"There's b.l.o.o.d.y luck!" said Tume, "hit by the enemy and no blood."

"My Blighty one and it didn't work," I moaned.

Bombardier Andrews was sweating and pulling at his lower lip-I don't know why, it looked long enough.

"How long does this go on," he said.

"Until the war is finished," I said.

"Don't take any notice of him," said Tume, seeing that Andrews was frightened. "Sometimes a few minutes, sometimes an hour, it depends which German's German's on duty." The wireless came to life, bravely Tume crawled out and put the headphones on-bravely I watched him do it. Luckily the sh.e.l.ling stopped. The battle was moving away. Sgt Dawson had arrived, he dismounted and let off. "Ah, that's better," he said. "Only for you," I said running clear. "Come back you coward," he shouted. "It's one of ours." on duty." The wireless came to life, bravely Tume crawled out and put the headphones on-bravely I watched him do it. Luckily the sh.e.l.ling stopped. The battle was moving away. Sgt Dawson had arrived, he dismounted and let off. "Ah, that's better," he said. "Only for you," I said running clear. "Come back you coward," he shouted. "It's one of ours."

The rest of the day was a bore save for sudden rushes to hide from ME log's and periodic visits to watch the Battle. We dined well on hot stew brought in vacuum containers. By sunset the battle had left us behind, we packed up and returned to Munchar.

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A gunner piddling against the gunwheel watched his comrades

Divertiss.e.m.e.nt Sept. 1973 As I sit in a suite on the 13th Floor of the Euro-building in Madrid, writing this volume, I reflect on that time 30 years ago, and the emotional a.n.a.lysis of those khaki days, have left such a deeply etched impression, that the whole spectrum actually re-inhabits my being with such remarkable freshness that the weight of the nostalgia is almost too much to bear, feelings that I had incurred in those days, towards people, incidents, nature, which I thought of as almost trivial, were really Of t.i.tanic proportions, and ones, that I now realize were to stay fresh, and become more poignant as the years pa.s.sed, and the desire to experience them all once again, be they good, bad or indifferent, became a haunting spectre that suddenly, during the course of a day, takes you unawares, a particular word, a scent, a colour, or song could trigger it off. It could be at, say, Ronnie Scott's Club with a companion. Without warning someone plays a tune, and immediately, the surroundings and the companion become total strangers, and you long for those yester-ghosts to s.n.a.t.c.h you and rush you back to that magic day it happened. I used to scoff at my father's looking forward to his annual World War I reunions, but now I know, you Floor of the Euro-building in Madrid, writing this volume, I reflect on that time 30 years ago, and the emotional a.n.a.lysis of those khaki days, have left such a deeply etched impression, that the whole spectrum actually re-inhabits my being with such remarkable freshness that the weight of the nostalgia is almost too much to bear, feelings that I had incurred in those days, towards people, incidents, nature, which I thought of as almost trivial, were really Of t.i.tanic proportions, and ones, that I now realize were to stay fresh, and become more poignant as the years pa.s.sed, and the desire to experience them all once again, be they good, bad or indifferent, became a haunting spectre that suddenly, during the course of a day, takes you unawares, a particular word, a scent, a colour, or song could trigger it off. It could be at, say, Ronnie Scott's Club with a companion. Without warning someone plays a tune, and immediately, the surroundings and the companion become total strangers, and you long for those yester-ghosts to s.n.a.t.c.h you and rush you back to that magic day it happened. I used to scoff at my father's looking forward to his annual World War I reunions, but now I know, you have have to have them! In fact I was instrumental in getting our own D Battery reunions started, and lo and behold, the attendance increases every year. to have them! In fact I was instrumental in getting our own D Battery reunions started, and lo and behold, the attendance increases every year.

Despite the friendships I have made since the war, it is always those early ones that have weight, understanding, confidence and mutual experience that I cling to. Though my best friend Harry Edgington has emigrated to New Zealand, we are closer than ever, I know that a particular tune will automatically make him think of the time we played it together, and the same applies to me. Our correspondence is prodigious, his letters fill 3 Boxfiles, likewise recorded tapes, in which he sends his latest compositions, asking my opinions. He sends me tapes that send me into gales of laughter and yet all these occasions are not really happy, and yet I welcome them, they give a most soul warming effect, it savours of satisfaction, and yet is emotionally inconclusive, it has become, like cocaine, addictive. Is it because with the future unknown, the present traumatic, that we find the past so secure?

April 8 1943: This way to another battle At Sunset we drove to a rendezvous with Captain Rand, Bdr Edwards, Gunner Maunders in a Bren driven by Bdr Sherwood, it was dark when we met, "We'll sleep here tonight," said diminutive Captain Rand in a voice like Minnie Mouse. We slept fitfully by the roadside as trucks, tanks, etc. rumbled back and forth but inches from our heads.

April 8 1943: Djbel Mahdi Up at first light, drove in the wake of a hurried Jerry retreat along the floor of a hot dust-choked valley, we pa.s.sed still burning vehicles-some ours, some theirs. A few carbonised bodies-'brew ups' as Tank men called it. We stopped to pin-point our position, to my left, lying face down was the body of an Italian not long dead, the blood on his neck still oozing, lovingly, I removed his watch. The Bren stopped at the foot of Djbel Mahdi.

I gave it to my father, and it's still in my mother's possession. I gave it to my father, and it's still in my mother's possession.

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The 2/4 Hamps were still digging in when we arrived. I followed Capt. Rand and Bdr Edwards uphill, unreeling the remote control from the wireless. f.u.c.k! it didn't reach. Rand and Edwards dropped on their bellies just below the crest. I had to run back, fix them a telephone that reached back to the remote control, so they shouted fire orders to me by telephone, and I pa.s.sed them on by wireless. We didn't have time to dig in, and Christ! a German 'Stonk' hit us-it was a rain of sh.e.l.ls. To stay where I was meant death, so I ran to an Infantry Officers' fox-hole. "Any room for one more?" I said.

"Sorry old boy, this is a one-man trench."

I dived in head first as fresh sh.e.l.ls landed.

"Well now it's a b.l.o.o.d.y two-man trench." I tell you! They are willing to let you die rather than move over! The sh.e.l.ling stopped. I got out and returned to duty-more sh.e.l.ls-I found a small depression in the lee of some rocks.

"Where are you," shouted a voice.

"I'm in a depression," I said.

"Aren't we all," was the reply.

So far we hadn't pa.s.sed any fire orders, it was very hot, I asked Maunders on the wireless if he had any water. Yes. I started to run down to get some. A fresh mortar barrage. I lay face down, sweating. It stopped. An infantry man stopped by me, G.o.d knows where he came from.

G.o.d: He came from the 2/4 Hampshire my son.

Me: Ta.

The soldier delighted in telling me, "It's no good hiding there, he'll get you no matter what, if you haven't got a trench, any minute now he should start his mortars, he dropped some this morning just where you're lying." All this got my back up (which by now was down by my ankles), "Why don't you f.u.c.k off and join the German Army?" I thought he was going to shoot me but he cleared off. I was learning the strange quality of the human race. His kick was to find somebody who looked scared, and try and make him terrified. I suppose he liked feeling little girls' bicycle saddles as well. A Hampshire private popped his head up from a funk hole. "If they attack, do you think we can hold 'em?"

"Yes," I said confidently, "there's a barrage going down at 2."

"Oh good," he said.

I got some water from Maunders, then dashed up to my remote control in time to pa.s.s fire orders. It was 13.59 hours. At 14.00 the barrage went over followed by the infantry attack. From the crest I watched the P.B.I, going forward, down the slopes of Djbel Mahdi, across the valley and up the slope opposite. Men fell sideways and lay still, no one stopped, they reached the German F.D.L'.s, from the distance it looked comic. Men jumping out of holes with hands up, men running behind trees, leaping out of windows; it took about an hour. By 3 o'clock we had taken the position, but Jerry counter-attacked, we sh.e.l.led him, and broke up the attack. Around a hill comes a British Officer, clowning at the head of about 50 PoW's from the 1/755 Grenadier Rgt, the young officer was Goose-stepping and shouting in Cod German "Zis is our last Territorial demand in Africa." Be-him a stiff, bitter-faced Afrika Korp Oberlieutenant marched with all the military dignity he could muster, none of his men looked like the master-race. As they pa.s.sed, our lads stood up in their fox-holes farting, and giving n.a.z.i salutes; recalling the ritual of ancient conquerors riding on a palanquin and parading their prisoners of war behind them. Here there were shouts of "you square-head b.a.s.t.a.r.ds" and "I bet we could beat you at f.u.c.king football as well." Behind us across the valley Churchill tanks were attacking a low hill, up the valley came a squadron of FW log's. We all let fly, we were feeling good, suddenly the leader burst into flames. Bdr Sherwood shouted "Look Spike, look!" The plane left the formation, went on its back in a slow death agony, then raced to the hills opposite and exploded. "Woah-ho! Mahomed" we yelled.

1st Army battle cry. 1st Army battle cry.

"That's for my brother," said a bitter Irish voice. We were not out of mortar range but we kept getting small 'Stonks' of 88 mm's landing behind the crest.

Concentrations of Artillery fire. Concentrations of Artillery fire.

I suddenly heard a scream. "I can't stand it any longer, I can't, I can't, I can't." A young infantry lad came past, his face buried in his hands, accompanied by two old sweats. "There, there, lad," one was saying, as they led him away. Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d, sitting in a hole in the ground, just waiting, hoping the next batch of sh.e.l.ls won't get you. That night I slept fitfully in my shallow hole.

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Jerry Straffing April 1943-from ditch near Djebel Munchar

Trauma I was smoking a cigarette when the mortar bomb hit me, when I regained consciousness I was lying on my side, my left shoulder and arm were lying 20 feet away, my lung was protruding from my chest, flies were swarming on it, my sight faded, even tho' I knew my eyes were open I couldn't see, talk or move. I hear the voices of stretcher bearers. Thank G.o.d, if they hurried I might have a chance. "There's one here," said a voice. Another voice replied, "No, he's dead, get the wounded ones first, bring him later."

"Spike! SPIKE!" The voice of Maunders was shouting in my headphones.

It was morning...

"h.e.l.lo Alf. Yes?"

"Why didn't you answer?"

"I was waiting for the stretcher bearer."

"What?"

"Nothing-what you want?"

"I've got some tea."

"I'll be right down."

I scrambled like a hunted beast to the bottom of the hill where all was peace. I sipped the tea luxuriously. I have never tasted the like of it before or since. The next day was reasonably quiet, but one expected 'things' to happen, I was glad when at sunset we were told to close down O.P. as our guns were now out of range.

We packed up our gear. "Had a nice day," said grinning Sherwood from his 7 foot funk-hole.

"Why did you stop, 3 feet more and you'd have come out on the Northern Line."

"I think you did well today," he said. "I enjoyed watching you running about, you must be very fit."

"Your turn will come Sherwood."

"I am one of His Majesty's Military drivers and I do not partake in violence or running about like a scared rabbit, on my pay it's not worth it."

Capt. Rand and Bombardier Edwards came down, both ginning. Strange, after sticky situations men always grinned, even burst out laughing. We climbed into the Bren. It was sunset, the land was bathed in red, the dust from our tracks looked like powdered blood, perhaps it was. Lorry loads of reinforcement pa.s.sed us, some of the men were singing as they disappeared in the dusk. "Singing songs going into battle is supposed to be old fashioned," said Captain Rand. "Ah," I said, "they don't do any fighting sir, they are especially trained singing soldiers who drive along the front line singing merry songs to keep up morale, indeed there's a great Trainee Singing Camp at Catterick, where men are selected for the vocal control under sh.e.l.l fire." I went raving on, I was mad I know, under these conditions it was advisable. Darkness settled. We seemed to have been driving a long time. Rand gave a polite cough. "Where are we Sherwood?" Sherwood gave a polite cough. "I was just going to ask you that sir." I gave a polite cough. "May I be the first to congratulate you on getting lost in a world record time of 1 hour 20 minutes."

With a failing torch, Capt. Rand perused the map. We were 7 kilometres adrift. In Stygian darkness we arrived back at Munchar, I groped my way to the Cook House. "The Caviar's all gone," says Cook May, "and the Dover Sole is off."

"It always was," I said shovelling cold MacConockie into my face. "I must put myself down for an MM." I added.

"Done something brave?" said May.

"Yes, I'm eating this b.l.o.o.d.y stuff."

"Aherough!" The sound of an approaching Edgington, "Something tells me Field Marshal Milligan is nigh," he waded .

"Nigh dead," I replied.

Edgington tells me there's mail! and off-loads 3 letters and a parcel! from Mother? I'd heard of such things in Vera Lynn's songs. The parcel contained Fruit cake, a comb, holy medals, writing paper, Brylcream, 3 pairs grey socks, 3 Mars Bars, a holy picture of the Virgin Mary, 3 packets of Pa.s.sing Cloud, 6 bars of soap, lovely-except when you smoked the f.a.gs they tasted of raw carbolic and you went giddy. An hour later, full of Mars Bars and wearing a necklace of holy medals and 3 pairs of grey socks, sick with soapy f.a.gs, I wearily pulled my blankets over my powerful Herculean body, and had the first good sleep I had had for 5 nights. As I lay there on that floor, Churchill was sitting in bed writing a letter to the Min. of Ag. I quote:- I understand you have discontinued the small sugar ration which was allowed to bees I understand you have discontinued the small sugar ration which was allowed to bees...

I won't go on, but supposing I I wrote to the Min. of Ag. wrote to the Min. of Ag.

Sir, I understand that you have discontinued the sugar icing that Gunner Milligan used to have on his doughnuts Sir, I understand that you have discontinued the sugar icing that Gunner Milligan used to have on his doughnuts...

At the same time the BBC were hitting the enemy pretty hard.

COMMUNITY COMMUNITY[image]

WHISTLING Join in and whistle with Ronald Gourley and the boys this evening at 6.30 Join in and whistle with Ronald Gourley and the boys this evening at 6.30 Oh how we enjoyed a good evening's whistling after being in a trench for 3 days and nights.

April 11, 1943 I awoke to a sunny morning, 9.00 a.m., a lizard was sunning himself on the window ledge. Gnr Pills did a n.o.ble thing, he brought me breakfast in bed! "Why did you do it? You're not queer are you?"

"I don't know," he said, "Waitin' on orficers is a dooty, well, I was orf dooty, and I fort I'd do a good deed for the day and I seed you sleepin' and I fort, he's 'ad an 'ard time or 'eed 'ave gotten up for 'ees breakfast, so I'll get it for 'im," then added, "You won't tell anyone will you, or they'll all bleedin' want it."

A bath! Ten minutes later I stood naked by the thermal spring soaping myself, singing, and waving my plonker at anyone who made rude remarks about it. "With one as big as that you ought to be back home on Essential War Work." It was nice to have these little unsolicited testimonials. The animal delight of sitting in a rocky pool of running warm water, under a blue sky and a brilliant sun, is one of life's bonuses.

I dried myself on what had once been a towel against what had once been a body. I was a wiry nine and a half stone. I tried to think of myself as a suntanned lean Gary Cooper but I always came out dirty white skinny Milligan. "You look like a bag of bones held together by flesh coloured tights," said Spiv Corvine. "Don't go," I said, "stay for my description of you, you short-a.r.s.ed little git!"

Letter Home: Letter Home: My dear Mum, Dad, Des My dear Mum, Dad, Des, Thanks for the parcel, don't put soap in with f.a.gs. Out of action for the day, hence letter. Weather is hotting up, about 70, it's shirt sleeves. And how silly we all look, naked except for 2 shirt sleeves! I believe they are shortly to issue Tropical Kit, or KD's (Khaki Drill) which will bring back memories of Poona. I still remember those boyhood days with remarkable clarity. I think if you enjoy a childhood, it is indelible for life. Clearest are memories of hearing the strident Bugle, and Drums of the Cheshire Regiment playing 'When we are marching to Georgia', and the Regiment swinging by, so impeccable, bayonets and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons flashing light signals in all directions, the blinding white webbing, boots like polished basalt, trousers crackling with starch, the creases with razor edges, the marks of sweat appearing down the spines of the men, the Pariah dogs slinking from the path of the column, and, the silent resentment of watching Natives. I don't think we can retain it as part of the Empire much longer. I give it until say 1950. Can't tell you much because of Censorship; so far miraculously, no one in this Battery has been hurt by enemy action. Not much chance to play Jazz at the moment, but listen regularly to AFN Algiers. I hope my records are O.K. I put them in a box under my bed with a cardboard sheet between each record. If you move, please be very careful of them. We're billeted in a war-damaged house, it's in a bad state, and we are trying to get a reduction in our rates. I hear a distant scream saying "Lunch will be served in an empty cowshed," or is it "Cows will be served in an empty lunch shed," so I'll be off.

Love to you all, your loving son, Terry your loving son, Terry.

P.S. Send more cake, chocolate, f.a.gs, Pile ointment, but for Christ sake no more holy medals.[image]

My mother informing my father of the contents of my letter

Last day Munchar "Fresh flowers from the fields of Tunisia Sir."

"Oh Milligan how nice," beamed Lt Budden, his solemn face journeying to a smile.

"I don't like plucking flowers, but"-I recalled Lady Astor visiting Bernard Shaw, remarking it was Summer yet he had no flowers in his house. "No mam," he replied. "I like flowers, I also like children, but, I do not chop their heads off and keep them in bowls around the house." A great man. She was a twit. She filled Parliament with Bon Mots, and put progress back a hundred years.

"Put them in this," said Lt Budden filling a broken jar with water. We placed the flowers on a rough square wooden table.

"They do brighten up the place," said Lt Budden standing back to admire them. Christ, I thought, the English are so b.l.o.o.d.y civilized, and I made a mental note to forgive them for the dispossession of my family's farm in Ulster during The Plantation.

"I think they are Ranunculus."

"Oh? I thought they were flowers."

The phone rang. I beat Budden to it.

"h.e.l.lo, Bdr Milligan."

"Want any chicken s.h.i.t?" said a voice.

"Who's that?" I said.

"Rhode Island Red," a gale of laughter, then click. I suspect the joker was Bdr Sherwood, who was given to such pranks, he was one of five brothers, a first cla.s.s driver, a very clean soldier, a good footballer, and a b.l.o.o.d.y awful pianist, I think it was the beer.