Monty, his part in my victory - Spike Milligan [29]
“Got any fags?” was the query, I distributed a packet of Passing Clouds my parents had sent me. I had up till now refrained from using them, as they had been packed in a parcel with bars of soap. Smoking them was exactly like chewing a bar of Lifebuoy, however they smoked them in complete agony, but such is the power of nicotine that Edgington bought the whole packet. Thereafter it was easy to tell when he ‘d been smoking one as he went grey and his spit turned to bubbles. We found a huge NAAFI in a marquee. There was a brand new upright piano, so we gave the lads a session of Jazz, until a spoon player appeared.
Sept. 14
Thank God! Pay Parade! What’s this? It’s in lire? So it is Italy for sure. We are given a small booklet. Customs and language of Italy.
“It says the Italians are very jealous of their women, and in the South they are usually chaperoned…”
“Wot’s chaperoned.”
“Means they orlways got someone wiv ‘em.”
“OH? What ‘appens if you want to ‘ave it away wiv her.”
“Well the chaperon ‘as to be done as well, otherwise they won’t let you do it at all.”
The daily routine;
Morning Parade with small Arms.
Maintenance and training.
Lunch.
Afternoon off.
The afternoon was spent doing laundry and writing letters in the NAAFI. Usually a lorry went down to a great surf beach at Gap Blanc just outside Bizerta, which was crowded with American troops. The sea here has huge breakers and great fun was had by diving into them, or coming in surf-board style.
From the 15th to the 20th we passed the time as best we could, and it wasn’t good enough. Apparently we were waiting for landing craft from Salerno; they had stayed longer than anticipated, as at one stage it seemed as though they have to evacuate the beach-head. We played football that went on for hours with sides of up to 50, scores like 63 goals to 98 were not uncommon. Our MO described the camp as the only lunatic asylum run by the inmates. I wrote home to my brother:
Dear Hairy,
Don’t ask me what is happening. It’s whispered that the war is over and no-one has the nerve to tell us. The American troops don’t know what we are, they drive past in Cadillacs, throw us sweets and ask where our sisters are. We play 500 a side football, it’s the only way one can get a game. The NAAFI queue is nine miles long, the men at the front are from World War One. Our major wants us to invade Italy so he can see Vesuvius ‘before it goes out’. He is a brilliant soldier and can almost dress himself. It’s a very trying time. Try it.
Love to Mum and Dad.
Ever loving Brother known as 954024
Sept. 21st 1943
This evening we collected the Camp rubbish and lit a bonfire. We gathered around and sang (to he tune of Alouette)
Balls to Jumbo
Balls to Jumbo Jenkins
Among those singing loudest is Captain Bentley, the Regimental Chaplain.
We sat and watched as the embers finally died, then we retired to our tents. I lit my little oil lamp and read ‘The Persians’ by Aeschylus. I’d never been a scholar as such but had a voracious appetite for knowledge and wished to know what the Golden Age of Greece was like, and to learn about its inheritors the Romans; so my father sent me many books on the subject, though my choice baffled him, for he was reading Wild Bill Hickock, Buffalo Bill and Dead Wood Dick, and I think he still is.
22 September 1943
Battery Diary:
First Party embarked (Part of HQ 17 and 19 Batteries).
In terms of the physical it started when a crowd of our officers started to run at high speed in all directions crashing into one another and finally disappearing into the HQ Tent, shoe sides bulged outwards with the combustion of Commissioned Ranks within. Suddenly the tent flaps burst open, and out thunder the officers. Lt Pride says, “We’re off lads, as usual it should all have been done yesterday,” a great scramble ensues, and by ten o’clock we are on the way to whatever it was we were on the way to, which turns out to be Bizerta Docks. Some Hundred LST are lined up, jaws open, waiting to devour us. Through the stifling day, in that peculiar