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!!"

- Arthur Cope