* YOU BEEN SNAP * Oh what a night! Bangers and baked beans with Grace Kelly. Dancing the conga with Prince Edward. One socialite recalls the riotous wedding bash thrown Charles and Di.

*BY FLORA LYIMO DESIGNER*
Among the many conventions being dispensed with at today’s wedding is one that other royal couples have followed for decades. Instead of leaving immediately after the reception, the newlyweds will join the party — in this case given by Prince Charles at Buckingham Palace — for them and their friends on the night of the ceremony.
Tradition has previously dictated that the happy pair would disappear for an hour or so after the reception and their appearance on the Palace balcony, and then return — the bride wearing her ‘going away outfit’ and her groom in an immaculately-cut day suit.
While their guests happily ate and drank, the newlyweds — in a blizzard of petals and confetti — would drive away for a ‘destination unknown’ honeymoon.
Ever since the Queen’s wedding in 1947, that destination has usually been the Hampshire estate of her cousins, the Mountbattens — athough Princess Margaret upped the glamour quotient in 1960 by sailing to the Carribean with Tony Armstrong-Jones on the now-retired royal yacht, Britannia. 

Riotous: Charles and Diana's wedding reception started off as a formal affair but once the food was finished and the dancing started things got interesting

It was not ever thus. On nuptial nights in the 18th century, newlywed royal couples went to bed with the entire court in attendance in the royal bedchamber. Their fumbling antics had to be monitored by ministers — surreptitiously parting the velvet curtains — to make sure the bride was indeed a virgin.
That particular custom had died out by the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer (Queen Victoria having put a stop to it), but their big day had, nevertheless, many old-fashioned overtones.
It included that very elaborate dress being made by David and Elizabeth Emanuel, the young and green couturiers Diana had selected. The pair asked me to decorate their salon on Brook Street in London to create an appropriate venue for the many fittings it entailed.
We draped yards and yards of cream silk on the walls and trailed it over the windows. In the end, the salon had almost more ruffles than the dress itself, so it must have been difficult, at the final fitting, for Diana to tell where my decor ended and her frock began"

A few days later, on that sunny July morning of 1981, those many yards of ruffles and bows tumbled out of the Glass Coach as the bride arrived at St Paul’s. The Emanuels fussed around her, while Diana bit her lip and fiddled nervously with her tiara.
I was watching the procession from the balcony of the old Daily Telegraph building on Fleet Street. This prime position had been arranged for me by my neighbour, the Telegraph’s owner, Lord Camrose.
T  here were magnums of champagne, foie-gras sandwiches and other delicacies to savour while trying to identify all the various grandees in the carriages passing below. I was hoping to encounter several of them later at the party the Queen had asked her cousin, Lady Elizabeth Shakerley, to arrange at Claridge’s.
That day, I remembered a similar parade: the Queen’s Coronation in 1953. I had watched this, aged 14, with my father at his club, Brooks’s, in St James’s Street. Then, even the rain could not dampen the soaring spirits of the 20-deep crowd lining Piccadilly, all lustily cheering the monarchs and dusty royal relatives from all over the world.

Well-connected: Prince Charles enjoys a chat with Nicky Haslam at a social function. He has recalled his invitation to the Prince's wedding reception at Claridge's in 1981

But in 1981, with the guests already installed in the Cathedral, all eyes were on Shy Di peeping nervously from behind the glass windows of her coach.
Apart from the dazzling handsomeness of young Prince Andrew riding with his bridegroom brother, the most delicious image from my vantage point was the beauty and style of the newly-married Princess Michael of Kent in an open landau. Wearing a large hat with matching dress of pale lilac, she waved confidently to the cheering crowds.
Once the cavalcade had passed below on its return journey, at its head a near-child on her way to a fraught destiny, there was a scramble to leave so as to have time to change for the Claridge’s party.
The Queen had suggested the party should begin as soon as possible after the Buckingham Palace balcony appearances and the newlyweds’ departure for their honeymoon.
And so, at 6.30pm, wearing the required black tie, I walked into the anteroom of Claridge’s ballroom and saw the most extraordinary sight imaginable.
Sitting in a semi-circle, their eyes glued to a hastily erected screen, were all the major wedding guests watching themselves on the film that, miraculously, Elizabeth Shakerley had had spliced together in the few hours since the ceremony.

Emotional: Nicky Haslam remembers seeing Nancy Reagan sitting with her head in cup hands at the reception and tears in her eyes

Besides the Queen herself, and every European monarch reigning or exiled, there were Nancy Reagan, the U.S. President’s wife (who had brought 56 security men), Princess Grace of Monaco, the Empress of Iran, the Crown Prince of Japan, archbishops, princelings and potentates.
‘You know the Queen of Romania, don’t you?’ asked David Hicks, the interior designer married to the Queen’s cousin Pamela Mountbatten.
‘Anne dear, may I present Nicky Haslam?’ A slight, unassuming woman in a floral printed dress held out her hand.
Now, David was in his element. ‘And look, there’s Alexander Romanov with the old Infanta. And just behind them is Maria del Gloria, Emperor Dom Pedro of Brazil’s eldest. Such a nice girl,’ he added.
This extraordinary melange, these remnants of foreclosed kingdoms, sat cheek by jowl with the few who had survived, watching a film that seemed to be a living fairy story.
I could catch their murmured comments. ‘Ach, vot has happened to poor Alfonso?...  How could Dagmar have worn that?...  Lilibet does things so well ...  Ma chere, the size of Karim ...  Only Louise Sweden could carry off purple lace.’
I noticed Mrs Reagan cupping her face in her hands as her dark eyes shone with emotional tears. Then she turned to whisper to her Hollywood film-star contemporary, Grace Kelly, whose showbiz wedding to Prince Rainier of Monaco I had watched on TV years before.
Then the beautiful young bride on the screen extended her white neck to meet her husband’s shy lips. The kiss! The crowds roared, before the film flickered and dimmed. The Queen stood up, beaming. ‘Supper!’ she said, and led the way into the ballroom, where the renowned American bandleader Lester Lanin soon had his orchestra  playing a quick-step rhythm of They Say That Falling In Love  Is Wonderful.
We entered three large rooms, the central one a dance floor, the orchestra playing on a tiered stage at the back while members of his band passed around sailor hats inscribed Lester Lanin to each guest, who immediately wore them.
Above this dance area, myriad apples were hung from long green ribbons. On either side were round tables with apple centrepieces and baskets of breads, marmalades and jams, ketchup and mustard.

Twists and twirls: The great choreographer and ballet dancer Frederick Ashton shared a dance or two with Nicky Haslam at the reception

The ‘dinner’ was mainly simple breakfast food — sausages and baked beans, kedgeree, scrambled eggs with smoked salmon for the more sophisticated. And, of course, rivers of champagne.
There were no placements, except for the Queen’s table; the rest of us sat wherever we found a seat. But no one sat for long. Pretty soon everyone, led by the Queen and Prince Philip, headed off to dance.
At one point, the couples stood aside as a very large black gentleman swayed among them. ‘That’s the King of Tonga, Queen Salute’s son,’ a lady whispered in awe. But no: it was simply Lanin’s saxophonist, returning from his break.
With no protocol, there was plenty of cutting in on the dancefloor. As the night progressed, we simply danced with whoever was nearest.
After several twirls with a Spanish princess, I found myself waltzing with the great ballet-dancer Frederick Ashton.
As the night went on, the music slid into rock, and from this to cha-cha-chas and twisting, snaking congas, all accompanied by whoops and yells from the royal siblings. Lanin hats were thrown in the air, or exchanged. Prince Andrew gave me his. It was green. I still have it.
Stumbling out into the early dawn"