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The following story appears courtesy of and with thanks to Arthur Cope, R. A. (T. A.) and Richard A. Cope.

We were serving in Italy under the command of General Mark Clarke, of the American Fifth Army. Our light anti-aircraft guns were ordered to move forward to a field to be used by an Advanced Fighter Squadron of the R.A.F. They arrived a couple of days later and I was surprised and delighted to find that their adjutant was an old colleague of mine - Arthur Race, sports writer of the 'Northern Daily Telegraph', whose wife Rowena Ward was also a journalist with the paper. We were able to enjoy some happy chats about our days together producing the paper.
A week or so later, we were informed that 'General Hartley-Brown' (or some similar name), would be arriving the next day to inspect the aircraft and the troops protecting the airfield. But, 'General Whatever-his-name' was a nom-de-plume. He was, in fact, none other than King George VI.
The following morning everything had been tidied up, the fighter planes were in position, and the troops ready to parade. Then I saw Arthur Race hurrying past with a most worried expression on his face. I asked him what was wrong and he replied:
"We've just had a word that the King has developed an attack of 'Gypsy Tummy' (diarrhoea) and we have to have a latrine toilet ready as he alights from his plane."
I told him that I did not consider that to be much trouble and he replied:
"You're right. That is no bother. The problem is that I can't find a bas***d toilet roll for the King!!"

Continued.....
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