I SUPPOSE we all have a little chockle when we look back on our honeynoon. I'm no exception can still see the two of us standing at Dublin Airport 25 years ago, waiting for the flight to London. My attractive wife in her little red suit and black hat, angled to the right. She looked great. I, in my three piece grey suit, could have been mistaken for a bank manager. I felt like a million dollars.
The business in the church passed off very well, not that I knew much about it. It was all carried out in a foreign language, as Gaeilge. The priest was from the Gaeltacht and so was my wife to be. They thought it would be a good idea to do the service through the cupla focals.
Two Vital Words
I had no objection. I only had to learn two vital words in Irish. These were "I do", which I roared out with great confidence. That completed my contribution to the proceedings. As the ceremony progressed, her gang made all the responses, while my crowd inspected the floor.
The reception also went like clockwork. However, there was one scary moment shortly after the meal and the speeches. Everyone simply disappeared.
Yes, they all left the hotel they walked out on me, abandoned me on by big day. At first, thought they didn't, like the piano player. It transpired they had all run down the road to the bookies. It was Giand National Day.
Naturally, all my crowd put their money on Highland Wedding, which romped in a winner at great odds. My gang believe in mixing business with pleasure. They returned to the hotel, delighted with themselves.
They said I should get married more often. I calmed down. I was pleased that everything was going so well. Putting on the Grand National as a sideshow was very bright of me.
We spent a couple of days in London, and then decided to get out of the city and see some of ye olde England, Tunbridge Wells, to be precise.
A lovely place, ever so civilized, at least it was 30 years ago. I haven't made a sentimental return. We were pottering around and eventually decided to stay in this big rambling hotel It resembled the building Alfred Hitchcock used in Psycho. I got chatting to the owner, an old bloke with a white moustache and a brown tweed coat, with leather patches on the elbows.
He was delighted I was Irish. "I used to serve over there in the old days," he said. "I was based up in the Phoenix Park and we used to come down to the main street, what do you call it, O'Connell Street, and have a drink in that nice old hotel, what do you call it, the Gresham, every evening. Had a wonderful time in Ireland. Lot of nice, people ... Lot of nice memories . . ."
Honeymoon Horror
It slowly dawned on me that I was talking to a former Black and Tan.
I had been told in school that these guys had two heads, with horns on both. And here in Front of me was this nice old chap welcoming me to England. He wasn't a monster, and we got on quite well.
When I told him we had been in London, his mood changed. "I never go there now, he said bitterly. Too many blacks . . ."
The place is swam with them. London has gone to hell, gone to sheer blood hell. It's a tragedy." I took it that he didn't like blacks too much. Even Irish - even me were preferable.
He nattered on a bit about the fall of the British Empire and how things would never be the same again. A once great empire was on the slide. That was nearly, 30 years go, he must be spinning in his grave today.
Safely booked in, we began to look around . . . Then the penny dropped.
While we were staying in a place called a "hotel", it was quite clearly being used as an old folks' home. The population was mainly women - none of them less than about 75 years of age. Apparently in those days, the English put their parents into a hotel if they couldn't find a suitable old folks' home for them. And there was with my attractive wife, starting of on our new life, surrounded by hordes of elderly, feeble people at the end of their stay on this planet. It was spooky. Not everyone gets to spend their honeymoon in an old folks home. I'm probably the only one in this State that has achieved this dubious claim to fame.
Still, it was comfortable. The old folk didn't bother us and we didn't bother them. You can imagine the amount of strange stares we got. We must have really given them something to talk about. I felt like Jesus in the Temple surrounded by the elders.
Totally Out Of Breath
There was no lift, or elevator, as the Yanks might say, in the hotel. On each landing there were invariably about four old ladies, smiling into space, totally out of breath, swallowing tablets, before shuffling on for the next floor. We were billeted well out of harm's way on the top Floor, almost in the attic.
One poignant incident remains vivid in my memory. It happened one morning in the mahogany panelled dining room during breakfast. A little old dear had received a letter from her son. Apparently she had been there For years and had never seen or heard from any of her family or relations. She was a sad, lonely little lady.
To get, a letter was obviously a big thing. Suddenly, she was in contact with the outside world. All her old friends gathered around and congratulated her. The solidarity of the old can be touching. She was so happy. She read the letter out loud to the elderly gathering. It was such a sad scene. What a way to end up.
I'm glad to report that my attractive wife and I have weathered, the last three decades happily together, but what my future will be after she reads this is anybody's guess.