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2nd June 2009
My Dear Jeremy,
On Saturday I heard Mendelssohn’s Wedding March being played on the television and that reminded me that my letter to you this week is to tell you about our wedding on the 3rd January, 1948.
It was a glorious summer day. I had my hair set in town then came back to the Pumping Station for have lunch and to get dressed. My parents had made all the arrangements for the wedding. My Mother made my dress in a white cotton lace with a sweetheart neckline and a large bow on the back. I did not want a big fuss so chose a short shoulder length veil. My bouquet was of yellow roses.
My bridesmaid was my young cousin Lenore and she wore a yellow net dress decorated with little coloured flowers. The mother of the bride looked beautiful in a powder blue outfit and the mother of the bridegroom looked smart in a brown ensemble. When Mrs Sadler unpacked her suitcase she found a bottle of scent and when she opened it, it had spilled over her dress but, with her usual brave outlook on life she remarked: “Oh well I will just have to let my personality get me by”. This comment I borrowed and have used several times myself when things have not worked out according to plan.
We visited my Smith grandparents for a jolly pre-wedding party. The family enjoyed themselves and insisted we sing together the old song: ‘At Trinity Church I met my doom’. I think I was quite embarrassed but Michael seemed to enjoy himself greatly.
The only friend of Michael’s to be at the wedding was Ken Fryer. Ken was to be a witness as Gerald, the best man, was too young to sign the wedding lines. They took Michael for a stag drink the night before his parents arrived.
Mr and Mrs Sadler arrived by train from Cape Town on the 2nd and were booked into the Highgate Hotel at Wilsonia on the outskirts of East London. Michael had been with us at the Pumping Station but joined his parents at the hotel where the reception was to be held.
The wedding ceremony was in the Methodist Church in Oxford Street at 3 o’clock in the afternoon and I don’t think I was late. At least I like to think I was not. Michael’s Father conducted the service with the assistance of the Reverend Patrick Meara the minister in residence at the time. It is still easy to recall the gentle, kindly welcoming look in Grandpa’s eyes as I walked down the aisle on my Father’s arm. I promised to ‘love, honour and cherish’ as I had objected to the word ‘obey’ in the marriage vows. While we signed the register the organist played ‘Liebestraume’ ‘Dreams of Love’ by Franz List which Michael had particularly requested.
An old childhood friend, Tommy Jones, drove us in the Oldsmobile – ‘The Magic Carpet’ to the Highgate Hotel. I recall the reception as being very happy with relations and friends. Speeches were made but I do not recall a word said by either my Father or Michael but I am sure they both said some funny things as well as lots of kind words.
In my mind’s eye there is a continuous bright blur of smiles, laughter and lots of good wishes poured upon us.
I was especially pleased that Granny and Grandpa Smith, who never went out, were there too. I have always regretted that no photographs were taken with them. My Mother had her little box camera and Michaels’ Father captured a few shots of us on Joyce’s cine camera but there is no picture either of them or of Michael’s Mother.
I changed into a lovely green going away dress and felt very smart in a beige straw hat as we set off on our honeymoon in the ‘Chorrie’ in the late afternoon, on our first adventure together. We reached Komgha where we spent out first night on our way to Port St Johns and the Wild Coast.
The ‘Chorrie’ was a red and black Morris car which Pop had bought for Gerald and Bazil for them to go to work and school. The boys had great fun, to Michael’s discomfort, instructing him how to get it ready for the road and he ended up covered in gearbox grease. They were very naughty you know. I think he forgave them. As Gerald once said he expected Michael would even make excuses for the Devil.
That was over sixty years ago. Such memories…..
Love you darling boy, Mum
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