Saturday June 11, 1983

 New Moon

The Queen's official Birthday

Ally was awake at 5:30 and we were late and dashed around like mad things leaving the house at 6 with our suitcase. Both looking pale and feeling abominable. We got a coach at 6:30 and arrived in London at 10:30 to be met by Frank and Bessie at Victoria. The Trooping of the Colour was in full swing and the traffic bad. 

We were at Chillandham Cross for 12 and in deckchairs in the garden until 7 when we resembled lobsters. Frank was wanting to take us out for dinner but Ally was done in. At 8pm she went up to bed and slept for 12 hours. I had a ham salad and watched the highlights of the Trooping whilst F and B snoozed in their chairs. 

Birthday Honours: George Howard is a peer, but no great surprises. Watched the news. The PM has already reshuffled (the Cabinet) and Pym has gone and Willie Whitelaw created a Viscount, the first hereditary peerage awarded since 1964. However, he has no sons and only daughters. Will Willie have a special remainder? Nigel Lawson is Chancellor of the Exchequer and Sir Geoffrey Howe Foreign secretary. Very pleased about the hereditary peerage. To bed at 11pm.

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Friday June 10, 1983

 Birthday of Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh

Mrs Thatcher has a majority of over 140. Bliss. Up at 8:20 after only three hours sleep. Phoned Auntie Mabel with our news and breakfasted with Ally. Mum and Dad took Ally to the AHA where she handed in her notice to quit in a month and spent half an hour with Derek. We all went to Lynn's with a bottle of bubbly and found her in the garden with the babies and Sue with Christopher. We told them our news, but they had guessed already. We sat in the garden, and at times a cold wind blew. Everyone delighted. Katie is exquisite and like a baby in a magazine advertisement. Mum and Dad returned to Horton at 2 and we went on to John's with the news. John brought us home at 7 and Ally was immediately sick and went off to bed. I attempted to pack and made a poor job of it. To bed at 11.

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Thursday June 9, 1983

A historic day. The General Election. Ally and I were up at 8 and after breakfast we went out and voted for Graham Hall, the Conservative candidate. At 11:30 we left for Leeds and then went on to Tadcaster for 1:15. We had a basket meal and a drink at the Bay Horse, a Sam Smith's pub, and then we went over to the HQ where Mr Tyne saw us in a tiny rabbit-hutch of a room. He was quite taken aback when we announced Ally's pregnancy and said it would be most 'inhuman' for him to reject us because of it and told us to begin our training as planned and see how it goes from then on. Tyne added that if we don't get a pub while Ally is expecting he can see nothing wrong with a 12 month wait. 

We came home jubilant. We got home for 5 and prepared for our general election party. Polling has been brisk, according to the news. Mum and Dad came at 8 and we told them both our items of news. They were thrilled but I don't think they fully approve of pubs and babies combined. We opened a bottle of bubbly. Hilda, Tony, Jim, and Margaret came at 9, and we told them our news. ___________. Margaret was dull worrying about Pamela being bed bound. Her child is to be Andrew or Rebecca. Jim looked at me, winked, and said in a whisper: "well Michael you've done it". Jim prefers the beers of John (Smith) to Sam. Margaret, watching the election unfold, asked a shocked room: "I wonder what Cyril Smith is like in bed?" It was quite clear from the start that Mrs Thatcher had achieved victory again. It was well worth sitting up until 5am to see Wedgwood Benn defeated by the Tories and similarly Shirley Williams at Crosby. Labour held our seat by 110 votes and Tom Torney collapsed afterwards from the shock of it all. The SDP failed and Labour remain the opposition. Hilda, Tony, Jim and Margaret left at 2am.  Hilda had been to cousin Stephen's 18th birthday party on June 3 but didn't mention it. Mum was the only aunt not to be invited. Dad snored in an armchair and was awakened with a start when our cheers at Benn's defeat shook the building. Ally stayed up until 3am and when she went to bed so did Mum and Dad leaving me clearing up and watching the TV until 5.

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Wednesday June 8, 1983

 Mr Tyne from Sam Smiths has sent us our agreement which we now have to sign and return with the relevant birth and marriage certificates. We are in a nervous state over our future and panic over our breakfast cereal. It was decided that I should phone Mr Tyne and ask to see him tomorrow and tell him of Ally's condition and then see what happens thereafter. At least it will be sorted in time for our holiday. 

A warm muggy morn and a better afternoon with sunshine and shirt sleeves. Ally left for work in a fluster at 8:15. I phoned Sam Smith's and spoke to (David) Tyne's chatty secretary, who booked us in for 2pm tomorrow. Ally phoned at 12 and I walked over to Duckworth Lane to meet her. She went off and had her hair trimmed and we drew out £60 from the building society for our Winchester visit. (£48 was the interest last month on my redundancy money). We called in at the Whitbread pub and shared a ploughman's lunch. We sat in the dark of the cool pub excitedly discussing our future. A clause in our agreement reads: "the manager's wife will assist the manager in the conduct of his business on the premises as mutually agreed between them." Surely this allows for some maneouvering ? It would be a shame to let it go because of a baby. We are convinced we can cope with both. 

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Tuesday June 7, 1983

 No letter from Sam Smiths which is a let down. An overcast day with only the occasional show from the sun. What a crap summer. 

Neil Kinnock shouting his mouth off on the lunchtime news. Falklands, Falklands, Falklands. Stirring up the details of our fantastic victory of last year will only increase the Tory vote as far as I can see. 

Ally phoned at 3. She wants a curry followed by a rice pudding. I shall of course give her what she wants. Ally moved to Guiseley from Winchester four years ago today. A historic day in the life of the author of this journal and for the Rhodes dynasty.

We refer to the baby as 'Tubby'. The large whisky bottle containing £70 in coins has always been the 'Clemmie Fund', not done particularly because we want a daughter. I have forgotten why this came about. I have no leanings for a child of any particular sex and will be very pleased with either male or female offspring. Nothing 'in between' please. 

Ally came home cheerfully and we sat with the door and all the windows open. The evening warm and sticky. Ally has her sofa, and me the armchair. Saw the ancient Western 'Shane' starring Alan Ladd. Slobbering at the end. The small Irish person on the nine o'clock news discussed Mrs Thatcher's cabinet (the one she'll form on Friday) and Cecil Parkinson was suggested as the new foreign secretary and Norman Tebbit as Home secretary. I don't think Mrs T will discard Willie Whitelaw or Francis Pym just yet. We shall see. 

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Monday June 6, 1983

 Sunshine and breezes. Up with the larks. Give Ally a boiled egg. She has taken a shine to Francis (Wilson), the BBC Breakfast TV weather forecaster. He looks very much like Andy Graham. I went out to dig furiously in the garden uprooting gigantic dandelions and deep-rooted buttercups. It is my first foray into the garden this year. The mint is high, and once the tulips have gone the display will be far from Chelsea Flower Show standard. I suppose we need a few good hardy annuals. Then, basking in the morning sun I set about cleaning the windows and dispose of some of Steve O'Connor's debris. Then, with sweat on my brow, I threw everything into the washing machine and hung everything out of the washing line. Miss Whincup, over the road, comes out into her garden from time to time and gives me a smile. The lunchtime news: The Alliance are convinced that they'll beat Labour. Baked bread and sat with a coffee watching the shirts billowing on the line. This diary has gone, in the space of five years, from the journal of a debauched bachelor to that of a sedate, working 'house husband'. It must be terribly dull for you all. Never mind, with a bit of luck the years end will see me a licensee in a thriving tavern and then I'll have a few tales to tell, eh? We have had a postcard from Auntie Mabel in Llandudno. We haven't seen her since February, and so we must go soon to give her our joyous news. She'll be knitting furiously for six months. Ally came in looking well and alive and we sat in the peace of a Lidget Green evening eating a chicken broth with dumplings. I felt shagged out and we went upstairs and slept for an hour. Sue phoned. Are we going to Chippy's orgy on Saturday? No, Winchester calls. She says that Mrs Sumpton called the other day to thank her for the floral tributes for John. We say nothing about our news of course and say we'll go over on Thursday. Watched 'Minder' and went to bed after seeing the Waleses at the premiere of 'Octopussy'.

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Sunday June 5, 1983

 1st Sunday after Trinity

Another day of quiet repose. We do not phone any family for fear of letting the cat out of the bag.

Bacon and eggs. Ally has read somewhere that bacon is full of protein. Bessie phoned to thank us for the flowers. She has also received a bouquet from her sister Joan. __________. Graham and Gill have been to see them. Graham, she said, didn't think much to our family planning at a time when I am unemployed. Such things cannot be planned. We thank God for them. Later Gill phoned and was excited about our news. She says Graham is in a mood because of a marketing exam planned for tomorrow. Matthew is just about crawling. Bessie says her grandson is 'quite bonnie'. We plan to go see the Dixons of Coleford in Bessie's car sometime next week.

We ate half a chicken and a rich chocolate cake. Ally, pale and washed out, disappeared to bed at 10. I looked in at the first five minutes of the news and retired cheerfully rejoicing the demise of the Labour Party. Is Roy Jenkins going to be leader of HMs opposition on Friday? Mrs T certainly has nothing to fear. I have inserted a 'Vote Tory' poster in my bedroom window. I haven't done such a thing before. Ones political leanings are essentially personal but no way could I sleep with ease at night thinking that the woman at number 18 assumes we are Labour voters. Tom Torney is our MP which is bad enough, but Pat Wall is only five miles away in the adjoining constituency. To bed with Jane Eyre.

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Saturday June 4, 1983

 Bessie is 61 today. (She phoned last night and I had a good chat with her). Graham and Gill are supposed to be going to the rectory for the weekend.

Sunshine. Up after ten. Bright and cheerful. If Sam Smith's give us the push we'll go off on a residential course and get a diploma. We shall not be defeated. We are made of the stuff which sent Hitler packing. Vera Lynn and all that. 

Boiled eggs. We book tickets on a fast bus to London and back (£25 for the both of us) and can now tell Lynn and Dave that we'll be at Winchester from June 11-19 and if they want to join us they can do so. Feeling bright and optimistic today. I was so proud of Ally yesterday. She interviews remarkably well and turns on the charm. People are always impressed by her independence and the way she returned to Yorkshire in '79 and bought a house. __________. We went to market but were driven home by the sights and smells which turned Ally's stomach. Walking through the fish market proved to be a test in self-control for poor Pig, and we had to walk hurriedly through the stalls of red, dripping meat. An arduous shopping excursion to be sure. We returned home and had strawberries and cream. We dined early on soup, trout (grilled), new potatoes, garden peas, and more strawberries and cream. Ally finds it hard to hold on until evening and has to eat to ward off feelings of nausea. She went to bed early missing 'Dynasty'. I stayed up late watching a '73 movie based on the life of John Dillinger, the gangster of the '30s. Seen it before, of course. I had seen every film ever made at least twice by 1976. Just imagine how bored I'll be by 2017? Crept stealthily to bed so not to disturb Ally but it is quite impossible.

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Friday June 3, 1983

 Overcast day. Ally in a groggy condition and moody. _______. Poached eggs. Her sense of smell has increased and she hates the aromas from cupboards and drawers and thinks that everything she eats and drinks tastes 'off'. It must be ghastly. Workmen are digging up the road and everything in the house is vibrating. Ally went off to the AHA looking peaky, yet resolute. 

Denis Healey has apologised to the PM over his 'glorifying in slaughter' remark. It was beneath contempt. Princess Helen of Roumania is engaged to an English professor. The mother of the Duke of Roxburghe is dead. She was married to a Hambro. I phoned enquiring about coaches to London on June 11, and worry because it is the official birthday of the Queen on that day and packs of tourists might be cluttering up the transport heading south to witness the Trooping the Colour. A bad tempered receptionist at Wallace Arnold told me that they 'haven't turned anyone away yet' for bookings on that day.

Ally came tearing in at 12 and after splashing in the soapy depths we left, once again, on bus, boat and train for Tadcaster. The train part of the journey was quite peaceful until a band of Vietnamese refugees carrying screaming babies came and sat close to us. We were deafened by the time we hit Leeds. To Tadcaster for 3. We were ushered up to the top floor to see Mr Tyne. It was clear from the outset that we were going to be offered a position. Ally was sensational. She did something which immediately captivated this middle-aged executive. He said he could picture Ally behind a bar more than he could picture me, and added that I am the youngest looking 28 year-old he has ever set eyes on. However, he approved, and said that we can begin training in Middlesbrough on July 18 after Ally's one month notice to the AHA. We left in a state of shock and discussed our plan of action. We did not mention the baby but will go back to see Mr Tyne after having written confirmation of our appointment. Everything is falling into place. Will the baby bring a halt to our ambitions? This Tyne person was very reasonable and very Geoff  Hemingway-ish. Are we mad? Is our point of view completely crazy and we cannot see it? We shall not be downhearted whatever. Life has taken on a whole bright future. Home. Ally to bed at 9. I watched the news and a ghost story and went up to bed at 10:30. Denis Healey is shit of the week.

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Thursday June 2, 1983

 Ally's first ante-natal session with Dr Duck (can that really be her name?) at Paternoster Lane. A sunny and warm morning. We went together hand in hand. I sat in the garden of the methodist chapel until she emerged after about 20 minutes. She is still too early to be inspected and the doctor put the date of confinement at January 8. The birth can probably take place at the Bradford Royal Infirmary, and Dr Duck sees no impediment in our taking on a pub though advises Ally to give up work before the birth and earlier than she would have to do working at Chestnut House. We walked back to Club Street and I saw her onto a bus. 

Denis Healey, now grasping for survival, has accused the PM of 'playing in slaughter' in her reaction to the Falklands victory. This really is lower than anyone has ever stooped in pre-election muck raking. Mrs Thatcher has never, to my mind, taken on a gloating, victorious attitude at our defeat of the Argentinians, and always looks incredibly sad at the very mention of the Falkland isles. Labour is doomed. I'd love to see the SDP in second place, and Roy Jenkins says Labour will poll the lowest vote since 1922. I have told Ally that if a disaster somehow catapults Michael Foot into office then we will be taking the first boat out of the country.

Ally came in this evening close to collapse. The afternoons are not her best time she says, and she rapidly goes off at tea time. We had pork pies and peas, but Ally only had a sparrow's portion. She sat afterwards reading about stretch marks and baby feeding problems. Her condition makes her glum and emotional and at the slightest excuse she'll weep. She could easily get into a state about childbirth. It's so easy for me, isn't it?

Her Majesty was crowned 30 years ago this day. Watched a programme on BBC2 about coronation day. I always find the newsreel of the solemn anointing to be incredibly moving, and if anybody thinks that the Queen will one day abdicate they should take a look at the film because she could never lay aside that crown after making such vows and dedications before God and people. We are not Belgium. Bed at 10 o'clock.

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Wednesday June 1, 1983

 Thunder, lightning, rain. Sit looking out at the poor garden, yet to be touched this year. Ally out of bed feeling sick, but she went off to the AHA for the first time since her birthday. It was odd having nobody to talk to, and I passed the day bottling beer and tidying around. You'd be surprised just how long it takes to keep this humble yet comely house in a decent shape. Ally came home looking wan with a juicy piece of red steak in her handbag. I ate it like a wolf. Ally had a well-done morsel (rare meat being banned now for her, of course). She is nervous about seeing the doctor tomorrow and we lay in bed discussing the past, the present, and the future. ________. TV miserable. Coronation Street drama. Hilda Ogden is battling for her deceased brothers fish and chip shop. We also watched a documentary on contraception. In Thailand millions of eight year-old schoolchildren inflate condoms like balloons as part of their sex education. Odd.

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