Mussolini_ His Part In My Downfall Part 3

With the sun setting, and the tent sides turning pink in the light, I was loaded aboard an ambulance in the top bunk. The top bunk! It all came back to me, the top bunk, that's the one my parents always put me in during those long train journeys across India on the old GIP* Railway...all seemed so long ago...

Great Indian Peninsula. Great Indian Peninsula.

The ambulance b.u.mped and jolted through the narrow mountain roads. I recalled those bright sunlit Indian days, as a boy, where every day was was like a Kipling story... like a Kipling story...

"Like a drink of water, Corporal?"

"Yes."

The attendant poured water into a tin mug. I gulped down two, it tasted like nectar.

It was four stretchers to an ambulance; in between with his back to the driving cab sat an orderly. The inside was painted white. The vehicle smelt new. A blood plasma bottle was attached to the soldier on the lower bunk, his chest swathed in bandages. The orderly constantly checked the flow of the plasma. The German kept groaning. It all seemed to be coming to me through a heat charged mist. I was hovering twix delirium and reality. I doze off.

The ambulance stops, near-by artillery are banging away, the doors open, it's dark, voices mixed with gunfire, I am being unloaded. I'm on the ground, from there a large munic.i.p.al building with a flat roof is silhouetted against the night sky. Covered with ivy, it looks like the setting for Gormenghast Gormenghast. I am carried up stairs along corridors, more stairs, and finally into a dim-lit ward of about thirty beds, all with mozzy nets down. I am placed on the floor.

"Can you undress yourself?" says an overworked orderly.

Yes, I can.

"The pyjamas are under the pillow," he points to a bed.

My G.o.d, it looked good, already turned down, white sheets and pillows, TWO PILLOWS, being ill was paying dividends. I pulled on the standard blue pyjamas.

"Where's the karzi?" I said weakly.

He pointed out the door. "Dead opposite."

I wasn't quite dead but I went opposite; that journey over, I pulled my body under the sheets. I was desperately tired and feverish, but stayed awake to enjoy the luxury of sheets. Another orderly; they all wear gym shoes so you don't hear them coming, he took my pulse, temperature, entered them on a board that hung on the foot of my bed.

"Like some tea?" He spoke Yorkshire.

"Aye," I said in Yorkshire.

"Anything to eat?"

"Yes, anything."

He came back with a plate of tomato soup and bread. On the tray were four white tablets.

"Take these when you dun, they'll help bring temperature down."

"I don't want it down, I want it up for the duration."

I gulped it down. Took the tablets, brought them all up. Who said romance was dead? So much for my first forty-eight hours in Italy.

SEPTEMBER 26, 1943, 0600 HRS.

Awakened by a nurse. A female female nurse, all pink and scrubbed in spotless uniform smelling of Pears soap. nurse, all pink and scrubbed in spotless uniform smelling of Pears soap.

"Darling, I love you, marry me," I said.

"Good morning," she said, threw back the mozzy net and before I could answer had stuffed a thermometer in my gob.

"It's down," she said.

"What's down?" I said.

"You're only a 100."

She bent over the next bed, and showed two shapely legs, one would have been enough. I felt my temperature go up again. I really was ill. I fell asleep, an orderly woke me up with breakfast. The ward was coming to life, I wasn't; orderlies were taking down the last of the black-outs, those patients who could were putting the mozzy nets up, trailing out to the ablutions, others were swallowing medicines, here comes mine, four white tablets, what are they? The orderly doesn't know.

"I don't have to," he says, "then if you die it's not my fault."

Cheerful b.u.g.g.e.r. For the first two days my temperature goes up and down, and so I'm not alone, I go with it. At night it was worst with delirium and terrible dreams. However, gradually I start to recover. The nurse (I wish I could remember her name) tells me of an incident. In the officers' section there's a Colonel from the RAOC; he's due for a hernia operation, the matron has been given the job of shaving him, she knocks on the door.

"Come in," says the Colonel.

The matron throws back the bed clothes, lathers all around his 'w.i.l.l.y', shaves him and starts to leave. The Colonel says, "Pardon me, matron, but why did you bother to knock?"

In the next bed is a Marine Commando, Jamie Notam. He's in with our old friend 'Sh.e.l.l Shock', received during the landings around Marina. He was forty-one, a bit old for a Commando.

"I used to be a Gentleman's Gentleman," he's speaking with a broad Scots accent.

Jamie is sitting on the edge of his bed, he is in his battle dress, his boots highly polished, a hangover from his gentleman's gentleman days. His bed was immaculate, his eating irons and mess-tins shine like silver. He basically wanted to do do things; if he folded a newspaper it was always perfectly square, but there the creation stopped. He could never things; if he folded a newspaper it was always perfectly square, but there the creation stopped. He could never make make anything. It was always anything. It was always do do but what he did was perfect. He must have been the ideal servant. It's eleven o'clock of a morning. Outside the sun shone, that autumnal light more silver than gold, it beamed through the windows of our ward, favouring the beds who were on that side. but what he did was perfect. He must have been the ideal servant. It's eleven o'clock of a morning. Outside the sun shone, that autumnal light more silver than gold, it beamed through the windows of our ward, favouring the beds who were on that side.

In the centre of the ward are three trestle tables loaded with books, periodicals and newspapers. On one is an old Italian wireless set plugged up to a ceiling light. From it issues music from Allied Forces Network in Algiers. It's mostly danceband music and singers like Crosby, Sinatra, d.i.c.k Haymes, Vera Lynn, Ann Shelton and Evelyn Dall (who?). The ward is big, high ceiling, plenty of light. All the bedside lockers have a water jug and gla.s.s. If you wished, you could have orange or lemon juice flavouring. In the locker were those tortuous pieces of porcelain, the bed-pan and the pee bottle. The attempt to make the place look homely, small tins with a few wild flowers, was very much appreciated. Since my admission, the sounds of artillery had daily receded. It was now reasonably quiet, save for the sound of planes pa.s.sing overhead.

Some of the patients sat up in bed, some writing letters, some reading newspapers with headlines like: AMBa.s.sADOR KENNEDY TELLS PRESIDENT BRITAIN IS FINISHED AMBa.s.sADOR KENNEDY TELLS PRESIDENT BRITAIN IS FINISHED.

(if he meant after after the war he was spot-on). Some soldiers had donned their dressing-gowns and were seated on other patients' beds, talking, smoking, or playing cards. The sick ones lay still, some asleep, some staring at the ceiling. We aren't a casualty ward so we don't have any blood or bandages. The lad in the bed on my right is very ill and in an oxygen tent; he has pneumonia and looks ghastly. My temperature was down to normal in the day, up to a hundred at night. the war he was spot-on). Some soldiers had donned their dressing-gowns and were seated on other patients' beds, talking, smoking, or playing cards. The sick ones lay still, some asleep, some staring at the ceiling. We aren't a casualty ward so we don't have any blood or bandages. The lad in the bed on my right is very ill and in an oxygen tent; he has pneumonia and looks ghastly. My temperature was down to normal in the day, up to a hundred at night.

"How'd you get into the Commandos at the age of forty-one?"

"I told 'em I was thirty."

"Why didn't you say thirteen, you'd have got out altogether."

"I wanted adventure."

"Call this adventure?"

He shows me photographs of himself outside his master's Manor House somewhere in Scotland.

"You left all that to come here?"

He nodded ruefully. "I must ha' been b.l.o.o.d.y mad," he said.

Well he was now. He was interesting company even though he was on tranquillisers and occasionally fell down. I sent him on errands like scrounging f.a.gs, getting my breakfast tray, bringing extra cups of tea, he loved it, he was back 'in service' again, and I took every advantage of it.

"Shall I gie yer boots a clean?" he'd say and I would say "Yes," wouldn't I?

I felt well enough to write my first letter home from Italy.

My dear Mum, Dad and Des My dear Mum, Dad and Des, I am officially somewhere else, that somewhere else is where I am, I am not at liberty to say, the whole of this land we have arrived in is now TOP SECRET, in fact no one is allowed to know where it is, even the people who live in it are told to forget they are here, however, the b.l.o.o.d.y Germans know where it is, and don't want to let us have it (Spaghetti). I've been here about a certain number of days (Spaghetti) and we all arrived here by certain transport and landed at a certain place at a certain time, of all these facts I am dead certain (Spaghetti). We are allowed to mention the sky, so I'll say that we have in fact got one, it's directly overhead and high enough to allow you to stand up. The weather, well it was nice and warm when we landed but is turning cool, as are the natives, and now there is rain every other day, I am not with the regiment at the moment, no, I have had an illness called sandfly fever, it's caused, as the name suggests, by getting sand in your flies, which immediately sends your temperature soaring, so despite the cold weather I'm quite warm thank you, in fact my temperature got so high, walking patients used to sit around my bed at night to keep warm. (Spaghetti). However, I'm better now, I've still got a temperature but it's normal. Next I'll be sent to a b.l.o.o.d.y awful Reinforcement Camp, where all the mud is sent to be slept on by unclaimed soldiers. So far the Battery have not sustained any casualties except me. (Spaghetti). With the censorship as it is it's pointless to write any more, all I want you to do is to write and tell me where I am (Spaghetti).

Your loving Son/Brother/Midwife Terry

SEPTEMBER 28, 1943.

MY DIARY: MY DIARY: THE NEWS SAYS JERRY'S EVACUATED NAPLES. HEAVY RAIN. THE NEWS SAYS JERRY'S EVACUATED NAPLES. HEAVY RAIN.

A Scottish, sandy-haired, freckle-faced Doctor is at the foot of my bed, he looks at me, smiles, looks at my board.

"Temperature's down then."

"Is it, sir?"

"It's ninety-nine. How do you feel?"

"I feel about ninety-nine, sir."

I slept most of that day, waking up for meals. It was all very pleasant, the service, the sound of the rain, the bloke in the next bed dying. That evening they took him out for some kind of an operation and he never came back. I remember the name on his chart was Parkinson ACC, he was a cook aged forty-five, and he'd snuffed it. Poor b.u.g.g.e.r; still, he was an army cook, and killed quite a few in his time.

What news! there's an ENSA Concert Party in the Big Hall this evening!

"What's ENSA?" says Jamie.

I told him, "Every Night Something Awful."

[image]

British troops' triumphal entry via the side streets while the Americans take the main roads.

The Hall was packed. There is a proper stage; on the curtains are the faint outlines of the Fascists' emblem, which has been unravelled in a hurry. A Sergeant is in the pit on a lone upright piano, he strikes up a merry medley of tunes, "Blue Birds over the White Cliffs of Dover' (and why shouldn't they be white with all those birds flying over?). The curtains part and there are three men and two girls in evening dress, they were the 'squares' of all time, they are all singing 'Here we are, Here we are, Here we are again!" Which was an outright lie as we'd never seen 'em before. We give them a good hand. A short red-faced male with a fierce haircut and popping eyes comes forward and starts to wrestle with the microphone to bring it down to his height.

"Thank you! Thank you!" he gushes. "Well, as we say, here we are again."

He tells a series of terrible jokes, we roar with laughter, he announces the Something Twins, on come two girls dressed as Shirley Temples, they sing 'On the good ship Lollipop', and we wish they were, they do a very simple tap dance. Storms of applause, next a male about fifty sings 'The Bowmen of England', as if all their strings were slack, he finishes, storms of applause! On come the two girls dressed as sailors-loud whistles. They sing 'All the Nice Girls Love a Sailor'. The third male comes on, he's everything a comic should be except funny, about forty-five, rotund, evening dress, a flat cap, a glove on one hand, after each joke he transfers the glove to the other and says 'On the other hand', he ends up with a song that I forgot even as he sang it. He left an indelible blank on my mind. The pit pianist then plays 'The Stars and Stripes'...Storms of cheers, what liars we are. So it goes on; a brave attempt to cheer the lads up, and we all appreciated it, it was as well we didn't have to pay. We wander back upstairs to our ward, it's night now, the black-outs are up, dinner is on its way.

"They're letting me out tomorrow," says Jamie.

"You going back to your unit?"

"No, I'm going before a medical board, they're going to downgrade me."

"You lucky sod."

"Aye, I don't think I'd like any more fighting, I should have stayed at home."

So ended Jamie Notam's dream of high adventure. I wonder what happened to him.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1943.

I'm up and about, I'm OK, I'm cured, I'm normal again, I feel fine, I'm ready to be killed again, he's fit, send him back, etc. etc. Yes. The Scots doctor on his rounds.

"So you're leaving us, Mirrigen."

"Yes, sir."

"How do you feel?"

"Very ill, sir, very, very, very ill."

He smiles. "Well, Mirrigen, all good things come to an end."

Was I I the good thing? Help!! Two new patients arrive, and are dumped in the bed each side. Both are coughing like consumptives, what luck, if I hang around I might get it. Shall I kiss one? I wonder where the Battery are and what they are doing, going Bang! I suppose. There is a barber among the patients, Rifleman Houseman. the good thing? Help!! Two new patients arrive, and are dumped in the bed each side. Both are coughing like consumptives, what luck, if I hang around I might get it. Shall I kiss one? I wonder where the Battery are and what they are doing, going Bang! I suppose. There is a barber among the patients, Rifleman Houseman.

"Anyone want a haircut?"

There is no reply.

"Free," he adds, and is knocked down in the rush. I let him loose on my head, when he showed me the result in the mirror, I nearly fainted.

"Howzat?" he said.

"Out," I replied.

My head looked like someone had set it on fire.

"It was all for free," explained Rifleman Houseman.

BRILLIANT RECOVERY FROM SANDFLY FEVER BY HUMBLE L/BOMBARDIER BRILLIANT RECOVERY FROM SANDFLY FEVER BY HUMBLE L/BOMBARDIER.

So the headlines should have run, all I got was a Lance-Corporal suffering from incurable stupidity, who said, "Bombardier Millington?"

"That's almost me," I said.

"You are to be discharged tomorrow."

"I understand that my name is now Millington and I am to be discharged as fit."

"Yes, RTU*."