Mussolini_ His Part in My Downfall - Spike Milligan [61]
“The line’s moved forward,” says a tired-looking Corporal in answer to my question.
“You never see many of ‘em smiling or laughing,” reflected Fildes.
“They’ve got bugger all to laugh at. I mean what do you say, “Cheer up, Charlie, we’re being mortared’, or ‘Cor, talk about a laugh, we were shelled all night and ten of us was killed.””
Boooommmmm. Another explosion in Gaeta.
“There won’t be much of the bloody place left,” said Fildes.
Boooommmm!
“Christ, they’ve got it in for that place.”
“Wish we had some binoculars,” said Fildes.
“Can’t you hear without them?”
Oh what a lovely sight! Spitfires with American markings, so there was something of ours that they were using, usually it was us borrowing from them; they fly in threes, at about 10,000 feet, then suddenly go into a dive towards the foothills across the Garigliano; soon they are shrouded in flack. We hear the Spits’ cannons going, then they shoot straight up from the dive, alternately turning left and right from their target, then coming in for a second run. They repeat this three times then turn away and race back for our line, climbing as they do. We just sit and watch it as though we were at the Palladium, “Encoreeeee, bravoooooo.”
Fildes starts back for the truck. “Come on, Milligan, we don’t want to get stuck in the dark.”
While we are up here on this hill, there had been excitement in the valley. The officers’ mess had caught fire! We couldn’t stop laughing. Officers off duty were in bed when the conflagration started. They were seen in their pyjamas hurling buckets of water (filled by their batmen, of course), and Major ‘Looney’ Jenkins was seen to rush in and from the smoke and flame hurl his possessions to safety, where Gunner Pills (who hated him) was seen to throw them all back in again. What remained of Jenkins’ kit was a sorry incinerated mess, his appearance on parade next morning was a joy to behold; in a charred hat, smoke-blackened battle dress, and his right arm in a sling from burns, he had the gall to enter in Part 2 Orders ‘Injured in Action’. I remember I penned an ‘Ode’ to the occasion in the style of McGonagall, I didn’t preserve it but it went something like this:
Ohhhh ‘Twas in the month of November
In Nineteen Forty Three
That the officers’ mess caught fire,
Oh dearie dearie me.
And into that terrible fire
Major Jenkins did rush in
To save his precious possessions,
His wig, his teeth, his gin.
But as he threw his treasures out
Gunner Pills committed a sin,
For as fast as the Major threw them out
He threw them all back in.
On parade next morning,
Our names on the roll to check,
Major Evan Jenkins appeared
A charred and tattered wreck.
If only he had stayed inside
And been burnt to a cinder,
He’d have given us all a laugh
Much bigger than Tommy Trinder.
Whistling merrily, we pack all our gear and prepare the descent. The ground was like grease, Fildes drives down at one mile an hour, engaging four-wheel drive. I have to walk ahead and scout out the least dangerous bits, gradually the gradient became more acute. The truck starts to slide down with a gathering momentum. All I could think of saying was “Goodbye, Alf, I’ll tell the missus.” Alf doesn’t want to die. He remembers an old bus-driver’s trick. He puts the truck into reverse, and the counteraction of the wheels slows the vehicle up and it gradually comes to a halt. He looks out the cab and grins.
“Cor bloody hell, I want more money for this job.”
“That was brilliant! Brilliant, do you hear me, Fildes! I won’t let this go unnoticed…you see, by tomorrow morning you’ll be on the honours list and an extra egg for breakfast, a present from a grateful nation, god bless you, young Alf, you and your see-through underwear. England isn’t finished yet…it’ll be finished tomorrow.”
Together we gradually slither down the hill, and with perfect timing arrive back as Bombardier Deans is making coffee.
“It’s the men from the hills,” announces Nash.
“Yes, we bring good tidings, Jerry is blowing