A thoroughly modern marriage
Or an imperfectly sure start to our joint life in Blairy (rhymes with merrie) England.


G and I were married last Friday in a registry office in Oxford. It is as good a point as any to start a journal about life in this England. On the winter solstice we had had a druid version of wedding, called a handfasting, out in the prehistoric temple stones of Avebury, in Wiltshire, only an hour away from here. More of that later. Before long, New Labour reforms will make it possible for us to take our registrar with us to such places, but for now we are restricted to expensively licensed premises, or registry offices such as the one in Oxford. Assuming the event would be an unpleasant formality, I was unprepared to find it so meaningful and worthwhile. However, it was at first cast into shadow by the demand for a separate payment for the marriage certificate. At one point they suggested asking for money from the bride’s father, as we had no cash with us. Just a tiny example of how Government by accountancy threatens to undermine social relations at every twist and turn of a day. Happily, it was not too long before they decided that a single transaction would be acceptable on credit card payment. They decided they could untangle the money later.
These days, of course, you can untangle a marriage later. No more “till death do you part,” in the contracts.
I found the simplest version of the service deeply moving. The most important part of it for me was the optional exchange of rings, which had not been a central part of our druid ceremony, for reasons I may tell you one day. The kiss is also an optional element in this new, Blairy England, though it was once a required element of any solemn contract. I was allowed to amplify this experience with a reading of a poem from the Bad Lord Byron, always my favourite poet.

“Oh! Might I kiss those eyes of fire,
A million scarce would quench desire:
Still would I steep my lips in bliss,
And dwell an age on every kiss;

It does not stop there, but I will, since I do not wish to be upstaged by this old master. G actually felt herself blush at the exposure of such carnal and true intensity. Naturally we kissed at almost every point except the one formally appointed. G has the largest eyes you are likely to see on a human face. But on this afternoon they were filled more with soft delight than with fire. That is the price you pay, when you have not written your own poem. I wrote “Poet” on the marriage register, and I will honour this day in poetry before too long. I will also try to honour the high calling of the poet to tell the truth of life, clearly and strongly. Here I am committed to a journal rather than a poetic form. It will become a web log soon, reaching out across the web that is world wide, to illustrate the otherwise slightly hidden workings of this little England of ours. The aim is to sketch out how things have changed and continue to change in the heart of English life as a result of Blair’s seizure of the Labour party and the Government of the land.

The wedding still contains a place for someone to bring forward reasons why the wedding should not take place. I was thankful the headmistress of the local primary school had not turned up for this occasion, nor any other representative of the county council. She had actually wished us well at the end of the meeting we had with her on Thursday morning. It seemed gross hypocrisy to us, given her opposition to our coming together as parents of J and C. To our utter disbelief, she had referred us to the New Department for Social and Health Care, as a serious risk to one of our children.

“Has there been a change/incident in the family that has prompted your referral?” says the form. “Yes. Mother remarried and moved to C……..y,” she replies. This was not yet true, since we were still living in what the English Christian Neo-cons would call sin. When the form asks her to summarise her assessment of the family’s needs, she responds “My concern is about the dynamics of step father/ mother/father………”
One could be tempted to believe that she is a family therapist or a religious leader rather than a teacher.
Dear reader, does it look to you as if the State has become too involved in arbitrating on family matters? It took a social work assessor only a few minutes to decide that “J is a happy, articulate boy, much loved by his mother and step-father, and well cared for.” How can you square this assessment with “inappropriate parenting of J in particular. Lack of care and potentially neglect.”? It is not possible for both evaluations to be accurate.
At a ninety minute meeting, the day before our legal marriage as described above, we endeavoured to persuade her that her assessment was an error of judgement and that she should apologise for it. She refused.
She thinks she had a duty to ensure protection of a child in her care that she had unmet concerns for. New child care laws require all professionals concerned with children to take appropriate action under the fundamental principle that the welfare of the child is paramount. Children judged to be at risk of serious harm from their parents should be referred for social work assessment.
I have been involved in pastoral education, counselling and psychotherapy for 30 years. I was one of the first crop of Professional graduates of the largest pastoral counselling organisation in the country. My first helping role was as a volunteer sex-advice youth counsellor in 1974 on the streets of North London. I was a primary school teacher and a special needs teacher for young inner city children. I worked for Social Services in inner London for over 7 years, reaching the level of Principle Officer, with a training and supervisory role in children’s homes, parent’s groups, and many other family oriented services. I was a leading figure in the Human Potential Movement, playing key roles in several International Congresses. I co-founded a psychotherapy training institute and took it to National accreditation. Our curriculum was described as “excellent” by a senior representative of the Tavistock Institute. Since I stopped teaching psychotherapy and Counselling in this county, I have been involved with developing parenting resources, specifically the Oxford Prenatal and Perinatal Education Research and Awareness Trust, which helps address birth trauma issues in families. I was involved in discussions of the Sure Start Project in Oxford. One of my students has taken a key role there.
My own children and step-children are now at the centre of my life with G. I don’t make any claims to be a good parent. I have had as many problems as the next man with my daughters. But I am still close to my 22 year old. We chat several times a week. My younger girl called me “best dad in the world” in an unguarded moment over Christmas. “You put yourself down too much” she said too. The boys adore me. C described our marriage as her mum’s best decision last year. I will try not to be self deprecating or boast too much here in these pages. Let me know what you think.

I always said I would one day be a poet and a writer of plays. That day has come. I published my first book last year. At Christmas one of my poems came out in the first issue of an International Poetry magazine. I have performed for audiences as small as a family, and as large as an International Conference of 1200 people. I had a first public reading of one of my plays last September.

Before the new head arrived at the village school, I read my poems to the oldest age group of children there. I asked for 20 minutes reading time. The children were asking for more after nearly an hour.
Now it would appear that my book has been used as an indicator that I might abuse children. “Telling it Like It Is” summarises 20 years of using Fairy Tales to help people understand the dynamics of the families they grew up in.
I am very, very concerned that the kind of myopic neo-conservatism that is becoming entrenched in The United States is spreading already into the heart of England, like a poisoned dagger. The ballot box, the right to trial by jury, Habeas Corpus; all these fundamental rights are being eroded by a new and dangerous form of conservatism in Government that Margaret Thatcher would not even have envisaged. We have only just been rescued from the most authoritarian and repressive home secretary in my life time. But he was not removed for adultery with another man’s wife within three months of her marriage. He was not removed for persecuting his pregnant mistress over the paternity of her child to the point where the stress put her and the unborn child in hospital. Oh, no: for in Blairy England, the rich and powerful cannot be condemned for activities in their private lives, however prejudicial to the well being of their children, born or unborn. He could not even be removed for passing his mistress off as his wife on official travel permits. He could not be removed for imprisoning people without trial in a manner that the highest judges in our country deemed to be a grave threat to our democracy. But at least he could be removed for overstepping his privileges with work permits. Even then Mr Blair insisted that Blunkett’s integrity was not compromised.
It seems that ordinary people can be reported to the authorities for remarrying without the approval of the central figure in the local community, the head teacher of the local school, however.