pete and Christopher for an hour and on to see Mum (at John's flat). They were out. Home. Had steak and chips. Ally to bed at 10. I sat watching a Barbara Stanwyck film until 2.

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Friday December 31, 1982

 YP until after 2.The New Years Honours list published. Nothing spectacular. The lower ones all seem to be water authority chairmen or old ladies who have worked in a Glamorgan canteen since 1914. I wouldn't touch an honour with a barge pole, except for the Garter.

Ally came running down the path after me and bundled me into a car with Mr Taylor and Patricia from the AHA. We went to a fuddle at Chestnut House. Other peoples offices are strange places.

Home at 5 sozzled. Fish and chips. Frantic arranging. Sue and Pete were first in at 8 followed by Patricia and Marcus, Dave L (looking like the 'principal boy' from 'Dick Whittington' in tight trousers and very long suede boots). MM and Marita. Poor Marita is bandaged and yet looks splendid in what looks like an Emanuel gown. To the Coach House. Joined there by Karen, Steve, Jill, Tim, Jacq, Lynne (Jacq's friend), David & Jean Watts, &c. I'll hand it to the Coach House, it was an excellent atmosphere. Balloons, party hats, loud music. We were all thrown into a state of festive euphoria. I had a secret ballot among the revellers which resulted in our return to Ash Tree Cottage on foot at 11:30. The streets were full of drunken people hurrying home to 'see in' the New Year. Cars were driving past us horns a tooting. I supplied everyone with a glass of something gripping and we took up our positions. At a few minutes to 12 we locked MM outside (one has to be tall and dark to fill this role) and we heard the chimes of Big Ben down the air waves courtesy of Radio One. 'Auld Langs Ayne'. 

We formed a conga line and danced out of the house, down the street, and in to Mary's, and then further down the street and back to ours having collected some neighbours, including Mary, into the chain on the way. One of Mary's friends, Rose, a comely Mrs Mills type, seated herself at our piano and banged out old tunes for over an hour. We stood around singing like the Vienna Boys' Choir. Mary attempted a Charleston and fell over and required assistance back to her place. Food magic. Music magic.

Everything went off remarkably well. It was one of our better parties. So good having MM and Marita with us. She always says that to see a Rhodes on New Years Eve brings good fortune in the coming year. New comers to our house express admiration for our interior design ability. I don't they say this just to be nice and for something to say. It happens far too often.

This was our first New Year party at Bradford. MM says that when George Orwell wrote '1984' he hadn't taken Margaret Thatcher into account. I couldn't agree more. We both agree that Mrs T will win the next general election when it comes.

Di and Paul didn't come. Paul has had a fracas with Tim. __________. Sue was all in black and thank God is back to her old self. Her face has given up that sickly look which I found terrifying.

Dave L had his usual dance with Steve and then slipped into a coma on the settee. He later found his way up to bed complaining he was feeling sick. All went home except Dave L, Karen and Steve. The Sandersons slept in a sleeping bag downstairs.

Ally and I went up to bed at 5am on January 1, 1983, feeling happy and moderately sober. God give us 70 more New Years.

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Thursday December 30, 1982

 Full Moon

Nothing really. YP dismal. Michael Brown was fretting about the New Years Honours list this afternoon. Apparently none of the recipients this year could be found in our files. I could not be bothered looking at the list, embargoed as yet.

Ally and I went to Morrison's in the Lada. I felt lousy all day. Headache. Thick phlegm. Bought the usual party things. My aches and pains didn't help my temper, but the peasants jostling for fish fingers and toilet rolls reaffirmed my belief in the sanctity of mankind and I emerged from the supermarket beaming , and humming a Beethoven sonata. Bumped into Catherine and David Alderson.

Made smoked mackerel pâté, profiteroles, &c. Watched Top of the Pops. To bed late. Exhausted.

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Wednesday December 29, 1982

Uncle Albert.

 On this day I always think of my Uncle Albert Wilson (Nov 1895-Dec 1969).

To the YP. Felt ill. Dry throat and sniffles. We are all looking 'off it'. Typical.  I did obituaries. Lord Sherborne died on Christmas Day and is succeeded by his 85 year-old kinsman who lives in Alresford.

Tonight Ally stood ironing by the light of the Christmas tree. I poured a few gins with bobbing ice cubes, and floating citrus fruits. Yes, lemon. Phoned people to make sure they've remembered our party. Spoke to Dave L and MM who says Marita fell over outside the Black Bull on the Monday before Christmas and broke a bone in her foot. The poor girl crawled for 50 yards down Horsforth Town Street and nobody stopped to assist. Talk about the Good Samaritan. Phoned Jackie Myers, Jacq Sate and Denise Akroyd, but had no response from this trio. Unfortunate. Is Jackie M in Torremolinos with Barry?

Bed after a whisky.

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Tuesday December 28, 1982

 Bank Holiday in UK & Republic of Ireland

Up with the larks. Ally and I spent the morning cutting sandwiches, making sausages on sticks, &c. James, one of the godfathers arrived, and an order came through to the kitchen to make sandwiches for him. Am I am a servant, or what? 

The Cricketers.

Matthew Frank Graham Dixon was baptised at Kingsworthy Church by his maternal grandfather at 3pm. Baby bawled throughout which was fun. Tea and sandwiches back at Chillandham Cross afterwards. We did have sparkling wine to toast the infant. Ally and I had a lift back to the house with Dr Gaffikin, the GP who 'looked after her' several years ago. He's a little man in a double breatsed waistcoat._________. 

Afterwards we decamped to the Cricketer's Arms at Easton just for a few, and left at 8:30. A good journey. Home to Bradford at 12. Bessie will miss us. I think we have helped this Christmas.

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Monday December 27, 1982

 Bank Holiday in the UK & Republic of Ireland

Vast breakfast was followed by 'Ben Hur' and a swift one at the Plough. Tony, who is a godfather tomorrow, is now at York University, and now realises that the north of England isn't all mill chimneys and scenes reminiscent of Coronation Street.

At dinner tonight we had roast lamb and I caused a sensation by making Yorkshire puddings. Why do folk think they can only be eaten with beef?

James Bond afterwards. I cannot cope with Bond and went and did the washing up. The Rev and Mrs Matthew Lynn called in. Ally and Bessie prepared a table for the baptism tomorrow. Forty eight million sandwiches to cut tomorrow.

Andrew and I watched 'Convoy'. It is one of those dreadful films which would be funny if it wasn't trying to convey some sort of message.

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Sunday December 26, 1982

Cart & Horses.

 1st Sunday after Christmas

Food in Edwardian proportions yet again. Massive fried breakfast. Frank is very good with the baby, and seems to be one of the few people capable of calming him. He looked at our Lanzarote photos and talked about his holiday at the end of January. He fancies Madeira.

Spent only half an hour at the Cart and Horses where numerous members of the Lynn family were assembled. Trevor Lynn, Gill's brother, and Teri Weymes announced their engagement yesterday. Back at Chillandham Cross at 3 Frank and Bessie went out for a stroll and I raided the drinks and poured us all an enormous one. Watched Peter Sellers in 'Two Way Stretch'.

Enormous dinner. Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding. Ally wore one of my old shirts, and her mother's ruby necklace. It is rumoured to have cost £5,000. Afterwards we were unable to move. Graham slept on the floor behind the settee. Coincidentally we watched an Agatha Christie play on the telly about a body behind a settee, starring Penelope Keith. Eerie. The only difference was that our body was snoring very loudly, and occasionally breaking wind.

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Saturday December 25, 1982

 Christmas Day

My first Christmas Day away from my parents. Up at 9:30 drinking tea. I inspected the Christmas tree. Not good. It has no lights since they fused several nights ago. A very disappointing specimen. Presents and wrapping paper everywhere, like 'Sale of the Century' (a dreadfully low TV programme designed for the old and greedy). Phoned Mum.

Chilland Barn.

To Chilland Barn for drinks with Freddie and Avril Hargreaves. I'm jealous of the house. Bessie became merry on the wine. At 1:30 we returned for lunch which Ally and I helped to organise. Bessie does get herself in a fluster. The full works. Poor baby Matthew wailed throughout and consequently Gill was absent for most of the meal. Our plates were piled high. It is Graham's theory that you are not greedy if you manage to eat everything, and only become so when when food is left on the plate. We had the pudding in the sitting room after The Queen, who talked about Frobisher and Drake and the Falklands and, for the first time in many years, from Windsor Castle. We all dropped off to sleep beneath our paper hats and our snores drowned out the TV which was awful anyway. Graham and Gill went to the Rectory for 5. We watched Agatha Christie's 'Death on the Nile'. Felt sproggy, no doubt caused by the burning logs. Bed by 1am.

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