Turning water into wine
And getting married
We often had parties then in that front room above the shop. Fifteen, twenty people even, all young people with similar ideals. All, except one character who walked in one night. Nobody knew him, but he told us he was a theology student, studying to become a priest. ‘Right now I’m studying how people are sinning and behaving immorally.’
‘Oh? Why?’
‘How could I preach against immorality if I’m not familiar with it?’ and he approached a girl to have sex with him. We were shocked. One of our friends took an empty wine bottle to the toilet, filled it, and offered the future priest to fill up his glass. The ‘white wine’ was still warm, and the future priest, after one mouthful, almost fell down the spiral staircase in his hurry to escape his encounter with immoral behaviour. We never saw him again.’
‘Yuck!’
‘Yeah, we had great parties. One night, when there were a dozen or more pushbikes leaning against the shop window downstairs, a couple of police officers came to investigate. We offered them a glass of wine, so they joined us and stayed the rest of the evening.
Often, before going home, we would go to one of the all-night eateries and have a bread roll with corned beef and smoked liver and gherkins, or my favourite sausage roll. We were young and full of energy, the house was old and tired and sometimes the weight of us all was enough to make the floor sag, so in the morning the front door to the shop would be jammed shut and once we even had to call neighbours to help the stocking lady open up her shop.
One evening, just as I got ready to get my bike and go home, Karen suggested I meet her parents. Almost midnight?
‘Why not?’ she said, and rang her mother.
‘Yes, come along, by all means,’ her mother said. ‘I’d love to meet your friend. Your Dad has gone to bed already, but I’m still working on the short story I’m writing.’
We caught the last tram to their flat. Karen’s mother was a professional writer and an artist herself, and we took to each other immediately. ‘What would you like to call me?’ she asked. ‘Elisabeth or Mama?’
Mama it was from that evening onwards.
WEDDING INVITATION
A linocut on stiff card. The two intertwining images symbolised married life, with a small blank space in the bottom left hand corner for “what the future might bring”.
And that future? Some years ago already a 50th wedding anniversary in a Thai restaurant in Warkworth.
SIGNING THE REGISTER
From that moment on we were officially married, and we stayed married.
So Karen and I got married.’
‘In a synagogue?’
‘No, we had just a civil ceremony. In The Netherlands church weddings or weddings in a synagogue were not legally binding, you had to have a civil wedding as well, in a registrar office. And to get onto the waiting list for an apartment or flat, you had to be married legally. So, a lot of Catholic couples in particular got married by a registrar, had their name put down on the waiting list, and stayed with their respective parents till they were allocated a place to live. Then it was time to get married ‘properly’ in the church.
We didn’t go to that extent; we simply booked a registrar ceremony, together with another couple. Weddings for two couples were cheaper!
Uncle Herman chauffeured us to the town hall, the rest of the family came by train. I’m afraid it wasn’t overly romantic. We all met in the large reception hall, the family, and our many friends. The other couple were young Indonesian people, with only three or four guests. You would have thought we could meet them, make ourselves known? No, they stayed in their own little corner, never even looked in our direction. Even after we were ushered into the wedding hall for the ceremony they ignored us. They, with their few guests, stayed in the left half, we all at our side of the aisle.
The celebrant made his speech and asked The Question. ‘Yes,’ Karen answered, and ‘Yes, sure’ I agreed. And we were married. I had made our wedding rings myself out of heavy silver, and, unlike cheaper rings, without any joints. Mine has worn down to about half the thickness, but it’s still going strong.
We were both in our mid-twenties then, and by the time this chronicle will be published, we will have celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary.
After the ceremony we had our wedding breakfast in a small, intimate restaurant: ‘Het Vette Hapje Bij De Magere Brug’, ‘The Fat Bite Near The Skinny Bridge.’ That skinny bridge was one of the main bridges across the river Amstel in Amsterdam, almost next door to De Werkschuit. I’m sure the food was very good, but I was kind of dazed. I remember sitting there with Karen and our family and friends, but I can’t remember the food, nor does Karen. All she remembers were the baskets of chocolates on the long table. Alright, maybe the ceremony was not very romantic, no walking up the aisle like in the movies, but it was still one of the most important moments in our lives. So ever since we have celebrated the anniversaries of our wedding on 19 September and the day we met on 7 April.