Wednesday January 11, 1984

 5 Club St, Lidget Green

Something is happening. (A large gynaecological redaction). I made a pot of tea and we debated whether we should ring the hospital. The sight of blood has made us uneasy. At about 6am Ally phoned the maternity unit for advice and they told her to go in. Heavily laden with luggage we went to the BRI. They put us in labour room 7 and we sat holding hands for two hours or more. Time stands still in hospital. I phoned Bessie and Mum with the news but by 10 I was beginning to regret it because Ally's contractions had ceased. Ally was good and calm and not in the least violent. At 11 they transferred us the the ante-natal ward, put out to grass, apparently abandoned. Dr Duck appeared and sent Ally for a scan, to which poor Ally went in a wheelchair, and I was sent home until visiting time at 4. Dad collected me in the rain at 12 and we joined Mum for some hideous fish and chips. We collected Ally at 5pm, by now slightly 'put out'. She had spent three hours in an overcrowded ambulance en route to the scan, and looked very pale. Home. Mum suggested a hot bath to 'get things going'. They left after a meal at 9:30 and we took baths. I was dead to the world and fell into a coma next to my large, pink,  and only true love.

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Tuesday January 10, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

The snots continued unabated. My £1.95 medication is neither use nor ornament. Ally woke with a hunger and at 9 I went out and bought a hot, brown loaf and the Daily Telegraph. We had boiled eggs upstairs, Ally balancing her tray upon her vast protrusion. We took hours to dress and drift downstairs. The waiting coninues. A bit of a strain. We decided to go buy a baby bath, a chair, and bucket for the dirty nappies. Wrapped up like mountaineers we went to Mothercare and spent £25 on these provisions. All our purchases are blue. This in no way means we expect a boy. We just didn't want white. After an hour in the soggy town we staggered back to the car. Ally like an overweight pug as she panted her way up Darley Street. At 2 she went to her mothercraft class at Odsal. 

I concocted a fish pie and listened to records at full throttle. I cannot do this when Ally is in. Her aversion to noise is growing worse. We listen to everything at a whisper. Ally was back at 3:30 and we ate half an hour later. Phoned John. The holiday was fine but he didn't enthuse. The temperature in Majorca was in the 60s. I told him that David Watts wants a dormer plastering. John needs some good indoor jobs. Later Dave Watts phoned to say he's found two family Bibles, and can he bring them? Ally told him no, tonight, and says we'll let him know. Mum phoned. Her cold has gone. We watched 'Dallas' and retired to bed. Ally sat reading 'The Moonstone' and I lay dribbling from the nose. To sleep after 12. Come along son/daughter.

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Monday January 9, 1984

 5 Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

My cold persists. Ally says baby will not come because he can hear me coughing, sneezing and sprogging. I got up early and went out into the frost to buy a newspaper and then made breakfast for Ally and climbed back into bed until 12. L. Gledhill phoned at 10 and spoke to Ally. He cannot understand why the baby hasn't arrived and asks whether we have our dates right. Ally responded 'yes', to which he replied 'Oh you can recall the night in question, can you?' Well, of course she can . (It was an afternoon actually). He says D.Tyne sees no impediment in our taking the Moorhouse, but we have to see the chief first. 

Rachel Ward.

We pulled up chairs closer to the fire. Ally buried beneath a Wilkie Collins book and I looked at the diaries of Harold Nicolson, but only half-heartedly. Watched the news. The Prince and Princess of Wales are in Liechtenstein skiing surrounded by 48 million photographers on the slopes. They will never be allowed any privacy. The heat from the fire put us both to sleep and we lay beneath our books until after 3. Auntie Hilda phoned to say she is thinking of us. 'The first one can be two weeks late, you know', she said. I winced. Looking ahead this week I see that we have a Friday the Thirteenth. Oh God. Will baby come then? We ate salad and I sat chewing like a rabbit. This cold will never go. A night in front of the TV. Watched Coronation Street. Most of the cast seem to have disappeared. We also watched another episode of The Thornbirds with Richard Chamberlain as a randy, unconvincing priest. Rachel Ward also stars. Miss Ward is Lord Dudley's niece. A bonnie lass. Watched a profile of John Wayne by Barry Norman. He was the epitome of the American man. Big, pushy, promiscuous and vulgar. They struck a Congressional Medal of Honour for him. He died the day Ally started working for Derek. To bed at 11. Ally sat reading The Moonstone, and I buried myseld beneath my quilt.

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Charlotte & Graham Smith with Oscar.

Sunday January 8, 1984

 1st Sunday after Epiphany

5 Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

The cold continues. I mean my cold and not the weather. Ally brought me tea and toast to bed and I remained beneath the sheets until 1pm. Felt rotten. Like gallons of water in my head. Downstairs in my dressing gown I sat dribbling in an armchair. Watched a film starring Peter Ustinov and co-starring the ghastly Melina Mercouri, who is now attempting to steal our Elgin Marbles. 

Susan phoned to ask about Ally's progress. She says Peter cannot stop worrying about us. It isn't like Peter to become excited about a baby. Feel honoured. Charlotte Smith phoned quite out of the blue to ask 'today is the day, isn't it?' How peculiar, they haven't answered our letters or tried to contact us for a long time. Ally spoke to Graham S and she could hear Isobel in the background. Ally phoned Bessie who snatched up the phone after only one and a half rings. They dined with Peter Gaffikin last night and played silly party games. For one game they had a name pinned to their back and had to match up with a partner. Bessie was CLEMENTINE and had to match up with 'satsuma'. I think I would have looked for Winston. Is this an omen? Ally came away chuckling. We haven't told Bessie of any of our chosen names, of course. 

Ally has a touch of back ache. We sat later watching The Thornbirds. Ally has just finished the book of that name by Colleen McCullough which she started reading at the Linthorpe. Have you noticed how my brain slips from one thing to another like a bee in a rose garden? To bed at 10 to escape Esther Rantzen on the BBC. Felt slightly better.

-=-

Saturday January 7, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Club Street.

After a sweaty night I woken up with a cold. Sneezing and spluttering everywhere. Ally washed a batch of nappies and I hung them out on the washing line to dry. It is a sight I thought I would never see. We have run out of food supplies and so we ventured out to Duckworth Lane at 12:30. Wet, windy and cold. I spent £1.95 on something to dry my galloping mucus. Back at home I fell asleep in an armchair watching John Wayne play Genghis Khan. Ally made a lasagne. I didn't enjoy it. It was like eating cardboard. My sense of taste and smell has died. Ally's emotions are all haywire. At the slightest excuse and with (illegible) encouragement she bursts into tears. It is a traumatic time for poor Piglet. I was still collapsed in the chair at 8pm and so I decided to go to bed. Ally needed no prompting either. Just as we retired Gill phoned from Coleford. It's so good to know that everyone is thinking of us. She says Matthew was in hysterics on Christmas Day. I took a pill and had a large glass of rum. According to Dr Duck tomorrow is the day.

Oh yes, Auntie Mabel phoned this morning (as I was hanging out the nappies) and she had a long chat with Ally. Uncle Jack (Paine) would have been 68 tomorrow. She says that babies are like apples and they only drop when they are ripe.

-=-

Friday January 6, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Epiphany comes and goes without any signs of the baby. Ally is agitated. She isn't the type to wait placidly and now the due date has arrived she wants the whole business over with. Frayed tempers. People phone throughout the day to enquire about developments. Sarah phoned to say that Kathleen is in a flap about it. Lynn phoned too. She says the best way to bring the baby on, according to Dr Jacques, is to have furious sexual intercourse. No chance of that. Instead, Ally polished the brasses and heaved the vacuum cleaner around, to no avail. We ate liver and onions on trays in front of the fire. Bessie phoned to say they are at the Lyndhurst Park Hotel tonight and dining with the sickly Dr Gaffikin tomorrow. She leaves phone numbers where to contact her. Gaffikin knows too much. He's in the Rotary Club with Frank. Sat down to a quiet night at 8:30 when the door opened to David and Jean Watts, who want to see how the baby bump is developing. David looks extremely nautical with a 'full set'. They want Samuel too, but David fancies 'Ian'. Ugh. We don't reveal Clementine. That is to be a surprise. They stayed until 11 and we discussed genealogy, the NHS and yes, christian names. They went, and we watched the beginning of a film, so old - John Gielgud looked like a 17 year old. Bed. Read Harold Nicolson's diaries.

-=-

Thursday January 5, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Ally is much better. No longer niggly and tiresome. No signs of impending motherhood. We were up early and out in the rain at 9:30 to Paternoster Lane where Ally saw Dr Duck. She came out in perfect health and has been told to wait patiently. The doc says Ally will not be allowed to wait longer than 13 days. It seems like eternity, but we know our child will come before January 21. At home I sat buried beneath my newspaper but the peace of the day was shattered by the telephone. It was Les Gledhill who asked to see me at the Red Lion at 2:30. Quiver, quiver. Is our destiny secured? I went out and cleaned the car after sweeping up the leaves that have clogged the pathway since autumn. In fact the garden looks horrible. It's like Greenham Common. Cheese and biscuits. My wife says I am a sloppy eater, but then she loves to criticise. 

We went to the Red Lion at 2:30. Felt most uneasy. The Willses kiss, cuddle, suck and chew and sit upon each other all for public display. I really think that Elaine thinks she's a latter day Brigitte Bardot or Pamela Stephenson. He (Chris) is like one of the dogs they possess and jumps at the snap of her fingers. L. Gledhill came and took us into a corner and told us that the Moorhouse Inn is ours. He only has D.T.N. Tyne to see and give the word, and we can have the place when our baby is about three weeks old if everything is ok. I find Les G such an easy man to get on with. He has treated me very well and I cannot complain about my Christmas break. However, he has to justify my name on the payroll and so we have to take a holiday from Sunday when hopefully Samuel/Clementine will be thinking about putting in an appearance. Ally is over the moon. Samuel Smith's have been very good to us and we can not have wished for better, fairer treatment. Chris and Elaine were lurking in the background and after L.Gledhill's departure they came to glean information. Chris says, somewhat cruelly, that Pirie at the Moorhouse was thumped, or 'done over' last week. Hardly the most tactful thing to say to Pirie's successor.  We left at 3:30 after seeing Jean and Enid - always pleasant. 

We sat at home with a drink looking at the Christmas tree (yes, it's still up) discussing our good fortune. Phoned Horton. Mum is full of cold and has been in bed since we left on Monday. She sounded awful. Phoned Glynnie. He and Lily leave for Acapulco (?) on Monday. He is calling in here after his two weeks in the sun. Ally spoke to Lily. Sue phoned for a bulletin. Her baby is now due on June 10. It's another 12 month pregnancy. Marita phoned to see if we fancy having a gathering before Dave L's return to South Elmsall on Sunday. Awkward. Pleasant chatter. I have so much in common with Marita. She never changes. Dave L is taking his mum to see them tonight. The Matthews residence is like Chatsworth. 'Horatio Hornblower' . Bath & bed at 9:30.

-=-

Wednesday January 4, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green, Bradford

Ally: grizzly bear.

Fine, yet frosty. Ally was in a tetchy mood all day and we put it down to nerves. She was unbearable this morning. It's like living with a female Neil Kinnock. Quite intolerable. We were awake at 5am and by 6 I was compiling a letter to Les Gledhill asking 'please could you give us the Moorhouse?'  By 8 the letter was posted. I ventured out in the snow at dawn like Capt Oates to find a newspaper. Cecil Parkinson's mistress has given birth to a daughter. The Rev Jesse Jackson dominates the news. He clearly copies the late Martin Luther King and is very theatrical. Breakfast was volatile and eggs were almost thrown. We went out and sat in the car where I demolished the inside mirror. More Shakespearian tragedy. We sat there with a large tube of glue (like so many young people today), and managed to secure the rear view mirror back in place. We went to town and came back two hours later with sanitary towels, nappies, feeding bottles and cotton wool balls. Ally wore a very large brown pullover and looked like a grizzly bear. We had some funny looks. If you want to go out and get noticed take a gigantic, pregnant woman with you. She slept in her bed from 3 until 6:30pm. I sat and finished Margaret Thatcher by Penny Junor. Recent biographies, or those of the living are seldom very good. Who was it that advised 'never read a book that is not a year old?' Was it Ralph Waldo Emerson? Fish for dinner. Ally only ate it because I enjoy it. Feet up afterwards. The baby kicked away viciously, and Ally sat with her orange juice splashing around in the glass. We have, so it seems, created a rugby prop forward. 'Coronation Street' - Elsie Tanner has left and gone to live in Portugal, saying goodbye to the cobbles forever. Saw the wonderful (Alan) Whicker. I could watch him until the cows come home. This week he was on the QE2. Ally would hate it - the social climbers abound. Bed by 11. Ally is calmer and all is forgiven. She is sitting in bed with a smile upon her face.

-=-

Tuesday January 3, 1984

 New Moon

Waltergarth, Station Road, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Waltergarth.

Katie Davina's first birthday. We woke up to snow at Horton and decided to leave for home very quickly and before we could be 'snowed in'. Mum missed breakfast and stayed in her bed complaining of a acheing back and congested chest. Dad was singing along to the Jimmy Young Show on the radio. Ally and I had boiled eggs. Very 'eggy' eggs, according to my wife. We packed up and left at about 12 and phoned Mum on our arrival home. They were very relieved that we had returned safely to Bradford. 

At 2pm Ally went to her her motherclass class at Odsal. She watched a demonstration by a midwife who bathed a doll in the bath, a bath without water in it. Her friend who was expecting a breech birth gave birth to a daughter on the Tuesday after Christmas. She came home after 4 in falling snow again. ________. I made some chips and whilst wrapping the potato peelings in an old copy of the Daily Telegraph I spotted the list of New Years Honours. The awful Alastair Burnet, a mere newscaster, has been knighted, lowering the tone. Lady Susan Hussey is made a DCVO. It is reported that the Queen has been angered by the usual flocking to Sandringham by the gentlemen of the press and she has asked for a withdrawal.___________.

A dark, frosty and white night. To think that John will be in his shirt sleeves in a Spanish discotheque. He says he wants to go to Lanzarote in the autumn to see John & Sheila, and that Sue and Pete are thinking of joining them. Ally says we should arrange someting for November. No mail at home. No communication from the brewery. We will write about the Moorhouse tomorrow. We cannot go hanging around like this and once the baby is here we need to get the ball rolling. I will be happier after hearing from Les Gledhill again. Bessie phoned - frost in Hampshire. Ally changed into her pink gown and slumped in a chair to watch 'Dallas'. We watched the news headlines at nine and then went to bed with Margaret Thatcher. The US presidential campaign is under way already. Jesse Jackson is a contender for the presidency and is currently strutting around the Middle East as if he owns the place.

Monday January 2, 1984

 Bank Holiday in UK & Rep. of Ireland

Waltergarth, Station Road, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Dad at Horton.

Cold, wet and windy. Dad is 50, Mum is 49. Mum loves her birthday more than anyone I know and loves to include all the excitable children. We were up early to bid farewell to the Bakers after the handing over of presents and cards. We bought Dad a pullover, but so too did Lynn and Sue. Sue's, as usual, was knitted for a dwarf and didn't fit. She frequently purchases miniature items of clothing for very large people. Little Katie, who makes noises like a lion, opened her presents too. We have given Mum the tea pot and sugar basin featuring Hardraw Falls. Dad says we will go visit the falls with baby when we next come to Horton. 

Lynn and Dave left at 11 and Hilda and Tony walked in at 12:30 and we spent the afternoon eating (again) and drinking (again). Hayley is to be christened on January 29 and the vicar has specified to Karen that she can only have six people in church. Disgusting. Jesus Christ would not approve. We are told that Hayley would have been Ryan, if a boy. Hilda performed the old wives test of holding a dangling needle over Ally's bump. Supposedly, the suspended needle swings back and forth if a boy and if it goes round in circles then it's a girl. The needle today went back and forth, and so our child is a boy. Hilda says she's never been wrong. Dad, in excellent exuberant spirits, showed his contempt for this ritual by carrying out the experiment on all of us. I am expecting a boy, and Hilda is childless. Hers didn't swing either way. We sat until 10 when H and T returned to Pudsey. Tony is very wary of the stringent drink driving law enforcement. I sat looking at the Waltergarth deeds, fascinating paperwork  dating back to the last century. The strong wind blew the smoke back down the chimney and we sat with handkerchiefs over our faces like surgical masks. Much laughter. Bed at 12:30.

-=-

Sunday January 1, 1984

 (New volume)

1st Sunday after Christmas ... New Year's Day

Waltergarth, Station Road, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

New Year's Day saw the Rhodes clan gathered at Waltergarth in the township of Horton-in-Ribblesdale, in the County of North Yorkshire. The first New Year's Day for many years, for me, spent without a crashing head since the distant days of my innocent childhood. Yet, sadly however I am succumbing to a chill. I sneezed throughout and looked blotchy and feverish. Poor mother too is 'chesty' and wrapped in a woollen cardigan by the fireside. 

We had a staggered breakfast again. Just toast and tea and as soon it was decently possible we went out leaving the children with granny and grandad and walked to the Crown for the first shot of alcohol in 1984. I bought a round costing £6.50, but forgot Janette's Creme de Menthe. David, poor boy, had to borrow 50p to buy us all a drink . I am sure the Bakers are destitute since joining the Guiseley elite on Thorpe Lane. I found the draught Guinness most pleasurable. Janette is nervous about tomorrow's flight (they go to Majorca for a week with the Ettenfields) and I attempted to reassure her. 

Waltergarth.

Mum cooked a 20lb turkey for lunch this afternoon and once again it was a 'running buffet'. We all gathered around the log fire (could this be responsible for my dry throat and flowing mucus?). South Pacific nauseates on the TV. John and Janette went off with the Nasons at 4 and we packed the Baker girls off to bed after which all conversations were held in a whisper, &c. The TV droned on in the background. Lynn revealed all about childbirth ___________. We sat up until 12 and sang 'Happy Birthday' to Mum and Dad, but went to bed straight afterwards. Father is now 50 years old.

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