Field of Dreams?

 Pardon the delay. You might understand why when you read the following:

Just before I posted the previous entry, I had had a wizard wheeze of the floral variety. I had been interviewing a wedding couple in Dursley town centre at the weekend. Having polished off a breakfast in Bank Café, we sat outside in the sunshine to continue chatting. The bride-to-be was talking about her beautiful idea for her bouquet – she’s asking her guests to bring one flower each that they feel best represents them, and she will put them all together just before her ceremony begins. As she told me of this, I noticed the crocheted flowers that decorate my little town, fixed to trees; adorning noticeboards; hanging from branches. I put two and tulip together, and the next day, posted the following request to mine and other FB pages:

 

Do you crochet? Can you do flowers? J and I are getting married in two months' time, and we cannot afford flowers. Inspired by the beautiful decorations in Dursley Town Centre, I thought I might make a few, but I'm not going to have time to do many. So I am enlisting help: If you can manage a couple of flowers - nice bright colours, maybe with added sparkle - and can pop them through my or Jonny's letterbox we would be so grateful, and maybe I'll have enough to assemble something pretty to decorate our wedding site. This would actually be more beautiful to us than real flowers, as it would symbolise teamwork and kindness, and we'd know that good things were thought as the flowers were created.

(Addresses) Feel free to share this post.

Thanking you in advance, L and J xxx

The response was sweet and incredibly touching. Lots of shares and likes, and many offers to stitch us some blooms. I was directed to Brighten Up Dursley – the volunteer organisation that provides the decorations. One of my relatives even signed up for a crochet class so she could help! The day after the post, a package was left on my doorstep containing the first batch, from a complete stranger. A second brought hers over a week later. But most incredibly, a journalist from the Gloucestershire Gazette got in touch, minutes after I had written of my “sense of dread” on these very pages. She had seen my post in a local group and wanted to expand it into an article. I duly wrote a couple of paragraphs and sent them.

Two days later, still struggling with the drowning sensation which makes it near impossible to do anything, (the achievement of which might relieve the sensation a little, but I just can’t etc round and round and round…) I was staggering through some compiling work when I received an odd phone call…

As mentioned, our ceremony was to occur in a field. One which has a regular boot fair on a Saturday, so my first move last year was to find the bloke who is in charge of this and ask permission. Let’s call him Boot Fair Bloke. He said it wasn’t down to him, but that the field was owned by the nearby school, and I should get in touch with the chap who sorts that sort of thing. Let’s call him School Field Chap. SFC eventually got back to me, and it was agreed in a phone call around mid-November 2021 that we could use the field, as long as BFB was OK with it. I didn’t have to do anything else. I didn’t even have to pay. The only thing he asked was that we didn’t use confetti, which was fine.

We rejoiced! As soon as we had decided to marry, we knew we wanted it to be outdoors. I am not religious, J is. To be more specific, I am a humanist; J is Christian. A church wedding was out of the question for me, but J was happy to have a humanist ceremony. Saying our vows to each other in the thick of nature ticks both boxes. It connects us to our relative beliefs, and is thus incredibly important. Said field boasts stunning views of Cam Peak and the edge of the Cotswolds, with further woods and forests on the hill behind. It is unfailingly gorgeous from all sides, with the bonus that it is accessible. We did consider the woods, even the Peak itself, but we have several important guests that may not be up to a walk, let alone one with a steep incline! Here, everyone would be able to park directly on the site and not have far to travel to be in the thick of the action. All our plans now centred on this venue. Every time we drove past it, we would look at each other with excitement. “We’re getting married in a field in Dursley,” we’d proudly boast to anyone who asked.

When the boot fairs began again in April, I went straight over to check with BFB that all was still fine, and to remind him it was happening. At the end of the next month, we finally got our backsides into gear and sent invitations, all detailing the location of the field. I spent the best part of a day putting together maps and explanations. We were asking people to dress their cars with ribbon as they would be visible throughout the ceremony. I had a fantastic idea of how I was to arrive. Mind you, I had not gone far beyond this in terms of planning, and concern about how we would set up, sound systems, musicians etc were certainly part of that pressure that I was feeling.

And then came That Call, on a Friday afternoon while I was dozing off in my work, from BFB. I had been half asleep, now I woke up sharply as I tried to interpret his garbling. One sentence was crystal clear: you can’t use the field, sorry.

In desperation, I went over what he’d said with him. It turned out that a well-meaning friend and wedding guest had decided that he would arrange toilet facilities as a gift to us. (Not wrapped, obvs) He had tried to contact BFB and ended up speaking to the boot fair’s burger van guy instead, who passed the convo on. My mate must have sounded rather official, and maybe misled the burger guy to thinking he was investigating a lack of facilities! BFB freaked out and called the school, to be told that his boot fair was safe. And the wedding, he’d said? What wedding, they replied? They didn’t know anything about one.

With trembling everything, I got BFB off the phone and called them instantly. I spoke to a PA who couldn’t put me through to SFC as he didn’t work Fridays. It didn’t matter, she said, as he’s not been in charge of bookings since January. January! She seemed to know more though, and was emphatic – they don’t let plebs like us use the field. As the information hit, and after the week I’d had, I crumpled and began to cry. The 100mg of sertraline I take every day does a lot to get in the way of tears, but sometimes it’s as efficient as a little old lady trying to stop a ten-tonne truck. It wasn’t just crying, it was M&S crying. The PA softened slightly, took my name and number, and said she would get him to call me on Monday morning. The subject of Public Liability Insurance had come up in both calls. Maybe it was just a case of putting that in place? Maybe we could still use it? I hung up and it took me over an hour to pull myself together. This was insane. Nobody’s died. Why has planning a wedding made me lose perspective?

After an uncertain weekend, Monday arrived, and I recalled that the journalist had requested a photograph of us with the town flowers. It was beautifully sunny, so I yanked J away from his brekky and we walked down to get some shots. My phone rang just as we were perfecting our poses. It was SFC, not even slightly apologetic, saying no field for us. I felt numb, but tried to unravel what had happened. I got the feeling that he’d given us permission when it hadn’t been his place to do so, though he’d meant it as a kindness, but had subsequently been rumbled, possibly after BFB’s call. He may even have got into trouble over this. “I had heard nothing from you,” he said defensively. It hadn’t occurred to me to re-confirm with him as well before the invitations. “Maybe I’ve been naïve about all this?” I mumbled. I could have got angry, but what was the point? He’d have got angrier, I’d have come away thinking it was all my fault, and it would have changed nothing. I hung up, dejected, and had to put on a smile I didn’t feel to get the photograph that eventually ended up being used for the article.

Then, just as we got back to my home, I had a message from a dear relative, stating that she was very sorry but the family weren’t going to come over from Italy for the wedding as they are worried about Covid. Of course I understood, but it was just one thing too many and the M&S sobs returned. Covid may definitely put a crimp on our wedding day. How had I forgotten about it?

As if in reminder, I spent the next few days in bed, trying to overcome a very strange bout of lurgy. It began with a sore throat, and there was a headache or too, but mostly it was utter weakness, and muscle aches which were quelled by paracetamol. I did three negative tests, but still had to cancel/postpone work and singing appointments that I’d had lined up. My head was a bigger mass of scrambulation than usual. I could barely think. No further action was taken.

As this is the darkest part of this entry, I will mention that days before all the above had occurred, I was reeling from some very bad news about the health of another family member. Oddly, I felt little emotion when I was told, yet to my shame the tears only arrived after learning of the field debacle later that same week. I tell myself that it was the second piece of news that twanged me over the Sertraline barrier, and not that I am a heartless b. I really hope it’s that. It has of course already affected the preparation. My mum was supposed to visit and we were going to make my dress together. That has not happened. At the end of my week of lurgy, I managed to haul myself out to a fabric shop in Bristol. I video-called Mamma, and draped a few materials in front of the camera, noting that I hated how bright the white one looked. I freaked out. “I can’t do this without you here,” I wailed. “I know, darly”, she replied sadly. Nobody in the shop who heard our loud conversation said anything. At that moment, with everything that had happened, I felt like the saddest bride ever.

But there’s always a way forward. The next day, J and I popped over to our party venue, looking at it now with ceremony eyes. There’s a beautiful garden, cultivated by volunteers and another shining example of the community at work. It will do very well indeed. It’s right next to the hall, so there are toilets, a bar, electricity and best of all, a roof, should the weather be against us. True, it doesn’t have the convenient parking, but that’s outweighed by everything that it does have. We may even be able to live stream the ceremony for those who cannot make it on the day. Instead of a dramatic arrival on a vehicle (that I will still not mention, in case plans change again), I will be able to walk from my home with my little bridal party, down the hill and through the town, past the church tower where we met one Thursday evening in September 2017, at a bell ringing practice. We may even be able to get the bells to ring!

I took control dress-wise. I can still knock something up. It would be nice to go into a bridal shop and do the dress-trying-on thing, but knowing I have no intention of making a purchase is too deceitful. (“Other people do it,” says Mamma, for whom the film Muriel’s Wedding is a favourite. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to,” I reply.) Instead, I went through my existing wardrobe, picking out stuff that I like and noting what I like about it. I have a plan, but now only seven weeks remains, and there’s quite a lot of other things to do in that time. I’m going to have a handmade bouquet too, using some of the flowers I’m being given, plus some I will make. The beauty of this is that I will be able to keep it long after the ceremony, and that it can contain blooms that are significant to me, regardless of whether or not they are in season.

The article was published in the Gloucestershire Gazette, and we even made it to the front page. I’ve been on the front page of a local paper at least twice before (oo-hee-hoo), but I was still ridiculously excited, and bought multiple copies to send to parents.

The seriously-ill relative though is still seriously ill, and facing a very rough time in the weeks to come, including a major operation on 2nd August. If they need further treatment, it may affect who can be there on the wedding day itself. All this, plus the stress of having to get things sorted etc, are casting shadows on what is supposed to be a very happy time. It’s also muted my celebratory voice somewhat. It seems wrong to be excited about getting married, and worrying about flora and fabric, when this person and my family have such a challenge in front of them. 

All that matters - and really, it is all that has ever mattered - is that J and I make our promises to each other on September 10th, wherever, with whoever present. That is the most for which I can hope.