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A Wartime Wedding

By Charles Stan Vincent

In October 2003 my wife, Muriel, and I celebrated our diamond wedding, which concentrated our minds on that day in the middle of the war when in the Methodist Church, New Malden, Surrey, we were married — after changing our minds about waiting for peacetime to return.

Having declared our intention, we first had to decide on a date and it was without doubt the most difficult of all the arrangements to be made. It had to be a day when the bride, serving in the WRNS in Scotland; the bridegroom, serving in the RAF in Northern Ireland; the best man, also in the RAF in Northern Ireland, but with a different unit; two bridesmaids, one of whom was a Land Army girl, and the other engaged on some war work in industry, could all be free. And that was not taking into account parents and guests! Muriel’s brother, serving in the Army, had had leave to marry two months previously, so could not get more leave so soon to be at our wedding, and for the same reason we had not been at his wedding. Anyway, apart from such a close relation missing, everything did come together for Saturday October 30 1943. I had to fork out the equivalent of a week’s RAF pay for a special licence ( RAF colleagues asked whether it was worth it!); I think I remember correctly in saying that was because there was not time for the reading of banns. On the appointed day we did become man and wife.

The church service having been arranged, the next requirement was some sort of reception, which stood no chance of emulating a peacetime affair — in our case no money was forthcoming for a hotel or restaurant, and no halls or suchlike places were available. Like most wartime weddings and functions, celebration had to be at home. So the one wedding car took only bride and groom up the road to Muriel’s parents’ house. A photographer was allowed, because of shortage of film, to take only two photographs — the bride and groom, and a group. Ours were taken outside french windows with the boarded shutters, used to protect against bomb blast, on each side. So many restrictions hemmed in what would have been normal at a wedding! There were not many guests at the reception — close relations and friends who lived nearby; those who had to travel any distance were deterred by thoughts of bad delays getting home in the dark, still with the possibility of air raids. However, the number was sufficient to make a memorable party. The cake and other food and drinks had somehow been provided. The cake had been made by a friend who was a professional in that trade, but he had had to be supplied with ingredients, and friends and relations had given up their food rationing coupons to do that. Icing a cake was not possible at that time, and a cardboard cover printed to resemble icing was the substitute. More wartime restrictions! Everyone had something to eat, a slice of cake and enough drink to toast us. The speeches were mostly on the theme of hoping for war to end, allowing us to live a normal married life. In fact, it was to be another three years before we got settled together.

The honeymoon had caused some headaches! A trip abroad was liable to end in an enemy prison camp! Seaside resorts in Britain had beaches that were mined against possible invasion. All I could think of was asking a friend who lived in a village in Hampshire if we could spend a week there, and it was a relief when the lady replied that we would be most welcome. On the evening of the wedding day a taxi arrived to take us to the railway station We thought it had been ordered for Surbiton station, but the driver said he could go no farther than the local station, New Malden (more wartime restrictions). An altercation with a taxi driver was not a good start, but fortunately all went well. We dashed up the stairs to the platform and managed to scramble on board a train to Surbiton, which arrived there in time for our mainline train to Alton. We had to stand in a crowded compartment: every time Muriel bent her head forward a small shower of confetti from her hat descended on one of the sitting passengers! The air raid sirens sounded but we heard no activity from guns or bombs. At Alton we changed onto a local line and the train stopped at every small station, which raised a problem: no station in Britain had nameplates, which could have helped an invading army (all road signs had similarly been removed); the blackout was of course strictly enforced, and that particular night was pitch-black. We had to rely on the shout of the guard to tell us where we were. We did alight at the station we wanted, Wickham.

The village was affected by war, of course — rationing, the blackout and so on — but was free of enemy action, at least for the week we were there. It was peaceful and we even took the opportunity not to listen to the news for a few days. We thoroughly enjoyed the break, but all too soon it was time to return to duties in Scotland and Northern Ireland. Three months passed before we saw each other again.

When we celebrated our diamond wedding, it was a complete contrast to the wedding reception. In a hotel we entertained over 40 relations and friends at a luncheon. We had four children, ten grandchildren, and great grandchildren now number five. There were three people at the luncheon who had been at our wedding; two other survivors were absent because of illness or infirmity. Of the people in the group photograph at our wedding, one of the bridesmaids is the only survivor, other than us. That is a stark reminder of all that has happened as the years have flown away. Why is it that war memories are more vivid that any others? I am sure that same phenomenon applied to veterans of the First World War. It is sometimes tiresome to hear from people who lived through the wars the same stories time and again. But I maintain that should be tolerated — for what those people did for their country.

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