Background
If John Morgan were a tree, he'd be an oak; others find shelter from his strength. A character firmly rooted, drawing others to his circle of family and friends: under the shadow of the Eden Tree.
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Kirmingsham faced a challenge from a wedding. At the rehearsal Liz said, "it will be like squeezing size ten feet into size seven shoes."
In the UK, villages made up a unique part of society; some have been in existence since The Magna Carta. Pressures of employment, increased mobility, lack of affordable housing and the creation of out-of-town superstores had altered village life. But some, like Kirmingsham, resisted some aspects of change to maintain their uniqueness.
Kirmingsham boasted a population of one hundred and sixty-eight; about to be nearly doubled: there were a hundred and fifty invited guests coming to James and Aly's wedding. Villagers, school-friends that didn't make the sit-down Wedding List, well-wishers and probably others would be squeezed into St Luke's Church in Goostry village on Saturday May 11th.
"Can we fit them all in?" Liz asked. She had encouraged James and Aly from a distance, not wanting to interfere.
"Well I hear at least two hundred people are coming and the church is designed for one hundred and twenty pew seats. Extra chairs can be placed around one side and at the back by the Font." I said.
Their view of the Bridal procession would not be impaired; they just would not be able to eye-ball the vicar.
We ignored fire regulations, sure that the old stone building would never burn. It had stood since the 13th century. I didn't think our small bash would harm it; after all we were paying for the vicar, choir, organist, bell-ringers and caretaker. Despite that army of personnel, confetti banned in the church grounds. I hoped the wind didn't blow. Becky, Liz, Rachel and Wesley had two boxes each.
"What time are the Wickham's arriving?" I asked James and Aly.
"They're flying direct from Austin to Manchester, arriving at 7.00am."
Later on James and Aly returned home, and they both looked exhausted.
"My life!" James said, "they had a trolley piled high with luggage.
"I told them that the Nissan isn't any big gas-guzzler ya'll," Aly said. "In the end Mrs. Wickham sat in the front passenger seat with a flight bag under her legs, Rev. Wickham squeezed into the back seats with his flight bag under his feet, and I sat on a case on the other back seat. My head pressed against the car roof. The other three cases were in the boot."
Liz and I laughed and offered the young couple our support. "How did you get on at The Mucky Duck?"
"What?" James asked.
"That's what your grandad called The Old Black Swan." I said.
The village of Kirmingsham, originally a small farming community, had grown with the development of the railway between Manchester and Crewe, and over the past four decades, by the advent of the M6 motorway. Two pubs, two churches, a Primary School, a Post Office on the main road and a number of shops were at the centre of the village life. The duck-pond in the centre of the green hugely popular, while villagers and friends relaxed with a pint in the summer.
"That's the best of it, Dad," James said. "The Wickhams were very unhappy that they were staying at...get this ... at a Distillery."
Liz giggled. "What did you do?"
Aly replied, "He told them that the pub did not 'distil', and anyway James pointed out that the local hotels further afield were charging sixty to seventy pounds per person for B & B, the Wickhams surrendered their opposition and went to lie down due to "jet-lag".
Liz and I hugged them both. "Well done you two, you have passed with flying colours!" Liz said exuberantly.
We didn't hear a peep from the Wickhams until the wedding ceremony. It appeared that the Wickhams did not allow their religion to interfere with their lives.
