WARTIME HUMOUR

Auckland Star, Volume LXXV, Issue 284, 30 November 1944, Page 4

WARTIME HUMOUR

ENTERTAINER'S STORY

EXPERIENCES IN BRITAIN

As Jack Point in "The Yeoman of the Guard" says, "There is humour in all things." And I have found as an entertainer to our troops during the war that in every difficult, and often dangerous, experience there is something to laugh at, writes Mr. W. S. Percy, of Cholmley Gardens, London, formerly a comedian with the Pollard and Williamson Light Opera Company.

Just before the outbreak of war, I joined the A.R.P. and when I came up for my early examination I was asked how I would deal with an incendiary bomb. I started to explain how I would endeavour to smother it with sand, or earth, to prevent the fire from spreading. I was rudely cut short, and told that my methods were all wrong, and the proper way to deal with one of these bombs was to use a stirrup pump.

"Are we to be supplied with one of these pumps?" I asked. "No" I was told. "We have <pnly one of the pumps in the district, and it is housed in the town hall."

"In that case," I answered, "if a bomb drops, I will rush off to the town hall* a mile or two away, and take my turn to borrow it, and in the meantime pretend the bomb is not there."

That ended my examination, and I was promptly given my badge in case I was tempted to ask any more questions. Our first headquarters was situated in the stables of the cemetery. After we had turned out the horses, tidied the place up and formed a table over the manger, one of the wardens asked what the post should be called. "The Q and D," I suggested. "The Q and D. What does that mean?" I was asked. 'The Quick and Dead," I replied.

An Early Alert My first duty as an air raid warden was to guard a deep air raid shelter. A few moments after the Prime Minister had broadcast our entry into the war, an alert was sounded. I quickly donned my anti-gas uniform and looked more grotesque than in any stage costume I have ever worn, and dashed off to the shelter. There I found a crowd of more than 200 people crowding the entrance, with the warden in charge carefully taking down their names and advising those who lived outside the suburb to take a bus and make their way to the other side of London. After a couple of alerts following which nothing happened my congregation at the shelter dwindled to a few people who, after waiting a few minutes, drifted away and left me in sole possession. I suggested to our head warden that he put out a few posters and offer a few home comforts so as to attract a few more visitors. Not being a theatrical, he didn't see the joke. During our A.R.P. exercises I was always cast to play the part of one of the victims of a raid. I have been strapped in splints, bandaged in every possible way, hauled up through manholes, and left for hours on the pavement waiting to be taken to the hospital with passers-by making rude remarks on my appearance. After a few months I was chosen to form a military hospital concert party, and during the next two years performed in every military hospital in England. A hospital seems hardly a fitting background for fun, but among the sick and wounded I found many laughable incidents. We were generally thanked for our efforts, but sometimes the person in charge complained that the concert contained no sacred music, or uplifting sentiments. I once happened to mention the word "bedroom" in quite an innocent way, and a report went in that the entertainment consisted of a number of sordid bedroom scenes. Her Diction Was Bad Another time a commandant in a speech at the end of our concert said: "We are almost pleased." Later I found out she had said "We are all most pleased." Her sentiments were good, but her diction bad.

At one very large hospital we were always faced with a very old piano, whose pedals had long disolved partnership with the keyboard. Before one cssscrt I was endeavouring to join them with bits of string and wire, when a rather meek parson said to me: "Oh, we hope to have a new piano shortly." As I had heard the same story so many times at this hospital, I looked up from the floor and said, "When you get a new piano here we'll be in Greenland's icy mountains or India's coral strand." He looked at me with a surprised look, and answered: "Oh, are you going there?"

In the early days of the war there were a number of kind but misguided women who appointed themselves entertainment officers for the troops at the hospitals. As many of them had never set foot in a theatre or music hall, you can imagine what their idea was of a suitable entertainment for troops would be like. One of these officers was quite surprised when I told her we needed a piano for the concert, and suggested that a barrel organ with some lively tunes would do instead to cheer up the lads. Singer With a "Blast" I had in my party a singer who loved to roar whenever he started to sing. I asked him to keep his voice down at a concert to shell shocked patients, but he soon forgot his instructions and started to shake the rafters with his song. Our manager rushed round to me and said, "He's just blasted two airmen out of the hall!"

We experienced all kinds of weather during our hospital tour. One night we started on a short journey home and ran into a thick bank of fog and snow, and for the next ten hours crawled along country lanes, completely lost, one time pulling up on the edge of a deep river. Everything that could happen to a car happened, and at last, just as daylight came, we reached our hospital with th: last drop of petrol in the tank. As I tumbled into bed, I saw an attractive poster above my bed, which read: "Join E.N S A and see the world." For the first time the picture lost all its attraction. At a time when every man, woman and child m Britain was in the front line, it was their sense of fun which sustained them and proved to the world that they could laugh when there was little to laugh at.