Where Have All the Bullets Gone? (17 page)

We want to wear just shirts and trousers. Major New won’t hear of it: “This is a military occasion, and you will look regimental.” OK, we can wear steel helmets, full pack, and play in the kneeling loading position; then while half of the band play ‘Moonlight Serenade’, the other half dig slit trenches; in ‘One O’clock Jump’ we can all fix bayonets and charge the judges; and finally, in ‘The Naughty Waltz’ we’ll all crawl along the stage and lob grenades at the audience.

The time is come. Backstage, musicians with extra Brylcreem in their dressing-rooms, playing scales, octaves or cards. Major New announces the draw. “We’re on first.” Groans.

“I told you we’ll ‘ave no luck with those fuckin’ numbers,” says Manning.

“It’s Kismet,” I said.

“What?”

“Kismet, that’s what Nelson said to Hardy.”

“I thought it was Kiss Me Hardy.”

No, that was Stan Laurel, that’s the popular version, you’re very popular if you quote that version.

“U lot better get on,” says a snotty-nosed Base Depot Sergeant, one of those cringing acolytes that has always got extra fags and chocolates in their locker, a housey-housey concession, never lends money, and has never been nearer than a hundred miles to the front line.

Dance band contest gets away on the down beat

An innovation in Naples entertainment was the 56 Area Welfare Services’ Dance Band Competition, ath the Belini Theatre on Sunday. It was a big success, bith as an interesting competition and as a well staged show.

Each of the eight bands had a strong following.

The bands were called upon to play a slow fox-trot, a modern walz and a quick-step as competition peaces. This gave scope for sweet music as well as swing, and generally the standard of playing was very high.

Marks were awarded for intonation, tempo, phrasing and attack, and ensemble---and thought these finer points were perhaps above a large part of the audience, there seemed common concurrence with the judges’ decisions .

The first band on the stage was G.H.Q. O2E, led by Sjt. Stan Brittin, and it achieved the difficult task of building up the right atmosphere and setting the feet of the audience tapping. There followed:-——

‘F’ Section, 16 Base Workshops (leader Cfn. Jack Sheldon); The Pionians, 333 (A) Company, Pioneer Corps (Hans Tischard); 5 Assembly Wing, Type A I.R.T.D. (Sjt Reg Service); 8 Petrol Depot, R.A.S.C. (Pte. Jack Curtiss); 5 Bn., No. 1 G.R.T.D. (Pte. Eddie Williams); 113 M.U., R.A.F. (L.A.C. Lee Underwood); and ‘J’ Section, 750 Base Workshops R.E.M.E. (Cln. Mock Loveday)

Lieut. T.T. Short, 56 Area’s producer, swa to it that there was no delay in changing bands, and the whole show went [text faded…]

for the job, were Lieut. Eddie Carrol, the B.B.C. dance band leader, Lieut. ‘Spike’ McIntosh, well-known locally as a trumpeter and Ensa’s C.M.F. Publicity Officer, and F.-O. Laurie Blewis, producer of M.C.A.F. entertainments.

Three bands---5 Assembly Wing, I.R.T.D.l 113 M.U., R.A.F.; and 16 base Workshops pass into the semi-final to be held in Sunday, June 10, for dancing in the ball-room at the Royal Palace Naafi. It will begin at 1900 hrs.

The judges added that O2E were close runners-up. As opening band they had perhaps been handicapped but the order of playing had gbeen decided by draw.

Individual awards were:---113 M.U. R.A.F. Cpl. Dennis Jones (tenor sax); and Cpl. Dennis Jones (tenor sax); and Cpl. Eric Chapman (trumpet). 5 Assembly Wing, L.-Cpl. H. Burn, section leader (trumpet), 5 B_ G.R.T.D., Pte. Eddy Williams (piano), and Pte. Sid Grainger (drums). 8 Petrol Depot, Dvr. Dennis Ewart (alto sax), Pionians, L.-Cpl. Kurt Br__n (vocalist). O2E, Sjt. Harry Carr. section leader (alto sax).

Prizes for instrumentalists will be presented at the final, at the Bellini Theatre, on Sunday,
June 17
.

NORMAN ENGLAND

Transcribed newspaper cutting from the Union Jack, 1945

The compère for the contest is Captain Philip Ridgeway, the announcer. He is as informed on Dance Bands as Mrs Thatcher is on Groin Clenching in the Outer Hebrides. Other judges are Lt. Eddie Carrol, famed composer of ‘Harlem’ and Lieutenant ‘Spike’ Mackintosh, famous for not writing ‘Harlem’.

Can you believe it — we didn’t win! WE DIDN’T win !!! I wasn’t even
mentioned
!! Why were the 56 Area Welfare Service persecuting me like this? At the contest I had heard shouts of ‘Give him the Prize’. No one listened, even though I shouted it very loud. Never mind, there would be other wars…!

The first Dance Band Contest held in this country took place at the Bellini Theatre on
Sunday, 3
rd
June
. Eight bands took part, including the O2E Dance Band, and a very high standard was shown by most of the competitors. Each band played four numbers, the first being a ‘warm-up’ followed by a Slow Foxtrot, Waltz and Quickstep.

The O2E Band opened the contest, their combination being 3 Trumpets, 2 Alto Sax, Tenor Sax, Piano, Drums, Bass and Guitar, and for their three tunes they chose ‘Moonlight Serenade’, “Naughty Waltz’, and ‘Two O’Clock Jump.”

They had a great reception, which they richly deserved. Every man gave of his best and the intonation and phrasing were excellent.

‘Two O’Clock’ Jump’ was the most difficult piece played during the contest, and was tackled with exceptional aptitude.

Transcribed excerpt from
Valjean
by S. G. Lewis

I took it all philosophically. I dressed up as Plato. So what? I didn’t get a prize, but I still had my files, my pile ointment and my treasure trove of back-up underwear; mine would get anybody’s back up.

Now I would concentrate on chasing Candy; evidence of this is contained in the following drool document:

Did you get that? Did I really write that crap? No wonder the BBC only book me on a pro-rata basis. That Milligan of 1945 is dead. Then I was twenty-seven. Now I am sixty-seven and the engine has just had its tenth MOT test and failed.

June 17

DIARY:

DANCE BAND FINALS

We sat through the finals contest, disenchanted that we weren’t in it, but drew comfort when Taffy Carr was called: “1
st
Prize for the best lead alto, Sergeant H. Evans O2E band,” and was handed something that had been made by St Dunstan’s Home for the Blind. It looked like an army tea mug with the handle removed, stuck on to a sawn-down broom handle nailed to the lid of a cigarette tin, then whitewashed. “It’ll look good on the mantelpiece,” said Taffy. I for one couldn’t wait. He threw a celebration dinner, most of which hit Jim Manning. No, seriously folks, at La Topo off Via Roma we spaghettied and wined too much, but at the time it seemed just right. All stuffed into a brougham, pulled by a thin horse, we sang and shouted, until, on a hill, the horse packed in. We paid the driver. When he saw the tip -he packed it in as well. Three in the morning, I tiptoed in.

“Who’s that?” said the Yew clutching his Pay Book.

“Steve, you’ve been waiting for me like a good Jewish mother.”

“I hope it was a
nice Jewish girl
,” was all he would say.

Now,
I
would raise the band’s morale! For one, they looked terrible playing in battledress. And they looked terrible when they were not playing.

I chat up a local tailor. Can he make Harry James white jackets like my drawing? “Si.” Armed with the ‘Si’, I troop all the herberts back to be measured.

“Is ‘e a tailor or a mortician?” says Jim.

“You must wait and see, Jim.”

“Who’s going to bloody well pay?” says sensible Stan Britton.

“We must wait and see,” I tell him.

The jackets are splendid; it only remains for us to dye our trousers black, draw white shirts from the Q Stores, buy bow ties, and no one will be able to tell the difference between Harry James and us, provided they stand well back. It’s a secret.

When the curtains part at the Saturday hop, gasps of ‘We’re in the wrong hall’ come from the dancers. “‘Tis a miracle,” says an Irishman, crossing himself.

Major New comes puffing up. “Bai Jove laids, you look super, this is how I always wanted the boys to look.”

Thank you, we say, and that will be ten thousand lire a jacket; and lo! the Major is cast down — but in the goodness of time he payeth up, and lo, there was a great skint in the camp. However,
he
got all the bloody praise,
and
took it. At dinner, the Brigadier made a speech: here it is, as reported by an officers’ mess waiter, Private Rossi.

Gentlemen, I’d just like to thank Major New for his brilliant transformation of the band from sacks of shit to Harry James sacks of shit. The design of white jacket and black trousers showing where the top half leaves off and the bottom half begins is a great help to musicians when dressing themselves.

Every word is true, I swear on this copy of
Portnoy’s Complaint
.

Looking as good as we did, the gigs rolled in, and for a gunner I was getting rich. The going rate was now 500 lire or the equivalent in force feeding. There were better things to come.

LIAP

Y
es, LIAP — laugh you fools! To you LIAP means nothing but to us herberts in Italy it means Leave in Blighty! The home of Spotted Dicks and Treacle, Saveloy and Mushy Peas.

The withdrawal of the musicians from active service must be carefully planned, plinned and plonned! QMS Drew Taylor, our Svengali, has arranged a roster so that twixt July and October, the band will range from Full Orchestra in July, down to a selection from Piano, Drums, Bass and three Saxes, then just Piano and Double Bass in September. In October there would be one week with just a man banging a dustbin lid and whistling. It was better than nothing, but only just. The band felt a new importance. Without us, eighty per cent of entertainment was curtailed.

Why I was so overjoyed at the prospect of leave in the UK was silly. In Italy I was eating better, getting paid better and all in sunshine. No! it was that thing called ‘home’: wanting to get back to what it was before it all happened. Alas, there was no going back, ever. It would never be the same again for any of us. We were dreaming, chum. Now I furtively release this letter I wrote to my pal in 19 Battery, then ‘somewhere in Holland’:

GNR T.A. MILLIGAN.

675024

’O’ BRANCH GHQ 2nd ECHELON

CMF.

13/6/45

MY DEAR OLD SPLATTER GUTZ,

ITS ABOUT TIME WE GOT IN CONTACT, WITH EACH OTHER.

IT WAS NOT UNTIL THE OTHER DAY I WAS SURE WHERE THE REGIMENT WERE…YOU LOW SKUM…STAND BACK HUP THERE…LEAWVE ME IN THIS STINKING HOLE WITH NO LETTERS HUP THERE…HI…HUP. SO YOU HAVE HAD LEAVE IN BLIGHTY…YOU LOW SOD HUP THERE LLLLHO…HUP THERE…STAND BACK WHILE HE ARISES…AND I SUPPOSE THERE WAS MUCH NECKING WITH THE HACKER…EH???HUP THERE…HO…HI YOU SKUMFILTH…AND DID YOU ATTEMOT TO GET IN TOUCH WITH ME…DID YOU…F…..ARSOLES…HI…HUP THERE…STAND BACK LET HIM UP…W.H.A.C.K.…TAKE THAT…WALLLOOOOPPPPP…SWAT…YOU DONT LIKE IT…KLUNK…(RIGHT ON HIS FILTHY CRUST) AND WHAT IS IT LIKE IN BLA…..???? DONT TELL ME TOU SWINE…FILTHY BLACK DROOLING SWINE…BLAM…RIGHT IN THE OLD BREAD BASKET…HI THERE HUP…HO…HOW IS THE OLD BAND GOING…EH…OH ITS FINE…WELL TAKE THAT…KLUD SPLAT…RIGHT IN THE KNCKERS…HO HO HIS FACE IS TURNIG A TRIFLE BLUE…AND IT CANT BE THE COLD SIR…YOUR PHOTO WAS IN THE ‘TATLER WITH THE REST OF THE CONCERT PARTY A LA ROMA…YOUVE SEEN IT EH???? WELL TAKE THAT…BLATSMAZSH…RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES…HO THERE HUP ITS YER OLD FORGOTTON DUS2Y PAL SPIKE…CLANG…ON THE SHIN WITH A BRASS ROLLING PIN…HA IT HURTS.WHACK.WHACK. WHACK…HEH HEH HEH…TEE HEE HEE…..MY BROTHER DESMOND IS IN HAMBURG…IN THE OX AND BUCKS…TRY AND LOOK HIM UP…TAKIMNG OF LOOKING UP…LOOK AT THAT AEROPLANE…..KRUNCH SPLAT RIGHT IN THE GLOTTIS…HO THERE HUP…HI AND AWAY TO THE SPANISH TWIST PIPE. I’M BACK IN CIRCULATION ON THE HORN…AND LEADING A 4 PIECE BRASS SECTION…PLUS FOUR SAXES…WE CAME 4th IN THE ALL ITALY CONTEST…OH YOU HAVENT HEARD ABOUT IT WELL…ZONGKLUD…FOR YOU STUPID OLD ARSE…..AND IM IN AGE GROUP 28…..SO ILL BE GOING HOME ABOUT THE SAME TIME AS YOU…WE WILL HAVE A PARTY WITH A BIG CLUB IN THE CORNOR…AND DO YOU KNOW WAHT HAPPENS WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT…???? YOU MAKE A GRAB FOR HACHER…BUT DO YOU REACHER.?. HO HO NO NO HI HUP! THERE.!..DONG!!!RIGHT ON YOUR CRUST COMES THE LAVISH KNOWLEDGED NAIL FILLED CLUB…OH OOOOOOOOOOHHHHH MY POOR BATTERED CRUST YOU MOAN…HEE HEE WHACK…AND IS QUIT BAR THE MONOTOUS KLUNK OF THE KLUB ON YOU KRUST!!! EVERY ONE IS