Rommel_ Gunner Who__ A Confrontation in - Spike Milligan [50]
15 April 1943
Hooray! I discovered a hand hewn room in the face of a cliff below our Command Post. Safety at last! I moved in. I awoke at 3 a.m. to the patter of tiny feet, I was crawling alive with fleas. I suppose delousing by the light of a candle could be considered ‘non essential war work’.
0600: On duty again, a mass of bites and scratches.
“What in Christ’s wrong with your face?” said Gunner Thornton.
“Nothing wrong with it,” I said thru’ a thousand blotches. “It’s the new Helena Rubenstein Gunners Dawn-Kiss make up, it will soon be the rage of the ist Army.”
“What’s it called?”
“Stage One Leprosy.” Let me describe Thornton, 36, old for a Gunner, but young for an Englishman, 5 foot 11 inches, about 11 stone, the removal of his boots brought him down to 8 stone. A handsom-ish face in the Gregory Peck mould but obviously there wasn’t room in the mould for him. Blue eyes with an honest frank look, even honest Jim, he smoked a briar pipe that only rested when he washed or slept, he never laughed out loud, primarily because his teeth shot out, he had a habit of scratching the back of his left hand whenever he was thinking, that’s why he never scratched the back of his left hand. The phone buzzed. “Command Post Answerin’,” I said. It was the O.P. “Action Stations, Moving Target, Range 11,500!…Angle of sight 45°! H.E. 119! Charge 4, Fire!” The guns burst into shuddering iron monsters, just as the dawn in all its majesty was coming up like thunder, but I couldn’t have cared a fuck less. I returned to my rocky room with a tin of D.D.T. put in fresh straw. Later that day, I arranged to allow Gnr Shapiro to move in with me during air attacks, at 2 fags a raid.
A Bath-time an raid
Through the hot afternoon we lay in our cool stone bower playing battleships. Suddenly an air raid explodes on the area, “a fags!” I said. Guns were going off in all directions, the sky a mass of explosions, shouts and yells, sounds of men running like the clappers. “It must be hell out there,” said Shapiro calmly. We looked at each other, the thought of all that shit flying about outside, with everybody crashing into each other was too much, we cried with laughter. I loaded my captured German rifle and loosed off a few rounds at a plane. It was one of ours. “Never mind,” said Shapiro. “You tried.” Our safe arbour soon became known, the next air raid there was a thunder of approaching boots, and 20 gunners dived into my tiny hideaway, “Two fags a time!” I shouted from underneath.
Meanwhile with Tito in Jugoslavia
The scene:
A British Military Mission Drinking Club. It is made from packing cases. Inside, beside a hand crank gramophone, two British Officers are drinking ‘Buggery-and-Pissed-out-of-your-Mind Champagne’.
RANDOLPH CHURCHILL:
When I grow up I’m going to sue everybody for a living.
EVELYN WAUGH:
I’m braver than you.
RANDOLPH:
No you’re not, my daddy’s Winston Churchill.
WAUGH:
He’s a silly poo!
RANDOLPH:
Step outside and say that.
Waugh goes outside.
RANDOLPH:
That’s got rid of him!
WAUGH:
(distant) He’s not out here!
WAUGH:
(returns having just buggered a shepherd) Ah! that’s better! I’m braver than you, I wear a woolly outer garment. I’m braver than anyone!. When a German plane comes over I never take cover, you know why?
RANDOLPH:
Yes, you’re a cunt.
WAUGH:
Don’t talk to me like that! When you write your Dad’s biography, I want to help you spell Dardanelles!
The scene:
Enter Tito.
TITO:
Haven’t you two Herberts cleaned up this Naafi yet?
RANDOLPH:
Sorry sir, but we’re waiting for SAS to parachute in Brooms.
The scene:
A bottle of Champagne explodes, all lay on the floor and shout ‘I’m braver than you are’ while Waugh buggers the lino.
Friday, April 16th
April the 16th. My birthday. I’m 25 years old. I requested the