Part 15 (1/2)
Good! Can you remember why we did it? Good! Can you remember why we did it?
H:.
Yes. Yes.
ME:.
Why? Why?
H:.
We were all b.l.o.o.d.y balmy. We were all b.l.o.o.d.y balmy.
ME:.
I know that, but was there any other reason? Were we short of tents? I know that, but was there any other reason? Were we short of tents?
H:.
No, sanity. No, sanity.
So there we have it. In that bed we slept like babes. Alas for Edgington, in the middle of the night someone from the Command Post tells us, ”The line to the OP has broken.” No one answered except the innocent Edgington. He gets up, and in his words, ”I don't know why no one else heard the call. [I know.] I got up and for some reason didn't lace up my boots. I started to trace the line. I reached a stream that was so churned up by crossing motor traffic, the water was like porridge. I found the break, but had to cross the stream which was about three feet deep. On my return, I took my boots into the Command Post, which had the brazier burning. I was too tired, I just threw my boots in the fire and waiting for them to dry I fell asleep sitting up. Next morning I took my boots from the embers, they were snow white and as hard as iron. To soften them I had to soak them in water again.” End of Edgington bit.
When the remaining Giant Bed sleepers awoke at dawn, the gun canvas was covered white with frost, yet I remember I had slept soundly and warm. End of Milligan bit.
I had been feeling a bit groggy all day. I could feel a cold coming on, so I dosed myself with hot tea and rum.
The 16th ended like it had started, with thunderous deluges of cold rain. It numbed the mind, the body and sapped the morale. My sleeping 'Quarters'? I had found a small embankment. In it I noticed a crevice that was about the length of a man lying down. It was recessed back about five feet, and from this I made a small, very dry, little sleeping quarters. There was only room for the bed, my small pack and an oil lamp. ended like it had started, with thunderous deluges of cold rain. It numbed the mind, the body and sapped the morale. My sleeping 'Quarters'? I had found a small embankment. In it I noticed a crevice that was about the length of a man lying down. It was recessed back about five feet, and from this I made a small, very dry, little sleeping quarters. There was only room for the bed, my small pack and an oil lamp.
By astute placing of my gas cape and some 'acquired' waterproof sheeting, I had made it rainproof. About ten that rain-swept evening, I lifted up the flap of my 'den', climbed in, removed my soggy boots, trousers and jacket, and eased myself into the dank blankets. I left the oil lamp burning for a while to give a little cheer to the gloom. Thoughts tumbled through my head-home, jazz, women, leave, money.
I take another swig from the rum ration in my water bottle, ghastly, I take another swig from my rum ration, ghastly...I take a swig from my rig ration. I take a rash from my swig.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1943.
The BBC News: The BBC News: ”Heavy rain in Italy is slowing the Allied advance.” ”Heavy rain in Italy is slowing the Allied advance.”
(Advance? What advance?) Today was a crisis day, the drivers tell us of chaos on the roads: flooding and cataclysmic subsidence has all but brought traffic to a halt. A Recce party return with the news that we have a new gun position at 966976.
”Come to romantic 966976 and take the waters, wallow in health-giving mud baths.” I am saying all this from my den when Edgington's voice draws nigh.
”Hist! I hear a voice from yon catacomb.” He pops his head under the gas cape. ”Come on, I'm off to brekker.”
The rain is running down the gas cape he holds over his head. I still feel groggy, but I don my clothes; together we slurp-slurp-slither towards the cookhouse. It's in a large tent among the apple trees. At the serving table stand Ronnie May and Charlie Booth. They've been up since six making the grub. Again! A fried egg egg! some spam stuff, bread, jam and tea.
Slip-slop-slur we go, sheltering the food under our capes. The Command Post fire is almost out. Wenham is inside, disconnecting the 'Dags'.
”I'm leavin' two new ones,” he says in his Suss.e.x burr.
Lt. Wright comes in behind us. ”Oh dear, who's let the fire out?”
We quickly add more twigs. The twigs are very damp, but when they burn have a lovely applewood smell.
Still no firing, we call up the OP. Lt. Walker wants to speak to Lt. Wright, they pa.s.s pleasantries, he hands me back the phone. I speak to Bdr. Eddie Edwards.
”What's it like up there?”
”b.l.o.o.d.y wet, Jerry is very quiet, it's live and let live at the moment, though he did a bit of mortaring around us last night.”
”Don't come back here, you'll be killed by boredom. Is it dry up there?”
”Yes, we're in a building, what's left of it.”
”I give up. What's left of it?” I laugh.
”You silly b.u.g.g.e.r.”
”You know the guns are out of action.”
”Yes, I know, but we've got to stay here for Observation, we've been flash-spotting Jerry guns at night.”
”Well, I'm just going to finish me tea. See ya.” To emulate the events that happened the rest of the day, carry out the following exercise: pour three buckets of water over yourself, face a blank wall and chain smoke.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1943.
Today was, as Sean O'Casey said, ”A state of Cha.s.sis'. Everything is now mud brown-men, machines, trees, mountains, apples. I hear Edgington singing 'It's a Brown World without you' to the tune of 'It's a Blue World without you'. I try and match it with 'When the Brown of the Night meets the Brown of the Day, someone waits for me'. He tops that with 'When you hear that serenade in Brown'. I go on with 'Brown Moon, I saw you standing alone'. I sing 'Am I Brown,” he sings 'St Louis Browns' then 'In my dear little Alice Brown Gown'.
”Brown Skies.”
”Brown Birds over the Brown Cliffs of Dover.”
We have to be ready by mid-day. The only way to get the guns out of the mud is tractors. We are to try the Americans.
”Americans?” gasps our Major. ”No, we must never sink that low.”
”We are are sunk that low, that's why we need them,” we informed him. To our aid came three giant American tractors. They eventually help us on to the road facing north-east; Fuller revs up his motor bike. sunk that low, that's why we need them,” we informed him. To our aid came three giant American tractors. They eventually help us on to the road facing north-east; Fuller revs up his motor bike.
”Follow me,” he says, and goes straight into the ditch. It was all too much.
We leap out and pull the bike off him. What did did he look like??? His face had disappeared; he is now convulsed with laughter. he look like??? His face had disappeared; he is now convulsed with laughter.
I am now travelling with Ernie Hart, a thin cadaverous face, the rims of his eyes always looked red and sore. He was a nice lad with a quiet sense of humour, so quiet no one ever heard it. I tell him our destination.
”San Domenico?” he repeated, ”lots of Sans in this country.”
”Yes, sans f.a.gs, sans money, sans every b.l.o.o.d.y thing.”