Glitter, Grace... and a Crash
Some evenings dazzle with elegance, some with laughter and a rare few with a twist so dramatic that they etch themselves forever in memory. This one had all three and then some.
Ladies Club meets are the heartbeat of every peace station. Month after month (except in the two blazing summer months when even Army wives declare a tactical retreat), they arrive with their own sparkle, their own gossip and their own flavour of mischief.
This month it was our branch’s turn to host. The senior most lady had given her verdict: “Make it a Spring Oasis … no less!”
And so, the lawns bloomed into a pastel dream. Scented candles flickered, delicate drapes fluttered and every table wore a crown of flowers. The Chief Guest’s table was the oasis within the oasis, a centrepiece so picture perfect it looked staged for the cover of a lifestyle magazine.
The guest list shimmered with names that could make any hostess break into both a sweat and a smile - the Corps Commander’s wife as Chief Guest, the Chief of Army Staff’s wife as Guest of Honour and a brigade of ladies from across the station.
As MC, I had the ringside view of gracious nods, whispered asides, polite laughter and the occasional eye roll masterfully concealed behind a fan.
The programme unfolded like clockwork - a burst of colour in the fashion show, giggles and gasps at the flower arrangement contest, tambola shrieks, lucky draw squeals, and a music segment that had even the most reserved tapping a foot. But truth be told, these were the warm up acts. The pièce de résistance was yet to come.
And that was the cake cutting.
At the centre stood a two tier truffle cake, balanced gracefully on a Czech crystal cake stand, chosen with care, because the Army Commander’s wife’s birthday was the very next day. The cake was our collective pre birthday surprise. When the Chief Guest admired softly, “This stand is exquisite, so perfect for this cake,” a ripple of pride zipped across the organising team. The blooms at the base gleamed, the candles sparkled and for a few shining moments everything looked flawlessly orchestrated.
Until it wasn’t.
When the guests had departed and the wind down began, a small storm began to brew. The crystal stand had been borrowed - Mrs Borrower from Mrs Lender, to be precise. As the packing up was underway, Mrs Lender asked for it back immediately. Mrs Borrower, busy wrapping up, said gently, “Just a moment, I’ll return it properly.”
But Mrs Lender was in a rush - she had to leave with a senior lady whose vehicle was already waiting. She reached for it herself. Mrs Borrower held on. One tug here, one firm grip there… and then …. horror.
The stand slipped.
For a second it hovered in mid air, the entire lawn holding its breath. Hands shot forward, gasps sliced the silence - but fate was quicker. With a sharp, heart stopping crash, the crystal shattered into a hundred sparkling fragments, scattering across the garden like fallen stars.
Everything seemed to stand still. Chairs stopped scraping, conversations died mid sentence, even the night breeze appeared to hesitate. The two ladies stood in shock - Mrs Borrower, stunned into stillness, and Mrs Lender, face pale with the horror of having just destroyed what she had been desperate to retrieve. Her lips trembled as if forming apologies but no words came. The value of that Czech crystal and the story that would now follow her name was written in every shocked glance darting across the garden.
And oh, the glances! You could almost hear the unsaid lines: “Why on earth didn’t she wait?” “Imagine, Czech crystal gone like that!” “This will be talked about for months.”
And then, in the way only Army wives know how to stitch dignity back onto chaos, someone whispered: “Well… breaking of glass is supposed to be a good omen, isn’t it?”
There were no smiles yet but the ice broke just enough for people to move again. Slowly, carefully, as though every chair and plate had turned priceless, the evening wound itself down.
It wasn’t the highlight we had planned but it was the one none of us would forget. Because in Army life, no matter how perfect the planning, there’s always room for a twist - sometimes hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking but always retold with sparkle.
That night ended with glitter, grace and yes, a crash landing - the kind of crash that turns into a story polished by years of retelling, always ending with a mischievous smile and the inevitable line:
“Well, only in the Army!” 🌷✨