I went for a cup of tea and found a wife
IT WAS Saturday, November 11, 1944 — Armistice Day — and I was newly stationed in Bristol. My friend, Martin, and I decided to explore and ended up going to Carwardine’s for tea and cakes. I opened the door to the cafe and there were two girls sitting at a nearby table. I took one look at the brunette and said to Martin: ‘I’m going to marry that girl.’ I struck up a conversation with her about the only thing the English talk about — the weather. She had a beautiful speaking voice. When she asked what I thought of Bristol, I said that what I had seen that morning was lovely — referring to her! She called the waitress over to pay, then the two girls left, passing our table. I stood up and said goodbye and they were gone. When I sat down, Martin said: ‘Well?’ ‘What?’ I replied. ‘If you don’t get off that chair you’ll never marry her,’ he said. So off I went. I kissed her on the cheek under some mistletoe. Margaret and I wed the following year and were happily married for nearly 69 years, before I lost her. We have six grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren.