Spike Milligan - Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall

(Memoires volume 4)

(Non fiction)

by Spike Milligan

1978

Clive James, in a review of one of mywar books, quoted it as an unreliable history of the war. Well, this makes him a thoroughly unreliable critic, because I spend more time on getting my dates and facts right than I did in actually writing. I admit the way I present it may seem as though my type of war was impossible and all a figment of a hyper-thyroid imagination, but thats the way I write. But all that I wrote did happen, it happened on the days I mention, the people I mention are real people and the places are real. So I wish the reader to know that he is not reading a tissue of lies and fancies, it all really happened. I even got down to actually finding out what the weather was like, for every day of the campaign. Ive spent a fortune on beer and dinners interviewing my old Battery mates, and phone calls to those members overseas ran into over a hundred pounds. Likewise I included a large number of photographs actually taken in situ, dont tell me I faked them all, so no more unreliable history of the war chat.

I want to thank the following for their help with documents, photographs, maps, recollections which are included in this volume: Major J. Leaman, Lt. S. Pride, Lt. C. Budden, B.S.M. L. Griffin, Sgt. F. Donaldson, the late Bombardier Edwards, Bombardier H. Holmwood, Bombardier S. Price, Bombardier A. Edser, Bombardier S. Kemp, L/Bdr. A. Fildes, Gunner Jam-Jar Griffin, Bombardier D. Sloggit, L/Bdr. R. Bennett, Gunner J. Shapiro, Gunner H. Edgington, Gunner Dipper Dye, Driver D. Kidgell, The War Museum Picture Library, Mrs Thelma Hunt, Mrs P. Hurren, all of whom have helped to give you this unreliable history of the war.

This volume ends up on a sad note, even for a born joker like me: the conflict caught up with me and I was invalided out of it. However, the rest of the book tells of what an unusual mob we were and have been ever since. The closeness of those years still exists in as much as we have two reunions a year, something no other British Army unit have. This book is a dedication to the spirit and friendship of D Battery, 56th Heavy Regiment, Royal Artillery.

S. M.

Bayswater

March 1978

Salerno

MY DIARY:

STILL AT WAR! EARLY CLOSING IN CATFORD. READ LETTER FROM MOTHER SAYING CHIESMANS OF LEWISHAM ARE SO SHORT OF STOCK, THE MANAGER AND STAFF SIT IN THE SHOP MIMING THE WORDS SOLD OUT.

Dear Reader, the beds in the Dorchester Hotel are the most comfortable in England. Alas! neither Driver Kidgell nor Lance-Bombardier Milligan are in a bed at the Dorchesterno! they are trying to sleep on a 10-ton Scammell lorry, parked on the top deck of 4,000-ton HMS Boxer, inside whose innards are packed 19 Battery, 56th Heavy Regiment, all steaming in the hold; from below comes the merry sound of men retching and its all from Gunner Edgington. We are bound for Sunny Salerno. For thirteen days since the 5th Army landing, a ferocious battle had ensued on the beach-head. Even as we rode the waves we knew not what to expect when our turn came. The dawn comes up like Thinder. Thinder? Yes, thats Thin Thunder. Shhhhhh, we all shout. The chill morning air touches the khaki somnam-bulists sleeping heroically for their King and Country. We are awakened by Gunner Woods in the driving cab, who has fallen asleep on the motor horn. A puzzled ships Captain is wondering why he can hear the sound of a lorry at sea. Kidgell gives a great jaw-cracking yawn and thats him finished for the day. He stretches himself but doesnt get any longer. Deep in his eyes I see engraved the word, TEA. Wakey wakey, he said, but didnt. The ship is silent. The helmsmans face shows white through the wheel house.

HMS Boxer, which landed us at Salerno. This picture was taken after the war, when shed been converted to a Radar Ship.

It is Dawn, yawns Kidgell. My watch says twenty past, I yawned. Yes! Its exactly twenty past Dawn, he yawned. We yawned. Like a comedy duo, we both stand and pull our trousers on; mistake! he has mine and vice versa. The light is growing in the Eastern sky, it reveals a great grey convoy of ships, plunging and rising at the dictation of the sea. LCTs. LCTs, some thirty of them, all flanked by navy Z-Class destroyers. The one on our port bow is stencilled B4. Imagine the confusion of a wireless conversation with it.

Hello B4, are you receiving me?

PAUSE

Hello B4 answering.

PAUSE

Hello B4, why didnt you answer B4?

Because we didnt hear you before. In the early light the sea is blue-black like ink. Kidgell is carefully folding his blankets into a mess, I havent slept that well for years.

How do you know? I said. You were asleep. He chuckled, Well it feels like I slept well.

Where did you feel it, in the legs? the elbows? teeth? I was determined to pursue the matter to its illogical conclusion; I mean if sane people are going around saying I slept well last night, what would lunatics say? I stayed awake all night so I could see if I slept well? I meanwe are interrupted by the shattering roar of aircraft!! Spitfires! someone said, and we all got up again.

Thank God they werent German, says Kidgell. Why thank him, I said. He doesnt run the German air force, thank Hitler.

Alright, clever Dick. He giggled. This is going to sound sillythank Hitler they werent Germans.

The helmsmans face showed white through the wheel house.

I produce a packet of Woodbines. I offer one to Kidgell. I have tohes got the matches. My watch says 12.20; that means its about seven oclock. We stow our gear into a lorry full of sleeping Gunners with variable pitch snoring; three of them are snoring the chord of C Minor. We decide to walk forrard. The Boxer makes a frothy swathe as her flat prow divides the waters. The sky is turning into post-dawn coloursscarlet, pink, lemon. It looked like the ending of a treacly MGM film where John Wayne joins his Ghost Riders in the sky. (Personally I cant wait for him to.) Its chilly; we wear overcoats with the collars up. Kidgell looks pensively out towards Italy.

I was wondering about the landing.

Dont worry about the landing, Ill hoover it in the morning.

He ignored me, but then everybody did. Ive been thinking.

Thinking? This could mean promotion, I said.

I was thinking, supposing they land us in six foot of water.

Then everyone five foot eleven and three quarters will drown.

Thats the end of me, then.

I thought you were a champion swimmer!

You cant swim in Army Boots.

Youre right, there is not enough room.

What are you talking about?

Im talking about ten words to the minute.

A merry matelot approaches with a Huge Brown Kettle. You lads like some cocoa?

We galloped at the speed of light to our big packs and returned to meet the merry matelot as he descended from the Bridge. He pours out the thick brown remaining sludge. The gulls in our wake scream as they dive-bomb the morning garbage. We sip the cocoa, holding the mug with both hands to warm them. A change from holding the mug to warm the Naafi tea. Another cigarette, what a lunatic habit! Here we are, I said. We go to these bastards who make this crap and we say We will give you money for twenty of those fags, we smoke them, we make the product disappear I Ha! Supposing you bought a piano on the same basis? Suddenly, in the middle of a concert it disappears, you have to belt out and buy another one to finish the concerto. Its lunacy.