Until we strikes bottom beside the two sunkers........
And straight through the channel to Taslow we'll go....."
I don't know what the last two lines mean, but the first two are claiming
that nobody can party like a Newfie. After what I've been through since my
arrival I wouldn't argue.
It's now my third day here, and I've spent most of my time in one bar or
another, and every one of them has had a view of the harbor. They even
served wine at the church 'though you had to line up to get some, and it
also had a view of the harbor.
Dan, Casey and I took Harley for a walk up Signal Hill yesterday morning
before the ceremony, and while Dan was putting the dog back into the truck
he said "Larry, I need a favor." Out of reflex I replied " No problem buddy.
I've got my Gold card, we can be in Vegas in 7 hours, and she'll never find
you". And realized Dan was holding out a tie and gazing at me with a strange
look on his face. All he wanted was some help dressing the dog. Shirt, tie,
and bowler hat. Normally at a wedding the most photographed person is the
bride, but this time it was the dog. At the church tourists were even coming
in off the road to take pictures.
The ceremony went pretty much as planned, we didn't wear the bright yellow
Sou' westers after all when somebody pointed out you're supposed to take your
hat off in church.
The person who cried the most wasn't the bride, or her mother, or one of the
bridesmaids. As Cheryl made her way towards the altar J.C. whispered "He's
crying!" I turned to see Dan, who I've come to think of as one of the
mentally and physically toughest people I know, with tears running down his
cheeks. Dan, I told you, 7 hours and we're in Vegas man!
One of the bridesmaids gave Dan some Kleenex, and when he used it up the
priest gave him more. So much for the tough guy. All it took to take him
down was a beautiful woman in a white dress.
The only glitch was when we started the procession back down the aisle. The
priest who had guided us through the rehearsal the day before was just
filling in for the guy who actually performed the ceremony. The fill-in was
much younger, and thought the electric guitar bit was a great idea. Nobody
thought to check with Father English, who performed the ceremony. When "Ode
To Joy" suddenly turned into something that sounded more like "Jimmy Page
Live" it looked like the quiet, soft-spoken man who had performed the
ceremony was getting ready to call for Hell-Fire and Damnation to descend
upon the guitarist. It would have been pretty funny if we were standing at a
safer distance.
The wedding is over, the paperwork signed, pictures taken, and it's
official: there is now a new Mrs. Whitman.
We had a lot of fun with the hats and the bottles of Screech, and they both
figured prominently in the wedding pictures. The bridesmaids were
complaining of thirst so J.C. ran across the street to a convenience store
for a couple of 8-packs of beer (it seems that in Newfoundland 6-packs
aren't quite big enough), which led to us standing around in tuxes and
formal wear drinking beer in the parking lot of Government house, which was
our first stop for pictures.
The reception was pretty standard. Until they brought out a dead fish and
performed a ceremony called "Getting Screeched In". You kiss the dead fish,
drink a shot of Screech, recite something that means something only to a
Newfoundlander but sounds pretty rude, and we were inducted into "The Royal
Order Of Screechers". The whole wedding party are now honorable Newfies.
And the peasants rejoiced. And partied, and drank, and danced, and drank
some more, and admired the view of the harbor.
Saturday afternoon Alex took me and the bridesmaids out to Cape Spear for
some much needed fresh air, and as a bonus we got to do some whale watching
before Casey and Cheryl ran me out to the airport so I could return home. It
was the longest stretch since I arrived here where I've been conscious and
didn't have any alcohol. I intend to return to The Rock someday, but I'm
going to spend a little more time doing the tourist thing, and a little less
time in bars.
End of Chapter 5
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