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By Root 87 0

He delighted me with some tunes he had composed. He couldn’t read music, and favoured two keys, F sharp and C sharp! both keys the terror of the Jazz man: however, over the months I’d husk tunes with him in the N.A.A.F.I. I taught him the names of various chords and he was soon playing in keys that made life easier for me. He was game for a ‘Jam’ any time. And of course, start to hum any tune and Harry would be in with the harmony, and spot on. It helped life a lot to have him around. One day, with nothing but money in mind, I suggested to Harry we try and form a band. Harry grinned and looked disbelieving. “Just the two of us?”

“We could sit far apart,” I said.

A stroke of luck. A driver, Alf Fildes, was posted to us with suspected rabies and he played the guitar! All we needed was a drummer. We advertised in Part Two Orders. “Wanted. House Trained Drummer. Academic Training advantage, but not essential. Apply The Gunners Milligan and Edgington. No coloureds but men with names like Duke Ellington given preference.” No one came forward. We were stuck, worse still we were stuck in the Army. But! Milligan had the eye of an eagle, the ear of a dog, and the brain of a newt, (we’ve all got to eat). One meal time, as the dining hall rang to the grinding of teeth on gritty cabbages, came the sound of a rhythmic beat; it was a humble gunner hammering on a piece of Lease Lend bacon, trying to straighten it out for the kill. This was Driver Douglas Kidgell. Would he like to be our drummer? Yes. Good. Now, where to get the drums. Gunner Nick Carter said there was a ‘certain’ drum kit lying fallow under the stage of Old Town Church Hall. Captain Martin, a sort of commissioned Ned Kelly, suggested we ‘requisition’ the ‘certain’ drum kit to prevent it falling into German hands. This sort of patriotism goes deep. With Germany poised to strike we couldn’t waste time. We took the drums, and camouflaged them by painting on the Artillery Crest. Kidgell soon got the hang of the drums, and lo! we were a quartet!

After a month’s practice, Captain Martin asked could we play for a dance. I told him we had a very limited repertoire, he said: “So have I, we’ll hold the dance this Saturday.” GAD’ this was the big time! Saturday, The Old Town Church Hall, Bexhill! who knows next week, Broadway! In entertainment starved Bexhill, the dance was a sell-out. The old corrugated iron Hall was packed to suffocation; there were old women. kids, officers, gunners, various wives, very much a village dance affair.

After twenty minutes we had exhausted our repertoire, so we started again. I suppose playing ‘Honeysuckle Rose’ forty times must be some kind of a record. The bar did roaring business the barman being none other than the Reverend Clegg, Regimental Vicar. We played well on into the night. About two o’clock Captain Martin called a halt. They all stood to attention, we played ‘God Save the King’. Now for the rewards. To pay us, Captain Martin led us into the Churchyard in pitch darkness. There he gave us a ‘ten shilling note.

“A little something for you lads,” he said.

“Ten bob?” said Fildes painfully. “Couldn’t we raffle it?”

“Now then lads, remember there’s a war on,” Said Martin pocketing the rest.

That night, by a flickering candle, we all swore allegiance to Karl Marx. No matter what, next dance, unless we got paid more, we’d play the bloody awful Warsaw Concerto!

On pay nights most of us headed for the pubs where, apart from drinking, a lot of singing was done by the battery duettists, Gunners White and Devine. This was a very popular one:

I paid my entrance fee

To see that tattooed she

She had Sir Hubert Tree

Tattooed upon her knee

She had a great big Union Jack

Tattooed upon her back

And down below On her big toe

Jack Johnson done in black

She had a battleship

Tattooed upon her hip

And where I could not see

A map of Germany

She had a picture of Harry Lauder

Right across where she gets broader

And as a mixture

She had a picture

Of her home in Tenersee.

White and Devine were great fans of the band and travelled everywhere