Sunday April 1, 1984

 4th Sunday in Lent

Mothering Sunday

New Moon

Sunny, bright, &c. Smothering Sunday. All Fool's Day. Busy. Rob came and so too did the ghastly Piries and Marisa. Uncomfortable to say the least. I now know how George VI felt when the Duke of Windsor kept flitting back to London after his abdication. Sadly, I cannot banish Pirie to France with a dukedom.

Ally suddenly proclaimed: 'Let's go to Horton' and so off we went arriving at 4:30 to find everyone. All the grandchildren except Hannah. A frantic hour. Silly really. We arrived back in Leeds at 7:20 to find a crowd waiting on the doorstep, grumbling. Opening late is dreadful. Jane came in at 8. She brings to mind Vivien Leigh. Busy. Glenfiddich-swilling David ('such a gentleman') _______. Ally's first Mother's Day. What joy.

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Saturday March 31, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

My name went up over the door in letters today. The Grand National. Watched the race. One horse dropped dead afterwards. Rain. I took Samuel down to the tap room where all the old men gave him money. He has a piggy bank like the Aga Khan. Ploughman's lunches. Michael Brown and Harold came. Such witty folk. Poor M is spending a week at Butlin's in May.

I went out with Samuel in his pram and bought an aspidistra, flowers and chocolates, &c. All for Mother's Day tomorrow. It was cold out.

The Aspidistra: forty years on.

Quiet in the bar. Ally downstairs with Margaret (Milne). I retired upstairs. Noisy Olive came in to the back bar. Edna, sitting in her usual spot upon a bar stool, says that the offensive Olive has 'had more prick than a second hand dart board'. Such fun. 

Toasted cheese sandwiches. A Vincent Price epic. Poor Edgar Allan Poe. Bed.

Note: (The Aspidistra lives on today in Samuel's possession, 2024).

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Friday March 30, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

We are having a stocktake and having metred optics installed on my birthday. Sod it. Mum phoned to confirm that they are coming here on Wednesday to stay over night and babysit when Ally and I go out to dine. Just where we will go I do not know. Mum says that Michelle Myers, the 17 year-old bride of my cousin Stephen, gave birth to a daughter, Gemma Louise (?) at the BRI last night. Bloody Hell, I can recall Stephen's christening as though it was yesterday. I sat with Uncle Albert who was talking to cousin Derek about fishing rods. That was back in '65 or '66. The family are all meeting at Waltergarth for 'Smothering' Sunday. We'll never find the time to go. 

I phoned a plumber about the continuing saga of the dripping Club Street radiator. Evans, for that is his name, will inspect the damage on Tuesday. Ally is going to have to be in Bradford for 8am.

Later we stood around in the bar looking like idle pub managers. Talked to David (Howard?) with the pipe. Ally looked like a doll in her Laura Ashley number. Beverley Pirie came in draped in a fur coat and was overheard saying she was 'slumming it'. The cow. We ignored her.

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Thursday March 29, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Swapped roles. Ally, clad in her Laura Ashley number, went down to the bar to work with Audrey, and I cooked the pub lunches upstairs. Petal looked gorgeous and slim. I stood turning out pork pies with mushy peas and spied Kathleen creeping past heavily camouflaged. Silly girl. Give a woman the best years of your life and this is how she repays you. 

Laughed at a copy of the Daily Star which suggests that the Princess of Wales will have her second baby in Scotland, because the Royal Family are always at Balmoral in August. No, it will be back to Paddington, I fear.

Busy early doors. L. Gledhill came in with a sign which will display my name over the door of this establishment. He bought half a bitter and held it up to the light. Swine. Doesn't he realise that to do such a thing causes panic to run through the beer swilling customers? He announced that Elaine Wills gave birth to a son, David Christopher, just after noon today. I told him I want lights on my cool shelves and he mumbled favourably and went away laughing at Edna. 

Karen and Margaret worked. They pretended not to know that Joan is quitting.

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Wednesday March 28, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Our so-called day off. Silly really. I do more work on Wednesdays than on any other day. We were up at dawn and in town for 9am. Ally bought a rich full, red skirt and a dress from Laura Ashley. She floated out of the changing rooms like a debutante. Samuel, pushed everywhere, slept throughout. He wore a helmet and looked like Biggles. 

Back to the Moorhouse to do the lunches. We needn't have bothered. Then back into town and on to Club Street. We found Mary (Moore) bereaved. A boyfriend, aged 91, died last Tuesday. We called in at the Red Lion and saw dear Enid. The pissed bus driver was in drinking. Elaine (Wills) went in today (to give birth) and Chris was with her at the BRI. Back to the Moorhouse. Ally plonked Samuel upon a table in the lounge bar and people peeped in on him. We had a few drinks and went to the fish and chip shop - silly really when we have so much fish on the premises. Hung a big red lampshade. Bed.

(Jane worked for Audrey who was at a 'leaving do' at the Metropole).

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Tuesday March 27, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

Why I write so much I do not know. Bloody Hell, I must be so boring. Tuesday is of course 'dray day'. The delivery came at a reasonable hour and I check everything so very carefully now. They won't swindle me out of Bacardi again. 

Samuel loves playing. He sat riding me knee as I sang 'Galloping Major'. Where have I got this from? Somewhere in the past dear Papa must have done similar to me and it has laid dormant all these years. Samuel squealed as I bounced him around. He is all gummy.

Ally opened up again and I bathed the lad after which he conked out and slept until 7. I think his bath water was too hot. He emerged like a lobster.

Joan Parkinson-disease phoned and announced her resignation because she says she is 'getting trouble from all sides' and wants no ill-feeling at work. I am gleeful because she is a barmaid I have wanted to see go. _______. Jane tonight. I sat with Reg (who was born Feb 14, 1901). Poor man.

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Monday March 26, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

I ignored the alarm clock and lingered in bed until 9 o'clock. Wind, rain, &c. Phoned Ken Gilbertson at the brewery about the TV ariel which blew off the roof on Saturday morning. He put me on to a Bradford firm. Bacon sandwiches and pots of tea. Played with Samuel. He does giggle a lot. 

News: The Queen arrived in Jordan today with, supposedly, a SAS crack unit. The royal plane has avoided the Lebanon and Syria. Edwina Hicks, daughter of Lady Pamela, married Jeremy Brudenell in Oxford on Saturday. HM and the duke attended. I had no idea she was engaged. The Press singled out Edwina for the hand of the P of W in about 1980 - until Diana came on the scene. 

It was a dead afternoon in 'the trading rooms' as F.O'B would say. Just Audrey and three old, dying men. Very sombre. Ally and I sat upstairs and had lunch watching a snowy TV - Miriam Stoppard discussing babies. At 3:30 Ally climbed into the bath and I pushed Samuel up the road in his pram. Dark clouds came over and the rain poured down on us. I went to the post office and bought a large Mother's Day card from baby to Ally. Her first Mothering Sunday. What a lucky child he is. 

_______. Ally went down to 'open up' and I bathed Samuel and changed him and expected him to scream for food only to have him collapse in my arms.

The news: Hysteria about the Queen's Jordan visit which is going to pass off peaceably. The Tisdall girl is going to appeal. ________.

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Sunday March 25, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

British Summer Time begins

3rd Sunday in Lent

Bacon sandwiches and the Sunday Telegraph. Fuss about the Queen's visit to Jordan tomorrow. King Hussein is reported to have said that Amman is safer than London. I would agree. Her Majesty flies out with Exocet detectors attached to the royal Tristar, and Mrs T has held an emergency meeting at Chequers, &c. All silly. We do not want the sovereign wrapped upm and cocooned from the outside world.

A quiet Sunday pub. Oh yes, one of The Bachelors (an early 20th century Irish vocal group) held court in the lounge last night. People greased around him as though he was Julio Iglesias or perhaps Des O'Connor. 

Veal for lunch. Doris Day film. Torvill and Dean nausea. They got 48 million perfect sixes in Ottawa. He really should make a honest woman of her. Ate chocolate and laughed at 'Bonanza'. Everyone had rabies.

Phoned Mama. She gave me a list of dates when they can visit for Samuel's christening. July 1 or July 22. Ally has spoken to Bessie. Her conversation was interrupted by Lady Atkinson, 'wife of that man involved in shipping', knocking on the door and asking for money for the local Tories. She must be the wife of Sir Robert Atkinson. Other neighbours, those across the lane, are called Napier and 'he's line line to have a title'. We have several Napier baronets and Lords Napier of Magdala and Napier & Ettrick. The latter is Princess Margaret's private secretary, but his heir is only a boy.They recently met the Earl of Strafford at the Hargreaves residence. Talk about 'high society'. Bessie isn't remotely interested in all this and isn't a snob, but knows of my interest in the peerage. Am I a snob?

The husband of the (Yorkshire) Ripper's second victim Emily Jackson came in the pub tonight. Tart mad he is.

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Saturday March 24, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn

Extremely wet. Slept in. Maureen came in and found me in my lemon karate-style dressing gown. Did I spy a hint of lust beneath those old, mud-spattered spectacle frames? I lay abed with my wife, son and Daily Telegraph. The Tisdall girl who pinched a document from Michael Heseltine's office and passed it on to the ghastly Guardian has gone down for six months. There's an outcry at the harsh sentence! She wouldn't see the light of day again if I had been the judge.I am deliriously right-wing. Mike Brown says, and I'm sure I've repeated this before, that I am to the right of Genghis Khan.

Breakfast late. Went out at 10 and bought £10 of copper from the Post Office. Coming back I spied the vicar in his study preparing his sermon, and I called in to tell him that May 20 (for Samuel's christening) is quite out of the question. So, back to the drawing board. Apparently it requires a dispensation from the bishop to have Samuel baptized mid-afternoon. What hideous bureaucracy. 

Quiet afternoon. Ally and I sat in the bar with Terry (Egan). Ally and I have decided that we are perhaps too critical of bar staff. They are bloody good really, but living with people on a daily basis does highlight their faults. John phoned. They are not coming. Janette is going out and he is babysitting for Lynn and Dave.To Morrison's and spent £32. 

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Friday March 23, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds 11

L. Gledhill phoned at 8:30 and was here an hour later and we went to court in order for me to acquire a full licence. Stood in a crowded corridor full of shoplifters, child molesters and prostitutes. One fallen lady looked extremely like Jean Shrimpton, in 60s gear which hadn't been laundered since 1966. After waiting an hour we were told by an usher that I need not actually appear in person and that the licence transfer is automatic. Sod it. And there I was dressed up like a tailors' dummy too. Samuel Smiths tie, the lot. 

Back home for 11. Leslie is so easy to talk to and not lacking in humour -unlike Fran O'Brien. Ally was making pastry and looked like a flour grader (see TV advertisements circa 1970-80). 

Samuel is upset about something. His nappies and out lying clothing spattered in yellow and foaming. He grumbled anyway. Later Ally slept on her pile of cushions and I had a plumber to the gents toilets. Vandals have attempted to walk off with a cistern tank. 

Not frantic tonight because Jane worked too. It's going to be a regular thing because last week I was too exhausted working six hours flat out. Ally forgot to bank today and so we had no change. Calamity. Audrey went across to the club and found some. 

News: The miners are still out. We are told that the Princess of Wales is just as nauseated as she was in her first pregnancy. (The Prince of) Wales himself is still in Africa. 

To bed after 12.

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Thursday March 22, 1984

 Moorhouse Inn, Leeds

Janice, the (fruit) machine woman came. A batch of photographs arrived mainly featuring Samuel in numerous positions. Some scantily clad. Ally left me holding the baby and bombed off to her dentist in Shipley. How did we ever manage to get through life being separated all day in our distant, grubby offices? She was back with gleaming polished pegs and no further visits until September. Busy lunches. ____________.

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