Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [20]
British troops cutting German Laundry Lines
“They must have seen you,” says Fuller, a master of the obvious. Two more burst behind the crest, half a dozen more they, were searching for us. Then all quiet.
“Look,” I said, “this is bloody dangerous work. I’m going to put in for a rise.”
“I (I?) must get this bloody line finished,” says Fuller, “O.P. is straight up to the right of that tree.”
I payed out the line as he went forward. Nearer the crest he started to crouch and finally disappeared into the scrub. Now and then I’d feel a tug on the line as he freed it from some obstruction. I was holding the line when two Bren carriers of infantry passed down the hill to my right.
“Fishing, mate?” said a laconic voice. I made a time honoured gesture. Fuller re-emerged.
“Everything OK?” I asked .
“Yes.”
“Who’s up there?”
“Lt Goldsmith and Bdr Edwards.”
“Let’s get back,” I said. I now produced my new pipe, which I had bought to try and avoid smoking those bloody awful Vs. Having a pipe clenched in your teeth seemed to make you feel calm, thoughtful, unflappable.
Major Chater Jack:
I see Milligan is smoking a pipe.
Sgt Dawson:
Yes sir.
Major Chater Jack:
He looks very good smoking it.
Sgt Dawson:
Yes sir.
Major Chater Jack:
He looks manly.
Sgt Dawson:
Very manly.
Major Chater Jack:
Unflappable?
Sgt Dawson:
Definitely unflappable!
Major Chater Jack:
What’s he like as a soldier?
Sgt Dawson:
Bloody awful sir.
Rather than go back to the gun position we hung around at the foot of the O.P. hill yarning and smoking. Finally, towards evening, we started back.
“It was all a bit of an anti-climax,” Fuller said.
“Yes. I wonder which bit it was?”
I felt my chin. I had a three day growth. A dust storm was starting to blow up, I couldn’t decide whether it was German or one of ours. In the middle of it, a staff car emerged from across the fields.
Me: Look Frank! In the middle of it, a staff car has emerged from across the fields!
It was General Alexander with some staff officers. They got out, pointed in all directions, leaped back in the car and shot off at speed. The rich have all the fun! Dusty and tired we arrived at the gun position. Lt Joe Mostyn had just returned from a meal with an Arab sheik. “I had to eat three bloody sheeps’ eyes!”
“Really?” I said, “Bend down and you should be able to see out the back.”
Poor old Joe! He was not particularly good at Gunnery! On his first day at an O.P. he scored ten direct hits,—on a field. I pointed out there were no Germans in it.
“Ah,” he said, “they may fall in the holes.”
“Of course,” I said, “German Division surrenders with twisted ankle.”
“You’ve got to miss sometimes,” he said, “it’s good for business! What a war! There I was just doing well in the Schmutter Trade, and this Schmoch Hitler comes along so, I have to switch from outsize blouses to battle-dresses. I’m just starting to do well again when I get called up. Me a soldier? This major says ‘Mostyn, with your head for figures you’re ideal for the R.A’. So here I am wasting shells, ten shells, that’s see…nearly £400 quid, wasted, for that I could have made three hundred and ten battle-dresses.”
The I.G. at war
I’m Captain Blenkinsop, I.G.,
Sent by mistake across the sea,
To land upon this dismal shore
And find myself involved in war.
Sad is the tale I have to tell—
For a man like me this war is hell.
For how can anyone expect,
My fall of shot to prove correct,
When everything I tell the guns,
Is interfered with by the Huns?
When bombs are dropping down in rows
How can I make my traverse close.
Or take a bearing on the Pole
While cowering in a muddy hole?
It’s plain that the opposing forces,
Have