Wedding Bells and Gangsters

A Wedding took place in Canada.

So much has happened in the last month, I don?t know where to begin! We have faced drought and fire but certainly not famine. On the 14th of February, all the family who live in Tassie, came down to ?Kibbenjelok? to help Kees and I celebrate our 40th Wedding Anniversary and all brought wonderful food for us to celebrate with and [surprise, surprise!] plants for the garden - a Tree Paeony of unknown colour but not Ruby and a miniature rose ?Green Ice?, a lovely white with green shades I am glad they felt unforced and didn?t give us something because it was red.

Memories came flooding back of our wedding day in Ottawa, 1958. Arriving late on Thursday night, having travelled by overseas liner and then the overland train from Vancouver, I was amazed at the snow! Friday was extremely busy with visits to the Dutch Ambassador to sign a piece of paper, get my hair done, arrange for some canapes to feed the 50+ strangers [to me] Kees had asked to the wedding. But my biggest worry was the bouquet I was to carry as I walked down that long aisle in this strange country all covered in pristine white snow.

For much of my pre-teenage years, my home was opposite the house of a fascinating character in the Hobart of 50 years ago. Kitty Henry was an eccentric gardener and florist. When the Queen of England first visited Australia, Australia became hysterical with excitement. After only two of the official ceremonies, in Tasmania, during which the Queen had been presented with two bouquets made by Kitty, the Queen asked if she could meet the artist who had created such beauty.

I spent many hours with Kitty, after school, when my mother became a busy Member of Parliament. Often I helped Kitty wire up wedding bouquets and dreamt little girl dreams of the beautiful flowers that Kitty would make for me and my Prince Charming on ?my? Wedding Day. So, there I was, in this vast white land and with no flowers to carry as I started my new life with my Prince Charming.

I hurriedly looked up florists in the telephone book to order a simple posy to carry in the church. How homesick I felt and wished I was sitting on the floor of Kitty's freezing Flower Room and wiring up dozens of individual flowers of helleborus or hyacinths. How startled I was to hear, to my untrained ears, a voice that sounded like an American gangster from a B-grade film, barking at me ?Well, what do you want? Do you want Mums?? ?How can it be Mum?s?? I stammered. ?She?s back in Tasmania!? It turned out the abrupt voice at the end of the telephone had been asking me if I wanted to use Chrysanthemums in my simple little posy! I contacted another florist and ended up with a posy of blue hyacinths and pink rose buds which had to be flown up from California. Not quite Kitty?s work of art that I had imagined I would take with me as I began my completely new life! The chap who officiated at the ceremony said I was the saddest bride he had ever married! I was just plain homesick.