‘Hitler,’ we sang with glee. ‘Has only got one ball.’
‘The other,’ we chortled. ‘Is in the Albert Hall.’
It’s no wonder Adolf was a little peeved at us, and threw a bomb-based temper tantrum. We’d stolen his testicle, and ensconced it in a national monument. You’d be annoyed. I’d be irate.
Some threads shouldn’t be picked at. But this thread was so tantalising. It raised more questions than it answered.
How had we stolen Hitler’s testicle?
Was it the left one, or the right one?
And why, when we had dispatched (presumably) the SAS to steal the Fuhrer’s gonad, had we not asked them to maybe assassinate the little tinker at the same time? Might have saved a lot of silly bother.
It seems the intelligence was also hidden within the song.
His mother, who is said to have been a ‘dirty bugger’, cut off the other.
And what? Sent it via pigeon to London?
No, she did it when he was only small.
And kept it, it seems, knowing her child would grow up to wage a terrible war across Europe in the name of a disgusting ideology. And then, and only then, did she send it to London, probably via pigeon.
Or, did she send it the moment she excised it? Did it sit in some Government filing cabinet for decades, long forgotten, until, as the bombs rained down from above, a savvy civil servant dug up a vague memory. As London exploded, did this plucky soul rampage through the archive until they found the shrivelled teste, and then, with no thought to their mortal danger, did they cross a burning metropolis, to deliver the raisined bollock to the Albert Hall?
We may never know the full story.
But what’s certain, and what can only be the truth of the matter, there was one good reason to put Hitler’s testicle in the Albert Hall.
It.
Could.
Sing.
