march 1961.
Dad's brother-by-uncle, i.e. čiča Rada, was getting married, in Zajač. The uncle was twice as rich as my grandfather, had larger house, with a veranda with an eave held by a round column done in concrete (which I haven't seen in anyone's house yet, that sounded rich to me), and a radio with a record player, and a guest room full of hunting trophies and eternally cold, they heated only the kitchen, had a drum furnace which they stoked with falloff from the workshop. There I saw him make bullets for the double barrel, measure the gunpowder and buckshot, stuff them into the cardboard cartridges with the fuse in the mettal bottom, winding up silk thread (still don't see what for, but so it was). These cartridges were the only thing he had bought ready-made, the rest he made himself.
The workshop was for the woodwork, back in the yard. He had a big planer and possibly a band saw and a circular saw. I watched several times the planks being smoothed out and shavings on the floor everywhere. The house was between the creek and the school; schoolside there was a fence, uneven and not quite upright, but doing the job; creekside there was a thicket of accacia. In the back, behind the workshop, I have no clue, never went there.
The bride was a real beauty, and as it is customary, neither the mother-in-law nor the uncle's mother had eyes to see her. They had had different plans. But my folks rooted for her, and so did I. They shooed me into the role of nakonče, which is just a kid who will give the bride (what?) and the flowers, and she'd lift the kid high, kiss it and that's all. The point was „look at this boy and may you make one like that“. I didn't get confused, and there wasn't actually anything I had to do, just be there, don't panic and don't run away, which I did swimmingly, smitten by the bride's beauty and reduced to a role of an observer at that. There's a shot of the event, but a bit unfocused and not contributing to the story. This one, however...
So there's the gypsy band, both accordeon players the handsome guys of the times, what with thin moustache a la Cary Grant and the unruly bang on top of the brow (don't know a la who, perhaps Erol Flynn?), accordeons, of course, being the Dalappe brand (how did these things get imported, I wish I knew, there was never a shortage of them), the singer girl in that buttoned up sweater (or was that a knit blouse), the kind which was very frequent then and come as a landmark of the time, the one item which is suddenly everywhere because it's a successful model in a genre where there were no other successes at the time. And, of course, the double bass, can't do without one.
I don't know what they played, probably just regular classic folk music. Perhaps a couple of serbianist things, the old man was an amnestied četnik, proven not to have any blood on his hands so he was released, but never gave up on the sentiment.
The old women being underwhelmed with the bride didn't stop the old man from making a rich wedding party. The dining table stretched all the way from the veranda to the workshop, two spits were turning... Guys took turns there, including me for a bit, there was beer and more beer, took all morning to roast the two big ones. Someone (kum?) brought a piglet on a smaller spit, with an apple stuck on the sharp end.
That was hoisted on top of a tree, a large one, don't know exactly where, could be churchyard (right behind the school), so they drove around it and tried to shoot it from a moving vehicle - some horsecarts, some automobiles (on the shot I count one fića and at least two Opel Olympias). This shot shows them on the road, so it could have been right in front of the house, at the gate. Dad shot too, had a pistol. The granduncle shot from his double barrel, of course, hunter as he was, and he was some marksman too, there are shots from competitions, him at the firing range, wearing a large number on his chest. The best shooter should get the piglet or its head or the right to pick the best piece of it for himself, don't remember which it was, or who won.
The shooting took place upon return from the municipal city hall, which wasn't that far. Both the new father-in-law and I guess the bride's father (never knew the guy) were dressed at their best, with their best hats. Of course, everybody had rosemary on their lapel. Of the parties present, I see the groom's family is complete - mother, grandmother, both sisters with husbands; my dad's brothers-by-maternal-uncle (who all have houses right across the street), all spruced up in identical suits, black shoes and thin moustache, still none of them married, the young rascals ready for anything. Speaking of shoes, most of the guys and all the women wore them, but there were a few older guys who wore the traditional attire and breeches trousers (regardless of what the word meant in english, here it's the baize trousers, of military olive color, wide in the butt and thighs, tight below knees) with opanak as footwear.
There's also auntie Janja and her mother, but my grandfather and dad's sisters with their families are missing. For, possibly, different reasons - this could be the time where grandfather got kicked by his horse and ended up with a few broken ribs; equally possible is that his mother again spread some slander and gossip and made sure the brothers didn't talk for a while. She was good at that. Can't know what was going on, the remaining survivors likewise have some interest to peddle their own version of the events, so I better not even ask.
The time of the year I got by the trees, just a few in blossom and none with leaves. There's no dates on the few printed shots I found, and even less on the negative.
The least I remember is how we got there and back. Maybe this uncle came to get us and we returned by bus, or vice versa. I know we visited each other often in the following 4-5 years, specially after their son was born. Much later I also realized that the other reason I liked the new aunt was her speech, as she was from a different village (Drenci?) - to differ from most of the mena and aforementioned older women, who sported numerous affectations and lengthening of syllables in wrong places (not aunts, though), her voice was something else. Still thin and high pitched, but calmer, softer, quieter.
We never took the train, because it takes too long - it goes over Pančevo, which means a layover to catch a different train for the rest of the trip and possibly another one at Orlovat station. Then in Belgrade that train goes only to the Dunav station, which means walking 2-3km over the Terazijski ridge or around it to the main station, and then the train on the other side was the narrow track, slow and unreliable.
Mentions: auntie Janja, fića, kum, Radomir Sredljević (čiča Rada), Zajač, in serbian