My parent's Easter wedding disaster

My grandmother told me all about my mother's wedding, laced with all her cynicism about my mum as a 'flipperty gibbet', as she always used to call her. And looking at the wedding photos, she explained why the lilies were not real, but painted on afterward, and how she had to be married in St. Matthews Church in Walsall because it was much more fashionable and much more acceptable for a society wedding than the Meers family church, and Isabel, my mother, was undoubtedly a fashionable woman. She was the first girl in the neighbourhood to have her hair styled in a sporty ‘bob’ and the first to wear dresses above the knees. She was the talk of Moat Road, where she lived, and beyond.

She was also the talk of my young school peers during the war for this same level of fashionable showiness at a time when others were going without and ration queues were the place to be. It was a huge embarrassment to me when a child would say “Who is that?” when my mother entered the room in an incredible, impeccable outfit and looking more like a movie star. I would shrink down in my seat and pretend not to hear, wishing the moment gone and my connection left unknown.

My mother knew exactly what she wanted for her wedding. Lilies were the only flower for society weddings, so lilies she had to have. She wore a white, crushed velvet dress, short to show off her legs, white stockings and white satin shoes. An entourage of no less than seven bridesmaids in silver and gold shimmering, shot silk, each in a different shade in almost every colour of the rainbow, lent itself to a spectacular scene.

The old, beautiful church, decked out for the wedding, looked magnificent and crowds had gathered from the slum area, situated just behind the impressive building, to watch. But that was where the impressiveness of the day ended.

Following the ceremony, as Isabel came out of the church and began to descend the steps, a pair of small, grimy hands snatched the beautiful bunch of lilies from her arms with one swift and devastating move. The boy, amidst a group of slum children, ran so swiftly from the scene and into the crowd and beyond, that there was no hope of her seeing the flowers again.

And worse was to come.

The bride and her groom, Leslie Jenkins were deep in discussion with the photographer, stressing that lilies were of the utmost importance, that no other flowers would do. The guests had gathered a collage of flowers from neighbouring gardens and front yards in an effort to replace her bouquet but Isabel would have none of it. It was agreed that she would pose as though holding the long lilies, and they would be painted in afterward--a sight that was to be a source of amusement for my grandmother and I when, years later, we perused their album. As their conversation was settled, they heard the ominous sound of screeching tyres, scraping metal and shattering glass.

The driver of the car carrying all seven bridesmaids had careered too fast around the last bend, overturning the vehicle. My father raced on foot to their aid. Isabel followed, her veil streaming out in a white blur behind her, attracting the ire of a local bull-dog who hightailed it from its front yard to pursue the spectacle. Soon close enough, the dog leapt and snatched Isabel’s veil from her coiffured head and proceeded to defeat, devour and shred the delicate fabric. Leslie turned at the sound of his wife's shrieks and managed to rescue the remains. This was to be another source of amusement as we looked at the wedding photos--the veil was carefully positioned to appear as though it disappeared behind her, which, of course, it did.

One bridesmaid was taken to hospital with minor cuts and bruising and, amid the chaos that had ensued in the rescue of all involved, the bridesmaid's flowers were also a casualty--every bouquet was strewn up and down Moat Road.

And still, the disasters of the day did not end there. A fatality at the reception dinner; money literally burnt in the fire; and a flood--all were yet to come.  This wedding was only the beginning of my family's Easter curse, although it took my own experiences of Easter disasters before I would listen--an action that was to save my life.