Monty, his part in my victory - Spike Milligan [15]
As we unravelled ourselves from the blankets there was the usual “Anybody-seen-my-boots/socks/teeth/trousers/etc/?” It seemed like every night a giant spoon came and stirred the whole contents of the tent into a cloth porridge.
“Wot’s for breakfast?” Al Fildes pointed to something in the pan.
“It’s brown and black but tastes green!”
“Is it an omelette?” I said.
“That is the current opinion,” said Lt Budden.
So then it was up the gorge. It was tiring but not dangerous, but to Edgington! that was dangerous! We crossed the road to the West wall where a clear water stream was falling from above. I suggested that we follow it. I said, “Look, there s a clear water stream falling from above. I suggest we follow it.” We started to ascend, grabbing tufts of grass, bushes, roots and each other. At a hundred feet we paused on a small plateau -where a pool had formed, scuttling about in its depths were fresh water shrimps.
“Cor,” says Tume, “how did they get up here?”
“They climbed up the water,” I said.
The morning was gradually going from warm to hot, and we went with it. At about two hundred feet it became a bit precipitous, people were saying “Whose silly idea was this?”
“We should be roped together,” said Edgington, whose position appeared to consist of one foot above his head on a ledge, and his other one dangling in space. Indeed Edgington should have been roped together.
We had reached three hundred feet, the top seemed no nearer. “Someone keeps addin’ a bit on,” explained Dean.
A brief description of the flora, among trees I saw Portuguese and Afare’s oak, elm, ash. The shrubbery round about was a mixture of strawberry tree, Myrtle and woodclimbers such as clematis. They were in various stages of flower and gave off a beautiful perfume at night, which was usually lost in clouds of tobacco smoke.
“I can smell a dinner,” said Edgington, now in the shape of a swastika. “Look!”
He pointed down to the camp way below where Fildes was stirring a large pot. The mention of food is fatal, immediately the massed legs started downwards like homing pigeons.
We all drew nigh to Al Fildes with sharp appetites. “What’s cooking then?” we asked. “It’s my laundry,” he said whereupon we taketh Edgington, and throweth him in the river. Budden came forth to see a soldier swimming fully clothed.
“What are you doing man?” he asked.
“I’m teaching my battle dress to swim sir.”
June 5th. Friday 1943
“There’s wild pigs, up the mountain,” the information was imparted by one Mahmoud, an Arab who came scrounging fags and whose head was therefore a mass of lumps; he would act as our guide if we wished. A pig for dinner? Marvellous, none of us were Jewish. Al Fildel diary reads:
Sgt Dawson and party set off with rifles and ammu, have dug 3 graves.
We left at 1900 hrs and were taken up a mountain path that brought us to a plateau, we arrived as the light faded. We climbed a tree and waited. Midnight. All fags gone. We were losing hope, Suddenly, Mahmoud let off a terrifying Arab fart. “Christ!” said Jordy Dawson. “No wonder the Crusaders lost.” I fell out of the tree laughing, the hunt was over. We trudged back to the camp fire, Bombardier Deans was sharpening a carving knife — “You tell ‘im Sarge; you’re biggest.” Deans took the news well and tried to commiserate saying ‘You’re a lot of cunts — we could have gone to bed whereupon Gunner Edgington accidentally looses off round that nearly parts Bombardier Deans’ hair. “That bloody does it,” said Deans.
The night was saved from complete disaster by things called Sausages.
We ate in silence. “Pass the wine,” said Edge who, himself, has been passing wine for months. Sgt Dawson was occupied with a whisky bottle, trying to wean himself off food.
“After the war, I’m going back to my old job,” said Gunner Shipman.
“What old job?”
“Any old fucking job…”
Finally at about three in the morning the chilly night air drove us to our beds. An unforgettable day.
Bdr Deans clutching himself through his