March 20. 1943 was a fairly sunny spring day. My dress was lace, (no coupons for lace) The underskirt was several pieces sewn together and they didn’t all match, they were all white of course and Mum had done wonders with what was available. The flowers came from Geoffrey Walkers a florist in Hanley. I could not order what I wanted but undertook to accept whatever they could provide. They did quite well and produced a very beautiful bouquet of spring flowers for me and a small posy for Marjorie Barnett my bridesmaid. Her dress was blue taffeta and was borrowed but it fitted her very well. Mum had a light grey coat and a navy hat and she looked very nice.
Stan and Noel wore their morning suits that they’d had for Noel’s wedding. Noel still protesting that “That is my suit, Stanley you know”. Stan replying, “Of course it isn’t.” Dad wore his best suit and looked good to me, dear lovely Dad. The service in St. Mary’s seemed to pass quickly, the organ played the conventional wedding music, the hymns were ‘O Perfect Love’, and ‘The Voice that breathed 0’er Eden’.
The sun shone and the occasion was a happy one. Mrs. Byron at the ‘Lawton Arms’ had amassed a very creditable meal, of course everyone had chipped in with something towards the meal, food wise I mean, not money.
Mrs. Wardle made the cake, which was their present; they could not come because Charlie was very ill. My colleagues on the Proof Range gave us a wonderful present of sheets and pillowcases. Something called ‘dockets’ had to be given (as well as money of course) in order to obtain household linen, so they had obviously had a whip round for the dockets as well as money. We had a four-day honeymoon in London. Fortunately there were no air raids, but there was a very positive sense of the serious times we were living in. The black out was total and very oppressive. Thick curtains hung at the entrance to any public place.
We managed to find our way to a theatre, we wanted to see Ivor Novello’s ‘Dancing Years’ but could not get tickets. We went to another theatre to see a musical and when we came out we floundered around in the blackness and eventually found a ‘Lyons Corner House’, these had been very popular restaurants before the war and so we were delighted to find ourselves in one. Alas, the food, although it looked attractive was awful. Diced potatoes, carrots, and cabbage all dyed in different colours, and a thin slice of something pink, we did act dare ask what it was! We did have some ‘wine’ though, where that had come from was beyond imagining! We were staying at the ‘Ambassadors’ Hotel. They could only provide bed and breakfast. ‘Breakfast’ was a very great misnomer for re-constituted dried egg on a lukewarm plate, served with a slice of ‘National’ bread that had a faintly greasy mark in the middle. Thoughts of hot buttered toast were firmly thrust to the back of our minds.
Later, Stan was stationed at Buckie in Scotland. He wanted me to go for a weekend, and arranged accommodation in Saltcoats. The one Hotel ‘Ingledene’ could provide food but no room. They had an arrangement with an elderly lady nearby. She had a room, which we could have.
I travelled from Crewe on the Friday night after work. The station was crowded with servicemen and women, and it was difficult in the gloom to avoid falling over sleeping bodies’ Lots of them had just curled up on the platform, using their kit bags as a pillow. I did manage to get a seat on the train, which was a blessing in view of the long journey. The light bulbs were painted dark blue so that only the merest glimmer of 1ight showed, and all the carriages had the blinds drawn. After the long haul up Shap Fell, we reached Carlisle at about 5. a.m. Then on to St. Enoch’s station, Glasgow, where I had to change. Stan could not meet me at Saltcoats as he was not allowed to leave camp until late Saturday afternoon. I found the hotel and they gave me some breakfast, it was very good too. Rationing did not seem to be so swingeing in this part of the world. They then directed me to the old lady’s house. I’m sorry that I can’t remember her name, She was very kind and the room was clean and comfortable. I was able to get a bath and change my clothes after the long dismal journey. Stan arrived at about 5-O-clock and we went to ‘look round the town’. This took about ten minutes!
It was just a small fishing village and no doubt quite pretty in peacetime. There was a tiny cinema, which was opening later. We found a pub, but it had only just become acceptable to have women in pubs in England, and in Scotland they were not welcome. A sign on a door said ‘Family Department’ we thought this would be O K! It was just a little cubbyhole with a tiny bench seat. Presently a short curtain opposite was snatched aside and a grim faced man uttered the Scottish equivalent of ‘yes’. Stan ordered a beer for himself and a gin and limejuice for me. We sat squashed up on the small bench with a very strong feeling that we should not be there. This was confirmed when Stan very daringly moved the curtain and asked for ‘the same again’. The landlord, whose face resembled a sharp shovel, banged the glass of beer on the ledge below the curtain, saying, “ye canna ‘ave any more for the lassie” Stan thought this was hilarious. “He thinks I’m trying to get you drunk!” We went outside to sample the dazzling delights of Saltcoats. Eventually the very grotty little cinema opened. The seats were a shilling; the film was some old thing the name of which I cannot remember. It compared very unfavourably with our cosy little Regent at Butt lane with its pink and blue distemper.
On the Sunday, Stan could not leave camp till afternoon. I meanwhile had porridge and toast and marmalade for breakfast, with a dish of butter on the table! This was unbelievable. Lunch too was very good, which was a blessing, as it had to last me till next morning. When Stan arrived mid afternoon the weather was gray and rainy and we decided to go to Kilmarnock. I have heard comedians refer to towns that they have visited saying, ‘the day I went it was shut’. Well! Kilmarnock was definitely shut that wartime Sunday. There was not a cafe open, we would have welcomed a cup of awful wartime tea if we could have sat down out of the rain. You must remember also that you could not buy a bar of chocolate or a few sweets; even supposing a shop had been open we hadn’t a sweet coupon between us.
We soon tired of walking round the drab gray streets in the rain and returned to Saltcoats. Monday dawned bright and sunny. After breakfast I walked around till lunchtime. Stan was hoping to get away from camp about 5.30. After lunch two ladies at a near-by table said “Would you like to join us for a drink, dear?” “Of course I agreed and we adjourned to the sitting room. They were extremely nice people, the younger of the two had a little boy of seven with her, and the older one had a grown up family, and they seemed to be there for an indefinite stay. They were very expensively dressed and were obviously frequent visitors to the hotel. They came from Stirling, and both gave me their cards and most pressing invitations to go to visit them for a holiday. While we sat talking they kept ordering drinks, I offered to buy, but they were emphatic in their refusal. The afternoon passed very quickly and I looked at my watch at 5-0-clock and said I would have to go. I had told them that I had to leave straight after breakfast on the Tuesday morning. They kissed me goodbye and again urged me to let either of them know whenever I wanted to go for a holiday.
When I got outside the sun was dazzling. I felt a compulsion to cross the road to hold on to the railings on the sea wall. As I did so it seemed as though they were swaying! I realised I had had too many gins. I made my way back to our room and sluiced my face well in the bathroom, then sat down at the dressing table to put my make up on. I was just trying to get the Max Factor in the right place when Stan arrived. Saying, “Sorry I’m a bit late love, he kissed me and then he took my face in his hands and looked me straight in the eyes, saying:, “You’re drunk.!” I just giggled foolishly. He was totally mystified as to how I had got into this state. I was not falling about, just happy, but I suppose I must have smelled like a bottle of ‘Gordon’s’. I told him about my convivial afternoon, so he said “Well we’ll have to walk around until you are feeling sober”. That is what we did, walked around Saltcoats until the effect wore off. I don’t think I ever lived it down, and reference was often made to, ‘that time in Scotland when your Mother got drunk.’
On the Tuesday morning despite being up early I missed the train to Glasgow. I went back to the old lady to ask if I could wait there, as the next one was not until lunchtime. She was very kind and said; “l expect you’ve only had toast for breakfast, could you eat some ham and egg?” I had to pinch myself to be sure I was not dreaming. It was no dream it was delicious, and I’ve never forgotten it. She would not take any money and she got me off in plenty of time for the train. That weekend was my first experience of Scottish hospitality, the generosity surprised me and I can only say that throughout my life all the Scottish people that I have met have all extended the same warm generosity to me.