28 Feb. 1943 My Diary: My Diary: Torrential rain. Wireless trench flooded Torrential rain. Wireless trench flooded.

Contacted Gun Position: Milligan: h.e.l.lo! Tell Sergeant Dawson I need a relief.

Gun Position: Who do you want?

Milligan: Paulette G.o.ddard.

Gun Position: What will be her duties?

Milligan: Me.

The rain! Not only did it come down, it went up 6 feet, and then came down a second time.

"It's good for the crops," said McArthur.

"I haven't got any," I said.

"I have. I've got a hundred acres in Somerset and three hundred in Canada."

"It's not raining there."

"I know," he said, pacing up and down, "and it's very very worrying."

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B.S.M. McArthur telling a gunner he owns all the mud in Tunisia

MARCH.

Germans launched an offensive called 'Ocksenkopf'.

'Ox Head'. With names like that for a major offensive, they just couldn't have had a sense of humour. 'Ox Head'. With names like that for a major offensive, they just couldn't have had a sense of humour.

It went from 26 February to 5 March. They nearly broke through at Hunt's Gap, but an incredible resistance by 5 Hampshires and 155 Bty R A for over twelve hours (the latter were finally overwhelmed), decimated the Bosch so much-he had to stop.

March 13 1943 Early closing in Lewisham.

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US BULLETIN.

The scene: A highly camouflaged American Ice-cream refrigerator in the battle zone. A phone rings. A highly camouflaged American Ice-cream refrigerator in the battle zone. A phone rings. EISENHOWER: EISENHOWER: Who is that? Who is that? VOICE: VOICE: I'm General Patton, 2 I'm General Patton, 2nd in line to John Wayne... in line to John Wayne... EISENHOWER: EISENHOWER: It's Ike here? We've taken a thrashing from the Germans at Ka.s.serine. It's Ike here? We've taken a thrashing from the Germans at Ka.s.serine. PATTON: PATTON: Germans? I'll put them on the list, but first we get rid of the Limeys! Germans? I'll put them on the list, but first we get rid of the Limeys! EISENHOWER: EISENHOWER: Remember, form the Tanks into a circle-with women and kids in the middle. Remember, form the Tanks into a circle-with women and kids in the middle.

12 March 1943 Q, Bloke, Courtney says: "We've got to move to a place called 'Beja'." Soooo, we all start this b.l.o.o.d.y kit packing again. Finally the convoy lined up. BSM McArthur on his motorbike. "Where's the Rolls?" I said. It was 44 miles to Beja, en route we pa.s.sed a glut of POW's; without fail, we gave them n.a.z.i salutes and morale sapping raspberries. The Germans looked baffled. Was this rabble the Army they were fighting? And what was this strange farting noise they made?

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Goebbels News Flash HITLER: Vat is dis fartung noise zer Britisher are making ? Vat is dis fartung noise zer Britisher are making ? HIMMLER: HIMMLER: Einer Raspberry-speilen. Einer Raspberry-speilen. HITLER: HITLER: Raspberry-speilen?-vat is das? Raspberry-speilen?-vat is das? HIMMLER: HIMMLER: According to our secret agent it is einen fartung noise. According to our secret agent it is einen fartung noise. HITLER: HITLER: How can einen Raspberry make zer fartung noise? How can einen Raspberry make zer fartung noise? HIMMLER: HIMMLER: It is einen mystery? It is einen mystery? HITLER: HITLER: Zat is not good enough! We must form Einer Raspberry-speil Panzer Unit. We will show zem who is Zat is not good enough! We must form Einer Raspberry-speil Panzer Unit. We will show zem who is master master of zer Fartung noise. of zer Fartung noise.[image]

Gunner Milligan showing his unflagging belief in his King and Country

A mile outside Beja, on the verge of a tree lined dusty road, we parked our vehicles, draped scrim nets over them. Flanking us were fields of ripening corn that rittle-rattled in the afternoon breeze. The afternoon was good drying weather; I had to wash my denims and battle-dress trousers because they pleaded with me to. I hung them to dry, and repaired in my shirt and socks to sleep in Kidgell's lorry. I awoke to find the lorry a mile away at an Ordnance Depot about to be loaded with blankets. I was hoiked out of the back accompanied by wolf whistles from soldiers.

An RSM spotted me. "Oi! Yew Yew, 'ere, and double!" It was a rare sight, me running across a busy square. I came to an uncla.s.sic attention.

"Wot the b.l.o.o.d.y 'ell you think you're doing?"

"It was an accident sir."

"What kind of accident?"

"Dysentery sir-I'm excused trousers during an attack."

"If the Arabs sees you they'll think we're all b.l.o.o.d.y queer." He took me to the Quarter Master's Store. "Fix this nudist up with trousers."

Kidgell was bent double with laughter as we drove back. "You swine, Kidgell, I hope on your honeymoon your cobblers catch fire and roll down the bed."

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The roads were alive with reinforcements. A squadron of Churchills all spanking new were trundling towards the front-their gear stowed immaculately, Divisional signs freshly painted. Along the Beja-Oued Zaga Road we travelled, the sun was shining, the land was green, we didn't have a care in the world, was there really really a war on ? a war on ?

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We sang songs, those nostalgic slushy moon-June love songs that had f.u.c.ked-up my generation. I was brought up to believe that the answer to all problems was a red-rouged-moist-lipped Alice Faye romance. I wasn't in a war really, I was, Robert Taylor in 'Waterloo Bridge'-and Louise of Bexhill was Vivien Leigh. Life was a series of weak-joked c.r.a.ppy dialogues one could hear in any Hollywood film from 1935 to 1945. If I made a wisecrack I was Lee Tracey, if I sang a song I was Bing Crosby, if I played trumpet, Louis Armstrong if I kissed a girl, Clarke Gable, if I was in a fight, James Cagney-but who was I when washing out my socks? Hollywood didn't recognise reality-the escapism was almost evil, yet, I was was looking for the happy ending, with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney marching triumphantly and singing 'They call us Babes in Arms'. It never happened. It never will, Hollywood sold us short. My generation have suffered withdrawal symptoms ever since. But here we were singing gaily. It was ridiculous! A thin soldier, in outsize denim trousers held up with string singing 'You stepped out of a dream'. Doug had a new trick, on the first beat of the bar he'd hit the accelerator-and the lorry would lurch forward. looking for the happy ending, with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney marching triumphantly and singing 'They call us Babes in Arms'. It never happened. It never will, Hollywood sold us short. My generation have suffered withdrawal symptoms ever since. But here we were singing gaily. It was ridiculous! A thin soldier, in outsize denim trousers held up with string singing 'You stepped out of a dream'. Doug had a new trick, on the first beat of the bar he'd hit the accelerator-and the lorry would lurch forward.

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March 13th The mail had arrived. Everyone went mad!

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I had one from Mum and Dad, one from Lily, and Ohhh ArGGGGHHHHHHH! Three from Louise of Bexhill. AHGGGHHHHHHHHHH. Help! I'm going blind. My father had rejoined the Army as a Captain in the RAOC. He was over fifty, but using glazier's putty, and blacking his bald head with boot polish, looked forty-nine. My brother Desmond was working as a runner-c.u.m-slave to a press photographers in Fleet Street, and was in the middle of all the fire raids and frequently came home smoke blackened, but whistling cheerfully. This caused mother to worry. She got Doctor O'Brien to prescribe whisky to "relax her." Every evening she would open the front window, sip whisky, and listen for Desmond's whistling. By the time he arrived mother was so relaxed she was stretched out in the pa.s.sage.

All the mail didn't bring good news. Sgt Dale says "Ere! My missus has run off with a bleedin' Polish airman!"

"That's funny, so 'as mine. They must be short of planes." Other letters were from Beryl Southby-a Norwood girl who had a crush on me, and one from Kay in Herstmonceaux-I must have pulled the birds in those days but I don't remember working at it, however, it got complicated, as this letter of Edgington recalls: Then-how about the night at the De-La-Warr Pavillion, when it took seven of us to get all your 'birds' safely out of the place at the end of the evening whilst you 'peeled-off' secretly with the eighth-the latest! Kay, the dazzling blonde from Herstmonceaux who had been waiting behind the dressing-room door with a pair of scissors clutched in her hands during the interval!-Did you know about that!!!??? Doug was first man into the room in the interval and walked right into her, as Alf arrived, he was needed to help Doug in the struggle to 'unarm' her and as I came in, she was crying and they were trying to mollify her... Then-how about the night at the De-La-Warr Pavillion, when it took seven of us to get all your 'birds' safely out of the place at the end of the evening whilst you 'peeled-off' secretly with the eighth-the latest! Kay, the dazzling blonde from Herstmonceaux who had been waiting behind the dressing-room door with a pair of scissors clutched in her hands during the interval!-Did you know about that!!!??? Doug was first man into the room in the interval and walked right into her, as Alf arrived, he was needed to help Doug in the struggle to 'unarm' her and as I came in, she was crying and they were trying to mollify her... You never showed up! If you were out in the auditorium you were still taking your life in your hands for they were all there-the two Bettys among them, flexing long fingernails, even Pearl the NAAFI girl was looking very unhappy, and there was one of the sergeant's wives I remember. (It's all lies folks! S.M.) Anyway, came the finish of the evening with Jimmy, Chalky and I nervously shepherding three of them up the left-hand (as you looked out from the stage) raised aisle or gallery where all the seating was: Well, we were just getting towards the far end of it and there were some three rows of triple cinema seats already pushed up tight against the wooden wall, that overlooked the dance floor. As we were coming up to these, I saw an army boot sticking out from the ma.s.s of steel legs. There must be another one somewhere I thought. Being on the inside, nearest to the chairs, I took one step rather more quickly and stopped and turned to the girls, so as to keep their attention up at me. I risked a look down at where the head that belonged to the boot ought to be. Sure enough, there it was (at the right distance from the boot), the Milligan features all screwed up into the usual huge grinning wink. Remember? It's a pity you didn't get that one into the book, for it has, despite all the s.h.a.gging that was undoubtedly going on, afar happier and more humorous ring to it than all the other yarns about your 'amours You never showed up! If you were out in the auditorium you were still taking your life in your hands for they were all there-the two Bettys among them, flexing long fingernails, even Pearl the NAAFI girl was looking very unhappy, and there was one of the sergeant's wives I remember. (It's all lies folks! S.M.) Anyway, came the finish of the evening with Jimmy, Chalky and I nervously shepherding three of them up the left-hand (as you looked out from the stage) raised aisle or gallery where all the seating was: Well, we were just getting towards the far end of it and there were some three rows of triple cinema seats already pushed up tight against the wooden wall, that overlooked the dance floor. As we were coming up to these, I saw an army boot sticking out from the ma.s.s of steel legs. There must be another one somewhere I thought. Being on the inside, nearest to the chairs, I took one step rather more quickly and stopped and turned to the girls, so as to keep their attention up at me. I risked a look down at where the head that belonged to the boot ought to be. Sure enough, there it was (at the right distance from the boot), the Milligan features all screwed up into the usual huge grinning wink. Remember? It's a pity you didn't get that one into the book, for it has, despite all the s.h.a.gging that was undoubtedly going on, afar happier and more humorous ring to it than all the other yarns about your 'amours'.[image]

Gunner Milligan happily playing his H.P. Trumpet at De La Wan Pavilion, Bexhill, while his mates keep his birds from killing him

Well folks! if that's all true, I didn't know when I was well off!

Beja Waggon Lines 17 March 1943 A velvet night as against last night which was Donegal Tweed. Midnight, around me the silent, sleeping Waggon Lines, I was reading a Micky Mouse comic printed in Arabic. I shouldn't be doing this! I understood Micky Mouse, but Arabic! No, mice didn't speak Arabic. This was nonsense. I should be on the floor of the Hammersmith Palais de Danse wearing a blue chalk-stripe suit with well padded shoulders, doing the 'Suzy OJ with what's-her-name-with-the-big-b.o.o.bs, who used to go out with Roy Fox's Singer, Denny Dennis, who had become the British Bing Crosby, whereas in fact, I I was the British Bing Crosby-didn't I win the Bing Crosby contest at the Hippodrome, Lewisham, wearing a shrunken sports jacket with four and sixpenny Marks and Spencer's flannels? And again was the British Bing Crosby-didn't I win the Bing Crosby contest at the Hippodrome, Lewisham, wearing a shrunken sports jacket with four and sixpenny Marks and Spencer's flannels? And again - - didn't I win the EPNS solid silver Crooners Cup at the Lady Florence Inst.i.tute, Deptford, singing 'East of the Sun'? and was chased frequently by the bloke who came 2 didn't I win the EPNS solid silver Crooners Cup at the Lady Florence Inst.i.tute, Deptford, singing 'East of the Sun'? and was chased frequently by the bloke who came 2nd?, anyhow, I settled down to a comparatively easy life at Beja, sitting in a hip bath and eating dates.

March 18th We were to take returnable salvage to the RASC Depot at Souk El Khemis, Kidgell, Edgington and I, a perfect trio, all barmy, and none of us queer. On the way we stopped to exchange old battle-dresses and see through blankets with Arabs, for bunches of dates. The stickiness! By the time we got to the Depot we were stuck to each other. Kidgell had to prise his hands off the steering wheel. It was even on our boots, six feet away from the eating area!

A stark white sign with the red letters BEJA, no admission, TYPHUS.

"I wonder what Typhus is like," said Edgington.

"Typhus is an Arab village," I said.

"Then wot's Beja?"

"Beja is a dread disease that has struck down the people of Typhus."

"You notice that the Wogs don't have these diseases until we arrive." We drove along in silence. "What did one date say to another?"

"I'm stoned."

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Souk El Khemis was a pile of mud with windows. In the main street we entered an Arab Cafe called 'Out of Bounds'. We drank a bottle of warm Thibar white wine. Arabs in ones and twos were seated round coffee tables. Above a three bladed fan turned slow enough to count the blades, it was intended to disperse flies, but in fact they rode on it. We drained the bottle, and left.

Midday. Arrived at Service Corps Depot. Stopped at gates by small red-capped, two striped, military Hitler.

"Wot is yourn business?"

"I'm a Vicar's Mate but the war has spoilt it."

"We want to play a little game do we? Gude. I like little games, now we are going to play a little game called Vicar's Mate waiting at the gate for one hour."

"Where do they find people like him?" says Edgington.

"You take a pig's offal," said Kidgell, "and make it a Corporal." Finally allowed in we drove to the salvage bay, unloaded our junk-got a receipt for it.

"Why does anybody have to sign for a load of c.r.a.p like that," says Edgington.

"Why? It puts the responsibility for all that c.r.a.p onto someone else. Life is all bits of paper. You don't exist until you have a birth certificate, you are nameless unless you have a baptismal certificate, you have never been to school without a school leaving cert, you can't get insurance without a clean bill of health certificate, and, you're not legally dead without a death certificate."

"You can't do a c.r.a.p without one," added Kidgell.

Before departing I spied a pile of American two-man pup-tents. I approached them respectfully, saluted, placed one under my arm and said "This is for Wounded Knee, it's also for Wounded Teeth, Wounded Ear and Ulcerated Tongue," one pace back, on to the lorry, and away. A brilliant tactical move, and my first blow against General Patton. The wind blew pleasantly through the lorry window. "Did you know," said Edgington now covered in date-sticky, "there's a man in St John's Road, Archway who's kept a whole egg in his mouth for a year without taking it out?"

"He must be b.l.o.o.d.y mad," I said.

"Maybe, but he's still a civilian," he said, sliding dates down his throat. We finished the dates and felt sick.

We ourselves felt pretty free, alone, no authority, knowing where the next meal came from, young, all that had a certain freedom too. Since then, none of us have ever felt that particular type of mental and spiritual liberty, the gall of it is, at the time we didn't know it, it appears memories always have to be forced on us. Suddenly, at an alarming speed, the skies overcast, turned black, and a thunderous torrential downpour descended. The land became a sea of reddy brown water, the force of the rain neutralized the windscreen wipers and we had to pull up.

"It will do BSM McArthur's crops in Canada good," said Kidgell. Almost as quickly the rain stopped, the sun shone, and that peculiar musk of drying earth permeated the air, the trees were a shade greener, the air fresher. G.o.d was very good when he wanted to be. In twenty minutes the world dried out, and no trace of rain remained. "Wot is that?" Edgington pointed to something moving along the road. We pulled up. "There, that thing." It was a large black scarab shaped beetle, about half the size of a matchbox. It was standing on its head and, with its hind legs, pushing a round ball the size of a small tangerine.

"That's a dung beetle." Edgington gets out, and stands over the creature which is moving up the road.

"Why are they called Dung Beetles," said Doug.

"Because that ball he's rolling, is dung."

"What's he want it for?"

"He lays his eggs inside."

"What a start in life being born up to your neck in s.h.i.t."

I picked up the beetle and placed him in a safer position where Kidgell stepped back and flattened it. We pa.s.sed another batch of POWs, "Ein Reich! Ein Fuhrer! ein Arsole," we shouted.

"Lucky sods," says Kidgell, "they're out of it."

"Here Milligan," says Harry with surprised recollection, "today's St Patrick's day, any messages?"

"Yes. f.u.c.k the English."

That evening, I erected my new tent, and invited Edging-ton to share it. Suddenly the rain. "Oh Christ," said Harry, "I'm on guard in five minutes," he moaned. "Right," I said, "off you go and stand in the p.i.s.sing rain for your King and Country." He went of groaning, and rustling in his Gas Cape.