Short Story 3 - "What sort of a day have you two had?" (1970)

 

“What sort of a day have you two had?”

(Written by Warren Maloney – January 2017)

 We made two serious mistakes on our Wedding Day.

 The first mistake was neglecting to eat until we sat down for our dinner for two that night. Of course, not eating would have not been a major problem, I suppose, if we hadn’t encouraged the celebratory drinking during that day of high adrenalin and happiness.

 We had always wanted to be totally in control, totally responsible for our Wedding Day. Yes, we were young – 21 and 20 years! Yes, we had no wide experience of life, nor much money, nor a willingness to compromise.

 Indeed, the lack of compromise was reflected in our choice of celebrant.

  In March 1970, we had wanted to be married at Newman Chapel[1] by one of our University friends, the Franciscan priest, Fr. John Hanrahan. But this was the time of the reactionary Papal Encyclical on the Pill (a Mortal sin if you chose this evil form of contraception). The Pope spoke and the young priests left the Church. John tossed aside his brown robes and recommended a mate. That mate and the one after him left over April and May. Finally, we found an obliging Jesuit who was not only comfortable to marry us but even allowed us to choose whichever vows we wanted. He was our first port of call on our Wedding Day – a handshake, an assurance that he would still be a priest at 6pm that night, and the handing over of some paraphrased Jewish vows that left out any mention of children or an eternity of obedience.

Newman Chapel

 Karen and I bought and arranged some flowers for the altar (simple white roses) and then raced off for a celebratory drink with my work-mates. This turned into a third bottle of champers before we used the excuse of wedding gear for my best man to make our exit.

 Our exit actually involved meeting our best man, Deane Wells, outside Myer Melbourne and a rush up the escalators to the Men’s Department. Deane had arrived the day before from Sydney and proudly announced he had a black dinner suit for the wedding. This was to plan. The only hitch was “I don’t have a shirt.” “OK”, I replied, “we will buy you one. What sort do you want?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Deane replied: “I’ve always wanted one of those frilly cowboy ones.”

 So, of course, we paused other priorities on the Wedding Day for the cowboy shirt search. As both Karen and I had worked part-time at Myer Melbourne, we used smiles and connections – a frilly cowboy shirt was found, purchased, and handed to Deane for his role that evening.

 Time was more than slightly escaping from our grasp by this stage so Deane and I drove Karen to the hairdresser for her 3pm appointment. She left us with the reminder that I was to take her suitcase of clothes from her bedroom to the Southern Cross Hotel where we were staying that night.

 Not a problem – dropped Deane at my place, went to Karen’s parents’ home, dosey-doed around the excitement of her sisters and her mother and went to her bedroom for the suitcase. There I was met by the commanding presence of the maternal grandmother, Mother Doll, who was moving into Karen’s bedroom, “as she won’t be needing it”.  I was very pleased that within fifteen minutes, I had negotiated all the obstacles of the bride’s house with suitcase in hand, even having the common sense to check Karen’s bedside table and take the items she had forgotten to pack.                                                                                                                                                                                                Deane Wells

I do remember Mother Doll saying some sage words about the emotions of brides and what to expect. I remember the focused tone of her words but I chose to not dwell on the advice. Too much to do in driving back into town, delivering the suitcase and then back to my parent’s house for a shower, the change into my outfit (a pink shirt, not a cowboy one for me), calm all the nerves and then off in the Volkswagen with Deane to greet the guests at the Chapel door.

 Karen and I had chosen a Friday evening so that, in our minds, our friends could wander across from Melbourne University Campus to join in our moment. There was to be no Wedding Reception as we wanted the focus on our marriage ceremony and we wanted to break away from so many traditions.

 A Friday evening at the beginning of a Melbourne winter nearly always brings rain into play and by the time Deane and I stood waiting outside the Chapel door light quality-of-mercy rain was dropping around the entrance.  This was a blessing I knew because both Karen and I had enjoyed rain so much during our courting days – running in the rain to and from lectures or sitting in the car whilst the heavens opened and isolated us from the outside world, we saw rain as our positive.

 So, all good I thought as I caught my breath and waited for our event to happen. Yes, I did check that Deane had the wedding rings and, after a bear hug of each other and sufficient friends and family greeted, we walked to the altar rail to await Karen’s arrival.

 And so, to the second mistake!

 Karen had been experiencing some unexpected issues post-hairdressing. She had arrived home just before 5pm to change into her wedding gown to find that her grandmother had already moved into her bedroom and so any concept of privacy for the Bride was a foolish wish. Her mother, her sibling sisters and her grandmother paced outside the bedroom whilst she attempted to dress – to put on the beautiful borrowed wedding gown which had been cut from a hand-me-down lace table cloth[2]. It was to be a stunning choice.

Karen & Percy at the Church door

 

Karen had one other “minor” problem. It seems that those extras that I thought she had mistakenly left in her bedside drawer, and which I had dutifully packed and taken to the Southern Cross hotel, were in fact her slip and underwear to be worn with the lace wedding dress.

 Karen’s mother, Viva, had warned her that “your Father won’t walk you down the aisle in a topless, backless dress”. Karen had no doubt about her father and rightly reckoned he would adapt. Well, with the loss of fundamentals, both her father and Karen just improvised and adapted and she went off to the Chapel on his arm.

 Percy was a very proud father.

 Karen was truly a very beautiful bride who had captured in her hairstyle, her dress, her presence on that June Friday all that was rich in the hope and destiny of youth. Together we were doing it the way we wanted and coping with the challenges as they arose.

 There were one or two challenges during the ceremony, such as rival uncles (Rex and Bert), on their own initiatives, attempting to record the occasion with tape equipment that varied from malfunction to bewilderment. Mutterings could be heard from our altar kneeling positions – “Where’s the manual, Joan?” “Probably at home!” “Well …… No, I’ll work it out” and so it went as we chose to ignore.

 Our focus was on the friends and family who were there for us and who largely went with the flow, knowing that it was the Ceremony that was important to us and that there was to be no Celebration afterwards. We wanted it to be focused and simple. It was our pleasure to reach out to each of them, hug and share our smiles and the brief conversations.

John Hogan + Maureen Wickett + Warren & Karen

 No doubt there were scores of stories that we will never know relating to how people got there or what they did afterwards.

 Neither lot of parents could really cope with NO RECEPTION. We had removed that decision from them primarily because both families were going through difficult financial times and because we knew that we would lose the flavour of our Wedding Day once the Reception became important.

 We did agree to go back to each parents’ houses for a brief time before we disappeared into the night. So, we spoke to as many as we could at the Chapel then climbed into our Volkswagen Beetle and headed off to the impromptu parents’ drinkies at West Brunswick and West Coburg.

Karen had a strong fear that her mother, Viva, might try to use her aunt’s wedding cake layer[3] as a surprise wedding cake. To circumvent this, Karen had earlier that day found the cake and hidden it in the clothes dryer, hoping that Viva would not need to use the dryer that day. The plan worked and we could have a glass of bubbles with the Saundry folk before heading to the Maloney folk.

 At West Coburg, the drinking was in full swing and despite some photo opportunities, and a technical discussion with Uncle Bert about a problem with his Super8 movie camera, we slipped out the front door without disturbing the impromptu party rhythm.

 Now, it was just us! 

A dinner for 2 was planned in the Mayfair Room of the Southern Cross Hotel then upstairs to our room. Still in our wedding clothes and with just a tad of confetti inside the car and on us, we drove to the front entrance of the hotel. We thought this was so glamourous and sophisticated. Perhaps to the Doorman we were just another young, silly couple but …………….

 We strode through the Hotel and into its main dining area, the fine dining of the Mayfair Room. Of course, conversations stopped as the obvious very newly-weds were seated and fussed over. We no doubt remained a focus as I ordered a bottle of Champers and we toasted each other, giggling a lot, and aching to de-brief on the day’s experiences. The Champers slid down well and a second bottle arrived with our oysters. No expense was to be spared on the dinner or night even though we would probably run out of any savings over the next week before we returned to work.

 We had ordered Lobster Thermidor and Duck a l ’Orange for mains and were grinning contagiously as those mains were placed before us, encased by large shining silver covers. It was just at that moment that our day caught up with us. Karen leaned forward and whispered “I think that my head is starting to spin. Let’s go to the room.” She was turning white in complexion before me as we both realised it had been no food and much drinking that day and we were a little out of balance.

 With as much casualness as I could muster, I signalled to the maître d’ and asked him to “take care of the food. We are off to our room.”

 The whole restaurant fell silent, a smiling silence, as they watched the newly-weds abandon their table, their delivered main courses (still under the silver lids), and step out towards the hotel lifts. With the aplomb that was characteristic of the Southern Cross, before we reached the lift, we had an attendant join us and offer to take us to our room. He seemed to know what buttons to push and how we could have the lift without others.

 The three of us stood quietly in the lift as it began its ascent but within a floor or two our attendant, bearing the name plate of Samuel, with straight face said, “Now what sort of day have you two had?” Both of us just looked at his un-telling eyes and smiled. It was a smile knowing that we were out of our depth in the sophistications usually displayed at one of Melbourne’s finest. But it was also a smile that said: “Well we are here. We have made it; and the journeys ahead can never be scarier that walking out of that restaurant.”

 Samuel showed us our room and quickly left. It was vast. Neither of us had ever stayed in such a place. Indeed, Karen had lived to age 20 years without ever having a bedroom to herself. There was always a younger one to look after; and here we were – in a luxury never before seen – including the novelty of a bed so large and so low[4] that it would not fit into the bedroom of the flat that was to become our home the next day.

 Some sleep, lots of talking, lots of just being together as the hours of the night seemed to rapidly flow by.

 It was about 5am when the hunger pains came and I realised that I had not put a breakfast menu on the room door – we were just not organised or experienced. So, we pored over the menu and I gained enough courage to ring room service and place our requests. There was just a piece of information that I hadn’t given “them” and “they” being professionals in an International Hotel took the decision that seemed most appropriate.

 So less than thirty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Startled, I threw on the dressing gown from the cupboard and with a puzzled concerned look went to see who was knocking at that hour.

 Upon opening, I was greeted by a “Good Morning Sir. Trust you slept well!” and was gently moved aside as a large mobile table stacked with crockery, cutlery and covered dishes was wheeled past me into the room. Karen moved quickly and drew the sheet completely over her head. She was not going to be seen by anyone.

 Meanwhile, Kevin, our room attendant, was unravelling and unwrapping with the aplomb of the best waiter. He also gently opened the drapes before uncorking the Champagne (it seemed a good idea on the phone) and offering a glass for sampling.

 I was in nonplus land by miles. and in my confusion, I ignored the sheeted body in the bed and said: “Kevin, would you like to join me in a toast to sunrise.” Kevin without hesitation part filled a second glass and both of us stood before the window raising our glasses of bubbly to the faintest of dawns.

 Kevin quietly and quickly left and pleased with my sophisticated self I lifted the champers bottle turning to the sheeted one with the question “Ready for some bubbles, Angel!”

 And so, the first day of married life began for us with a forceful discussion about my stupidity and other characteristics (including a rehash on the packed underwear) and continued through breakfast, hotel exiting, and crossing the threshold of our flat door.

 There are some parts of a Wedding Day you just might do differently. There are other parts that you would never change; and that’s the best memories!

48 years later

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[1] Newman Chapel is attached to Newman College at Melbourne university. It’s official and rarely used title is the “Church of the Holy Spirit”

[2] The gown had been made by the mother of our Matron-of-honour, Teresa Gauci, who had worn it for her wedding a month earlier.

[3] Viva’s sister, Jennifer, had been married the year before and had given a layer of her traditional cake to Viva who had not been able to get to the wedding.

[4] They had placed two Queen sized double beds together and lowered the base legs so that it gave an appearance of being on the floor – 1970, the Age of Aquarius.