Wedding Cake

It's serendipitous that this was 40 years ago tomorrow. Susan and I moved house two days after we got married, and lived out of boxes and on wedding cake for weeks while we sorted out the Victorian townhouse we'd just bought, before honeymooning in Scotland in November 1985.

the ritual of cutting the cake

You want to know about the cake? It was a two-tiered rich fruit cake with marzipan and royal icing in a simple, classical design, made for us by a local village bakery/cake shop. I remember it was quite a weight. Some of it was served to guests at the reception with champagne, some was cut up, boxed and sent to friends and relatives who weren't with us on the day, and some, as I mentioned earlier, sustained us through our house move and into the following weeks. Had we known that our first child was going to be born almost nine months to the day after our wedding night, we might have saved some to celebrate that event as well (as used to be a custom, apparently). 

There have been other, very informative blogs this week about the whole history and tradition of wedding cakes from ancient Greek times onwards. They are well worth a read. I will just precis here. Originally they would have been made of bread (and you can see in the photograph above a bread wedding offering with a white ribbon that some friends brought back from Greece for us). Then 'bride pies' as they were often called went through a phase of being more like savoury puddings in the 16th and 17th centuries before evolving into the rich sugar-rush confections that have graced wedding receptions since Victorian times (below, artist unknown).

cutting the cake at a Victorian wedding reception

I assume the symbolism of the wedding cake, its cutting (usually jointly by bride and groom) and the sharing with family and friends, is all about  good vibes for a happy and productive union and the sharing of signs of goodwill all round, rather than any show of ostentation, superiority or condescension on the part of the newlyweds or their families, though I am reminded of the maxim: 'More tiers, more tears.' Make of that what you will. 

For a poem this week, I've chosen something by Naomi Shihab Nye, a Palestinian-American poet of considerable repute.  She's given me permission to reproduce 'Wedding Cake' here. Thank you Naomi. It's from her 1998 collection, 'Fuel' (published by BOA Editions Ltd). If you like this beautifully constructed and resonant poem, I highly recommend you to check out her writings.

Wedding Cake

Once on a plane 

a woman asked me to hold her baby

 and disappeared. 

I figured it was safe, 

our being on a plane and all. 

How far could she go?

 

She returned one hour later, 

having changed her clothes 

and washed her hair. 

I didn't recognize her.

 

By this time the baby 

and I had examined 

each other's necks. 

We had cried a little. 

I had a silver bracelet 

and a watch. 

Gold studs glittered 

in the baby's ears. 

She wore a tiny white dress 

leafed with layers 

like a wedding cake.

 

I did not want 

to give her back.

 

The baby's curls coiled tightly 

against her scalp, 

another alphabet. 

I read new new new. 

My mother gets tired. 

I'll chew your hand.

 

The baby left my skirt crumpled, 

my lap aching. 

Now I'm her secret guardian, 

the little nub of dream 

that rises slightly 

but won't come clear.

 

As she grows, 

as she feels ill at ease, 

I'll bob my knee.

 

What will she forget? 

Whom will she marry? 

He'd better check with me. 

I'll say once she flew 

dressed like a cake 

between two doilies of cloud. 

She could slip the card into a pocket, 

pull it out. 

Already she knew the small finger 

was funnier than the whole arm.

                                         Naomi Shihab Nye

                  

Thanks for reading, S ;-)