Monty, his part in my victory - Spike Milligan [2]
Chater Jack consults his map.
“Milligan,” he says, “we’re going into Gap Bon to establish a suitable O.P.”
“What’s wrong with Lewisham?” I said.
“I’ve just written home saying — stop worrying, fighting has stopped — now I got to send a telegram saying — Ignore last Letter,” says Driver Shepherd.
“If you want to drive ‘em really mad,” I said, “send a telegram saying — Ignore last Telegram.”
Driver Shepherd has a large boil on his neck covered by a circular piaster. While he slept some artist had drawn a bell push with the word ‘press’ on it. And they did.
My Diary:
Motoring inland towards Djbel Ben Oueled. Stop to ask jerry prisoners the way. Chater Jack takes shortest route twix himself and whiskey-flask and flags down Mercedes carrying German officers, point blank asks them “Haben ze Schnapps.” He gets 3 bottles!
A message from RHQ. “Return to base.”
“What!?” said Chater. Snatching the mike, he shouts “We’ve only just bloody arrived, who’s buggering us around? We’ve been up since 0600 will you make up your bloody minds, what is the situation…”
All was wasted as he forgot to press the transmit button.
“They’re all bloody deaf back there. Drive on, Shepherd.” The road is a mixture of Allied and Axis transport, groups of Germans talk with British soldiers. It’s all very strange. “Have you any of that fruit cake left, Milligan?”
“No, sir.”
“Just asking, Milligan. It’s a hot evening, I don’t see why we shouldn’t indulge in a dip, got your costume?”
“No sir, I’ve learned to swim without it.”
Adjacent to a POW Camp where a brass band played Tyrolean Waltzes, we enjoyed a delicious swim in the Med. starkers, save Chater who wore his knee length ‘drawers cellular’, something to do with an officer being ‘properly dressed’. The sky turned the colour of a cut throat that bled onto the sea.
British soldier in a sexual trauma brought on by Dorothy Lamour in ‘The Road to Morocco’
I swam out about 300 yards then, to my horror, I saw a mine floating towards me. I yelled a warning — 1 part salt water — 2 parts swearing.
Chater Jack shouts “Quick! explode it with small arms, it’s ruining the holiday.” We blazed away, and soon a hundred of His Majesty’s soldiers were showing what bloody awful shots they were. Finally, with a roar, the monster exploded.
“I hit it!” said Major Chater Jack, “It was me! If anyone contradicts me he’ll be on a charge. Now let’s get back, it’s time for the cooks to poison us.”
On the return journey we pass a village. “Cretinville!”
“STOP!!!” said Major Chater Jack chuckling; we enter ‘Le Hotel Brilliante’, a mud hut held together by a door knob and 2 oil lamps. At several tables sat several Arabs drinking coffees. On the wall were posters of Bourguiba.↓ Who?
≡ The current President of Tunisia, that’s who.
The Major ordered four Vin Blancs; we repeated the order 3 times, just missing me.
“Let’s be getting along, gentlemen,” said the Major.
We followed him into the dark. The truck moved off, and I got the BBC news. “Axis forces are bottled up in Gap Bon.” If the BBC but knew, we were all bottled up. We sang:
We were drunk last night,
We were drunk the night before,
We’re going to get drunk tonight
If we never get drunk any more.
The more we drink
The merrier we shall be
For we are the boys of the Royal Artillery.
Now everybody knew. I picked up a faint German broadcast of a very corny band playing old Jack Hylton arrangements. The singer, could I ever forget his name! — Ernst Strainz! His vibrato sounded like he was driving a tractor over ploughed fields with weights tied to his scrotum.
Back at midnight. The Battery were all wide awake, there were fires, and sing-songs.
“Hello, hello, hello,” said the watchful Edgington, bathing in a tin of hot water.
“Havin’ a bath?” I said.
“I found the instruction book.”
Mail! There were letters from parents, a dozen hot knicker girls Arggg!!! and one from Louise!!! Arggggggg!!!! Arrrrrrg. Heel. Heel! My parents were well, father was still wearing a wig, brother Desmond was still skinny and being hit by everyone. My father was