1 JANUARY 1942
On 1 January 1942, twenty-six governments from Allied countries signed the Declaration by United Nations, a new world organization, after America joined forces with Britain following the bombing of Pearl Harbor.
Meanwhile, in Bethnal Green, another, albeit smaller union was about to be made, but this one was to be a declaration of love. It had been seven months since Tommy’s romantic proposal outside the factory, and now the day had come to pass.
True to her word, Mrs Braithwaite from the orphanage had returned, time and again, to grill both Flossy and Tommy’s mother, before finally giving the home’s permission for the pair to wed. A more welcome return had come in the form of Peggy’s father from exile.
Mr Piper had said little about his time in the internment camp, preferring instead to focus on his family and aid the war effort on the Home Front, but there was no doubt that his treatment as a German civilian living in Britain served as a lesson in the virtues of tolerance to the Trout’s girls. But weddings are about looking forward, not back, and as he stood in the porch outside St John Church, tall and dapper in a smart navy-blue herringbone utility suit, Flossy could see Peggy and her father were determined to put the pain of their separation behind them.
‘Rationing may have stopped confetti, but I think Mother Nature’s stepping in to help,’ Mr Piper chuckled. ‘You can always rely on the British weather.’
Soft snowflakes fluttered down from the skies above the churchyard, and they were already settling on the ground, painting the fire-scorched kerbsides a glittering white.
Up on the roof of the Salmon & Ball public house opposite stood a solitary fire-watcher, silhouetted against the pale sky, stoically and silently watching for the enemy.
‘A white wedding. How pretty,’ murmured Peggy, smiling adoringly up at him. She had been a different person since he had been released; joy and relief exuded from her, and Flossy realized this was the real Peggy.
‘Not as pretty as you two,’ smiled little Betsy, who looked a picture in her simple white smocked bridesmaid’s dress embroidered with pink flowers, her fine blonde hair tied back from her freckled face with a dusky-pink ribbon.
‘We have scrubbed up rather well, if I do say so myself,’ said Peggy, reaching out to give Flossy’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
A double wedding might not have been to everyone’s taste, but to the girls, it made perfect sense. From the moment Lucky had formally asked Mr Piper’s permission for his daughter’s hand in marriage, they had all decided that sharing a wedding was ideal, not just because it helped to make a wartime wedding feel less austere, but because the girls had been through so much together. When Tommy discovered he was to get shore leave over the New Year, they had wasted no time in booking the wedding.
Flossy and Peggy had intended to visit legendary seamstress Hetty Dipple, who everyone in Bethnal Green went to, to have their bridal gowns made, but the Victory Knitters had stepped in and insisted on making the dresses as a wedding gift. And hadn’t they ever done the girls proud! Goodness knows how they had done it, but thanks to some parachute silk and a hefty yard of resourcefulness, Flossy and Peggy were about to be spliced in the white dresses of their dreams.
The exquisite flowing gowns certainly made a change from their usual factory attire, and who was to know their veils were actually recycled pre-war petticoats?
Parachute silk was the most coveted material around, and Sal and Pat were staying tight-lipped about where it came from, but Flossy had an inkling that their good factory friends from Stepney, now machining parachutes for the army, might just have had something to do with it. Who knew, but the offcuts of silk had also extended to a pair of beautiful camiknickers, so no nasty passion-killer utility pants for the most important night of Flossy’s life!
As East End tradition dictated, the Victory Knitters had sewn a single strand of all their hair into the hem, solidifying the girls’ closeness to the factory sewing bee.
Thanks to the girls, Flossy also felt close to another very important influence in her life. She still was not able to think of her mother without feeling so many conflicting emotions. Loss and regret still filled her, but permeating the anger came another, purer emotion. Acceptance. Lucky was right. Who knew what life would have had in store for her had she remained at her destitute mother’s side?
How any woman could willingly walk away from her eight-week-old baby with the knowledge she would never return was something that Flossy could not fathom, but standing on the church’s doorstep, she knew she must forgive her mother. That is why she had finally told the girls about her start in life, and requested they sew her mother’s calico heart into the lining of her wedding dress.
The delicate folds of material felt as light as air and silky-soft against her skin, and shivering slightly, Flossy realized her arms were covered in goosebumps. Was it the cold of standing in a snowy porch or the knowledge that her mother was with her in spirit on the most important day of her life?
‘I feel like a princess, but golly, am I ever nervous,’ she whispered, running a trembling hand round the circumference of her twenty-two-inch waist and exhaling slowly.
‘There is nothing to be nervous about,’ said Mr Piper. ‘When there is love, Flossy, fear cannot exist. It is only the thought of this moment that kept me going during those long months in captivity.’
With that, he held his arm out to each girl as the opening chorus of ‘Canon in D’ by Johann Pachelbel began to drift back from inside the large church. ‘And the fact that I get to walk not just one but two beautiful brides down the aisle doubles my joy. Now, shall we get you girls married?’
‘Yes, let’s,’ replied Peggy, setting aside her stick in the porch and taking her father’s arm.
‘Are you sure you don’t want the stick, darling?’ he asked.
‘Quite sure,’ she replied. ‘I vowed that if you made it home alive, I would do this. Besides, I don’t need a stick to hold on to: I’ve got you.’
The double doors swung open and the girls stepped, blinking nervously, into the church, followed by a very excited six-year-old bridesmaid. The congregation, bathed in candlelight, turned round, faces filled with joy and love.
The walk was slow, but it felt over in a heartbeat to Flossy. She registered nothing, not the emotional tears of the five Bird sisters, the Victory Knitters’ beaming smiles, the hulking lads from Lucky’s boxing club, desperately trying to hide any sign of emotion but failing, or Audrey Braithwaite from the home, sitting bolt upright in the pew with a stiff upper lip.
Sitting next to Dolly’s mother and holding her hand supportively was Archie Gladstone. He blew loudly into his handkerchief as they passed him by, his twinkly blue eyes glistening with tears. ‘God bless you, girls,’ he mouthed.
It passed as if in a dream, for all Flossy really wanted was to see the look on her fiancé’s face. Tommy and Lucky stood proudly by the altar, two strong, fine and upstanding young men, Tommy so handsome in his sailor’s uniform, and Lucky dashing in a dark single-breasted, pinstriped suit and braces.
The sailor turned and caught sight of Flossy, his gaze softening, and he instinctively held out his hands to her and Betsy, his pale blue eyes burning with pride from beneath his sailor’s cap.
In all her days, Flossy doubted anything would ever quite match the perfect joy of that moment.
Before the vicar commenced the service, he held his hands together in prayer and looked to the ceiling. ‘Now, Mr Hitler, if you would be so kind as to allow me to conduct these proceedings with some peace and quiet, I’d be obliged to you.’
A ripple of laughter rang out round the church.
‘You tell him, Rev!’ hollered back the voice of Pat from the congregation.
There might have been no church bells ringing, on account of the war, but it didn’t stop the guests from cheering to the heavens above when ‘I do’ had been said twice. Flossy Bird walked back up the aisle on her new husband’s arm, followed by a beaming Mr and Mrs Johnstone, and two more radiant brides you would be hard pressed to find. No matter that the guests’ buttonholes were fashioned out of garden foliage, or the cake waiting back at May’s house was a fake, made of cardboard to comply with the Sugar (Restriction of Use) Order 1940. The look of love shining in the eyes of the seamstresses and their sweethearts was real. Optimism and hope for the future abounded. Virtually everything now, or so it seemed, was strictly rationed, except for love.
The moment that Flossy and Peggy married the sailor and the Home Guard hero in a double wedding had already gone down in Trout’s history as one of their finest.
As the congregation spilt out into the snowy graveyard, Flossy found herself warmed through with hugs and kisses from the heartland of the East End.
The Victory Knitters were first to congratulate them, descending on the brides like a flock of brightly coloured birds. The girls hadn’t let clothes rationing cramp their style and old clothing had been renovated and recycled with amazing ingenuity. In fact, all the guests had breathed new life into something old, or borrowed, which felt appropriate for a wedding, but it was the factory sewing bee who had done it with the most panache.
Vera’s younger sister, Daisy, looked ravishing in a fitted hot-pink coat that hugged her curves and contrasted beautifully with her tumbling dark curls.
‘Made my coat out of a candlewick bedspread, but don’t tell no one,’ she whispered breathily in Flossy’s ear as she hugged her tightly. Flossy smiled back. Beautiful Daisy had just turned eighteen, and although she hadn’t had any responses to her secret letters, Flossy suspected it wouldn’t be long before she was snapped up by some lucky chap!
When Daisy moved aside, Sal stepped forward and embraced Flossy in a bone-crunching hug. She couldn’t have looked more different to that infamous night when she led the protest on the Savoy Hotel in her factory pinny. Today, she looked more demure in a gay emerald-green suit, its collar trimmed with fur, although Flossy suspected her fighting days weren’t over yet.
‘That green is gorgeous with your red hair,’ said Peggy admiringly.
‘Nice, ain’t it?’ Sal grinned, pushing her tongue through the chip in her front tooth absent-mindedly. ‘It’s actually a velveteen coat I bought from Petticoat Lane two summers ago. I edged the collar with fur from the epaulettes.’
‘Nice to have an excuse to dress up at last,’ chipped in young Kathy, who had finally been forgiven by Vera for lying about her age and was looking very trim in a blue rayon crêpe dress with a gingham trim and a fur shrug. ‘Made this frock out me nan’s old tablecloth,’ she announced proudly, twirling round in the snow.
‘Well, I think we all look the business,’ declared Pat, resplendent in a vast red wool cape, recycled out of a blanket.
‘Congratulations, girls,’ said Vera, awkwardly stepping forward in a sober grey wool suit and thick lisle stockings, gripping on to her leather handbag like it was a lifebuoy. Poor Vera, thought Flossy. Unlike her sister, out of the factory, the irascible forelady always looked ill at ease and unsure of her place.
‘Thanks, Vera. You look lovely. Smashing rig-out,’ said Peggy warmly.
‘’Ere, you wouldn’t have said that when we first met you,’ screeched Kathy.
‘That’s true, Kathy,’ Peggy laughed. ‘I must be a proper East Ender now.’
‘Yep, you’ve certainly changed from the old Miss Snooty Knickers who first walked into Trout’s,’ Kathy replied, winking to show she was only teasing.
‘Jokes aside, though, girls,’ interjected Sal, looking round the group fondly, ‘I reckon we’ve all changed this past year, showed the world our true colours.’
‘How do you mean, Sal?’ Flossy replied thoughtfully.
‘I s’pose I just mean that I for one feel stronger. The Blitz showed me what I was capable of. Showed all women what we can truly achieve if we put our minds and our backs into it. Emancipation through bombs, who’d have thought it, eh?’
‘E-man-ci-pation?’ said Kathy, drawing the word out as she puzzled on it. ‘What’s that mean, then? Freedom from a man?’
‘Something like that, Kath?’ Sal smiled, putting her arm round the young girl’s shoulder. ‘It means we can go our own way now . . . as man’s equal.’
‘This talk is all a bit fast for a wedding,’ snapped Vera disapprovingly. ‘We shan’t dominate the brides’ time any longer. Come now, girls,’ she chivvied.
The girls moved off, and waiting behind them was Dolly’s mother. As Peggy walked away discreetly to give them some time alone, Flossy felt her smile falter.
‘Mrs Doolaney,’ she said haltingly. ‘I’m so glad you came.’ She hadn’t seen Dolly’s mother since the wake, and she still looked ravaged by grief, even though she was clearly putting on a brave face. Flossy still didn’t know how much she knew about her and Dolly’s relationship.
‘Congratulations, dearie,’ she smiled shakily. ‘You know, you were the daughter Dolly never had,’ she whispered, and with that, Flossy realized she knew everything. ‘And I felt her here today,’ Mrs Doolaney added, placing a hand over her heart. ‘She would have been so very proud of you.’
‘I thought I only had the joy of knowing her for one year, Mrs Doolaney,’ Flossy replied, clutching the older woman’s hands in hers. ‘But in reality she was in my life all along, and that brings me so much comfort now that she’s no longer—’
She was interrupted by a triumphant-looking Lucky, standing on the top step of the church, his arm firmly clamped round Peggy’s shoulder, every feature on his face radiating love. Dolly had been right: Lucky was utterly uninhibited in his devotion towards Peggy.
‘Come on, then, let’s be having you!’ he boomed, his breath billowing into the frosty air. ‘My beautiful wife’s getting cold. All back to my mother-in-law’s for a good old knees-up.’
‘You will come, won’t you?’ urged Flossy to Mrs Doolaney.
‘Thanks, love, but no. I still don’t feel up to socializing much. I just wanted to see you get spliced in good heart. It’s something I always secretly dreamed of for my Dolly. She would have loved today.’
‘I know,’ Flossy replied. ‘And she will never be forgotten.’
*
Back at May’s, the tiny terrace was packed to the rafters with revellers, and despite the cold, faces were already becoming flushed and the talk louder. Peggy took a moment to look around her in astonishment. Their neighbour the irrepressible Kate, whom Peggy had looked down on when she had first arrived in Bethnal Green, had rolled her piano onto the snowy street and was hammering out the tunes, and an impromptu conga line, led by Sal, was already snaking its way past her.
‘Smashing do, Peggy,’ Kathy grinned, as she congaed past.
‘You don’t think all this singing will alert the Huns,’ said Ivy in a worried voice from behind.
‘Nah,’ Kathy called back, ‘but if we have to go, at least we’ll go happy!’
Peggy thought of her treatment of all these decent people when she had first joined Trout’s and felt a fierce flash of shame. Thank goodness she had come to her senses. Her shame dissolved a moment later, when she spotted Flossy’s rather forbidding-looking welfare worker, Audrey Braithwaite, pinned up against the trestle table by Pat, who had extracted a catering-size tin of Spam from her bag and placed it down on the table with a thud.
‘Heavens to Betsy, wherever did you get that?’ exclaimed Mrs Braithwaite.
‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,’ Pat replied, tapping the side of her florid nose.
Peggy stifled a giggle; she’d wager the rather dour welfare worker had never been to a wedding quite like this before.
The finger buffet was a sight to behold. Alongside Pat’s giant can of tinned meat were plates groaning with freshly baked sausage rolls, ham and tongue, salad and pickles, trifle and jellies, to be washed down with copious amounts of ale. The guests had done them proud and raided their larders and emptied their ration books to produce a feast fit for the King himself. This afternoon at least, they wouldn’t go hungry. Little Betsy stood gazing at the spread as if the wonders of the world were spread out before her.
The men stood around somewhat more stiffly than the women, holding glasses of ale and gobbling back the pickled onions, and Peggy smiled as she looked at Lucky and her father, locked deep in conversation. Their voices drifted over to where she was standing.
‘Have you heard about these new reforms that economist chap William Beveridge is investigating, Lucky?’ her father questioned her husband. ‘Churchill’s asked him to look into a scheme that would build a safety net for the whole population. Family allowances, free health care and better housing for the poor, maternity leave and funeral grants . . . Can you imagine if they actually manage to bring these reforms in?’ he said passionately.
‘I was listening to it being discussed on the wireless, sir,’ Lucky replied, nodding sagely. ‘And if it really does happen, it will be an incredible step forward. For the poverty in the East End to be wiped out would be beyond anything I could dream of. Decent folk deserve a brighter future. Over forty-three thousand people died in the Blitz, so I heard. So much loss and human suffering, but now the Yanks have joined us, it’s sure to bring this war to a swifter end . . .’ His voice trailed off as Peggy’s mother, clutching a tray of potted meat sandwiches, walked up to them.
‘Come, now,’ she chided. ‘No more talk of politics: today is a day of celebration. This is Flossy and Peggy’s happy day.’
‘Mrs Piper’s right,’ chipped in Archie, striding through from the scullery, clutching two dustbin lids in his hand. ‘And if I’m not much mistaken, it is also New Year’s Day, and tradition dictates we need to see out the old.’
The wedding guests cheered, and both front and back doors of the terrace were flung open, as Archie banged the dustbin lids together, waking Tommy’s nan, who had been softly snoring in a chair in the corner, with a start.
‘What’s he doing?’ Peggy shouted over the din to Flossy, who had joined her, clutching Betsy’s hand.
‘It’s the East End way of seeing out the old year and welcoming in the new,’ said Flossy.
‘Fancy that,’ Peggy replied. ‘Well, I think we’ll all be pleased to see the back of that year.’
Flossy nodded. ‘Hear! hear!’
Archie placed down the bin lids and raised his glass in a toast. ‘Before I hand you over to the father of the bride, well, one of ’em, I’d just like to say a few words on Flossy’s behalf.’
His voice might have been gruff, but Peggy knew a heart as soft as marshmallow beat inside that round little chest. A hush fell over the guests.
‘Flossy joined us over a year and a half ago, and our much-loved and missed Dolly took her under her wing. She was like a little mouse when she started at Trout’s, but our Doll saw something in her, and when I look at Flossy now, so beautiful and in love, well—’ His voice broke off as he struggled to get his emotions back under control. ‘She’s a credit to the factory and I’m as proud of you as any father would be, love.’
Peggy had to gulp back tears as Flossy put down her drink and wrapped the rotund little foreman in an enormous hug that made him flush and had him fishing out his handkerchief once more.
‘To Dolly Doolaney,’ said Flossy, raising her glass.
‘Dolly Doolaney,’ came back a respectful chorus.
As the wedding party continued, Peggy offered up a silent prayer. Her family was reunited and complete, but so many others were suffering, and she prayed like never before that 1942 would see an end to this war. She prayed that machining khaki, rationing, danger and blackouts would fade from the memory, and in its place, bright, pretty things would return. Church bells on a Sunday, silk stockings, bananas, a hot soak in a full bath, planting hollyhocks instead of potatoes . . . She fervently prayed that pleasure and peace would blossom throughout the land one day, that all the joys that had passed into nostalgic memory would return. But despite this longing, never had she felt so thankful for her lot. Peggy doubted there was anyone in the world happier than she.
*
By 10 p.m., Betsy was beat and Flossy tenderly carried her up the stairs and tucked her into Peggy’s bed. She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.
Carefully, Flossy arranged the quilt that the Victory Knitters had stitched for the sailors of HMS Avenge around her so she was snug, before leaning down to kiss her daughter on the forehead, her first act as a mother. The ship’s captain had presented them with the quilt as a wedding gift and it was a lovely touch. Smiling wistfully, she traced her fingers in the shape of a heart over Tommy’s name, stitched right next to hers. What a lovely memento of the way they met to treasure forever. It had been the perfect day, but as lovely as the ceremony and reception had been, what she was truly looking forward to was her future as Mrs Bird. She couldn’t wait to move in now with Tommy’s mother, nan, sisters and Betsy in their new lodgings in Hackney, and be a proper mother and wife at last.
As she watched the little girl dream, Flossy made a silent vow. Under her watch, Betsy would never know a minute’s loneliness. Childhood was so vitally important and its freedom must be allowed to flourish. Her own had been curtailed by an institution, Dolly’s by a protective love . . . Betsy would know nothing but contentment and joy.
Flossy checked the blackout blinds were securely drawn before lighting the tiny gas lamp by Betsy’s bedside, casting her sweetly slumbering daughter in a golden glow. She made to leave, but she couldn’t resist, and turning back, she kissed her ever so gently once more on the tip of her freckled nose.
‘Sleep tight, my darling,’ she murmured over the soft hiss of the gaslight.
Flossy tiptoed down the creaky stairs and found her husband standing outside on the pavement in the snow, smoking a cigarette with Peggy and Lucky. The smoky front-parlour windows were blacked out, but Flossy could hear the wedding party still going great guns inside. Someone had brought an accordion along and was playing it with gusto, and the shrieks of laughter and thudding of feet on the ageing wooden boards told Flossy the celebrations would go on for a while yet.
‘Here’s my beautiful wife,’ said Tommy, reaching out to hook his arm round her shoulder. ‘Betsy all right?’
Flossy nestled in close to his warm chest. ‘Snug as a bug.’
‘You’re shivering,’ he said, taking off his suit jacket and draping it round her.
Together, the newlyweds stared out at the deserted moonlit street, exhausted but happy as they watched the soft snow drift down and settle on the chimney pots.
‘It’s been the perfect day,’ Flossy said at last, breaking the muffled silence. ‘Did you see Mrs Braithwaite’s face when Pat made her dance to “Knees Up, Mother Brown”?’
‘Poor woman,’ chuckled Lucky, pulling a giggling Peggy closer into his embrace. ‘I thought she’d burst a gasket. Shouldn’t think we’ll see much of her round these parts now.’
‘And what of you, Flossy?’ Peggy enquired, twisting to face her. ‘Will we see much of you around Trout’s?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied ruefully. ‘Little Betsy needs me at home now. It’ll be a stretch on only Tommy’s wage, but that little girl desperately needs stability, as well as love, after everything she’s been through.’
Flossy glanced up at the bedroom window behind which Betsy slept soundly before lowering her voice. ‘I often used to wonder why some mothers in the East End refused to have their children evacuated; now I think I understand. I can’t possibly send her away again.’
She turned to Tommy with a devoted smile. ‘Rather, we can’t send her away. I need to be the one to greet her at the school gate every day when it opens again, make her tea, help her with her homework and tuck her into bed each night, even if that bed is down the Underground. I want to be a proper mother.’
Flossy felt her heart leap. ‘Gosh, doesn’t that sound wonderful? Me, a mother!’
‘Yes, it does sound rather wonderful. Very well, then, I’ll forgive you for leaving,’ Peggy acquiesced with a chuckle. ‘But do say you’ll come back to join in the sewing circle. Dolly would be mortified if you left!’
‘Leave the Victory Knitters?’ Flossy exclaimed. ‘What do you think? Not on your nelly. I haven’t just got my own husband’s socks to darn. I’ve got a whole boatload now. Besides, I promised our newest recruit, Betsy, she could join in too.’
‘Hopefully I’ll be joining you in a life of domesticity soon,’ said Peggy with a coy smile. ‘Lucky and I are desperate to be parents, and, well, I know it’s hardly the right time to be thinking of bringing a child into the world, but we don’t want to wait. And now that Lucky’s got a new job . . .’
‘Have you?’ exclaimed Flossy.
Lucky smiled bashfully. ‘Yes. I was going to wait until after we got back from our honeymoon in Clacton before I said anything, but the head of the ARP was so impressed with my work throughout the Blitz he’s recommended me to the town hall to run a new youth club for the boys from Russia Lane and some of the slums of Bethnal Green. He thinks I’d be the perfect man to supervise them and put them to use repairing bomb-damaged houses and turning the bombsites into allotments to grow food. They’ve already started it, but they need someone dedicated to it full-time. It’ll help the area get back on its feet and keep the lads out of mischief.’
‘Why, that’s a wonderful idea, Lucky,’ said Flossy. ‘You’re the perfect man for the job. Though I know Archie will be sad to lose you.’
‘And I’ll miss him, and all the girls at Trout’s. But no disrespect, I feel with this new job, I’d really be making something of myself, and helping boys to feel pride in themselves too.’
‘No one is prouder of you than me,’ said Peggy, planting a big kiss on Lucky’s cheek. ‘Poor Vera, she won’t take kindly to all these empty seats.’
‘Don’cha worry about Vera,’ said Lucky. ‘She’s got Archie wrapped round her little finger. He’s so sweet on her I reckon he’d sit behind a machine himself if she told him.’
‘Archie’s sweet on Vera?’ exclaimed Peggy. ‘Never.’
‘You mark my words, those two will end up married one day,’ Lucky replied knowingly.
‘I’m not sure about that,’ Flossy interjected. ‘But now that conscription for women has started, I shouldn’t think she’ll have much trouble staffing the factory. Plus I hear she has a new girl starting in the spring, a country girl by the name of Poppy Percival.’
‘Fresh from the country?’ remarked Peggy, arching one eyebrow as she cast her mind back to her own rocky start at Trout’s. ‘That’ll be a baptism of fire for her, poor girl. As long as she doesn’t impale her finger under the needle.’
‘I don’t know,’ giggled Flossy. ‘You’re not a proper machinist until . . .’
‘. . . you’ve got your thumb under the needle three times,’ both girls chorused together, before doubling over with laugher.
‘Come on, everyone,’ said Tommy affectionately, opening the front door. ‘We best get back inside. We’re missing our own wedding here.’
As the snow blanketed the streets, whitewashing the ugly bombsites and craters in a fine white powder, the two young couples stepped back into the warmth.
No sooner had Tommy opened the door than the siren rang out through the moonlit night.
‘Moaning Minnie . . .’ Tommy groaned. ‘I’ll go fetch Betsy.’
‘Looks like we’re going to have to spend our first night as a married couple down the Tube,’ Flossy said calmly, her fear long since replaced by resignation.
‘Oh well,’ remarked Archie cheerfully, as he walked out of the door carrying a plate of sandwiches under a tea towel, followed by a steady stream of wedding guests. ‘Hurry up, everyone, and don’t forget that accordion. I have a feeling this wedding party is about to get an awful lot bigger.’
And seventy feet below ground, love, life and celebration continued.