Monty, his part in my victory - Spike Milligan [18]
“You play zee jazz verre good, you naughty boy,” she said.
“Help! massage,” I said weakly.
We listened spell bound as she sang the Habanera from Carmen, her voice was pure silver. In the warm African night, it was an unforgettable experience, with the moon shining down on those lovely white boobs. She stopped the show, but then she was big enough to stop anything. The show over we waved the French artiste and her boobs good-bye. A letter from Snashall reminds me how the evening concluded:
I remember the French Ensa charabanc disappearing into the night, then afterwards, Harry, Al, Doug and in the back of a 3 tonner with a quarter moon, palm trees, you on guitar playing and us singing, “Come Rain…Come Shine…”
Birth of the 2 Agra Concert Party
19 June ‘43
Part two orders:
It has been decided to form a Concert Party. Anyone who has the ability to entertain will parade tomorrow at 1000 hrs, MAP REFERENCE 345-675.
This turned out to be a deserted field and a tree.
At ten o’clock trucks with the ‘Artistes’ appeared, the ‘Judges’ were Captain Graham Leahmann, L/Bdr Ken Carter↓ and a Regimental Padre who shall remain anonymous.
≡ Now Producer of ‘Crossroads’.
A man would step forward, click his heels, and say ‘Hi will now sing ‘Honley a Rose’’, burst into song, finish and salute. It must have puzzled, nay, baffled the Arabs; for what possible reason was that English Infidel doing a vigorous soft shoe shuffle in the middle of a field, gradually disappearing in a cloud of dust, finally coming to attention and saluting two men standing under a tree.
I’d seen many army auditions, I recall one at Hailsham. A crowd of soldiers had turned up ‘To find the Stardom’. It’s a fact that an idiot doesn’t know he’s an idiot, he may think he’s a great singer or dancer. The auditioning officer said, “First one please.” A squat Scot with a terrible squint and a Glaswegian accent stepped forward. “Rifleman MacToley.”
“What do you do.”
“I’m a musician, sir.”
“What do you play?”
“The spunes, sir.”
“What?”
“Spunes, like you eat yer dinna wi’.”
“Ah, yes. Do you have any music?”
“I canna read music, surr, I’m naturally gifted.”
Producing two spoons he started, “Ah should lak tae pay my tribute tae the late George Gershwin, by whistlin’ Rhapsody in Blue.” It was appalling! It had nothing to do with Rhapsody in Blue, he frequently dropped the spoons, with a cry of ‘Whoops, sorry sir’ and would then start all over again.
The auditions continued with soldiers who thought the world could be entertained by the walking on hands, the doing of cartwheels, press ups, somersaults and the standing on the head.
One idiot’s act consisted solely of falling flat on his back. “Is that all?” said the officer. “Yes sir, it takes it out of you.”
“Well take it out of here,” was the reply, but from the Auditions at map reference 345 675, in N. Africa came the best British Soldier Show of the war.
Captain Graham Leahmann
21st June 1943
It was a great day for Al Fildes. He won 195 francs on Nasrullah in the Derby. He felt good, and decided to buy the lads drinks. It cost him 200 francs.
22 June 1943
Ziama was a bay on the coast of North Africa. It was as unspoilt as at the beginning of time, so, the Army decided to fuck it up, and build a NAAFI and Rest Camp there. The beach was copper coloured, sunlight reflecting from the bottom gave the water a shimmering Caesar’s royal purple colour. Behind us were scrub covered hills, with Acacia trees where occasional troops of Barbary Apes could be seen, their little black faces peering down on their less fortunate brethren.
Water colour of beach and sea Ziamba, by Gunner Syd Carter
We had enjoyed a day of peace, sunshine and NAAFI. In the evening, without any warning — comes a cloud of red dust — travelling at 100 mph — it tries to blow the camp into the Med — but we find safety inside the lorries. We watch as tents are wrenched from the ground and blown out to sea, revealing the startled occupants still in