Mussolini_ His Part in My Downfall - Spike Milligan [65]
“Responsible for what, Sarge?”
“Never mind what, you’re responsible, understand?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” said Deans crisply. “Partyyyy shunnnn.”
We all did nothing.
“From the right Number.”
“6-12- 1091—2 3/3,” we said.
“Partyyy Quickkkkkk March!”
We all hibbled-hobbled out of step from the room, before the startled gaze of the shit.
A large warehouse with beds.
“Aye,” said a dopey room orderly. “We not bin open long, you first lot we ‘ad today.”
“What time’s dinner?” we chorused.
“Ooo, seven o’clock till eight.”
We tried the dinner from seven to eight. It was bloody terrible.
“You going out after this?” said Jam-Jar.
“I don’t think so,” said Fildes. “I’m shagged out walking.”
“I’m shagged out eating that bloody food,” said Griffin. “I think I’ll have an early night.”
“Yes,” I said, “why don’t you all try your silk stockings on?”
The dopey room orderly is putting black-outs up at the windows. One miserable yellow bulb cast a depressing gloom around the room. We are all in bed when the air-raid warning goes. We all sit up.
“What are we supposed to do?” said Wenham.
“We’re supposed to be frightened,” I said, “quick, put your silk stockings on!”
There was no sound of planes, and I fell asleep not knowing or caring. Tomorrow I must buy some silk stockings.
SUNRISE, NOVEMBER 28, 1943
MY DIARY:
DID THE SAME TODAY AS WE DID YESTERDAY. VERY COLD, BUT SUNNY. MUST BUY SOME SILK STOCKINGS.
FILDES’ DIARY:
Leave today at two o’clock.
We all lay in bed long after breakfast, anything to avoid it. We drive back into Naples, and after half an hour in the Army and Navy Club, we are off. Driver Kit Masters says we should be back by about “I don’t know when.”
“Forty-eight hours! we spent fourteen of them at the Transit Camp,” estimates Griffin, “and how long did we spend in Naples? Four bloody hours, it’s all balls, we had absolutely no time for perversions.”
“We’ll do some on the way back,” I said kindly.
On that cold bumpy muddy ride back there were no perversions other than a ‘Jimmy Riddle’ over the tailboard. We arrived at Teano, there’s a God Almighty hold up, long lines of trucks are ahead of us, the drivers outside banging their hands on their sides to keep warm.
FILDES’ DIARY:
We got out and picked oranges and looked at the appalling damage to the town. An old man even excreted in the street with no comment.
I don’t understand! ORANGES in midwinter? What had Fildes been drinking? and, crapping in the street with ‘no comment’? I mean, what was the old man supposed to say? Ole!
We are off again, soon the sound of the guns comes wafting. It’s pitch-black outside, it’s pitch-black inside, there’s no choice.
“So that was Naples,” said Fildes, “I can’t believe it, all this switching from civilisation to war, it’s hard to get it together.”
The luminous ends of the cigarette are dancing in the dark. One flies out the back as its usefulness ends. We arrive back ‘home’ at eight o’clock, shagged. We make for the cook-house; after a mess-tin of steaming M & V,* we turn in; it’s very cold tonight, I sleep in my battle dress. Outside the rata-clack-squeak of tanks going north. *M & V. Meat and Veg.
NOVEMBER 29, 1943
“Wakey, wakey.”
My watch says 0500 hours.
“Wakey, wakey my arsey, why don’t you fuckey wuckey offey?” is my clear language reply.
Oh dear, it’s no use, it’s Sergeant King, he says, “You are goin’ hup the Ho-Pee—it’s only for twenty-four hours.”
“That’s long enough to get killed,” I said.
In Sherwood’s bren carrier I travel a fifteen-mile road to Sipichiano. At times we are in full view of Jerry. He doesn’t shell us. But you have that feeling that any minute he will and that’s like being shelled.
“How come they picked you?” said Sherwood.
“I wasn’t quick enough.”
Whee-crashhh!
“He’s spotted us!” shouts Sherwood.
He drives off the road behind a deserted farmhouse. Whee Crash. Whee Crash. 88s! Is he going to drop one behind the farm? No, he just goes along the road. Five more rounds and then stop. Is he waiting for us to come out? Only one way to find out. Sherwood