Spike Milligan - Rommel? Gunner Who?: A Confrontation in the Desert

O nce again I am deeply grateful to Mrs Chater Jack, widow of our C.O. and late Lt Colonel Chater Jack, M.C., D.S.O., for the use of the private letters, diaries and documents which she so willingly lent me and is patient enough to let remain in my possession for this second volume, also to Al Fildes for his diary, and Harry Edgington for permission to publish his letters, plus the lads from the Battery who lent me the odd photo or letter, to Mr Rose and Mr Greenslade of the Ministry of Defenceto Mr Mayne of the War Museum for the loan of photographsand to Syd Price for photos he took during the War and to BART H. VANDERVEEN for permission to use two photographs of the Humber Snipe wireless truck and also thanks to Derek Hudson for the loan of the photograph of Anthony Goldsmith.

S.M.

19 Battery on train to Embarkation Portfighting off a ticket inspector

19 Bty 56 Heavy embarking for Africa

Of the events of war, I have not ventured to speak from any chance information, nor according to any notion of my own. I have described nothing but what I saw myself, or learned from others of whom I made the most careful and particular enquiry.

Thucydides. Peloponnesian War.

Ive just jazzed mine up a little.

Milligan. World War II.

Overture

H.Q. Afrika KorpsTunis. Jan. 1943

The scene:

Smell of German Ersatz Eggs, Sausages and Marlene Dietrich. A phone rings. General Stupenagel salutes it and picks it up.

STUPENAGEL:

Speilen!

GOERING:

Do you know were von Rommel is? This is Urgent.

STUPENAGEL:

General von Urgent?

GOERING: Dont make wiz zer fuck-about!vere is Rommel?

STUPENAGEL:

He is in zer shit-house.

GOERING:

Vot is he doing in zere at zis time of zer morning.

STUPENAGEL:

He is doing zer schitz he was bombed all night.

GOERING:

Donner Blitzen!

STUPENAGEL:

Hes in zer shit-house too.

GOERING:

Listen! Ve have had Bad News!

STUPENAGEL:

Dat sounds like bad news!

GOERING:

Our spy, Mrs Ethel Noss, in zer Algiers NAAFI, says dat zer Pritishers have brung zer heavy Artillery into Africa.

STUPENAGEL:

Gott no!

GOERING:

Gott yes! Zey are going to make shoot-bang-fire mil 200 pound shells.

STUPENAGEL:

Oh, Ger-fuck!

GOERING:

Tell Rommel, zer Fhrer wants him to got mil zer Panzer and make vid zer Afrika Korps, Schnell!

The scene:

Scene changes to a German latrine in a Wadi near Shatter-el-Arab. Enter STUPENAGEL.

STUPENAGEL:

Rommel, vich one are you in?

ROMMEL:

Number Zeben.

STUPENAGEL:

You must go to Tunis at once.

ROMMEL:

Let me finish going here first.

STUPENAGEL:

Zere is a crisis out zere.

ROMMEL:

Zere is a crisis in here; no paper, (screams, sound of scratching)

STUPENAGEL:

Vat is ger-wrong?

ROMMEL:

Itchy Powder on zer seat!

STUPENAGEL:

Ach zer Pritish Commandos have struck again.

Now read on:

If you read the first volume of this trilogy, you will know that in Jan. 1943 19 Battery 56th Heavy Rgt R.A. had arrived in the continent of Africa, which couldnt have cared less. We were in X Camp, soldiers under fourteen couldnt get in without their parents. Calling it X for security was beyond comprehension because there, in foot high letters, was the sign No 201 PoW Camp. I could hear the Gestapo: Mein Fhrer, ve have cracked zer Britisher Code! X, it means 201 PoW Camp! Soon we will know what PoW means. The Camp, situated up a dusty track fifty yards from the main Algiers Road, was a rectangle covering five acres surrounded by a double barbed wire fence fifteen feet high. The view was beautiful, the light clear, brilliant, like Athens on a midsummer day. Stretching to our left was a gradual curve of the coast with a laticlave of yellow sand and finally, Algiers proper, barely visible in the distance. To the right, turning crescent-like was another beach that terminated in a dazzling white lighthouse on Cap Matifou. This was all described in the Regimental diary thus:

Arrived at X Camp, Cap Matifou.

Whatever happened to Poetry?

The ground was like rocks. The nights were rent with gunners groaning, swearing, twisting, turning and revolving in their tents.

Temperatures fluctuated. You went to sleep on a warm evening, by dawn it dropped to freezing. We had to break our tents with hammers to get out. Dawn widdles caused frost bitten appendages, the screams! Help, Im dying of indecent exposure! We solved the problem. I stuffed my Gas cape with paper and made a mattress. Gunner Forest wrapped old Daily Mirrors round his body, I always wanted to be in the News, he said, and fainted. Others dug holes to accommodate hips and shoulders.

At night we wore every bit of clothing we had, then we rolled ourselves into four blankets. We look nine months gone, said Edgington. Any advance on nine, I cried.

It is night, Gunner Simpson is darning something which is four fifths hole and one fifth sock, I wonder when theyll let us into Algiers.

You gettin randy then? says Gunner White, because, weve all had our last shag for a long time.

Are there French birds in Algiers?

Yer. Theyre red ot. Cert Crumpet.

You shagged one then?

We slept warmly, but had overlooked the need to commune with nature, it took frantic searching through layers of clothing to locate ones willy, some never did and had to sleep with a damp leg. Gunner Maunders solved the problem! He slid a four foot length of bicycle inner tube over his willy, secured it round his waist with string, he just had to stand and let go. Jealous, Gunner White sabotaged it. As Maunders slept, fiend White tied knots in the bottom of the tube.

No, but my dad told me abaht em in the first world woer.

Theyre not the same ones?

One by one the soldiers would fall asleep. I lay awake, thinking, dreaming young mans dreams, jazz music would go through my head, I could see myself as Bunny Berrigan playing chorus after brilliant chorus in front of a big band surrounded by admiring dancers. Suddenly, without warning, Strainer Jones lets off with a thunderous postern blast, he had us all out of the tent in ten seconds flat.

One freezing dawn we were awakened by a Lockheed Lightning repeatedly roaring over our camp. Go and ask that bastard if hes going by road, says Edgington. I got outside just as the plane made another drive. I shouted Hope you crash you noisy bastard, the plane raced seaward, hit the water and exploded. I was stunned. The gunners emptied from their tents to watch the flames burning on the sea. Poor Sod, said a Gunner, and he was right. Reveille was sounding. Listen, said Edgington cupping an ear, theyre playing our tune.