05 Please Sir! (32 page)

‘Y’reight there, Margery,’ said Betty. ‘Ah remember it well.’

‘Come on, Wendell,’ said Margery, grabbing her husband’s hand. ‘Let’s get in for an end-pew, then we’ll ’ave a good view – ah don’t want t’miss owt,’ and they joined the procession that was moving slowly into the church.

Outside the vicarage gates, Stan Coe pulled up in his filthy Land-Rover and glowered at the gathering. Mrs Pauline Paxton, mother of eight-year-old Molly, bristled. ‘An’ you can sling yer ’ook,’ she said. Pauline was a former Yorkshire girls’ discus champion, the current captain of the Ragley tug-of-war team and renowned for her ability to geld pigs. She was not someone you would want to cross. Stan nodded nervously and roared off to the Pig and Ferret to calm his nerves.

Gradually, the church filled and I glanced across at Diane Henderson, immaculate in a two-piece cream silk suit. She was sitting with a few members of her extended family and she gave me a gentle wave and a reassuring smile.

A few pews behind me, the modest and undemonstrative Anne Grainger was undoubtedly the real surprise. Her dramatic royal-blue and white, wide-brimmed hat would have graced Ladies’ Day at Ascot and she blew me a kiss. Behind her sat Ruby, who had treated herself to a perm at Diane’s Hair Salon and was wearing a straw hat covered in primroses. She was already dabbing away a few tears. ‘Good luck, Mr Sheffield,’ she said, waving her handkerchief. Next to her was daughter Racquel, now seven months pregnant and looking happy and flushed. On the end of the pew, Ronnie sat stiffly in his best suit, feeling out of sorts. He was missing the reassuring comfort of his bobble hat.

* * *

It was the moment the ladies of Ragley and Morton had been waiting for. The major’s chauffeur opened the door of the gleaming Bentley and John Henderson stepped out and turned to take his daughter’s hand. When Beth appeared there was a spontaneous cheer from the children and a ripple of applause from the ladies gathered at the church gate.

‘What a beautiful dress,’ said Shirley the cook to Doreen Critchley. ‘Ah knew she’d pick a good ’un.’

‘Must ’ave cost a fortune,’ retorted the practical Doreen.

Beth looked beautiful. The dress had a white fitted bodice with a scooped neckline and was covered in delicate lace. The long narrow sleeves reached to her wrists and the full skirt, of a lighter material, extended at the back to a small train that fluttered behind her. The bouquet of delicate spring flowers was perfect.

It was typical Beth: no flamboyance … simply understated beauty.

Laura and Jo had pinned a beautiful circlet of flowers to her ringlets of honey-blonde hair and the full-length veil lifted in the slight breeze as she walked on the gravel path to the church. Behind Beth came Laura and Jo, both slim and stunning in matching long lilac dresses, bare shoulders and each capped with a headband of tiny flowers.

‘She’s marrying our teacher,’ shouted five-year-old Jemima Poole from the crowd.

Four-year-old Katie Icklethwaite looked puzzled. ‘Will she teach me when I start school, Jemima?’

‘Who?’ replied Jemima.

‘That lady –
Mrs
Teacher,’ said Katie.

‘No,’ said Jemima. ‘She teaches somewhere else. You’ll ’ave my teacher, Mrs Grainger. She’s old but she’s nice.’

‘She’s got a pretty dress,’ said Katie thoughtfully, ‘jus’ like my Barbie.’

A hushed whisper amongst the congregation and a turning of heads indicated the arrival of the bride. The bridal party had gathered in the porch and Laura and Jo were making final adjustments to Beth’s dress.

Dan gave me a nudge and we stepped out from our pew and took our places in front of Joseph. Vera gave a signal to Elsie at the organ and the first bars of the ‘Bridal March’ echoed round the ancient walls. As I looked around I saw Diane Henderson wiping away a tear as she glanced back at John leading her elder daughter down the aisle. It was an image I shall never forget: John looking so straight and proud with Beth on his arm and, in a halo of sunlight from the open church door, she looking more beautiful than I could imagine.

Suddenly Beth was beside me and she looked up and smiled. All sound around me seemed hushed, and in that moment we were in our private cocoon, just the two of us. In a spinning world we had found a moment of stillness and there was a special intimacy in our sheltered space.

I had come to realize that love was no easy journey; rather, a pathway of ice and fire. My relationship with Beth had been steadfast but never safe. In the past few years my emotions had been heated and hammered in the forge of life but now the first journey had ended and a new one was beginning. As I stood beside her there was only a gentle peace in my heart and time for cool reflection.

The service seemed to pass by in a dream. We sang two of our favourite hymns, ‘Love divine, all loves excelling’ and ‘Lord of all hopefulness’.

Joseph led us calmly through each stage of the service with practised ease and we gave our responses with confidence. ‘Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?’ he asked, ‘… and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’

‘I will,’ I said.

I had chosen my destiny and I was bound to its promise.

When we emerged once again into the sunshine the world around us exploded with cheers and confetti.

Beth squeezed my hand as we gathered on the lawn for the official photographs. ‘Wasn’t that wonderful, Jack?’ she said.

‘I love you, Beth,’ I whispered in her ear.

The harassed photographer was going through his ritual of interchanging parents for the family photographs. John Henderson stood next to my mother and she held his arm as if she never wanted the moment to end. Predictably Aunt May insisted on clutching his other arm and there he was, sandwiched between two smiling ladies of Scotland. Diane had Dan, the Adonis of the police force, beside her and didn’t complain when the giant policeman slipped his arm round her waist. It was a time of joy and tears in equal measure and it seemed as if the whole village had turned out to share our day.

‘Jolly fine wedding, what?’ said a familiar voice. The major was at my elbow and he was pointing towards a gleaming Bentley and a smartly dressed chauffeur. ‘Your carriage awaits … Mr and Mrs Sheffield.’

When we pulled up outside the Dean Court Hotel in the shadow of York Minster we were welcomed by the maître d’hôtel. As always, the service was impeccable, the table settings were perfect and the champagne flowed.

It was a happy and relaxed occasion for family and close friends and everyone applauded the speeches and the cutting of the cake. Again, it seemed to pass by in a blur, for I had eyes only for Beth and longed to be alone with her.

At last the opportunity came when our chauffeur-driven Bentley returned us to Bilbo Cottage and I carried Beth over the threshold. Above our heads, a rook cawed in the high elms and a mouse scuttled in the moss-covered eaves. In the cool of the hallway I kissed my bride and then we walked into the lounge and collapsed on the sofa in each other’s arms.

It was an hour later when Beth said, ‘Jack, I haven’t packed yet.’

‘Do it tomorrow morning,’ I said, reluctant to move.

‘Have
you
packed?’ she asked a little sleepily.

‘No, but I’ve got all the rail and theatre tickets.’

As we only had a one-week spring bank holiday we had decided to go to London the following morning for a short theatre break. Beth had planned it to begin on Monday with
The Pirates of Penzance
featuring Tim Curry, George Cole and Pamela Stephenson. Then on Tuesday it was Agatha Christie’s
The Mousetrap
, now in its thirtieth year, followed by a real treat on Wednesday: namely, Glenda Jackson in a new comedy,
Summit Conference
.

We were due to return to Bilbo Cottage on Thursday and miss the historic occasion on the bank holiday Monday when one hundred thousand pilgrims were due to gather on the Knavesmire to welcome the visit of the Pope. However, thoughts of papal helicopters and popemobiles were far from my mind. I had just married the woman I loved.

When we arrived in the village hall, Clint Ramsbottom was playing the new hit record ‘House of Fun’ by Madness, and Old Tommy Piercy was complaining that we ought to have some
proper
music.

It was a night to remember. It seemed as though everyone we knew had turned up and Don and Big Dave returned to The Royal Oak for a second barrel. As dusk finally arrived and coloured lights flickered around the hall, Beth went off to dance with her father. Suddenly, Laura was in front of me. She stood close and gently stroked out the creases in my jacket. I could smell her perfume, Opium by Yves Saint Laurent.

‘Congratulations, Jack,’ she said, smoothing the wide lapels. ‘Great suit, by the way.’ Then she looked at me with questioning green eyes. ‘Make my sister happy, Jack,’ she said.

‘I shall, Laura,’ I said.

Clint Ramsbottom put on Abba’s ‘The Winner Takes It All’ and Laura smiled wistfully. Her long hair was hanging free over her bare, suntanned shoulders and, as always, she looked lovely. ‘One last dance?’ she said quietly and took my hand.

After the dance, Beth arrived and gave her sister a hug. ‘Thanks, Laura,’ she said, ‘… for everything.’

‘Have a good life, big sister,’ said Laura. ‘You have the love of a man who will never break your heart.’ Then she reached up, kissed my cheek and walked away into the crowd.

It was midnight when we made our escape and our chauffeur delivered us back to a silent Bilbo Cottage.

The road to love has many pathways and I had reached my destination. No more the ache of distance and the silence of spaces. We were together at last and her hair was on my pillow. It was the beginning of a new life and the end of a perfect day.

The children completed paintings for the children’s art display at the Annual Morton and Ragley Agricultural Show in the grounds of Morton Manor on Saturday, 26th June. The 4th-year juniors in Class 4 visited Easington Comprehensive School prior to transfer in September
.

Extract from the Ragley School Logbook: Friday,

25 June 1982

Vera held up her
Daily Telegraph
in delight. ‘Isn’t it wonderful,’ she said, ‘a son for Charles and Diana, and it says here that he weighed just over seven pounds and that he “cried lustily”.’

It was the last Friday in June, a new school day was about to begin and Vera was flushed with excitement.

‘So is he second in line to the throne?’ asked Jo.

‘Yes,’ said Vera, who had become our unofficial royal correspondent ever since Princess Diana had given birth earlier in the week.

‘Personally, I’d get rid of the lot of them,’ said Sally rather grumpily, ‘and let them survive on a teacher’s salary.’

‘Actually, I think Di is a breath of fresh air for the royal family,’ said Anne.

‘And it says here that Prince Andrew is still flying “round the clock” during operations, based on HMS
Invincible
– so
he’s
doing his bit for Queen and country,’ said Vera.

Sally picked up her register from Vera’s desk. ‘Yes, you’re probably right, Anne, and … I do like Diana,’ she said with a tired smile. ‘Sorry, Vera,’ she added as she paused in the doorway. ‘I’m not quite feeling myself today. My new diet is making me grumpy.’

‘Sally,’ Vera said, trying to change the subject, ‘I hope that you and Colin will be coming to the Manor House on Saturday evening.’

Sally smiled. ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Vera. The Summer Ball will be just the thing to cheer me up.’

The social gathering of the year was only one day away and the major had invited all the staff to attend a grand ball at his manor house on the evening of the Annual Morton and Ragley Agricultural Show. As Anne Grainger had insisted to her husband, John, when he complained he couldn’t dance and asked did he really have to go, ‘These tickets are like gold dust!’

At nine o’clock the bell rang for morning school but the fifteen children in their final year at Ragley lined up by the school gate to board William Featherstone’s Reliance bus. It was a special day for them and they were all full of anticipation at the prospect of visiting Easington Comprehensive School prior to their transfer to secondary education in September.

‘Mr Sheffield, ah’ve ‘eard they ‘ave science labs an’ woodwork an’ a big canteen an’ a trampoline like on t’Olympics,’ said Jonathan Greening as he boarded the bus. The words tumbled out. He was about to discover a new world of uniforms, examinations and adolescence and his eyes were bright with excitement.

It was morning playtime when Ruby made a surprise entrance. I hadn’t seen much of her recently as Racquel’s baby was due in a few weeks and she had been spending all her spare time sewing furiously and making a decorative christening shawl. Her twice-weekly cross-stitch class had provided the opportunity to apply the finishing touches.

‘Ah’ve finished m’shawl, Miss Evans,’ said Ruby, holding it up for all to see, ‘an’ ah’ve got some good news.’

‘Oh, well done, Ruby,’ said Vera.

‘What beautiful stitching!’ said Anne.