George and Arthur's Wicked Wheeze- cough

Britain's secret weapon

In the early autumn of 1941, the German army stood resplendent and ascendant on the battlefield, everywhere- all lay conquered before the mighty Wehrmacht. The British looked on in dismay and frank despair. A confidence boosting victory was desperately needed. In Britain's darkest hour, Churchill came up with a bold incisive plan......

What if two washed up, piss poor and excruciating unfunny vaudeville entertainers were parachuted into the heart of enemy territory. When ensconced they would head for Hitler's East Prussian fortress, 'The Wolfschanze' and make a half arsed and inept attempt at assassination. The only suitable candidates who fulfilled all the criteria for this hazardous and scarcely credible mission were none other than our jolly japesters (is this a real word?), Arthur (no arse-in da future) Askey and George (fulsome toothsome) Formby.

At that time, Hitler was protected by his personal bodyguard, the 1^st  SS Seamstress brigade. These infamous Valkyries sewed terror wherever they went. Adept at needlepoint and croquet they were renowned for producing delicate stitch work on the soldiers they had slain. It is to be remembered that it was the 1st SS Seamstress brigade who were responsible for the Russian debacle at Kiev, when the Russian 63^rd Guards army was thoroughly trounced and stitched up like a kipper after some fine and vigorous Bargello embroidery.

Brunhilder Von Mugumbo (woof, woof)

Our mirthless pair were promptly dropped into East Prussia on that fateful Wednesday night. Our George was armed with the latest weapon grade ukulele designed to fire poisoned darts with a twang of a string. Big hearted Arthur was furnished and girded with the ‘Busy Bee’ song which was credited with killing a storm trooper at fifty paces. After a cup of tea and a Marmite sandwich they quickly approached the ‘Wolf’s Lair’. Luckily for our luckless duo, the guards were engaged in their weekly sewing circle and failed to notice our befuddled buffoons negotiating the intricate, wool weave, perimeter defences. Once inside, they dashed to the cabin, helpfully labelled, 'Der Führers Schlafzimmer'. The door was unlocked and our beguiled heroes prepared their respective instruments of doom with suitable aplomb. Just then, the fickle finger of fate intervened and Hitler’s pet ferrets, Donner und Blitzen leapt out of the stygian darkness and savaged Arthur’s ankles. Arthur screamed, “I thank you” and our dozy dimwits were promptly surrounded by a trio of voluptuous shield maidens sporting a tailor's brad awl. The game was up and it was decided to execute the humourless pair by sewing machine. But once again destiny intervened and Hitler (denn er ist) decided that our feeble witted dyad should return to Blighty, unharmed. Wisely, he conjectured that Arthur and George would cause mayhem and chaos to the allied war machine just by performing their hackneyed music hall routine. It was hoped, that single handed, they would destroy the Allied war effort by seriously undermining the troop's morale.

So instead of an unmarked grave our duet foisted their unbridled and talentless enthusiasm on the poor unsuspecting British Army- thus are the vicissitudes of war and fate (arsch). 

To be continued……   

                                                               Take it away, George