Free Peace Work by Spike Milligan Page A

sunlight. Luigi lets the clutch in and we are on our way.
    Grado is a spit of land accessible by a causeway. It’s apparently a fisherman’s paradise. It’s not much of a paradise for us. The beach is brown and so is the water. It’s all due to a muddy bottom, of which I’d seen a few. However, it’s a clear blue sky and hot. Toni and I hire a boatman who rows us to where the sea turns blue. We dive over the side. It’s like swimming in champagne, you can see the bottom. We sun ourselves and take a few snaps.
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    We sit in silence, holding hands, watching the wake of the boat. The boatman smiles, he knows we’re in love. “ Buona , eh?” he smiles. Plimping (yes, plimping ) on the sea are fishing boats, small two-men affairs – and, let’s face it, in those days two-men affairs were not that frequent. It was all very stimulating – the salt water drying on your body, the tranquillity and being in love.
Toni taken by me in Grado Me taken by Toni, Grado.
    Our time is up; the boatman heads for the shore.
    Mulgrew greets us. “Ahoy, there. Welcome to Grado.”
    “You’re welcome to it, too,” I said.
    Mulgrew has buried Bill Hall in the sand and shaped it like a woman’s body, with huge boobs. Alas, I lost that photo. “How much was the boat ride?” he says. I tell him a hundred lire for half an hour. “A hundred lire,” he said, his Scots face wincing with pain. “Why you can get three bottles of wine for that!” I agreed but said they wouldn’t float as well as a boat.
    There’s a sort of beach café with a straw-matted roof. Toni and I sit on high stools sipping fresh orange juice. Mulgrew has lemon juice.
    “It’s got more vitamins in.”
    “What is vitamin?” says Toni.
    “You know, vitamins A, B, C, D.”
    “That’s a funny way to spell vitamins,” I said.
    Marisa is coming out of the water saying, “ Aiuto! Aiuto! ” She’s been stung on her bum by a jellyfish, who seemed to know what he was doing. From then on no one would venture into the water. Toni and I walked along the beach about a mile, stopping at any rock pools and looking for fish trapped by the tide. Sometimes, we’d splash our feet in the shallows. It was like being a child again.
    The sun is getting the sea on fire as it lowers itself into the Adriatic. Dancing waves catch the deflected light and semaphore in silver gold flashes. It’s been a wonderful day. The beach café wants to know do we want dinner. If so, they can make us sardines and rice. We ask the all-in price and Lieutenant Priest thinks it reasonable – so, OK. We sit eating it as a new moon like a lemon slice appears in the eastern night sky and, blow me, there’s the sound of Bill Hall’s violin. Soon the Italians are singing.
Vicino Mare
Vicino Amore
    In the half-light, I lean over and kiss Toni on the shoulder. As I do so, she places a kiss in my hair – that hair that had lived with washing with Sunlight soap, Lifebuoy, Pears, Carbolic (never had a shampoo) and Brylcreem and Anzora hair-goo. Yes, she kissed all that. We quaff white wine. Some of the boys collect driftwood and make a fire. We sit in a circle watching our dreams burn into embers. The tide rises and washes away our footprints in the sand. Sand from a shore that neither of us would see again. Already that sand was running out.
    It was eleven when we drove back to the hotel, all pleasantly tired. Tomorrow? Who cared about tomorrow?
A FORCED LABOUR CAMP IN SIBERIA.
HITLER IS SHOVELLING SHIT AND SALT.
HITLER:
I care about tomorrow. You see. Von Rundstedt and the Tenth Panzer Army will break through and rescue me.
    I kiss Toni goodnight, buona nolle a domani .
    So passed the week in Trieste. This morning, we all embark for Austria. Austria, land of Strauss and the naughty waltz – men and women dancing face to face! Land of Franz Josef, the Hussars, the woods and the liver sausage! I massage my clothes into my suitcase, I sit on it and finally lock it. It looks pregnant. I’ve got half an