大象传媒

Christmas morning, 1944, was one of pure - and warm - sunlight - a sparkling day with the distant mountains sharp against a deep blue sky and, praise be, breakfast at 8 Command Pay Office could be had up to nine o' clock. Afterwards the light tempted me into the Forum... ideal conditions for photography. I had established something approaching friendship with Staff-Sergeant Gordon Milne. Like me, Milne had no time for the boozy Mess Christmas dinner. After obeying the traditional duty of serving the 'other ranks' their mid-day meal we went to Rome.

A Mess for Sergeants and Warrant Officers had been established in the Via Nazionale - in a famous picture gallery from which, naturally, all works of art had been removed. Behind the long bar an Italian artist was painting a landscape. He had completed about half of it. When finished it would be at least thirty feet long by ten high. No imagination needed to visualise a Ghirlandao or Benozzo Gozzoli working in exactly the same way five hundred years ago, though this man's 'model' was a coloured picture postcard. This was stuck in a cleft stick at the top of the wooden step-ladder from which he worked. Seemingly by 'eye measure' he was enlarging this image into giant proportions: a landscape with a background of woods and mountains, a river descending and flowing into the foreground.

A few days earlier I had a closer encounter with another artist in he Alexander Club. For a reasonable fee he would paint my portrait. I agreed and sat for him. 'With your spectacles? Without them you are a different man.' 'Without,' I replied. When Minna received this likeness she was intrigued, wanted to know more about the artist. Alas, he was one of many talented young men eking out a living in wartime Rome. I never saw him again

Gordon and I enjoyed an excellent Christmas dinner. Almost as welcome was the sight of a real fire burning in a real open grate. We were both near-abstainers but, being Christmas, we drank each other鈥檚 health in Marsa, adding 'and a quick return home.' Then we enjoyed the comfort of the huge sofas in the lounge. A drowsy couple of hours later we moved to the Opera for Francesca da Rimini by Zandonai. This composer was unknown to me. I resolved to learn more about him.

On the following morning Milne and I were given a dressing-down by our Sergeant Major. Why were we not present for Christmas dinner? Why did we not appear in the Mess at all? A glance at his bloodshot eyes and still-slurred speech was reason enough but we professed ignorance of any rule requiring our presence. We were, he declared, a pair of 'unsociable misfits' and dismissed us contemptuously.

We learned that one of the highlights of the Mess Christmas had been to bundle out a drunkenly-aggressive NCO and hang him by his ankles over the stair-well 'to cool him off'. There was a tally of smashed glasses and broken bottles for which the Mess fund would have to account.

Minna, my Danish wife, had written about her Christmas plans: 'I hope to entertain three friends and propose to spend my meat ration of one shilling and tenpence (a little less than 20p) on four chops to be served with Groenlangkaal og Brunede Kartoffler which means a sort of kale and small potatoes browned in a mixture of sugar and fat. Do you remember 1939, my first Christmas in the A.T.S. when I managed to get home for 30 hours and have Christmas dinner with you out of a tin?'

I had sent her some almonds which arrived in time to provide one for the traditional Danish rice pudding (a little prize for whoever found it in his or her portion) and to make 'my favourite Joedekager (Jew's cakes) - little sweet biscuits sprinkled with a mixture of sugar, cinnamon and sliced almonds... if I have not forgotten how to make them. But this year no small candles were to be had for the Christmas tree.'

Gordon and I had a happy experience a few days later. We had met one of the Vatican's Swiss Guards, a Sergeant Pfeiffer. He invited us to dine in his Mess... in Vatican City, no less. We were welcomed by a dozen of his mates and, after much good food and wine, were invited to exchange our battle-dress for the Guards' ceremonial uniform. Behold us then - an Englishman and a Scotsman kitted out with baggy trousers, steel breast-plates and Conquistador-style steel helmets. Add two halberds and we were dressed to kill!

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