In Good Company: Silver Wedding
...It started with our running errands together. King Street will always have sentimental associations for me. Twenty warm pork pies at 3d from the arm Stores, two dozen iced Swiss-buns from Whiteley’s, graduating to shepherd’s pie and chips for two at the Kingsway Café and finally the ultimate, back seats at the Tudor Cinema. The last radio programme on Saturday night was Jack Jackson’s record show. His signature tune ‘Dancing in the Dark’ also heralded my parent’s bedtime – naturally it soon became our favourite tune....
Enid Blackburn reflects on 25 years of married life - and the six years which preceded the wedding bells.
Are you boasting or complaining?’ my hairdresser wanted to know when I mentioned my forthcoming silver wedding. I am boasting naturally. In this age when almost everything bears the ‘disposable’ label, I consider twenty-five years a good innings.
‘Have you ever regretted it, dad?’ one daughter daringly probed recently. ‘Of course he has,’ I interfered. His whispered comment in daughter’s ear and her responding snigger were not altogether reassuring, so I sought him out later.
I found him up a ladder in our front room. Trying to look coy and dodging the emulsion drips at the same time, I popped the question, ‘Wonder what we were doing twenty-five years ago, love?’ His answer came in short, sharp brushes. ‘I can remember exactly what I was doing.’ His paint-splashed face looked grim. ‘I was up a ladder painting the ceiling.’ Not the ideal moment, perhaps, to introduce a ‘This is Your Life’ flavour.
I can’t recall what I was up to while he was painting the parlour of our first home – probably some vital issue like planning my hen party. I remember our first meeting, as I made my way thirty years ago, towards the printing firm where I started my apprenticeship, thrilled to the 3in hem of my blue overall at the chance to earn thirty bob a week. Eager to learn, I soon became the best tea-maker, pot-washer, fish and chip carrier and joke repeater in the trade.
But fate was waiting to take a hand, for draped over a frame in the composing room was the lad destined to take me away from all this.
It started with our running errands together. King Street will always have sentimental associations for me. Twenty warm pork pies at 3d from the Farm Stores, two dozen iced Swiss-buns from Whiteley’s, graduating to shepherd’s pie and chips for two at the Kingsway Café and finally the ultimate, back seats at the Tudor Cinema. The last radio programme on Saturday night was Jack Jackson’s record show. His signature tune ‘Dancing in the Dark’ also heralded my parent’s bedtime – naturally it soon became our favourite tune.
After a whirlwind courtship, which lasted six years, he finally surrendered and we were married. Over the next fifteen years we welcomed five additions. One consolation of being an overworked, inadequate mother, it leaves less time to be a rotten wife. I have browsed through countless ‘successful marriage’ manuals written by super couples who pretend they know all the answers. It beats me how anyone dare have the gall when they are in the middle of a marriage themselves.
But I’m hoping its not too late, now the family are almost independent, to concentrate on Old Faithful again, when he comes down from the ladder. It surprises the young to think that the spark is still there after twenty-five years. ‘At your age the heyday in the blood is tame’ – so spoke Hamlet disapprovingly to his mother. But I like the remark made by a middle-aged couple on TV: ‘It may take longer to climb the mountain but when you reach the summit the view is just the same!’ Eat your heart out, Hamlet!
