"For G.o.d's sake Milligan' said Budden 'You've only just been promoted."

"I'm sorry sir, a wolf ran across the road."

Using the ma.s.sed cigarette lighters of the occupants, I backed out of the danger.

"I see where I went wrong...I should have stayed a civilian." With every one praying for Divine guidance we arrived at the foot of Frenchmans Hill. " If this is his foot, he must be a big feller, ha ha ha ha ha ha," I said. We loaded ourselves with rations and batteries and set off along a goat track. The rain had temporarily stopped, inviting Verey lights into the sky. We were all soaked to the skin and b.l.o.o.d.y miserable. "Someone up there doesn't like us very much," said Ernie Hart. "Someone down here doesn't like him very much," I said, "I think it's on the cards that G.o.d is a German."

"Who ever he is, he's got a weak bladder."

We stumbled and fell, sometimes we fell and stumbled which is exactly the same only the other way around (Eh?) We reached a swollen stream and crossed it on a narrow plank of wood, with Hart halfway across the plank started to wobble, but by using his superb balancing skill, he fell in.

We toiled up the final slopes and eventually arrived at the O.P. trench covered with a tent and camouflaged with brush. We hammered on the tent pole.

"Who's there?" said a voice.

"A band of Highly Trained Nymphomaniacs."

The tent flap flew open and an unshaven face that appeared to belong to Bombardier Deans appeared. "Ah. You must be the one that goes round frightening little children," I said.

We all squeezed into the tiny dugout. Hart, saturated, sat quietly steaming.

"I see you brought your own water with you," said Lt Goldsmith. He opened his new bottle of whisky, took a swig, pa.s.sed the bottle saying "Anyone for gingivitis?" We sat cramped, pa.s.sing the bottle to and fro, I was on the fro side and didn't see much of it. We pa.s.sed what little news we had, smoked our cigarettes, waited for the rain to stop but no, out into it we slithered, retracing our steps to the Bren, by midnight we were back at the G.P. billet with a very weary Lt Goldsmith and a p.i.s.sed Bdr Deans who were welcomed back by a snarling 'Havelock Ellis'.

"Who does he belong to," said Deans, "Himmler?"

APRIL.

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Mussolini-Gram April 1st The scene: The scene: Kitchen the Fascist H.Q. Via Veneto. Count Ciano, Claretta Petacci, they are eating Spaghetti. Mussolini has just been told of the Italian surrender. Kitchen the Fascist H.Q. Via Veneto. Count Ciano, Claretta Petacci, they are eating Spaghetti. Mussolini has just been told of the Italian surrender. MUSSOLINI: MUSSOLINI: Mamma mia! Dat-a Montgomery, he knocka-da s.h.i.t outta my lov-ar-lee Ara-mee! Mamma mia! Dat-a Montgomery, he knocka-da s.h.i.t outta my lov-ar-lee Ara-mee! CLARETTA PETACCI: CLARETTA PETACCI: Neveva-minda, coma to bed, Jig-a-Jig. Neveva-minda, coma to bed, Jig-a-Jig. MUSSOLINI: MUSSOLINI: It's dat-a-swine, Church-a-hill, it is alia his-a faulta! Wata-can I-a-do! It's dat-a-swine, Church-a-hill, it is alia his-a faulta! Wata-can I-a-do! PETACCI: PETACCI: Come-a-to-bed. Jig-a-Jig. Come-a-to-bed. Jig-a-Jig. COUNT CIANO: COUNT CIANO: Hava some more-a Spaghetti! Hava some more-a Spaghetti! MUSSOLINI: MUSSOLINI: Calla-da-Pope-musta pray for-a-my Army to knocka da s.h.i.t outa da British. PETACCI: Coma-to-bed Jig-a-Jig. Calla-da-Pope-musta pray for-a-my Army to knocka da s.h.i.t outa da British. PETACCI: Coma-to-bed Jig-a-Jig. Air Raid Sirens Air Raid Sirens MUSSOLINI: MUSSOLINI: Quick-under da table. Quick-under da table. PETACCI: PETACCI: Itsa-aeasier-in-a-da-bed. Itsa-aeasier-in-a-da-bed. The scene: The scene: A bomb explodes 12 miles away A bomb explodes 12 miles away MUSSOLINI: MUSSOLINI: Quick-give-a-me another Medal. Quick-give-a-me another Medal. COUNT CIANO: COUNT CIANO: (crying) I want my Mamma. (crying) I want my Mamma. MUSSOLINI: MUSSOLINI: Oh-s.h.i.ta! Oh-s.h.i.ta! PETACCI: PETACCI: Jig-a-Jig! Jig-a-Jig!

The war was now an accepted daily routine, we had "periods of utter boredom then bursts of sudden excitement," as Colonel Grant had told us, from then on we went about saying "h.e.l.lo d.i.c.k, are you in an 'utter boredom period'?"

"Oh no. I'm right in the middle of 'Sudden burst of excitement'."

My own deranged friend Edgington wakes me up at dawn, saying "I've just come off guard and I'm having a sudden burst of excitement." Of course, when it came to those sudden bursts Colonel Grant got his share. On April first he was bitten by an Arab Dog, and rushed back to England barking and foaming at the mouth, some say he's still in Battersea Dogs Home.

Colonel Grant: Let me out of this pen! I tell you I'm a Colonel in the Royal Artillery!

Attendant: Sorry sir, according to our records you are a stray Arab dog, some seventy years old.

April 4th The night of April 4th the rain was thundering down, we heard Havelock suddenly barking and snarling, there was a pistol shot. I doused the light, grabbed Tommy Gun, got out the back door, Jerry patrols were famous for throwing grenades into rooms. A long figure at the front door was saying "Pleese open ze door." Someone said "It's Charles Boyer!" It was the French farmer who owned the house, he had come back to ask us if we'd seen his dog, which was in fact Havelock Ellis who, in the dark had attacked him, and the Frenchman had shot him. the rain was thundering down, we heard Havelock suddenly barking and snarling, there was a pistol shot. I doused the light, grabbed Tommy Gun, got out the back door, Jerry patrols were famous for throwing grenades into rooms. A long figure at the front door was saying "Pleese open ze door." Someone said "It's Charles Boyer!" It was the French farmer who owned the house, he had come back to ask us if we'd seen his dog, which was in fact Havelock Ellis who, in the dark had attacked him, and the Frenchman had shot him.

We found Havelock in his kennel, a bullet in the head. G.o.d knows how he managed to get back, it's the homing instinct, even if it's only made from charge cases. We were all broken up about it. The Frenchman had brought us a bottle of wine. We drank it and cheered up a bit. Lt Goldsmith invited us all into his room, where he opened up his whisky. Alf Fildes got his guitar out, and I played 'Parlez-moi d'amour' on my trumpet. A strange evening, but then, weren't they all? Next day we buried Havelock. I washed the blood off his face. We lined a large charge case with an old blanket, dug a respectably deep grave. Over it we mounted a board, and I wrote, Here lies the body Here lies the body of Havelock the Dog of Havelock the Dog Shot in the head Shot in the head And dropped like a log. And dropped like a log. He was a very Good dog. He was a very Good dog. April 1943 April 1943 I suppose he's still there.

April 6th 1943 Battery Diary: Battery Diary: Battery Commander to Sidi Mahmond O.P. as C.R.A. Dep for 71 Field Arty : Group Battery Commander to Sidi Mahmond O.P. as C.R.A. Dep for 71 Field Arty : Group.

Munchar C.P. 08.00 hours. Pouring rain, and other things. Sgt 'Georgie' Dawson's motorbike arrives which he drives straight into the room. "There's going to be a big party tonight," he grinned.

"A party?" I said, "I can't go, I haven't a thing to wear!"

"Good, it's for nudists." He proceeded to give details; Major Chater Jack, Gunner Woods, Gunner Tume, L/Bdr Milligan (oh s.h.i.t), Bombardier Edwards, OPAck and Bombardier Andrews from the recently arrived 54 Heavy Regiment.

Observation Post a.s.sistant. Observation Post a.s.sistant.

"He's coming along for the experience," said Dawson. He grinned evilly. It was deluging. The rain dripped in from every crack and seeped over the door sill.

"The wireless truck will collect you at 19.00 hours."

"19.00?" I said. "That's a pity, my watch only goes up to 12." He pa.s.sed a damp cigarette. "Ta," I said. "I'll have it valued later." I donned my Gas Cape and with Dawson, prepared to dash from the cookhouse. "Right now! now!" yelled Dawson. Giving Red Indian War whoops we splashed across.

" f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k! I'd left my b.l.o.o.d.y mess tins behind."

"Borrow mine," says 'Smudger' Smith licking his tins clean.

The room was a dark, damp, mess of muddy gunners, all chomping away at breakfast; all very gloomy.

"Hands up those who haven't been killed yet," I said cheerily. The replies were "Get stuffed, b.o.l.l.o.c.ks, and Up Yours," a grand bunch of lads. "Good news men," said a mud soaked creature, "Look," he held open a Radio Times and pointed to this.

DANCING CLUB DANCING CLUB[image] Victor Silvester, well-known band-leader and dance expert, writes of his new series, 'BBC Dancing Club'. It starts in the Forces programme on Wednesday. Victor Silvester, well-known band-leader and dance expert, writes of his new series, 'BBC Dancing Club'. It starts in the Forces programme on Wednesday.

"Oh hooray," I said, and grabbing Gunner Tume, I swept him into an ankle deep mud-waltz. "G.o.d you look lovely Gunner Tume!" I said.

"Get stuffed." he said breaking free.

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Hitlergram No. 361 The scene: The Eagles Eyrie, in the bath are Hitler, Admiral Doenitz and Goebbels. Doenitz is playing with the German Navy. The Eagles Eyrie, in the bath are Hitler, Admiral Doenitz and Goebbels. Doenitz is playing with the German Navy. HITLER: HITLER: Vat do zey mean, 'Get stuffed'. Vat do zey mean, 'Get stuffed'. GOEBBELS: GOEBBELS: Zey are having zer breakfast, and he is vishing zem 'get stuffed' wiz zer food. Zey are having zer breakfast, and he is vishing zem 'get stuffed' wiz zer food. HITLER: HITLER: So, we have broken an nudder of zere codes; now, what is zer 'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks' and 'Up yours'? So, we have broken an nudder of zere codes; now, what is zer 'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks' and 'Up yours'? GOEBBELS: GOEBBELS: I do not know Fuhrer. I do not know Fuhrer. HITLER: HITLER: (foaming at the mouth) Vhy don't you know, you little crippled creep ! (foaming at the mouth) Vhy don't you know, you little crippled creep ! The scene: The scene: He smashes the bath water with his fists and hits Doenitz below the plimsoll line He smashes the bath water with his fists and hits Doenitz below the plimsoll line ADMIRAL DOENITZ: ADMIRAL DOENITZ: Ach-mein b.o.l.l.o.c.ks!! Ach-mein b.o.l.l.o.c.ks!! HITLER: HITLER: Vonderschoen ! anudder British Code has been broken ! I promote you from Admiral Doenitz to Field Marshal Goering ! Vonderschoen ! anudder British Code has been broken ! I promote you from Admiral Doenitz to Field Marshal Goering ! The scene: The scene: A knock on the door in n.a.z.i A knock on the door in n.a.z.i HITLER: HITLER: Who is zat! Who is zat! VOICE: VOICE: Martin Bormann, I have zer message for you. Martin Bormann, I have zer message for you. HITLER: HITLER: Slide it under the door. Slide it under the door. The scene: The scene: Sound of Bormann grunting Sound of Bormann grunting BORMANN: BORMANN: It won't go under. It won't go under. HITLER: HITLER: Vy not? Vy not? BORMANN: BORMANN: It's in mein head. It's in mein head. The scene: The scene: Hitler goes into a fury, bites his sponge to pieces, stops when he notices Goebbels doing something which will surely drive him blind Hitler goes into a fury, bites his sponge to pieces, stops when he notices Goebbels doing something which will surely drive him blind HITLER: HITLER: Stop zat! Or I'll never go to zer pictures wiz you again. Stop zat! Or I'll never go to zer pictures wiz you again. The scene: The scene: A wafer thin head covered in blood comes straining under the door A wafer thin head covered in blood comes straining under the door MARTIN BORMANN: MARTIN BORMANN: I haff done it mein Fuhrer! I haff done it mein Fuhrer!

"What can can you do?" lamented s.h.i.t-house Orderly Liddel, "this b.l.o.o.d.y rain has flooded the Karzis, there's Richards floating everywhere." you do?" lamented s.h.i.t-house Orderly Liddel, "this b.l.o.o.d.y rain has flooded the Karzis, there's Richards floating everywhere."

Richards = Richard the Third = t.u.r.d. c.o.c.kney rhyming slang. Richards = Richard the Third = t.u.r.d. c.o.c.kney rhyming slang.[image]

Gunner Liddell inspecting the flooded latrines

We all had our troubles. Liddel was a dedicated Latrine Orderly, his twenty-seaters were immaculate, the squatting pole sandpapered to a fine degree, not once was there complaints of splinters. It wasn't the subject I'd choose for breakfast but there you are.

"So, we're going to a party," said Gnr Payne.

"Yes, it's somewhere on Sidi Mahomed."

"That'll be easy to find in the b.l.o.o.d.y dark."

"Don't worry. A Wog with a white stick is leading us."

"What's for breakfast."

"Powdered eggs."

"Christ knows how chickens lay 'em." I eased into Tume's chair as he dashed off for his breakfast.

"Are you on this thing tonight?" asked Gunner Payne.

"Yes I'm going with Major Chater Jack on this thing."

"Did he ask for you?"

"No I asked for him on this thing."

My Diary: My Diary: 6 6th April on this thing. Howling gale, intermittent rain. Gnr Tume, Bdr Andrews from 54 Heavy RA left at dusk. 'Chater' in high spirits (Johnnie Walker), asks me how 'Highland Laddie' goes April on this thing. Howling gale, intermittent rain. Gnr Tume, Bdr Andrews from 54 Heavy RA left at dusk. 'Chater' in high spirits (Johnnie Walker), asks me how 'Highland Laddie' goes.

Me: It goes Dum-de dum-dum-dum with intermittent rain.

Major Chater Jack: Thank you, I can manage on my own now.

We moved off at dusk into the approaching darkness, the noise of the wind making conversation difficult. I switched on the set, the red contact and the working light came alive. I donned headphones, tuned into battery network, the interference was appalling, the voice of Shapiro at the Command Post barely audible, so I went on to morse-key. The night was pitch black, the mud a foot deep with the differential constantly coming in contact with rocks. I tuned in B.B.C. News, pa.s.sed spare headphones into the cab. "Very bad reception," shouted Chater. "Yes sir, shall I write and complain?"

He said something, but was drowned out by the elements, "At once once sir!" I said smartly. Two miles on we reached Sidi Mahmoud and started up hill. Driver Robinson puts his stamp on the evening, he lands us in a minefield. "Sorry sir," his squeaky voice was saying. "I didn't know what Achtung Minen meant." sir!" I said smartly. Two miles on we reached Sidi Mahmoud and started up hill. Driver Robinson puts his stamp on the evening, he lands us in a minefield. "Sorry sir," his squeaky voice was saying. "I didn't know what Achtung Minen meant."

"It means instant b.l.o.o.d.y death man!" explained Chater Jack with remarkable control. Hanging over the tailboard I directed him back on our tracks and my face was spattered with yellow mud. "You've got mud on your face, ha ha ha ha," said Bdr Edwards who was not noted for his wit. "It's not mud," I explained, "this is what happens when the s.h.i.t hits the fan."

"How does it go again ?" called Chater. I re-sang the opening bars with intermittent rain.

"Doesn't he know any other tunes," said Edwards.

"Any others'? others'? Christ, he doesn't know this one, he only brings me along as an amenuensis." Christ, he doesn't know this one, he only brings me along as an amenuensis."

"Amenuensis?"

"It's what Eric Fenby was to Delius."

"The dirty sod," said Edwards who was not noted for his wit.

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When we arrived at the O.P., the rain stopped but the war didn't. Chater Jack ensconced himself in a splendidly roofed O.P., on the forward slopes on Sidi Mahmoud, reached by a communication trench. There to meet him were three artillery officers from 71 Field Artillery Group, holding maps. The truck was 50 yards behind the O.P. To avoid detection, we had to run the wireless remote control to the O.P. while I stayed on the truck to relay the orders. Meanwhile Tume and Andrews dug a trench.

Midnight, the wind almost a gale. In the back of the truck we sipped tea and played twilight pontoon, me with headphones listening on the Infantry network. A silent attack was to go in and take their objectives by 04.00, we were standing by if they called for fire. At 03.50 hrs. on our right, an Artillery barrage was to support the 78 Div. attack on the Munchar-Medjez-el-Bab front. As the hour came I thought of those young men going forward into darkness towards death or mutilation. At 03.50 the sky sang with flashing lights, a thunder of iron artillery rolled through the night, my wireless came alive with urgent voices, "h.e.l.lo Baker Charlie 2, we're pinned down by mortars at Wog-Dog Farm," every call was a life and death affair, and here I was in comparative safety.

"h.e.l.lo Milligan?" it was Chater Jack. "Yes sir-it goes Da-da-die-"

"No, no! I want to speak to 'Sunray'."

Sunray: Code name for Battery Captain. Sunray: Code name for Battery Captain.

I moved the dial towards our own net, as I did the opening bars of Bach's Toccata and Fugue filled my headphones, it was too much, I burst into tears. "What's the matter," said Driver Robinson.

"It's a piece of music."

"Must be f.u.c.king 'orrible to make you cry."

The music soared, the barrage raged on, turning the night red, green, orange, purple...Gunner Tume relieved me on the set. "There's tea in the O.P." he said.

I stumbled along the communication trench, the wind had dropped, I looked up, the sky was clearing.

In the dim light of the O.P. Chater Jack and three Officers were sipping tea. I saluted. To a man they ignored me. Two signallers squatting on the floor clutching telephones, writing messages and handing them to the officers who, to a a man ignored them. Gunner Woods, slaving over a hot primus, filled my mug. The officers were talking, "I don't like hybrid strains," one was saying. "Too much like having a queer in the garden. Ha ha ha." man ignored them. Gunner Woods, slaving over a hot primus, filled my mug. The officers were talking, "I don't like hybrid strains," one was saying. "Too much like having a queer in the garden. Ha ha ha."

"What a crowd of b.l.o.o.d.y fools," I thought. "You should have come earlier," whispered Woods, "they were on about the price of tennis shoes." Chater was pa.s.sing his whisky flask around.

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A whole band of b.l.o.o.d.y fools

Suddenly, at 04.59 the Barrage stopped. The 'phone buzzed. "For you sir," said a buck-toothed Signaller. "h.e.l.lo?" said Chater, "Right." He put the 'phone down. "Gentlemen, the North Irish Horse are going in," he looked at his watch. "Dead on time," he grinned.

"How's the attack going sir," I ventured.

"I haven't had one yet Milligan," he ventured. The junior officers laughed-they had to. They peered thru' the slits into the night, where a myriad permutations of muzzle-flashes told their story. Woods grinned at the sight of officers staring into the darkness with binoculars. "They're our leaders," he whispered, tapping his head. Dawn was emerging from our right, which was a good arrangement. Soon the battle panorama was revealed; in front, a large valley, on the far slopes, tanks of the North Irish Horse were fighting their way up Djbel Kachbia. To our left the and Hamps. were attacking the slopes of Djbel Mahdi. "We've got to get the set out of the truck," says Tume hurriedly, "it's got to pick up something."

"Oh s.h.i.t!"

"It could be that."

We unloaded the set. Blast! The remote control cable wouldn't reach the slit trench. "Oh s.h.i.t II." So we had to leave it on open ground, then, the bad news, a series of 88's burst around us, we moved at considerable speed into a trench and huddled in the bottom, I let out a yell as a piece of red hot shrapnel fell on to my hand.