Secure as it must have seemed at the time, the family was under great strain. The experience of a husband returning from the war to find a wife who has learnt to run everything perfectly well in his absence was commonplace, and made more difficult in this case by the personalities of those involved. May was the strong one. Bertie was charming, extravagant and grandiloquent. His daughter has an excellent ear for his manner of speaking: ‘Shall we reward ourselves... with a sumptuous mixture of Mr Bournville’s chocolate powder lightly stirred into the beloved Baroness’s fresh milk... what say?’ Or, more simply, ‘The day the Almighty created sheep He was in poor form, in my opinion.’
There was no return to the carefree prewar days of dashing young Melton men with nicknames like Frizz, Peach, Chicken and Ratty. It was a hard slog, with money problems and the added grievance that May provided the money and Bertie spent it. For a while, the farm, their daughter and the horses were enough to hold them together, but in the end the whole lovely edifice came tumbling down.
Xandra Bingley has a strong sense of recall and an eye for detail which is extremely beguiling. From the excitement of gathering the magical silver tinsel dropped from the sky to confuse the German radar to the sickly-sweet smell of Mrs Fish’s outdoor privy, one is constantly transported into a half-forgotten world, and the text is enhanced by many excellent photographs from the family albums.
She writes in short, rhythmic, impressionistic sentences, as vivid and individual as her father’s speech, and jumps with abandon from the 1950s to the 1930s and back. It can be confusing, but it is also enormously enjoyable — an exercise in discovery for some and nostalgia for others.
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