Dick had done it; he’d got us over the line. There was still oodles to do from my side but now Dick had to take the reins of the kitchen. With everything happening, the 200 guests we had arriving in under a week had not been our priority.
When the Strawbridge girls drove up to the château our wedding had started. Every pressure felt different. It dawned on me we could have the wedding today as long as our friends and family were there. It was happening. Arthur was jumping with excitement and big tight hugs were exchanged by everyone. Linda, Deanna and Bunny, Dick’s sisters, all stood back and looked up. Then Dick’s mum put her hands on her hips and smiled. Dick and I watched them and then, for the first time in months, we properly looked up too. We were seeing the château through fresh eyes.
We all went inside for a cup of tea and a look around. One thing the Strawbridges do really well is all speak at the same time and also listen to everyone in parallel. I’ve got better with practice but it’s a skill better learnt when young. My mum has the same skill. I think it’s a large family thing.
Before I knew it, Dick and Deanna were sitting down writing a store-cupboard shopping list, amongst a number of other bits and pieces. Two cases of butter, twenty-five rabbits, ten kilos of mushrooms, five kilos of duck gizzards, 30 kilos of white onions, enough potatoes for a small army … It went on. I didn’t get too involved but I thought to myself, This must be four or five trips to the shops. And it was!
Jenny and the girls wanted to ‘be useful’, as they would say … and they were. We were just glad they loved French supermarkets as much as we do.
Mum and the girls coming early was like receiving reinforcements when you thought you were alone. The Strawbridge ladies fill a room. OK, none of us are small, but I don’t mean physically. I have grown up surrounded by powerful ladies and Mum, Linda, Bunny and Deanna are truly capable. I love them to bits. As they are family, they get treated slightly differently. That does not mean they were taken for granted, far from it, but we could ask them to do anything we would have a go at ourselves. They had insisted that they stay away from the château so as not to be a drain on us and had hired the gîtes we had stayed in when we first moved to France. The area had been declared Northern Irish and all my family were staying there and at the even larger gîte next door.
I can’t actually remember showing them all around. We had good intentions but soon they were playing with the children, saying hello to anyone they met, usually taking the mickey in some way, making us a cup of tea and getting out notebooks to make lists. Families are special and we are blessed.
Next to arrive was Dick’s younger (and, as my sister-in-law says, better-looking) brother Bobby, his wife Andrea and their three children, Erin, George and Ru. They flew from Canada, so it was a big deal, and as soon as they landed they wanted to help too.
With the arrival of the Canadian contingent, we had even more horsepower. Bobby is my little but bigger brother. His heart is huge and his family are lovely. I always give Bobby a hard time about his DIY skills, even though he has done lots of amazing work on his house in Canada. It stems from when we were all still serving in the army and we competed in a couple of series of Scrapheap Challenge together with my other younger brother, David. We were the ‘Brothers in Arms’. I seem to remember phoning up Mummy at one point to tell him off on camera …
Everyone had tasks. Angela had always wanted to have a games room where people could chill out and play traditional fête games. There was to be a dressing-up corner with top hats and feather boas as well as a coconut shy, hoopla and a simple but frustrating game where you swing a small metal hoop hanging from string attached to the ceiling so it goes onto a peg on the wall, guiding balls up the walls with strings. It all sounded relatively simple but all we had so far was some coconuts. Jon from Broken Hare had not managed to escape yet and, as he knew where the tools were, he showed Bobby and hung around to help. They did an amazing job and bit by bit we had games. It’s a known fact that playing hoopla without any hoops is a tad challenging but we also had no idea where you would buy a hoop, so Bobby made them and they are still around today (a ‘round’ – did you get that? That is a Steve, Angela’s dad, joke).
At thirteen, my nephew Ru was our youngest worker and had not yet earned his spurs as a DIY god, so we had him putting up ‘safety fencing’ so no one would fall in the moat. What could possibly go wrong?
Jimmy and David came next. Jimmy has known me since the day I was born. We were neighbours and our parents are very close friends. Julie, Jimmy’s mum, is American and used to have a huge garden party every fourth of July with homemade baked beans, barbecued corn, sausages and lots of fireworks that used to scare the life out of me. Jimmy moved to America when I was very young but we are still the best of friends. He was to be my man of honour.
Jimmy’s husband David is obsessed with cleaning, which I was secretly very excited about. I flew to Portland some years ago for David’s fortieth birthday and we spent the day cleaning. It’s his relaxation. I just wish we could have got him out earlier. They were staying in the back room on the fourth floor. It was small but the light in there was always beautiful and I made sure it was cleaner than clean. Jimmy is the vice president of a travel company and David manages serious holiday complexes in special locations like Yosemite. The château was small fry to them. I could immediately see David was getting twitchy looking at the leaves on the ground, so a cup of tea later and they were both out hoovering leaves. The cleaning of the outside world – novel but very effective, and hugely appreciated.
When my brother David arrived with his girls the trio of Strawbridge men was complete. But then it struck us – we were no longer a trio. With the arrival of my eldest son, James, and his family, and Charlotte, my daughter, all of a sudden, we had a proper army of manpower. The complement of Strawbridge men had changed. When we were growing up it had always been Dad and the three of us. Now there were eight of us: me, David, Bobby, James, George, Ru, Indy and Arthur. It had been nearly twenty years since Dad had died but we knew he’d be looking down, watching and laughing with us. He would have loved the fact that we were all together and we missed him.
Jobs were dished out and my daughter Charlotte, also our official photographer, set about capturing what was happening and working out how to photograph the weekend. James headed off to the kitchen with a good supporting team – however, when he discovered the Bison Grass vodka in the freezer he seemed to lose the ability to do sums.
James and his wife Holly and their family live in Cornwall and James was running Posh Pasty, a company that makes the most amazing pasties – some traditional and others more inspired combinations. We had decided that Saturday night was to be ‘little plates’ – tasty and informal but enough so everyone was well fed. Each wave of food had to have some rationale and, as I’d been living in Cornwall when I met Angela there was an obvious link. Small ‘two bite’-sized pasties were obviously going to be needed. After several hours, during which shots were enjoyed by all, they had made enough pastry for all the inhabitants of Laval to come and try a pasty or two each. In fact, we had to send Deanna down to the fromagerie for another carton of butter.
As if there wasn’t enough support, friends were also arriving thick and fast. If we’d had help like this in March, we could have been ready for a spring wedding!
John and Miguel were friends from London. John and I used to be in a collective together and shared a retail outlet in my London days. The pair of them are the most outrageous, loving and stylish couple I know. They live in east London and Miguel has a high-heel shoe collection that is out of control. They had never been out to the château before so came a couple of days earlier to be useful … After a cup of tea I gave them each a paintbrush.
Next my beautiful bridesmaid Taj arrived. She was so inspired by France that she and her partner decided to look for a property there and then. Luckily we got her back in time for the big day and I loved having her by my side.
Then it was Sam
and Sophie. I had met Sam through Taj many years earlier. He is an artist but to me he was a friend that I had got to know though many evenings partying in London. His girlfriend Sophie was a darling, an incredible soul who also paints. While they were here in France, we agreed to keep the wine coming if they fancied painting. Thanks to their youthful imagination and obvious skills, plus rather a lot of wine, before long they had painted two barn doors with images of the château and fairground monkeys, which gave the perfect finish to the games room, the Château-de-la-Motte Husson sign for the entrance to the driveway, and embellished the walls and helter-skelter in Arthur and Dorothy’s playroom. It was the loveliest wedding gift we could have asked for.
Then, a couple of days before the big day, my brother Paul brought my nan over. The two of them flew and I was so happy that my nan could make it. I had hosted her ninetieth birthday in my east London events space before we left for France. My nan managed the four flights of stairs to her party fine on her birthday, but I did wonder how she would cope at the château … It turned out there was no stopping her. As soon as she came through the front door, she made all the right noises and as we went around every room in the house she would ask, ‘Do you own this too?’ It was so sweet. My brother took control of looking after my nan and it was heart-melting. Sadly, my grandma could not come. We are all so close but she knew the travel was too much for her. But she still wanted to know every detail … and my mum’s six brothers and sisters loved telling her. She received at least seven different versions of our wedding celebrations.
Our dream of a life together in France had started curled up in front of a log fire watching A Good Year with Russell Crowe. One scene had stayed with us: the couple were dining al fresco watching a silent movie across a small lake. The movie was accompanied by someone singing and playing a grand piano. It turned to mayhem when it started to rain but the idea of a cinema across a lake had stayed with us and, since we were now living our French dream, why shouldn’t we have one too?
My plan was to recreate this for Angela. I knew she loved this scene; she referred to it often. But as it was November, I situated our screen near the château so people could watch it out of the window if it was too chilly or it did actually rain. A team of volunteers built a frame on the other side of the moat and then sheets of plywood were painted with white emulsion and screwed to the frame. We hadn’t really thought about it but the positioning of the ‘screen’ also hid the muddy patch where our new sewage filter bed had been placed. It was meant to be. With power laid to the box that would house the projector we were ready to go. To finish off the ‘magical image’ I knew Angela was after, festoon lights were hung in the lime trees. The overall effect was exactly the magic we had hoped for. Anyone who had not seen or heard us talk about A Good Year would have no idea why there was a silent movie playing on a makeshift screen but we knew and for us it was very special.
Catering for the gathering was lots of fun. There is an old saying that you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family. We are both very lucky because even if you could choose them, we would both have picked the ones we’ve got. We knew everyone was going to muck in. In addition to keeping everyone that had arrived sustained, we were getting prepared for two days of festivity. That’s a lot of food.
Our friend and chef Alan had not been back since the days of living in the gîtes and his reaction to our progress was lovely. As a wedding present, he was to take charge of the kitchen for our wedding breakfast. We’d discussed the menu at length and had hired in some help for the main event, so his preparation days were to be in the company of the Strawbridge Ladies Kitchen Assistance Squad. He never stood a chance. Kitchens are not a place for democracy and the head chef is not used to getting any abuse, poor Alan. As they say in Ireland, the craic was good and, in his defence, he probably didn’t understand half of what was said … But it worked, the team was really efficient and, as well as preparing for the wedding, everyone seemed to get fed.
It was the eve of our wedding. The house was looking lovely, buzzing with family and friends. Alan and the Strawbridges were having a ball in the kitchen and my stylish and beautiful ladies arrived to host, my old Vintage Patisserie team. I was so happy to see everyone and my heart ached at how stylish they all were. I felt I had become rather feral over the months, so for the first time in forever I had had my legs waxed and my nails done. I felt normal.
Tradition says that the bride and groom should not see each other the night before their wedding. We had two small kids, so I guess we had already broken with tradition. But I was really looking forward to having a morning to myself and not rushing. I had been rushing for ten months. That morning, I had a bath and breathed. I felt excited. That may sound crazy, but when you’re busy your mind is always two, three steps ahead of what needs to be done. Whereas today I was in that exact moment.
My friend Amanda was there with her daughter. We had met on the vintage scene. Amanda’s company is called Lipstick & Curls and she is the only person that I would trust to do my hair on such a momentous occasion. For months I had been wearing berets and headscarves (my five-second hairdo I say). But today I was having my hair down. Something no one had seen in years.
The night before had been hectic. After the Vintage Patisserie girls left, I had been flower arranging until midnight and then I dyed my hair and got Dick, Arthur and Dorothy’s outfits packed. The rest of the night was spent not sleeping and answering texts from everyone that had arrived and was excited to be here. I was tired but the adrenaline was keeping me going.
The morning of our big day had arrived and we couldn’t quite believe it. I have to admit for once I didn’t think about what state the château was in, what we had achieved or what we hadn’t managed to do. The last couple of days had been about sorting out the parties and tasking people to ensure we were as ready as possible. It no longer mattered. We’d finished the evening before in time to get up … After the briefest of kisses, Arthur, Dorothy and I headed off to join the groom’s party four miles away in the gîtes complex.
I knew what time I had to be at the mairie and I knew there was no need to rush. It was so relaxing I felt guilty. Arthur and Dorothy were delighted to be there with their big cousins and their nieces and nephew (my grandchildren). Everything was super organised. We had been allocated a room to get changed in, breakfast was available, coffee was on tap and I didn’t have anything to do. I could pretend that I was responsible for looking after the children but to be honest I didn’t get a look in. I chatted with everyone, and breathed, and paused for photos when Charlotte told me to. It was a very agreeable way to spend a couple of hours. I just wished Angela was there to enjoy it with me.
We all got dressed in our glad rags and travelled the couple of miles to the village in good time. It was amazing. The wedding and wedding breakfast was to be for family and our closest friends as the orangery could only fit eighty guests. But we filled the town square and the villagers were also out in force to wish us well. Everyone was smiling, there were so many people to say hello to and it felt like the whole village were cheering us on. The mairie was dressed in his ceremonial sash and was smiling as all our party said ‘Bonjour’ the way only the British can. My mum had prepared something to say to him as she had been on the journey to provide information as a témoin*. It must have made sense as he smiled and immediately responded in the rapid-fire French that is saved for those that are obviously fluent. That’ll teach her!
I looked out of the window and the Citroen 2CV was waiting outside the château. My dad knocked on my door and told me how beautiful I looked. It sounds textbook but I could see the total love and pride in his face. There were no cameras, no photographers there. Just the two of us. We linked arms and he walked me down the grand staircase. That staircase was meant for this moment and I felt like I was in a fairy tale. My heart was racing and I felt like I had no idea what was going to happen … It was exciting and terrifying in equal measures.
I wa
s carrying Dorothy and saying hello to everyone, when a blue Citroen 2CV came tooting through the crowd. Angela got out and smiled and I have to say ‘beautiful’ is inadequate to describe how she looked that day. I think I was a bit surprised when I saw her as I couldn’t remember ever seeing her hair down. I’d fallen in love with her smile the first time I’d met her. It’s no exaggeration to say she lit up the whole place. I knew just how lucky I was.
As we drove up to the mairie everyone was there. You could feel our mums’ happiness radiating over everyone. Family, friends that had been part of the château journey, friends that had yet to see the château, all smiling and proud. This was not just our wedding, it was our celebration of us creating a new life for our family and it felt like everyone was there to wish us well. Within a couple of seconds, I had locked eyes with everyone. Some were already crying. Then Arthur came running out to give me a hug. There was no aisle to walk down but Dick was waiting at the front with unconditional love in his eyes and a soft smile. It was the moment we had been working towards yet had not had enough time to think about. He looked so handsome. It was perfect and, as my dad handed me over to Dick, I felt like the luckiest lady alive. That is how every bride should feel and I knew then without a shadow of a doubt that we had created the right path for us.
The ceremony was better than I had envisioned. I had not expected it to be as full of emotion as it was. Dick’s eyes said everything I needed to know and the mairie who married us did us proud. With Arthur and Dorothy holding on to us, and our family and friends behind us, there was nothing else we needed. When we were handed a book to officially welcome us as part of the village I was in tears. It was a real feeling of belonging and tradition and I wondered in that moment if our grandchildren would end up being more French than English.
A Year at the Chateau Page 25