Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [39]
“For God’s sake Milligan’ said Budden ‘You’ve only just been promoted.”
“I’m sorry sir, a wolf ran across the road.”
Using the massed cigarette lighters of the occupants, I backed out of the danger.
“I see where I went wrong…I should have stayed a civilian.” With every one praying for Divine guidance we arrived at the foot of Frenchmans Hill. “ If this is his foot, he must be a big feller, ha ha ha ha ha ha,” I said. We loaded ourselves with rations and batteries and set off along a goat track. The rain had temporarily stopped, inviting Verey lights into the sky. We were all soaked to the skin and bloody miserable. “Someone up there doesn’t like us very much,” said Ernie Hart. “Someone down here doesn’t like him very much,” I said, “I think it’s on the cards that God is a German.”
“Who ever he is, he’s got a weak bladder.”
We stumbled and fell, sometimes we fell and stumbled which is exactly the same only the other way around (Eh?) We reached a swollen stream and crossed it on a narrow plank of wood, with Hart halfway across the plank started to wobble, but by using his superb balancing skill, he fell in.
We toiled up the final slopes and eventually arrived at the O.P. trench covered with a tent and camouflaged with brush. We hammered on the tent pole.
“Who’s there?” said a voice.
“A band of Highly Trained Nymphomaniacs.”
The tent flap flew open and an unshaven face that appeared to belong to Bombardier Deans appeared. “Ah. You must be the one that goes round frightening little children,” I said.
We all squeezed into the tiny dugout. Hart, saturated, sat quietly steaming.
“I see you brought your own water with you,” said Lt Goldsmith. He opened his new bottle of whisky, took a swig, passed the bottle saying “Anyone for gingivitis?” We sat cramped, passing the bottle to and fro, I was on the fro side and didn’t see much of it. We passed what little news we had, smoked our cigarettes, waited for the rain to stop but no, out into it we slithered, retracing our steps to the Bren, by midnight we were back at the G.P. billet with a very weary Lt Goldsmith and a pissed Bdr Deans who were welcomed back by a snarling ‘Havelock Ellis’.
“Who does he belong to,” said Deans, “Himmler?”
APRIL
Mussolini-Gram
April 1st
The scene:
Kitchen the Fascist H.Q. Via Veneto. Count Ciano, Claretta Petacci, they are eating Spaghetti. Mussolini has just been told of the Italian surrender.
MUSSOLINI:
Mamma mia! Dat-a Montgomery, he knocka-da shit outta my lov-ar-lee Ara-mee!
CLARETTA PETACCI:
Neveva-minda, coma to bed, Jig-a-Jig.
MUSSOLINI:
It’s dat-a-swine, Church-a-hill, it is alia his-a faulta! Wata-can I-a-do!
PETACCI:
Come-a-to-bed. Jig-a-Jig.
COUNT CIANO:
Hava some more-a Spaghetti!
MUSSOLINI:
Calla-da-Pope—musta pray for-a-my Army to knocka da shit outa da British. PETACCI: Coma-to-bed Jig-a-Jig.
Air Raid Sirens
MUSSOLINI:
Quick-under da table.
PETACCI:
Itsa-aeasier-in-a-da-bed.
The scene:
A bomb explodes 12 miles away
MUSSOLINI:
Quick—give-a-me another Medal.
COUNT CIANO:
(crying) I want my Mamma.
MUSSOLINI:
Oh-shita!
PETACCI:
Jig-a-Jig!
The war was now an accepted daily routine, we had “periods of utter boredom then bursts of sudden excitement,” as Colonel Grant had told us, from then on we went about saying “Hello Dick, are you in an ‘utter boredom period’?”
“Oh no. I’m right in the middle of ‘Sudden burst of excitement’.”
My own deranged friend Edgington wakes me up at dawn, saying “I’ve just come off guard and I’m having a sudden burst of excitement.” Of course, when it came to those sudden bursts Colonel Grant got his share. On April first he was bitten by an Arab Dog, and rushed back to England barking and foaming at the mouth, some say he’s still in Battersea Dogs Home.
Colonel Grant:
Let me out of this pen! I tell you I’m a Colonel in the