So, I mailed another letter off to my mother to tell her we were getting married June 30, and asked if Sal could please come to be one of my bridesmaids. My sister Sarah, whom we always called Sal, arrived on the Kyle along with a letter from my mom. I’d never seen her handwriting before. With her grade three education, I cherished her scribbles, giving me blessings and wishing me happiness. Shortly afterward Sal arrived on the Kyle. I was so happy to see my sister! She was a year younger than me. We laughed and cried as we embraced. Having Sal with me was very gratifying. I felt less alone, and it was one of very few of my wedding plans I took part in. I recall very little of the days leading up to my wedding day. My soon-to-be sisters-in-law, Margaret and Dorcass, took charge from there. They bought material to make tiny head pieces from a gauze material. I don’t remember how I got my veil. I don’t recall anything about invitations, bridesmaids’ dresses, or a reception. I don’t remember any decisions in what the men would wear, or even who they were! I knew nothing of a charge for the wedding ceremony, or if money would be needed for the reception afterward. I don’t recall paying anything for anything.
One thing I do remember is that there wasn’t a flower shop in Happy Valley at that time, so I took the initiative and ordered a dozen fresh red roses from Montreal. They were the first fresh roses I’d ever seen. They were exquisite! I stared at them and wept. Would they last for one day until the wedding, or would they wilt, kind of like my spirit of uncertainty? What had I gotten myself into? Is this what I wanted? I then felt my baby kick inside me, which jolted me back to reality. Yes, Josie, you need security for your baby; you need to make things right by it.
Keith had stopped carousing with his buddies and had been supporting me throughout my pregnancy. The question kept nagging at me: Did he really love me, or was he marrying me because his father ordered him to? Only time would tell.
Chapter 6
My Wedding Day
I woke up on my wedding day, June 30, 1961, and like a robot I went through the motions of preparing for my wedding. We were getting married in the Anglican Church. Reverend Payne had been assisting us in marriage preparedness classes for a couple of weeks prior to our wedding. I can’t recall any of what the Reverend told us. My baby was very active inside me and occupied most of my thoughts.
I was extremely grateful for Sal, who would be the only member of my family to attend. I can’t recall if my Aunt Winnie attended or not, though I’d grown to love her, but she probably did come. After I finally got my dress to fit my ever-enlarging body, collected my white gloves and shoes, and picked up my flowers from the airport, I returned to Margaret’s to get dressed. I was so grateful my seamstress had done such a wonderful job on my wedding dress that my pregnancy didn’t show much at all. For whatever reason, I hadn’t gotten very big. Aside from my baby bump, I’d actually lost a lot of body weight while I
was pregnant.
I knew very little about makeup, or how to apply it. I plastered on blue eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick. There wasn’t a hairdresser in the area that I knew of yet, and my shoulder-length wavy hair did not want to cooperate. I didn’t like my bangs, so I took the scissors and trimmed them off. Immediately I was sorry because I cut them much too short, which made me look rather saucy.
Margaret, Dorcass, and Sal were in the next room getting ready as well. They had pretty, pale pink mid-calf dresses and short gauze head pieces fastened to their heads, attached with a floret. They wore white gloves and carried tiny flower bouquets Dorcass had made. We were ready! Off we went to the church. The next thing I recall was the Reverend telling us:
“You are now man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Was I dreaming or was this real? Is it possible to be so out of touch with reality as to not know what you’re doing? I was a good bride and played the part well. I’m married, I kept telling myself. I’m married.
We then made our way to Keith’s brother’s house. It was there that Bruce and Dorcass had prepared our wedding reception. They lived in a modest but nicely decorated home on Markland Road in Happy Valley, not far from the church. Although there were few photos and well wishes, I felt a lot of gratitude for our reception. I didn’t or hadn’t taken part in any of the preparations; my in-laws did a nice job of trying to make it look somewhat like a wedding reception. Nice white tablecloths draped a large table with a beautiful vase of artificial flowers accompanying our three-tiered wedding cake. Thanks to Dorcass’s artistic and creative abilities she had done a beautiful job. I was very pleased with it. There were several bowls of salads, a few plates of cold cuts, and a pot of rabbit stew. Smack in the middle of the table was a tower of white baker’s bread. Reverend Payne even came to celebrate with us, as he was a personal friend of Keith’s parents. I recall posing for a few flashing cameras. We did get a few pictures that I now cherish. It was not a wedding feast that will go down in the record books, but I felt we did the right thing under the circumstances. We were now married. We did what was expected of us, plain and simple.
I have no idea how much anything cost. Keith had sixty-five cents in the bank when we got married and had to borrow five dollars from his brother Graham to pay the minister. I hadn’t any money because I had spent it on the seamstress to let the seams out of my dress and to pay for my roses.
After the reception we went to Keith’s parents’ house just around the corner from our reception location. We were to spend our wedding night in Keith’s bedroom. I didn’t even know what his bedroom looked like because out of respect for his parents we never went there. Mr. Penny, being a lay reader, a catechist, and an active member of the church, had to be respected at all cost.
Mr. Penny was like a god to me, but I felt no connection with Keith’s mom. They were so old! Mr. Penny had snow white hair, and even though I sensed he was a kind and caring man, I was still afraid of him. To think I had to go to their home on our wedding night was terrifying! I was shaking in my new shoes and wedding gown as we entered his bedroom. Where was I going? What was I doing here? What was happening to me? I was like a rag doll at the end of a little girl’s hand, being dragged into nothingness. Did I know what I was doing? Did I really want this? However, here I was. I will never forget what unfolded in front of me as we opened Keith’s bedroom door.
The house itself was still under construction, so there was no paint on the walls and there weren’t any curtains to the window yet. The floor was plywood. There was a single bed up against the wall, on the right side of the room. I almost tripped over this god-awful contraption on the floor! I didn’t know what it was! It had a bunch of different length glass tubes sticking up from it, with tangled wires everywhere. It was scary looking. We sat on the bed for a moment and I must have been in some kind of trance or something, as I kept staring at it. Finally I asked Keith.
“Whass that ting on de floor?”
“That’s my radio,” he replied. “I’m fixin’ it.”
“Where’s de case?”
“I took the case off cause it needs a couple new tubes.”
Well, that explained what it was. He didn’t even have a nightstand to put it on. We had nothing else to do but to go to bed. As we undressed, rather shyly, I draped my wedding dress over an old chair. I didn’t know what to think. Did I even think at all? I was numb. We got into bed and embraced without saying a word. I was fearful of the future, but didn’t know what to do about it. We just needed to get through this night.
“Do ya love me?” I asked him, as he fumbled around my big belly.
“Yeh,” he mumbled.
I don’t know if Keith loved me or not. He never told me. He couldn’t utter those three little words, but I did love him and showed him in every way possible. Our wedding night was spent with the two of us awkwardly trying to make love in a squeaky single bed with an old, battered,