Free Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall by Spike Milligan Page B

stand-off for my Convent. Using threats he got together a scratch team. Our opponents were The Sussex Regiment. As they took the field, an uneasy feeling went through me. Each one was six foot and fourteen stone. It transpired that they were convicts who were given remission provided they joined the army. And now, we were going to pay for it. We won the toss but that’s all. Griffiths kicked off. It was the last legitimate move of the game. From then on it was massacre. In the terrible scrums our hooker had his ears reduced to red flaps. In the rucks, our shins were kicked black. In the loose they tackled anyone, even each other. Their hand-offs were like walking into steel girders. The field rang to our screams. By half time, we were fifteen gibbering things, running white with fear and hiding on the crossbar. “Milligan! Come down at once you cowardly bugger,” said tariff.
    “They’re not ‘umen, Sarge,” whined sixteen-stone Tiny Vickers, “I got a wife and kids to think of.”
    “Right, think of ‘em while you’re playing,” said Griff.
    The second half saw the end. In a moment of insanity, one of us had got the ball and was immediately crushed to the ground under. six hundredweight of steaming beef. The brute I’d pounced on shot back his elbows, catching me flush under each eye. When I came to, I lay in a shallow, muddy grave. I looked up, play was at the far end and coming my way! “For Christ’s sake don’t get up!” screamed Griff, “or you’ll put us all off side.” I waited no more: I ran for my life, and hid under the stands.
    I never played again. Nobody should. Rugby is for watching.
Gunner Naze about to commence has famous jump

FEBRUARY 1941
MOVE FROM TURKEY ROAD SCHOOL TO HAILSHAM
    O ne Sunday morning we Roman Catholics were religiously gathered around playing Pontoon. A devout Scots gunner was about to say ‘Pontoons Only’ when Bombardier Bastard entered. “Stop,” he said. The Scots gunner with a twenty-one hand, and therefore heir to a fortune, collapsed. Bastard spoke the well-known phrase: “Prepare to Move! Kit packed by 06:00 hours! Parade 06:15 hours! Full F.S.M.O.!” We were off again.
    “Yes lads,” said Bastard through clenched teeth, “we’re all going tat-tars.” He then detailed Edgington and myself to clean up the officers’ billets at ‘Trevissick’.
    “You will report back tue billets before 15:00 hours, understan’?” We understan’. We put on our denims and with two brooms grumbled our way to ‘Trevissick’, a house in the posh area of Bexhill known as The Highlands. We picked up bits of paper, rusty blades, a sock, a broken record of Al Bowley singing ‘Buddy can you spare a dime?’
    “He’s broke,” I punned. We burnt all the rubbish and the brooms, then! a bit of Ould Oirish Luck. There in the corner of the garage was a crate of certain bottles. We drew nigh, and lo! there were two full bottles of liquid. One marked Barbados Rum, and the other, Soda Water. Being of a patriotic mien I volunteered to taste the rum in case it was poisoned. “I can’t let you take all the risk,” said Harry, “I must drink my share.” The tasting went on for quite a while. Also being of a scientific mind, from time to time we mixed, the soda with the rum. We gave of our best for over an hour. At 12:00 hours we were wandering, drinking, giggling, somewhere in Mill Wood. I challenged Edgington to a tree-climbing race. He said I couldn’t climb a tree for toffee. I said, “Who climbs trees for toffee? I get mine in a shop.”
    At 13:00 hours we were still wandering, drinking and giggling, in a tree in Mill Wood. I said I could leap from the tree and say ‘My Mum’s Monkey Makes Many Mistakes’ before I hit the ground. He said, Rubbish, I’d never get further than Mum’s Monkey, but he could. I jumped but forgot to say it. He said it but forgot to jump, so he jumped while I said it.
    The sun was setting, and an early crescent moon sailed towards the