by Jan Walker

Created on: April 24, 2009

My dress was at the top end of my budget of 25pounds, tried on in a small bridal shop in Sheffield, with my grandma by my side. It was white, chokingly high necked, victoriana style, with 'leg o mutton' sleeves. It covered my size 14 hips expertly, ending in a deep frill which would glide over the aged stoned path up to the norman church. The headress all of 5pounds was a dribbling display of white silk flowers which fell either side of my face. The veil, bought separately, from of all places a furrier, cost 3pound and consisted of three layers edged in soft lace. The latter is the only remnant left today of a wedding in 1971, a week from my twentieth birthday.

I had made my bridesmaids dresses, long cotton versions of my wedding dress design, in flowery stripes of lilac and white. My two sisters had the pleasure of wearing these, along with my makeshift white carnation posies that merged into the backdrop of the dresses. My flowers , had been ordered from a funeral director,( it was the done thing then you know!) and consisted of a large posy of red roses.

His suit was tailored, brown, and 'matched' with a lemon shirt and green tie, His thick dark hair and magnificent sideboards shone in the september sun that day in 1971.

The day resembled much of a blur, other than my dad deciding not to 'give me away' as he did not approve of Alex and his confident mannerisms, his constant smile, his drive and determination in life. I saw someone who had such qualities i could only envy, admire and dearly wish for. Alex's uncle was given the task of leading me down the aisle and towards the conveyor belt of marriage and the future i did not have time to reflect on.

The reception was a squashed room above the local pub. Speeches were made, I did not like the centre of attention seated on the top table and after a meal of meats and salad we drove of in Alex's Triumph Herald car, racing green with a tail of clanking tin cans.

My 'going away' dress was, mini, made of shiny red polyester, and edged in white daisies. We drove to Blackpool and stayed in a seedy backstreet bed and breakfast where the newly weds were positioned in the bay window for breakfast.

I look back on that day, that day i truly was on a conveyor belt, one that trundled me along, behind Alex, who i am not sure i even loved, did i even know what love was, how did it even feel. I thought that getting away from the family home and in particular, my dad would enable me to become more sure of myself, but in the end i suppose i attached myself to Alex and his family also. It was perhaps my get out clause, my way out of living with a father who had no respect for me, who chastised me, who had no time for me. A father was pivotal to me, but he was not able to be a father to me or my other siblings.

Alex was a major learning curve in relationships for me, the story is a saga.

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