Low life
A fine wedding
Jeffrey Bernard
Norman's daughter, Natasha, was mar- ried a few days ago and it was an honour for me to be invited to the wedding and the reception after. It was the first time I had ever been into a synagogue. At the entrance I was given a yarmulka and then Norman ushered me to the front row of the stalls, so to speak, where I had a good and clear view of the couple standing at the chupa. It looked delightful, and a trio com- prising clarinet, fiddle and harmonium made it a truly joyous occasion. It bordered on show business and for the duration of the ceremony even Norman looked as though he had forgotten how much the day was costing him. Natasha looked lovely and it occurred to me that she is lucky that, as any bloodstock agent will tell you, breeding is not an exact science.
I hadn't known about the chupa before, a bower of flowers, if you haven't seen one, and it was far more beautiful than anything I have ever seen in the Church of England who strive with marrows at Harvest Festi- vals, or the bunch of flowers in a registry office which has to last the day and over- look 20 or so marriages. I shall carry the picture of it in the days to come. Then it was back to earth and a lift to the Glaziers Hall on the Thames Embankment for the reception. I was still wearing the yarmulka that I had been told to keep as a souvenir and now it sits atop my bust of Nelson. It suits him rather. A one-eyed, one-armed Jew — and you think you've got troubles?
There was a long line of wellwishers and friends waiting to congratulate the happy couple but Norman, being particularly solicitous, took me to the head of it and then put me at a table and chair with a drink and where I overlooked the river. I sat there sipping away and nibbling on potato pancakes while the room gradually filled up with guests. Norman's brother-in- law, a loquacious minicab driver, took a photograph of me wearing the yarmulka which will go into my scrapbook. That may well give my grandchildren something to wonder about one day.
The champagne flowed, Norman beamed and Michael, the boss barman and only other representative from the Coach and Horses, cut a dash in his dinner jacket. Never have I been surrounded, I thought, by so many Jews, not even at Brighton races. It was then that my train of thought led me to think about the Holocaust and that was depressing until Norman diverted my attention with one of his philosophical observations like, 'Drink up. It's free today.'
In fact, I drank moderately that after- noon and I leave free guzzling to the likes of film crews on location who partake like pigs. Anyway, before they all went in for the dinner and the dancing I ordered a taxi and left. On the way home I couldn't help but think of my own four weddings and I spent a fairly gloomy evening in front of a not-switched-on television set.
Ever since the wedding Norman has been rather cheerful. I managed to pull him up short, though, the other day when I reminded him that he still has one more daughter to get rid of. I said I was sure that it wouldn't break the bank, but they don't mess about at Jewish weddings. And the next time he will have to come face to face again with Suzanne, the mother known as The Alimony. Poor Norman, some might say. And now my curiosity has been aroused and I would like to see just what goes on at a barmitzvah. Sadly I think Nor- man is past begetting a son and anyway I can't wait 14 years for a drink on the house.
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