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Who Goes There?
WHENEVER I hear the strains of “Blue Bonnets Are Over The Border”, I’m taken back to August, 1942. I was newly married and my husband had just been transferred to the First Airborne Division stationed at Bulford.
After our honeymoon leave, he found civilian accommodation for me on the outskirts of the camp. Unfortunately, he had no sleeping-out pass, so we had to resort to subterfuge.
In the evenings, after we’d been dancing, or at the Garrison Theatre or cinema, he’d leave me under a tree while he reported into barracks. Then, when the orderly sergeant had made his rounds, he’d nip out again to collect me to walk the mile back to my digs.
Bulford was a very big Army camp and, to make sure I knew which soldier was approaching me in the dark, he’d whistle loudly “Blue Bonnets”, and it quickly became our signature tune.
Hearing it now, the last time at the Edinburgh Tattoo, brings back such happy memories.
Submitted to the People’s Friend magazine - “They’re Playing Our Song” column – Published June 12th sometime in the 90’s ?
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