Richard and I were married, in Cambridge in England, when he was a graduate student in the Electrical Engineering and Computer Science Department of the University. We started married life in a married student flat in the grounds of Churchill College.
We had a civil wedding, witnessed by our parents, a few close family members and college friends. A cold buffet and sparkling wine reception followed in the University Center, which overlooks the River Cam. It was a simple affair, without fuss, and so very different from the wedding we could have had if I’d put myself in Mam’s hands and been married in Scotland.
It simply wasn’t practical for us to do that, since we were both living in Cambridge and so we arranged our own wedding there, far away from the traditions of the North East Fishing Community in which I grew up.
In Buckie, a visual announcement for a wedding was the wedding cake displayed in the window of D.L. Fowler & Sons, the Baker. It would be on show for about a week before the wedding. “We are expert at cake making and have won many awards," Fowlers boasted in their advertising. The cake, covered with marzipan and bridal white icing, was heavy with rum-soaked dried fruit. Two, three, or even an extravagant four tiers were supported by pillars and adorned with “wedding favors; miniature silver shoes, rings, and silver-leafed flowers which were given to the most important wedding guests as souvenirs. The baker’s craftsmanship was much admired, while local gossip estimated the cost of the wedding by the number of tiers.
Friends and neighbors were generous with gifts, even if they hadn’t been invited to the wedding. There was no such thing as a “Bridal Registry.” Few even asked the Bride what she wanted or needed, and there could be much duplication of Pyrex and stainless steel.
Nearer to my own wedding, I asked Mam if she would just mention to anyone who asked, that I planned to have a color scheme of yellow, orange and brown in the college apartment “Oh! Goodness me! I can’t do that!” she said. “You’ll be grateful for what you get! You’re not even having a proper wedding!” I wrote thank you notes for twenty two assorted pairs of pillowcases, a set of antimacassars, crocheted doilies and many items I never did find a use for, but I was sincerely grateful for the kindness shown to me.
It was the custom to have a ‘show’ of presents. I remember, when I was maybe about seven, going with Mam and Granny to a neighboring lassie’s house with our own present, a pair of tea towels. The presents were displayed in the ‘best room’, which was kept for ‘laying out’, either of wedding presents, or the deceased. But on this occasion, tables covered in white sheets held the array of household goods, with which, Jean, the Bride-to-be would start her married life.
A set of Royal Albert china from the Bridesmaids, carving knives with handles of antlers, from the Best Man, a silver tray engraved with the names of Bride and Groom, with the Wedding Date, from the Bride’s employer had proud and prominent places. Sometimes the silver tray would be a clock. All the other gifts had been arranged around them in categories. It would have been a good idea to have provided a catalogue, indexed and cross-referenced, of who gave what, because that’s what we all talked about afterwards. A gift tag was attached to each item, and I made a point of memorizing the donors so that I could correct Mam and Granny when they compared notes. I also counted the number of assorted pillowcases, and noted how many teapots Jean had received.
Also ‘on show’ were the dresses of the Bridal party, including that of “Mother of the Bride”, and her hat and shoes. The Bride’s dress and veil were not kept secret, but, wrapped in plastic, were hanging from the picture rail, along with the Bridesmaids’ and Flower Girl dresses. “Oh sic bonnie,’ we admired. “Did ye git that hat in Little Wonder’s sale?” The groom’s employers had given a china cabinet and it was used a display case for all the headdresses, gloves, wedding rings, lockets, and pearl necklaces to be worn on the Wedding Day.
We were invited ‘ben the hoose’ for refreshments. A glass of sherry and a finger of fruit cake for Mam and Granny. I got lemonade. It was an exhausting time for the Bride-to-be and her family. So much hospitality to give for a pair of teatowels.
A few days before the wedding, the bride or groom, or both, were ‘blackened’ by their workmates, and paraded through the town on a hand cart, or in the back of an open truck, accompanied by a ‘band’ of whistles, tin cans and sticks. Black shoe polish was applied to the face and arms, and the nuptial victim was dressed up in old clothes. I don’t know the origin or meaning of this custom, but in some ways it was like a dress rehearsal for the Main Event.
When a crewmember of a fishing boat, or the son or daughter of one married, the boat would tie up in the harbor the day before the wedding. Flags were hung between the masts. Dad told me they used the International code flags that all boats carried in case they sailed into foreign waters. They were brightly colored and perfect for wedding bunting.
On the Wedding Day the neighbours, children included, gathered outside the Bride’s house to see her leave for the Kirk with her Father. The car was a black taxi, made bridal with white ribbons stretching from the bonnet to its roof. We children clustered round the car and as they drove away, the Father of the Bride rolled the window down and flung out handfuls of pennies and we scrambled on the ground to pick them up. The same scenario was expected at the Groom’s house. Taking care of the “Wedding Sprawl” was one of the Best Man’s duties.
Receptions whether held in a hotel or church hall, were alike. On the menu there was a choice of Scotch broth or melon, followed by roast beef or chicken with all the trimmings, and ending with trifle or ice cream. A modest glass of sherry sufficed for the toasts. Fingers of wedding cake were served with the tea or coffee, which completed the meal. Everybody went home after the reception, but the wedding wasn’t over. We returned in the evening for the dancing.
The newly married couple led the guests in the Grand March, a processional dance that went up and down the floor, couples doubling up as they turned, until they were eight abreast. The music was provided by a local band: fiddle, accordion, piano and drums for the Eightsome Reel, Strip the Willow, the Dashing White Sergeant, the Canadian Barn Dance, and the Boston Two Step. A saxophone joined the group for slow foxtrots, quicksteps and modern waltzes.
When the band took a break, we had refreshments. Big brown teapots poured tea into thick mugs. Sausage rolls and ham sandwiches, staples of Weddings and Funerals, fortified the dancers. A herring basket filled with a cran of ‘conversation sweeties’ was carried round the room, and we filled our handkerchiefs with the “Kiss Me Quick” sugary lozenges.
The dancing resumed. Men discarded their jackets, rolled up their shirtsleeves and swung shoeless partners in a reel. Stiletto heels weren’t at all suitable for the pas-de-bas, 1-2-3 hop and a birl. At a table in the corner, aged aunts, their abstemious orange juice spiked with unknowing, tasteless vodka by impudent loons, sang “Daisy, Daisy, Give Me You Answer, Do ” and “The Northern Lights of Old Aberdeen.”
The crystal ball suspended from the ceiling spangled the dancers as they circled the floor in the Last Waltz. Nobody wanted to go home.
Where were the Bride and Groom? Nobody knew.
© Margaret A.M. Tong September 1998
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