VIEWPOINT
Our visiting columnist remembers his winter wedding 55 years ago, his Paris honeymoon and a more recent stormy ferry trip to Rouen
At this time of year, I am beginning to fall out of love with the winter. In the autumn I try to convince myself that the cold, sharp days to come will make up for the gloomy bits. On our wonderful January wedding day, 55 years ago, the sun shone from a cloudless, blue sky.
My mother taught me that behind the scenes at a good wedding there is usually a hidden, unspoken drama. We would sometimes compete to see which of us could uncover the story; but often there was simply no contest. People could not resist telling secrets to my mother.
Our wedding was no exception. There were two gentlemen there who knew a great deal about each other but had hardly ever spoken. They sat far apart in the village church at Goosnargh near Preston. They were my father and stepfather, who both played their parts. My father was photographed with my mother when Mary and I signed the register. My stepfather entertained the children from the local primary school run by my in-laws. The young people squealed with delight when he threw them coins. He did not speak to my father, but they acknowledged each other with smiles. It was a great day.
Our honeymoon took us for only two nights to Paris, but was it so good partly because we remember an element of romantic hardship, too: a basic hotel and no Channel Tunnel? For our 55th wedding anniversary, on our way to a marvellous stay in Rouen, we skipped Eurostar and took the ferry to Dieppe, just as we had all those years ago. But the weather was not so kind. No blue sky, with high winds and the cloudy after-effects of one of those storms which are now given strange names. We got a hint of hardship, but it was hardly romantic.
Soon after the ferry had smoothly left its berth in Newhaven, it became obvious that even with brilliant, modern stabilisers we could not expect to walk calmly about the wind-battered ship. The canteen-like food did not compare with the raie au beurre noir of yesteryear. Four hours later, when we arrived in Diepp
