ON the morning of August 22, Rebecca Sheen's house was a hub of activity.

Surrounded by her bridal party she was racing around getting ready for her wedding. Time had passed her by and she finally walked down the stairs in her gown at 2.30pm ahead of the ceremony at Findon Manor Hotel at 4pm.

"What time is the car coming?" Her father Paul asked. He was looking forward to meeting the chauffeur and his beloved Daimler he had heard so much about from his daughter.

Rebecca was also excited. She immediately warmed to Maurice Abrahams when she and her maid of honour met him at a wedding fair. "Which one of you is the bride?" he asked, beaming. It took him less than 15 minutes to win her over. Inviting her to sit inside the pristine limousine, he donned his chauffeur hat. "This is how we would look" he told her proudly. She was not a 'car' person but wasted no time in booking it, ensuring the company would be sending the very same driver.

When he called before the wedding to confirm timings she was flustered, rushing around ticking off a long list of last minute preparations. ''Take a moment, relax, don't fret," was his advice.

As the clock neared 3pm on her wedding day Rebecca called Maurice to check his whereabouts. The call went straight to answerphone, which they put down to signal problems. Another call to the hire company confirmed he had left in plenty of time.

He was due to make two trips to the venue - bridesmaids first before returning to their Goring home for her and her father. They were running short of time but on hearing there was an accident on the A27 they presumed he was stuck in traffic. Plan B swung into action with the wedding photographer driving the bridesmaids.

Rebecca waited a little longer in case he turned up but in the end Paul drove her in his car, peering out at roads they passed on the way in case the Daimler suddenly came into view.

The ceremony was without a hitch and newlyweds Rebecca and Rajendran Asekaran began their celebrations at the 18th century manor house.

By this time they knew there had been a crash of some kind causing long traffic delays - they noticed some of their Brighton guests had not turned up to the reception. There were speeches, cutting of the cake and all the happy traditions of a typical wedding until the mood took a sombre turn at around 9.30pm.

Rebecca's brother spotted a car among the wreckage in pictures on his phone of what transpired to be the Shoreham Airshow crash. When Rebecca saw it, she knew it was Maurice's car. There was very little dancing after that. Most of the guests sat at tables talking as the news sunk in that a vintage jet had crashed into the A27, killing several people with more feared dead. They tried to stay positive and hoped Maurice got out alive.

When they found scores of reporters and cameras outside their home when they returned the next day the severity of the situation sunk in. She hurried into the house and rang the car hire company again. "I just wanted to check how he is?", she asked.

Speaking to The Argus just days ahead of her one year wedding anniversary, she said there are no words - other than complete and utter shock - to describe her emotions on hearing the response which confirmed his death.

The next day the couple went on their honeymoon to Jersey but from the tone of her voice in a phone call to her father, it was a very "sombre affair" where they watched the news a lot. She asked the 62-year-old, of Durrington, to take flowers to the tollbridge for her.

In her first interview since the tragedy, Rebecca, now 36, said the occasion will forever be tinged with sadness.

She said: "There is a celebration to be had there but it is with the knowledge 11 people lost their lives that day. We think of all of them. We were totally unaware of what had happened during the wedding - it was a beautiful service. Never in a million years did we think that something untoward had happened when Maurice didn't turn up. Sometimes I have down days thinking about it, my husband feels the same, particularly in coming up to the anniversary, it's very hard.

"In those times I do try to remember everything I have read about that fact Maurice was doing something he loved. He was just a very friendly, lovely man and clearly very proud of his car. It was his personal touch that made me hire it - it was him more than the car. In that 15 minutes he made a lasting impression. We turned down requests for interviews at the time and one year on it is all still very raw, it is bringing back all the memories of that day but we decided this was the time to pay tribute to Maurice to honour his memory."

I WILL NEVER HAVE A BETTER FRIEND

Argus columnist Ericka Waller was a close friend of Maurice Abrahams. Here she writes a column in his memory to mark the one-year anniversary since his death.

HELLO Maurice. So many things have happened in the last year that I’ve wanted to tell you about.

We’ve moved into a house full of DIY projects, like the ones we used to do together. I always used to be too impatient, ripping the wallpaper, spilling the paint, bodging the job. You’d snatch the brush off me, tell me to slow down, put the kettle on, let you do it. I have not started any projects here. I’ve lost my zest for it since I lost you.

Buddy still misses you. He knew the sound of your trailer and would race down to the door for the biscuit you always carried in your pocket. “Buddy! My friend!” you’d exclaim, then “I only come to see you, you poor old boy. Is she looking after you?”. You loved telling people how I took the dog to the vet because he had a lump on his nose which needed removing and decided to get him “done” at the same time. “Don’t ever let her take you to the doctor’s,” you’d tell people with that wicked glint in your eye. Bud still twitches his ears at the sound of a trailer.

I crashed my car last month, first time ever, went to call you, of course, like I do so often. Remember that time my car broke down in the car park under the Thistle hotel? You came down with your cassette-sized charger to jump-start the battery.

You’d just got it and were very pleased with it, couldn’t wait to show it off. It didn’t work on my car obviously. We sat in the back of your boot while we waited for the AA. You ate your sandwiches and filled the car park with 20s swing music while I sat swinging my legs. It felt like we had all the time in the world.

We went to Firle Vintage Fair last weekend. Last year I met you there under a tree and you laughed at all my purchases, then stashed some in your boot. Your daughter was dancing on the stage. You were so proud.

Summer is in full swing. Every morning the sun cracks like an egg in the sky and I miss you. I miss you so much. I’ve never had a better friend and I never will. When I make my 11am pot of tea, I still pour a cup for you old man.

MAURICE TOLD ME TO LIVE LIFE TO THE FULL

THE brides who met Maurice Abrahams remember how he had a unique ability to put them at ease.

Two months before he died, the 76-year-old arrived to pick up Natalie Bowyer in his gleaming Daimler, early as usual.

As the 21-year-old from Sompting took a deep breath before walking down the aisle, he offered sage advice she said she would never forget: “Live life to the full. Never let anything stop you.”

For more than 20 years the ex-paratrooper, Grenadier Guard and policeman comforted scores of brides-to-be in his charge as he chauffeured them across Sussex.

Everyone remembers the champagne he poured and the pride for his car he told everyone was similar to that used by the Queen.

Carly Sayce said she would always remember how he appeared “out of nowhere” at the side of the church door just before she was about to enter with a bottle of water. “Take a sip of this,” he advised.

Darryl and Amy Jeal, who married in Rottingdean last year, loved how Maurice greeted them with cans of vodka and lemonade because they didn’t like champagne.

He even gave Roberto Demaisip and his wife-to-be Lisezl a cut-price hire for the car on his day off and he came to the rescue with umbrellas when the heavens opened for Dan and Marie Viviani.

Mr Abrahams, also a former fish-and-chip shop owner and selfless pillar of the community from Woodingdean who used to take in foreign exchange students, left behind wife Edwina and four children.