This weeks topic prompt for a writing group I attend on a bi-weekly basis was ‘ceremony’. A suggestion leading me to write/read out the following tongue-in-cheek narrative:-
Ceremony – by Gary Strachan
Today, with our thoughts on ceremonies, I’ve decided to revisit the day 35 years ago when I walked down the aisle of a County Durham church, in the parish of Birtley.
On that sunny September morn, the Best Man (my brother Ian) and I arrived slightly late at the church. Our tardiness the result of our kid’s watch still being set to British Summer Time, instead of local Birtley Summer Time… The northeast town idiosyncratically employing a time zone 10 minutes ahead of the rest of the UK.
Mercifully, though, our poor punctuality hadn’t resulted in my bride-to-be beating us to the church.
Arriving ten minutes later than intended, after parking the car, Ian and I proceeded at swifter than normal pace up a gravel path towards the wooden entrance doors of Birtley’s St John’s church.
Adorning light grey top hat and tails, we bypassed weathered, almost gravity defying, gravestones. The stone edifices tilting towards us as if bowing in reverence.
As we neared the entrance, we passed a group of larks perched on metal fencing either side of the path. The group appearing to afford us a guard of honour.
While passing these deferential avians, I am sure I heard one of them proffer “I’ll give it six months!”
Once inside the church, my pre-service apprehension wasn’t helped by the organist playing the stirring but macabre musical score from The Omen movie.
Edging closer to the vicar, this angst rising further upon witnessing an ex-girlfriend holding aloft a ‘Kill the Heretic’ placard.
Nearer the front of the church, I caught sight of my mother-in-law to be. I gave her a disingenuous smile; she growled back, and it suddenly dawned on me why The Omen score was being played.
The vicar was an eccentric man who, due to his infatuation with the musical Starlight Express, wore roller-skates during services. A quirkiness which seemed to unsettle some of the congregation.
Personally, though, I was unfazed by this eccentricity… I was just relieved it wasn’t The Lion King musical he was obsessed with.
Looking down the aisle toward the altar, I witnessed the clergyman fighting valiantly to keep his balance. A consequence of his skates appearing to have taken on a life of their own, along with his habit of calming pre-ceremony nerves with a large glass of communion wine.
The fact our Ian was procrastinating by nattering with assembled guests also seemed to irritate the vicar…….. However, this wasn’t a surprise, because he was doing my flaming head in as well!
My brother’s soundbites included inappropriately asking a female member of the congregation “Do you know the difference between a man’s appendage and a chicken leg? ….. If not, do you want to come on a picnic?!”
The women laughed nervously at Ian’s joke. The vicar, though, didn’t seem impressed at his wife being subjected to such an unchurch like gag.
When we finally reached the church front, I apologised to the clergyman for our tardiness. He smiled wryly, replying “No worries… Oh, and by the way, have you ever seen Starlight Express?” I gave a nervous laugh and shook my head before returning to the groom’s main task on these occasions of perspiring uncontrollably.
My brother, assuming Starlight Express was an astrological newspaper idiotically responded “No, I’ve never read it your Majesty.”
When the guests were finally settled on their pews, the organist struck up a rousing rendition of ‘Here comes the bride’. At this I turned my head to look back down the aisle.
My view a veiled shadow of white sweeping majestically down the aisle towards me. This celestial view causing my heart to skip a beat and raising a proud smile on my still perspiring visage.
However, this verve only lasted fleetingly; as when this vision got to within a few yards of me it became clear it wasn’t my wife to be. Moreover, a neighbouring beekeeper in full regalia.
The fella had dashed in to advise the vicar that my wife to be, Karen, maybe a little late due to his bees attacking her dad at the church gates. This calamity, we learned later, a consequence of him foolishly wearing his favourite honeycomb scented aftershave.
Several minutes of confusion and uncertainty followed… However, after a stiff whisky and with stings attended to, Karen’s dad was ready to proceed. Subsequently, the service commenced.
Following the bee attack, the service went off without incident…. Although we were perplexed the hymns we’d chosen for our betrothal had been mysteriously replaced by a medley of songs from Starlight Express.
As the service came towards its conclusion, Karen and I were pronounced man and wife. After signing the register, we proceeded back down the aisle to stand for the traditional photos outside. The wedding party striving manfully to avoid being mowed down by the out-of-control clergyman on skates.
Outside the photographer asked Karen and I if there was a nearby picturesque location where we’d like our official wedding photos taken.
However, when your wedding is in Birtley, where pleasing views are of a premium, answering an inquiry like that is a bit of a conundrum.
After much debate our photographic memories of the day were captured outside of the Komatsu crane construction factory. The venue beating Bimbi’s chip shop and Birtley swimming baths after a game of paper, scissors and stone between the bridesmaids.
Waiting to be congregated for the group photos, our Ian amused himself by throwing his top hat in the air to try land it on his head. I watched on intrigued by this game; wishing I could join him instead of making small talk about forklifts with employees from the Komatsu factory.
Once the photographs were finally completed, we headed towards the cars for an onward journey to the Red Lion Hotel, Chester-Le-Street, for the reception.
Prior to jumping into the wedding car to join Karen, I loudly announced to my brother, while he climbed into another car, “I’ll see you at the Red Lion, Ian!” He smiled back at me, winked and shouted back “No you won’t!…. I’m off on a picnic!”
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