My granddad died in 1983. For the previous 20 years, he kept a diary, recording his day as a farm worker and then through his retirement. We are lucky enough to have his notebooks, all the entries in block capitals, often in pencil. He always tells us about the weather, sometimes about what is going well at the allotment. We get updates of how Liverpool are doing and the occasional political thought. He suffered from rheumatoid arthritis, was always in pain, but you would never know from these entries. My mum once described him as a contented man. Who knows, really, but certainly, there is something soothing about these entries. So I thought I would share them with you. We have a few years to cover so buckle up.
Got up at 8.15 to go to therapy again. Got back about noon. Nell gone to Dot’s on the 1 bus. Got back at 4.30pm. Nothing important. Bill and Dora came.
Got up at 9.30am. A rather cold morning. Jane and Dot came to see us. Old Horace Ford came to see me. Stayed until about 9 o’clock. Thought he was never going.
Went to see Selby for the first time. Went on the bike. Not too bad. Nell and I went to Harold Nick’s to see moped. I bought it off him for £20. He took us and brought us back.