Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [38]
Hitlergram No. 3369
The scene:
Midnight at Berchesgarten. In bed are A. Hitler, Eva Braun and her mother. The light goes on.
HITLER:
Vy is zat man saying mine name?
EVA:
Your fame is spreading darlink, zat man was in Africa !
HITLER:
Tell zat old boiler your mudder dat!
HITLER’S MOTHER-IN-LAW:
I heard you, you schwine! Zo zey know your name in Aftica, Russia, England, but you still have not given it to mein dear little Eva. (bursts into tears.)
HITLER:
Stop zat crying, or I promote you to Father-in-Law.
Monkey 2 truck bumped and bounced away. Harry in the back, hat on sideways, posed eyes crossed, shouting—
“I am Napoleon, I tell you I AM.”
“You know Milligan,” said Lt Budden, “One of these days someone’s going to believe him.”
“I believe him sir.”
From the back room came the most terrifying tearing of wood, falling of masonry and the most God-awful crash, followed by swearing and twanging. The piano had fallen thru’ the floor into the Batman’s room, just missing Gunner Pill who was polishing his boots when the instrument arrived at his side.
We rushed in to see him covered in dust, a gaping hole in the ceiling—the ruins of a French Colonial Piano on the floor.
“Cor, bloody hell,” said the astonished Pill.
“You never told me you were musical,” I said. Under the circumstances his reply was remarkably controlled, “Just missed my fuckin’ ‘ead!”
It’s not often we had been detailed to:—
“Clean up that mess of French Colonial Piano.”
The area abounded with hot springs. To utilise this resource we dug a huge hole, dropped a canvas gun sheet in and diverted the waters thereto. One day, I observed a Gunner bathing in it when it rained, at which he rushed from the water to take shelter. Early one sunny morning, some fifty yards from the billet, skulking in the long grass was a canine-like creature, “Are there any wolves in Tunisia sir?” I asked Budden.
“There are no wolves in Tunisia Milligan.” said Lt Budden looking at me very strangely. Through binoculars I saw it was a dog, a cross between an Alsatian and a Something Hairy. He was very thin, but then by God so was I. Every night I put some bully beef on a plate and left it out for him, and every night he would eat it, save for the nights I went out and ate it myself, I got hungry too. After a few days the dog had enough confidence to let us all touch him. He was nervous about coming into the house so I knocked up a kennel for him. I made it so nice, Gunner Tume asked if he could sleep in it and the dog sleep in his room. We named him Havelock Ellis, don’t ask me why.
Lt Budden enters from his room, his face almost obscured with shaving soap.
“Is today the 26th or 27th,” he said.
“It’s the 25th sir, you are at this moment shaving, your name is Lt Cecil Budden and—I know there are no wolves in Tunisia.” He peered at me. He had cut himself in several places, “Am I bleeding,” he said, “Yes sir,” I said “you are bleeding awful.” He walked vaguely round the room pouring blood and humming a Bach air, then exited. Between snatches of Bach he was speaking to Havelock, “There, did darling like that biscuit?” This was followed by growling, “Milligan, this dog is still half wild.”
“Well only stroke the other half,” I said, “In any case your Bach is worse than his bite.”
29 March
Night. Loaded with supplies, I drove the Bren Carrier in torrential rain towards our O.P. on Frenchman’s Hill. Next to me, a sodden cigarette in his mouth sat Lt Budden. “I’m not looking forward to relieving Tony.” he said. I did not like driving at night because I suffered with night blindness. I kept walking into things, falling down holes and treading on sleeping comrades.