I had noticed the posters over the past week, at various locations. A Festival of Flowers running for 3 days in a parish church just about 3 miles out of Lisburn. I knew the church, although it was not mine, and the location is in an idyllic setting, just on the edge of the country surrounded by trees and fields. Very peaceful. I envisaged a sort of miniature Chelsea Flower Show. Loving flowers and plants plus a chance to spend money as well, I decided to go on the Saturday, if the weather was good. Saturday was beautiful. Without holding out much hope, I asked my husband if he would like to accompany me. He looked shocked, because Saturday for him is either fishing, watching football or horses or dandering about in the garden looking busy. That was the first refusal. I rang my grandaughter, the same one that years previously I had had to promise to live to be 200 to pacify her, because she thought I was getting old and might die soon. She is now almost 15 and apologising shyly told me that she was going into town with her friends. My daughter had various sporting activities to ferry her other children to. My best friend needs 2 days notice to go anywhere so I decided I would go on my own. After all, I wouldn't look alone with people milling around the stalls, etc. I washed and styled my hair, which had been recently highlighted. I dressed in my best cream suit which always looks well. I wore a little cream lacy camisole underneath, showing just a tiny bit of cleavage. (I have a good reason to mention this). My summer sandals were also cream, backless, toeless with a pale pink and green bobble. The heels are gold. My toenails were painted a pale pink to match my fingernails, and just lifting my small cream handbag with gold trimming, I set off, ensuring that I had plenty of cash. My husband offered to run me down as he thought there might be a problem with parking space. Upon reaching the church, I gaily swung out of the car assuring my husband that I would be at least 2 hours, and that I would contact him by mobile phone. Two nice, blameless looking gentlemen welcomed me at the gates. I noticed several coaches, from which ladies were alighting.. Most of them seemed to be dressed in Sunday suits with hats. A bit prim looking I thought to myself, looking down at the hint of cleavage with some dismay. I headed for the hugh marquee, thinking it was a pity they were holding the display inside on such a beautiful day. Upon entering I encountered just 2 ladies behind stalls. No sign of any flowers or plants. The stalls held children's picture books, crayons and some babies' cardigans. Home made cakes were for sale as well. I enquired about the flower festival and was informed it was in the church. At this point, I begun to have the first misgivings that this Festival of Flowers was not going to be the flower show of my imagination. I made my way up to the pretty little church, entered the porch and was given a booklet. This depicted all the arrangements of flowers and what they represented. You know, Baptism, Confirmation Pentecost, etc. There were about 14 or 15 exhibits, which I must say were absolutely stunning. My heels clattered around on the marble floor and I tried to look confident although I was obviously the only person on their own. I muttered appreciatively about the displays but no-one answered me so I gave up. The whole tour of the flowers took all of about 10 minutes and I felt guilty when leaving. Two ladies at the back of the church presented me with a Visitors' Book which I duly signed. There was also a Donations basket which contained only paper money, so I gave a fiver and made my way out, smiling at anyone who happened to meet my eyes. There weren't too many as they all had their own friends. Coming out into the early summer sunshine, and feeling quite hungry, I noticed a sign for Full Lunches or Coffe, Tea and Scones. "Ah well", I thought, "I'll have a full lunch, and that'll put in the time". I made my way up to the parish hall where another two ladies were standing. I enquired about lunches and they pointed me inside. I had imagined little tables for 2 or 4 and at which I could comfortably eat my lunch. However, on peering into the hall, I could see these long, long tables with all the ladies in their own wee groupd. There's no way I could sit at a long table on my own. One of the ladies enquired if I was ok and I replied that I didn't like to go in on my own. Thinking she might introduce me to someone, whereby I could get my lunch, which smelt delicious, she simply ageed with me saying, "Right enough." I turned on my heels and feeling a bit sorry for myself (Johnny no Mates) decided there was no option but to ring my husband to come back for me. Before that, I visited the grave of two good friends and said a wee prayer for them. They would have had a laugh about this incident. I walked down near the gates, where the two gentlemen still stood smiling. Making the call, I noticed the gentlemen looking in my direction, but trying hard not to make it obvious. "God, this cleavage and these sandals, they can see I'm not one of theirs". I felt as if it was stamped on my forehead, "I'm one of the other sort". The phone rang and rang - no reply. Trying to look nonchalant, I then phoned my daughter, who had returned from the various sporting activities. I was thankful to hear her voice and she assured me that she would be down in about 10 minutes for me. I told her I would walk part of the country road to meet her. The two gentlemen; what excuse could I make to them for my short stay, if I waited at the gates? better just walk on up the wee road. Passing them I smiled, commented on the beautiful displays and slowly made my way out of the church grounds. I could feel their eyes boring into my back until I reached and turned the corner. Heaving a sigh of relief, but disappointed that I had misunderstood what a Festival of Flowers was, hungry to boot, I kept on up the wee road until I saw my daughter's car come into view.

Ann,
This is going to surprise you but that is the chuirch in which we were married nigh on 50 years ago.
I have visited twice since leaving home and was disappointed to find it locked. My grandparents are buried beside the church.
The whole inside of the place has been ripped out and refurbished. I saw this through the windows.
I went to that church for the best part of twenty years and was confirmed there.
We used to play in the Barbours tomb in the graveyard.
I know exactly how you felt and I can only apologise for non - welcome.

LR

LR - Sure that's where I must have seen you, for seen you I must have. I was confirmed there too, 1959 or 60. I remember not having a confirmation dress to wear so there was a big alert around all the family - who had one that would fit Betty? My cousin Ann Smiley (sister of Sylvie) had been recently confirmed and although younger and smaller than me, I was forced into this wee white dress. I held my breath, but alas as soon as I breathed, the back zip burst open. I didn't know what to do, but ever resourceful my mother told me to stand still and she did me up with safety pins all up the back. And off I went to be confirmed by the Bishop, and yes I did stay intact, not sure how I got out of the dress when I got home though.

When I visit my brother's grave there, I always have a nostagic visit to (is it Nessie?) Pelan's resting place. Poor broken hearted girl died of love on her 21st birthday.

So Ann, many thanks of that account, it was very amusing and I was there with you.

Liz

Liz,
I was confirmed in 1952 by the Bishop of Down and Connor and my real hero in life, Revd. Parr.
I walked from the Low Road practically every Sunday until about 1962.
My grannie lived in the houses just past the Orange Hall on the right opposite River Road. I believe they are no longer there.
I spent many happy times playing in the graveyard ( what a paradox) and still have very happy memories of the place.

Ann
Liked it. Like a scene from Educating Rita.

LR

My aunt Lizzy McCormack lived nearly opposite your granny. Also a family known to me, the Bells, lived along the same side as your granny.

I always loved that walk down that country lane to get to church on a Sunday morning. We lived in the County down till 1958, then lived up the Moss Road a few years.

Liz

Ann,
What a great read that was and it was so descriptive I was there with you. Every bit as good as anything Maeve Binchey writes.

Thelma

Now Thelma it's one thing asking for a recipe for soda bread. However, comparing me to Maeve Binchy, thank you anyway. PS. I can't STAND Maeve Binchy apart from her first couple of books, which I enjoyed very much. Maybe its because she's as talkative as I am.

Thelma, if you want to start a new topic. Scroll up the first page. At the top you should see POST. Click in there and that'll give you a new e mail.

That was just YOU down to a T. Brought back happy memories of Lambeg Church, Greenhill, where my 1st. boyfriend lived, we used to go around on bicycles, down the towpath, all around the leafy lanes of Church Hill etc. Have'nt been there for years, think it is better to imagine it as it used to be, idyllic. Pat.

Ann,
I have all Maeve Binchey's books and I'm terribly possessive of them and won't even lend them out to a good friend. I figure I'll read them again in a few years and enjoy them all over again.

Thelma