Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [41]
The scene:
A knock on the door in Nazi
HITLER:
Who is zat!
VOICE:
Martin Bormann, I have zer message for you.
HITLER:
Slide it under the door.
The scene:
Sound of Bormann grunting
BORMANN:
It won’t go under.
HITLER:
Vy not?
BORMANN:
It’s in mein head.
The scene:
Hitler goes into a fury, bites his sponge to pieces, stops when he notices Goebbels doing something which will surely drive him blind
HITLER:
Stop zat! Or I’ll never go to zer pictures wiz you again.
The scene:
A wafer thin head covered in blood comes straining under the door
MARTIN BORMANN:
I haff done it mein Führer!
“What can you do?” lamented Shit-house Orderly Liddel, “this bloody rain has flooded the Karzis, there’s Richards↓ floating everywhere.”
≡ Richards = Richard the Third = Turd. Cockney rhyming slang.
Gunner Liddell inspecting the flooded latrines
We all had our troubles. Liddel was a dedicated Latrine Orderly, his twenty-seaters were immaculate, the squatting pole sandpapered to a fine degree, not once was there complaints of splinters. It wasn’t the subject I’d choose for breakfast but there you are.
“So, we’re going to a party,” said Gnr Payne.
“Yes, it’s somewhere on Sidi Mahomed.”
“That’ll be easy to find in the bloody dark.”
“Don’t worry. A Wog with a white stick is leading us.”
“What’s for breakfast.”
“Powdered eggs.”
“Christ knows how chickens lay ‘em.” I eased into Tume’s chair as he dashed off for his breakfast.
“Are you on this thing tonight?” asked Gunner Payne.
“Yes I’m going with Major Chater Jack on this thing.”
“Did he ask for you?”
“No I asked for him on this thing.”
My Diary:
6th April on this thing. Howling gale, intermittent rain. Gnr Tume, Bdr Andrews from 54 Heavy RA left at dusk. ‘Chater’ in high spirits (Johnnie Walker), asks me how ‘Highland Laddie’ goes.
Me:
It goes Dum-de dum-dum-dum with intermittent rain.
Major Chater Jack:
Thank you, I can manage on my own now.
We moved off at dusk into the approaching darkness, the noise of the wind making conversation difficult. I switched on the set, the red contact and the working light came alive. I donned headphones, tuned into battery network, the interference was appalling, the voice of Shapiro at the Command Post barely audible, so I went on to morse-key. The night was pitch black, the mud a foot deep with the differential constantly coming in contact with rocks. I tuned in B.B.C. News, passed spare headphones into the cab. “Very bad reception,” shouted Chater. “Yes sir, shall I write and complain?”
He said something, but was drowned out by the elements, “At once sir!” I said smartly. Two miles on we reached Sidi Mahmoud and started up hill. Driver Robinson puts his stamp on the evening, he lands us in a minefield. “Sorry sir,” his squeaky voice was saying. “I didn’t know what Achtung Minen meant.”
“It means instant bloody death man!” explained Chater Jack with remarkable control. Hanging over the tailboard I directed him back on our tracks and my face was spattered with yellow mud. “You’ve got mud on your face, ha ha ha ha,” said Bdr Edwards who was not noted for his wit. “It’s not mud,” I explained, “this is what happens when the shit hits the fan.”
“How does it go again ?” called Chater. I re-sang the opening bars with intermittent rain.
“Doesn’t he know any other tunes,” said Edwards.
“Any others’? Christ, he doesn’t know this one, he only brings me along as an amenuensis.”
“Amenuensis?”
“It’s what Eric Fenby was to Delius.”
“The dirty sod,” said Edwards who was not noted for his wit.
When we arrived at the O.P., the rain stopped but the war didn’t. Chater Jack ensconced himself in a splendidly roofed O.P., on the forward slopes on Sidi Mahmoud, reached by a communication trench. There to meet him were three artillery officers from 71 Field Artillery Group, holding maps. The truck was 50 yards behind the O.P. To avoid detection, we had to run the wireless remote control to the O.P. while I stayed on the truck to relay the orders.