Mussolini_ His Part in My Downfall - Spike Milligan [83]
“Be careful how you point, these will give a flash ten foot long.”
“Don’t worry, that bastard Jenkins will be in the front row, we’ll point ‘em at him, ha ha ha,” said Jam-Jar.
“A ten-foot-long flash could make some old lady very happy,” said Gunner White.
Jam-Jar Griffin is organising the traditional Army seating. “Brass hats in front, rabble at the back.”
He had the Battery office working overtime typing and duplicating programmes. The pre-Christian spirit was starting to pervade, and everyone seemed full of bonhomie or alcohol. After lunch a truck is going to Capua and some of us hitch a ride. Driver Sears parks his truck off the road, immobilises it; that is, he leaves it without a driver. Capua! of course. Hannibal and his hairies had knocked the shit out of the Romans just outside. He’d gone but the Romans were now in cafes, selling coffee in cups that looked suspiciously like thimbles with handles on.
“Ort ter bring our own bleedin’ mugs,” said Sears. “Thirty lire a bleedin’ cup?”
“Etta costa thirty lire because eet ees reala Braziliana Coffee,” said the proprietor.
He should have added, “Stolen from our beloved Allies.” However, it was worth it to see the pretty girls seated around. Those eyes! Iti girls must have the biggest in the world! To get a smile from one changed the shape of the day; it certainly changed the shape of your body. Helppppp!
The evening ended with a Gunners’ beauty contest. The first entrant was Bombardier Milligan wearing a towel and a bra made from two army socks. Deans announced me as ‘Miss Brockley of 1904, winner of last year’s never-been-shagged contest’. I am followed by Gunner Devine draped in a blanket, he is ‘Miss Various Veins of Liverpool, and other areas’. Devine turns to reveal a bare bum. “Miss Various Veins is wearing the peek-a-boo skirt with a view of Oscar Wilde.” Close behind comes lovely Gunner White in a gas cape. “Miss Conduct of Battersea is wearing the plunging knee-line.” White opens the gas cape, he is naked save for an army sock tied round his willy; he wins. Remarks and shouts came in profusion from the spectators, it went on till lights out. As I lay in bed I wondered if we were really going round the bend.
DECEMBER 24, 1943
Christmas Eve Parade
The night before Christmas Eve, after tea, we had all, as was our custom, traipsed across to the Battery office (comfortably ensconced on the top floor of a farm building) to read Part 2 Orders.
“Oh no…” says Gunner White, “Oh no, no, no, no.” He backs away as though he has seen Dracula. We are ALL to parade on the morrow, to be inspected by GOC 10 Corps.
“Oooo’s ‘ee?” said Gunner Forrest.
“‘Eeee,” I explained, “will either be David Niven or someone else.”
“‘Oooo’s David Niven?”
“David Niven,” I further explained, “is someone else.”
Edgington is reading further from Part 2 Orders. “Ohhhh Christ, listen to this, not only an Inspection BUT, we will March Past him.”
“That is a total waste of energy, why doesn’t he march past us?”
“Perhaps his legs are in REME,” suggests Edgington, doing a Ritz Brothers face, and doing a ridiculous sideways walk. “Come, men,” he says, “to La Belle Ballet de bianco.” He leaps a clumsy jete, sending up a muddy spray.
The morning of Christmas Eve, we awoke to find the dawn blowing but sunny. “Corr, it’s parky—” Tired men coming off guard, they rest their rifles against the wall, yawn, and fall on their beds. The Guard Commander, Syd Price, enters, his pipe wafting morning smoke-signals; he hurls his webbing on to the floor.
“Down, you buggers…” a change of tone as he sees us all abed. “Come on, you lazy bloody lot, it’s Christmas Eve, Father Christmas is on his way with a box of bianco for all good little gunnerkins.”
A wave of rude remarks. He chuckles. “You are all rude, nasty little gunners, and I’m never going to play mothers and fathers with you again.”
Sensational news, “Eggs for breakfast.”
A mighty unshaven