My Mum and a Wedding!

My Mum and a Wedding!

I have written at some length about my Mum, a most remarkable but somewhat eccentric woman as mums go. She was not from any ordinary mum mould. No indeed she was not. She was a woman who had a small, who am I trying to kid, a big affection for the drink, Guinness and whisky being the libations of choice.

However I and my siblings did not always appreciate this affection particularly when it manifested itself when in the company of others. Even worse, when it was given full rein at a wedding, particularly when the wedding in question was my sister’s. My sister got married when she was twenty one and I aged sixteen was her chief bridesmaid and as such felt it was my responsibility to keep Mum sober. An impossible task but I was young and still optimistic that I could make an impression on the world. However, making an impression on the world would be as nothing in comparison to making an impression on Mum.

I should explain, my sister did not live at home she lived with the parents of one of her friends whose mother was extremely house proud and she had virtually turned my sister into a nervous wreck by always being absolutely rigid about the necessity for keeping the home clean and tidy. My sister was always made to feel she did not quite measure up to the woman’s exacting standards. She was also very rigid about how a person should conduct themselves It will, by now, be obvious to the reader…at least, to any reader that has previously read any of My Mum stories that Lady Bountiful and my Mum were set on a collision course.

Unfortunately the collision happened at my sister’s wedding or rather at the reception which was held at the home of Lady Bountiful. I had noted with some alarm that Mum was getting a little loud and I had the distinct impression she was about to start singing. For this reason I spent a good deal of time trying to keep Mum separated from the drink, watching that she did not make a mess and trying to keep her from singing Irish rebel songs at the top of her voice. Mum had marched with Sinn Fein in her youth, coming as she did from Irish parentage so she had a fair old repertoire of Irish rebel songs. Now to keep Mum from doing any or all of these three things was a task of such monumental proportions that it should have been obvious to me that I was not up to the job.

As the evening wore on and people were beginning to relax and were taking the first tentative steps towards enjoying themselves, and all without written permission from Lady Bountiful, I made the mistake of letting my guard slip. I allowed Mum to go to the downstairs toilet without accompanying her.

By this time of course she was well and truly oiled and I should have seen the warning signs but to my absolute amazement I did not. And so it was that I and all the other guests, including my sister’s workmates, were treated to Mum falling out of the toilet singing Faith of Our Fathers in the loudest voice possible in what can only be described as a state of undress. Yes, her drawers were round her ankles and Lady Bountiful’s face was a picture of disgust and displeasure that such a thing should happen and in her house too…why, it was enough to send the poor woman into a decline.

Being young, but, nevertheless, by then, I should have been used to Mum’s little ways, but I was not, and I was not amused either because my face mirrored that of Lady Bountiful as I fought to show my displeasure rather than my despair. Despair won, however, and I found myself crying for my Mum because of the disapproving looks she was attracting and for my sister who had been relying on me and it was horrible to see her upset on her wedding day.

My brother too felt embarrassment at the whole affair and so we three siblings and my boyfriend, now my husband - he of a thousand forgiveness’s - all supported one another in this embarrassing situation. But my sister’s new husband was not in the immediate vicinity which was just as well because Mum and he didn’t always get on as she always affectionately referred to him as that ‘boss eyed git!’ It was true at the time he did have a bit of a cast in one eye and Mum never one to skirt around issues was not afraid to call a spade a shovel. How she would have managed in this PC world I cannot imagine. Anyway she and he did not always see eye to eye, nothing to do with the cast though, you understand. They would argue over certain issues with Religion being the main one.

Now my Mum considered herself to be a devout Catholic, the fact that she only went to church once a year did not dissuade her from the happy belief that, after the Pope, she was first in line to have a place reserved at God’s holy table. My new Brother-in-law went to great pains to point out that she was not exactly a regular church goer. He had not been associated with our family long enough to know that he was dicing with death at making such an assertion.

Mum was outraged and quickly pointed out that she never failed to make her Easter duty. To Mum, this was something akin to having her own personal set of keys to the gates of Heaven and she was not going to stand for such an outrageous assertion particularly when said assertion came from a boss-eyed Proddie. To the un-initiated a Protestant! I, however, can remember her reaction when she was visited by the Parish Priest who came asking for donations towards a new organ. By that I mean an organ that produced music. One must be quite clear on these things what with all the recent revelations about Catholic priests. I shouldn’t wish for there to be any confusion here.

Anyway the Priest asking for money for something Mum would rarely get a chance to hear in action because of her infrequent church attendance meant that she had no concept of the state of the organ or of the organist’s dissatisfaction with the sound of it. Mum’s reaction to the Priest’s request for a donation was, however, predictable… at least, to me.

‘I don’t care if she plays a bleeding penny whistle you’ll get no more from me.’ Said Mum with some vehemence.

Seemingly, Mum’s religious conviction did not stretch to contributing any more money other than what she put in the Collection plate on her once a year visit. Needless to say the Priest left a disappointed; one might almost say, broken man and Mum was left full of righteous indignation.

Anyway, to get back to the wedding, between us, my sister and I, we managed to push Mum back into the toilet but there was no need to put up an engaged sign as she was singing at the top of her voice and after the public display of her knickers people were inclined to treat the area as a danger zone and kept well clear. In fact, I’m not so sure some didn’t avail themselves of the use of an old air raid shelter!

For my sister and I, a dugout of some description seemed a most attractive place to be in at that precise moment in time. I always feel disloyal when I say things like that about Mum when the truth is I am immensely proud of her. She was a woman who always trod her own path and she cared nothing for what people thought and even less for what people said. She was the most unconventional person I have ever known.

Anyway, having had a good drink, fallen out of the toilet singing Faith of Our Fathers and having deeply offended Lady Bountiful, Mum felt her work was done so found herself an out of the way spot and promptly fell asleep. It was at this point my sister, brother and I relaxed content in the knowledge that we would all be far away when Lady Bountiful stumbled across Mum after every one had left and took her very, very, clean life in her very, very, clean hands by attempting to rouse Mum when she was hung-over…something only the SAS were trained to do!

End