The Wipers Times Page #4

fire when there's a brass hat down here.

Henderson, Dodd, shift these trays.

Put them under the books.

Barnesy, get hold of this.

To say an old adage -

war is long periods of boredom

punctuated by sheer terror.

Sir. At ease, Roberts.

Hope I'm not interrupting anything.

No, sir.

Well, I should be, shouldn't I?

Boche obviously not keeping you

occupied, and vice versa.

You've got time on your hands,

Roberts,

and time is the soldier's

greatest enemy.

Isn't it, Booby? Yes, sir.

Apart from the gas

and the flamethrowers.

So, are your boys fit, Roberts?

As a fiddle, sir.

Because the men have got to be

fit for the big push.

What about you, Roberts?

Keeping busy?

As a bee, sir.

So no distractions?

Finding things to do?

Yes, sir.

Doing our best to make a little

cover for the lads

who are hanging onto the remnants

of Belgium in the teeth of every

disadvantage, discomfort and peril.

Sir.

So not too much "paperwork", then?

Not at all, sir.

That's good to hear,

isn't it, Bobby?

Yes, sir.

Because the problem with the whole

damn line is inaction.

We're getting bogged down in a mire

of defensive passivity.

There's no forward movement.

No sorties, no raiding parties,

no mining activity.

You're right, sir. It's almost as

if we were... entrenched.

Quite so.

And the question you have to ask

yourself, and you,

particularly, as commander, Roberts,

is are you being offensive enough?

I'm not sure, sir.

Are we being offensive enough?

Pearson?

No, sir. I...

I think we could be a lot

more offensive.

Good man, Pearson.

So from now on, you're going

to be a lot more offensive.

You hear that, men?

From now on, we are all going to be

as offensive as possible.

Very good, Roberts.

Isn't it, Bobby?

I'm not altogether sure, sir.

You heard the colonel,

we must attack something.

How about... stupid moustaches?

Good idea.

far too many of them around.

I blame Charlie Chaplin.

I say, that was a bit friendly.

Put the gramophone on, would you?

It's not enough. Have to play the

piano. Oh, dear.

There are various types of courage

there are many kinds of fear

There are many brands of whisky

there are many makes of beer

There is also rum which sometimes

in our need can help us much

But 'tis whisky, whisky, whisky

hands the courage which is Dutch...

There are various types of courage

there are many kinds of fear

There are many brands of whisky

there are many makes of beer

There is also rum which sometimes

in our need can help us much

But 'tis whisky, whisky, whisky

hands the courage which is Dutch.

Bad news, sir. We've had a direct

hit.

Bloody Boche. Excuse my French, sir.

French excused, Sergeant.

Is there nothing that can be done?

I think it's finished, sir.

It's the end of The Wipers Times.

It was good while it lasted, Fred.

I've tried, throughout this war,

to maintain my sense of humour.

But now I'm really unamused.

What are you men so happy about?

Captain Roberts.

He's on grand form tonight, sir.

What do you mean?

Well, the orders that he gave the

men were not strictly according to

the drill manual. Really?

Yes, sir. He said, "Fall in, you

blank, blank, blank, blank.

"We're going up the blanking line

and if we see any blanking Boche,

"we're going to shove their blanking

bombs up their blanking... shirts."

Did he actually say shirts, Dodd?

No, sir.

You'll have to excuse

Captain Roberts.

I'm afraid he's taken the loss

of the printer somewhat badly.

Sir.

At least the old girl has been

put to some use.

A distinguished end to her

literary career.

Part of a transverse

wall of C4 trench number six post.

Men and party coming through.

Well, I assumed it wasn't a

delegation from the general staff.

You wouldn't find them

at this end of the muddy stick.

You must be, Roberts.

Sir. I hear you're quite the thorn in

the red hats' backsides.

Good man.

Off we go, boys. Good luck, Colonel.

Who was that?

Commanding officer

of the Royal Scots Fusiliers.

Why was he wearing a French tin hat?

A bit of a personality,

somewhat eccentric.

Always suggesting the top brass

come down to the front

and get a taste of the action.

He won't last long, will he?

What's his name?

Name's Churchill.

Heard a rumour, sir.

Don't tell me, the Kaiser has been

arrested by Field Marshal

Hindenburg and shot as a spy?

Not exactly, sir, no.

It's a friend of a friend

of a friend, has told me...

He happens to know the whereabouts

of a lovely little hand-jigger.

Speak English, Sergeant.

It's a printing press, sir. And word

has it there's a lot more type.

Priceless, Sergeant.

Only drawback, sir, is its current

location.

Which is where? Hellfire Corner.

Oh, dear. That's the Hellfire Corner,

the most dangerous place on the Salient.

Hottest place in the world, sir.

Where life expectancy is about,

what? 60 seconds?

If that, sir.

Well, it would be an

act of pure folly to risk lives

rescuing a printing press.

So no sensible commanding officer

could possibly sanction it,

is that clear?

Very clear, sir.

Good luck, Sergeant.

Why do they call it Hellfire Corner,

Sar'nt? Why do you think, Dodd?

Dodd doesn't think! Shut up, Smithy,

before Fritz shuts you up for good.

This bloody thing weighs a ton.

If you drop it you'll find out about

hellfire from me.

Now run, you bugger!

Ah, well. So that is a hand jigger.

Pardon my French.

God bless this printer and all the

jokes who fail in her.

Eh, sir! Careful of the printer.

Careful of the champagne more like.

You mustn't waste this stuff

there's a war on.

Is there? I had no idea.

Better make sure the Germans

don't get hold of it.

Too slow. There we go.

How on earth did you get

hold of this?

Well, I had a bit of luck at cards

with some of the brass hats

billeted at the chateau.

As it turned out,

magnificent cellar.

To the hand jigger.

Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome to the latest

venue in our grand tour of Flanders.

The Neuve Eglise Hippodrome,

where our doors are always open.

Tonight, we are honoured to present

a show to die for.

The grand new revue, Over The Top.

Positively the greatest spectacular

performance ever staged.

And topping the bill,

it's musical merriment from our very

own sapper songbirds,

Trench And Foot, with their

delightful ditty, Minor Worries.

If the Hun lets off some gas

never mind

If the Hun attacks in mass

never mind

If your dugout's blown to bits

Or the CO's throwing fits

Or a crump your rum jar hits

never mind

Oh, never mind

If your trench is mud knee-high

never mind

You can't find a spot that's high

never mind

Oh, never mind

If a sniper has you set

through dents in your parapet

And your troubles fiercer get

never mind

Oh, never mind

If machine guns join the muddle

never mind

Though you're lying in a puddle

never mind

Oh, never mind

If the duck board barks your shin

And the barbed wire rips your

skin

'Tis reward for all your sin

never mind

Oh, never mind.

Gas! Gas! Gas!

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