Mussolini: His Part in My Downfall by Spike Milligan

Author:Spike Milligan
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Autobiography: General, Humour, english, Political, 1939-1945, Entertainment & Performing Arts, General, Topic, Military, Biography & Autobiography, Humor, World War, World War II, History
ISBN: 9780140051964
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 1980-01-01T08:46:51.931000+00:00

MEANTIME, NEXT DAY

“I’ll try and put it up this tree, Alf,” I said, with good intentions.

“You should look good in a tree. I always thought, in your paybook where it says place of birth it should say Tree.”

“Hold this aerial, Alf,” I said, “and I will climb up and insult you from a great height.”

The words rang clear on the morning air, also clear in the morning air was my lone scream as I fell ten feet.

“You alright?” said Fildes with a whimsical smile.

“Of course, don’t you know falling ten feet from a tree is always alright?”

Clutching and swearing, twigs snapping around me, I managed to get up to the lower branches and let out a Tarzan call.

“Pass me up the aerial, Alf,” says Milligan.

It would appear I have climbed too high for him to reach me.

“You’ll have to come down a bit,” he says.

The tree is winter-green and slippery; in various contortions that are only done by a man with strychnine poisoning, I get to a lower level and give a Tarzan cry.

“Here, grab ‘old,” says Fildes, holding up the aerial. I firmly grab one of the Windmill antennae, it snaps off.

“Never mind, there’s still three more.”

I try and haul the thing through a complex of branches and boughs; now, a twenty-foot-long pole is no manoeuvrable item. It was like trying to thread a giant darning needle and I wasn’t trained for that. I gave another Tarzan call, it got to the stage where I was trapped between the branches and the aerial.

“Shall I chop the tree down?” said Fildes, giggling.

“It’s the antennae that’s in the way,” I said. “I’ll unscrew them.”

I soon have three loose antennae in one hand, and I find the other hand insufficient to climb and hold the aerial.

“Catch,” I said, and dropped the antennae. Looking up, Fildes loses his balance, and starts to slide back down the muddy slope. So smooth is his progress that he doesn’t realise he’s moving; gently the back of his nut collides with a tree. I gave the Tarzan call, and a lot of bloody good it did. The antennae are now slopped in the mud. I, in contrast, am covered in the green moss of the tree trunk and covered in scratches. This is called modern wireless communications.

“Shall I come up and help?” said Fildes.

No, I need no help, I am the complete wireless technician. I give another Tarzan call to verify it.

A wet officer from 17 Battery appears at the bottom of the tree. He explains to Fildes that he is to pass on a shoot for Major Jenkins. Fildes explains that this is not possible until the aerial is up. The officer can hear swearing issuing from the tree behind him because Milligan has ripped the knee of his battle dress. It’s letting in the cold mountain air, something his London-bred knees are not accustomed to. The officer is Lieutenant Pascoe, young, slim, very refined. He could hear a very unrefined voice from behind a tree saying, “Fuck all this, if it doesn’t work this bloody time, I’m packing it in.

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