Where have all the bullets gone_ - Spike Milligan [37]
Someone is worse off than me. Mussolini has been murdered; he and his mistresses are hanging upside down in a garage in Milan.
It was a barbaric act that puts the clock back. However, the natives seem happy. Nothing like an assassination to cheer the masses.
The Mussolini Massacre. They shoot horses, don’t they?
May 1
MY DIARY:
IT’S OVER! JERRY SURRENDERS!
I had just sat down at my morning desk still reeking of porridge when a very excited Colonel Startling Grope thundered into the office. “Have you heard Terence? It’s over! I’ve just spoken to Alex at AFHQ and it’s OVER! General Vietinghoff von Nasty is at the Palace now signing the surrender.”
“Great! Do I have to sign anything, Stanley Sir? I mean, I haven’t agreed to the surrender.” We can have the day off, he’s right, it’s time we had it off. The Ities are in the street singing ‘Finito, Benito Finito’ and ‘Lae thar piss tub darn bab’. The bells of the churches ring out their iron victory message.
I walked back through the milling streets, lay on my bed and lit up a Capstan. I could hear the din outside and running footsteps, but I was strangely quiet. Suddenly a complete change of direction. How do you handle the end of a Campaign? I wanted to cry. Was it really over? 31,000 Allied troops had died — a city of the dead. Is a war ever really over?
A few days pass and Steve comes into the room. He is grinning: “Have you seen? He’s dead.” He shows me the headlines. ‘HITLER, SUICIDE IN BUNKER’. “Yes, he’s dead, his tart and his bloody dog.” He hammered the words out like nails in a coffin.
I had better news. Back at the officers’ club in Portici I had snaffled a bottle of Dom Perignon 1935. “I’ve been saving this, Steve,” I said, producing the bottle from its wrapper. We toasted the end in our enamel mugs. We sat grinning in silence. It was all too much; two soldiers; just statistics; where did we fit in…? Mind you, they were still fighting in Berlin, but most of the orchestra had stopped playing.
The Russians are sweeping into Berlin. Their might is awesome. The Allies and the Russians meet on the Elbe. At Lüneburg Heath, Monty accepts the German surrender. It’s over. Just like that. One day war, the next it’s peace. It’s almost absurd. The entire energy of O2E is vested in preparations for the official V-E Night celebrations. It would appear that only alcohol can generate true happiness: hundreds of bottles, barrels and fiasco are stock-piled in every available area. They are scrubbing out the fountain! Why? It’s the brainchild of RSM Warburton who has ordained that it be ‘filled with wine’. They had tried to get the fountains to gush, but the plumbing had long since decayed. The date is fixed. In Part Two orders:
YOU WILL ALL HAVE A GOOD TIME, YOU WILL GET DRUNK, AND YOU WILL ALL STAGGER AROUND…YOU WILL GET SICK OVER EACH OTHER FOR YOUR KING AND COUNTRY. THE BAND WILL PLAY FOR DANCING UNTIL 2 A.M.
The Square in Alexander Barracks
“Where did all those bloody Union Jacks come from?” Steve is counting the mass of flags that are now starting to appear around the barracks.
“Doesn’t it make you feel good,” I said, “to know that, despite it all, there are factories still making the British Flag.”
“Oh yes, there’s nothing like a good old Union Jack to cheer you up.”
“I always carried a photo of the flag, and many a dark night in a muddy trench, I’ve taken it out and said to my trench mate: “Cheer up,” and shown him my Union Jack. There would always be a response.” Wait! American flags are appearing. “My God,” I cry out, “they’re running out of Union Jacks…!” It’s getting bad! Italian flags are being hoisted, Russian! Any minute now the Ovaltinies’ emblem will be shown. Janker wallahs