Once upon a time

Once upon a time ...

Musings
Sonia Kelly

Once upon a time in a charming little church at a place called Cashel in Connemara there was a fairytale wedding…
Personally, I’m not used to weddings, and by no stretch of the imagination could my own be deemed to have taken place in Fairyland. On the contrary, it was in the large church in Westport in the middle of winter, in the middle of the war, with two other people present.
What a contrast the other day when my grand-daughter and her prince were united by the shores of what could have been the Mediterranean in the most perfect weather of the year. No wonder everybody is smiling in the photographs.
Except me. It’s not because I was disenchanted by the occasion, but because I felt distinctly uneasy in my wedding outfit. Party clothes in general make me feel uneasy, so obviously I didn’t have any. Surveying the possibilities with increasing despair, I did, however, come upon a scarlet tweed cloak, which had languished in my wardrobe for the last 50 years.
I tried it on, noting that it concealed whatever might be underneath – and the die was cast. All it needed was a beret to match, because I figured that if the French First Lady could wear one (as she did) to visit the queen, something similar would surely elevate me to the upper echelons of society in Connemara. So, with great difficulty, I obtained one that didn’t actually clash with the cloak and my outfit was complete.
But the uneasy feeling started on arrival, when all the other guests were strolling about in the hot sunshine in their silken finery, whereas I would have been suitably clad for a ceremony in Siberia. I tried to avoid the cameras, which were clicking all around (unsuccessfully, it turned out). Then we were all climbing up a lot of stone steps to the church, which was a hazardous undertaking for a voluminously-cloaked VOC (Very Old Cripple).
Safely negotiated, however, we were soon all seated inside, awaiting the arrival of the bride. There was a long delay (the reason for which I discovered later), and during it I was able to scan the congregation and to note that not one single other person in the church was wearing a hat, so whether it was better to have been disgracefully unfashionable or to have had nothing on my head but the normal dismal grey fluff is still a moot point.
Anyway, during this depressing survey, it seemed that the bridal party had actually arrived at the scene too early and so continued on past the church to pass the time until all were inside. And where more suitable to do so than a nearby pub? Everything very low key and discreet… until the proprietor realised who the unexpected visitors were and – what else? – opened a bottle of champagne to drink their health.
Can there be anywhere else in the world where such a delightful incident could occur?
Were they drunk when they finally appeared? If so, nobody noticed and the nuptials proceeded in orderly fashion, accompanied at intervals by some magical flute-playing and brought to a memorable conclusion by a brother of the bride singing us all back outside into the sunshine (where I quickly removed my beret).
The celebrations continued later at the Wyatt Hotel and, from my limited experience of such gatherings, I can say that everything was extremely well organised – really good food, no fuss and service that was second to none.
I’m sure the couple will live happily ever after, with such an auspicious start – forgetting, if possible, the inappropriate image of a maverick grandparent.