Bus route to wedded bliss
I HAD to chuckle at Pugh’s cartoon showing the wedding party arriving on a bus (Mail). I was married in 1961 and caught the bus to the register office in Brighton.
My husband Clive’s suit was borrowed from a friend. With our handful of guests, we then walked a quarter of a mile in rain to one of the seafront hotels where my father had booked a small room.
Our reception was sandwiches with curly edges and a small wedding cake made by an aunt.
We left at 3pm to see a Disney film at a local cinema before catching a train back to Hither Green, South- East London, where we had acquired a socalled flat — the upstairs bedroom of a terrace house.
There was a tiny Baby Belling cooker in one corner, the bed was so damp it had mould and the owners only lit the boiler for hot water on a Friday.
Our wedding presents were a blanket, six egg cups and a cheque for three guineas.
No pricey wedding for us, but I am happy to say we are still married.