The wedding...

The wooden steeple of the old stone church pointed into the clear winter sky. Sheltered against the wall small cluster of bright flowers told of a recent burial. Here and there a few short rows of old headstones cast long shadows onto the closely cropped grass. It wasn't the old headstones I was interested in though, it was the church itself. For here on Friday 21st February 1942, a marriage had taken place. Then, there was no time for tradition, no time for the banns to be read. The groom only had ten days leave so they were married by  'Special License', obtained just the day before at a cost of ten shillings.  A lot of money then, when an unskilled worker would have earned less than five pounds a week. . I was eager to be out of the hire car and to walk where they had walked.

Hand in hand The Man and I crossed the quiet country road, he opened the gate, and at last we were there. Dry leaves crunched under our feet as we walked up the path to the porch. I tried to imagine how it would have been all those years ago.

She on her Dad's arm, his hand over hers reassuringly. Inside the groom would be waiting, nervously perhaps, the best man, his brother in law, at his side.

But today the door was locked! Had we come all this way not to be able to get inside?

"Look, over there, that must be the vicarage" The Man pointed to a solitary house on the other side of the road. "Come on" he said " lets go and see if anyone's home"We  knocked and  waited. Inside my jacket pocket my fingers were crossed, and I whispered a little plea to myself "Oh please let there be somebody there"
Footsteps. "Thank-you" I whispered.
" Can I help you?"
"I hope so" I answered, " We're from New Zealand and my parents were married in your church. We were wondering if we could go inside?"

"New Zealand?" he said, "Where abouts, I'm from Auckland myself, small world isn't it?  Come in, come in, I'll just see if I can find the key"
As he unlocked the door he asked, "When did you say they got married?"
" 21st February 1942"
" You've come at the right time then" he said " The church is pretty much as it was then, but we start our renovations next month"
I said another 'thank you".

Inside, the thick plastered walls were painted a creamy white with the tall pointy top window arches picked out in pale brown. Dark timbers ribbed across the ceiling. Above the steps to the alter hung three almost life size figures. In the centre, a crucified Christ, Mary in her blue robes to the left, a red robed figure to the right. Behind the altar three deeply set stained glass windows glowed in the late afternoon light.

My imagination took over again, and I walked with Mum into the church, a few steps then turn right to walk down the aisle. Family and friends in the first few rows would have turned as she slowly walked towards him.

I doubt if she wore a new dress for the occasion, let alone a wedding dress. Clothes rationing, which included shoes, began in June 1941. Each adult was allocated just 66 coupons per year. It cost eleven coupons  to 'buy' a plain dress, four  for a pair of undies, six for a nightie and eight for a pair of pyjamas. A mans suit, if you could get such a thing, cost 26 coupons.  Stockings were very scarce, so use your imagination and draw a line up the back of your leg for the seam and hey presto... well I guess from a distance it would have looked like you were wearing a pair. Make do and mend was the order of the day.

Would clothes have mattered? Probably not, she was marrying her childhood sweetheart that was all that was important.

I don't know if it had been a romantic proposal. When I asked dad for his memories of their wedding day he said

 "I think it was me decided that we should get married, everyone else said no, no, but it only made me more determined to get married. We were married at a little old church in Doddinghurst. We had a car to take us to the reception and everyone else went by bus!  The reception was at Aunt Cis', she had a shop in Brentwood about eight miles from Doddinghurst. She put on a good spread for us, and someone kept on playing a Flanders and Allen record called "Elmers Song"

And they say men aren't good historians!

The vicar was patient and let us stay as long as we wanted. I took photos inside and out, but more precious even than those photos is the details I've been able to add.