Part 25 (1/2)

Battery Orders: the following men have been chosen for GOS's Parade. Santa Maria La Fosse. Battery Orders: the following men have been chosen for GOS's Parade. Santa Maria La Fosse.

Parade 0730 0730.

Embuss 0745 0745.

Arrive 0815 0815.

Parade 0830 0830.

March Past.

Best battle dress. Lanyards will be worn. All webbing to be blancoed. Full FSMO less small and big pack. Rifles will not be carried. Best battle dress. Lanyards will be worn. All webbing to be blancoed. Full FSMO less small and big pack. Rifles will not be carried.

As each one saw his name on the roll he gave a groan and slumped away like a broken man, the one word that destroyed, BLANCO!, it struck terror into all.

In a disbelieving voice Sergeant King reads, ”Concert Party excused guard excused guard in lieu of Rehearsals!” in lieu of Rehearsals!”

Morning Parade has gaps in the ranks. ”It's the Concert Party, sir,” comforts BSM Griffin.

”There's SIXTY men missing,” says Major Jenkins. ”What are they putting on...Aida?”

We have sent for Driver Kidgell in Naples. The Guns and the Scammells are at workshops being overhauled; he's he's not being overhauled, no, he and his oily b.l.o.o.d.y mates are sitting on their fat a.r.s.es saying 'Phew' as they exhaust themselves playing Pontoon, and only move for meals and selling petrol. Half of them are freezing to death as they've sold their blankets, some of them are already in the Mafia. not being overhauled, no, he and his oily b.l.o.o.d.y mates are sitting on their fat a.r.s.es saying 'Phew' as they exhaust themselves playing Pontoon, and only move for meals and selling petrol. Half of them are freezing to death as they've sold their blankets, some of them are already in the Mafia.

On the morning of December 22, his lords.h.i.+p Kidgell arrives in a stately three-tonner lorry, he's waving from the window like Royalty and the subjects are returning it with certain signs from the waist down. He drives up to Edging-ton and I who are trying to make one cigarette do the job of twenty.

Short-a.r.s.e Kidgell is preparing to leap from the cabin, for this he really needs a parachute.

”It's an insult,” he said, ”why didn't they send the Rolls?”

”Rolls? You still still b.l.o.o.d.y hungry,” I said. ”Let me take the Royal Big Pack, and count the Royal Cigarettes.” b.l.o.o.d.y hungry,” I said. ”Let me take the Royal Big Pack, and count the Royal Cigarettes.”

He'd done alright for f.a.gs in Naples. ”I bought 'em on the black market,” he said, as I unearthed ten packets.

Edgington is walking behind, holding up Kidgell's overcoat like an ermine cape. Bombardier Deans spots the entourage, runs forward with his groundsheet and throws it before the dwarf driver.

”'Tis the Virgin Queen,” he chortles.

He's timed his arrival well. Lunch.

”Where's the cookhouse?” he said, forming a queue on his own. The sight of our well-prepared stage had impressed him. ”b.l.o.o.d.y marvellous,” said he, ”can you eat it? Where's the cookhouse?”

We watch as Kidgell devoured a third helping of duff as though he'd been adrift with Captain Bligh. Kidgell licks his knife. ”My motto is, today I live, tomorrow I die.”

”Well, it won't be from b.l.o.o.d.y starvation.”

Meanwhile, back at the stage, Sid Carter and a group of minions are performing miracles, using coloured crepe-paper and bunting; the stage looked splendidly seasonal, even front curtains on runners. 'Manglewurzel' Wenham had installed footlights.

”Watch this,” he said, and lowered the lights.

”Cor,” said appreciative Kidgell, ”nearly as dim as you.”

”You b.u.g.g.e.r,” said Wenham.

The piano has arrived. It is an aged black upright. Edging-ton supervises the unloading as though it were a Bechstein, however it was to sound more like a Frankenstein. As he struck the first chord the response was like running an iron bar around the spoke of a bicycle.

”What b.l.o.o.d.y fool chose this?” gasped Edgington.

”I did,” said Lt. Walker. ”Isn't it satisfactory? I mean...it looked alright.”

”Oh, it looks alright, that's all you can do, look at it.”

”Oh dear.” Lt. Walker was obviously distressed, after all, he was an officer, and here he was being told he was a musical ignoramus. ”That piano has set me back to the tune of 800 lire.”

”Well, sir, that's the only only tune you'll get out of it.” tune you'll get out of it.”

That afternoon, armed with pliers, Edgington and I tuned the piano; as he tightened the first string, it snapped with the sound of a bullet ricocheting. BSM Griffin entered at the moment to see us flat on the floor.

Kidgell reads the piano manufacturer's name. ”Bertorelli. Milano.”

”Bertorelli? Don't they make ice cream?”

”Yes,” said Edgington. ”They mix it inside.”

By sheer effort we managed to tune the piano to a reasonable state. Getting the thing on the stage we dropped it.

”Oh, f.u.c.k nooo,” groaned a despairing Edgington.

”Don't worry, don't worry,” said Shapiro, our khaki Jew. ”It can only make it better.”

The Concert We had been overwhelmed with a mountain of jokes, ideas, etc., most of them too terrible to perform; some suggestions were impossible impossible to perform-who in G.o.d's name would tolerate Gunner Chalky White singing to perform-who in G.o.d's name would tolerate Gunner Chalky White singing Ave Maria Ave Maria nude save for army boots? nude save for army boots?

”The best we can do is pick the least offensive,” I said.

”They're all all b.l.o.o.d.y offensive,” said Jam-Jar Griffin, who was 'Manager' for the Company. b.l.o.o.d.y offensive,” said Jam-Jar Griffin, who was 'Manager' for the Company.

Gunner White gives a soppy grin and says, ”General Alexander says we must be on the offensive all the time.”

”You can't sing Ave Maria Ave Maria in the nude, man. Some of the Iti farmers and their wives have been invited.” in the nude, man. Some of the Iti farmers and their wives have been invited.”

”I've got a good voice,” said White.

”You've got a big p.r.i.c.k as well,” I said.