“Well let’s give it
12 months and see how it goes.
Famous last words spoken on 7th July 1973. We were 22 years old and had been living together for 12
months. It was our wedding
day, neither of us really had any doubts but we were afraid that our life would
change. 40 years later here we are
celebrating in Corde Sur Ciel, France.
We awake at 6.30 to a
glistening day. We set off over
the hills to try to photograph the hill city tinted pink by the rising sun and
surrounded by swirling mist. We
bump along the narrow country track in our brand new Citroen. The directions we’ve been given are
vague and when we end up at an almost derelict farm teaming with dirty grinning
children, we know we have taken a wrong turn.
“Oui monsieur, à
droite puis encore à droite, merci, merci. Bonne journée, au revoir!” We turn around take an even narrower
cart track and there it is the medieval city in all its glory.
I find myself
reflecting on how it was forty years ago.
There was a great sense of student life ending. I was worried I didn’t even have a
dress to teach in and trousers for female teachers then were most definitely
NOT allowed. We had no car, no
money but a real yearning for travel.
We were starting our
new life in Liverpool, England with a borrowed car (My brother’s), a rented
flat and great hopes. My immediate
problem was what should I get married in?
Regulation student gear, black cord trousers and T shirt wouldn’t do. Getting ready to travel down to my home
town Sheffield where I was getting married I was worried. My bridesmaids seemed somehow to have
sorted themselves out and had matching hats and dresses and even matching
shoes. I had nothing.
In desperation, I
went into the large department store in Newcastle… Fenwicks. I had never entered the hallowed doors
before. Twenty pounds a term even
in the seventies, rarely allowed for brand new clothes. Somehow I had scraped together twenty
pounds, an enormous amount to spend on a wedding in my view.
I wandered around,
fingering the plush, flouncy dresses and teaming veils that cost fifty pounds
and to my horror even more! Too
late to pull out now, mum had been baking apple pies, sausage rolls and cakes
for the last week.
I was immediately
intimidated by the whole surroundings.
I spent my time dodging around the clothes racks trying to avoid the
inquiring eye of the saleswoman. But
desperation won out. Panic was
rising and I was relieved when she finally pinned me down. “Can I help you?” she said in an
officious voice. To my amazement I
found myself blubbering out my whole problem. “Do you have anything suitable?” I said. “It doesn’t have to be white or
anything, just something nice…. and cheap!” With her eyes fixed firmly on my trim waist she made the
decision that I wasn’t pregnant, just one of those crazy students and maybe she
should help me out.
To my amazement she
smiled, thawed and started asking
me all about the wedding. Now I
have to say I hadn’t given it enormous thought. Mum seemed happy to rush around doing stuff and I just sort
of nodded without taking much interest.
With great authority,
the sales assistant took the grey, hippie looking dress out of my hands and led
me into the changing room. Within
minutes I emerged with a slim white, hooded dress. It fitted amazingly and only cost ten pounds! I put away the thought that it was a week’s
rent and handed over my money.
Within minutes it is
packed in a bag and I am hitching my way down the A1 to Sheffield... and to a new life.
As I sit watching the air balloon float
over Corde Sur Ciel, I think this weekend away is probably costing more than my
whole wedding, forty years ago. It
was a great wedding though … and so is this weekend!
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