The Wedding - John Bernard & Veronica

Merry Christmas, 1961
and
Happy New Year, 1962.

   On Sunday, December 24^th, 1961, Christmas Eve, I was beginning to recover a bit, and to take an interest in what was happening around me at last.  Our greatest worry now was how we were going to arrive at our wedding, as it was fairly obvious that a miracle would be required for me to be able to drive to Brighton.

   During the afternoon, one of Veronica's former colleagues, who was a teacher at the school where Veronica had been teaching when we first met, arrived to find out why we had not arrived in Brighton, as she had tried to telephone Veronica there.  When she learned of our predicament, she agreed that, as she was going to drive to Brighton herself on Boxing day, in order to be there for the wedding the following day, she would travel via Cambridge, and collect us.

   In the evening, our main problem was a drunk, who was trying to get to the Windsor Hotel (next door), but who, in his drunken state, could not be persuaded that this house was not the Hotel.  I was still not fit enough to cope with this, and Veronica had to do the persuading.

   On Christmas day Veronica cooked her first Christmas dinner.  All went well, the tinned chicken and tinned vegetables making for a relatively easy time, and the main course was a success.  Then the time came for the Christmas pudding, which had been cooked in its container in a saucepan of water.  The first thing to do was to drain the water from the saucepan.  Crash - the whole Christmas pudding fell out and took up residence in the sink!  We recovered it, washed it down, and eat it all the same.

   As all this was happening, we noticed water pouring down the wall.  Rushing up to her aunt's flat Veronica saw that it was coming through the ceiling from the flat above, and the floor was flooded as well.  Where was the stopcock?  In a large Victorian house, it could be anywhere, most probably in the (locked) basement.  A careful hunt did not reveal anything.  Rushing out to the phone box, or to be more accurate the first with a telephone directory in it, Veronica started hunting for a plumber.  She found that there were several of them, and called the first.  After getting through to him, she decided he must be drunk, as all he did was laugh.  She tried the second, who also sounded drunk, but wished her a happy Christmas, and hoped she would find one soon.  The next number she called continued ringing until she gave up on it.  The next time, the plumber's wife answered and said it was Christmas, and didn't Veronica know that, and anyway, he was busy with the children.  In this way Veronica worked nearly to the end of the list.  Eventually, she came to a plumber who was more helpful, and inclined to listen to her.  Taking this opportunity, she told him about her sick fiance, and how they were about to leave the house to get married the next day, and he agreed to come out, no doubt taking pity on our plight.

   Going home, she waited anxiously with me for the plumber, thinking he might have second thoughts, and not bother to come, after all.  To our relief, he turned up and found the stopcock for the whole house, in the garden, and turned it off, after we had filled whatever containers we could find to have our own water supply until we would leave next day.  Veronica then posted notes through all the other flats, so that when the residents should return after Christmas, they would know why there was no water!

   The weather had been consistently cold throughout the run up to, and during, the Christmas period, hence the problem of the frozen pipes in the upstairs flat.  In addition to the freezing fog that Veronica had had to cycle through when she was collecting extra clothing from my lodgings, there had been a measure of snow, which now blanketed the countryside.

   In due course, Veronica's former colleague Eva arrived to collect us, and drive us down to Brighton, through the center of London, as in those days, there was no suitable alternative for driving between Cambridge and Brighton.  Despite the snow, the journey proceeded without incident, and Veronica's relatives were glad to welcome us, as it seemed that the wedding would go ahead after all.  Both Veronica's and my families had been worried that the wedding might have to be postponed.  My family had already arrived in Brighton, and the only problem they had, was that due to the exceptionally cold weather, the heating in their hotel was barely adequate.

   December 27^th, 1961, the big day had arrived!!!

   I was awakened by my bride bringing me a cup of coffee in bed. (So much for ensuring good luck).  When we were both ready to go down to the church, I, much to Veronica's regret, was wearing my ex-army shoes, as I had never got round to buying any others.  The car took me down to the church, and went back up the hill for Veronica.  It was at this point that I discovered that my best man had not turned up.  Most of the others who were coming, who did not live in Brighton, had come the day before, to avoid any problems with winter travel, but the best man lived halfway up the road to London, so was full of confidence that he would have no problems.  I had reached the stage of starting to brief a stand-in best man, when the first choice turned up, full of apologies, and curses for the weather conditions.  We learned later that 2 of the guests, who did not arrive for the wedding or reception, were delayed by a motorcycle accident on the ice.  Luckily they were not badly injured.

   Meanwhile, the car had gone back up to collect Veronica, and on the way back to the church with her, she was astonished to see one of my older brothers, who was to conduct the ceremony, running along the road, away from the church.  She wondered if he was chasing me (she of little faith!) to get me back, after I had done a runner! (Not that I was capable of running at the time) She discovered later that he was running back to the hotel to get the Papal Blessing Certificate, which he had forgotten.

   When Veronica arrived at the church, she was greeted by the photographer, who had fortified himself against the cold with some strong liquor, and asked her when the bride was coming (perhaps he was fooled by Veronica's dark suit, much more suited to the weather than any flimsy white gown).  Her brother then led her up the aisle to give her away (her father had been dead for 14 years).

   The actual ceremony, and the Nuptial Mass which followed went without incident, although Veronica and I were a little surprised by the heavenly choir which her mother had arranged.  My sister played the organ, despite the local organist refusing to show her any of the quirks of it, as he was put out that this couple had provided so much of their own staff.  The ceremony was conducted by one of my Benedictine monk brothers, and the Mass was said by the other.  The altar server was the brother of the bride.

   After the Nuptial Mass, the civil formalities where completed in the sacristy, and then the bride and groom crossed the road to the Catholic Club where the reception was to be held.  In view of the my health (or lack of it!) we did not bother with photographs outside, and in fact, the first photo was taken of us both holding sherry glasses, which we managed to drain before any of the invited guests got across the road.

   At last the guests were settled, and the reception proceeded apace, with the normal speeches etc.  Noboby was able to sabotage the car with 'Just married' notices, old tin cans etc., as it was 100 miles away.  It did raise the question of how to get back to it, however.  The original proposal to go to Ireland for the honeymoon was obviously no longer viable.  At a suitable time in the proceedings, Veronica and I slipped away to the station, and took a train to London.  On arrival in London, I thought I had done enough travelling for the day, so I called a hotel from the station, to book a room for the night.  Veronica had to correct me, when I first started asking for two single rooms, but I got it right in the end.

   After our first night of wedded bliss in a London hotel, Veronica and I visited the newly openned Cinerama theatre in London to sample the new medium, before taking the train back to Cambridge.  We decided that we would try to get to the east coast for the rest of our honeymoon, but as I had already had enough travel for the day, we decided to stay that night in the flat, formerly just Veronica's, now ours.  Several of the others living in the house had returned, and the water supply had been restored, after the necessary repairs in the top flat.

   We were awakened at some unearthly hour of the morning (for a honeymoon couple) by the man who came round selling parafin heating oil.  My landlord up to a few days ago had worked with him, at one time, and they were still friendly, and although it was never admitted in as many words, we suspected that the very early delivery was planned, in view of our new marital status.

   In the afternoon, we decided it was time to set out for the east coast for the rest of the honeymoon, taking with us a (mains electricity powered) tape recorder, as I was still committed to delivering a lecture on my first week back at work, and as yet had done no preparation for it.  We left Cambridge in my car, which I was now fit to drive, and proceeded in a south easterly direction.  After about 10 miles, it was snowing again, and just after we had passed through the small town of Halstead in Essex, we came to a number of vehicles, stopped at the bottom of a hill, while the lead vehicle tried to climb it.  After several attempts had failed, we decided we ought try a different route, but this time, we were turned back by the police, as the road was blocked by a tanker which had skidded and crashed.  We then tried to find somewhere to spend the night in Halstead, as it was fairly obvious, that with the continuing snow, the hill (which was the first of many on that road) was not going to get any easier to climb.  We duly returned to Halstead, and found a pub, which had a number of guest rooms, and booked into a double room.  Twin beds!  Oh, well, it was only for one night, and anyway we could still both squeeze into a single bed, in those days.

   In the morning, when I went to settle the bill for the night's accomodation, Mine Host was surprised that I had money to pay (there were very few credit cards in England in those days).  It appeared that most of the other people who had stayed overnight, had done so because they too could not complete their journeys, but in most instances they had hoped to get home, so did not have money for hotel bills.  I explained that Veronica and I were on honeymoon, and had expected to be in a hotel, just not this one!

   Although there was still plenty of snow, the roads had been gritted, and it was possible to make progress again, in the direction of the coast.  The driving was still on the treacherous side, so when we arrived at Colchester, I thought that we had better settle for a reasonable hotel in Colchester for the rest of the honeymoon, and we checked into 'The Cups' (No longer there!).  I demanded a double room, with a suitable power point to run our tape recorder, as I was going to prepare my lecture.  Such a room was duly provided, and we settled in for the rest of our holiday.  It is most unlikely that the hotel staff had any idea that they had a honeymoon couple staying with them.

   When it got to Thursday, January 4^th, 1962, I had spent enough time closeted with the tape recorder in our hotel room, and my lecture was now prepared.  We had spent time together both in the hotel, and when weather permitted, in the town of Colchester.

   We decided that as it had taken us two days to cover the 50 miles from Cambridge to Colchester, we would return early, in case we got stuck overnight on the journey again.  There was no sign of the snow clearing, and it had been snowing while we had been on honeymoon.  We therefore checked out of the hotel after breakfast, and set off to retrace our steps.  Progress was slow, but at least we were able to keep moving, except when forced to stop by traffic conditions, and to let a truck have the whole of the road, when it was pulling another out of the ditch at the roadside.  The last town through which we passed was Haverhill, and there was very little other traffic on the road by this time.  At last, we returned safely to our flat near the station in Cambridge.

   Waiting for us at the flat was a letter from Veronica's relatives in Brighton, detailing some of the events at the wedding reception, after we had left for London.  One of the gentleman guests had suffered a heart attack, and had departed the reception by ambulance, and one of the lady guests, who had imbibed very well, travelled in the taxi which took home the wedding cake.  Unfortunately, she, in her misty glory, forgot to look carefully on the seat before she lowered herself into it, thus smashing the wedding cake into little crumbs.

   When we bought a local evening paper, in order to catch up on the local news, we discovered that the reason for the lack of traffic around Haverhill was that that town was 'officially' cut off by the snow!

   We lived in that flat, until we bought a house in October that year, as Veronica was by that time expecting our first child, Peter, who was born 4 days after our first wedding anniversary.

   Thus ended the saga of the start of our 'much too rushed' marriage, which was predicted not to last, so we lived in fear and trepidation, awaiting the breakup, which would devastate us both.  The end finally came after 46 years on Thursday, July 10^th 2008, when Veronica was called home to the Lord, 32 years to the day after her mother-in-law.

This page last updated 13^th July, 2008