Adolf Hitler_ my part in his downfall - Spike Milligan [42]
Right, one blunt to you. Just a minute, I’ve suddenly been overrun by a herd of Drunken Peruvian Trombonists on pleasure bent.
Me:
Bent pleasure? I like mine straight. Ta raaa.
It was going on for three o’clock. We fell asleep to the iron calypso of the wheels and the raindrop typewriter on the windows. I was awakened at about seven by Harry handing me a mug of tea. I looked out of the window. We were passing, at considerable speed, through black countryside sprinkled with snow. We must be going north, I thought. I ladled out some porridge into our mess tins. It was cold. Only one way to warm it up, eat it: Bombardier Trew of the signal section sauntered in. He had a large set of protruding teeth; but for this feature he would have been ugly. Seeing the luxury we were living in, he said, “You cunning bastards, you know where I slept last night? Sittin’ up in the bleedin’ Karzy.” We tried to soothe him with gifts of cold porridge. Trew said he thought we were going to Scotland.
“Why Scotland?”
“I’ll tell you! We’re going to make landings in Norway, it’s the second front, mate, we’ll link up with the Russians!”
“Oh, Christ!” groaned Edgington, “Norway, that’s done it.”
“I told my family it was Malta.”
“What about my family—I told them Bournemouth.”
Conversation was cut short by the panicky entrance of Gunner Simms. “Quick, where’s the medical officer?”
“Is it the old trouble, darling?” I said, taking his hand.
“Don’t piss around, there’s been a bloody accident.” Two sergeants came running through on the same errand. They returned with the medical officer. Excitement. A gunner in the forward carriage had intentionally shot himself in the leg with a tommy-gun. The weapon was on ‘automatic’, and had torn a great hole in the man next to him as well. There was blood everywhere. The medical officer did all he could to make them comfortable. There was no morphia. It must have been agony. They both survived, though the innocent party remained lame for life.
January 7th, at 2.45 that afternoon we arrived at Liverpool Station. An ambulance was waiting for the two wounded men. We detrained. Chaos. Non-commissioned officers kept running into each other shouting orders. Captains bounded up and down. the platform like spring-heeled Jacks shouting “I say!”
Dawson clobbered Chalky White and self. “You two! See the officers’ baggage into the three-tonner.” Great! We didn’t have to march. Gradually the Battery drained out of the station. We had to wait hours for the lorry. We loaded the officers’ kit on, and drove through the black gloomy streets, with their grey wartime people, but it was still all adventure to us.
It was dark when we arrived at the docks, which bore scars of heavy bombing. Towards the New Brighton side of the Mersey, searchlights were dividing the sky. Our ship was H.M.T.L.15, in better days the S.S. Otranto. She’d been converted to an armed troopship with A.A. platforms fore and aft. Her gross was about 20,000 tons, I could be a couple of pounds out. Just to cheer us up she was painted black. Loading took all night; there were several other units embarking. We got the officers’ bed-rolls into the cargo net, then boarded. A ship’s bosun: “What Regiment?” he said, “Artillery? Three decks down, H deck.” H deck was just above the water line, the portholes were sealed and blacked out, such a pity, I wanted to see the fishes. Along each side were tables and forms to accommodate twelve men a time.
Fore and aft were ships’ lockers with hammocks, strange things that some said we had to sleep in. Ridiculous! Long about ten o’clock. The lads were wandering freely, exploring the ship. Some had dodged ashore and were standing at the dock gate chatting up late birds. It was their last chance. Other more honourable men were furiously writing the last V-mail letter before sailing. I went on the top deck, aft, smoked a cigarette and watched reflections in the dark waters below. So far it had all been fun, but now we were off to the truth. I don’t know why, but I started to cry. 17 .30! There was to be a demonstration