Chapter Ten - Happy Ever After
ALTHOUGH THE KOREAN WAR had threatened to develop into a much larger conflict, with the possibility of a greater military contribution from the U.K., this never materialised and I got away with a three month extension to my National Service. This meant that Emma and I could get married as planned in September 1951.
We had originally considered an earlier date, but in those days you had to be over twenty-one to marry without your parent's consent, and since Mother had serious reservations because of my age, we decided to wait. September was chosen because it has always been one of our favourite months, and because there were certain financial advantages. Having set our sights on a goal, all our endeavours between my demobilisation in lay 1950 and the wedding day, were devoted to this end.
Emma was understandably excited about the prospect, as were our friends and most of our relations. One reason for the excitement was the prominent role we played in many social activities, both together and individually. We were both keen campanologists and members of the local Church choir. We were also involved in the scout movement and had many other interests. As a result, we had a wide circle of friends who saw this as an opportunity to publicly demonstrate their regard and affection for us.
This was all well-meant, but it forced us to consider the (sometimes conflicting) wishes of a great many people, and there were occasions when the pressures became almost unbearable. However, we somehow managed to stay together and avoided any major disasters, even though there were occasions when this was a close run thing.
I can't remember much about the final preparations, although Emma's parents pulled off a minor miracle in catering for so many people at the reception, and there were tremendous efforts by other members of her family and friends who, among other things, made some astonishingly beautiful dresses. Shortages and rationing were still creating many problems, and we both knew that the efforts made on our behalf had only been achieved by sacrifice and a lot of hard work. Without doubt, it was a practical demonstration of the regard they had for us, and we have always been grateful.
Our wedding was due to take place on Saturday 22nd September 1951, and in keeping with tradition, I was summoned to take part in a 'stag night' celebration the previous evening. Although I was not a heavy drinker, my friends persuaded me to visit several of the local pubs, and by closing time we were all a little the worse for wear. The celebration was noisy but good humoured, and during the homeward journey we indulged in a few pranks.
In particular, Charlie Daws and I were persuaded to climb a lamp-post to give a raucous and out of tune rendering of the 'Whiffenpoof' song, the rest of the party joining in the chorus. Having done this, I was carried home and unceremoniously dumped outside my parent's front door. Father sobered me up with hot strong coffee, and put me to bed for a good night's sleep.
The Whiffenpoof song:
To the tables down at Morey's,
to the place where Louie dwells,
to the dear old Temple Bar we love so well . . .
Sing the Whiffenpoofs assembled
with their glasses raised on high
and the magic of their singing casts it's spell . . .
Yes, the magic of their singing
of the songs we love so well
"Shall I Wasting" and "Mavourneen" and the rest.
We will serenade our Louie
while life and voice shall last,
then we'll pass and be forgotten with the rest . . .
We're poor little lambs
who have lost our way,
Baa Baa Baa,
We're little black sheep
who have gone astray
Baa Baa Baa.
Gentlemen songsters off on a spree
doomed from here to eternity,
Lord, have mercy on such as we,
Baa Baa Baa.
The wedding day was typical of early autumn. As dawn broke over the Eastern horizon, mists could be seen drifting across the meadows and there was a scent of flowers and grassland in the air. The smoke from the cottages rose almost vertically, and there was a buzz from millions of waking insects. The birds had been singing for some time, and the cattlestood motionless under the trees. It was a day reminiscent of those early war years when peace and quiet reigned throughout the countryside. The air was warm, and there was a mellowness that somehow generated an atmosphere of contentment. I just knew it was going to be a wonderful day.
In many ways, the 22nd started off just like any other Saturday. I got out of bed at the usual time, had a cooked breakfast, and visited the allotment garden with Father. We talked about the usual things, and I was about to leave on my bicycle when he cleared his throat and took me to one side. "Now that you're getting married," he said, in rather hushed tones, "I think there is something you ought to know." I was all ears. Could it be that I was about to inherit a fortune on my wedding day, or was there maybe something about his past that just had to come out?
He hesitated for a moment as he tried to find the words. Suddenly, he straightened and looked at me intently. "It's women!" he said. I looked puzzled. "What about them, Dad?" I enquired. He lowered his voice. "They are different to us." he whispered. "Go on!" I said. "In what way?" He was still struggling for words. "Well, they are a little bit like chickens." His face flushed with embarrassment and he lowered his voice still further. "They produce eggs!" He murmured.
It was clear to me that he was trying to tell me the facts of life, and didn't know how to go about it. By this time his voice was hardly audible, and I leaned a little closer, determined not to miss one word. "What do they do with them?" I enquired in hushed tones. "Well, they sort of . . . incubate them." He said. "Get away!" I responded, disbelievingly. "Aye, they do!" he whispered. "And they eventually turn into babies." By this time, I could see that his embarrassment was almost unbearable, and I had to end the torment.
"Do you really mean to tell me that women lay eggs and sit on them for nine whole months, without a break?" I said, with a glint of mischief in my eye. He stared at me for a moment. "Look Dad," I said "you don't have to worry about that little problem. I know all about the birds and the bees. I can assure you that and I are fully informed and have no intention of having children until we have a house and can afford to keep them." The look of relief that came over his face was a joy to see, and he brightened up. "Well, it should be a nice day then!" he said. "Would you like some flowers for Emma's Mum?"
Father's embarrassment was perhaps the product of his Victorian upbringing, but he saw the funny side of things, and never mentioned the subject again. Emma and I always remember him with great affection and have often reflected on this incident. It has created fond memories, and a few laughs over the years.
It is hard to describe how I felt immediately before the wedding. In many ways it was the same as any other Saturday. I put on my new suit and had a flower in my button hole, walked up the church hill as I always did and rang the bells; came down from the tower as usual, and walked into the church. It was all very familiar, the only difference being that I was now standing where the groom normally stood, and was not in the choir. George (my best man) was standing beside me, and the church was full. The organist was playing our favourite music, and I waited for a signal that Emma had arrived.
It must have been ten minutes or so before I heard the vicar say "The congregation will rise to receive the bride." I turned to catch my first glimpse of her, but could hardly believe my eyes. The choir looked more than twice as strong as it normally did, and had completely obscured the bride. It was the first time ever that the ladies had robed and processed with the rest of the choir. Emma had always wanted this, and I knew they had done it to please her.
As the choir passed me, I turned again to get my first glimpse of Emma. She looked wonderful, in a most beautiful dress of white taffeta, and carrying a bouquet of red roses. The bridesmaids were a perfect complement in their turquoise dresses and posies of seasonal flowers. She drew level with me, and we exchanged smiles. She was composed, and I felt in complete control. The Vicar welcomed the congregation and proceeded with the service. Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly, until we came to the point where the ring was blessed and presented for me to place on the bride's finger.
I picked it up confidently enough, and Emma held out her hand. Suddenly, everything went a complete blank. In a matter of seconds, I had gone from a position of complete control to a state of utter confusion, Emma looked on anxiously, and I made a tentative move towards one of her fingers. "No!" she said softly. I quickly withdrew, skipped over the adjacent finger, and made another tentative move. "No!" she said, only this time there was a sign of irritation, and her voice was more audible. Once again I withdrew the ring, hesitated for a moment and made a defiant lunge for what (I felt) must be the right finger. Emma exploded. "No!" she snapped in a loud voice, "not that one, you fool!"
The vicar, realising my predicament, quickly came to my aid, and we were able to proceed to the next part of the service. However, by this time the choir were unable to contain themselves. The ladies tried to conceal a fit of the giggles by holding their hymn books as close to their faces as possible. The men were desperately trying to stop their shoulders from shaking, and avoided embarrassment through the rather liberal use of pocket handkerchiefs. It was one of those rare occasions when the choir completely lost its composure, and the singing of the next hymn was an utter disaster.
In spite of that rather unfortunate incident, the rest of the service went without a hitch. The register was signed, and we waited arm in arm down the aisle as man and wife. The Scouts and Cubs formed a guard of honour, and the photographers, including the press, took pictures. We were showered with confetti, and eventually reached the sanctuary of the bridal car. At last we were on our own, albeit only for a brief period before the reception in the village hall which was about a mile and a half away.
The reception was well organised and went like clockwork. All of our numerous gifts were on display, and we were happy to receive the guests at the door. Everyone had a wonderful meal, and there was plenty to drink. In spite of my misgivings, the speeches were successfully negotiated, and before long Emma had slipped away to change into her going away outfit. Once again, she looked stunning in a beautiful turquoise dress.
The taxi arrived as ordered, and we were on our way. In their eagerness to see us off, our quests were also ready, with car and motorcycle engines ticking over, and every vehicle pointing in the direction of Ferryden. Our original intention was to leave from Ferryden railway station, but at the last moment I gave the taxi driver instructions to head for town, where we were due to make a connection at the main line station. This connection would take us to Ashford, and then to the 'Honeymoon' destination of Hastings.
There was no doubt that we had wrong footed the guests and we arrived at the mainline station with hardly a soul in sight. After all the fuss, it was sheer heaven to sit together in peace and quietness, drinking In the fact that we were now 'mister and misses'. However, we were in a 'fool's paradise'. The first indication that anything was wrong came from Emma. We were sitting on a platform seat waiting for the train to arrive when she let out a startled cry. "Oh no!" she shrieked, and grabbed my arm in alarm.
Right ahead of us, descending the booking office stairs, came a sea of faces grinning from ear to ear. Our guests had caught up with us! There was no escape; we just had to stand there and face the music. Confetti was scattered everywhere. They put it in our cases, down our backs, over our heads, in my trousers, and down Emma's front. Honour satisfied, they departed and left us alone to lick our wounds. We managed to get rid of the more obvious signs that we were newly-weds before boarding the train for Ashford, but we were not out of the woods yet. There were more embarrassing moments to come.
The Ashford train was hauled by an old-fashioned steam engine, and we had to wait a few minutes for mail and other small items of freight to be loaded into the guard's van. We were delighted to have found an empty carriage, and were looking forward to a period of peace and quiet on our own. There was a little toot from the engine as it prepared to go, but at the very last moment the carriage door opened, and two perspiring and rather harassed-looking old ladies clambered in. They settled down, mopping their brows as the engine gave a sudden jolt, and we were on our way.
The jolt as the engine started to haul the carriages out of the station was quite severe and, to our dismay, it dislodged some of the confetti in the cases above us. This came showering down, and settled on our heads like a sprinkling of fresh snow. As it did so, one of the old ladies looked at us and said "Oh dear, I think we have got into the wrong carriage".
We tried to make light of the situation, but inwardly wondered when we would be together without repeated interruptions. To our continuing embarrassment, the ladies exchanged knowing smiles, and every now and then glanced in our direction. They were still on the train when it chugged into Ashford station, but to our relief we had to get another connection, and on this occasion we had a carriage to ourselves.
It was early evening when we finally pulled Into Hastings, and we got a taxi to the hotel. This was a very small place located in a crescent about three hundred yards or so from the sea. It was quiet and homely, just what we wanted. We weren't hungry, and decided to go for a walk along the front to enjoy the evening sunlight. The landlady gave us a key to the main door so that we could come and go as we pleased, and promised to have a hot drink for us when we returned.
There was a slight breeze, but the air was quite warm, and the sea was soothing as it gently lapped against the pebbled beach. The front was deserted, and we strolled arm in arm along the promenade to enjoy the tranquillity. The gulls were conspicuous by their absence, and the blackbirds had long since departed to their nests. The swifts and martins alone seemed intent on giving us a welcome, as they dipped and wheeled in their graceful quest for insects on the wing.
Emma squeezed my hand, and we exchanged smiles. I kissed her, and we walked on, stopping every now and then to embrace and whisper to each other. I could hardly believe it. This lovely girl was my wife, and we were going to live the rest of our lives together. Everything about her was wonderful. The look in her eyes, her perfume, her hair brushing against my cheek, her voice, and the very thought that at last I had someone to love and care for. We walked on as the sun gradually disappeared below the horizon.
I looked at her again, and she more radiant than ever. Her face was aglow with happiness, and her eyes shone with liquid magic. The busy world had faded into the evening twilight. The day was coming to its close, and my whole being seemed to float on air. I kissed her again, and held her tightly. "I love you Emma." I murmured, as she looked into my eyes. "I love you too, darling." she whispered, and we embraced once more.
In spite of all the problems and embarrassments we had encountered, It was a wonderful day, and on reflection we wouldn't have had it any other way. One chapter in my life had ended, and for both of us, a new and more exciting one was just beginning.
