Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady. Chapter 18

My marriage to Teddy had now turned into the proverbial storm in a teacup.  Teddy and I argued day and night as to which was the better brew—tea or coffee.  In the end we went and saw Wattlebird’s very own high priestess of conflict resolution — Miss Beetleheart —a world authority on marriage, and who also happened to moonlight as a spray tan technician when business was slow.

                As we sat in Miss Beatleheart’s   office-cum–spray-tan-salon, she listened; eyes squinted in concentration as we spoke.

                Teddy talked about coffee. I talked about my career as a tea lady and how it was impossible for me to be married to someone whose recently announced ambition in life was to own his very own coffee plantation.

                                Miss Beetleheart tut-tutted.

                I couldn’t help but notice Miss Beetleheart unusual colouring. It seemed that our world authority had spray tanned herself a mango-orangey colour. Not that I minded, as it matched her silver grey hair.

Unfortunately, my dismay at having being duped into marrying a hardnosed coffee fanatic got the better of me and I dissolved into tears.

                Ms Beetleheart promptly handed me a bunch of tissues. ‘A sorry state of affairs,’ she mourned. ‘It’s best you part. I can see no resolution. Tea is tea. Coffee is coffee.’

                And so, Teddy and I parted.  But not before we’d both been given a complimentary free spray tan by Miss Beetleheart.

                Teddy, still in his all-body plaster cast, ended up looking like a carrot.

                I ended up looking like an pumpkin .

Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady. Chapter 17

Teddy and I had only been married a short time, one week, when he confessed  with tears in his eyes that he was tired of drinking tea and wanted to installed an electric  cappuccino making machine in our modest kitchen.  I was gutted.  During our brief courtship I’d never seen this hidden side of Teddy. The inner Barista in him had been lying dormant.  But now here it was out in the open, my beloved husband was a coffee enthusiast.  Feeling betrayed I return to my mother’s even more modest abode on the outskirts of Wattlebird. My mother sat me down, held my hand as she offered me these wise words of marital advice—“stable relationships are for horses.”

Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady. Chapter 16

Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady.  Chapter 16

It was on a beautiful spring day, when there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the air was filled with birdsong that Teddy and I got married.  However it was an effort to get Teddy — still in his all-body plaster cast —into the church. But with the help of six burly men and a crane, it was done, and when the minister pronounced us man and wife we believed ourselves to be the happiest couple in the world. Outside of the church my work colleagues  —all tea ladies —formed a guard-of-honour, and with their tea pots raised to the sky , they cheered plaster man and I.

Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady Chapter 15

Our courtship was a brief and happy one.  Teddy and I got to know one another extremely well over endless cups of tea.  Teddy—still in hospital, and still wearing a full head and body  plaster cast— was a man of few words, but a wonderful listener as I told him all about myself and my mother and my hometown of Wattlebird.  I once asked Teddy to tell me a little about himself. He lifted an arm and pointed at the window where the only view was of the sky, which on this particular day was of an unbroken blue.  

Storm in a teacup: memoirs of a tea lady. Chapter 14

I met my future husband-to-be at Royal Perth Hospital where I   had already been working for a number of years, pushing my tea- trolley from ward-to-ward, morning, noon and night. Dishing out endless cups of tea to all those sick people was a huge responsibility that I saw as a privilege.

            Early one morning while doing the breakfast teas on the orthopedics’ ward, I spied a new patient in a hospital bed but the poor man’s entire head and body were encased in a white plaster cast, and his limbs were strung up and pillows were propping up his head.  All I could see were his twinkly eyes, smooth mouth and the pink tips of his fingers and toes.

            “Tea?” I asked.

            “Yes please,’ he uttered as if from far away, which I suppose he was.

            “Sugar?”  

            “Yes.”

            “Milk?”

            I made him a cup of sweet milky tea with a straw which I inserted into the hole where his mouth would be. He slurped up the tea. He wiggled the tips of his fingers as if to say, “Good.”

            As I stood there steadying the straw for him, our eyes met. It was love at first sight.

 I discovered from one of the nurses that he’d been in a terrible accident; that he’d fallen asleep on a mountain path and how a runaway steamroller had rolled straight over the top of him.

Next day, I read his bedside notes.  My plaster-man’s name was Edward— “Teddy”—Oxwell— and he was twenty-five years old.  And his vital signs were” Pulse rate 72, Blood Pressure 110/60, Respirations 18 and he weigh 72 kilograms. How could I resist him?  I loved him. I loved every broken bone in his crushed body.

I knew Mother would adore Teddy, so I asked my plaster-man to marry me and in his own funny plaster-man way, he nodded a slow but definitive yes.