CHARLOTTE BINGHAM -           Novelist and Playwright
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PUG LOVE
GIRLS DO COUNT
THE LIGHT ON THE SWAN
I WAS HAPPY
CORONET AMONG THE GRASS

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CORONET AMONG THE GRASS
Dogs
Rain
TEENAGE
the coronation
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THE LIGHT ON THE SWAN
Travel with my aunts
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PUG LOVE

 
PUG LOVE
          
                Although we had both been sent away at six, for my cousin and I, despite now being the grand old age of seven, the new boarding school was something of a challenge. Never mind the over new uniforms with vast hems that shouted ‘new girls’, or being train sick on the way down, or petrified that we might have lost our teddy bears in the luggage transfer, it was supper that proved our undoing.

GIRLS DO COUNT

GIRLS DO COUNT!

         The inside page of COUNTRY LIFE magazine always makes me feel so happy, not just for the inevitably pretty young women pictured there, but for what has happened to the girls in pearls that used to be there. They have disappeared!  No longer can we gaze with respect on young ladies in strapless evening dresses wearing the traditional sign of purity around their swanlike necks, their delicate arms poised on the balustrade leading to their parents’ rose gardens, they are gone, and in their place have arrived not swans but tropical birds of every hue.

THE LIGHT ON THE SWAN


                                         OLD IRELAND               

My new novel THE LIGHT ON THE SWAN which I wrote with Terence Brady as lively editor critic and contributor – is set in what I can only call Old Ireland.  The reason for this is that I have hardly been back to visit the land of the Celtic Tiger since I was first married.

I WAS HAPPY


I WAS HAPPY          

A couple of weeks ago a school friend sent me some letters I had written to her from when I was living in Paris, on the Left Bank, at the ripe old age of sixteen.      

Paris. Independence!   Think beautiful avenues, the sound of the accordion, Montmartre, the Opera House, delightful food, watching the chic couples go b y from cafes and restaurants. Of course it was all there, but in truth it was not a real part of my student life.

CORONET AMONG THE GRASS


This is the foreword to the new e-book edition of CORONET AMONG THE GRASS just republished as an e-book on Amazon and Kindle.
It was a sequel to CORONET AMONG THE WEEDS and tells how I first met TERENCE and subsequently married him.
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CORONET AMONG THE GRASS
REPUBLISHED

FOREWORD
BY
TERENCE BRADY



       I remember so very well when this delightfully funny book was written. Being Clever Drawers, I should do, but I’ll resist making any Clever-Drawer-ish sort of remarks here.

SUMMER RAIN

                           SUMMER RAIN                                          
 
    
     As a child the sound of summer rain outside the window early in the morning was never dispiriting.

THE CORONATION OF QUEEN ELIZABETH II

 
 
 
                  THE CORONATION OF QUEEN ELIZABETH II                
 
June the 4Coronation Day! This date was surrounded by coloured crayoned stars in school girl diaries all over England, and for months and months before the date actually arrived.  Everyone talked about this day of days to come.  My cousin and I talked about it.

PINK PIGGY ON THE BLACK ECONOMY

 
    A while ago, on a sunny Sunday morning, I was attacked by a famous actress.  We were giving her a lift to a friend's lunch party when as we went in, all having been very pleasant beforehand, she turned on me and accused me of being part of theBlack Economy.
 
    It transpired something in a newspaper she had read had given her this impression.  It seemed.I had made the great mistake of admitting paying cash to persons, known or unknown.

WHOSE IDEA WAS IT?


       I remember I was playing hopscotch, by myself, having been left friendless by no more sinister occurrence than the odd numbers in my class - eleven, as it happens. 'We're all running away,' the voice said.  I looked up, it was my cousin.  Only too glad to be included in whatever game it was that was on, I ran after her.  I remember I was wearing my school apron, well, we all were, which somehow enforced the idea that running after them was a game, a piece of make believe.

THE ONION SELLER

         Life with grandparents when you are small has a particular glow.  It is not that they spoil you, it is that they expect you to fall in with them, and that is oddly exciting.  If they rise at dawn, you rise at dawn, if they serve grand teas with pretty patterned plates and expect you to hand round, that is what you do. Everything they do for you seems to be a treat, just because they are not your parents,just as everything you are to them is special, precisely because you are not their child.
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