I went to Blaydon Races, twas on the ninth of June, eighteen hundred and sixty two on a summer’s afternoon.
The is the opening verse to the traditional Geordie song, written in the 19th century - in 1862 funnily enough - and still sung on the terraces today at Newcastle United’s football ground.
The date, 9th June, was therefore the perfect choice for our wedding in Newcastle, exactly 25 years ago on Tuesday.
We married three years after our initial chance meeting on holiday in Tenerife. Who would have thought that a holiday romance in the Canaries would have led to marriage and quarter of a century together. Just shows the effects of sun and sangria.
On the wedding morning, which started grey and drizzly, I wore a pale pink satin dress which had tiny buttons up the back and a long train. It may have been 1990 but I was still hanging onto the vestiges of the 1980s with puffed sleeves and a curly perm.
Charpentier’s Te Deum was playing as I walked down the aisle with my dad. It was a relief to hear the tune playing as the church organist had unfortunately died just a few weeks before the wedding and we had been forced to find another one pretty sharpish.
The service was fairly short but memorable because the priest kept pronouncing Dougie’s surname wrong. You wouldn’t think there could be another way of saying ‘Burgess’ would you? A few hymns, readings, the signing of the register and it was all over. A very happy walk back down the aisle, this time to the magnificent Widor’s Toccata which still has the capacity to make me cry today.
We held our wedding reception in a small but beautiful country house north of Newcastle. The afternoon went by in a blur but I do recall some of my younger cousins playing football in the gardens. Not keen on the idea of an evening do, my new husband and I left early to travel by train to Manchester where, the following day, we flew to Formentera for our honeymoon. Some of the guests joined my parents for a buffet back at their house; the younger crowd descended on Newcastle for a Chinese meal.
We did video the occasion but this was a last minute decision after my dad borrowed a recorder from his office. Unfortunately no-one knew how to work it. My Uncle Alan was eventually given the job: “He’s an engineer, he’ll figure it out.”
The resulting video is shaky, with lots of feet, and a memorable twenty minutes focusing on a piece of wood in the pew in front of my uncle’s seat. In the end, it ran out of battery half way through the speeches.
The original Blaydon Horse Races stopped in 1916 but was the inspiration for a road race of the same name which is held every year on 9th June. After 25 years our journey together is, in comparison, still in its infancy with hopefully many more miles to run.
You can follow Trish on Twitter @mumsgoneto and read her blog at www.mumsgoneto.blogspot.com