Jan and I had a fight, or perhaps better
described as ‘a silence’. We were at a rather loud party, and I suspect Jan had
not been well: perhaps one of the migraines which have plagued her on and off lifelong.
She did not want to dance, and I had gone off in a huff and danced with several
others (who are now vague unremembered shadows). I could see that Jan was
upset, but I continued to pressure her. I suspect it got to the point of my
saying something really hurtful like: “ Well, perhaps we should not be
together.” That may have jolted me as I began to consider a future without this
person I had been close to for the previous 5 years. I half remember saying
something like: “I am not sure I can live with you, but I am even more sure I
can’t live without you.” Or perhaps Jan said something like that. No, she is
the more stoic in this partnership; I am the more hysterical (believe it or not).
Well, that led to a serious discussion of
whether we should get married, and how soon we could do that, and whom we would
have to tell. In the February, my parents and sister were about to return from
their 3-year posting to Australia. We discussed how to broach the topic. In the
end it was all rather easy, and the date was set for Saturday 10th
April 1965. That was three weeks after Jan’s 21st birthday, and two
days after mine, so we would both technically be adults, and no-one could
really argue much against the proposition. If we had had opposition, we were
quite prepared to go to a Registry Office - like Jan’s parents had done to
begin their highly successful marriage. Both sets of parents were opposed to
that, and ultimately we approached the church in Westgate on Sea to which I had
been attached as a choirboy for all those years.
Of course my Cosbycote housemates were not
amused; after all we had only been living there for about 6 months, and now
they would have to find a replacement. They were gracious, and someone evil
suggested a bucks’ party. I had asked Dick Lenz to be my best man, much to the
annoyance of Barry King with whom I had become very close. But Dick and I had
shared bedrooms for over a year, and he knew about my emotional ups and downs,
and was a stable sensible bloke who would make sure I got through the
preparations and the event. The party was held at The George Canning pub on
Grove Lane, and we packed the place with about 15 or so med students. It was a
hearty affair, with pint after pint appearing in front of me. I got half way
down my fourth, and had to go to the toilet, where I felt unusually dizzy. I
returned to our table, and I guess we all got a bit noisy. Mine host, a worthy
woman in her 40s was well acquainted with medical students, and decided eventually
we needed to be moved on. I am not sure how it happened, but I found myself on
top of one of the tables singing, and when she challenged me, I stared into her dark brown eyes, saying very seriously: “Your eyes are like pools; cess pools…”. For some
reason we were chucked out, and as I was still feeling the worse for wear, as
they tucked me into the back of Jim Flower’s Mini, a carrier bag was tucked
neatly over my ample ears, in case I decided to be sick. I wasn’t, and we
arrived home without mishap. Later I was to find out that some fool had put
double vodkas into each of the pints. No wonder I felt ‘somewhat dizzy’.
Surprising I survived.
The white wedding was on, with
Jan’s older sister Wendy, as chief bridesmaid, and her younger sister Sheila,
and my sister Andrea, as bridesmaids. As plans developed, the list of friends
and relatives invited to attend seemed to get out of hand, and ultimately there
were about 120 guests at the reception at the Chez Laurie a conspicuous Art
Deco building on the Thanet Way (some years later tragically burned to the
ground). I was caught up in the moment to moment excitement, and it is only in
retrospect that I have thought about how much such an enormous ‘do’ must have
cost Reg and Bobbie. I am certain I was duly thankful, but not so sure that I
really appreciated the generosity enough at the time to acknowledge it. I am
sure both of us were overwhelmed by the occasion, but really appreciated having
so many of both sides of the family there to witness the event.
It was chaos in little ways all day. I guess
everyone was anxious, and that meant that Jan would have been fighting off a
migraine, and I would have been picky and irritable. Jan spent the morning
finishing making her wedding dress (something unheard of in these days of
entitlement). Apparently I had left the price on the bottom of my new black
shoes for all to see as we knelt at the altar. We have a video of our exit down
the aisle showing a married us, but with Jan with her veil still down (well,
who would have bothered to look into those sorts of protocols – not me). The black
and white photos on the steps were delightful and full of laughter, but from 50
years on fill us with sadness at all those lovely people we have now lost. As
we left the church for the reception, my group of medical student mates
showered us with rice, which unbelievably ended up still in my hair and
underclothes 24 hours later. The reception was a blur, but the existing
pictures suggest we all had a good time. Jan’s bridesmaids had forgotten Jan’s
going away suit, so we had to get into Reg’s treasured Jaguar and drive at
speed 10 miles back to Westgate to get Jan changed and comfortable. We missed
the planned train from Westgate on Sea, which meant we missed our connection
from Euston.
We were so naïve at the time. In the now,
with all of that chaos, we would have just booked into an expensive hotel and
had a special relaxed evening. But we never even considered that, in part I
suspect because we were poor and on a tight budget (even though the lovely Reg
had stuffed £40 into my top pocket at the station and with tears in his eyes
had said:
“Make sure she has a good time”). At Euston
we rebooked the train to Crewe and onward to North Wales. Then we decided to go
to the local cinema, and sat watching cartoons holding hands and cuddling in
the dark for an hour.
When we got to the train, I realised we had
lost our reserved seats in the changes. In addition, it was the night of the
annual England Scotland soccer match, and Scotland had won. So the train was
full of noisy drunk Scots. When I say full, I mean full. None of the occupants
of our carriage were agreeable enough to change their appointed seats. So,
instead of cuddling up next to each other we sat opposite with Jan squashed
between two sleepy drunks, one of whom seemed intent on resting his head on her
shoulder. I became more and more angry, thinking of all the things I would like
to do to him, but Jan just ‘shushed’ me, and all I could was fret and glare.
The connection at Crewe was late, so
eventually we ended up at Llandudno Junction at 5.48am, exhausted. There were
no trains or buses down the Conway Valley till hours later, and no sign of a
taxi. There was, however, a man loading a van with newspapers newly arrived
form London. Sheepishly, I asked him whether he was going anywhere near Betws-y-Coed,
near Llangollen, explained our situation, and asked if I could help him load
his papers. He was highly amused, but agreed to take us down the valley. We sat
squashed up front, with our cases on the papers in the back. Apart from the
occasional moments of unconscious, we chatted amiably all the way. I would love
to have been a fly on the wall when he was regaling his missus or his mates
later that day.
We found the small dark stone family hotel,
and were let in by one of the elderly sisters who owned the place, and whom I
had phoned the previous evening to alert them to our predicament. She, like so
many we met on our honeymoon, was bemused by us; two kids on a life adventure.
There were two single beds in the room. But
then we also had two tubes of toothpaste in our luggage. We washed up. I combed
my hair, rescuing residual bits of rice (much to my chagrin). We resolved to
get a couple of hours sleep, cuddling up fully clothed on one of the single
beds, laughing somewhat hysterically. We were certain everyone knew our story
when we eventually got to belated breakfast a couple of hours later. Everyone
seemed to be smiling benignly.
When I think back to these events, so clear
in my visual mind, it does raise the question how such an odd, crazy, naïve start
to married life could have possibly led to fifty years of harmony. I guess we
just thought everything was funny. When we tell these old stories now, we still
laugh. But then so does everyone else. Perhaps that is the secret.
More later…
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