German joke in bomber units circa 1942-43
Posted: Thu Mar 08, 2007 11:09 pm
From a book on KG51 I'm reading:
Triumphal Entry through the Brandenburg Gate, 1961
175 Air Force bands march by with rousing tones. Then there's a long gap. With measured tread, decked out in gold from head to foot, the Marshal of the World goes by. The Marshal of the Hemisphere follows and then, after another gap of a mile or more, the Marshal of the Underworld. Then the people break into cheers. The star-clustered darlings of the German people, the fighter pilots, march past, pushing in front of them the Giant's Cross to the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross on its self-propelled mounting.
Another long gap. Then come 25 Marshals of the Nation, all under 30, in their sleek white uniforms. Then a small boy with a banner which says: 'I am the advance party of the rear party, forgotten in Greece.'
There follows an old lady, bowed in grief and supported by the appropriate Party dignitaries; she is the widow of the last long-range reconnaissance pilot. Then a grey-haired man, his face furrowed deep with care, a brief case under his arm and in it a Top Secret telegram: 'My grateful recognition to the bomber crews'.
And then the crowd freezes and there appears a cart drawn by four white horses, and on it a cage, and in the cage a man in chains, and round him eight attendants, each with a placard: 'Warning. Do not excite. Public danger.' And he is the last surviving dive-bomber pilot, and had served in every theatre.
Tanned brown and bearing their victories lightly, the staff-officers march through the Brandenburg Gate. As usual the technical personnel were unable to take part in the parade, as they had not been told about it in time.'
Triumphal Entry through the Brandenburg Gate, 1961
175 Air Force bands march by with rousing tones. Then there's a long gap. With measured tread, decked out in gold from head to foot, the Marshal of the World goes by. The Marshal of the Hemisphere follows and then, after another gap of a mile or more, the Marshal of the Underworld. Then the people break into cheers. The star-clustered darlings of the German people, the fighter pilots, march past, pushing in front of them the Giant's Cross to the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross on its self-propelled mounting.
Another long gap. Then come 25 Marshals of the Nation, all under 30, in their sleek white uniforms. Then a small boy with a banner which says: 'I am the advance party of the rear party, forgotten in Greece.'
There follows an old lady, bowed in grief and supported by the appropriate Party dignitaries; she is the widow of the last long-range reconnaissance pilot. Then a grey-haired man, his face furrowed deep with care, a brief case under his arm and in it a Top Secret telegram: 'My grateful recognition to the bomber crews'.
And then the crowd freezes and there appears a cart drawn by four white horses, and on it a cage, and in the cage a man in chains, and round him eight attendants, each with a placard: 'Warning. Do not excite. Public danger.' And he is the last surviving dive-bomber pilot, and had served in every theatre.
Tanned brown and bearing their victories lightly, the staff-officers march through the Brandenburg Gate. As usual the technical personnel were unable to take part in the parade, as they had not been told about it in time.'