My father being a church bellringer meant that I misspent many a Saturday lurking in the parish church graveyard with my friend Joanne waiting for beautiful blushing brides to emerge freshly-wed from church. Joanne and I would wait until the wedding party had departed then gather up a skirtful of soggy confetti to play 'here comes the bride'.
From this childhood past-time was borne my earliest ambition; that of being a bridemaid. Blessed with 13 older cousins, I didn't have too long to wait.
Cousin Rosalyn obliged and selected an utterly divine emerald green satin, empire line, puffed sleeve ankle length frock to be run up by Mum on the Singer - it was every little girl's dream dress. Matched with satin shoes, dyed green to match my dress, at every trial fitting I felt the bees knees.
Oh ho, all looking good so far. But not until the wedding day was the headdress I was to wear revealed to me, and no wonder they'd kept it a secret! My sister Sara, Chief Bridesmaid, spent hours in the hairdresser to acheive a gloriously glamorous beehive hairdo speckled with tiny delicate flowers. Meanwhile, my hair was tugged into heated curlers, scorching my ears, the tresses were then teased out and a hideous cover-all bonnet of nylon scratchy blossoms tugged over my ears and tied taut under my chin. My disdain is apparent in photo.
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