Wednesday February 15, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11

Fog continuing. I slept through Samuel's middle of the night feed and change. Was up at 7:30 and pottered around in the cellar, minus wellies, and had soggy feet. Plenty of staff in today - the Pirie's traditional day off. They (the Piries) called in from Ossett on their way to Aberdeen just to be nosey. Bev couldn't resist one last look at the place. They were positively vitriolic about C____ and accuse him of all their recent stock problems. It is too early to say, but I do think it is suspicious. We have two pheasants and a turkey of Bev's in our freezer.

Samuel is becoming sturdy. I fell to sleep nursing him at lunchtime. The poor lad's scratched his nose with a sharp finger nail and now looks like Chris Finnegan. Went at 4 to Bradford and filled the car with more Club St artefacts. Vallences have posted some rubber washers to the house and I can now get the washing machine plumbed in. Hurray. Deep fog. Back to Leeds. Lots of staff tonight. I stayed upstairs and watched 'Minder'. I am not at peace with the noise below, and am never at ease away from the bars. The responsibility of my new position weighs heavily on my young shoulders. Bed at 12:42. Not exhausted for a change.

Takings: (B) £170, (L) £118.

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Tuesday February 14, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds LS11 5NQ

Valentine's Day

Fog. I got a Valentine's Day card from my precious, but I didn't do likewise to her. Shameful of me. My love for her hasn't waned at all  since the distant days of '79 or '80. In fact it's stronger. 

The Daily Telegraph leads with the royal baby pushing aside Mrs T's visit to the horrid Mr Andropov's planting. A good thing too. We have no royal birthdays in September as far as I can see. The Duke of Fife, Capt Phillips and Angus Ogilvy maybe, but none of the blood (royal).

Vallance's send our washer, microwave and dryer but drop them without fixing them in. Tonight I worked with Charlie. We are told he is shifty and 'over-sexed'. My presence must have been too much for him because he gave a weeks notice. Suspicious if you ask me. Obviously, I jumped at his resignation with glee even if it means we will be short staffed at our busiest times. Jill and Tim came for a short while just to inspect the place. A tart called Edna sat at the bar drinking pints of mild and cracking revolting jokes. Strangely, she is quite amusing.

Takings: (Bar) £138, (Lounge) £90

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Monday February 13, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Moor Crescent, Leeds

Moorhouse Inn.

Day one at the Moorhouse. We drove away from Club Street at 9 leaving it in a state of dereliction. Fog and frost. The pub was upside down and Pickford's removal men were sat around drinking tea. Ron was taking stock. A £123 defecit. Oh, shit. Here we go again. Les  Gledhill came breezing in whistling an old Everly Brothers tune. He inspected Ally and Samuel and told us that 'Princess Diana is pregnant again.' Very good. I expect we'll have a September princess. Ally can do no food because Samuel insists on feeding continuously. Maureen cooked. We paid out £37 for frozen sausages, &c, and took £4.10 in food orders. I suppose it's a start. Les is worried about the stocktake and says we will soon have metred optics. I think he suspects that the Piries have been fiddling. Ron certainly does. They had left by 3pm. Mum and Dad came at 1:30 and made another run back to Bradford for more possessions. They are so cheerful and good. I do not know what we would have done today without them. We sat and had fish and chips in the spacious, empty flat, and I went down to the bar from 5:30 to 11pm. My feet ache, but I am contented. The lounge bar is pleasant but quiet, but the back bar is going to have to be watched carefully. Some rough diamonds, but not malicious. Mum and Dad stood at the bar for two or three hours and tittered together. Rob Piper came to offer support. Fagged out by 11:15 but feel better now I am here in residence. We are going to have to persevere. We are told that staff hours have to be cut to 80 hours a week, and it looks as if our Wednesday off is gone for a Burton. Ally did the tills and we are now laid on the bed at 1:26am. Ally is cheerfully feeding Samuel.

Takings: (Bar) £165, (Lounge) £117.

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Sunday February 12, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green

6th Sunday after Epiphany

Lincoln's Birthday

Ally woke me at 3am. I was in a heavy sleep. Samuel was sucking his fingers greedily. We put him in disposable nappies now until the new washing machine is installed at the Moorhouse on Tuesday. Baby's complexion is especially 'rosy'.

The PM is going to Andropov's funeral in Moscow. Reagan is sending Bush. The Princess of Wales is on a one day solo visit to Norway. Her last foreign visit without the Prince of Wales was to Monaco for that tragic funeral in 1982. 

It is our very last day as free citizens at Club Street, not governed by the restrictions of the licensing laws. Our last day without the smell of beer and stale tobacco hanging like a cloud over our heads. Yet we face our new responsibilities with courage, pride and humility. Praise be to God on high for our salvation from destitution and for our deliverance into the hands of Samuel Smith's, a most munificent family of brewers. 

5, Club Street

A day of furious industry. We were up very early to pack. We like to pretend that we are not leaving Club Street and that we are simply saying 'bye for now', but deep down inside we know that things will never be the same again. John and Janette came with David B's trailer and John and I made two runs over to the Moorhouse with beds and a wardrobe. The Piries were in a state of pandemonium. I bet that Mrs P can be particularly nasty and malicious. She is an Aussie and he is from Scotland, from Ballater close to Balmoral. Met Maureen and Charlie, the supposedly reliable barman.  Back to Bradford. John very bemused by it all - pub life. Karen, Steve and Hayley (a big, chubby baby) were at Club St stitting around on tea chests. Next to arrive were Marlene and Frank, from a flea market, both happy and gay. Lasagne. John and Janette left and we sat observing the devastation, but decided to leave it and go to bed. Foolish, but nice. Sarah phoned from Delia's. 

Here endeth a chapter in the great Rhodes saga.

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Saturday February 11, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green, Bradford

Samuel was fed at 3 and then he went back to sleep until after 7. By 8 Ally was in the bath having decided to go to Marita's shop. Should we also call in on Sarah? I think so. We bundled Samuel into the car and went to Horsforth and spent hours at MM's shop sitting in a cupboard talking about mattresses. We bought one for £99 - a King size thing. Marita joined us carrying a cucumber (!) and they both cooed over Samuel, who was dressed entirely in blue. _________. From MJM Furnishings we walked to Kerry Hill but Sarah was out. I scratched a message in chalk on a flagstone in the garden telling her we had been. We bombed off back to Bradford and parked near the market so that Ally could jog down to Vallances to buy a micro-wave oven at £154.90, on the never never, of course. Samuel decided to wail for food, and I sat with my finger in his mouth for almost an hour until Ally came back to the car. Samuel was unsettled for hours afterwards and Ally gave him a dose of 'Nurse Harvey's' which calmed him.

Later the Aldersons came, both full of cold, to inspect the baby, but he wailed throughout and they left deafened after 10 minutes. Catherine mentioned that Jean's baby has been back in hospital and so Ally phoned her to say we will go over. This we did at 8. Jean's parents are in residence there. Hannah and Samuel were put on a pine table in the kitchen and photographed together. Our baby is much bigger. I inspected David's new dormer bedroom --- pokey. Home for 9. Samuel still unhappy. I washed woollen pullovers and 16 nappies. We should have been packing but couldn't be bothered. I phoned John at Horton to remind him to come here tomorrow, and Karen phoned to say they will come to inspect the baby, and then we went to bed at 11. 

-=-

Friday February 10, 1984

 5, Club St, Lidget Green

Up with the larks and dressed in sombre, sober attire to await the ebullient L. Gledhill. We sat in the bedroom cooing over Samuel until LG arrived at 8:30. We went over to the Moorhouse. LG is such an easy man to get on with. We didn't talk business other than when he says our allocated staff hours will have to be cut. He didn't say by how many. Oh dear. We cannot complain though. I haven't done a day's work since Christmas Eve and I've been on full pay since. We picked up M. Pirie and inspected the deserted pub_______. On with the lisping Pirie to the court where we trudged through a labyrinth of passageways to find court room no. 6. I went into the box and the protection order was granted and we then went to queue with the riff-raff paying their fines to pay the £4 for my licence which took over an hour. It was quite wrong that we should have been made to line up with the rapists, bigamists, and arsonists in this way. L. Gledhill was livid. I said goodbye to him until Monday and walked down to the YP where I saw Betty in photo sales and gave her a 1928 pic of Bessie which I am having copied for Ally. Home for 12:30. 

Sue and Samuel.

On the bus home I opened my Daily Telegraph and gasped in amazement. Harold Macmillan, who is 90 today, has accepted an earldom. How splendid. I suppose the old boy has done it to ensure a place for his son Maurice in the upper house. Is it the first earldom to be created since Avon or Snowdon? One day I feel sure that our beloved PM will be Countess of Finchley, or Countess Thatcher of Grantham. This will solve the problem of what style she will take on accepting the Garter. Dame Margaret Thatcher, KG sounds odd, but the letters KG tagged after a peerage would be fine. All this is in the far distant future anyway. In other news, Yuri Andropov is dead. Kidney disease. Who will succeed? The Ruskies lean towards ageing geriatric leaders for some reason. Bring back the Tsar, that's what I say.

At home Ally was going about with a duster and vacuum cleaner. She then went out to draw her family allowance. We ate fish and chips. Over to Guiseley at 5 o'clock. To Lynn's then Sue's and then back to Lynn's. Sue is so hospitable and normal. Christopher sat on Samuel thinking he was a toy. ________.

-=-

Thursday February 9, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Rbblesdale

The Crown, Horton-in-Ribblesdale.

Another sunny day, and warmer. Samuel had a good night and was horribly dirty today. A most unbelievable batch of nappies. We blame the sheep's head broth. The five of us went for a long walk again and pushed the pram for a couple of miles into the hills. So very peaceful. Back in the village for 2 where we sat on a bench outside the Crown Inn for an hour. The pub was barren. As usual the conversation turned to _________. It is now common-place. Mum and Dad agree to come over on Monday to assist at the Moorhouse. Aren't they good? Phoned Les Gledhill who said he will pick me up at 8:30 tomorrow to go to Leeds for my protection order. He's such an amiable fellow. 

Merrily home to Waltergarth for 'luncheon' which we didn't eat until 4pm. Samuel always has hysterics at meal times. We sat before a blazing fire afterwards and then packed the car. Power cut. Fumbled for candles and then said goodbye to Mum and Dad in the flickering twilight. They have loved seeing Samuel. We were back at Club Street within the hour. The power cut stretched down as far as Skipton. We had cups of tea and sprawled. Our tummies are upset. Yesterday's sheep, or today's pig? 

Bed. Peace. Snores.

-=-

Wednesday February 8, 1984

 Waltergarth, Station Rd, Horton-in-Ribblesdale

Walking at Horton.

Cold, but brilliant sunshine. Samuel slept until 6:30, excellent. I woke with a thick head and staggered around like a zombie. _____. 'Full English' with Mama and Papa. She is decidedly thinner and is eating less. Both seem content with the life they now lead. Afterwards, wrapped up like sherpas, we set out with the pram and pushed Samuel through Horton and up to (gap in manuscript) and back around to Waltergarth for 2pm. Wonderful, scenic. We all arrived back glowing. All says that recently my eyes look 'weak'. Looking in the mirror I do look old and and eyes are strained with red circles around them. Ally thumbed through the Marshall Ward catalogue and then slept in the chair with Samuel piled on top of her. I read old copies of the Daily Telegraph. viz: The Duke of Beaufort's obit; a Lebabon pull-out; a man has walked in space for the first time without a line connecting him to the spacecraft. 

A roaring coal fire blazed throughout. Samuel didn't settle after his country walk and constantly fed until bedtime. At 5 we ate sheep's head broth and dumplings. This is an ancient Wilson recipe, close to extinction. Mum begged Ally to take the recipe and keep it going because Lynn and Sue don't want to know. Ally is tired out and deadly quiet. Tiredness makes her vicious. We watched the news and then 'Minder' and then more news. The Queen attended the (Duke of Beaufort's) funeral at Badminton this afternoon. It was shown on the BBC news. The new duchess is a daughter of the Marquis of Bath you know. One of the Thynnes. To bed with the 'Dalesman'. I was too tired to look at it. __________.

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Tuesday February 7, 1984

 5, Club Street, Lidget Green

Got out of bed at 3:18am to find a gale blowing outside and snow falling again. We have only just got rid of the last lot. This isn't all. At 7:30 the house was icy cold and the radiators were cold. Yes, the pilot light had blown out and it's a swine to re-light. We huddled around the gas fire like families did in the cold, far-off days of Mr Heath's premiership when all power was switched off for weeks at a time. I phoned a plumber - Grighton (?) & Wright - then at 9:30 I walked to Toller Lane to see a police inspector about my qualifications regarding the Moorhouse Inn appointment. I signed my name to a sheet of paper and then walked home. Sunshine. Phoned Papa who says the snow at Horton has all but gone. (Ally had phoned Mum earlier and she had said it was Arctic-like and that rockhopper penguins were nesting on Station Rd, &c.). We kept a vigil for the plumber who arrived at 1. It took a blow-lamp to get our pilot light aflame. He ran in with his torch as if he was opening the winter olympics. At 3:30 we headed out to Horton-in-Ribblesdale. The car piled high with luggage. Found Mum and Dad well. Fish for dinner and glasses of beer. They cooed over Samuel and we were pushed quietly into the background. Old photographs came out. To bed at 11-plus. Samuel didn't sleep until after midnight.

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Monday February 6, 1984

 Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas, &c

Hideous rain. Stayed in bed until 9:30 whilst Ally bedecked Samuel in his finery. He is the Yves St Laurent of the baby world. Breakfasted with Bessie who is much recovered from her 'flu. She thanked us for being such a tonic. She stuffed a £10 note in my hand for Samuel. We left at 12:30 after Bessie had snapped another two dozen photos of 'Matthewel', as she accidentally calls him. For many years Alison and Andrew have also been 'Gralison' and 'Grandrew'. Graham has always been Graham. Favouritism. 

Frank, Bessie and Samuel.

Heavy rain on the journey home. Hit Bradford for 5pm. I unlocked the door and then went down to get a haircut. At the barbers I found a queue of six GPO employees awaiting short back and sides, and like a fool I sat and waited until 7. By the time I hit the chair my hair, bushy and flowing, was now down below my knees. I used my time reading a tatty, warm, thumbed Daily Express. The Duke of Beaufort died yesterday in his 84th year. HM will be beside herself with grief. 'Master' as he was known by the Royal Family, has been Master of the Queen's Horse since 1936, and was the last surviving Knight of the Garter to be been dubbed outside the reign of Elizabeth II. He was of course married to Lady Mary Cambridge, niece of Queen Mary. HM has reigned for 32 years today. President Reagan is 73. The Hon Mark Vestey has been crippled in a hunting accident.In 1976 he married Rosie Clifton, an old flame of the P of W. Thus, I was placed into the barber's chair, in the dead of night, thinking of the coming Badminton Horse Trials without old Beaufort in charge. 

On my arrival home the house was like a scene in downtown Beirut. Ally struggling with Samuel who hadn't stopped wailing since arriving home. I made sandwiches and pots of tea and we looked at some splendid new photos just back from being developed. I have a note from Bradford police to contact them re my occupation of the Moorhouse Inn and I am fixed for an interview at Toller Lane at 9am tomorrow. I phoned Mabel to cancel lunch tomorrow. Auntie with Marlene and Frank plan to come and see us on Friday February 17. We retired to bed at 10, but Samuel wanted none of it and squealed hideously until midnight. ___________.

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Sunday February 5, 1984

 5th Sunday after Epiphany

Chillandham Cross, Itchen Abbas, Hampshire

Rain. I was unable to get out of bed when Samuel woke and left Ally to it. My eyes felt like lead weights. I finally climbed out at 10:30. Ally was bright and breezy and had eaten breakfast and clad in red pants and blue wellies was washing Mandy Metro on the drive. Frank had dried the car floor and fixed the radio. The man has an obsession with car radios. Later we had a cozy gathering around the log fire - a pile of sausage rolls, 'Bonanza' on the telly and the Sunday newspapers. Sir Geoffrey Howe is doomed, though the PM sticks by him. The Duke of Edinburgh has been to visit the Grenadier Guards (?) in Ulster and the Roman Catholics are playing hell because the barracks house the UDR regiment, who have been killing Roman Catholics right, left and centre with apparent rellish. Bessie took out her camera and used a whole film on Samuel. Samuel with Mum, Samuel with Dad, Samuel with Frank, Samuel on rug, Samuel on chair, &c. Read Nancy Mitford until darkness fell. We were too lazy to switch on the lights. Ally slept cuddled next to me. Dined with F & B at 6:30 in the kitchen. Yorkshire puds and a large leg of lamb. A jolly affair. Frank knocked a glass of wine over me whilst I was holding Samuel, but the spill missed the baby. I was sodden. Watched Edward Woodward in a film afterwards, and Bessie took another film of Samuel pictures. To bed after 11. Nancy Mitford. TCP. Snores. Baby farts, &c.

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