Hello! This is my longest blog post ever, and the most worked upon. As it deserves to be, for this is dedicated to my sister, Miss Mrs Victoria Ingham Hudson, and her husband Mr Michael Hudson. Love you both!!!
I know a many of you access my blog via various phones and the like (I get the stats). For this, DON'T DO IT.
Go find a comfy chair, a cup of tea, some biscuits, maybe cake. Or a little wine.
Relax and Enjoy!
All comments are much appreciated.
Introduction
On the 10th of February 1989 Dorothy and Nicholas Ingham
finally entered parenthood with the birth of their beautiful baby daughter
Victoria Ingham. This was the first
challenge they had faced as a family and met success through willpower and
determination, both traits bred into this young Yorkshire lass, traits that
would make her a troublesome toddler, a tremendous teenager, and see her triumphant
in her twenties.
My mother will occasionally, wistfully, talk about my
sister’s younger days –stories of her getting all the pots and pans out of the
cupboards and onto the floor; stories of her hidden away in some backroom
looking at books; stories of her determined to take personal responsibility of
her own pony. But the two stories that
have finally found a happy ending in the past two British summers were dreams
than my sister has had ever since these young days. The dream of becoming a vet, so that she could
treat her dad’s cows, and so save him money, and the dream of a beautiful
wedding. Being married at Ledsham church before being driven in a vintage
tractor down to a glorious reception at home on the farm surrounded by friends
and family.
Her dream of becoming a vet was achieved in July 2014 when,
in a grand hall paid for by a local brewery owner, she was hit over their head
with a cushion by the country’s, perhaps even the world’s, foremost veterinary
oncologist, Dr. David Argyle, head of the RDSVS. A success brought about by both her willpower
and determination, a success she well deserved, having paid for it in blood,
sweat, and tears.
However, there’s only so far that willpower and
determination will take you towards the perfect wedding. Loving family, loving friends, and just a
little luck are needed to complete the journey.
And perhaps the right partner too, I guess that helps.
Our Little Bit of Beautiful Yorkshire
My sister and I grew up in the small village of Ledston,
just outside the humble town of Castleford.
The village runs along the base of a small shallow valley, with our farm
one field outside the village, towards the head of the valley. The farm itself is built into slightly the base
of the hill and runs along, parallel to the road that runs along the bottom of
the valley. The farm is surrounded by a
few small hills topped with luscious green woodland. On the farm side of the road the fields are
all pasture used the sheep in spring, hay in summer, and cows in autumn. Across from the farm the closest fields are
also luscious green grass fit for a boisterous horse and his tup friends, then
beyond them and over the hill stretches out our arable land.
The farm itself is of an unknowable age, having first been
recorded in the doomsday book nearly 1000 years ago. Thankfully someone has remembered to update it
since this time. Nearest to the village
stands the old stone house which, prior to the introduction of electricity and
running water, went through its most recent regeneration project in the year
1769. The house is still attached to
what has relatively recently become stables, and was previously the cattle
briar as well as milking unit for the farm.
Running further along the farm, following the contour of the hillside
and running parallel to the road we find a cow shed, more old stone cattle
briars now converted to chicken sheds, and a small set of stairs. Up those stairs we enter into the great
ancient barn, now used as a combined meal shed and mechanical workshop. Following our route along the hillside we go
out of the great double doors and out onto a concrete yard that is distinctly
not flat. Surrounding it are sheds for
grain, sheds for cattle, and sheds for machinery. All of this has been in place since long
before my birth, and would be relatively useless for a reception when compared
to the new build further along the hillside.
Beyond the yard the concrete drops even further down as a ramp to the
roadside. It is on the other side of
this ramp that somebody eventually managed to create some flat land for the
farm. Through a wide gateway the space
opens up onto a large flat concrete yard.
To the left, on the side closest the road, partially hidden from
passersby behind a large hedgerow, stands the grand shed we use each spring for
lambing in. The shed has three sides,
the fourth side opening out onto the concrete beyond. This all gave enough room to put up a marquee
half inside the shed and half outside, ready and prepared to shield is all from
the British weather.
But it is in a different valley, in a different village,
where the great event of the day was due to happen. Ledsham is a beautiful quaint little
Yorkshire village, nestled between ancient hunting grounds, farmland, and it’s
cricket pitch. Two beautiful important
buildings sit at opposite ends and opposite sides of the main road running
through Ledsham. At one end is the
Chequers pub, renowned for its beautiful meals.
It is a pub which retains much of Britain’s old world charm. At the other end of the village, on the other
side of the road, atop a small hill surrounded by a grave stones and memorials
stands the church where my sister got married.
The church is built from a variety of different stones. If one looks closely one can see carvings
which do not match to the decoration of the church. Like so many of Britain’s great buildings it
has, in part, been built from the recycling of stone from much older the
buildings. Some of the inscriptions are
potentially in a form of saxon, some may even date back to roman times. It is a fair size building that has seen it
many lives, at their beginning and at their end, as well as many points in
between.
The pews of the church are arranged around two parallel
aisles. The central block of pews is
disturbed at certain points by the positioning of a large stone pillars, which
can obstruct the views of the congregation.
However, I do believe they are there to hold up the roof, which is a
good reason to keep them, in my humble opinion.
The aisle closest to the road is the main site for nearly
everything in the church. At the far end
is the belfry, separated from the rest a church by a large archway and great
heavy red curtain. Within the belfry is
a small door made of wood and studded with iron, just large enough for a bride
to sneak through. Half way along the
aisle, as we continue through the church, to the right, is the main doorway, a
set of double doors, also made of wood and studded with iron. This doorway opens out into a porch guarded
at his entrance by wooden gate carved in the Victorian floral style. Back inside the church the aisle continues up
to the small step where the ceremony would take place. To the left of here is the pulpit rising
above the pews so that everybody might be able to hear the speaker. To the right stands the impressive organ, its
pipes reaching high up towards the roof, the coordinator of its majesty sitting
hidden away from the congregation behind it.
Further beyond this area are the choir stalls and the altar which, like
the font and the grave-statues of the church’s patrons, were present for the
day, though not an active part of it.
It is true to say that on this great day we were lucky to be
surrounded by such great majesty, such beautiful ancient buildings, in such a
wonderful part of Yorkshire. But it must
also be said that the drab of the grey stonework and a deep hue of the
woodwork, even with the bright sunshine and a summer’s day streaming through
the stained glass windows, would have made the event a solemn affair were it
not for the efforts of many local women who manage to fill this space and the
farm with breath taking floral decorations.
Thus the colors of pink, peach, and orange, interspersed with occasional
white and a little green foliage, helped to set the scene and also to tie in all
components of the event, from the church, to the reception, and even down to
the buttonholes of the groomsmen.
The Big Day
On the 10th of February 2010 I rolled out of my
single bed in Edinburgh, reaching out to grab the screaming phone that was on
my desk. The time was 7:45 AM, far too
early for a first year student.
Groggily, I answered the phone, only to be met by a confusing barrage of
tears, giggles, and high pitched squealing.
“He’s asked me to marry him! We’re engaged!!!”, my sister
sobbed through tears of joy.
Sometime earlier Mike Hudson had, at the end of a hard day’s
work on my parents’ farm, asked my dad for my sister’s hand in marriage. He had then made excuses to my sister as to
why he would not be able to be with her on a 21st birthday. And thus was finely was able to follow
through with his genius plan, driving overnight from Yorkshire to London, to
surprise my sister first thing in the morning with a ring and his heartfelt
love.
Over five years later, on the 11th of July 2015,
I rolled out of my luxurious double bed, as the sun rose over the manor house
that sits atop the hill to the east of our farm. As I woke the mantra ran through my head:
“Buttonholes buttonholes buttonholes. Oh, and drive Rachel”
I might not have had many jobs for the morning, but I was
gonna do my best not to mess them up!
As I left the house for the florists the first of the
bridesmaids began to arrive, soon to be followed by the various staff required
so that’s the process of beatification and preparation would only take the
entire morning, rather than the entire day.
I left the farm and drove to Kippax, a place that, by
English law is classed as a village, but in New Zealand would fall into
category of township –a much better classification given its size. Here I parked at the local supermarket and
walked into the florists wearing my “I have no idea what I’m doing” lost boy’s
face.
“Erm… I’ve come to
the buttonholes… for the wedding”, I
asked, looking around at all the bright colours and loose foliage in this small
shop. I didn’t really know what I was looking for. It took a florist a moment
to realize what I was talking about, before putting down her clippers and the
rose she had been working on.
“That’s for Victoria and Michael’s wedding isn’t it? They got a beautiful day for it, just
glorious”, she commented as she handed me a large box with individually
handcrafted miniature arrangements for each of the groomsmen, as well as an
intricate wrist arrangement for the mother of the groom, Jennifer Hudson.
We chatted for a moment longer about the arrangements for
the wedding and the luck we had with the weather, which we could never have planned
for. Next up I headed for the chemist,
and hunted down a fine collection of pain killers, rehydration solutions, and
antacid tablets. I informed the chemist
of the plan to have these ready for the hangovers due to occur the next morning,
as today it was to be my sister’s wedding day.
We chatted for a moment longer about the arrangements for the wedding
and the luck we had with the weather, which we could never have planned for.
I drove home with the sun in my face and not a cloud in the
sky.
As I arrived back at the house I found the house’s yard, as
well as the space across the road, to be filled by the cars of the bridal
party. As I took the box of buttonholes
out of the boot of the car two nosey old women from the village came to ask
what was going on. I told them of our
plans for the day and all that had been done to prepare for it.
“Well, I hope it all goes well for you, and she has a
wonderful day. And you’ve been very
lucky with the weather, you can’t plan for that.”, with that they were off up
the road to enjoy this fine day.
Inside the house I was met by the hustle and bustle of the
bridal party. Amongst it all one person
stood out. Perhaps it was because he was
male. Perhaps it was because he was
holding the camera. Or perhaps it was
because of the look of shock on his face.
John was the cameraman for the day recording all the special events, yet
somehow he was not prepared for my family.
After a firm handshake and a quick introduction he had one little query
about what constituted “normal” for our lives.
“Does your mother often walk around naked?”, he quietly
asked
“Only when she’s in a good mood”, I answered. It turned out that poor John had
inadvertently looked the wrong way at the wrong time and see my mother walking
around in her underwear. Lesson learned
he instead made friends with the dog, Alfie.
We spent the next quarter of an hour trying to get some
decent photos of Alfie. He joked about
putting Alfie in a little suit with a little bow tie so he could be part of the
day. This got me to thinking and I
suddenly had an epiphany. I rummaged
through the back of my wardrobe and found an old bow tie.
Alfie had spent much of the day wandering around trying to
work out what was going on and who all these people were. He just wanted to join in with the fun of
whatever was going on. Thus he was
overjoyed, he was beside himself, he was over the moon, when I took his old
knackered collar off him and replaced it with these own little bow tie. His tail began to wag, his body shook, and he
grabbed hold of the collar. He ran off
through the house and into the garden, quickly digging a shallow grave for
these unwanted garment before bounding back up the stairs to show off to the
girls his fancy new attire. For the rest
of the day he would strut around the farm showing off to anyone who would look
at him.
Ledsham
By 11:00 AM I had matched Alfie with my own fine attire
(well, not my own, rented. Who owns a
morning suit these days?).
The groom’s party had organised to meet at the Chequers pub-
an excellent plan. On the way I gave a lift to our well known and talented
baker and cake decorator, Dr. Rachel Simmons.
Once there it was time for a few morning drinks before the big day
kicked off. At the bar a few locals and
tourists are asked me what the special occasion was.
“That sounds excellent!”, they exclaimed, “and it’s such a
beautiful day, you’ve been so lucky with the weather.”
We sat outside, enjoying the sun, taking it be relaxing
breath before we started.
1200 hours: William Ingham, Nick Bowkett, and Richard Butler,
ushers to the stars, arrive on set to welcome guests and organize the seating.
1210 hours: I fail as an usher, original seating plan
abandoned, as more people arrive than were invited. This leads to mixing of family and
friends. Everyone has a good chat and thoroughly
enjoys themselves. Happiness ensues.
1300 hours: “The Trumpet Shall Sound” from “Messiah” by
Handel, played by John Morgan, announcing kick off.
The wedding
I was sat with my fellow ushers by the door as the trumpets
played out across the church. Ahead of
me, stood on the step, between the organ and the pulpit, stood Mike Hudson,
along with his two best mates, his Brother James Hudson and long-time friend
Adam Hogg, his Best Men. On the pews in
front of me sat the rest of the Hudson family, proud mother and father of the
groom, Jennifer and Peter Hudson at the head.
Across the aisle from us sat the rest of my clan, mother of the bride
Dorothy Ingham sat patiently next to a space soon to be occupied by father of
the bride Nicholas Ingham.
At the back of the church, by the archway that led from the
belfry, a great and noble farming neighbour Alan Stone got the signal to use
all of the power and strength that comes from honourable Yorkshire Mining
heritage to heave the vast heavy curtain out of the way and so let a bright
pearl into our midst. She looked
phenomenal, stunning. There was a
sobbing noise from the pews as Victoria Elizabeth Ingham walked hand in hand
with her father down the aisle followed by her three bridesmaids, Harriett
Watson, Charlotte Hudson, and Rosy Budden.
A tear rolled down my cheek. Alan
began to cry. Tears of joy were to be
the order of the day for us all. But
there was much laughter to be had too.
Once every one was in their place, the bride and groom sat
on chairs at the feet of the organ, the vicar began his welcoming address. As he spoke, rambling on about marriage, I
looked to my sister and thought about all of this which she thoroughly
deserved. A perfect wedding. For this to go smoothly, cleanly,
tidily. A perfect wedding. A perfect wedding. No, she didn’t deserve A perfect wedding, she deserved THE perfect wedding. The
wedding she would always remember, because it would be memorable. A wedding not made special by planning and
good timing, but a wedding that could not be stopped by any small fault as
every participant willed it on. A
wedding full of stories, of little moments, a wedding of character. Anybody can have the wedding they planned for
but you still need to have a little luck to provide you with what you cannot
plan for. It was a beautiful summer’s
day.
We attempted to begin with the hymn “All things bright and
beautiful”. I say attempted, the
organist, Calvin Allison, began to play the tune of the refrain, as the
introduction. Half way through this
introduction many of us started up with the first two lines of the refrain only
realizing I will mistake as he began the actual start of the song. Words were crossed, there was some mumbling
and some tittering, as we started again to do it properly.
The night before I had met up with the Hudson party for a
few last minute drinks. By 11:00 PM I
was in a casino with the groom and his brother, having made winnings from the
last 10 spins of the roulette wheel.
Eventually they would drag me out of there, and I would notice the text
on my phone. Lucy Follos enquiring as to
the time of the service the next day.
With my excellence, practical advice, I told her to get to Ledsham an
hour early and I would meet her that the pub.
However I had told her that the service was due to start at 2:00
PM. This was a mistake which led to an
embarrassment that she would later repeatedly berate me for.
Half way through the hymn I hear rattle from the iron bolts
of the church doors. In comes Lucy,
trailed by her boyfriend, and fixes me with an angry glare. She gave a bright, happy, apologetic smile
and nod to my sister, before going to find a seat.
Having finally got into the rhythm and pace we finish the
hymn all together, and sit back down on our pews. The introduction to the event is given,
followed by the request for declarations of why these two should not legally
marry. Next to me sits Richard Butler,
dressed in the full regalia befitting of one of Her Majesty’s finest officers,
a uniform which includes his sword. He
quietly draws it from the scabbard and we look around for anyone who would dare
to stop this marriage. This was a manoeuvre
that may gone unnoticed by anyone, where it not for the snickering coming from
Nick and I.
In our role as ushers we had made sure that anyone with a
reading was sat next to the aisle so that they could quickly reach the
pulpit. Mike Menzies had arrived even
earlier than us so that he might have a good spot, practice his reading, and
speak with the vicar to ensure he had time for a couple of extra little pieces
he wished to say to the couple, as well as the congregation.
With no declarations forthcoming we turns to the
readings. First up was Mike
Menzies. He stood up from his pew,
papers in hand, ready to do his part.
Then suddenly, out of nowhere the vicar appears in the pulpit and begins
to read. Mike stops and sits back down,
allowing the vicar to go on. This was
not all bad, as Mike would find another opportunity at the reception with more
time and less formality such that he could read his other pieces as well as an
excellent short speech to us all.
Next up was Kate Cooper.
As I’ve mentioned earlier the order of the day was tears of joy. Yet
Kate’s reading of “So God Made A Farmer” by Paul Harvey truly ensured that
whilst the sun shined outside within the church it rained.
I don’t know if Kate Cooper will ever manage to make that
many people cry ever again. Great burly
man and strong stoic housewives alike shed tears heavy with sympathy, memories,
and hope. They were joined by the
mixture of students, vets, and locals, all of whom have their own memories and
sympathies, whether it be from lambing seasons, calvings, or from late nights
trying to get in harvest before the rain.
Thanks be to God that he sent us such a funny man to do the
sermon. In a manner of awkward shock at
a level that only the English can achieve we fell into stunned silence as the
vicar ventured into a topic that would bind ever one at the reception by giving
one great conversation we could all break the ice with. Neither my sister nor Mike had spoken to the
vicar before hand about the sermon.
Virtually all else about their wedding they had organised, but this was
the vicar’s chance to speak as he wished.
Whilst no one had spoken to him prior to the service about this topic
it’s got considerable mention after service.
This included a jovial and well appreciated remark with which Martin
Watson officially opened the reception after the wedding.
What righteous cause had the vicar chosen to speak to is all
about?
The Evils of Gay Marriage!
Afterwards I, personally, found it inspiring and uplifting
that friends and relatives from a farming community (which is so often viewed
as backwards by the townies) made remarks that such views were akin to
racism. That it was backward and bigoted
and did not belong in our modern world.
Even more so on such a special day.
It was a viewpoint that none of the congregation shared nor were any of
us swayed by his arguments. In the end
though, this sermon, with all its ills, could be seen as a blessing with all of
us having a good laugh afterwards, and something we could all joke about.
Thankfully that was all soon over and we could get on with
THE most important moment, the vows and the giving of the rings. This was the one part that actually went as
it should. No funny stories, no messing
it up, know that disregard for tradition.
Simply a truthful and honest vow of love.
Well, except for the tiny Family Guy Peter Griffin who lives
in Mike’s head and offered the line, “Kiss her? I’m going to destroy her!”
The rest of us just heard “you may now kiss the bride”,
followed by a cavalcade of woops, whistles, clapping, and cheering.
Mr. and Mrs. Hudson suddenly appeared in the church.
Mrs. Victoria Elizabeth Hudson now stood there in all her
beauty married to Mr. Michael George Hudson.
And may they be happily ever after.
The CofE blessing of the marriage was due to be followed by
the Apache Wedding Blessing, in accordance with the Order of Service. Yet somehow this was missed by the vicar who
decided we should simply dive into the next hymn, “I vow to thee”
Having had the time to look at his own Order of Service the
vicar returned to the schedule and offered up the Apache Wedding Blessing
We follow this with prayers including the lord’s prayer.
(Someone with a lot of foresight had long ago written this on the wall above
the pulpit, just in case anyone forgot it.) Finally we smoothly rode on into
the Final blessing.
How last hymn was “How Great Thou Art”. It was almost over. We had had a laugh, we had had a cry, and now
we drew in breath for our last active part.
We managed something similar to an acceptable tempo and pitch through
the first verse and refrain.
Only a matter of a few weeks before the community had
suffered a heavy loss. The long serving
and well liked church warden have passed away.
At his funeral the church had been packed. Barry Bennett was a great man and I am
honoured to have known him all my life.
He left some very big shoes to fill.
This was the first big event for our new church warden. With this in mind she had done her best to
ensure every one was sat in the right place and had been given a copy of the
Order of Service. She had put us ushers
to shame.
As we marched on through the final hymn there came a slight
noise from the back of the church. The
ringing grew louder and more insistent.
We all looked about at one another. Who had left their phone on? Slowly it dawned on her. The new church warden. In her first official service. It was her phone. It was quietly switched off.
As was the organ.
Just as my sister was complaining to her new husband about the length of
the hymn the church fell into silence.
The congregation pulled on their vocal hand brakes, momentarily went
into neutral, as the organ was quickly restarted, and we all carried on as if
nothing had happened.
Having become married in the eyes of the Lord they now had
to be married in the eyes of the Law. As
is ever the case with governmental systems this required paperwork. Thus the pair accompanied by a selection of
witnesses make their way around the church in order to sign the register. As this went on our organist Calvert Allison
manage to play an unbroken intermission.
I never really knew what I wanted to grow up to be as a
child. I enjoyed studying maths and
science at school, then came home to help with the animals on the farm. It was my sister who was determined to become
a vet and as such had undertaken work experience from a young age. With no excuses eventually I was pushed out
of the house to follow in her footsteps.
Two years after my sister I, just as she had, went to help lamb for the
Keeley family. I was a nervous young
teenager but was welcomed in and supplied with bounteous, beautiful food and a
cozy bed in exchange for a little hard work.
This was my first step into the working world away from our family farm,
and my first step towards becoming a veterinary student.
Mr. and Mrs. Keeley had been invited to my sister’s wedding
and gotten a pew right in front the register.
As the paperwork was being organized my sister placed her bouquet
on the table. The bouquet did not like
the table and attempted to fall off. It
was replaced on the table, but continued in its dislike of the flat surface and
once more made a bid for freedom.
Accepting that the flowers needed someone who was able to adequately
manage them my sister past them into the keeping of Mr. Robert Keeley. He sat there happily on the end of the pew
with a bouquet in his hands smiling like a schoolboy. It took a nudge from Mrs. Sue Keeley to tell
him how he looked. A bright happy older
gentleman in suit and tie clasping a bouquet of flowers in both of his farmer’s
hands. A shade of red crept up his
cheeks and across his face.
By this point I was outside the church with a team of
gullible friends. I am not entirely
certain of how old the tradition is, nor how far it is spread throughout
Britain’s rural communities, or if it is a Yorkshire tradition. The four pitchforks had been decorated with peach
coloured ribbons and I had been given the task of finding four of the couple’s
friends to form their honour guard.
Inside the church the “Hallelujah Chorus” from ‘Messiah’ by
Handel was being played as I arranged the four into a double arch outside the
porch. Having organized this I ran back
inside to find the two small wicker baskets which contains the little boxes of
confetti neatly stacked just inside the door.
The sun shone bright on the guests as they left the church.
As they passed through the porch each was offered a small box of biodegradable
confetti, the small wicker baskets, decorated with pink ribbons held by myself
on their right and on their left Richard Butler in his military regalia, sword
in his other hand, a cheeky grin on his face.
The last to leave were the lovely, smiling, happy couple.
The cherry on the cake was provided by Kurtis Evans and the
Ledston Estate.
Kurtis works on my parents’ farm and is a vintage tractor
enthusiast in his spare time. He was therefore able to fulfil my sister’s
childhood dream of having a vintage tractor at her wedding. Three times over.
The Ledston Estate gave us permission to go up to the manor
house where the official wedding photos would be taken of the couple, their
families, and closest friends.
Whilst we were up there, quaffing champagne (my father
hammering it from the bottle), the VIPs (Very Important Plebs) had been allowed
onto the farm for Pimms & nibbles, entertainment provided by discussion
about the sermon, and a large, fat, (apparently) desperately starving Jack
Russell dressed in a bow tie.
