The
Spectator July 12, 1975
Easy riders
French best men have a very easy ride I found later in the week at the real wedding near Nantes. No formalities like speeches. No conjuring tricks producing the ring out of a waistcoat pocket. The worst thing I had to do was meet a party of ten who had travelled all day from London via Weymouth and Cherbourg with tennis rackets and fishing rods. and tell them that there was no weekend house-party laid on. But after heated discussion over dinner in Nantes, continuing until after midnight, I fixed up a haystack for them while I slept in their Bentley. The best man's activities are entirely surreptitious. Producing a brandy flask for the bride to give her the impression that everything IS under control. Catching the bridesmaid who was running round the back of the altar another one appeared in the pulpit. Bridesmaid came up the aisle in a push chair having learned to walk only last week. And, I am told by outside observers, people kept going out of the Church because they were bored, or liked the sun. When the flautist started up she had been asked to play us a tune whenever there was a dull moment because the chosen organist did not turn up she was immediately silenced by the priest. One of the first to go into the church, and one Of the last to leave, was the bride. Everyone likes to be hanging around outside to see her arrival and her departure. As casually as the service began, it ended. A funeral procession had appeared while the wedding guests were Still in their cars setting off for the reception and the priest was still on the steps of the church rapidly adjusting his poise for the next Performance.
Extending the party
Wedding receptions in France go on for at least half a day or forever. This one started at
tea-time and continued until dawn after the secret departure (another low-profile opecation organised by the best man) of the exhausted happy couple, still wearing their wedding garments. Traditionally, when the newly-marrieds have gone, the guests set off to find them, which I think is simply an excuse to extend the party.
The scene was like a film set, sometimes M. Hulot but more often that exotic Martell advertisement with elegant garments, endless sun and tables of drink. It all happened in a rambling, luxuriantly overgrown, dreamy holiday house which is used for only two months a year and probably hasn't seen such hectic activity since the Gestapo took it over during the war. There was a scene of particular tranquillity just before the wedding when the photographs were being taken. On the lawn, tranquillity prevailed as the bride, bridegroom and bridesmaids lined up. In the background it was pandemonium as people popped up half-dressed at windows shouting urgent instructions.
Previous page
