Where have all the bullets gone_ - Spike Milligan [48]
I must hurry, Mother, for I’m to be Queen of the Ball. The Sergeants are preparing for my last trumpet solo before my leave. I must look my best for them. In my scratched steel mirror, I look lovely. It’s a short walk from my room, through the Sergeant Rev. Beaton’s chapel, across the connecting covered way to the Dance Hall. I’m early and I tinkle the piano. Steve Lewis is early, too — that way he avoids paying.
I’m playing a Beguine.
“Is that yours?” he says.
The song yes, the piano no.
“I’ve never heard you play it before.”
“I always play it before, never after.”
We had been wanting to put on a musical about British soldiers transported back to Roman times. The tune I was playing was called Roman Girl.
You can see ‘em At the Colosseum
Watching their favourite gladiators
In the arena
There’s a hyena
Eating Christians with his friends the alligators.
There were other songs we’d prepared but owing to unforeseen circumstances, which we could not foresee coming, the show never got off the ground. Another day without Cold Collation.
The dance begins. I feel great! I sing every song, play every chorus, blow louder and longer than ever before. It was to bring about my demise, however, for watching me all the while with his beady little eyes was Brigadier Henry Woods CBE, hating every note I played. He sent up a message by Major New to tell me to ‘play quieter’. I told him if they wanted a quieter trumpet player, they should indent for one, or dance further away. Fuming, the little Brigadier passed the stand with the face of an executioner. He fixed me with his ‘You are for it’ stare, then tripped. I laughed. It was my death sentence.
Bdr. Milligan singing louder than has ever sung before and causing the photograph to crumble
SERGANTS MESS DANCE
The very thorough resuscitator of the Seageants Mess danses, Sgt (now Mr.) T.E. Finucane, who made such a big success of the one just before he left for home, will be no little pleased when he learns that these affairs are carrying on along the lines he laid down and that a long and pleasant run of them seems assured. He spent much time coaching his buddy, the effervescent sports-maker, CSMI Rigg, on what to do and it was done, thoroughly. Not being quite so much a gala affair as the farewell to T.E. Finucane, Esq., rather fewer sweet young things from outside descended on the Alexander Barracks ballroom on Thursday, September 27th, buth there was a very fair representation to reinforce our own ATS, and rea ly bonnie the home and back o’ beyend forces looked in their pretty dresses.
An innovation much appreciated by the ladies was the installation of a large box of flowers at the entrance, from each eas invited to select a posey. Stan Britton’s O2E Dance Band was on the top of its form and played with a rare swing througout the evening. Very much in evidence was ‘Spike’ Milligan (now also ‘Young Sapling’), making his last appearance before departing on LIAP. Of course, his inevitable trumpet was his principal weapon, but he also triumphed as a vocalist, adding much to general gaiety. Sgt. Vera Smith, of our own ATS, and Len Prosser also obliged with vocal contributions. The lady established herself as a prime favourite and a few more
Hail the Chief
DIARY:
OCTOBER 2
Big Parade, Bossman Cometh! Quick! hurry! no time to waste! Panic! Chaos! What’s it all about? Helpppp! Field Marshall Sir Harold Alexander, GCB, CSI, DSO, MC, ADC, SAC, VWXYZ, is to inspect us. We are all drawn up in serried ranks in Alexander Barracks Square, the Great Man drives into view. Taa-raaa! Much saluting, handshaking, pointing, nose-picking. He is led up the steps and appears at a balcony overlooking the square. He opens his mouth to speak and a blast of thunder and ice-cold rain drown and drench him out. He is soon back in the building and from within the balcony room a voice, with a note of hysteria in it, shouts out to the now drenched troops: DISMMMMSSSSS. We all run for cover. End of parade. From the windows we watch his car fill up like a bath tub. For those who believe