Monty, his part in my victory - Spike Milligan [28]
“Well…what’s the time?”
“I’m waiting for the moon.”
“You can tell the time by the moon?”
“It’s exactly 0400.”
“What is?”
“The moon.”
We slept fitfully on, at intervals we heard trucks going the other way. While we slept the Anglo American 5th Army were locked in a grim slaughtering battle. It was touch and go, with Kesselring throwing everything in to hurl the Allies back into the sea. If he did, it would be a devastating blow, especially for Churchill who conceived the idea of attacking the soft underbelly of Europe, though troops in the beach head would be saying, “soft underbelly, my arse!”
Churchill during a lull in the fighting deciding which US General to fire next
Sept. 11/12 1943
My Diary:
Caught up with main convoy at 0500 hrs just outside Ain Milia. Breakfast amid olive groves. Bought delicious green grapes in village. Convoy is waiting for a lost truck to turn up, by midday no sign of it, so we all push on again.
I spent the whole day asleep in back of truck only waking for food. By nightfall we had arrived at Ghardimaou, it was so dark I’ve no idea what the place looked like. I went on sleeping as fast as I could so we could get there quicker, I slept all night and only awoke when Gunner Edgington said ‘Ere Rip Van Watsit’ and gave me a cup of tea.
We walked to the Wireless Truck for the 7 o’clock news about Salerno. The announcer was saying, “Three attacks by Panzers were thrown back in the night.” It all sounds dodgy.
A huge formation of Baltimore Bombers passed overhead in the direction of Sicily. “That ought to cheer the lads up,” said Ben Wenham. “If they’re American, they’re as likely to drop the bloody lot on us,” said White.
Drivers are warming up their engines, they are dispersed among the olive trees, affording ideal camouflage for the vehicles which are painted black and green.
“Prepare to move!” The order rings through the camp. Diesel fumes turn the air blue, gradually the convoy pulls onto the ‘road’, the leader raises his hand, drops it, and we pull away. This was a slow convoy pulling heavy guns, the speed averaged thirty miles an hour. We had crossed the border into Tunisia and were passing familiar battle grounds where the skeletons of German tanks lay rusting. In the fields, amid grazing sheep, Arabs are re-working the land, ploughing round the shell holes. We passed acres of cork trees and groves of eucalyptus trees, it all seemed so peaceful, yet here we were, obviously headed for Salerno and bloody hell! We passed Sidi Nsir where the gallant 155 Battery had made their stand against General Lang’s 10th Panzer and Mark VI Tanks of 501 Heavy Tank Bn17, the guns were fought to the muzzle, only 9 Gunners survived but they put paid to the German advance.
Churchill listening as troops of the 1st Army address him
Sept. 13th 1943
We have travelled 500 miles in three days, or is it three miles in 500 days? Whatever, it was bloody rough and dusty, the ending jolting and bumping, numbing mind and body alike. Everywhere now are massive American Camps and Dumps, mile after mile of shells and supplies, tanks and vehicles. Batallions of marching infantry are everywhere; our destination was a mile outside Bizerta, near the great salt Lac de Bizerta, a vast camp called Houston and Texas. There seemed to be absolutely no organization so we presumed it was ours. The country was a mixture of the flat and the hilly, covered in brown tussock grass all flattened by thousands of vehicle tracks. We put our bivvies anywhere we liked, and waited.
“Wot’s on then?” inquires Chalky White.
“I’m doing military waiting.”
“Military waiting?”
“Yes, definitely military waiting.”
“Wot for?”
“That is something I don’t know, all I know is that I am waiting in military, and by your appearance, you are also military waiting.”
“You know, I’ve been walking around here for an hour, and I didn’t know what I was doing and all the time I was military waiting.”
Edgington, Devine and Tume are approaching with military