It's just over 2 weeks away, another of those days in the calendar that I still find difficult. There are 3 of them each year, if you forget Christmas. One is March 5th Colin's birthday, one is June 23rd the Bad Day and the other is September 15th. My feelings on that day are ambivalent. There's always the sorrow but there are also the memories.
It's a wet Saturday morning. By the time dad and I arrive at the church the rain has stopped but the photographs show the glint of rain water on the leaves of the trees. There's me and dad, me in my white lace dress with the tiny 19" waist, wearing the white perspex coronet, edged with pearls and diamantés, dad made for me, and my bouffant veil. There's dad in an expensive suit, smart, dignified and handsome, as he was, and nearly 10 years younger than I am now.
An hour later and the photos show me and my new husband emerging from the church. He's handsome in his RAF uniform and towers over me, despite my 4" heels, as he's 6' tall and I'm 5'1. The sun has come out now. There's my mother in her brocade suit, her mink stole and her feathery hat. There are all the guests, so many of them now long dead, and my lovely bridesmaids , 2 of whom are old school friends and are still friends today.
We arrive at the hotel, in Ribchester, for our wedding reception. It has been an eventful journey as the driver of the beautiful, shiny black van den Plas doesn't know the way. Am I the only bride who has had to give directions to the chauffeur as we travel? The silly man doesn't tell me he's lost until he IS, so we arrive after most of the guests.
We walk into the hotel and are met by dad's policeman friend, Tom, who is holding court with dad at the bar. Tom's on his 4th whisky already but he's not counting and, after all, he only has 10 miles to drive home. My new husband downs a glass to steady his nerves, then another to be sociable, then another because dad bought it for him. I have to straighten his tie.
The duck a l'orange goes down well and the afternoon progresses. By 3 o'clock Uncle Bill is asleep in a corner snoring softly. Auntie Gertie, who is normally teetotal, is drinking gin and complaining that it tastes like nail polish - but she's had 3, just to make sure. Brother-in-law David, aged 13 (now a vicar), is creeping around the lounge draining the dregs from all the abandoned glasses on the tables and is beginning to walk sideways. Later in the afternoon the members of the church male-voice choir arrive, invited at the church by dad who knows them all well, and give an impromtu concert. A few years later they'll appear on "Opportunity Knocks" on TV, they're good and they make the afternoon for the guests with a selection of songs from the musicals. They have already sung a few numbers from "Oklahoma" in church while we signed the register.
One of my brothers is filming the proceedings. There's me and my new husband driving away from the hotel to go on honeymoon. When we get back, mum complains that we didn't say goodbye to her but there she is, on the film, waving us off and leaning into the car window. One brandy too many, mum? We don't witness the rest of the evening as we're off to Devon. It's not usual, in 1962, to have an evening reception but it's Battle of Britain Day, the landlord is an ex-RAF pilot and Colin was in uniform so he "forgets" the licence, dad buys afternoon tea for the remainders and the party continues without us until midnight.
The photograph album is in black and white. The cine film has been converted to video. It's almost 43 years ago and now I don't have anyone to wish a Happy Anniversary to but I have the memories of a great day, the start of 34 years together that I wouldn't swap, either the good times or the not-so-good. It makes me sad, but it also makes me glad.
It's a wet Saturday morning. By the time dad and I arrive at the church the rain has stopped but the photographs show the glint of rain water on the leaves of the trees. There's me and dad, me in my white lace dress with the tiny 19" waist, wearing the white perspex coronet, edged with pearls and diamantés, dad made for me, and my bouffant veil. There's dad in an expensive suit, smart, dignified and handsome, as he was, and nearly 10 years younger than I am now.
An hour later and the photos show me and my new husband emerging from the church. He's handsome in his RAF uniform and towers over me, despite my 4" heels, as he's 6' tall and I'm 5'1. The sun has come out now. There's my mother in her brocade suit, her mink stole and her feathery hat. There are all the guests, so many of them now long dead, and my lovely bridesmaids , 2 of whom are old school friends and are still friends today.
We arrive at the hotel, in Ribchester, for our wedding reception. It has been an eventful journey as the driver of the beautiful, shiny black van den Plas doesn't know the way. Am I the only bride who has had to give directions to the chauffeur as we travel? The silly man doesn't tell me he's lost until he IS, so we arrive after most of the guests.
We walk into the hotel and are met by dad's policeman friend, Tom, who is holding court with dad at the bar. Tom's on his 4th whisky already but he's not counting and, after all, he only has 10 miles to drive home. My new husband downs a glass to steady his nerves, then another to be sociable, then another because dad bought it for him. I have to straighten his tie.
The duck a l'orange goes down well and the afternoon progresses. By 3 o'clock Uncle Bill is asleep in a corner snoring softly. Auntie Gertie, who is normally teetotal, is drinking gin and complaining that it tastes like nail polish - but she's had 3, just to make sure. Brother-in-law David, aged 13 (now a vicar), is creeping around the lounge draining the dregs from all the abandoned glasses on the tables and is beginning to walk sideways. Later in the afternoon the members of the church male-voice choir arrive, invited at the church by dad who knows them all well, and give an impromtu concert. A few years later they'll appear on "Opportunity Knocks" on TV, they're good and they make the afternoon for the guests with a selection of songs from the musicals. They have already sung a few numbers from "Oklahoma" in church while we signed the register.
One of my brothers is filming the proceedings. There's me and my new husband driving away from the hotel to go on honeymoon. When we get back, mum complains that we didn't say goodbye to her but there she is, on the film, waving us off and leaning into the car window. One brandy too many, mum? We don't witness the rest of the evening as we're off to Devon. It's not usual, in 1962, to have an evening reception but it's Battle of Britain Day, the landlord is an ex-RAF pilot and Colin was in uniform so he "forgets" the licence, dad buys afternoon tea for the remainders and the party continues without us until midnight.
The photograph album is in black and white. The cine film has been converted to video. It's almost 43 years ago and now I don't have anyone to wish a Happy Anniversary to but I have the memories of a great day, the start of 34 years together that I wouldn't swap, either the good times or the not-so-good. It makes me sad, but it also makes me glad.
That was so beautiful.