The Year of Many Ceremonies: Part Deux

The nights are drawing in and we've had to ditch the flip-flops, even if we're not quite reaching for the winter coats just yet. And with the turning of the seasons, so ends the wedding season for 2013, at least as far as this seasoned guest goes (because the wedding fair I'm going to for Naomi in two weeks' time obviously doesn't count...).

Since I last wrote to you, four more stunning couples have got hitched, tied the knot, said their vows and generally spent a day as the centre of attention poncing about in very attractive outfits.

First up (read: fourth up) in the glorious Peak District were Jo and Mike. This weekend was a little different from the others for a number of reasons - it was effectively a camping holiday in Edale with a wedding thrown in; the wedding was at 4 o'clock on the Saturday, giving us a lovely long morning walking (and paddling!) by the Ladybower reservoir; and it was the first wedding at which someone actually raised an objection to the service...but luckily, it was just a sheep who was feeling a bit cranky (and comedic) in a field near the venue. Most interestingly for a British wedding, there was a strong feminist flavour to the day - the bride and groom entered together, gave a speech together, both the mothers got their turn to talk and the bridesmaids added their heartfelt two penn'orth to the best man's traditionally saucy ode to the groom. And the fun was equally shared out across the event too, with some of the best shapes I have ever seen being pulled without compunction on the dance floor later - and not just to Gangnam Style! With a toddle up to Hollins Cross the next day, my feet headed back to York in a somewhat parlous state, but my smile wasn't going anywhere.

From walking-booted at midday...

To suited-and-booted by 3pm! And yes,
I got ready in that tent.
Photos by Harry Cross

Just a couple of weeks later, this intrepid wedding connoisseuse (I think I can upgrade myself here!) was off down to the Surrey/Hampshire/Sussex border for the wedding of Emma and Gaz. Whilst getting into my finery between trains at London Waterloo might have been a lowlight (I had to travel down from York the day of the wedding itself...), the rest of the day was positively fairytale.

That's happiness. Love...and cake.
Photo by Matt Moore

The bride's awesome organisation made the whole day seamless, and her homemade decorations were stunning - almost as stunning as the lady herself. Not a single element went unconsidered - the fancy dress box went down particularly well - and as the sun went down, we all retired to our tents thoroughly satisfied.

OK...the fancy dress box went down particularly well with ME.
Photo by Emma Hawkins

Unfortunately, as in the first half of the season, there was one wedding which I couldn't make, but Catherine and Daniel had an absolute stunner of a day here in York - the culmination of a helluva lot of work behind the scenes (aren't all weddings, and indeed marriages?) but which paid off in style. But if you want to read about it from the bride herself, Catherine's also written down her musings on marriage here.

Joyful dancing times, in a dress that Catherine's mother made!
Photo by Claire Laing

And finally, my big day arrived at Fliss and Ant's wedding on 4th October back in Brum. Sorry, did I say my big day?! Well, this was my turn at being part of the wedding party, privileged as I was to be asked by Fliss to be her bridesmaid.

Coming soon: Return of the Gigantic Bridesmaid
(it's all in the perspective, of course)
Photo by Phoebe Pyke

And an easier job there couldn't have been - Fliss was the epitome of brideliness, taking it all calmly in her stride, greeting everyone there at the day with grace, and generally being the most low-demand bride there's ever been.

She also took a face-full of confetti pretty well!
Photo by Jayne Cole

Unsurprisingly, everyone else also felt wonderfully at ease, and the day went hitchless (apart from the getting hitched) and will live long in the memories of everyone who was there.

Beautiful moments abounded, like this impromptu daddy-daughter dance
Photo by Lucy Glenn

So there we have it. Eight fabulous couples with sixteen fabulous lives ahead of them. And just in case you think I'm a teal-deer:

Most wedding-magazine-worthy aesthetic: The Nicholls
Most personal touches (and crazy guests): The Walshes
Most exotic location: The Andersson-Bianchis
Most perfect method of transport from church to venue: The Dickenses
Best speeches: The Stotts (plus wedding party!)
Most excellent little touches: The Thurtles
Best dress effort: The Laings
Best bridesmaids (amongst other things...) The Evanses

Congratulations to all and a million, million best wishes for the rest of your lives together - I hope I will be around to celebrate your anniversaries with you all!

However, the last words, as in the previous post, belong to my great uncle, Herbert Taylor Railton. We laid him to rest with his lovely wife Doreen on 21st August in Hawarden cemetery, and here's the eulogy which I had the privilege to deliver that day:

One of my earliest memories of my Great Uncle Herbert is of him trying to teach my mum how to grow fuchsia bushes. He never did manage to pass his green-fingered-ness on to her – which would have been some feat, if we’re fair to him – but there is in our garden a very hardy fuchsia bush which he gave to my mum, which loses its flowers every winter and blooms again in the springtime.

In a lot of ways, Herbert was a very hardy fuchsia bush himself. Life wasn’t necessarily always easy, but he was always ready with a bright smile and a quick quip to cheer anyone up, just like those bright blooms do. Diane tells us that she once took him to Tesco in Broughton, where she noticed the bilingual signage. Given that uncle Herbert has lived in Wales for years (ever since they moved the border!) she asked him whether he had picked up any Welsh. He replied “No, I leave them on the floor.” He would mercilessly tease his younger sisters, particularly my Nanna, and would cheat like you wouldn’t believe at Christmas party games, most notably blatantly holding the Jenga tower with one hand whilst taking his turn with the other. He was always readily forgiven, however, because who could stay angry when he smiled at you in that shy, slightly lopsided way?

One story that would always raise a laugh came from his childhood. My Nanna informs me that there was a comic strip in the Liverpool newspapers about a mischievous little boy named Twinkie. I don’t know what Herbert did to deserve this, but he was nicknamed Twinkie after this cartoon, and everyone called him ‘Twinkie Railton’ to the point that he didn’t realise his name was actually Herbert until he was about 12. He always said that he was terribly disappointed about this…

He was a very busy and independent person, much like the hardy fuchsia – he enjoyed driving and did so until very recently, and he was a keen and successful crown green bowler. He wasn’t at all showy or demonstrative (unlike those gaudy fuchsia blooms) – but I remember him proudly showing us a picture of himself from the Chester papers in full flow in a bowls match. As you would expect, this was not done to show off his bowling prowess – it was meant to show us that the floppy summer hat that he’d worn to that day’s barbecue was, in fact, older than me.

Stylish headgear was something of a theme with Uncle Herbert – he would always wear a smart flat cap (Kangol no less, very fashionable) to top off the rest of his unerringly smart attire, and he was always first on with the Christmas cracker crowns too. My dad always described Herbert as a true gentleman and he both dressed for and acted this role effortlessly. He could converse on a huge range of topics, though he was most knowledgeable about aeroplanes and aeronautics, and would always speak in a very gentle voice with a distinctive Liverpool accent – like the rest of his family, his roots in Liverpool never left him.

Being the age I am, I only ever knew Uncle Herbert in the autumn of his life – a fabulous long, cool autumn in glorious Technicolor filled with moments like the few I have shared with you today. His winter came on fast, and he has now left us, but I am sure, like the fuchsia in our garden, he will bloom and is already blooming again with Doreen in a much better place than the one he has left.

God bless, Uncle Herbert, and sleep well.

Fuchsias. Photo from fanpop.com