spaghetti.
Milligan and Hall, their first meal as civilians.
∗
We had one more demob appointment. That was with the Army MO. This turns out to be a watery-eyed, red-nosed lout who was to medicine what Giotto was to fruit bottling. “It’s got you down here as B1,” he says.
“That’s right, I was downgraded at a medical board.”
“It says ‘battle fatigue’.”
“Yes. ‘Battle fatigue, anxiety state, chronic’.”
“Yes, but you’re over it now, aren’t you?”
“No, I still feel tired.”
“So, I’ll put you down as A1.”
“Not unless I’m upgraded by a medical board.”
“Oh, all right. Bi.”
He then asks me if my eyesight is all right.
“As far as I know.”
“You can see me, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s all right.”
It ended with him signing a couple of sheets of paper and showing me the door. Why didn’t he show me the window? It was a nice view. To give you an idea of the creep, here is his signature.
That was it. I was a civilian and B1.
∗
Ah, Sunday, day of rest and something. On Monday we will travel to Graz and do the show. In the morning I lie abed smoking.
“What’s it feel like to be a civvy?” says Mulgrew.
“Well, I’ve felt myself and it feels fine.”
“Lucky bugger. I’ve still got two months to go,” he said, coughing his lungs up.
“You sound as if you’re going now.”
Bill Hall stirs. “Wot’s the time?”
I tell him, “It’s time you bought a bloody watch.”
Lying in bed, Hall looks like an activated bundle of rags. Poor Bill – he, too, had been to the creep MO, who had passed him out as A1. He didn’t know it at the time but he had tuberculosis, which would one day kill him. So much for bloody Army doctors.
I take a shower and sing through the cascading waters. “Boo boo da de dum, can it be the trees that fill the breeze with rare and magic perfume?” I sing. What a waste, singing in the shower. I should be with Tommy Dorsey or Harry James.
Mid-morning, Hall, Mulgrew and I agree to give a concert in the lounge. It is much enjoyed by the hotel staff. All blue-eyed, blond, yodelling Austrians, who have been starved of jazz during the Hitler regime. They have a request. Can we play ‘Lay That Pistol Down Babe’? Oh, Christ, liberation had reached Austria. To appease them we play it. Hall plays it deliberately out of tune. “I’ll teach the bastards,” he says, sotto voce con espressione . They applaud wildly and ask for it again!! Hall can’t believe it. “They must have cloth ears,” he says and launches into ‘Deutschland Uber Alles’ as a foxtrot. “Take your partners for the National Anthem,” he says. Hitler must have turned in his grave.
HITLER:
No, I’m not. I’m still shovelling shit and salt in Siberia.
No sign of Toni so far, then Greta tells me she’s in bed with tummy trouble. I go up to her room. She’s asleep, but awakes as I come in. “What’s the matter, Toni?”
She is perspiring and looks very flushed. “I think I eat something wrong,” she says. “All night I be sick.” Oh dear, can I get her anything on a tray like the head of John the Baptist? “No, I just want sleep,” she says in a tiny voice. So, I leave her.
That afternoon, Lieutenant Priest has arranged a picture show just for us. We all go to the Garrison Cinema in Klagen-furt to see the film Laura , with George Sanders and Clifton Webb. It has that wonderful theme song ‘Laura’, after which I would one day name my daughter. We are admitted free under the banner of CSE. The cinema is empty, so we do a lot of barracking.
“Watch it, darling, ‘ees going ter murder yes,” etc. “ee wants to have it away with you, darlin’.”
“Look out, mister, watch yer ring! He’s a poof!” Having destroyed the film, we return home like well-pleased vandals.
Tea is waiting and Toni is up and dressed, she feels a lot better. No, she won’t eat anything except a cup of coffee, so I get her a cup of coffee to eat. I
Milligan and Hall, their first meal as civilians.
∗
We had one more demob appointment. That was with the Army MO. This turns out to be a watery-eyed, red-nosed lout who was to medicine what Giotto was to fruit bottling. “It’s got you down here as B1,” he says.
“That’s right, I was downgraded at a medical board.”
“It says ‘battle fatigue’.”
“Yes. ‘Battle fatigue, anxiety state, chronic’.”
“Yes, but you’re over it now, aren’t you?”
“No, I still feel tired.”
“So, I’ll put you down as A1.”
“Not unless I’m upgraded by a medical board.”
“Oh, all right. Bi.”
He then asks me if my eyesight is all right.
“As far as I know.”
“You can see me, can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s all right.”
It ended with him signing a couple of sheets of paper and showing me the door. Why didn’t he show me the window? It was a nice view. To give you an idea of the creep, here is his signature.
That was it. I was a civilian and B1.
∗
Ah, Sunday, day of rest and something. On Monday we will travel to Graz and do the show. In the morning I lie abed smoking.
“What’s it feel like to be a civvy?” says Mulgrew.
“Well, I’ve felt myself and it feels fine.”
“Lucky bugger. I’ve still got two months to go,” he said, coughing his lungs up.
“You sound as if you’re going now.”
Bill Hall stirs. “Wot’s the time?”
I tell him, “It’s time you bought a bloody watch.”
Lying in bed, Hall looks like an activated bundle of rags. Poor Bill – he, too, had been to the creep MO, who had passed him out as A1. He didn’t know it at the time but he had tuberculosis, which would one day kill him. So much for bloody Army doctors.
I take a shower and sing through the cascading waters. “Boo boo da de dum, can it be the trees that fill the breeze with rare and magic perfume?” I sing. What a waste, singing in the shower. I should be with Tommy Dorsey or Harry James.
Mid-morning, Hall, Mulgrew and I agree to give a concert in the lounge. It is much enjoyed by the hotel staff. All blue-eyed, blond, yodelling Austrians, who have been starved of jazz during the Hitler regime. They have a request. Can we play ‘Lay That Pistol Down Babe’? Oh, Christ, liberation had reached Austria. To appease them we play it. Hall plays it deliberately out of tune. “I’ll teach the bastards,” he says, sotto voce con espressione . They applaud wildly and ask for it again!! Hall can’t believe it. “They must have cloth ears,” he says and launches into ‘Deutschland Uber Alles’ as a foxtrot. “Take your partners for the National Anthem,” he says. Hitler must have turned in his grave.
HITLER:
No, I’m not. I’m still shovelling shit and salt in Siberia.
No sign of Toni so far, then Greta tells me she’s in bed with tummy trouble. I go up to her room. She’s asleep, but awakes as I come in. “What’s the matter, Toni?”
She is perspiring and looks very flushed. “I think I eat something wrong,” she says. “All night I be sick.” Oh dear, can I get her anything on a tray like the head of John the Baptist? “No, I just want sleep,” she says in a tiny voice. So, I leave her.
That afternoon, Lieutenant Priest has arranged a picture show just for us. We all go to the Garrison Cinema in Klagen-furt to see the film Laura , with George Sanders and Clifton Webb. It has that wonderful theme song ‘Laura’, after which I would one day name my daughter. We are admitted free under the banner of CSE. The cinema is empty, so we do a lot of barracking.
“Watch it, darling, ‘ees going ter murder yes,” etc. “ee wants to have it away with you, darlin’.”
“Look out, mister, watch yer ring! He’s a poof!” Having destroyed the film, we return home like well-pleased vandals.
Tea is waiting and Toni is up and dressed, she feels a lot better. No, she won’t eat anything except a cup of coffee, so I get her a cup of coffee to eat. I
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