too large for the lane so they walked in. The April Saturday was mild, with just the faintest threat of showers. Everywhere in the low briers and hedgerows was the clatter and singing of small birds. The little lake below the house was still ringed with its winter reeds, the colour of rained-on wheat. Everybody waited to eat until the priest arrived. He was the only one to risk his small car on the lane. He would have to leave early on a sick call, he said.
There were no letters or telegrams to be read out. The priest, with folded hands and closed eyes, recited Grace, and the meal began: soup served by a daughter of the same sister of Rose’s who had been taking the photos; chicken and ham, with salad. The wedding cake was cut. The priest made a short speech praising the families and the outstanding simplicity of the wedding feast. There was too much emphasis nowadays on show, on Rolls-Royces and big hotels, wasteful, expensive display. It was pleasant to see people returning to the old ways, he said. There was wine and whiskey and beer for the toast. The best man said he wasn’t used to speeches, he nearly hadn’t arrived at all himself, but he just wanted to thank Father here for all he had done and the people of the bride here for this feast and all the trouble they had gone to, and then he proposed the toast. The brother who had given Rose away responded even more briefly and soon afterwards the priest left.
Gradually the wedding breakfast was breaking up. One of Rose’s tall silent brothers went around the tables with a bottle of wine and a bottle of whiskey but they drank sparingly. When the best man cleared his throat and announced that he was going to fix the puncture he had before leaving, all Moran’s children followed him out to the road and stood around as he got levers and patches and solution. When he came back to the house he refused to take a chair or a drink.
‘I better be making a start. I have a run to do yet this evening.’
‘We might as well go with you so,’ Moran said and Rose got up eagerly. She had all her going-away things packed. The remaining things she could come back for any day. Her mother and sisters and brothers all embraced her but she showed no emotion. The whole household walked them out to the big Ford at the end of the lane. They embraced Rose a second time and everybody shook hands. At the bridge Moran and Rose changed to their own small blue car and the uncle drove the children home. He waited at the house until the bride and groom arrived but he could not be persuaded to enter the house.
The whole of Rose’s family walked back down the lane to their house in silence. ‘She had many admirers,’ the old mother said as they neared the house in a tone of puzzlement and of mourning. ‘Many admirers … Many admirers …’
‘Nothing could stop her. She was determined on it. Now it’s her life,’ her married sister said gently.
‘I hope she’ll be lucky,’ the wife of one of the brothers said without any feeling.
The four tall brothers walked in stooped silence but their wives chatted agreeably. A daughter held the mother’s hand in sympathy.
When they entered the house one of the brothers reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured four large glasses for the first time that day. They were a very close family but in the years to come no gathering or wedding, not even simple gatherings, was ever held in any one of their houses. They went to big hotels as if determined never again to experience anything like this house wedding in all their mortal lives. Neither Rose nor Moran ever attended any of the gatherings. They were never invited. They would not have gone if they were.
‘I don’t know about anybody else but I’d love a nice hot cup of tea,’ Rose said as soon as they were all in the house. At once she set a tone that would not be easily wrested from her. Moran watched in silence.
All the girls helped her to get the fire going, spread the
There were no letters or telegrams to be read out. The priest, with folded hands and closed eyes, recited Grace, and the meal began: soup served by a daughter of the same sister of Rose’s who had been taking the photos; chicken and ham, with salad. The wedding cake was cut. The priest made a short speech praising the families and the outstanding simplicity of the wedding feast. There was too much emphasis nowadays on show, on Rolls-Royces and big hotels, wasteful, expensive display. It was pleasant to see people returning to the old ways, he said. There was wine and whiskey and beer for the toast. The best man said he wasn’t used to speeches, he nearly hadn’t arrived at all himself, but he just wanted to thank Father here for all he had done and the people of the bride here for this feast and all the trouble they had gone to, and then he proposed the toast. The brother who had given Rose away responded even more briefly and soon afterwards the priest left.
Gradually the wedding breakfast was breaking up. One of Rose’s tall silent brothers went around the tables with a bottle of wine and a bottle of whiskey but they drank sparingly. When the best man cleared his throat and announced that he was going to fix the puncture he had before leaving, all Moran’s children followed him out to the road and stood around as he got levers and patches and solution. When he came back to the house he refused to take a chair or a drink.
‘I better be making a start. I have a run to do yet this evening.’
‘We might as well go with you so,’ Moran said and Rose got up eagerly. She had all her going-away things packed. The remaining things she could come back for any day. Her mother and sisters and brothers all embraced her but she showed no emotion. The whole household walked them out to the big Ford at the end of the lane. They embraced Rose a second time and everybody shook hands. At the bridge Moran and Rose changed to their own small blue car and the uncle drove the children home. He waited at the house until the bride and groom arrived but he could not be persuaded to enter the house.
The whole of Rose’s family walked back down the lane to their house in silence. ‘She had many admirers,’ the old mother said as they neared the house in a tone of puzzlement and of mourning. ‘Many admirers … Many admirers …’
‘Nothing could stop her. She was determined on it. Now it’s her life,’ her married sister said gently.
‘I hope she’ll be lucky,’ the wife of one of the brothers said without any feeling.
The four tall brothers walked in stooped silence but their wives chatted agreeably. A daughter held the mother’s hand in sympathy.
When they entered the house one of the brothers reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured four large glasses for the first time that day. They were a very close family but in the years to come no gathering or wedding, not even simple gatherings, was ever held in any one of their houses. They went to big hotels as if determined never again to experience anything like this house wedding in all their mortal lives. Neither Rose nor Moran ever attended any of the gatherings. They were never invited. They would not have gone if they were.
‘I don’t know about anybody else but I’d love a nice hot cup of tea,’ Rose said as soon as they were all in the house. At once she set a tone that would not be easily wrested from her. Moran watched in silence.
All the girls helped her to get the fire going, spread the
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