It began as the perfect wedding. Last year we hired a beautiful venue on the eastern bank of Istanbul’s Bosphorus strait, overlooking the water. We had conducted the legal marriage already, so this was the celebration. As guests sat down to their starters that July evening, we sang a jaunty traditional Turkish duet. Soon everyone was dancing and the party was in full swing.

At about 10.30pm, a friend came over to me and my husband, Medeni. She said: “I don’t want to alarm you, but the army has closed the bridges. It might be an anti-Isis operation.” I went outside and looked down to the bridge that connects the European side of Istanbul with Asia. The traffic had stopped and there were tanks on the road.

It sounds flippant but, over the previous year, Turkey had suffered many attacks and we had got used to it. I wasn’t overly alarmed. But over the next half-hour, the mood of the room slowly changed. Guests gathered at tables and huddled over mobile phones. The chatter grew louder. We stopped the music. Shortly after 11pm, the prime minister announced an attempt to overthrow the government was under way.

The DJ gathered his things and ran. Lots of guests left, too. It was clear this was not going to be like Turkey’s previous, largely bloodless coup attempts. Ordinary citizens were confronting tanks in the streets. Our friends and family were eager to reach the safety of their homes, but some had come from faraway cities. Others were old or frail. I felt a big responsibility, that all these people were there for us. If anything happened to them, I would never forgive myself.

More than 250 people lost their lives that night as rogue soldiers clashed with police and civilians. Fighter jets dropped bombs and one of our guests saw a tank drive straight over a car. We heard gunfire and shouts of: “Halt! I’m going to shoot.”

Our amazing friends worked out who lived nearby and allocated people to each house. Medeni’s grandparents (who were aged 85 and 93, and had lived through four coups) gamely decided to brave the journey home. They got stuck for several hours as people abandoned their cars to join the anti-coup protests, but eventually made it back.

The driver of our wedding car had to get the vehicle back to its owner. He set off but came back 10 minutes later after finding tanks and soldiers patrolling the streets. The idea of him trying to navigate a coup attempt in a pink 1957 Buick convertible will stay with me. About 20 of us decided to spend the night at the venue. I changed out of my white dress into a T-shirt, jeans and slippers – but I kept my veil on. As the night wore on, we heard more gunfire. Fighter jets flew low over the city, making sonic booms that sounded like explosions. It was very frightening. We turned off all the lights to avoid attracting attention, then tried to get a little sleep.

By the time we woke up, it was becoming clear that the coup attempt had failed. The soldiers had been forced to surrender, and the government had announced that hundreds of plotters had been arrested. At about 9am we left for Medeni’s parents’ house. Everything seemed normal. There were even people waiting at the bus stops.

After a quick shower, we decided to try to catch our flight to Italy for our honeymoon. Outside the airport was a row of captured tanks; inside, it was chaos. Most flights were cancelled but, amazingly, ours was still scheduled. We checked in and went to the bar to celebrate, but amid the excitement and fatigue, we lost track of time and missed our flight. Our immediate reaction was to blame each other; then we laughed, bought tickets for the next day and went home. We told our family and friends the flight had been cancelled.

Despite our extraordinary wedding, I don’t feel unlucky. 15 July was a traumatic day for our county. But it also created a special bond between us and our guests – and between the two of us. They say the first year of marriage can be difficult. After that early test, we feel we could handle anything.

• As told to Laura Pitel

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