Summa: diary (September 2-6, 2024)
September 2 (Monday). 6.00 am: Arise. 8.00 am: Drabbery, in contrast to Saturday’s resplendence.
The beginning of what will be a glorious week of family reunion and celebration leading up to, and centred upon, my younger son’s wedding on Thursday. The school term began today. My thoughts went out to all students and parents, especially those beginning either school or a new school for the first time. A day punctuated by preparation and packing.
September 3 (Tuesday). Banbury, Cropredy. 9.30 am: Outward bound, heading toward Banbury, Oxfordshire, via a small, basic, and under-patronised motorway services, in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. I derive a peculiar comfort from these oases of Greggs, Costa, and Burger King.
3.15 pm: Arrived at the Brasenose Arms, Cropredy, a small village outsides Banbury, where I’d be staying overnight. The village hosts a regular Fairport Convention folk and rock festival.
4.15 pm: ‘Fairport’ is the name given to one of the 8 bells at the Church of St Mary the Virgin, which was commenced in the 13th century. Most of the extant building dates from the following century. It’s east window deploys perspective — and two-point perspective, at that — showing several rows of kings, elders, and angels, with their backs toward us, worshipping the Lamb (at the apex of the geometrical tracery) (Revelation 7.11). I’ve never seen the like before, and can’t find any authoritative information about the window’s date. All parish churches smell the same.
September 4 (Wednesday). Banbury, Steeple Claydon. 8.15 am: Off to Branbury railway station to pick up Harvey the Younger (the groom) en route to St Michael’s Church, Steeple Claydon, where we attended a wedding rehearsal with the local Rector. A very serious business, which was two and half times longer than the actual ceremony.
12.15 pm: A meal at a local pub with the my future daughter-in-law and her family, together with Harvey the Elder (who’d travelled from Japan yesterday evening, and was still jet-lagged). ‘Sorry, no steaks (meat or tuna), no chicken tikka, no fillets, and no cutlets. New cook, you see’, explained the waiter. (Pythonesque.)
1.30 pm: On, then, to the wedding venue, passed the HS2 development — which is ploughing a furrow through acres of farm land and tearing villages asunder as it crawls northward, unnecessarily and at an enormous cost. 2.00 pm: An afternoon of group endeavour; the bride and groom’s families laid table decorations and arranged flowers. A joyful and productive time. This venue would be a happy-hunting ground for photographers in the Martin Parr school of socio-critical observation. No doubt it’s been the backdrop to many a photograph in the Bride’s Wedding Planner magazine.
7.30 pm: An evening meal as the Harvey family at an exceptional pub-restaurant nearby. The venue is situated in the midst of farmland that extends as far as the eye can see in all directions. There’s very little light pollution to sully the sky above our accommodation, next to the venue. Constellations (the ‘nail holes in the floorboards of heaven’, my mother told me) sat above me, as they had done before I was born and will continue to do after I die. It was my father who’d first introduced me to the heavens and, thereby, to the possibilities of eternity and infinite space. Tonight, I experienced a faint echo of that rapture I’d known as a child and, again, during a walk I took across a remote field in Monmouth, Wales, in 1982. On that occasion, the stars seemed to shine even more brightly in the clear sky. But it was the silence — an absolute, screaming silence — that made the greatest impression upon me that night.
September 5 (Wedding Day). 7.00 pm: We all made an early start in order to keep ahead of the curve of the day’s events. Around 9.00 am, six groomsmen of heights varying from 5 foot 5 inches to 6 foot 3 inches bundled haplessly into our quarters to prepare the groom and themselves. The last time I’d seen some of them they were under four-feet tall. The bride and her entourage slipped gracefully into the cabin next door, not long after. Much ironing of white shirts ensued.
11.30 am: At the church, I busied myself as instructed by the groom, greeted members of the Bride’s family, and looked over the shoulder of the sound-desk operator to offer advice when it wasn’t asked for.
1.00 pm: The wedding ceremony was rich and moving from the outset. The couple made their vows before God (with dedication and a conscious awareness of the seriousness of those promises) and the congregation. 2.00 pm: At the dismissal, we processed into the church grounds to the sound of many bells.
Our return journey to the venue was on a old London Transport, Routemaster. double-decker bus. I was a child again.
I’d been asked to give thanks for the Wedding Breakfast:
Lord God, our provider: we come before you as newly-weds, family, and friends, drawn from different parts of the world, united by two whom we love dearly, whose paths have gradually converged and, today, meet as one.
And today we, too, are one with them, in celebration: wishing them health, joy, sufficiency, and contentment. Hallow this sacred and happy day to us all. In breaking bread together, bless our conversations and our strengthen ties. And may this food nourish our bodies and well-being.
We ask through Christ the Lord. Amen.
The food reflected my, now, daughter-in-law’s Indian cultural cuisine. Later, a crepe van turned up outside. It was like queuing up for Mr Whippy. Wonderful! The evening concluded with dancing (in which I participated only as a voyeur).
One of the richest dimensions of the day was meeting all those friends and family members of the married couple, who heralded from different periods and aspects of their lives. Guests had travelled from India, the Middle East, North America, Canada, Singapore, and Japan. Almost everyone who’d meant anything of significance to them was present. They were a wonderful gathering, Many spoke so warmly about the bride and groom’s evident and complementary virtues. My boys have already proven themselves to be each a better man than I. They are what I had hoped to be. But I rejoice that my ambition has been fulfilled through them.
September 6 (Friday) Birmingham. ‘The carnival is over’, The Seekers sang. As we left the venue, the last vestiges of festivities were being taken down. We headed towards Banbury via a farm shop and restaurant, where we enjoyed a farewell meal with our family from Singapore. From their we drove to Banbury railway station, again, to set down Harvey the Elder this time. He would travel on to London and, tomorrow, return to Japan. Arrived at ‘Brum’ around 4.30 pm.
On the wall of my Premier Inn room is an example of the company’s Project Art Works. It’s by Gemma, and called Untitled (2017). I, too, would not wish to have my full name associated with this desultory painting (better, ‘daubing’). ‘Sam Francis, you’re reputation remains unchallenged!’
See also: Intersections (archive); Diary (September 15, 2018 – June 30, 2021); Diary (July 16, 2014 – September 4, 2018); John Harvey (main site); John Harvey: Sound; Facebook: The Noises of Art; X; Instagram; Archive of Visual Practice