Where have all the bullets gone_ - Spike Milligan [20]
I daresay that after this is in the mail to you I will think of other incidents and occasions. However, let this suffice. After all, the things mentioned in this remembrance may be of little use for your biographical purposes. But it is hoped that at least they will provoke your own memories and thus prove of some value.
March 21, 1975
Len Prosser
6907 Strathmore Street
Chevy Chase, Maryland
USA
* * *
Transcribed typed letter
Thank you Len Prosser, a year’s subscription to EXIT is on its way.
Now life took on a new meaning. Playing with the band was a bonus. We played from smoky dives to the great Palace of Caserta which housed the Allied Forces Headquarters, though it was so far behind the lines it was referred to as the Hind Quarters. We were given a rehearsal room where we tried to keep up with the very advanced band arrangements we bought from the American PX. Playing Woody Herman’s arrangement of ‘Apple Honey’ nearly did for us — the top F’s gave rise to cries of “The truss, bring the truss.” After one appalling run-through, Stan Britton turned to us and said, “Gentlemen, I suggest we take an early retirement.”
Another disaster was our first attempt at the new-fangled samba, called ‘Brazil’. After three tries, Charlie Ward put his sax down and said, “The defence rests.” A letter written at the time tells of the good life I was leading.
However, years later I saw a shopping list on the back, showing the penny-pinching life my mother was leading under wartime rationing. “They also serve…” Serves her bloody well right. If she had joined the Army, she wouldn’t have suffered so!
Dances! Dances!
Dances meant pretty girls and a burning sensation. At a dance in the Caserta ballroom, I fell for — a ridiculous phrase, “fell for” — no, I didn’t pitch forward on my face, but when I saw her I just screamed. She was gliding past the bandstand in another man’s arms. I’d only just seen her and she was already being unfaithful to me!! Her name was Sheila Frances, mine was Spike Milligan. Did she come here often, yes, and this was one of them. I try to date her and come up with 1944. I fall for her hook, line and sinker, and several other parts all hanging under the shirt. Blast, she is affianced to a Sergeant: I will try again. Meantime I’ll go blind. I climb back on to the bandstand; lots of nudge nudges wink winks.
“There’s plenty more fish in the sea, Spike,” says Len Prosser. But I don’t want to go out with fish.
Filing for King and Country!
Files, bloody files, I’m bored with files, so bored I open a new one and slip it into the system. Marked incident at Alexander Barracks. Inside I had typed a memo:
Statement by Guard Commander of Incident outside Barracks.
Sir, on the night of the Twolth of Higust at 0000 Dearie me hours, when I heard a sound, ‘Pisssssshhhhh’ it went, I challenged the sound. “Halt who goes there?” No reply, so I challenged in Italian. “Halto who goes thereo!” No reply, so I challenged in Aramaic, finally in Chinese, “Dim Sim, Plancake Loll, Plawn Clackers,” whereupon a shadowy figure drew nigh. It was a Tuna Fish wearing a kilt and clutching a Mandolin. I had not been drinking but I think the Tuna Fish had. I fired a round into its sporran, whereupon it departed in the crouched position. Signed Private Knotts.
The file arrived on Colonel Startling Gropes’ table. He added a memo:
“This is one of the most serious cases of seriousness I have read. There must be a full investigation.”
He forwarded the file to Colonel Thompson in ‘A’ Branch who had a sense of humour and boils. He added to the fun: “I am forwarding this to Major Bastard for a full medical report.” The file grew to nearly six inches thick and was still circulating when I left.
A Day Out in a Certain Direction
Colonel Startling Grope to Milligan: “Would you and Len like to come to Ischia?”
“Yes sir, I’d love an Ischia.”
“Right, Sunday morning 0800. Bathing costume and towel.”
The day. Colonel Startling Grope, Captain Clarke, Len and myself pile on the jeep.
9.10 we arrive at the specially bombed