 There may be times when I feel like packing up my troubles in an old kit bag and forcing a smile, smile, smile. Then I wonder how I can turn my attentions to extending the content of my website through memories of past events and interesting happenings in my lifetime. Having had a very brief interlude with military life, many years on, reality bites and in my fantasy website world I have transported myself back to the 1940's and assumed the role of the Forces Sweetheart. It was just a stroke of luck I guess that it would soon be raining men following the Prime Ministers' announcement that 'Britain was at war with Germany' so I would have a captive audience, if you pardon the phrase. I have put Vera Lynn into early retirement and Kathryn Jenkins back in the womb. All those soldiers, sailors and airmen serving in the war have automatically become mine. I should call them 'Kelly's Heroes' and I shall become their heroine by following them into battle, whilst trying to encourage morale and efficiency of the troops through song. I just afforded to board the Chatanooga choo choo - I had my fare and a trifle to spare. I left my local train station about a quarter to four, read a magazine and then I was in Exmoor; dinner in the diner, nothing was more finer than having my ham and eggs in the Little China ( just for the record, this is a Peking and Szechuan restaurant in Littlewick Green, Berkshire). Being a true Brit, it only seemed right and fitting that the venue for my concert should be held at RAF Halfpenny Field. Though there was a feeling of intenseness by the locals who routinely saw planes being shot down, they treated this as 'normal' and in living each day as if it were their last, when the inevitable did happen they concentrated on their stiff upper lip stoicism remarking on it as being a "jolly bad show." I did have a hidden agenda of course. I so wanted to make an impact on the male race and as I was about to enter the stage for my first performance I secretly looked outside the curtains to find out who had accepted my invitiations to attend.  As those Bluebirds Flew Over The White Cliffs Of Dover, there, in the front row were David McCallum (the Man From U.N.C.L.E had given him a night off), Robert Wagner (I was looking forward to having a Hart To Hart with him after the show), and Christopher Neame (who had recently resigned from The Secret Army). Between them they had managed to impersonate themselves as German guards, feigned insanity, made skeleton keys, forged German passports and drafted maps so they could escape from Colditz Castle just to be with me today. How honoured was I that they had been able to take time out from this impregnable fortress for a few hours? Next to them was Cary Grant who considered himself more of a Father Goose than Father Christmas. But his present to me was to ensure that I had enough people to make up a good audience so he bought along his seafaring buddy Tony Curtis who had sneaked a handful of Philippine refugees and several gorgeous-looking nurses into the concert hall. Guess he was looking forward to Operating on their Petticoats after the show, but who was I to argue? Though the navy had Father Goose monitoring Japanese air activity in exchange for booze, the invitation to my concert did not extend the same courtesy, so it was nice to see him there of his own free will.Little did he know that I would ply him with drink afterwards to try and find the whereabouts of his secret liquor supply onboard his boat. His french mistress and schoolteacher (Leslie Caron) and I had struck up a bargain beforehand. It would be very naive of me to assume that I could recruit an audience from three different military domains without expecting some conflict of interest. As a realist and being methodical, I was delighted to see my old pal Jack Warner take his seat accompanied by a couple of friends. Only I knew that Jack had worked undercover as a British bobby at Dock Green Police Station and that he would ensure law and order was maintained during my performance. I was aware that he was more used to sitting down with a cup of tea whilst solving minor disputes in his fictional London district, but nevertheless, his presence was comforting. I had wondered what the Wooden Horse was doing inside the theatre.Then it dawned on me that maybe the royalties from the film were not that good and the only way George's co-stars could get inside the concert hall for free was to hide themselves inside the horse, remove a few floorboards whilst they were at it and tunnel their way up through to the stage. Sure enough I was right as Robert Beatty suddenly appeared from behind the curtain. I was mystified by his accomplices though. One of them looked quite wooden and expressionless. I later found out it was actor Anthony Steele. Jack knew how important it was for me to have a ' captive audience' that he even bought along his 'special' friend Albert- Albert RN to be precise. 'He' was actually a paper mache mannequin who was used 'back at camp' as a cover for a head count by the German captors so that british prisoners could escape from the camp It was actually difficult to tell Albert and Anthony apart. God bless Jack., Did he think I was that desperate to make up an audience. My mind was working overtime now.. Maybe we would borrow Albert at work some time to bump up the staffing level next time the auditors were in. David Tomlinson was the 'main man' in the camp it seemed as he had a great knack at being able to hide sand in Bedknobs and Broomsticks and then disperse it into the local allotments during sport activity. As I look on from behind the scenes the seats are filling up. All of a sudden this large Sergeant-major like chap is walking down the aisle claiming "It Ain't Half Hot m'am in here". Having just got off a plane from Burma this really surprised me. I mean, it is not like we have had an Indian Summer for a long time in England. But I was reluctant to turn the central heating down. Unlike others, his Punkah Wallah- Rumzan- who was with him followed behind with a a large fan to keep him cool. Back in Burma this would have been a palm leaf on a piece of string but hey, when in Rome! Rumzan's rendition of "Land of Hope and Glory" was somewhat amusing though he was told more than once to "shut up." So too, the Sergant Majors' Char Wallah, Muhammed, was ready to pour him cups of tea from a kettle to warm up his cockles if he got cold. My guess is that 'sarge' and friends are only here to ensure that I match the standard of their own concert party back home whose members would rather sing, dance and dress up as women than fight. Neither La-De-Dah Graham nor Lofty could make it tonight as they are holding the fort back in the Jungle. They are not celebrities so they could not get out of there. I was really Reaching For the Sky when I invited Douglas Bader to be my guest of honour, so to see him walking down the aisle on his two artificial legs was awesome. To me he was Way Ahead of all the others when it came to courage and determination. Unfortunately the troops of 617 squadron were not able to make it as they were too busy with Operation Chastise. They needed to concentrate on bouncing their bombs than bouncing up and down in their seats to my medleys. Sadly 633 squadron had their commitments also. Only Fools and Horses would choose to work instead of taking a night off to join me and the lads, so, having said Goodnight Sweetheart to both his 20th century mistress and 21st century wife, Gary Sparrow occupied the last of the front row seats. All of a sudden I could hear a cry: "The Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming .." and sure enough Richard Gere appeared in the doorway followed by a stream of American soldiers who were stationed in England awaiting their orders for the D-Day invasion. Having managed to save Private Ryan, Captain Miller (aka Tom Hanks)was taking a little respite from the war and sat in the second row. He discretely checked his i-phone which said 'You've Got Mail' but he text his little shopgirl to say she would have to mind the bookstall on her own for a while longer. It would be an understatement to say that I was All Shook Up when young Elvis was seen to be mingling with the audience but he looked hellishly sad. Guess he had a touch of the GI Blues. I would soon cheer him up. As the sound of a B17 bomber landed on the tarmac the young crew who had piloted it managed to get seated before the curtains went up having just completed a full tour of 25 dangerous bombing raids in Europe. How I should love to have been their Memphis Belle. My dreams were finally realised when Ben Affleck arrived somewhat unexpectedly on a mission from Pearl Harbour. Seems some Germans had set his cockpit on fire (painful) and that his attempts to bail out had been thwarted when the canopy was jammed and the plane had gone down over the English Channel. He was assumed to be dead to loved ones back home but this turned out to be a deliberate ploy for him to be able to stay in the country for one night only to see me perform. I had a secret message passed to him to say that he had better not sit under no apple tree with anyone else but me that night 'cos his plane was not the only thing that was on fire!! No need for J Lo to find out though, eh? As the pianist warmed up the audience with "This Is The Army Mr.Jones" how delighted was I to see the arrival of 'Jonesy (the local butcher)who, in true fashion was one step behind and the rest of Captain Mainwarings platoon. For one night only the Home Guards were "playing away "and left the folk of -Walmington-on -Sea to the fate of the German Army who would escape the cold steel of a rifle if they were to attack there and then. Mind you, they don't like it up 'em .. do they? I so wanted them to be present because like the TA, in which I had served, the homeguards are a largely forgotten aspect of British defence in the war. Equipped with wooden guns and LDV armbands I watched patriotically as the bank manager led his team down the aisle. There was Private Frank Pike ( the 17 year old wearing a thick scarf over his uniform to prevent illness as dictated by his mum), Private Frazer James (the Scottish coffin maker who felt sure the show would be dooooomed), Private Charles Godfrey (ex- tailor and medical orderly who had asked his sisters Dolly and Cissy if he could 'be excused' from Cherry Tree Cottage for the night but was desperate to find the little boys' room), and coming up the rear was Private Joe Walker (the black market spiv). Captain Mainwaring had turned a blind eye to his profiteering when he tried to bargain with the usherettes for the best seats in exchange for a date with him afterwards. Did they seriously believe he would keep his end of the bargain? Who was he kidding Mr. Hitler?? The genteel sergeant - a John Le Mesurier lookalike- asked his colleagues if they "would mind awfully " sitting down for the show. The 'real' Home Guards, of course, would also have been armed with golf clubs and truncheons and little packets of pepper, issued "officially", though somewhat "underhand" to interfere with the vision of any persistent unwelcome visitors. A tactic not to be sneezed at, I guess (excusing the pun). I had checked everyone's identity cards in case we got bombed so I would know who to contact. For one night only I wanted the boys to relax so set Pathe News on Sky+Plus. With gas masks hung up all I awaited was the arrival of my co-patner Glenn Miller. Like me he was too old to be drafted so we both decided that we could best serve those in uniform by joining the war effort as entertainers -morale boosters we liked to call ourselves. He promised he would fly to Paris first to get some duty free drinks to bring back for the troops but no sooner after he left RAF Twinwood Farm, in true british style the weather became bad - foggy as hell - and his plane just 'disappeared' over the English Channel. That was the last we heard of him. I was no longer In The Mood for entertaining but I had a committment to my comrades and so the show had to go on. Got straight on the mobile - had the operator connect me to Rick's Cafe in Casablanca and in the next breathe a flying camel landed outside the billet with both Rick and his good friend Sam on-board. Sam was a whizz on the piano and as a Nightingale Sang In Berkley Square we churned out the old numbers that turned out to be an ensemble of emotions as we all made the best of the situation. We Hung Out The Washing On The Ziegfrieg Line, vowed There'll Always Be an England, checked the local map and found out it really was A Long Way To Tipperrary, insisted that fag breaks were taken Underneath the Arches and hoped that Rabit would Run, Run, Run as fast as it could before it ended up in a stew! Whilst everthing else was rationed at this time, there was to be no limit to my songs as I strove to keep the boys happy and hopeful while their hearts were yearning for loved ones back home. I saw this as my most potent weapon against the enemy and Sam did me proud that night. The air-raid sirens sounded towards the end of my concert and the theatre responded with a blackout. But As The Lights Went On Again - a pilot officer who was sat on the sideline asked to do a reading for an old friend who had recently been killed in the Battle of Britain. The man introduced himself as Pilot Officer Peter Penrose. His friend's name was Johnny. It went something like this: "Do not despair for Johnny head-in-the-air. He sleeps as sound as Johnny underground. Fetch out no shroud for Johnny in the cloud. And keep your tears for him in after years. Better by far Johnny the bright star to keep your head and see his children fed." As many of the bomber airmen there were faced with terrible odds for survival, he hoped that this parody would give his fellow airmen hope and that they would not be too eager to find their Way To The Stars. There was 3 minute silence at that point. All was Quiet On The Western Front, or at least RAF Halfpenny Field. As the 'boys' left one by one they vowed to look out for me on my tv show "Sincerely Yours. Presenting it in the form of a letter to the boys on the fighting front, it was a great hit and I attracted around 2000 requests a week as my voice continued to pluck at their heartstrings. Never in my wildest dreams could I expect to recruit such an audience to my Facebook page! Neville Chamberlain would be turning in his grave if he could hear me now.... "I AM SPEAKING TO YOU NOW THROUGH THE MICROPHONE ON MY LAPTOP. THE MYSPACE TEAM IN OHIO E-MAILED ME A FINAL MESSAGE STATING THAT UNLESS I HANDED OVER TO THEM ALL MY FACEBOOK CONTACTS THEY WOULD "sift" THEM FROM MY PAGE ONE BY ONE AND THAT A BATTLE WOULD EXIST BETWEEN US AS TO RIGHTS OF OWNERSHIP. I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT NO SUCH UNDERTAKING HAS BEEN RECEIVED BY ME AND CONSEQUENTLY MY FACEBOOK CONTACTS AND I ARE AT WAR WITH MYSPACE." Though the likelihood of bluebirds swooping and warbling over Britain's most famous coastline was most improbable, the lyrics sought to capture growing optimism for a positive outcome to the war and music gave me the opportunity to talk to the nation through song. As the sound of anti-aircraft ground firing could be heard above the singing, coupled with the flash and noise of exploding shells all over the sky, I felt an overwhelming wave of sentimental pride in all our boys who, though from many different races and backgrounds joined together here in great unity. Of course, if I were blessed with flaming red hair, a 38inch bust or million dollar legs then I would much prefer to be a wartime Pin-up girl following in the footsteps of Rita Hayworth, Jane Russell or Bette Grable .... "cheering the boys who are winning the war, that's is what this Pin-up girl would be for." But that's another story. |