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By Root 165 0

fast revolving circles he lathers me with an aromatic soap made from almond oil. It’s all too good for me. Honing a razor on a black leather strap, he gently scrapes upwards, the bristles falling in hundreds. He feels for any areas he has missed and plies the blade over them, repeating the whole process twice. It’s all done with a marvellous rhythmic precision, the blade so sharp that there is no pulling or tearing of the skin. A glance in the mirror, no shaving soap remains. Now he applies hot towels that he juggles from hand to hand to release the heat. The face is enveloped and the smell of cologne rises with the steam. This done, an ice cold astringent is patted on to the skin. It’s taken twenty-five minutes. We have seen a great artist at work. Len has asked his to marry him. My face feels like fine velvet; I am reeking of a cologne that will make a woman rip her clothes off at fifty paces. I must hurry on to the streets before it wears off.

L./Bdr. L. Prosser and Gunner T. Milligan. After being shaved, they are waiting at the Fountain of the Naiads for a good trouser press.

* this man is now in America somewhere

What to do? It’s only seven of the clock. We look at our Soldier’s Guide to Rome —

“That one looks interesting, Len.” I say, pointing out the Yewish Soldiers’ Club. So there are such people as Yews; they must come from Yewrusaleum. We opt for the Super Cinema in the Via Depretis. The film is Sweet Rosie O’Grady, starring Betty Grable’s legs, and occasionally her. The hero, whose name escapes me, was John Payne; a fitting name for a pain in the arse. It’s San Francisco, but recently vacated by Jeanette MacDonald and Clarke Gable, John Payne is a struggling pianist. He’s also having a struggle acting. He falls in love with Betty Grable’s legs, she falls in love with his bad acting, but the boss of the bar loves her legs more. Payne writes ‘My heart tells Me’; he tells her, “You sing it baby, it’ll be a hit, you’ll see.” The boss says, “She ain’t singin’ no trashy song like that, dis goil I’m savin’ fer Opera.” Payne hits the boss, the boss hits Payne, they hit each other, they break, there is the traditional breaking of the matchstick chair over the hero, who floors the boss. “You’re fired,” he snarls. “Huh, fired, I’ll quit.” (If only he would.) Payne goes to New York. Diamond Jim Brady hires him on to Broadway; he’s in the pit conducting on the big night; Joan Blondell and her tits are going to sing ‘My heart tells me’ and make him famous. But she faints. Who’s going to save the show? Outside in the snow, a ragged unshaven figure appears: it’s Betty Grable. She hears the introduction…The End. Money back please. So to bed.

The Gig

We spent the morning lazing. I cleaned my trumpet. In the afternoon band practice, listened to by crowds of soldiers. Comes evening. I couldn’t believe it. Little old me from Brockley, in Rome! Back home I’d never got further than Hernia Bay. The dance is at the Crusader Club. Wow! A huge marble hotel, an officer’s dream palace.

Colonel Philip Slessor greets us. “Who’s in charge?” he asks.

“You are,” we say.

Tall and saturnine, Slessor was later to become a BBC announcer. He started practising right away by announcing that we were to follow him.

The ballroom is magnificent, the stage a mass of red velvet and gold embroidery; it was an ‘embarrass de choix de richesses’. Slessor makes another announcement. “There’s a room for you all to change in.” We haven’t anything to change into except Mr Jekyll.

“What? You’re not going to play like that?” Haven’t we any mess dress? No, there’s another fine mess dress we haven’t got into. I told him we sounded exactly the same in battle-dress as we did in mess dress.

“Huh,” he announces.

The band room is a munificence of coleslaw, the table is groaning with every sandwich possible, even a few impossible ones. Wine? Gallons. A line of bottles without labels. We tasted it, found it tasted like unlabelled wine.

Slessor is announcing again: “We start in ten minutes, lads.” We set up behind the brocade curtains, give him the nod,