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Bertie, May and Mrs Fish. Xandra Bingley
Читать онлайн.Название Bertie, May and Mrs Fish
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007370917
Автор произведения Xandra Bingley
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство HarperCollins
My mother sits up and says … It’s only biscuit crumbs … kneel up on the pillow. She leans over and her hands sweep the sheets and I can see her hands in the Dutch oval dressing-table mirror across the room.
My father writes
I wonder if one day we could introduce Rhododendrons to grow at home. They would look so lovely. A clump or two near the big beech trees in Fishpond Wood looking down at the house. All the new kinds. Pink and crimson.
On our latest exercise Wyndham surpassed himself by capturing a Brigadier on the enemy side and holding him prisoner … the poor man was driving peaceably to his brigade HQ from his house! He was needless to say furious.
I hear the great ‘Monty’ is fairly going wild visiting all his troops. Nobody is safe! We shall have him here shortly and you will probably have me back farming for good the week after!!
No more now, but to send all my love. It is a long time since I had one of your nice letters with all the news of home and I do look forward to them.
In the kitchen she stands me on a padded horsehair seat and shakes soil off carrots on newspaper on the table and says … One … two … three … four carrots. She tugs the oven door and pulls at a black iron pot and says … Listen to him growl. She pours water from the black kettle into the rabbit stew and prods pieces of pale haunch with a silver fork and screws up her nose and shoves the pot back in the oven and opens a letter.
15 March 1944. I have been on what the fortune tellers call ‘a long journey’. Sent for suddenly in London and then onto the Isle of Wight. Back here very tired. Have to memorise difficult orders and maps without any notes. It is all very very interesting. Difficult and rather important problems. I am inclined to feel tired in mind and brain.
My new teeth were finished last week and now I have a dazzling smile with a complete set fixed more than firmly in my mouth. I can’t get accustomed to it at all after so long playing with my loose plate. So it is hell and almost requires a spanner to get it out at night.
Your threshing results are very good. The Cotswolds may not be arable country but by good cultivations you seem to knock jolly fine crops out of that light land. Don’t forget Nitro-chalk. If we get the results using it that I see up here it will give you valuable early feed for the herd while other pastures come on.
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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