Mundane Musings

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 171, 10 October 1927, Page 5

Mundane Musings

Honeymoon Season

“You know, K.,” said Linda, “the way the papers talk, one would think no one ever got married except at St. Margaret’s, Westminster,’ and no one ever went for honeymoons except by yacht in France or motor in the Mediterranean.” Linda has been staying with me for a few days. She made this profound i remark just after the young couple from the George had passed us, on their way to the beach, as we were sitting on the stile by the post office. “Look, for instance,” continued Linda, “at :hat young couple from the George. Obviously on their honeymoon. Their very luncheon basket is a honeymoon luncheon basket. Like them, it has that blissful all’s-well-with-the-world’s expression we all wear when we’re temporarily in love. But they were not married at St. Margaret’s, K. No Press photographers climbed lamp-posts to snap the bride’s smile (inset) as she came out of the church, no cinema men risked the lives of other’s in the crush to get the bridegroom’s spats on to the evening :11ms,” says an English writer. “They were married at All Saints’, Brixton —I like All Saints’, it sounds so comprehensive; one feels the little, shy saints are included, as well as the big, powerful ones—and he is taking his annual fortnight’s holiday from the office for the honeymoon. She, before she married, was a clerk at the local gas company. He gave her for a wedding prciserit, not a tortoiseshell-and-gold limouiiine, but a blue lapis pendant, for which he had saved, poor lamb, for weeks and weeks; and she gave him lor a wedding pr€;sent, not emerald and diamond shirt buttons, but a leatlijer suit case, with all his initials on it and all her heart inside it. Her wedding dress was made, not of ciet d’aurore tissue, but of rather flimsy crepe de chine, and it took Mrs. Flipper, the dressmaker, thr€;e fittings to get the hem right. Yet are they any the les:s married than the people who marry at St. Margaret’s?” “I hope not, Linda.” “Don’t interrupt, please, K. I am merely pointing out that quite humble people, in cur own walk of life, choose May to be married in, and that Romance may walk in the offices of gas companies as well as in the houses of Mayfair.” “What I like about you, Linda,” I said, “is ycur originality.” “You may be sarcastic if it pleases you, K. I am not ashamed of being old-fashioned and sentimental myself. I like to think of that young couple at the George driving away from St. Paul’s, Clapham ” “I thought you said All Saints’, Brixton?” “ —in the poor shabby little car, hired at great personal sacrifice by the bride’s parents, their faces shining with happiness . Are they surrounded by surging crowds, kept back by mounted policemen? No. Do reporters press forward and take note of the material, waist-line, length and approximate cost of the bridal gown? No. Are cameras levelled at them as they walk from the porch of Holy Innocents’ to the waiting taxi?” “No.” “Yes. One. The Number One Brownie of the bride’s friend from the gas company.” “Now look, on the other hand, at tho fuss made about the Lady Arabella Snoops’s wedding which is taking place at the same time at St Margaret’s, Westminster.” "Is it?” “Don’t be silly, K. I’m supposing it is, for the sake of a piquant and picturesque- contrast. ‘Everybody knows about the Lady Arabella Snoops’s wedding for weeks beforehand. Everybody knows she’s being manned in shimmering sourire d’Aphrodite, with crystal Jean-qui-rit trimming, and that her wedding-veil was worn by her ancestor, the famous Lady Henrietta Praline, of the Romney portrait, at her marriage to the Duke of Prop and Cop, who once lent a handkerchief to George 111. Everybody knows that the Queen of Sardinia has sent her a silver-plated eggboiler for a wedding present, and that the honeymoon will be spent motoring' in the Italian Tyrol. “But who knows about the humble couple being married at the same time at St. Michael’s, Walham Green? Who knows about the wedding presents, including a model of a new geyser from the gas company, and about the honeymoon being spent quietly down here a: the ‘George?’ Who knows . . . oh. good morning, Mrs. Rennet.” Mrs. Rennet, the proprietress of the “George." had just come up. “We were talking,” said Linda, “about tha; dear little honeymoon couple staying with you. We saw them go down to the beach just now.” “Honeymoon couple?” Mrs. Rennet’s brow wrinkled, then cleared. “Oh, you must mean Mr. and Mrs. Prosser. But they’re not a honeymoon couple. Tney’ve been married 10 years and have fDur children. They’re rather big motor people, and live at Hamp - stead- They generally come down here for a fortnight in May, while the children are at school. You see . . . I beg your pardon?” *’l was only saying,” said Linda, I getting of! the stile, “that it must be I nearly tin; e for lunch.”