A Princess for the Day

The day finally dawned. A day most young girls dream of. I, like most dreamt of the day too, in a different way, but this story is not about me so much as my little girl. It would be safe to say that, I like many fathers always wanted the best for my daughter; tending to her needs, having her on my lap as we watched television together, taking long walks, sorting the world out, comforting her for various reasons; and also, like a good Dad disciplining her if the need arose. I’d like to say the need didn’t, but Sandra was like me; feisty, determined and good at demanding her own way irrespective of other people’s needs. Poor Simon, he would have to deal with her his way. 

I knew it would not be long before the house would be draped in preparation.  Breakfast in bed, a long relaxing bath, the hallway between bathroom to bedroom covered in talcum powder, bridesmaids descending en masse, and me wishing I could escape earlier than planned but having to play host.  The girls were pleasant enough but I was in the way.

“Hi Mr York” “Thank you Mr York.” and all the respectful things young ladies say, when they are both excited and shy simultaneously.

“See you soon Dad.” said the bride as the three of them ventured to the hairdresser, not far from the house.  My Sandra a princess for a day.  I was so proud.

SOME YEARS EARLIER

My wife and I had taken Sandra shopping one day, she was about seven at the time. We walked through a department store and to get from one end to the other, where the blokes ‘toys’ were: garden utensils, power tools et cetera, we passed the Formalwear department.  Sandra let go of my hand, spellbound by what she saw.  A small fashion show was being conducted., with models posing in various styles all looking attractive, all smiling.  Sandra watched them still spellbound.  I could see her eyes widen and her mouth agape a bit like a dock gate.  She did not understand it was a fashion show, she was remembering a family wedding, and later revealed to us she thought they were going to church.

“She’s really pretty Daddy.” said Sandra of the girl in a lace gown “I hope I’m a bride one day” she finished wistfully.

“I’m sure you will love, but you have got to finish school first.” the ever-practical father was speaking.

Suddenly, and without warning, Sandra tripped and grabbing on to the closest thing in front of her steadied herself. Of course, it had to be one of the lace dresses.  Heedless of the fact that it was accidental, or indeed that the child could have hurt herself, one of the staff, an older cranky looking lady told her off for touching the dress.  Sandra was close to tears and the dream spell was broken.  To her credit a customer close by was listing and spoke up in a gentle but firm voice.

“Madam, that sounds a bit harsh. I pushed passed this little girl in a hurry and knocked her off balance. The dress has not been damaged, and, as far as I can see is not dirty; if it is, I will pay for the dry cleaning.  What gives you the right to crush a little girl’s dreams, unless of course yours were once crushed? Did you ask if the child hurt herself? No? I thought not. Shame on you, have you no heart?.”

 Though she went about it the wrong way because indeed someone buying a dress wants it to be perfect, I dare say having been duly chastened, the staff member would not dare repeat her Oscar-winning performance but the spell was broken, or so I thought. Sandra duly chastened had to be reminded that accidents happen, and her dream should not be controlled by something or indeed someone else.

A few months later my wife and Sandra were involved in a car accident. Kath died at the scene and Sandra was badly injured. The state of her injuries could not be ascertained immediately.  All I could think of was how unlikely it would be for Sandra to get her dream.  As it turned out she was discharged eventually, complete with a calliper on her left leg and limited use of her left arm, but nothing else altered her dramatically, including her dream.  If anything, she became more determined to succeed and less likely to tolerate stupidity.

Already quite an artist, Sandra took up dressmaking and like Kath, was good at it.  She saved every penny she could and decided, after some training, she would set up a business for herself specialising in designing and making formal wear.  If she could not be a bride herself, she was going to enjoy seeing other girls shine.  “SY Designs” became something of a household name, business boomed, laughter boomed and Sandra was in her element, creating spellbinding costumes.

Then one day a young man came to the shop door carrying one of the store's boxes.

“Excuse me are you Sandra York?” he asked

“I am indeed.” answered Sandra with a smile “how can I be of assistance?”

“You can take this dress back,” he answered simply.

“Is there anything wrong with it?” Sandra was puzzled.

“No” he took a deep breath “my sister Ann Lennox bought it. She died on Friday.  You might be able to resell.” His grief was raw.

“You must be Simon.” said Sandra “Ann spoke of you several times.  I’m so sorry for your loss. I will reimburse you. It won’t bring Ann back but there will be other expenses…” her voice trailed off as she thought ahead “could you do with a cuppa while I attend to the details?”

He accepted and Sandra dealt with his grief, short term. However, it had an impact on Simon.  He asked her out to dinner, something beautiful developed out of his pain. Once again, I saw Sandra spellbound; this time for the world to see.  Simon accepted her disability but focused on her abilities, and this as a Dad, was what I wished for.  It was, therefore, no surprise to me, though I feigned it when the lovebirds came home early one afternoon and rushed into the kitchen.   I looked from one to the other.

“Well, have you won Tatts lotto?”

“Better,” said Simon grinning

“Dad, we are engaged.” Sandra presented her left hand where a solitaire diamond, resided.

I hugged her, tears not far away.

“At last,” I said “I am very happy for you both. Welcome to the family, Simon.”

WEDDING DAY

I have to say it.  She looked like a princess, her long flowing dress with the V neck delicately intertwined with lace. Ivory suited her dark hair.  Her waist-length veil was Kath’s.   Before we entered the church, a little girl with a grubby face stood outside.  She approached Sally with the same spellbound look our bride had in the department store. She touched the dress and her mother tut-tutted in disapproval.

“She’s right,” said Sally “don’t spoil her dreams.” Sally bent down with difficulty.

“What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Kathryn.” she sniffed

“That was my Mummy’s name,” said Sally standing upright. Then with a whisper, she took the carnation from my jacket lapel and gave it to Kathryn.

“There we are Kathryn.” she said, “never give up on your dreams sweetie.”

She was a princess for a day a wife for life.  No one could truthfully say that marriage was always easy, but there would be many spellbinding moments in that time. You have to take the rough with the smooth, I guess.  Yes, I did use that thought in my speech!