Where Have All the Bullets Gone? by Spike Milligan Read Free Book Online Page B

been celebrating some promotions in the cellar bistro know as ’Aldo’s’ in the village of Maddaloni Inferiors (very), partaking of the local, very stickly and thick version of Vermouth, imbibed from cut-down beer and wine bottles. I was one of them; I am not certain that you, Spike, were there, but it was possible, since I recall that at some time in your career you were awarded the stripes of a sergeant , and that was most likely the time. When it cam to near curtain time for the show, which the band was to open from behind the tabs with Dorsey’s Song of India , we left Aldo’s and wended our way up to the hall feeling rather worse for the wine.
    Drummer Chick Chitty and I were on the top tier, setting uo our gear, when I staggered and fell, bass and all, down the tiers. Chick tried to grab me but managed to tumble down also. We ended up among the saxophones; were not hurt, but my bass was punctured in the side by Harry Carr’s sax-stand.
    The uniforms the band wore, I recall were the result of your initiative . The trousers were khaki drill dyed black; the jackets were of white duck and made by a Napolitan tailor, I believe, although somewhere in my memory I remember visiting a laundry in Naples for a ‘fitting’. Anyway, we all felt and looked better for being able to wear this approximation of a civilian band uniform, and soon after we started wearing it our bookings began to come in thick and fast. We played for the American Red Cross in Caserta and elsewhere (enjoying some great food such as meat balls and rice; a welcome change from our diet in the barracks). We also played at the Palace in Caserta for dances, and for the same purpose at the Palace in Naples, which you will recall was a huge NAAFI when we were there. Gracie Fields was then living on Capri, and she would be a regular visitor to the Naples NAAFI, performing on every visit and eventuall(y) becoming something of a bore to the fellows regularly visiting the place. The band played each Thursday evening for an open-air dance in the orange grove in the centre of Maddaloni; many American officers would be there, some of them were musicians who liked to sit in with the band. We also travelled to other places and performed for American and British units in concert. These included a two-week trip to Rome to play in the NAAFI there, which in normal times was a most modern department store. I remember you being in this place, Spike, up in one of the rooms trying out material on a piano. The band played in the evenings for dancing at that place, and in the daytime we roamed about the city. You and I billeted together on that occasion and bith of us were very upset at finding some small children rummaging for food in a garbage can (not that this was at all unusual). We managed to ‘steal’ some sandwiches for them and you gave them some cigarettes, also, that they presumable could trade for something edible.
    One big fillip to our enthusiasm at that that time was a gesture on the [xxxx] of the Americans for whom we played; they gave us a chance th visit their Post Exchange and choose some new instruments and a number of orchestrations. That was in Caserta. This brought some great band numbers such as Woody Herman’s Apple Honey and several Glenn Miller orchestrations. Our first run-trought of String of Pearls provided a memory of Jim Manning (2nd alto and a regular Army band musician) coming to a solo part inscribed ‘as played by ernie Caceres’. It comprised a series of minin-value chords written in notation. Jim played the top minin in each case and the rest of us dissolved in laughter. Jim took umbrage, saying, “If you don’t like it, get fuckin’ Ernie Casseries to play it.” And then he walked out of the hall where we were practising.
    Do you remember our band room in the barracks? It was furnished with rugs and armchairs and suchlike stolen from places where we had been playing, such as officers’ clubs in the locality. It was a simple