Connie sampling his Franconian Poitín…I think.
The story of Michael & Elisabeth Mainelli’s multi-day wedding celebrations, culminating in the wedding itself, is told in song, pictures and additional words in the piece linked here and below:
But the celebrations continued for a further day, for those who chose to stay on a little longer. There were quite a few of us who did so. Unfortunately, 25 years on, my brain does not retain the full contingent for the Sunday celebrations. I might be confusing some of the people who were around for the early days with those who stayed the distance.
But I think that most of the American contingent – Michael’s family, Emma & Betsy, Tony Dillof & others – I think at least one if not two of the Amandas, Chris Webb, Chris the Bridesmaid, The Sealeys, The Nelsons, The Pooles, Rupert Stubbs & Sophie, at least one Lucas-Clements, Elisabeth’s family naturally enough…
Sunday 19 May 1996 – The Hooch Cellar & The Informal Party
We spent some time in the Reuss family village of Pfersdorf itself on the Sunday.
I especially remember the guided tour taking us to the home of an elder of the village named Connie, who had an informal distillery in his cellar.
Janie showed a great deal of interest in seeing this cellar, so, in the great tradition of Franconian village hospitality, she was shown through the door that led to the cellar steps in an “after you” manner, at which point Connie closed and locked the door, to the mirth of the assembled villagers and visitors.
Janie shouted out a couple of times, but once she realised she’d been duped, went quiet.
The locals informed us that the traditional ending to this practical joke was for the duped person to seek release from the cellar again a few minutes later, once in a state of inebriation, as there is lots of hooch to be had in there and not much else to do.
All eyes and ears were on the door, until Janie tapped someone on the shoulder and asked who they were looking and listening out for in the cellar. A well known escapologist (at least, she is now), Janie had spotted a window in the cellar and worked out how to climb up to the window, out through it (not very high on the ground level side) and walk around the corner to find us.
The assembled villagers and visitors thought this was all very funny.
Despite going light on the hooch, we remember little about the Sunday evening party, other than the fact that we had a great time. The best parties are like that. Others might be able to fill in the considerable gaps in this account.
I had made three mix tapes for the wedding, I believe with this party in mind:
- The first comprised mostly Michael’s choice of music, enhanced with some similar stuff from my own collection. Click here for a link to Mix Tape One in Ogblog form;
- The second was pure dance from my collection and remains a good source of dance party material. Click here for a link to Mix Tape Two in Ogblog form;
- The third was a more cynical take on the idea of a wedding mix tape – Side A being dance and Side B not so. Click here for a link to Mix Tape Three in Ogblog form.
I don’t even remember the extent to which the tapes were used that night, but I think they featured.
A Fraught Journey Home, Originally Aiming To Catch The Wrong Flight, Monday 20 May 1996
Chatting with the remaining guests on the Sunday, it seemed sensible for everyone, on the Monday, to enjoy a leisurely breakfast at the Hotel Ross in Schweinfurt and amble together to the railway station to catch the train that would whisk us with Germanic efficiency to Frankfurt airport in good time for our BA flight in the afternoon.
Then, while Janie and I were grazing at our breakfast, it started to dawn upon me that we hadn’t flown out BA, we had flown out Lufthansa. It also started to dawn on me that we were probably booked on an earlier flight than the others.
I went to check our tickets. To my horror, I realised that we were flying out of Frankfurt more than an hour earlier than everyone else. We certainly wouldn’t catch our flight if we travelled by train with the rest.
Some frantic checking of train times made me realise that I had actually goofed good and proper – we should have caught a train that we had already missed. There was another train between ours and the BA mob’s train, but it would get us to the airport only 20 minutes or so ahead of our flight.
I phoned the airport to warn them that we would be a late arrival for our flight.
The German gentleman I spoke with at the airport explained politely but firmly that we needed to get to the airport sooner than that.
I explained that we had missed our train and that the train we were catching would, in all probability, get us to the airport just 20 minutes before the flight. I asked the gentleman to inform the desk for our flight that we would be arriving late.
No. You must get to the airport earlier than that.
The conversation was over.
Janie and I agreed that we should catch the first available train anyway and hope for the best.
We had to change train, a couple of times I think, on this hair-raising trip.
Everything ran incredibly smoothly and the train arrived at Frankfurt Airport’s railway station exactly 20 minutes before our flight.
We legged it towards our check in desk.
Perhaps my “friend” from the telephone call had informed the desk that some mad Brits were going to attempt a ludicrously late check in. Perhaps Lufthansa check-in desks, in those days, simply switched into hyper-efficient “we’ll try to get you through the system” machines. This is all pre-9-11 of course, so the security was not quite such a big thing.
We heard the announcements for passengers to proceed to the gate for our flight around the time that we started checking in.
Anyway, the Lufthansa folk whisked us through the airport system and we arrived at the gate, dry-mouthed and out of breath just in time to hear a “bing-bong” and an announcement in German.
My poor German was just about good enough to make out that the announcement was a delay to the flight. Then in English, that fact was confirmed.
There’s lucky, said Janie.
Not at all, I said, we made it for the flight on time. Now I’m really irritated that we’re delayed.
In truth, the 40 minutes to calm down and decompress before the flight probably did us some good.
Ever since that near miss, I tend to double check our flight tickets/times a little obsessively. It was a peculiar ending to an unusual, celebratory week.
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