Monday, June 2

 I thought I was to receive a visit today from the Aged Care Assessment Team to check how I was coping with my advanced age and whether I needed any government intervention.  However, it's been postponed until the 10th so I will just have to cope until then.  In fact, we're coping very well.

Although we both suffer from the expected aches and pains, our lives are generally very positive.  We get a bit of help from a cleaner who comes on Friday for a couple of hours, and most of our groceries are delivered by a big red truck, Marilyn still copes with the cooking, I get to the shop most days for the little incidental stuff like fresh fruit , bread and milk, and I am still capable of mowing the lawn and watering the plants.

The reason that ACAT is coming on the 10th is that I have my heart set on getting a new, flash, armchair which has a mechanism to help hoist me to my feet when I want to get up.  If I can display that I need some mechanical assistance to get up, they might subsidise the cost.  I will have to play it carefully: be decrepit enough to need assistance but not too far gone that I should be in a home.

In reality, it's time for that chair.  My back has been an issue for years and it needs all the help it can get.

Today's story is part of a series using titles from traditional folk songs - Maire's Wedding.

MAIRE’S WEDDING                                                                 21 MAY, 2021

Life was generally very placid in Jacaranda Crescent.  People went about their business without any fuss.  Neighbours smiled at each other when they met and shared a drink at Christmas, so no one in the neighborhood was expecting a genuine feud to break out between two families who lived next door to each other. Some wag said it was like the Hatfields and McCoys but that was in West Virginia and they had guns so it was not quite the same.

Nobody is quite sure what sparked off the feud. Walter, Mr Brennan, says it began at a Saturday football match when Ronald, Mr McDonald, made some intemperate remarks about young Rory Brennan’s ability on the field.  Words were exchanged between the two fathers and it might have come to blows if other fathers had not intervened.

Mr McDonald has a different story; he says that ‘that bugger Brennan’ had ruined his chances of becoming secretary of the Bowls Club by telling lies about him to other committee members.  Yes, he did have a few drinks at the Bowls Club Christmas Party but it’s a lie to suggest he said anything improper to Peggy, the barmaid, and he certainly never touched her.

Mrs Brennan and Mrs McDonald had no choice but to publicly support their husbands and, if truth be told, both of them take enjoyment in gossiping about the other.  Elspeth Brennan has mastered the art of making the occasional snide remark about Flora McDonald’s hairdo, couching it in sympathetic terms as though she is troubled by the disaster which has been inflicted on her friend by an incompetent hairdresser.

Flora, on the other hand, plays a much more overt role, leaving no room for misunderstanding her feelings towards her rival.  “That harridan, Elspeth Brennan, has been at it again.  She’s been trying to poison our cat because she says it’s peeing on her pansies!”

One positive aspect of this unfortunate episode is that children are not good at feuds.  Young Rory still plays football happily with Hamish on Saturdays and 18-year old Maire MacDonald is more than a little interested in Sean Brennan.

Time passes, and life goes on.  Resentments simmer and, occasionally, tempers flare and, on one bright Sunday morning, Maire McDonald announces that Sean Brennan has asked her to marry him, and she has said Yes.

Ronald is stunned. It’s very difficult for a man, who sees himself as the head of the household, to be faced with the realisation that he is powerless when the two women he has nurtured and protected and provided for line up against him.  All his objections are cast aside, his reservations are discounted, his anxiety about the suitability of the match is pooh-poohed.  The wedding will go ahead and you will have to like it or lump it, he is told.  Oh, and you will have to pay for it, too.

Mr and Mrs Brennan knocked on the door of No 6 Jacaranda Place a few days later determined to make peace for the sake of the children.  Mrs McDonald welcomed them in and set about burying the memories of the years of resentment she had felt.  Ronald, sadly, found he didn’t have the strength of character to let bygones be bygones.  It’s too hard, he thought, and he mouthed the words of apology and promises to move on, while continuing to nurse all the bitter feelings which had sustained him for years.

It might have been appropriate if the Saturday of the wedding had been grey and dismal to match Mr McDonald’s mood but it wasn’t.  The sun shone brightly and, if angels didn’t sing, the magpies in the churchyard certainly did.  Sean Brennan stood waiting in the church supported by his best man, who was trying to conceal the fact that he had had a fortifying drink on the way to the church.  Sean felt he was on a train over which he had no control and which was taking him to a destination he couldn’t envisage.  But he knew he loved Maire and trusted her that his life would not be complete without her by his side.

The mothers of the bride and groom beamed and their joy in the happiness being shown by the newly-married couple lifted their spirits and laid the foundation for a new friendship.  Walter Brennan, more phlegmatic, was happy that his son seemed to have made a good choice and offered his hand to his neighbour. 

But Ronald McDonald remained surly, unable to lay aside the real and imaginary insults and resentments of past years.