Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [27]
In burst Dawson. “Come on,” he said. “There’s fucking Germans on the other side of this hill and nothing in between them and us! I want you, you, you, you and you,” his finger stabbed in the directions of the victims. “Small Arms, outside now,” and he was gone. Led by Major Chater Jack, the party climbed Grandstand Hill. We at the G.P. got straffed by a lone ME 109. “The bastard,” I said. “Get his number, we’ll report him for wilful damage.”
‘Geordie’ Liddel replied on the Bren gun, but was miles out.
“You’re a good shit-house orderly but a lousy shot,” we shouted. How Liddel complained about our references to his humble job. “It may be shit to you, but to me it’s bread and butter,” he said. As darkness fell, the O.P. reported a German patrol had ‘winkled out’ a Gunner O.P. to their right. Chater ‘advised’ our O.P. to withdraw half a mile and go back at first light. A listening post-cum-O.P. was placed forward of our guns. We had a report that ‘Tiger’ tanks were in our area, they weighed 90 tons. How in Christ could we stop them! “Simple,” I said. I held up my hand. “Tiger Tanks—Stop.”
The BBC news that night ‘…German forces are concentrating along the line of the Medjez-el-Bab down the Medjerda Valley and towards Bou Arada…’
About ten that night Jordy Dawson and Co. returned, red-eyed with whisky (where did he get the stuff?). “Milligan,” he woozed, “you can have the day off tomorrow.”
“Oh lovely, I’ll drive down to Herne Bay.”
There was talk of an early stand too, so I got my head down. 0300 hours, we were awakened. “Stand to.” I stood to.
The sound of small arms echoed around the hills. The sky was lit up by repeated flares. Towards dawn it all went quiet. The first skinny wog cockerels were crowing across the land. Lucky sods, they’d had a night’s sleep. I was too tired for breakfast so went back to bed. I didn’t awaken till 11 o’clock.
Gunner Milligan defending Tunis from a holt in the ground—note plenty of space in case of swollen ankles
I was desperate for a bath. The river Siliana was about a thousand yards to the rear of our position, so I took soap, towel, Tommy gun and went. It was a slow flowing river, about sixty feet across, the water was clean. I walked along the bank until I came to an access spot. I stripped, and dived in. The water was just the right side of cold to make it refreshing. Standing waist deep in the water, alone, I felt like some bird freed from a cage. I swam across then back again. “FREE! FREE! FREE!” I shouted. I finally got out, and dressed. As I climbed up the bank, a herd of goats came over the top and swarmed each side, and smothered me in dust. I walked back very slowly, smoking, and thinking that this was all bloody mad.
“What’s going on,” I asked Birch who was oiling his rifle.
“Everything,” he said, without looking up. “Where you been?”
“I had a bath in the river.”
“What river?”
“It’s about a quarter of a mile that way, you can’t miss it, you keep going and when you get wet, that’s it.”
I was off duty and therefore not eligible to be killed. That afternoon, with the battle all around, some silly sod says “Test your wireless sets.”
Syd Price and I set our trucks twenty yards apart.
Syd:
Hello are you hearing me ? Over.
Me:
Yes, hearing you strength ten—but I can hear you without the set on. This is all bloody silly. Over.
Him:
Have you got any pipe tobacco left? Over.
Me:
…………
Him:
Hello Spike, can you hear me? Over.
Me:
Hello Sid, what is it?
Him:
Listen, Milligan you can bloody hear me, I’m coming over.
Before he arrived I managed to stuff all my tobacco into the pipe and smoke a good three pounds before he arrived to find me unconscious over my set, dying of nicotine poisoning. Now I’m not mean, but Price had a pipe, the bowl of which he hid in during air raids. A Syd Price tobacco refill meant three cargo ships.
By eight