Thursday June 16, 1983

 Sunny start, but dull later. Andrew is a problem. Bessie cannot manage him. By the look of things he gives her a real hard time. Ally says Bessie blames herself for having him so late in life (she was 42) which has resulted in his apparent 'slowness'. We do not thing he is slow at all. It is all pretence. He has his parents under his thumb. The only problem with having children late in life is that they take advantage. A child of mine would have been soundly battered before reaching Andrew's age and size. Alas, it is too late now.

After breakfast with Ally and Bessie to Winchester where they spend two hours buying, or rather looking at baby clothes (for Matthew) and row after row of ladies underwear. I was bored sick and in no mood for trailing around the shops. I wouldn't mind if Ally bought things, but she rarely does. She tried on a green thing in Laura Ashley and emerged from the changing room looking like the prize vegetable marrow at Otley Show. Laura Ashley it seems caters for the giant. At 1pm the three of us went to the Bush at Ovington and sat in the murky depths. Quite my favourite haunt in Hampshire. A pair of Americans were going on and on for all to hear on the subject of children from broken marriages and people with drug problems.___________. Ploughman's lunch again. I look like a bloody ploughman. 

Overcast afternoon. Back at 3 for tea and cake. Andrew phones from Bishops Sutton and has to be collected. Poor B spends her life chasing around for his benefit. Ally and I went and sat under the cherry tree and as I write this she is reading Women's Weekly magazines from 1976. 

A Tory MP has criticised the PM for reviving hereditary peerages. I will write to Downing Street giving Mrs T my support for the move. We sat in the garden until after six. Bessie went in to watch 'Crossroads' and 'Emmerdale Farm'. She is a keen follower. Frank was home before dark for once, but no Andrew. Ally, looking better, stayed up until 10:30 and went off leaving us watching Sir Robin Day's 'Question Time'. Willie Whitelaw made mincemeat of the upstart Michael Meadowcroft, a new Liberal MP. Tony Benn is not the ideal thing to go to bed on and we did so looking pained and restless. Frank stayed up to quiz Andrew on his weird activities.

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Wednesday June 15, 1983

Bournemouth.

 Ally climbed out of bed in a vile mood and banged around for the morning taking chunks out of me and poor Bessie. After breakfast I made twenty profiteroles, much to Bessie's amusement and Ally's chagrin, and by 11 they we standing in splendour oozing with whipped cream and chocolate sauce upon a wire tray. I took Ally out to stop her attacking her mother (verbally). She is so vicious at times. We went off in B's car to Winchester to collect photographs of baby Matthew. Ally then suggested Bournemouth, and off we went at about 80MPH down the by-pass. We were only half an hour away and we parked on the sea front and strolled along the crowded promenade and laughed at the flabby ladies in their beach huts drinking tea on Calor gas stoves and looking superior. We had another ploughman's at another Berni Inn and sat under an umbrella in a car park full of workmen. 

On the lawn: June 15th

Read the Daily Telegraph. Bernard Weatherill is the new Speaker of the House of Commons. The PM asked Pym to stand but he declined telling her that the office of speaker is not in the gift of the prime minister. Quite right. We went to lay on the beach next to a fat couple listening to the radio. Ally, in her blue and white stripes, resembled a deckchair. At 4 we went back to Winchester to avoid the crush of day trippers, and got back in 50 minutes. In the garden with Bessie, who had me messing with a hose pipe. We dined on steak pie.

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Tuesday June 14, 1983

 Up at 9 today. We ate mounds of toasted currant tea cakes and sat with the Daily Express in the cathedral-like kitchen. Labour is in shambles. (Michael) Foot is going in October and Neil Kinnock is leading the field. Roy Jenkins is standing down to make way for David Owen. The opposition already discussing tactics for the 1988 election. Bloody fools. 

Andrew: secretive

Andrew's motorcycle has broken down and for some peculiar reason he dare not tell his parents. He is such a queer, secretive person. Bessie cannot understand him and he seems to come and go living in a solitary world. At one time he seemed to come out of himself a bit with his sister, but now we don't see him. Occasionally we hear his Winchester accent drifting over from another room.

We went to town for a stroll around the shops and escaped from the heat into a cavern-like hostelry where we sat in basket chairs with lager. Ally has a hungry look about her and suggests lunch at the Berni (Inn) and before you can say Norman Tebbit we were bounding through the crowded streets in the direction of the restaurant. On entering Ally was immediately recognised by Doreen, the ancient waitress. We had rump steak with salad and no wine. A large satisfying lunch. At 3 we returned to the garden at Chillandham Cross. On the way to car I spotted a pastel-type print of King Edward VIII in a dark frame and had to have it. Blimey, it was only £2.30. We sprawled on the lawn. Bessie slightly peeved because she has put a chicken casserole in the oven and we are too bloated to appreciate it. I did manage to eat only a fraction of it at 8. Ally was in bed by 10:30 and Bessie and I were alone. Frank was out at a headmasters' dinner and was late.

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Monday June 13, 1983

George & Falcon

 We got up at 7:30 after listening to Frank banging around in the darkness. The man gets up and goes off to work in the middle of the night. I had the usual fried repast and Ally her egg. A warm bright morning. We took the car into Winchester and looked at maternity wear in Marks & Spencer's. Clown-like checks seem to be in. Laura Ashley was next on the agenda. All her dresses look like tents and I think of Charlotte (Smith). For refreshment we went to the George & Falcon at Warnford, where Ally dined on her 21st birthday. We were disappointed by the small, insignificant ploughman's lunch. Two fat, old ladies were served bowls of cold soup and apologised profusely to the bar staff. Shouldn't the apologies have come from the staff and not the customer? A Pekingese dog was coughing up it's dinner in the lounge bar. On to the West Meon Hut at West Meon where we sat next to a heavily pregnant woman who was sipping coffee. Ally, smiling, said it was hard to believe that she too will be in that state shortly. We returned to Winchester suitably refreshed, to buy Andrew a bulb for his motorcycle headlamp and was home for 4:30. Wrote to Sam Smith's accepting their offer and Ally slept upon the bed, fully clothed, after dictating the historic epistle. Frank was out at Rotary until after 10 and we dined with a tired Bessie on over cooked pork chops. Again, Andrew was nowhere to be seen. To bed at 10:15 after watching the news. More Cabinet changes. The Times implies that the Speaker will also be made a viscount on his retirement, but he too has no son and heir. The Times adds that future hereditary peers include Sir Keith Joseph and Lord Hailsham. However, the 1963 Peerage Act prevents Hailsham from receiving a hereditary peerage because he disclaimed his own viscountcy to return to the Commons. I am absolutely delighted that the PM has revived the hereditary system. Ally to bed with Agatha Christie.

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Sunday June 12, 1983

 2nd Sunday after Trinity

Ally and I were awake at 8:30 to the smell of hot toast drifting upstairs. We lay in bed reading glossy magazines and looking at photos of Italian settees. Up and in the bath by 9. A full English breakfast and then a brisk walk to the river where we stood on the bridge and laughed at the ducks. Ally is furious because I packed nothing for her to wear. She is staggering around looking like a refugee. Frank and Bessie went for lunch to the Hargreaveses, and Ally and I put on shorts and ate a salad and sipped lemonade in the garden. A very hot day. Ally snoozed upon a lilo. She lay reading an article in one of the Sunday magazines about the Princess of Wales and fashion designers.

Bessie: knitting

Both F and B seem delighted at our news and Bessie showed us piles of knitted baby clothes which our offspring will inherit. I read of the Cabinet changes. Leon Brittan is the youngest Home Secretary since Winston Churchill in 1911. Whitelaw, the new viscount, is Lord Privy Seal and becomes Mrs T's deputy. The Tory 'wets' are just about gone. It is so good to know that the country is in safe hands for another four years at least. 

I burned my shoulders while sitting with the newspapers. Ally slept contentedly and peace reigned in the garden with only the occasional sound of cackling drifting over from the party at Chilland Barn. I could clearly hear Bessie giggling. They came back at 5 when it became dull and overcast and we made an exodus from the garden. Frank, full of wine, went off and fell asleep on his bed, a very rare occurence, and we three had a leg of lamb. Andrew is never at meals and we hardly see him. Bessie says he's only a lodger. Ally went upstairs leaving me with Bessie in front of the TV. I went up at 11.

Ally's lilo

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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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