“Patience, Just Patience”
“Mum, Dadhappy golden anniversary!” chirped their daughter, bustling into the garden with her husband and kids in tow. “May you live another fifty years just as happily!”
“Cheers, love, though fifty more might be a stretch,” chuckled Stephen. “But well do our best.”
Fifty years of marriage for Theresa and Stephen. Half a centurysounds grand until you blink and wonder where the time went. Not every couple gets this far; lifes got its storms and sour moments.
But were Theresa and Stephen truly happy? Maybe her tired smile hid old grievances. Maybe his cheerful grin masked a speck of guilt. Who could say?
Theresa was just fourteen when Stephen, then a lanky seventeen-year-old, leaned against the garden fence and declared, “Oi, Tess, youre proper pretty, you are. Once Im back from my National Service, Im marrying you. So dont go getting sweet on any other lads.”
“Dream on,” shed scoffed, scampering inside before he could see her blush.
Plenty of boys at school fancied her, but Theresa paid them no mind. Raised strict, shed earned a reputation for sharp comebacks and sharper elbows. “Lovely girl, that Tess, but a right ice queen,” the lads muttered.
Years passed. Stephen came home from service and nearly collided with her at the village pump, where Theresa was hauling water. He gaped. Gone was the gangly girlhere stood a woman with sun-kissed curls and a spine like steel.
“Blimey, Tess! Youre even prettier. Got a bloke yet?”
“Whats it to you?” she teased.
“Come to the dance hall tonight. Well have a laugh.”
She shrugged and walked off. Stephen was doomed. That offhand proposal hed tossed out years ago? Dead serious now. No way hed let some other sod win her.
At the hall, girls swarmed him, but Stephen sat glumly by the door, watching for Theresa. She never came.
Next morning, he ambushed her at the pump again. “Whyd you stand me up?”
“Dancings daft,” she said, stepping around him. Stephen blocked her path.
“Move, you great lump,” she snapped.
“Or what?”
Theresa dumped a bucket over his head. “Thats what,” she said, grinning as he spluttered. “See who fancies you now, soaked like a drowned rat!”
Stephen shook himself off, grinning wider. “Firecracker, that one. But shell be mine.”
He wooed her stubbornlywaiting by the church gate, “accidentally” bumping into her, once presenting a fistful of wildflowers. Shed laughed but pocketed one blossom.
Eventually, she sat with him on the garden wall. Stephen was smittendreaming of holding her, kissing her. Little did he know Theresa had loved him since childhood. Those army vows had stuck. Shed kept other lads at bay, waiting. Yet now, she feared he saw her as just another village flirt.
The ice thawed when he brought her lilacsher favourite. “Fancy a walk, Tess? Springs in full bloom.”
“Alright then,” she said, pink-cheeked.
Soon, the village buzzed: Stephen and Theresa were courting. Properly. No more teasingjust linked fingers and lingering looks. “Blimey, Stephen,” mates ribbed, “shes got you on a lead!” He just grinned.
One evening, he clasped her hands. “Were not kids anymore. Lets marry.”
She agreed. Plans were madeuntil Stephens mum passed. The wedding postponed, grief settled in. Then duty called: “Off to help with harvest up north,” he told Theresa. “Wait for me?”
“Always,” she whispered. That night, she led him to the hayloft. “So you dont forget me.”
He returned weeks later. Soon after, Theresa shared news: a baby was coming. The wedding was quiet, shadows of mourning still lingering.
“Mum thinks I rushed you to the altar,” Theresa admitted later, cradling their newborn.
“Let em talk,” said Stephen.
Their joy was village legend. A second child came. Women sighed over Stephens broad shoulders; widows envied Theresas glow.
Then trouble brewed. Claudia, the canteen cooka bitter, lonely womanwatched Stephen daily. “That Tess doesnt deserve him,” she seethed.
Poison dripped into Stephens ear: “That daughter? Might not be yours. Tess wasnt pining while you were gone…”
At first, he shrugged it off. But doubt gnawed. One drunken night, he grabbed Theresas shoulders. “Admit ityou stepped out on me!”
She slapped him hard. “You rotten fool! Believing that hag over me?”
He staggered to Claudias, seeking comfort in anger. She welcomed him, smug. But Stephen never stayed.
Theresa fought smarter. She loved him fiercely, softening his edges until Claudias barbs lost their sting. Slowly, he came home earlier, held her tighter.
Decades rolled by. Grandchildren came. Stephens mischief faded into dotage, Theresas sharp edges softened by time.
Now, at their golden anniversary feast, he watches her laugh with the grandkids. “Clever woman, my Tess,” he thinks. “She saved us, despite my idiocy.”
And as the cake is cut, he squeezes her hand, grateful for fifty yearsand the patience that made them.
