Ma’am Darling

by Craig Brown

  Despite this packed CV, John Bindon is now probably best remembered for his party piece with his penis. The biographers of Princess Margaret disagree on the specifics, but agree on the broad essentials. Noel Botham clearly states that Bindon’s ‘unique cabaret turn’ involved ‘balancing three half-pint glasses on his erect penis’. Tim Heald is vaguer as to the number, believes it to have been more of a party trick than a cabaret turn, and is convinced it involved dangling rather than balancing: Bindon was, he says ‘best known for a party trick that involved hanging beer tankards from his erect penis’.

  Theo Aronson, on the other hand, fails to mention either glasses or tankards, simply saying that ‘Bindon was apparently very proud of his “enormous penis” which he would display in the palm of his hand.’ There was talk on the island that he had even once ‘flashed it for Princess Margaret’.

  Either way, it’s all a far cry from the comings and goings at Balmoral. Royal biographers are a sensitive bunch, unused to totting up pint mugs on penises. On the other hand, beyond the world of royal biography, accounts also differ: Brewer’s Dictionary of Rogues and Villains claims Bindon entertained Princess Margaret ‘by balancing six glasses of beer on his penis’, while his obituarist in the Daily Telegraph argued that ‘He was justly famed for a party trick which entailed the balancing of as many as six half-pint mugs on one part of his anatomy.’ In Confessions of a King’s Road Cowboy, Johnny Cigarini, a contemporary of Bindon, confidently states that ‘It was like a hose. His party trick in pubs was to put empty pint glasses on it and put his penis through the handles,’ and goes on to estimate the final count as ‘ten at one time, or something ridiculous’.

  Christine Keeler, best known for her key role in the Profumo scandal, used to live two doors down the road from John Bindon in Seymour Place, Fulham. She remembers him fondly, referring to him as Biffo, ‘because he was so bear-like’.

  ‘Biffo’s party trick,’ she recalls, ‘was to balance five half pints of beer on his penis. It attracted much attention.’ Her numbers tally with those provided by Bindon’s own biographer, Wensley Clarkson, though the two disagree as to method. On page 26 of his book Bindon (2007), Clarkson claims that the penis in question was twelve inches long, and that for forty years Bindon’s ‘favourite party trick’ was to ‘hang five half-pint beer glasses’ from it.*

  In his Private Eye diary for 15 November 1979, Auberon Waugh dismissed as ‘ludicrous’ and ‘preposterous’ the claim made in that week’s Daily Star by ‘Princess Margaret’s friend John Bindon, the excitable actor’, that ‘when he had an erection he could balance five half-pint beer mugs on it’. The Daily Star article had been illustrated with five beer mugs.

  Waugh added that he had been assured by ‘sources close to Princess Margaret (N. Dempster)’ that this estimate was ‘wholly inaccurate. When Bindon was staying with Princess Margaret in Mustique, he never managed to balance more than one small sherry schooner in this way.’ Waugh went on to express his fear that younger, more impressionable readers of the Star might be tempted into painful experimentation, ‘in some cases involving serious damage’.

  By now, this field of research is growing as complex as the Schleswig-Holstein Question, each expert contradicting the next. Time, then, for a handy chart:

  BOTHAM: 3 half-pint glasses (balancing)

  BREWER’S DICTIONARY: 6 glasses of beer (balancing)

  CLARKSON: 5 half-pint glasses (hanging)

  DAILY TELEGRAPH: 6 half-pint glasses (balancing)

  HEALD: Unspecified number of ‘tankards’ (hanging)

  KEELER: 5 half-pint glasses (balancing)

  CIGARINI: 10 pint glasses (hanging)

  WAUGH: 1 small sherry schooner (balancing)

  Such vastly different accounts of such a comparatively minor detail in the history of the twentieth century might lead some to question the very nature of biography. If no one – not even those who witnessed it – can agree on John Bindon’s party piece, then what on earth can they agree on? Bindon is, after all, a pretty recent figure, having passed away in 1993 (or 1992 according to Heald) from either liver cancer (Clarkson) or an Aids-related illness (Cigarini). His stunt was witnessed by so many people on so many occasions that it might be said to have been his calling card. Yet no one can agree on exactly what it was.

  Will we ever get to the bottom of what happened between John Bindon and Princess Margaret in the mid-1970s on the island of Mustique? Even the Princess’s most fervent apologists agree that a meeting took place. There is, after all, this photograph to prove it: the Princess, her hair swept back, sitting at a sun-soaked picnic table in an extremely low-cut strapless swimsuit, and next to her, Bindon clad in an orange T-shirt bearing the legend ‘Enjoy Cocaine’.

  (Trinity Mirror/Mirrorpix/Alamy Stock Photo)

  Bindon had been invited to Mustique by his vivacious young friend Dana Gillespie,* who had herself been invited by Lionel Bart,* who was a friend of Princess Margaret. ‘I thought she was pulling my plonker until I realised she meant it,’ Bindon told friends. The two of them had flown to Barbados before taking a boat to Mustique, ‘the sort of tropical paradise I’d only seen in the Bounty ads on telly. There weren’t a lot of people around – it ain’t Southend.’

  Soon after Bindon’s arrival, the island’s owner, Colin Tennant, took him to one side and instructed him on how to behave in front of the Princess. ‘He gave me some tips on what to do, like “Don’t talk to her until she talks to you.”’

  Before long, Bindon was invited to the Cotton House, where he was presented to the Princess: ‘I remember thinking what nice skin she had.’ They sat down to dinner. ‘It was like the last great bastion of the Empire. Everyone was in evening dress and dickie bows. It was all white tablecloths, black waiters and loads of silver to puzzle you – which knife and fork to use.’

  They found they had a surprising amount in common, and spoke of P.G. Wodehouse, acting and show business. Bindon was impressed. ‘She seemed very much her own girl, not daft at all.’ Conversation flowed, the Princess expressing an interest in Cockney rhyming slang. ‘Sometimes she’d laugh and I had to explain what I was saying, like “Gay and hearty or Moriarty means party, Ma’am,” and “Apples and pears is stairs.”

  ‘She asked me, “What’s a wally? Is it the same as a toby, that word you used earlier?’ When I said yes, she said, “How silly, two words for the same thing.” … I think she liked me ’cos I nattered away quite happily.’

  Bindon stayed on Mustique for three weeks, and entered the social swing. ‘Her beach parties weren’t exactly a snack on the sands. A fleet of cars would set all the guests down, plus the maids, tables, crockery, silver and glass. PM would be in a strapless costume or loose kaftan with her cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other.’ Bindon, too, opted for the casual look. One day he borrowed Dana Gillespie’s ‘Enjoy Cocaine’ T-shirt, which is how he came to be wearing it in the famous photograph.

  According to him, the Princess would ‘let her hair down’ at Colin Tennant’s evening parties, joining in the singing of saucy calypsos. But all gaiety was underpinned by etiquette. ‘I asked what I should call her,’ recalled Dana Gillespie, ‘and she said, “Ma’am, just like a Christian name.”’

  Bindon followed suit, though Gillespie felt he was given more leeway than the others. ‘At one point I remember John was talking to her and telling her funny stories, although respectfully calling her “Ma’am”. Then he started singing, “Marks and Spencer’s, she gets her knickers at Marks and Spencer’s.” It was hilarious, and John had broken the ice brilliantly, as usual.’

  How far did they go? Bindon liked to make a show of refusing to talk about it, perhaps to give the impression that there was something to talk about.

  Bindon’s biographer, Wensley Clarkson,* thinks Bindon might have had a fling with the Princess, but, given the choice, even the most strait-laced biographers exert a bias towards consummation. Dana Gillespie apparently told Clarkson, ‘Bindon was discreet. He would n
ever have told if something did happen between them.’ But at the same time he says she was ‘reluctant to talk in any more detail’, which suggests there was more detail about which to talk. Or, like so many biographers, is Clarkson trying to make a mountain out of a molehill?

  One of Bindon’s girlfriends on Mustique apparently ‘broke a thirty-year silence’ to tell Clarkson ‘what really happened’ between Bindon and the Princess. Bindon supposedly swore this unnamed woman to silence, ‘but admitted that he’d slept with her on Mustique just a couple of days before we met. I don’t know why he told me. I guess he thought that because I was a local girl I’d never end up telling anyone important …’

  Another friend told Clarkson that Bindon ‘let slip’ to him that the Princess ‘regularly’ sent a car round to pick him up for ‘love trysts’ in Kensington Palace, ‘but he was very nervous about mentioning it … This is the first time I’ve told anyone.’ There is a strong element of Chinese whispers about these passages: the ex-boyfriend of a former girlfriend of Bindon tells Clarkson that she told him that Bindon told her that he had indeed slept with Princess Margaret, but ‘He kept it very quiet. He didn’t shout about it. He told his girlfriend he’d be locked up for life if he started talking about it.’

  On New Year’s Eve 1975, Colin Tennant threw a party for everyone on the island. Guests included Mick Jagger, Jerry Hall and Bryan Ferry, as well as Dana Gillespie, Vicki Hodge* and John Bindon. ‘It was a magic evening,’ recalled Hodge. ‘Colin spared no expense and we all enjoyed ourselves. The Princess joined in everything. When she sang, she had a lovely clear voice.’ Bindon and the Princess joined in the dancing of The Gay Gordons and The Lancers.

  Later, at a beach table, someone said to Bindon, ‘Ma’am knows about your advantage in life and would really like to see it.’ Bindon got up, and proceeded to walk down the beach with Margaret and her lady-in-waiting. According to Clarkson, ‘He stopped about twenty yards from the lunch party, unzipped his flies and took out his flaccid penis which hung a full twelve inches down the side of one leg. Vicki Hodge and others watched from a distance as the princess examined it rather like a fossil. Everyone gasped. Bindon had a smile on his face but said nothing. After a few minutes, they all returned to the table. “I’ve seen bigger,” said the lady-in-waiting.’ Another report, passed on by Terrence Stamp, suggests that the lady-in-waiting was rather more specific, saying, ‘I’ve seen bigger in Malaya.’

  But there is a school of thought that regards this story as a smokescreen. ‘That was all bollocks to disguise the fact that John had been seeing Margaret in London,’ an anonymous friend of Bindon told Clarkson. ‘She already knew all about his tackle.’

  * ‘He would also sometimes dip his penis in people’s glasses while saying, “He needs a drink!”’ states Clarkson, adding that ‘he never lost his outrageous sense of humour’.

  * Actress and singer. Born Richenda Antoinette de Winterstein Gillespie, 30 March 1949. British junior water-skiing champion, 1962. Created the role of Mary Magdalene in the original West End production of Jesus Christ Superstar (1972).

  * Born Lionel Begleiter (1930–99). Composer, lyricist and playwright of, among other things, the musical Oliver! and the Cliff Richard song ‘Living Doll’, which he claimed to have written in six minutes flat. Though he was said to have earned £16 a minute from Oliver! in the sixties, he spent all his money, and was declared bankrupt in 1972, for which Princess Margaret called him a ‘silly bugger’.

  * His other books include biographies of Kenneth Noye, Fred West, the Great Train Robber Charlie Wilson and ‘legendary south London criminal Jimmy Moody’, as well as Sexy Beasts: The Real Inside Story of the Hatton Garden Mob and Hitmen: True Stories of Street Executions.

  * Actress and model (1946–). Daughter of Sir John Rowland Hodge. Films include The Stud and Confessions of a Sex Maniac. Romantically linked with Ringo Starr, HRH Prince Andrew, Elliott Gould, Rod Stewart, Yul Brynner and David Bailey, among others.

  71

  After leaving Shrewsbury school, Roddy Llewellyn was deemed too short, at five foot nine inches, to join a Guards regiment. Instead he went to work at one of his father’s factories in Newport, dipping the push-buttons for telephones into electroplating vats.

  Coming into a modest inheritance of £3,000 from his grandfather, he said goodbye to the factory at the age of twenty-one, and took to the road as the co-partner of a mobile discothèque, ‘Elevation Entertainment’.

  It proved a flop, so he became an assistant at the College of Arms, supplementing his £15-a-week salary with a part-time job as a sales assistant at the fashionable DM Gallery in Fulham Road. For several months he lived with the interior decorator and man-about-town Nicky Haslam, but he left following a row.

  Haslam claims that Roddy always nursed an ambition to meet Princess Margaret. ‘He told me, as our friendship advanced, how he longed to meet Princess Margaret, whose marriage was now reportedly on the skids … It seemed a more interesting ambition than Lloyd’s or the Foreign Office, and one that I might be able to nudge him toward. And the fact that Roddy, like Tony, was small, red-blonde, slim and Welsh made this fantasy possible.’

  He mentioned Roddy’s dream to Violet Wyndham, who in turn mentioned it to her cousin Colin Tennant, who happened to be having Princess Margaret to stay at The Glen, his castle in Scotland. ‘She couldn’t bear sitting next to women, and Colin hadn’t got a spare man, so there was a bit of a crisis,’ recalls a friend. Consequently, Violet Wyndham got in touch with Haslam: ‘Colin hasn’t got a spare man. I thought of you first, but how about darling Roddy? Do you know where I can find him?’

  On 5 September 1973, Roddy arrived at 1 p.m. sharp, as instructed, at the Café Royal in Edinburgh. Colin Tennant was already there, sitting next to Princess Margaret, who was sipping a gin and tonic. Roddy was dressed in an old sweater and a high-collared shirt. Tennant, who had never set eyes on him before, later said he ‘could see at once that he was what you would call “just the ticket”’.

  Roddy sat down beside the Princess. She asked after his father, whom she had known for some twenty-odd years. ‘It was obvious that something happened as soon as Princess Margaret saw Roddy,’ said Tennant. ‘She was taken with him immediately and devoured him through luncheon. It was a great relief.’ After lunch, Margaret took Roddy shopping for swimming trunks. They picked a pair emblazoned with the Union Jack, and then travelled back to The Glen, huddled together in the back of Tennant’s mini-bus.

  For both, it appears to have been love at first sight: by the end of that first evening they were sitting together at the piano singing ‘The bells are ringing, for me and my gal.’ Seeing them there, Anne Tennant’s immediate thought was, ‘Heavens, what have I done?’

  The next day, Roddy told Anne that he thought Princess Margaret had the most beautiful eyes. ‘Don’t tell me, tell her!’ she replied. Roddy followed this advice, and it did the trick. Years later, Colin Tennant confessed to having hidden behind an arch on the main landing at The Glen that night. His stealth had been rewarded with a glimpse of toing-and-froing. ‘By that evening, the tower was rocking,’ recalls a friend.

  Returning to the South Kensington flat he shared with his brother Dai, Roddy declared that he had just had the most wonderful week of his life; he was in love with the sister of the Queen. ‘I was amazed for obvious reasons,’ recalled Dai. ‘But it was clearly true because she started telephoning him at the flat. How it happened, God knows, but it did and I was very pleased for him. He’d been through a very depressing time. Now he had a chance to build a new life with, of all people, Princess Margaret.’

  Dai recounted all this in a great many interviews he gave over the next five years. This was, after all, the 1970s: the boundaries that had previously existed between the private and the public, between friendship and commerce, discretion and self-promotion, were fast becoming blurred. Dai Llewellyn was just one of many people, the Princess and Roddy among them, who in this brave new world of openness and candour
were finding it increasingly hard to keep their lips buttoned.

  That winter, Roddy moved out of his brother’s flat and, with £19,000 given to him by his parents, bought a basement flat in Fulham. On her first visit, Princess Margaret was surprised by quite how small it was.* She had, she observed, known royal servants with more spacious accommodation. We know she said this, because she was in the habit of passing on such details to Nigel Dempster of the Daily Mail, often described as ‘the doyen of gossip columnists’, who was in due course to write her biography.

  In March 1974, Roddy flew to Mustique. Together he and the Princess sang, sunbathed and played Scrabble; Roddy, always a keen gardener, had a go at planting shrubs and vegetables in the sandy soil. It was, he told his brother, ‘almost like a honeymoon’. Back in Britain, Lord Snowdon tipped off a gossip column that his wife had gone abroad, leaving him to shiver back in the UK.

  Though Snowdon was far from faithful, he was rattled by his wife’s new friendship, and took to placing banana skins in its way. Knowing that Roddy was on Mustique, but knowing that Margaret didn’t know he knew, he sent a telegram to her to sound the alarm – bogus, but effective – that he might just be dropping by:

  (Hulton-Deutsch Collection/CORBIS/Corbis via Getty Images)

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