Phil gave her a hug. ‘I’m glad you’re here. Just sort yourself out, then come and meet my dad.’
Mr Grundy was an older edition of Phil, though plumper and shorter with greying hair. He was jolly and out-going, just as Janice had imagined a country landlord might be. Patience Grundy, whose name suited her very well, was less exuberant. It was from her that Phil had inherited his thoughtful grey eyes and more placid manner.
Phil was let off his duties that evening, so after they had dined at six o’clock on steak and ale pie – one of the dishes to be served later to the guests – they spent some quiet time together.
He showed her the downstairs rooms, the low-ceilinged dining room with oak beams and a delft rack holding old china plates and toby jugs, pewter tankards and horse brasses; and the bar area, a stone-flagged room kept warm with a log fire in the huge hearth, a well-stocked bar, round – somewhat wobbly – tables and wheel-backed chairs with chintz cushions. They enjoyed a quiet drink in a cosy corner away from the Friday night regulars. Then Mrs Grundy insisted that Janice should go to bed with a cup of hot chocolate to help her to sleep in a strange place.
After a hearty breakfast the following morning, cooked by Phil, they set off for Halifax. Janice was surprised that this town, also, was only a short distance away. They drove through Bingley and the outskirts of Bradford, then took the moorland road leading down to the town in the valley.
‘This is rather a hasty wedding, isn’t it?’ Phil said on their journey. ‘Cissie got friendly with a lad called Jack, didn’t she, while they were in Blackpool?’
‘Oh, I suppose that was just a holiday thing,’ said Janice. ‘It must have been because she went back to Walter. I got the impression that she wasn’t too sure about him, or about what she wanted at all. But I suppose we mustn’t ask too many questions!’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Phil with a grin. ‘I thought she was a nice friendly girl, both she and Valerie. It’ll be good to see them again.’
Halifax, in the valley bottom, was a typical mill town with a myriad of chimneys and rows of terraced houses leading up from the town centre. Phil, who had been many times before, pointed out the eighteenth-century Piece Hall where wool traders used to meet to sell their cloths. They were rather early for the church service so they had a cup of coffee in Woolworth’s and made use of the facilities.
Janice powdered her nose, touched up her lipstick and adjusted her small red hat, something she rarely wore, but she considered it fitting for a wedding. It was the only new garment she had bought. It complemented her black and white checked coat and toned with the red dress she was wearing.
After asking for directions they found the church on the outskirts of the town in an area of identical streets with small houses. It was a grim-looking, soot-ingrained building with a tall steeple, and a small garden area with stunted bushes. There were already a few cars parked at the back, and they followed a few people who were entering the church.
Although the outside was bleak and uninviting the inside of the church was just the opposite. A friendly young man asked them if they were for the bride or the groom.
‘Er … the bride,’ answered Janice, and he led them to a pew on the left hand side of the aisle. They knew no one else there, and when Janice had bowed her head and said a brief prayer, as she had been brought up to do, she had a surreptitious look around.
Fortunately the church was warm with heat coming through the iron grilles in the floor. The pulpit, altar and pews were a warm shade of glossy wood, the pews covered with flat red cushions which matched the needlework kneelers below the seats. There was a large display of autumn flowers – red, orange and golden yellow – on the altar, and over all, a comfortable friendly ambience.
Two young men were sitting in the front pew. She assumed that the dark-haired one was Walter; he was looking back anxiously every few moments. In a little while a middle-aged couple arrived and sat at the front; the groom’s parents, she guessed. They were followed by a woman of a similar age wearing a fox fur over her tweed coat, and a large hat. Cissie’s mother, thought Janice. She nodded at the people she passed, but did not look overjoyed to be there.
The organist struck up with the Bridal March, and everyone stood, casting sideways glances to see the arrival of the bride. Cissie looked pretty, and happy, as a bride should be, in a pale blue dress and a tiny matching hat with a short veil. She held on to the arm of a small man in a grey suit who was looking at her fondly.
Val looked lovely in her dress of a warm peach shade, as radiant as though she was the bride herself. She caught sight of Janice and Phil and smiled at them as she walked past.
Janice gathered, from the vicar’s clothing of a simple white surplice and blue stole, with no fancy accoutrements, that this was what was termed a ‘low church’. They sang the traditional hymns, ‘Praise my Soul the King of Heaven’ and ‘O Perfect Love’, and the vows were exchanged with no hesitation. From the way that Walter smiled at his new bride it was obvious that he loved her very much. Janice hoped that Cissie, too, was sure about what she was doing.
There was the usual wait whilst the register was signed in the vestry, then they all stood as a loud chord introduced the Wedding March, smiling at the happy couple as they walked down the aisle as man and wife.
There was a surge for the door, and Janice and Phil followed the crowd to a building at the rear of the church. Small tables were arranged around the room, covered with white cloths, with a vase of small chrysanthemums in the centre of each.
It was an informal occasion with no ‘top table’ for important guests. The vicar welcomed everyone and invited them to help themselves to ‘the bountiful feast that our good ladies have prepared’. It was, indeed, a good spread, like a Sunday School tea party, but on a grander scale. There were forty or so people there, church people, family members, and friends from the mill where Walter and Cissie both worked. They stood in an orderly queue to fill their plates with sandwiches, chicken legs, sausage rolls, and slices of pork pie, followed by Black Forest gateau or strawberry cheesecake. When they were seated the ladies of the parish served them with tea from huge enamel pots.
Val and Sam came to join Janice and Phil at their table. The two girls hugged one another, and the men, who had met only briefly in Blackpool, shook hands.
‘I’m so pleased you could come,’ said Val, ‘So you’re staying with Phil? And how is your mother …?’
Conversation flowed easily, and Janice thought what a pleasant young man Sam was, and how well suited the two of them seemed to be. Cissie came over to join them later, holding on to Walter’s arm. She introduced Walter to the ones he did not know.
‘This is Janice. We stayed at their hotel in Blackpool, Val and me. And this is Phil. They met while we were on holiday, like Val and Sam did.’
Walter shook hands courteously. ‘It seems that quite a lot went on in Blackpool, then?’ he commented. ‘Only you, Cissie, who didn’t meet someone, eh?’
‘Ah, but I was already spoken for, wasn’t I?’ she answered speedily, smiling up at Walter with an innocent look in her big blue eyes.
‘We hope you’ll be very happy,’ said Janice. ‘I’m sure you will be.’
‘Yes, thank you … So am I,’ replied Walter.
‘And thank you for the present,’ said Cissie.
Janice had sent their gift, a damask tablecloth with matching napkins, by post. All the wedding presents – toast racks (only two of them!), cutlery, a tea and a dinner service, a mirror, food mixer, pressure cooker, bed linen and towels – were displayed on a long table at the side of the room. On a smaller table there was a two-tiered wedding cake with figures of a bride and groom on the top.
‘I think we’re wanted over there,’ said Walter, as the vicar beckoned them over to the table.
‘Cissie and Walter said they didn’t want much speech-making,’ said the vicar, ‘and Cissie’s dad, Joe, he’s a man of few words, so it’s my very pleasant task to propose the health of the b
ride and groom. Will you all raise your glasses, please? To Cissie and Walter. We wish them health, happiness, and every blessing as they start their married life together. God bless you both.’
Everyone repeated, ‘Cissie and Walter’, and sipped the brown sherry. Alcohol was rarely served on church premises, but this was a special occasion. The bridal pair cut the cake, whilst the photographer, one of the church members, took their photograph.
Several more photos were taken, of Walter and Cissie, on their own and with the bridesmaid and best man, family groups, and one with all the guests. The couple left, an hour or so later, in a shower of confetti, to go to their new home to change their clothes, before leaving for their honeymoon in Scarborough.
‘That was a nice friendly occasion,’ Janice remarked as they made their way back to Ilkley.
‘Yes, Walter seems a steady sort of chap,’ said Phil, ‘though maybe without a great sense of humour. But who can tell? Cissie seems happy enough, and Walter appears to think the world of her.’
‘Yes … I’m glad they’ve been able to get a little house of their own.’ Cissie had told Janice that Walter had bought – or had put a deposit on – a small terraced house, and it was ready for them to move into straight away. The furniture that they wanted would have to be purchased bit by bit, but they had all the essentials they needed to start with. ‘Walter has a good job, and I should imagine he’s pretty careful with his money. I’m not so sure about Cissie …’ Janice laughed. ‘She’s what my mum would call a flibbertigibbet. But maybe she’ll settle down now she’s married.’
It had been good to see Val again as well, and to see that her friendship with Sam was progressing nicely. Probably too soon, though, for them to be thinking of a more definite commitment. As for herself and Phil … Janice had been warmly welcomed by his parents and she was very happy to be with him again. But who could tell what the future might hold?
They spent an enjoyable Sunday together. Phil drove to the edge of the moor, then they climbed up to the ‘Cow and Calf’ rocks from where there was a magnificent view of the surrounding area, with Ilkley down in the valley. Although the weather was chilly it was fine, with a sun that was doing its best to shine. They enjoyed a picnic lunch, sandwiches and hot tomato soup from a flask, then returned to a dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding for their last evening together.
‘Have you decided what you’re going to do next year?’ Phil asked, as they spent some quiet time together that evening, his parents both being occupied in the bar and restaurant.
‘I’m hoping to keep the place going, to the best of my ability,’ said Janice. ‘Freda and myself, with Nancy and Olive, and maybe an extra pair of hands. I hate to say it, but I don’t feel that Mum will be ready by then to take any active part … if she will ever be. And then, at the end of the season, we will have to consider, Dad and I, whether we want to carry on with the hotel … or not. It’s a drastic decision, but we’ll have to face facts.’
Phil nodded. ‘Running a hotel is a mammoth task. I could come and help out next year – that is if you would like me to – as I did last month. Actually, I’ve already mentioned it to my dad, and he’s agreeable.’
‘Oh, Phil, would you really? I didn’t like to suggest it again, but it would be such a help. But it’s from April till October. Can you be spared for so long?’
‘I’m quite sure I can. Dad’s still very much in charge of the kitchen, and he doesn’t take kindly to anyone trying to compete with him. Don’t get me wrong, we get along very well, but I don’t intend to stay here forever.’
‘I’m really pleased,’ said Janice, ‘and I know Dad will be. I shall enroll for night school classes after Christmas, and learn a few more tricks of the trade.’
Phil drove her to Leeds the following morning to board her train. His parents had urged her to ‘Come and see us again soon.’ She and Phil were hoping they might be able to meet for a short time over the Christmas period. He kissed her in more than just a friendly way as they said goodbye. ‘Love to your mum, and don’t get despondent,’ he said. ‘I’m here for you, you know that, don’t you?’
As she gazed out of the window at the vast expanse of moorland Janice reflected on how she had felt so much at home in Yorkshire. Blackpool was her home town. She was a part of its lively scene, its laughter and noise and gaiety when it came to life during the summer months. But there was a solemnity and strength in these lonely hills and valleys that appealed to her quieter self. She knew that they would welcome her back again.
NINETEEN
The marriage of Jonathan and Thelma in mid-December was vastly different from that of Cissie and Walter which had taken place a few weeks earlier.
Valerie was a guest at the wedding, but as Sam was to be the best man, he had explained to her that his place would be at the ‘top table’ with the bridal party.
‘Sorry, love, but it’s protocol,’ he told her. ‘You won’t feel left out, though. I shall reserve you a place on the table with my aunt Hannah, and uncle Percy. She’s my mother’s sister and she’s very easy to get on with, no airs and graces, if you know what I mean! I know you’ll like her, and she will like you as well.’
Sam had told her that this wedding was turning out to be something of a watershed for their family, a time for mending broken relationships, and those which had been neglected over the years. He had confided to her that Thelma being ‘in the family way’ had brought to light some things that had been swept under the carpet.
‘It appears that my parents’ marriage was the same,’ he said with a wry grin, ‘but Mother has tried to forget it. Anyway, she’s been forced off her pedestal, unwillingly at first. But now she and Thelma’s mother seem determined to make this the wedding of the year!’
Sam had suggested to his brother that both lots of grandparents should be invited, not only Jacob and his wife, but Beatrice’s parents, Mary and Fred Halliwell, who lived in Filey. And George, Beatrice’s once ne’er do well brother – who now owned a string of small shops in Halifax – had been invited along with his wife Nellie. It remained to be seen whether or not they would accept after years of receiving the cold shoulder. But on the day they were all there, the Walker family and the Halliwells, with a goodly number of friends and colleagues of both Jonathan and Thelma.
When Val entered the church, Sam, who had been looking out for her, dashed up the aisle to greet her. He introduced her to his aunt Hannah and her husband who were seated in a pew near to the front of the church. The woman greeted her warmly, though in hushed tones as befitted the surroundings.
‘We’ll have a good chat later,’ she said. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, my dear.’ She had a look of Beatrice, but younger and plumper and full of smiles.
The parish church was in a prominent position on a hill just outside the town centre. Subdued organ music was playing as the guests arrived, ushered to their pews by groomsmen wearing morning dress, as were Jonathan and Sam. Val guessed there would be top hats as well for this grand occasion, the wedding of a mill owner’s son.
The church was decorated for Christmas as the festival was only two weeks away. Garlands of holly, Christmas roses and golden chrysanthemums adorned the stone pillars and the window sills. On the altar there was a display of scarlet poinsettias, and a large Christmas tree with sparkling lights and baubles stood to one side of the chancel. There was a small Nativity scene on a table beside the tree with a few figures – shepherds and angels – in position. Val remembered from her Sunday School days that the scene was built up gradually through the Advent season, with Mary and Joseph, then the Baby Jesus being added last of all.
Beatrice and Joshua Walker arrived, she dressed in furs and a large feathery hat, and he in morning dress. Beatrice preened herself in a way reminiscent of the Queen Mother as she smiled and acknowledged the guests as she passed by.
A small choir of boy choristers and a few men took their places in the choir stalls, just before the vicar, resplendent in a richly embroid
ered cloak and stole came to stand on the chancel steps. The organist played the Bridal March – just the same as at Cissie’s wedding, Val recalled – as Thelma came down the aisle on her father’s arm. She was a truly beautiful bride. Her dress was a simple style in ivory satin with long sleeves and a high neckline. Her fine lace veil reached to her waist, held in place with a coronet of orange blossom on her pale blonde hair, which was swept up in a coil on top of her head. There were four bridesmaids – Thelma’s sister, her best friend, and two young cousins – all dressed in red velvet, a fitting colour for a December wedding.
The marriage service was similar to the one that Val had previously attended, with the same hymns that Walter and Cissie had chosen, traditional ones sung at weddings throughout the years. Thelma and Jonathan exchanged loving looks as they repeated their vows. Whilst the immediate family members were in the vestry the choir sang two anthems, ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ and ‘O, for the Wings of a Dove’, a small chorister singing the solo part in a clear and pure treble voice.
Thelma looked radiant, and Jonathan very proud as they walked back down the aisle. Sam, escorting the chief bridesmaid, smiled at Val as they passed by. She thought how handsome he looked in his morning suit. There were times when she could scarcely believe that she was his girlfriend. As she had come to know him better she had realized that his position in the mill was not of supreme importance to him. He was thankful for his good job and did not take for granted the money that he earned. The mill workers knew him as Mr Samuel and were inclined to treat him with deference, but he cared little for that. He regarded himself as one of a team who all worked together for the good of the company.
Val stayed with Hannah and Percy as they stood outside the church watching the professional photographer at work. This seemed to go on for ages; the bride and groom on their own, then with bridesmaids, best man and groomsmen, and, finally, family groups and one with all the guests. Just as it had been at Cissie’s wedding, but this photographer was more concerned about getting things exactly right – and charging the appropriate price, thought Val.
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