How I came to be in England - Part 43

 

The Padre wore a dark suit with a white dog collar. He was a tall man and his dark  form loomed large over the door of the terraced house in Southsea. He offered me his hand and held onto my palm for so long I felt trapped by his grasp. But he continued gazing into my eyes and smiling until I pulled my hand away.

'And how may I help you, dear?' he asked after I'd made him a cup of tea. We were sitting facing each other on the sofa in the front room.

'I am from Finland and my fiance, who's in the Navy, and I are getting married there next month. He said you can issue him a Certificate of Non-Impediment.'

'Aah,' the Padre said and drank the last drops of his tea. For a moment he looked for a table to place his empty cup and saucer onto, then put it carefully down on the floor. He crossed his hands and said, 'There may be a little problem with that.'

'A problem?' 

'Well...what is the date of the happy occasion?'

I told him we'd be married the first Saturday in June, in just under five weeks' time.

'Hmmm...well, oh dear. You see, I don't issue these certificates. What happens in England – this may be the same in Norway –'

'Finland,' I interrupted him. I was getting a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

'Of course, yes, Finland.' He gave me a sheepish look and smiled. I noticed the expression in his eyes did not change when his lips moved. He reached his hand across and touched my knee, 'For your fiance to get a Certificate of Non-Impediment he needs to have the bands read in his home parish.'

'Yes?'

'Has he had his bands read?

'No, I don't think so.'

'Well, then he needs to do that. But it takes six weeks.'

I was staring at the Padre. I couldn't breathe.

The Padre squeezed my knee harder. I froze and pulled my leg away. 'Can you perhaps change the date of the wedding?'

I thought how much my sister had organised for the day. How all the English guests had bought their expensive flights. How the Englishman's mother and godmother had already bought their outfits and matching hats. How the Cathedral in Tampere had been booked, how the hotel for the reception had been reserved, how the menu had been decided. 'No...' I said.

'I understand, dear.' the Padre said.

There was a silence.

My mind was suddenly blank. I couldn't think at all. Did this mean we couldn't get married? The Pastor in Tampere had said that without this certificate he couldn't marry us. I'd never heard of any 'bands'.

'The purpose of the bands being read in the groom's home parish is to establish that he's not been married before...' the Padre hesitated when he saw my face, 'which of course I'm sure he isn't, but when a young man marries abroad the foreign – or in this case the Fin...Finn...'

'Finnish'

'Ah, yes, the Finnish church has to be certain that he is not committing a crime.'

'But....' I was staring at this apparition of the devil in a clergyman's clothes. What the hell was he telling me?

'We don't have six weeks.'

'Well, no,' the Padre said and went for my knee again.

I moved my leg away from his grasp in time.

He coughed. 'What you could do is to have a civil ceremony here in England, at a Registry Office, ' he pronounced the last two words carefully as if I was half-witted, 'and then have a blessing in the church abroad. The wording of the ceremony is almost the same, and in the eyes of God you'll still be married in the church in...hmm...your country.' The Padre gave me another of his half-cocked smiles. 'I have the telephone number here somewhere.' He rummaged in his worn out-looking leather satchel.

When I finally got rid of the Padre I immediately went over to the beige coloured telephone under the stairs and dialled the number for Portsmouth Registry Office.

The friendly man who answered the phone listened to my rambling explanation of the situation. How my fiance was in the Navy and stationed abroad, how I've only just moments ago found out that the wedding we'd planed for months may not happen and how the only solution the Naval Padre had suggested was to have a civil ceremony in England and  blessing in the church in Finland. Occasionally he said, 'Oh Dear,' or 'I understand,' or 'Yes, yes.' When I finally finished the tale, he said, 'So would you like me to have a look in the diary to see what dates we have before the 2^nd of June?'

'Yes please!' I realised I could have just asked him to do that straight away, but I felt so much better having told someone about the catastrophe. I exhaled slowly and waited for the man to come back to the phone.

'Well, I do have a date this coming Saturday, but then the next weekend date I have is 9^th of June.'

It was Tuesday 30 April 1984. I'd woken up that morning remembering it was Walburgh Night and felt very homesick. Tonight all my friends in Helsinki would be going out to celebrate, wearing their student caps and drinking too much. Instead, here I was trying to organise something which felt very much like a shot-gun wedding. Then it dawned on me: I'd be married this Saturday, in four days time, not in five weeks' time!

'Would you like me to book this?'

I thought for a fraction of a moment. 'Yes, book it.'

The man went through the cost and asked if I could post a cheque as soon as possible.

Next I called the number in Italy the Englishman had given to me. We never telephoned each other during the day and he sounded surprised when he heard my voice.

'Are you OK?'

I realised I was unbearably angry him. I'd been nagging him about the certificate during almost every phone call before I'd come over to England, and again when I was here. Then he didn't get around to doing anything about it until he was already in Naples. And then he'd only managed a phone call to the Padre.  

'No, I'm not,' I said.

'Oh?' the Englishman sounded worried.

'The Padre told me this morning that he can't issue the certificate. You know the Certificate of Non-Impediment you need in order to marry me.' I told the Englishman the whole sorry tale.

'We'd be getting married this Saturday?' the Englishman said.

I was furious. Was he having doubts? 'Yes.'

Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then, trying to control myself, I said, 'This was the ONLY thing you needed to organise, and you couldn't even be bothered to do that!' I was holding back tears. I wanted to scream at him. To say that if he didn't want to marry me he should say so.

I felt so cold.

He'd been late at the train station when I arrived in England. He'd been posted abroad as soon as I arrived in Southsea. Now he'd not bothered to get the certificate. Was he, possibly unconsciously, trying to stop the wedding from going ahead?

'I'm really sorry,' the Englishman said. His voice was barely audible. 'Look, I'll call you back in an hour. I need to arrange a pass. But I'm going to do it, don't worry, everything will be alright.'

'Yes?'

'Yes, it will. And,' the Englishman put his lips very close to the receiver. I knew he was trying to say something without being overheard.

'Yes?'

'I love you, don't ever forget it. And I can't wait to be married to you. The sooner the better.'

How I came to be in England - Part 42

I

I spent most of the spring of 1984 alone in the house in Southsea, studying for the final exams I was to take at the Finnish Embassy in Chelsea. Before the Englishman left for Naples, he'd set up an small office for me in the unoccupied middle bedroom. We found an old trestle table in the lean-to conservatory at the back of the house, which I wiped clean and set all my books and papers on, as well as the old typewriter I'd lugged all the way from Finland with me.

Sitting at the rickety table, I gazed at the neighbour's garden beyond our narrow one. The house opposite looked identical to our house and was occupied by a young family, where the mother was always at home. I often saw her during the day, washing dishes at the kitchen sink, or hoovering in the living room.She usually wore a skirt and a blouse, but never looked up. I guessed she was too busy to worry about her neighbours.

The Admiral's son was rarely at home; he spent his days as well as many evenings at the base in Portsmouth. Occasionally he'd come back to his rented room early in the afternoon and offer me a cup of tea, which I accepted. I'd decided to start drinking tea, even though the mere smell of the milky drink made me wince. When I'd stayed with the Englishman's parents in the country, I found I couldn't consume as many cups of coffee a day as the English did tea. Besides, I wanted to surprise the Englishman when he returned with my new, very British habit.

One evening in early March the Admiral's son was back from his course before I'd gone to bed. I'd stayed up hoping for a call from the Englishman. It had been three days since we last spoke and I was dying to talk to him. The Admiral's son made us both a cup of tea. He perched on the worn-out settee next to me. After he'd talked about the weather - it'd been raining every day that week - he finished his tea and fiddled with his empty, brown glass mug. He glanced at his watch and yawed. 'Guess it's time to turn in,' he said but didn't move. It was past midnight.

I picked up my half-drunk tea and his empty mug and took them to the kitchen.

'Oh,' the Admiral's son said and half rose from the settee.

'Good night,' I said and started to walk up the narrow stairs.

I heard him cough and turned my head towards the living room. 'Hmm, if you don't mind, I was going to make a phone call...'

'OK,' I said.

'You're not expecting...?'

'No, I don't think he'll phone tonight.'

'In that case,' the Admirals son lifted his eyes to me, 'It's long-distance...a girl I met in Australia.'

'Aah,' I said and smiled. I felt like an old, experienced woman. As I lay in bed and tried not to listen to the muffled telephone conversation below me, I thought how far the Englishman and I had come. From meeting at the British Embassy four years ago, to walking down the aisle together in less then three months' time. I thought about all the happy and tearful phone calls we'd had; the heart-breaking good byes and the blissful reunions; the many misunderstandings and then the realisation we couldn't live without one another. My stomach tightened when I thought about the wedding. I could hardly believe it was going to happen.

But the invitations had been sent. The English guests had all replied; there was going to be a total of ten of them. They had even bought their flights, and my sister had booked the hotel in Tampere. My flight back two weeks before the wedding was booked as was the Englishman's. He was to fly together with the guests a few days before the ceremony. All he had to do was to get a Certificate of Non-Impediment so we could marry in Finland. All I had left to do was to find a suitable silk tulle fabric for my dress and send it onto my dress-maker friend. I'd planned to do that after my first exam in London. I knew exactly what I wanted to buy and had the addresses of three shops which sold fabrics near Oxford Street.

The Englishman had given me a map of London and told me how to take the tube from Waterloo station to Sloane Square. Being alone in London was scary but exhilarating. I followed the Englishman's directions and found the right line and the right stop on the tube. As I emerged from the dark tunnels, carrying my black leather briefcase and dressed in a sombre black suit, I walked fast towards the direction I thought Chesham Place was from the station. It was around noon on a Tuesday in mid March. I tried to match the steps of the people rushing around me, wanting to pretend I too was part of the hub of the city. I didn't want to appear a tourist and avoided looking at my map.

The Finnish Embassy turned out to be just beyond a large green park, fenced off with freshly painted black wrought iron railings. There was a sign that read, 'Private' and I presumed the right to use the park belonged to the owners of a long row of white stucco fronted houses. They had tall windows draped with heavy curtains. Along this wide street there were fewer people about, so I slowed my pace and at last dared to look at my map. I was very close and turning a corner I saw the Finnish flag. The simple blue cross on a white background brought a lump to my throat.



On my last visit in late April 1984, the staff offered me to have a sauna there. One of the previous Ambassadors had built one in the basement and that evening was the sauna night of the female Embassy employees. They had one once or twice a month, if the Ambassador wasn't entertaining. I'd not brought a towel, nor a change of clothing so I declined. The secretary said 'What a shame,' and hugged me. She wished me well and made me promise to come and say hello to her when I needed a new passport.

Usually when I left the Finnish Embassy I felt tired but glad another exam was over. I was in a hurry to get away, whether it was to go shopping on King's Road, or to take the train back to Southsea. This time I felt a lump in my throat. It was as if another tie to my mother country was severed. Even though the Embassy would always be there, I knew it wouldn't be the same to come back as an ordinary Expat to renew a passport. I'd never again be offered to have a sauna, or sit in that little room, officially a part of Finland, feverishly writing, straining to remember anything I'd learned at my temporary desk in the little house in Southsea.

Outside the sun was shining and as I hurried to catch the next train from Waterloo, I remembered I was to meet the Naval Padre the following day. My new life was starting, so there was no point in mourning the old one. The Padre was to issue a Certificate of Non-Impediment to the Englishman. This was the final piece of red tape we needed for the wedding to go ahead in Finland.

I couldn't wait.