A Very Special Day
Majorie had no intention of celebrating her Golden Wedding. They were too old for such nonsense. She couldn't remember the last time George kissed her. By mutual consent they weren't buying each other presents but sharing the cost of a bigger pump for the garden pool.
She was alarmed when she overheard her daughter in law suggesting a surprise party. George was against any kind of party as he said their Golden Wedding was no business of anyone but themselves
Any kind of party could not rival the one they had held for their Ruby Wedding. Marjorie had enjoyed that, not so much the party itself but the preparations leading up to it. She had always enjoyed cooking and it was such an opportunity to display her talent. For months she had collected magazine recipes. Everything was home made: the cake, trifle, pork pie, bread rolls, vol-au-vents pickles and dips.
George had re-planned the garden, removing a flower border to a circle in the centre and extending the lawn. He had done wonders with the garden since they had moved to the bungalow. Fate had conspired with them. The sun shone all day on guests at the tables arranged on the lawn. In the evening the fairy lights in the trees lit the scene for dancing. Oh it had been a day to remember. So different from their first anniversary when all they had was a concrete back yard.
Now the years had taken their toll she no longer had the energy for all the cooking and any party would only serve to highlight the empty places. So many friends had gone since that day. Couples who had not lived to see their own fiftieth anniversary.
Although she had no intention of giving a party she did make a cake. Just in case she changed her mind and any way George loved fruit cake - rich dark and moist. Most people had plain cakes now. Everything had changed. Even the foods her generation had enjoyed were regarded with suspicion by the young ones.
A month before the day her daughter in law suggested she would do all the cooking and arrangements, "It is a very special day Mum, you can't not celebrate it."
It was nice the way her daughter-in-law called her Mum. Majorie had always avoided calling her own Mother-in-law anything. Even after the children arrived although she referred to her as Nanna she would not have dared address her as Mum.
Majorie almost gave way but resisted when she thought of the guest list. There were too many people who would expect to be invited and too few she would like to invite. She made a decision, "Thanks Sarah but I think I'd rather go out for a meal- just the family. I'll arrange it." She felt a bit mean for she knew her daughter-in-law loved giving parties, enjoyed all the preparation just as she had once done. On the other hand Sarah worked and she had two young children moreover she hadn't been at all well lately. It just wouldn't be fair to her.
The days flew by and it was a sudden jolt, as she checked the calendar for her next hospital appointment, to realise there was only a week to go to the anniversary date and she had not arranged anything. She took up the yellow pages and one by one phoned the local restaurants. They were all fully booked. June was still the month for weddings.
There was no help for it she made more calls. This time to her sons and daughter confessing she had let them down.
'Not to worry,' Sarah said. 'I'll do dinner for us all Saturday night after you get back? 'Get back? We aren't going anywhere. Oh I know I said we might go away but we haven't arranged anything.'
'You haven't but we have. You are going to London for your anniversary on Friday. It's all arranged, theatre and an overnight stay. You said you didn't want any presents so we have clubbed together for this.'
It was very nice of them but Majorie was not ecstatic at the thought. George didn't like London and she didn't care for musicals which seemed to be all the London theatres produced. She tried to enthuse as she enquired about the bus time and the show. They were mysterious about the arrangements saying everything would be explained when they delivered the theatre tickets.
Friday came. They were driven to the station by their son-in-law. 'Oh by the way,' he said. 'A car has been arranged to pick you up at Paddington and drive your hotel.' He handed them a large brown envelope. She gave it to George to open on the train. The contents took Majorie's breath away. Two tickets to the Globe theatre, return train tickets and a Ritz Hotel brochure. 'This is where you are staying,' her daughter had written. 'And there is a dinner dance.'
Majorie had longed to see the Globe but had not thought she would and the Ritz! It was beyond belief.
They giggled as they left the train and saw a chauffeur holding up a card bearing their name. George squeezed her hand.
The hotel was breath taking. Marjorie felt like royalty as doors were held open and they entered the rotunda lobby. Their cases were whisked away. While they waited for the key to their room they walked down the long gallery with its magnificent chandeliers.
Marjorie looked wistfully at the Palm Court. She had hoped to recognise some famous person but it seemed to be mainly business men with their mobiles sitting drinking coffee. It would have been nice to have a cup of tea but not at £24 per person. Anyway there would no doubt be a teasmaid in the bedroom.
They were shown to their bedroom with drapes matching the bed pelmet.There was a table with a huge bowl of fruit, two easy chairs and a writing desk. The walls were cream with a gold frieze. There was a bar and a safe but the most impressive thing was the marble panelled bathroom with its gold taps and separate shower room. Neither had ever imagined such luxury.
'A bit different to Mrs Allen's,' George said. 'At least there we were welcomed with a cup of tea. Here there isn't even a teasmaid.'
They had stayed at Mrs Allen's guest house in Great Yarmouth for their honeymoon, straining their savings for that week's holiday and arriving back home with just enough to pay for a gas stove. Some years later they had taken the children to the same guest house.
There was no time for more than a brief inspection before they ate the sandwiches Majorie had packed the night before. The matinee started at two o'clock. They took the lift to the lobby. The porter opened the door and beckoned a taxi. Majorie sat on the edge of the seat. 'Will we get there in time?' She asked anxiously.
'With five minutes to spare,' the driver answered.
He was just about right. There was no time to buy a programme and it wasn't until they left the theatre that they learnt they could have hired a cushion. Their bottoms were numbed by the wood bench seat but Majorie didn't care. Excitement bubbled in her. She was here, in the place where Shakespeare had presented his plays. George had never been a Shakespeare enthusiast but he laughed with her at the antics of the two Dromio's in 'The Comedy of Errors'
She leaned forward to watch the groundlings. No one threw oranges as they were once reputed to have done but there was some bandying between the players and the audience. She would have loved to be down there but her old legs would not have stood up to the two hour performance.
This was a day to remember. Now she could picture all the plays in their true setting. She looked at George and he smiled into her eyes sharing her pleasure. After the performance they had tea in the theatre bar. Just tea, since they had to face a four course meal at seven.
Back at the hotel they both took off their outer clothes and lay on the bed for a rest before the dinner dance. It wasn't until they awoke that they noticed the bottle of champagne together with a note asking if they would like it chilled and when they would prefer it served. They opted to have it served with dinner.
Now they experience the luxury of the shower with unlimited water that maintained its temperature. Afterwards they donned the soft towelling robes provided. George laughed at Majorie who couldn't walk in hers as it was made to fit a six foot person. The slippers too were much too big for her size three feet but George was all right.
As they changed for the dinner dance Majorie wondered anxiously if they were smart enough. They hadn't bought anything new. George did have a dinner jacket but he had put on weight since he last wore it. Their grandson had borrowed it for his college ball. Still George looked quite dashing in the black blazer he wore for the sequence dance club at home. She herself had lost a few pounds and was able to wear her black pleated nylon skirt and lace blouse.
The restaurant was sumptuous, its painted ceiling reminiscent of the Sistine chapel. The chandeliers seemed almost sacrilegious. The dance floor was a disappointment. They had imagined one of ballroom proportions but this was a tiny square. Three bars of the waltz took them the whole distance. Still it was nice and George actually asked her to dance. When they went sequence dancing it was usually she who said, 'Do we know this one?'
In his arms she forgot the years, the wrinkles the aches. The champagne may have helped. She need not have worried about their dress, only one young woman wore an evening gown, she was the singer. The other guests were couples like themselves perhaps celebrating a similar occasion.
Majorie enjoyed the meal and George did too although neither had thought they would manage four courses. Fortunately, the portions were small. Marjorie remembered her late brother saying after they had eaten at a British Restaurant, 'the sample was OK now where is the meal?'
After the first course the waiter served a viscous liquid in a dish the size of an egg cup. They argued as to its identity. George thought it was a sauce. Marjorie tasted it and decided it was a consommé. After much discussion and light hearted banter George beckoned the waiter, 'What am I supposed to do with this?'
The waiter tried to suppress a smile. 'Eat it sir. It's an asparagus appetiser.'
They both giggled helplessly. Fifty years ago they would have been too inhibited to ask. Even thirty years ago Majorie would have wanted to crawl under the table if George had shown his ignorance to a waiter. Tonight she didn't care what anyone thought.
There was no compulsory passion as they lay in each other's arms, nor any disappointment. It was enough to caress each other's backs and fall contentedly asleep.
Their pleasure was enhanced in the morning when their eldest son returned from Brussels to join them for breakfast. He too marvelled at the luxury of the bedroom and bathroom.
The day wasn't over. They all travelled back together and in the evening the whole family sat down to a meal at Sarah's.
After the meal Majorie's two sons urged each other to 'say a few words.' The eldest agreed saying, 'this is what we all feel.' He congratulated his parents and said how proud they all were and how grateful to them both for all the years they had given them.
Marjorie felt tears blurring her eyes. The children had no illusions. They knew how difficult the early years had been. They had witnessed many quarrels, suffered the shortage of money and her own inadequacy. She looked round the table at the smiling faces - this was the best celebration- this meant more than the splendour of the Ritz.
'It would have been nice to have a big party with all your friends,' Sarah said with a sigh. 'I would have loved giving it.'
'I know you would,' Majorie replied wanting to make amends. 'Perhaps later after my operation a get together for family and friends would be nice.'
She stood with George to cut the cake and then he kissed her while the cameras flashed.
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