www.albiestales.co.uk part two

WHAT A GLORIOUS START IT WAS to the Whitsun weekend of 1960! That Saturday was sort of day when it’s just good to be alive; the birds were singing their songs of love from the treetops, the leaves on the trees were softly sighing from the caresses of a soft warming breeze from the South-West, whilst the golden sun shone down from a Norfolk sky of the deepest blue, as if smiling in approval on the ‘goings-on’ down below! The day, it seemed, was a good day to get married...

ALBIE WAS SO EXCITED THAT MORNING he could barely eat his breakfast and, after his traditional bowl of Force, he pushed aside, untouched, his plate of bacon and eggs. The butterflies in his stomach were getting the better of him, it seemed – flitting from one side to side, and it was driving him crazy. Getting down from the breakfast table and clutching his ‘jumpy tum’ he quickly made for the medicine cabinet in the scullery.

“I think I’d betta hev some Andrews,” he said, reaching up into the cabinet and taking out a small tin of the effervescent stomach powder. “I feel a bit orf me stummick – both up’ards an’ down’ards!”

“Oh, that’ll never do!” declared his mother, as she cleared the breakfast table, brushing the toast crumbs into a little tray. “Not today of all days, surely? Anyone would think tha’s you gittin’ married – not Roz’s cousin an’ her Rugby Player fee-on-see!”

Turning on the tap over the old stone sink, Albie began adding water to the spoonful of white powder in his glass, and, throwing back his head, quickly downed the fizzing elixir in one gulp, closing his eyes momentarily as the bubbles went up his nose.

“You on’t last the day out, you!” scolded his mother, as he stood over the sink clutching his stomach. “I know what you’ve got on your mind – mawthers – an’ one in partic’lar! Tha’s all you ever think of these days!”

“I expect Roz will be gittin’ quite excited too!” his mother said, neatly folding the crisp white linen tablecloth and putting in a drawer. “Arter all, tha’s not ev’ry day she’s asked to be bridesmaid, is it?”

Albie, however, had more pressing matters on his mind, as he waited, with growing impatience, for the antacid medicine to work its inner cleanliness on his overactive insides.

“Ooo-oh!” he moaned loudly, writhing in agony as he quickly headed for the outside loo, “when I feel like this I jist watta curl up an’ die...!”

ALBIE GETS READY

Roz’s parents, Mr and Mrs Barton, arrived at Regis Cottage just after lunch accompanied by their married daughter Gloria, her husband, and babe-in arms, or at least in its carry-cot! As it turned out, it was quite a house full, with barely enough room to swing a cat – let alone a baby!

“Hello, Gladys!” said Mr Barton, giving Albie’s mother a quick peck on the cheek. “We’ve just dropped Rose off at her Auntie’s to get changed into her bridesmaid’s dress and thought we’d come to see you – and pick up Albie!”

“And if it’s all right with you,“ asked Mrs Barton, introducing Gloria and her husband, “could we possibly leave the baby with you? She’s had her feed so I don’t think she’ll give you any trouble. After all, we can’t have her making a noise in church, can we?”

“I’d be delighted to look after the little darling,” Albie’s mother replied, taking a peek at the little one lying asleep in her carrycot. “Now you all go off and enjoy yourselves – and Albie, have you got a clean hanky?”

“Yes, Mum...”

“Did you clean your teeth, an’ brush your hair?”

“Yes, Mum...”

“Oh, just look at you,” his mother continued, picking some pieces of fluff off his shirt. “Can’t hev you goin’ out lookin’ like a shuck, can we?”

Looking at his watch, which showed a quarter-to-two, Albie swept aside his mother’s fussy hands. “We really must go, Mum,” he said, “do they’ll start without us!”

“Oh! Do you go then...” she replied, waving him out of the front door, “– but remember your p’s and q’s!”

With that, they all piled into Mr Barton’s Morris Oxford – and what a squeeze it was – with Albie sitting on the back seat between Gloria and her husband, surrounded by a mountain of wedding presents – but, how he looked forward to seeing Roz in her bridesmaid’s outfit!

ARRIVAL AT THE CHURCH

At the Parish Church of St Peter’s, guests were already arriving for the wedding and filing in through the West Door to join, what was proving to be, the largest congregation the church had seen for several years. Mr Barton parked his car on the Boulevard, close to the church, and the five of them walked the short distance there.

Arriving at St Peter’s, Albie had hoped to go unnoticed until he reached his seat in the church, but the Vicar, the Reverend Guinness had other ideas.

“Why, hello, young man,” he said, shaking Albie vigorously by the hand, “I cannot recall having seen you in my congregation before – are you a friend of the family from Norwich perhaps?”

Extricating his hand from the Vicar’s steely grasp, Albie replied: “Well, yes an’ no; I am a friend of the family – me girlfriend’s a bridesmaid – but I live here, in Sheringham!”

“Ah, yes, it’s coming to me now,” said the Vicar, nodding to himself, “I’ve seen you in the Co-op, have I not?”

Albie replied that, in the past, he had helped out in the shop from time to time. “My Dad’s the manager there, y’know,” he told the Vicar, “– but we don’t come here!”

Frowning slightly at this comment, the Vicar replied: “Oh, dear, so you’re not of the church then?”

“Wuh, no,” Albie replied, in all innocence, “I’m Primitive Methodist me!”

The Vicar just stood there, almost speechless. “B-but,” he said, making final adjustments to his surplice and stole, “I was under the impression the Primitives and Wesleyans put all their differences aside and amalgamated, way back in 1932, did they not?”

“Huh,” replied Albie, rather put out by this news, “would ya believe it? Nobody bothered to tell me!”

WHERE’S THE BRIDEGROOM?

Down at the front of the church, on the left hand side overlooking the Chancel and High Altar, Albie sat himself down next to the Bartons. “Ringside seat here, Mrs B!” he said, attempting to make polite conversation. “Better than the one-and-nines, I reck’n!”

“No sign of the Bridegroom – or the Best Man, yet!” observed Mr Barton, anxiously looking at his watch. “They’re rather late – I wonder where they are?”

Albie laughed: “They’re probably in the Wyndham Arms gettin’ some Dutch courage...”

With that, a commotion at the back of the church announced the arrival of the ‘Rugby Player’ and his mates, some slightly the worse for wear as the result of sampling too many beverages in their local. Staggering down the aisle, they took up their respective positions at the front to await the arrival of the Bride.

“He’ya got the ring?” asked the Rugby Player of his Best Man. “I gev it to ya, din’t uh?”

“Dorn’t yew worry, Bor,” he replied, turning out his pockets, “tha’s here somewhere... now, wattum a-lookin’ for?”

“Tha’s in a totty little red box...”

“Oh, yis, here ut is!” the Best Man declared, rescuing a glittering golden band from the depths of his knotted handkerchief. “What a conflopshun... I knew I hed ut hid somewhere!”

Meanwhile, outside in the porch, the Vicar prepared to welcome the Bride as she arrived in style, driven to the door in a large soft-top Riley, splendidly decked-out with white ribbons. After what seemed like ages, she extricated herself and her immaculate dress – resembling a large white meringue – leaving Roz and the other Bridesmaid to gather up the train.

After Cyril Nunn, the local photographer, had taken a series of quick photographs, the Bride entered the porch on the arm of her father, ‘Uncle’ Gee.

Down at the front of the church, bathed, as it was, in a rainbow of light streaming through the stained-glass windows, Albie turned to look at the rest of the congregation, amazed at the vast array of hats worn by all the ladies. Lacy ones, heavily-feathered ones, with some set askew with Matahari-type veils. Then there were red and yellow hats, turning through to green – like some vast sea of traffic lights indicating stop, be prepared and... go!

The tinkling of a small hand bell announced the arrival of the Bride and the organ struck up the opening bars of the Wedding March. Then, with the Rev Guinness leading the way, Uncle Gee proudly began the walk of a lifetime with his radiant daughter on his arm and, with that, the congregation rose to its feet with all eyes turned on the Bride as she made her way down the aisle in time to the music.

“Dum, dumdy-dum – dum, dumdy-dum, ” Albie quietly sang to himself – then he turned and saw Roz!

ARRIVAL OF A FAIRYTALE PRINCESS

Looking every bit a Fairytale Princess, Roz appeared so radiant and serene in her off-white flowing silk gown, edged with the finest Flemish lace – made in Norwich, of course – and carrying a bouquet of Lily of the Valley and Old English roses, trimmed with wispy green fern. This vision of loveliness, sent Albie’s head into such a spin that he hardly noticed the Vicar’s opening words.

“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you.”

“And also with you,” the congregation replied, and promptly sat down again.

Although Albie found the service so moving – kneeling for the prayers and singing some of his favourite hymns, though none by the Wesley brothers – found was unable to take his eyes off Roz.

“In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage,” he heard Rev. Guinness say – but the rest was lost within his private world of unfettered emotion,through non-seeing eyes moistened with the happiness of faraway thoughts.

Suddenly, it was question time. Members of the congregation began looking around, with growing unease, at the Vicar’s request for: “Anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.”

No-one seemed to know the answer, it seemed, and settled back in their seats, in silence, awaiting the next question from the Vicar. Apart from someone in the congregation coughing – no doubt the result of a nervous tissick – followed by the frantic unwrapping of a cough drop.

“Will you take...” the Vicar asked the Rugby Player... Cough, cough... cough, with the rest of the question heard only by the happy couple at the Altar. “... and be faithful to her as long as you both may live?”

Hearing that bit, Albie replied, quite loudly: “I will!”

“No – not you!” whispered Mrs Barton, sitting next to him, “it isn’t your turn yet!”

With that, Albie returned from his fantasies to the real world and the wedding service of Roz’s cousin and her Rugby Player, which continued with the exchange of rings and more prayers, for which they were requested to kneel.

At one point, Roz, the prettiest bridesmaid there – at least Albie thought so – managed to catch the sharp heel of her white stiletto shoe in her multi-layered, lacy petticoat which ‘rent asunder’ with an almighty ripping noise. With this, in embarrassment she turned to Albie and grinned cheekily, before mouthing a little kiss in his direction!

After the service, everyone trooped outside to join the newlyweds in the sunshine, posing for the obligatory photographs before going to the Bijou Café for the wedding reception.

“I hope they hev some good sherry an’ some grub,” Albie laughed, as he and Roz climbed into the back of her father’s Morris Oxford, “’corse I dun’t know about you, Roz – but I’m hooly famished!”

TIME FOR A SCRUM!

Upon arrival at the Bijou, Roz and Albie were both handed a glass of sherry, and joined the line of guests to congratulate the Newlyweds.

Then, it was time for some serious eating, which Albie had been looking forward to all afternoon. On a large table, complete with an elegant floral centrepiece, were plates and plates of bite-size sandwiches, segments of pineapple and chunks of cheese, harpooned on little sticks, and piles of mini sausage rolls. There were also some round, open pastry cases, filled with a rather fishy-smelling concoction – that Albie warily examined not having seen the like of it before – as well as finger-sized rolls topped with, what he thought were, shrimps!

“Cor, what a spread, Roz!” he exclaimed licking his lips as he grabbed a plate and began piling it high with something of everything. “I just can’t wait to get me laughin’ gear round that lot – an’ this here sherry en’t half bad either!”

“Isn’t that your second?” Roz reminded him, “I should go carefully if I were you, as you haven’t a train to catch, you know.”

But Albie just wouldn’t listen – after all, he was there to enjoy himself. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, Roz,” he said, knocking back his glass of sherry, “can’t have all this food goin’ to waste, can we?”

Sitting at a corner table were Roz’s parents and her sister and brother-in-law.

“Can we join you, Daddy?” asked Roz, as her parents made room for them. “I think Albie and I can just about squee-eeze in together...”

“Albie, lad,” said her father, noticing his empty glass, “let me get you another... or why not have a beer like the rest of us?”

This is the life, thought Albie, as he settled down to quite a substantial meal of this, that and the other, all washed down by a pint of Bullards’ Best Bitter – and began to get rather merry as a result!

“Let’s rearse our glarsses tuh the Noolyweds,” Albie heard someone say, as yet more liquid refreshment was placed in front of him. “Good health, happ’ness, now an’ allus, tuh both on ya...” And, with that, glasses clinked, were elevated and drained, and champagne went glugging down several dozen throats at the same time.

Following this, the Rugby Players, being ‘full of the joys of spring’ – and beer – began to entertain the other guests with a vociferous rendition of a great many unprintable songs from their lengthy repertoire! Albie, having a love of music – especially pop songs of the day – tried his very best to join in although, not knowing any of the words, he had to restrict his participation to just the choruses.

“We’re havin’ a bit, ternight,” they sang, although Albie was rather unsure of exactly to which bit they were referring! Surely not the magnificent Wedding Cake, as he was so looking forward to a slice before he had to go home.

But the chorus still continued: “We’re havin’ a bit, ternight – Yo-Ho!!”

With the ‘Yo-Ho’ it dawned on Albie that they were obviously referring to some ritual – conducted in private, by smugglers and pirates – as he’d often heard tell of strange ‘goings-on’ and weird lights being seen along the coast at night!

Not knowing the words, Albie just joined in when it came to the chorus. “I’m hevin’ a bit, ternight, an’orl!’ he sang at the top of his voice.

“Not if I have my way,” muttered Roz under her breath!

Then, though a haze of intoxication, his thoughts turned to hidden treasure and... Beeston Bump.

“I knowsh another good ’un,” he declared loudly to all around who were prepared to listen,“tha’sh orl ’bout Treasha Eyeshland.., an’ goes: We went fur a walk on Beeston Bump – Yo-ho-ho an a...”

“I do think we should take you home now, Albie!” said Roz, prudently stopping him in mid sentence – and, with that, she grabbed him by the arm and led him outside, protesting vociferously, into the night air. “Besides, a breath of air will do you good...!” she told him.

BRING ON THE ANDREW’S!

How she managed to get Albie back home remains a mystery to this very day! But what a picture it must have presented to passers-by in Sheringham on that Whit Saturday evening of so many years ago. For there was Roz, dressed in all her finery – as was befitting a bridesmaid – doing her level best to escort to over-verbal Albie back to his home in Regis Place, with him still singing his new-found anthem with much emphasis on the ‘Yo-Ho’! However, in his state, it was extremely unlikely he would have ‘a bit of anything’ that night, and, even if he did, he most certainly would have no recollection of it in the morning.

“You’re home early!” said his mother, as Roz helped Albie through the front door, then, looking at her son’s ashen-faced appearance the truth began to dawn on her.

“My Gawd!” she declared, with a mixture of shock and disdain.“Oh, Albie, what hev you bin a-doin’ now? Jist you look at yar fearce – tha’s as green as our wallpearper in the front room!”

Albie didn’t need reminding, as his head was hammering away like a piledriver, his tongue was as rough as sandpaper, his stomach was heaving like a crab boat on a heavy swell and he had to admit he had felt better!

“If you will have alotta mixtures, what can you expect?” scolded his mother. “You know you’ve gotta sensitive stomach – too much rich food en’t good fur ya! I’m allus tellin’ ya that, but you on’t tearke no notice on me, will ya? You’re gittin’ a right sluss-pot an’orl – you stink o’ drink!”

“But never mind, ducky,” she continued, considering a little tea and sympathy might do the trick,“jist sit yarself down an’ I’ll make you a nice milky cuppa wi’ pletty o’ sugar... that’ll soon settle yar tummy!”

Albie, however, was in no fit state to drink a nice cup of tea, let alone keep it down, so, sinking to the floor in a corner of the front room, he propped himself up against the wall with a hastily-placed enamelled bucket within reaching distance!

“Oh! Where’s the Andrews?” he moaned loudly, writhing in agony and clutching his bloated stomach. “I jist watta die...!”

What had she let herself in for? thought Roz.

NEXT: Roz plans for their future – and Albie is forced to go job seeking!

SOME OF ALBIE’S FAVOURITE WEBSITES A Norfolk Entertainer A Moment in Time Enjoy North Norfolk Enjoy Norwich Flint Holiday Cottages Norfolk Churches Norfolk Dialect Norfolk Village Signs Norwich City Hall and the Lions Picture Norfolk Remember Norfolk Sculthorpe Spyplanes

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