Local Television Host Back From Honeymoon in Cannes

His Stunningly Lovely Bride on Next Episode of Programme

Manchester, June 25th - Mr. Matt Crawley, host of the popular BBC Manchester Weekend programme that bears his name, has returned home with his new bride, Lady Mary Crawley. Back from their recent honeymoon in Cannes, the happy pair spoke briefly to the press about plans for the very near future.

'We'll both be on the next show on the 28th. There will also be a feature on Manchester United's Busby Babes, and we're really fortunate to have booked Graham Nash, whose new book tells of his childhood here,' Matthew said to reporters who greeted the newlywed Crawleys at Terminal 1 at Manchester Airport yesterday.

The bride and groom presently make one of their homes in Greater Manchester.

This article in the morning edition of the Manchester Evening News was one of the sights that greeted Matthew's eyes as he and Mary sat down to a home-cooked English breakfast (courtesy of Mrs. Bird).

'I see we made the morning paper, my darling,' he smiled in his sweetest, softest voice, with the private grin and tone meant just for Mary.

'Oh, Matthew,' she sighed, making his name music to his ears. 'I can only hope that we don't become celebrities just because of the show now.'

'Don't worry, Mary,' he replied, brushing a lock of her dark hair behind her ear. 'I'm just a host; we're just North-West programming, and people tune in to see the guests, not me.'

'I'd tune in just to see you, my love…'

'Awwww,' came a loving exclamation from her husband before he kissed her. 'That's nice to think about. After all it's your support that will keep me going for as long as the show lasts.'

'And for a long time after that, I hope…' Mary whispered lovingly, touching his cheek.

Mary knew that Matthew's true ambition was to teach law and political science at the university level, that the show was a pleasant diversion based on her husband's natural charm and poise when making presentations. It paid the bills, it amused him to present local public affairs and features in some depth whenever possible. And in just a few days, both would be before the cameras again, handsome Matt Crawley and gorgeous, aristocratic Lady Mary Crawley, neé Grantham.

They had met on the air five years before when she had come to Manchester to promote the 'Children's Arts Trust' concert being held at the MEN Arena. He'd later brought her to a pub in Chorlton, and as United ran roughshod over their opponents on a telly on the other side of the room, they began to fall in love over Guinness and hard cider….

…. over coffee and orange juice, they sat now, more in love than ever.

For she knew the true Matthew's compassion and frustration, and he the true Mary's actual shyness, which she truly overcame only when they were together alone, just as they were now, safe here, in quiet Chorltonville.

Matthew went into the soundstage area of the BBC Manchester studios with Mary, carrying her garment bag over his shoulder, His back had been acting up ever since the plane ride home from Cannes, rather than the annoying twinge of pain just going away in a day or two as he had hoped it would. Right at the moment, he bit it back as he spoke to Mary.

'Darling, they've remodeled this area since we met. The dressing rooms, and the Green Room, are over here to our right now.'

He'd managed to smile and think of that day just over five years ago when he'd had Lady Mary Grantham as one of his guests, and fallen for her at first sight, but this very same beauty could tell that something was bothering her husband now.

'Matthew, is something the matter?'

'Oh, it's nothing… I'll take care of it…'

'Sweetheart… you can tell me if you want to.'

The pair got near the bank of dressing rooms, and ducked into the one marked 'Matt Crawley' before he felt able to admit anything to her.

'Mary, my love, it's my old back injury. Once in a while the pain flares up, and I wasn't comfortable on the plane ride, that's all.'

'Can you take anything for it, Matthew? I have some prescription Fenbid in my satchel…'

'Perfect - it won't make me lightheaded like what Dr. Ogilvie prescribed me last.'

Matthew walked quietly onto the left of the soundstage, and looked at his audience as a dim light shone upon his handsome face. He then indicated the area to his right, and uttered in a calm voice,

'Ladies and gentlemen, Graham Nash.'

The camera panned off of Matthew, just as Tom Branson had cued, and another one focussed on a sprightly, snowy-haired gentleman seated at an electronic keyboard. This was the very man so brave as to leave Salford for Southern California, in the name of being true to his muses; he had returned, as he had many times over the last several years, and now he was going to sing in a changed Salford, for Matthew, for Mary, for one and all, his own baffled love song to Manchester and its people.

Even in his seventies - maybe because of the wisdom he'd gathered during all those years - Nash could tug at one's heartstrings, and especially here, from whence the music had come. There were few dry eyes in the house; Matthew definitely rubbed at something in his. When the lights went up, Matthew led warm applause, and did not say a word before shaking the great musician's hand and showing him to the empty chair nearest to his own. As they sat down he spoke:

'So delighted to have you here on the show today, Mr. Nash.'

'So glad I could make it! And please call me Graham, won't you?'

'Certainly, and you can call me Matthew.. Matt… Matty…'

The twinkle in his eye added to a light-hearted moment; Graham was to settle, most mellifluously, on "Matthew".

'And yes, indeed, Graham, it's worth the effort to have brought you here. Could you let us in on what's brought you home to Manchester this time?'

'Let me tell you, Matthew: I've written a book for my little granddaughter, and I thought that some other people might be interested as well….'

'I've read it,' smiled Matthew, grinning from ear to ear. 'It's quite a record there!'

Graham Nash looked delighted that young Crawley had done his homework. Matthew then held up his copy of the book, Wild Tales, and spoke to his audience.

'I'd like to encourage everyone to pick up a copy of Graham Nash's book here. It's called Wild Tales. and not only do you tell us about your life with Crosby and Stills, Graham. You tell about your boyhood here in the Salford area, about your best friend Allan Clarke, about what it was like to come of age in Greater Manchester…'

'About February 6th, 1958…' sighed Nash. 'A sad day. But to this day, I still support United. I look forward to meeting both of your next guests…'

'My next guest first came here about five years ago… a most lovely, accomplished young woman, known by those who appreciate it most for her charitable work, her quiet grace and poise… and of course, I've just got to admit I'm her most ardent admirer. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present my wife, Lady Mary Crawley.'

In a breathtaking red gown that draped elegantly over her lovely figure, Mary came onto the soundstage without letting on her nervousness outwardly. The audience clapped with genuine pleasure to see her. Though she was almost certain the sound of her heels hitting the floor was much too loud, and that she was taking far too much time to reach her chair next to his, she smiled a smile that spoke to Matthew only of her burgeoning love for him. His eyes shimmered with both adoration and pride, and the pair drew strength from one another as he took her hand, then drew her to himself for a brief, polite kiss and a whisper of encouragement.

'My darling Mary… we can do this, you and I. And, oh, that dress is perfect.'

'Say, Matt… why don't we read you two some questions from the audience?' asked Tom Branson, standing in the shadows, his brogue warm over the tannoy.

Matthew winked at Mary, as if to say there would be no unpleasant surprises from his colleague and friend.

We're fine with that, aren't we, sweetheart?' he spoke aloud, looking for her nod while cocking his ear as if he knew people would react to him.

Her eyes met his as she did nod with a little grin. Anything for Matthew…

Yet Mary's patience with the situation that loomed before her was soon to be tested, not by her husband, but by certain members of his studio audience that had come because of their great love for Manchester United. As soon as Matthew had shown her to the seat next to him, he turned to those present with one of those charming, mischievous grins that so endeared him to television viewers throughout Lancashire and said,

'You see, she's even wearing the proper colour, isn't she?'

In only a moment a group of people in the back seats began to sing enthusiastically, and more or less in tune. It became evident that some Man United supporters had adapted the words of a football chant about one of the star players, Wayne Rooney, to suit the occasion:

'Matt Craw-lee! Matt Craw-lee!

You've married a beauty, Matt Craw-lee!'

A bit startled himself, Matthew looked anxiously at Mary to see her reaction to the song. Yet she did not betray any dismay that anyone besides him could detect; he could only see something register in her deep brown eyes, and he understood that the less they reacted, the better it would be for her.

When it came time to bring his last guest, Wilf McGuinness, on the set, Matthew took on a solemn expression, and his brilliant eyes seemed to dim with respect and sorrow as he began his first introduction.

'It's been over fifty years since we lost the Busby Babes in the Munich Air Disaster on February 6th, 1958. It's certainly quite unlikely that the most tragic event in the history of football will ever be forgotten here in Manchester. A new book has come out about the legacy of those splendid lads…'

The mood became more serious as Mr. McGuinness shook hands with Matthew, who had heard on more than one occasion from his late father, Dr. Reginald Crawley, about the wonderful young players he had seen as a boy. Conversation turned to memories of how enthusiastically the eight lads who died on a snowy, slushy runway in Munich, Germany, had played 'the beautiful game' of football, as taught by the brilliant, awe-inspiring Matt Busby. Graham Nash recalled how he and his father had gone to Old Trafford, United's football ground, to see the games, and what he felt on that horrible, foggy winter's day upon finding out the bad news:

'… and, of course, Matthew, I, like all of Manchester, was terribly sad. I had known both Eddie Colman and Duncan Edwards; they'd gone to my school and were just a bit older than me. I felt like the insides had just fallen out of me…'

When that segment ended, Matthew asked Graham if he might like to sing another song and thus brighten everyone's mood.

'My pleasure, Matthew. I wrote this song for my wife, Susan, and I still feel every bit of it; but this time, I'd like to dedicate it to you and Mary. May i?

Both young Crawleys were very pleased, and the smile on Matthew's face as he presented Graham once more was wide and bright.

At last the time had come to wrap up the show for the day, and Matthew rose to the occasion as he always had, with poise, confidence and charm in spades:

"I'd like to thank Wilf McGuinness, Graham Nash, and especially my darling wife Mary for coming here today. We talk with Shaun and Paul Ryder from the Happy Mondays and Tony Wilson of Factory Records on the next Matt Crawley Show. Till then, so long! We'll see you next week in Madchester!'

For some reason, Tom Branson didn't cue the theme music for the show, and Matthew glanced in his direction, his sparkling blue eyes a semaphore of slight disorientation until Mary reached his side and touched his arm gently.

'You're welcome, Matthew…' she smiled quietly, her sweet, enlightened manner in keeping with the sense of discovery that was their new marriage.

In scarcely two hours, she'd been ushered gently into that part of her husband's world that had terrified her five years ago until Matthew had reached out to her in friendship. Such a parallel to that other memory that he had also healed with his love! Matthew slipped an arm around her waist with a contented sigh…

A large part of the audience that sat in the back of the studio rose to their feet and piped up in full voice as soon as Matthew and Mary arrived at the front of the set with their guests.

'Matt Crawley's show… (MATT CRAWLEY'S SHOW!)

Is wonderful… (IS WONDERFUL!)

Matt Crawley's show is wonderful!

There's been a Hollie,

Two Crawleys

And UNITED!

MATT CRAWLEY'S SHOW IS WONDERFUL!'

All four people on the set beamed and laughed at the football chanters, who once more bubbled under with that other chant as soon as Mary moved forward to take a bow:

'Matt Craw-lee, Matt Craw-lee,

You've married a beauty, Matt Craw-lee!'

The little ditty was kept up in much the same fashion as when crystal is tinkled at a wedding reception, until Matthew took the pretty lady in his arms and appeared to give her a showy stage kiss. He could feel his wife shaking a little as their audience clapped and sang yet another chant:

'Matthew and Mary! There's only Matthew and Mary!

Matthew and Maaaaa-rrreeee….

There's only Matthew and Maaaa-rrreeeeeeee…'

'We'll be home soon, my darling…' Matthew whispered in her ear. 'We can be alone then.'

'I hope so, Matthew… I'm just a bit nervous now.'

'You looked so lovely when you came out here… do you know that?' he continued gently as they broke off and he slipped an arm around her waist for support.

'Oh, Matthew…' she sighed, gazing into his darkening eyes as, mercifully, the theme song for the show was played over the tannoy.

Meanwhile, the great Graham Nash gave the grand old Busby Babe a big hug, a gesture which delighted the audience as it upstaged the young lovers. Matthew smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. Good old Graham! Even when moved to tears, the Salford legend could move about in public without appearing a bit uncomfortable.

Having made friends for life of both Wilf McGuinness and Graham Nash, Matthew and Mary went back home from BBC Manchester studios after about an hour.

'A quiet dinner at home? What say you, love?' Matthew asked sweetly as they neared the gardens and peace of Chorlton-cum-Henry.

'Oh, yes… I'm hoping Mrs. Bird is at the top of her game. I'm hungry right now.'

'And so am I…'

Their hopes were realised in terms of Chicken Biryani with Basmati Rice, a cool Cucumber Mint Raita and some refreshing Assam tea. Mrs. Bird had gotten the recipe from Mrs. Choudhury, a friend and colleague of Matthew's mother, Isobel; now she received kudos from the young couple.

'You're so welcome, Matthew and Mary. Why don't I clean up after myself now, and wish you a lovely evening?'

And that sort of evening was precisely what they had, first talking of their eventful day, then prone to sweet nothings, and at last needing no words any more but 'Oh, Mary, my darling!' and 'My precious, precious Matthew!' crooned tenderly after quite a while.