Anniversary
I am in Scotland this week, mainly because of the occasion of my Grandparents (my Mum’s folks) having been married for sixty years. That’s a bloody long time I would say, and their intention was to celebrate with a party for the whole family at a posh hotel in the countryside.
If the truth be told I am not so very good at this sort of occasion; that is to say, talking to distant relatives whom I have not seen for years and who insist on asking the same idiotic questions and remarking on how tall I am. This makes me very self-conscious and nervous, for some reason, and I do think that it’s quite a weird thing to have pointed out. You wouldn’t say “Gosh, aren’t you fat?”, or “My, I do think you’re uglier every time I see you!”, so why is it acceptable to stand with your mouth wide open gasping at people’s tallness?
I know, I should be grateful that I am not short or deformed or disfigured or otherwise disadvantaged, and that being tall is something many people are quite jealous of, but still it gets to me a little bit.
Anyhow, the old dears seemed to enjoy the celebrations very much, and Grandpa made a good speach as always (and so did my Mum!). On a sadder note, though, I would guess this will be one of the last of such occasions for them; they are both not far off ninety.
Mum had found an album of their wedding photos from 1947, and I have to admit that people dressed much better then. Grandpa looked really handsome in his R.A.F. uniform, as did the ladies and in fact everyone. What I was really interesting though was a photo I had never seen of all four of my great-grandparents on my Mum’s side. I’m not much into nostalgia but it was lovely to see some of my own kin, all dead long before I was, as is said, “a twinkle in my Daddy’s eye”.
