Xandra Bingley - Bertie, May and Mrs Fish

Sunday, 19 March 1944. I think I have found you a better more reliable wireless set and a carthorse. Will let you know. Have roughed off my three young horses up here and they graze out in the park by day .

In June 1944 he is in a wire pen on the Isle of Wight with his soldiers and armoured cars. On 6 June the Allied invasion of France starts and he fights ashore on Juno beach with instructions to destroy bridges on the River Orne behind the enemy lines.

In summer 1945 he comes home on leave and for the rest of his life he shouts in his dreams at night. After wartime he sleeps mostly in his dressing room next door to me. I go in and see him thrash and wave his arms in the light of my torch. He yells … For Christ’s sake … Sunray … Sunray … come in … come in … dear God … you bloody Yanks … do you read … do you read … and he weeps … Goddam you all.

(Sung to the tune ‘D’ye ken John Peel’ – eighteenth-century ballad)

D’ye ken Bertie Bingley with his face so red?

D’ye ken Bertie Bingley with no hair upon his head?

D’ye ken Bertie Bingley when he’s just got out of bed

And he can’t find his teeth in the morning?

T’was the crack of his two-pounder brought me from my bed

And the roar of the Daimlers which he oft-times led

For the rattle of his coax would awaken the dead,

Or Jerry in his lager in the morning.

Chorus

Ay, I ken Bertie Bingley and the rest of them too,

From the majors to the troopers they’re the Devil’s Own crew

And they live on porridge, whisky and stew

And they’re randy as a stallion in the morning.

Chorus (repeat)

So here’s to Bertie Bingley and his men the Inns of Court

For they know all the Devilry and tricks that he has taught

And here’s to the day when to victory they’ve fought

And they’re up on the Rhine in the morning.

Chorus (repeat)

I keep the torch under my pillow to light the way across my carpet and up the back passage steps into his room. I put the torch down on his chest of drawers … Words aren’t any use … my mother says … It’s only hitting him hard on the chest that wakes him up … there’s no knowing why … I lean forward towards him on tiptoe. He swipes with an open hand and knocks me backwards. I fall over on the bronze-and-yellow Afghan rug in my nightdress and get up and rush at him and punch his chest.

Then his arms drop on the bed and lie still in blue-striped pyjama sleeves and his eyes open and he looks at me and says … Hello-hello … what’s up … not asleep … off you go back to bed … into the arms of Morpheus … we’ll have a first-rate jolly in the morning.

Sometimes I hear him shout and I stay in my bed and lean over the side and wind up the gramophone and play my four 78 r.p.m. records: ‘Hang Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line’ with ‘Run Rabbit Run’. ‘You’ll Take the High Road and I’ll Take the Low Road’ with ‘Speed Bonny Boat’. ‘Sounds from the Hunting Field’ – side one and side two. When I put on ‘The Teddy Bears’ Picnic’ I sing along with a man … If you go down to the woods today … you’re sure of a big surprise … today’s the day the teddy bears have their picnic … picnic time for teddy bears …

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