How I Won the War

THE RHINE, GERMANY 1945

Third Troop, Fourth Musketeers.

Come on, come on.

Move yourselves.

Third Troop, Fourth Musketeers.

Come on, come on.

Come on.

Third Troop, Fourth Musketeers.

(shot)

Inflating parties forward.

(releases air valve)

Embark!

Follow me.

Paddles out.

Prepare to paddle.

Paddle.

(gun c*cks)

Yes, during the war,

I was a Musketeer myself.

We had one young John Thomas

ostensibly commanding.

More myself was the backbone, of course.

Of a dark night,

many of our officers... (clicks)

...by some of their own men. You had to.

- (cash till rings)

- Yes, I will, squire.

Yeah, that's right, you was there.

After breakfasting in Paddington,

we was transferred to the Second Army

for Rhine and Other Rivers.

Ours was an infantry role though many

of us could swim only loosely, if at all.

- It was a complete cock-up.

- 144177 Musketeer Brazier S.

No, no, how I won the war.

The memoirs

of Lieutenant Ernest Goodbody.

("Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart")

Auf Wiedersehen

Auf Wiedersehen

We'll meet again, sweetheart

This lovely day

Has flown away

The time has come

To part

(screams)

We'll kiss again

Like this again

Don't let the teardrops start

With love that's true

I'll wait for you

Auf Wiedersehen, sweetheart

I'll tell you nothing

but my name, rank and number.

My number is 131313.

Lieutenant of Musket Ernest Goodbody.

It all started in 1939.

I suppose it did for you too.

But then first things first.

War is without doubt

the noblest of games.

Finer, I think, Corporal of Musket.

Corporal of Musket Transom,

my troop sergeant and a good all-rounder.

Stay there. You, Juniper,

you're perfect where you are. Very square.

Musketeer Juniper, a joy to have

on any team, one of the original BEFs.

What they really thought of me,

I shall never know.

- I thought he was bleeding rubbish.

- I thought he was a bleeding tart.

Can I have you right out there

in the country, Gripweed?

Musketeer Gripweed, without whom these

memoirs would never have been written.

My faithful batman.

May I rub your ball, sir?

It gives me pleasure.

- Musketeer Drogue, I die in North Africa.

- Please.

We're gonna hang out the washing

on the Siegfried Line

I rallied to the flag in October 1939

and was immediately selected

as officer potential.

Every word of this film is written

in pencil in my own handwriting.

I owe my introduction to the art of war

to my instructors at No.212 OCTU.

In particular,

1431 Lieutenant Colonel Grapple,

later to be known as Grapple

of the Bedoo, who impressed me no end.

I took care to talk as far back

in the mouth as possible,

being a grammar school lad...

which made no difference.

I've always been treated

by the army as top drawer.

- (affected laughter)

- What did you say?

(laughs) Sir...

Never underrate the wily Pathan.

We are going onto the wily Pathan

and the use of anti-gas carpet.

- Ya... Ya...

- The Pathan lives in India.

India is a hot, strange country,

full of wily Pathans up to wily things.

Which is why I always wear spurs,

even in cold weather.

My advice is to keep your rifle strapped

to a suitable portion of your body.

A leg is good. Otherwise,

the wily Pathan will strip himself naked,

grease himself all over,

slippery as an eel,

make off with your rifle,

which is a crime. Any questions?

- Or can we take gas?

- Has the Pathan gone over to Hitler, sir?

- Grammar school boy?

- Sir.

No, he has not.

Too wily for that, the wily Pathan.

Then shall we be fighting him

in this war, sir?

Of course, the British army

has always fought the wily Pathan.

Stripped naked under the tent brailings

like a snake, he is.

- Why?

- Why what?

We want to get on to gas.

It may save your life one day.

Why has the British army

always fought the wily Pathan?

He's just like you, a damn troublemaker.

What's your name?

How did you get into OCTU

not knowing your history?

God help your men.

They'll be torn apart by the wily Pathan.

See your dugouts.

Stand by your dugouts. Stand to. Dig in.

To beat the Hun, dig in then break

through with sword and lance. I think.

Do your best, eh? That's good...

- Body, sir. This is.

- That's very good, Body.

- It is rather wet inside, sir.

- I know it is.

That smell. That smell.

Light the little candle, eh?

This is where the war will be fought.

War of movement, my bum.

Sit down, Body.

Thank you, sir.

You're going to be an officer, young Body.

- I wonder if you know what that means.

- I think so, sir.

- What does it mean, Body?

- It means my mother will be pleased, sir.

I worry about your men, Body.

That's what being an officer means.

You know... I think you know

how England is fixed at the moment.

It's not a question of money, sir.

I'll serve for nothing.

Tell me about yourself...

What I hope I'm saying about England

is that we have no submachine guns,

no rimless cartridges, percussion

grenades, field artillery, no tanks much,

no anti-tanks ever,

no dive bombers, no bombs,

and we invented shrapnel.

Knew him well... His son.

I can't, I fear, I can't march properly

on my own as an officer in the public eye.

Isn't that sickening

when that happens to a chap?

Couldn't your drill instructor

do something?

A quick jab up the crutch.

With a broom?

"They're Coming."

"They're Coming" by EC Grapple MC VD.

And scar.

"They're Coming."

They're coming from the shires

Coming from the byres

They're coming from the cities and towns

They're coming from the factories

They're coming from the farms...

- You married?

- No, I play the harmonica.

I'm coming after you civil reservists

to see if you can remember about rifles

and thumbs down the seams

of your slacks,

into your pink civvy thoughts

with my big black boots,

bearing a big, black, knobbly stick.

So take a hold of yourselves. Stand still.

- Face your front.

- I am.

Squad, 'shun!

- Down them rifles.

- Rifles!

- Splinter.

- Slope arms.

Two, three, across...

- Hands...

- Down!

(Transom) Throw them rifles.

- Will advance.

- Front, Clapper.

- Splinter.

- By the right, quick march.

Left, right, left, right, left...

(Grapple) Coming dressed in overalls...

- Retire. About.

- Coming with umbrellas...

- Coming bringing gifts...

- Turn!

Stand still. Those two men, about.

Don't speak to me like that.

I'm a married man.

About turn.

By the right, quick march.

What's this? Halt.

Stand still. Never, ever

have I seen such a sight.

- Am I hurting you?

- No.

I should be. I'm standing on your hair.

- Who said that?

- Is this North Africa?

- Catterick.

- Marching like idiots.

- Never...

- In all my life!

It really is only a question of getting

the right leg to respond to my brain.

Move to the right in threes.

- Wait for it.

- Where are you going? Still.

- It's no good to me.

- My finger. There's a splinter.

- Right in threes. Right turn.

- Would you go sick?

- I want to fight.

- That's the spirit.

- Who's the one in the flat hat?

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