The year is 1960 ......
As she sat on the edge of the
seat in the back of the white Rolls Royce, Sylvia felt like a princess. And she
even had on a coronet - admittedly made of white net leaves and imitation
pearls. This was her wedding day and she was the heroine in lace with her Daddy
sitting beside her. Andrew Watson was so proud of his older daughter and
thought she looked beautiful in her white lace dress. But he did think it was a
shame that it wasn't a long one. Never mind, the headdress set off her dark
brown hair and sparkling grey eyes a treat. The neighbours had come out to see
her off to the Church and she waved - regally of course - to them.
Yes, today she
was the family star, not her sister Lucy. And after today as Mrs. Colin Evans
she would be her own woman. No parents telling her what she could and couldn't
do and no teenager calling her names (when the parents weren't around of course).
Head held high
and smiling at the congregation the bride managed to stop her father from
racing down the aisle. Poor Daddy, she thought, he just wants to get this bit
over.
They reached
their destination and Colin tried to take her right hand - before she had a
chance to turn and give her bouquet of pink carnations to Lucy. As soon as she
turned back to face the vicar Colin successfully grabbed her hand and pulled it
through his arm, continuing to hold the hand tightly. As if he feared she might
run away.
Sylvia fell off
her cloud with a bump. What am I doing? I feel handcuffed. Help! I don't want
this.
Too late, the
service began.
Perhaps this is
just pre-wedding nerves as they say in the magazines, she thought. And I can't
let everyone down.
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B072LK5GNV
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