Mussolini_ His Part in My Downfall - Spike Milligan [98]
She stood there like a dummy.
“Well—could you tell me who to see?”
“Well, there’s only Lieutenant Mondey.”
“Can I see only him?”
“Does he know you’re coming?”
“Not unless he’s an extra-sensory perceptionist.”
“I’ll tell him you’re here.”
She waddled off to a door directly behind her. Her bottom wobbled as though operated by an invisible hand. She reappeared blushing as though she had been interfered with. If this was the case her molester must be blind.
“Lt. Mondey will see you now.”
I walked into a room that had obviously once been a broom cupboard. The desk took up most of the room, the walls were barren save for a nail with a hat on. On the desk was the stub of a pencil, a telephone and a copy of the Union Jack. Behind it sat a minute, sallow-complexioned man; he was either a dwarf or sitting on a milking stool. If the latter was the case, the pained expression suggested the stool was inverted. He looked at me as though I had come from Mars.
“Yes, what is it?” he said, shifting his seat.
His demeanour gave me the same feeling Edith Cavell got on the dawn of her execution.
“I’m Lance-Bombardier Milligan, sir, 56th Heavy Regiment.”
He received this announcement as though it was an eviction notice.
“Oh yes,” he said.
“I’d like to get a broadcast for a Jazz Quartet.”
An eviction notice plus seizure of all assets. This was all new to him; by the silly look on his face, anything was new to him. He squirmed and said, “I see.” He didn’t really. “Are you professional musicians?”
I thought the answer ‘Yes’ a good one.
“Do you earn your living as a musician?”
“No, I earn it as a Lance-Bombardier.”
“I better make a note of the Band’s name,” he said. “It’s—er?—er?”
“It’s—er—D Battery Dance Band.”
“E Battery?”
“D sir.”
“What?”
“It’s D, sir.”
“D? D what?”
“D Battery—you were writing E.”
“Oh,” he scribbled out the E and wrote D. “There,” he said as though he’d climbed Everest. “Now!” He placed his pencil tidily on his deck. “Anything else?”
Anything else? What was he talking about?
“Yes, sir…when?”
“When what?”
“When can we broadcast?”
“Broadcast? Well…we don’t know what you sound like, do we? ha ha ha.”
“Well, how about an audition?”
“Audition?” It was like checkmate. “Ah yes—an audition—now when?”
“Any time.”
“Any time—when would that be?”
God! there was only one way he became an officer, he was baptised one.
“I think my boys could make it day after tomorrow—the afternoon.”
“Let me check my diary.” He opened a drawer which was empty, he pretended to write something, closed the drawer. “Well, that’s that,” he blinked.
I saluted, he didn’t. I don’t think he knew how to. I walked out past the ATS girl, who was preparing for the next groping session.
Outside I rubbed my hands with glee. (I always kept a tin handy.) Wait till the lads hear the news!
“Now what songs will I sing?” were Kidgell’s first reactions. “I’ll be a hit on radio—for a start they can’t see what a short-arse I am.”
“It took a bloody war to get us on the air,” Fildes says, “we owe it all to Hitler.”
“Gentlemen,” I said, “will you all stand for Adolf Hitler.”
JANUARY 4, 1944
MY DIARY:
NIGHT OF FOURTH. NEWS THAT WE ARE ABOUT TO MOVE ‘SOMEWHERE’ AT ‘SHORT NOTICE’. THIS HAS FLATTENED ANY HOPES OF THE BAND PLAYING ON THE AFN NETWORK IN NAPLES. BUGGER! BUGGER! BUGGER.!
It was a coldish night, so most of us were in bed, some with bottles of vino, some reading old newspapers, some writing those feverish letters home. I was reading letters from Bette, Beryl, Lily, Ivy Mae, Madge, and for some inexplicable reason, Jim. I would read all the best bits out to the most frustrated Gunners. White is sitting up in bed, with Happy New Year chalked on his tin hat.
Enter Bombardier Fuller. What’s he doing up? He is fully dressed, looking very alert, and bearing down on us. It looks bad. It is bad. He says, “Listen fer yer names.” He calls out, “Nash, Milligan, Deans,” he drones on for about ten more. My God, they’ve found us, we were going to war again—a new position. We are the advance party to dig gun-pits, Command Posts, cookhouse,