Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [46]
I understand you have discontinued the small sugar ration which was allowed to bees…
I won’t go on, but supposing I wrote to the Min. of Ag.
Sir, I understand that you have discontinued the sugar icing that Gunner Milligan used to have on his doughnuts…
At the same time the BBC were hitting the enemy pretty hard.
COMMUNITY
WHISTLING
Join in and whistle with Ronald Gourley and the boys this evening at 6.30
Oh how we enjoyed a good evening’s whistling after being in a trench for 3 days and nights.
April 11, 1943
I awoke to a sunny morning, 9.00 a.m., a lizard was sunning himself on the window ledge. Gnr Pills did a noble thing, he brought me breakfast in bed! “Why did you do it? You’re not queer are you?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “Waitin’ on orficers is a dooty, well, I was orf dooty, and I fort I’d do a good deed for the day and I seed you sleepin’ and I fort, he’s ‘ad an ‘ard time or ‘eed ‘ave gotten up for ‘ees breakfast, so I’ll get it for ‘im,” then added, “You won’t tell anyone will you, or they’ll all bleedin’ want it.”
A bath! Ten minutes later I stood naked by the thermal spring soaping myself, singing, and waving my plonker at anyone who made rude remarks about it. “With one as big as that you ought to be back home on Essential War Work.” It was nice to have these little unsolicited testimonials. The animal delight of sitting in a rocky pool of running warm water, under a blue sky and a brilliant sun, is one of life’s bonuses.
I dried myself on what had once been a towel against what had once been a body. I was a wiry nine and a half stone. I tried to think of myself as a suntanned lean Gary Cooper but I always came out dirty white skinny Milligan. “You look like a bag of bones held together by flesh coloured tights,” said Spiv Corvine. “Don’t go,” I said, “stay for my description of you, you short-arsed little git!”
Letter Home:
My dear Mum, Dad, Des,
Thanks for the parcel, don’t put soap in with fags. Out of action for the day, hence letter. Weather is hotting up, about 70°, it’s shirt sleeves. And how silly we all look, naked except for 2 shirt sleeves! I believe they are shortly to issue Tropical Kit, or KD’s (Khaki Drill) which will bring back memories of Poona. I still remember those boyhood days with remarkable clarity. I think if you enjoy a childhood, it is indelible for life. Clearest are memories of hearing the strident Bugle, and Drums of the Cheshire Regiment playing ‘When we are marching to Georgia’, and the Regiment swinging by, so impeccable, bayonets and brass buttons flashing light signals in all directions, the blinding white webbing, boots like polished basalt, trousers crackling with starch, the creases with razor edges, the marks of sweat appearing down the spines of the men, the Pariah dogs slinking from the path of the column, and, the silent resentment of watching Natives. I don’t think we can retain it as part of the Empire much longer. I give it until say 1950. Can’t tell you much because of Censorship; so far miraculously, no one in this Battery has been hurt by enemy action. Not much chance to play Jazz at the moment, but listen regularly to AFN Algiers. I hope my records are O.K. I put them in a box under my bed with a cardboard sheet between each record. If you move, please be very careful of them. We’re billeted in a war-damaged house, it’s in a bad state, and we are trying to get a reduction in our rates. I hear a distant scream saying “Lunch will be served in an empty cowshed,” or is it “Cows will be served in an empty lunch shed,” so I’ll be off.
Love to you all,
your loving son, Terry.
P.S. Send more cake, chocolate, fags, Pile ointment, but for Christ sake no more holy medals.
My mother informing my father of the contents of my letter
Last day Munchar
“Fresh flowers from the fields of Tunisia Sir.”
“Oh Milligan how nice,” beamed Lt Budden, his solemn face journeying to a smile.
“I don’t like plucking flowers, but”—I recalled Lady Astor visiting Bernard Shaw, remarking it