Downtrodden Abbey: The Interminable Saga of an Insufferable Family by Gillian Fetlocks Page B
Authors: Gillian Fetlocks
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(though his sexual function had suddenly diminished).
“It’s incredible, Marry,” he says. “I feel like I’ve never spoken before in my life. One takes for granted the simple, vocalised form of human communication—phonetic combinations of vowel and consonant sound units, which have formed the basis of thousand of languages over the centuries, and—”
“Blah, blah, blah! Atchew, I know you’re excited about being able to speak again,” Lady Marry says. “But do you think you could maybe, um … shut up for a bit?”
Lord Crawfish suffers some post-traumatic effects as he realizes the toll that the war took, not just on Downtrodden Abbey but on all of England, and the world. So much senseless violence and killing. The coiffure-related needs of thousands of soldiers.
The despondent earl spends his evenings pacing the pantry, which is an uncomfortable area in which to pace, but holds the greatest likelihood of him encountering Jen, the object of his growing interest.
“Why, Lord Crawfish—what are you doing here?” Jen asks.
“More to the point,” he answers, “What are you doing here?”
“I was just getting some flour,” she explains, scratching her head. “You do realize that I am here often, right? I mean, fetching supplies is a big part of my job.”
“Of course, of course. I suppose I am just a bit—nervous around you.”
The earl makes a move towards the lowly housekeeper, then pretends he was reaching for a can of peaches. Jen backpedals, then acts as though she sees a mouse scurrying along the floorboards. This causes Lord Crawfish to step to the side, where he examines a bag of rice. Jen then dusts a jam jar.
“Well, this is all a bit awkward,” she says. “What do you suppose would happen if we just got it over with already and kissed?”
“How dare you suggest such a thing! I can have you dismissed immediately for merely uttering such distasteful words!”
“But Lord Crawfish—why would you loiter in the pantry and stare at me when I entered, if you had no secret agenda to encounter me?”
“All right, maybe just one little smooch,” Lord Crawfish whispers. “Pucker up, Tootsie.”
* * *
Atchew and Slovenia begin planning their wedding, which immediately presents a conflict between them, as she prefers a Victrola jockey, while he pleads for live music. Having selected a date, Lady Marry’s and Calamine’s nuptials get delayed. Which might not be a bad thing.
THE EDWARDIAN WEDDING
In the Edwardian Age, there was no more reported or anticipated event than a society wedding.
The process was slightly involved. Licenses were procured from the archbishop of Canterbury, whose office was open on Mondays from 9:00 a.m. to 10:30 a.m., and Wednesdays from 2 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. Unless the clerk was ill (she was prone to debilitating headaches), in which case the office was open on Saturdays from 11:00 a.m. to 1:30 p.m.
Once the license was obtained, the names of the wedding participants were required to be published for three successive weeks prior to the ceremony in the parish where the groom took residence, and five weeks in the district in which the bride lived.
Alternately, a marriage by license could be arranged. Applications for this type of license could be procured at the Vicar-General’s office (for summer weddings), the Doctor’s Commons (for winter weddings), or local apothecaries (for autumn weddings). The application then had to be completed, notarized, and posted to the Office of Civil Affairs, along with all appropriate fees.
The gown and trousseau worn by the bride had to meet certain specifications. For weekday weddings, creamy satin or almond was the preferred colour, whilst for weekend affairs, the bride was asked to wear ivory, vanilla, or beige. Veils were to be made of lace or tulle. Trains could be no more than ninety inches in length.
A typical gown was festooned with flounces of point d’Angelterre, with the court train attached at the
“It’s incredible, Marry,” he says. “I feel like I’ve never spoken before in my life. One takes for granted the simple, vocalised form of human communication—phonetic combinations of vowel and consonant sound units, which have formed the basis of thousand of languages over the centuries, and—”
“Blah, blah, blah! Atchew, I know you’re excited about being able to speak again,” Lady Marry says. “But do you think you could maybe, um … shut up for a bit?”
Lord Crawfish suffers some post-traumatic effects as he realizes the toll that the war took, not just on Downtrodden Abbey but on all of England, and the world. So much senseless violence and killing. The coiffure-related needs of thousands of soldiers.
The despondent earl spends his evenings pacing the pantry, which is an uncomfortable area in which to pace, but holds the greatest likelihood of him encountering Jen, the object of his growing interest.
“Why, Lord Crawfish—what are you doing here?” Jen asks.
“More to the point,” he answers, “What are you doing here?”
“I was just getting some flour,” she explains, scratching her head. “You do realize that I am here often, right? I mean, fetching supplies is a big part of my job.”
“Of course, of course. I suppose I am just a bit—nervous around you.”
The earl makes a move towards the lowly housekeeper, then pretends he was reaching for a can of peaches. Jen backpedals, then acts as though she sees a mouse scurrying along the floorboards. This causes Lord Crawfish to step to the side, where he examines a bag of rice. Jen then dusts a jam jar.
“Well, this is all a bit awkward,” she says. “What do you suppose would happen if we just got it over with already and kissed?”
“How dare you suggest such a thing! I can have you dismissed immediately for merely uttering such distasteful words!”
“But Lord Crawfish—why would you loiter in the pantry and stare at me when I entered, if you had no secret agenda to encounter me?”
“All right, maybe just one little smooch,” Lord Crawfish whispers. “Pucker up, Tootsie.”
* * *
Atchew and Slovenia begin planning their wedding, which immediately presents a conflict between them, as she prefers a Victrola jockey, while he pleads for live music. Having selected a date, Lady Marry’s and Calamine’s nuptials get delayed. Which might not be a bad thing.
THE EDWARDIAN WEDDING
In the Edwardian Age, there was no more reported or anticipated event than a society wedding.
The process was slightly involved. Licenses were procured from the archbishop of Canterbury, whose office was open on Mondays from 9:00 a.m. to 10:30 a.m., and Wednesdays from 2 p.m. to 4:00 p.m. Unless the clerk was ill (she was prone to debilitating headaches), in which case the office was open on Saturdays from 11:00 a.m. to 1:30 p.m.
Once the license was obtained, the names of the wedding participants were required to be published for three successive weeks prior to the ceremony in the parish where the groom took residence, and five weeks in the district in which the bride lived.
Alternately, a marriage by license could be arranged. Applications for this type of license could be procured at the Vicar-General’s office (for summer weddings), the Doctor’s Commons (for winter weddings), or local apothecaries (for autumn weddings). The application then had to be completed, notarized, and posted to the Office of Civil Affairs, along with all appropriate fees.
The gown and trousseau worn by the bride had to meet certain specifications. For weekday weddings, creamy satin or almond was the preferred colour, whilst for weekend affairs, the bride was asked to wear ivory, vanilla, or beige. Veils were to be made of lace or tulle. Trains could be no more than ninety inches in length.
A typical gown was festooned with flounces of point d’Angelterre, with the court train attached at the
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