Why I’ll never have a later-life wedding
Despite a growing trend for couples in their 60s and 70s to marry, Linda Kelsey won’t be walking down the aisle again
Shortly before the first lockdown, I attended the wedding of friends at Marylebone Town Hall. She was 66, he was 69. The bride wore a knee-length sleeveless shift in cream lace, the groom a stylishly crumpled linen suit. She held a simple bouquet of gardenias in her hand and had one tucked into her silver, close-toshoulder-length hair. Children and grandchildren from former relationships were in attendance. I had a little sniff, because that’s what I do at weddings – the “I do” moment always stimulates the tear reflex. Afterwards, we all went to a local Italian restaurant to celebrate – and it was lovely.
Lovely for them, lovely for the guests. But try to put me in the bride’s shoes and you’d find me squirming. During the ceremony, my partner of 13 years nudged my side with his elbow. I turned to him and he gave me that look. The one that wordlessly says: “You know, we could do this, too…”.
I gave him a look back, the small smile with the slight shake of the head, the thanks-but-no-thanks look I’ve often given down the years of his repeated proposals. Heading for 70, and already twice-divorced, third time might be lucky for some – but I just don’t want to chance it.
And yet the rise of brides and grooms aged 60 and over has increased more than any other age bracket in the past 10 years. Meanwhile, the divorce rate for the over-60s – sometimes known as “silver splitters” – has also been on the rise. The fact is that with every succeeding marriage, the break-up rate must increase, too.
It says a lot about the triumph of hope over experience that the urge to merge with traditional marriage vows is going strong among older age groups, who most likely grew up with a belief in holy matrimony. While younger people are less likely to get married, often choosing cohabitation rather than tying the knot, older couples are happily heading in the other direction.
Certainly among celebrities, late-life marriage has become quite the thing. Marylebone, where my pals married, was the same place where Paul Mccartney wed Nancy Shevell in 2011. He was 69 at the time, and it was his third go. So far, it’s sticking.
The award-winning actress Harriet Walter got married for the first time aged 60 (she’s now 67) to American actor Guy Paul. The entrepreneur and cooking queen Prue Leith, once widowed, married retired fashion designer John Playfair in 2014 when she was 75. And best-selling author Deborah Moggach remarried in 2014 at the age of 66. (Seven years later, however, she is in the throes of an amicable divorce.)
The surge was almost bound to happen in the wake of our changing attitudes to ageing and the fact that we are living longer than previous generations. Single and divorced men and women are swinging their way through their 50s, 60s and beyond, engaging in sex with multiple partners (leading to a far-from-romantic increase in STDS) and using dating apps with absolute ease, while boasting to their friends about it.
The prospect of a lonely old age is hardly an appealing one, so finding new love, even if the time you will have left to enjoy it is clearly finite, is a goal many are keen to pursue. That’s how I felt when I got divorced for the second time in my mid-50s. But even as I hoped to find new love, I knew marriage wouldn’t be on the cards.
While hard-to-let-go notions of romantic love are surely part of what’s fuelling this upswing in later-life nuptials, I’d hazard that finance, not romance, is one of the major drivers. Co-habitees and live-aparters can miss out if their partner dies and no financial provision has been made for them.
Although today’s generation of women in their 60s and 70s have mostly done some kind of paid work during their adult lives, many have still spent decades bringing up children and have pretty poor pension provision and savings of their own. As a mid-60s friend confided: “I love him, and I’m certainly not marrying him for his money, but without the ring on my finger, his children will get everything if he dies before me, including the house, which is in his name. I’m not sure they’d be happy to share their inheritance with me unless they had to.”
For women like myself, always fiercely economically independent, money is a very good reason for not marrying. Twice-divorced (the first time in my mid-20s), I’ve twice found myself worse off, while never expecting a penny beyond the fair division of property assets to which we both contributed.
After years of paying off debt and trying to save, I can’t help wanting to see my son as my main beneficiary when I die, even if I go before my partner. And while he fancies a walk down the aisle with me, on this point he agrees. He’d like his daughters to be his main beneficiaries, too.
Why would I take the risk of another
‘What’s behind this upswing in later-life nuptials is finance rather than romance’
marriage not working out when the status quo is just fine as it is? One thing I certainly don’t need is to make a public pronouncement about our commitment to one another. No one is tut-tutting about our “living in sin”.
As for my bridezilla days, they are long gone. Our love is a private thing, between the two of us. My partner is a bit of an old romantic, which, I guess, makes me a bit of an old cynic – but so far we’re getting along just fine.