When you think of World War I you think of Wilfred Owen, decapitated Jerries and a 16-year-old kid with his lungs dry roasted by mustard gas. On The Crimson Field however you think of Poona Craplin writing a letter to her mammy for news of the daughter she squeezed out before doing a 1000 mile dash in the opposite direction. Matron Vinegar Tits reads the deeply private letter for
the lulz security reasons and challenges Poona on her callous baby abandoning but the broad is very much ‘whevs’. She cares about as much about her daughter as she does about contraception. When mammy replies telling her “You’re dead to me”, foreshadowing Tony Soprano, she tears up the letturd to show her what she thinks of it, a gesture that would have had more emotional and visual impact had mammy been present but of course she’s busy in another country mopping up the mess her psychotically fecund daughter left behind.
She cares about as much about her daughter as she does about contraception.
But time and teed wait for no man. There are patients to be seen to, notably Major Edward Crecy (Rupert Graves last seen playing that snatch Stirling Rogers on Salting the Battlefield). He’s alive alive-oh but minus his entire platoon and missing a couple of legs. Only brave private Tommy Gun survived the Kraut machine guns and it is his solemn duty to inform Crecy of the demise of Robinson, Crickley, Taffy, Geordie, Dopey, Bashful, Cuthbert, Dibble and Grub. It’s shitty news for the major and things get worse when his nausey wife turns up flouncing around in the muck and shit in the camp like Alma Garret on Deadwood.
A soulful West Indian gentleman bonds with Mrs Crecy over his dipshit shell brained son. “Get out of my sight this instant you uppity jig” she tells him. “Ras claat” he responds before sucking his teeth and disappearing for some rice and peas. Although she’s acting all bougie with the husbland it’s clear that Mrs Crecy gets off on the stump like Daniel and Irene on Siberia and there’s no chance on earth what’s left of his left leg isn’t making its way into her privileged quim in the very near future.
In an attempt to inject some drama in what will clearly be a very dull show a huge convoy of 200 mashed up squaddies roll up. Bleeding, burnt, fevered, disembowelled, gangrenous, limbless and blind – these dudes need a good old nursing and no mistake. It’s a tough ask but Flora comes through with flying colours even though Rosalie has a nervous breakdown the first time she sees a schlong and runs out blearting. Sister Livesey, who’s seen more than her fair share of schlongs, makes her confront dead man cock by dragging a still humming corpse from the arms of his weeping parents and forcing Rosalie’s face into his crotch. “Look at it!” she screams at her “What a monster! Don’t get many of these to the pound eh, girl? No wonder his fiancée was crying. Holy shit!” It seems to do the trick.¹
Sister Livesey, makes her confront dead man cock by dragging a corpse from the arms of his weeping parents and forcing Rosalie’s face into his crotch.
Crecy meanwhile tries to commit suicide by bashing his stumps in with his bare fists but, as he proved when he got all his men killed, he’s an abject failure so he fucks that up as well. He and the missus reconcile after Kitty tells her to get her shit together. She so wise, dumping children left, right and centre and cockteasing doctors in her slutty nurse’s uniform.
The height of the episode arrives when Jock the Doc comes upon Poona swimming in her underthings and he’d certainly like to swim under a few of her things². She looks at him all “yeah that’s right boy – check out that ass” and it’s clear that in no time at all she’ll have another baby to abandon so there’s that to look forward to.
The verdict: Doctor, doctor. Can’t you see I’m burning, burning?
Marks out of 10: 5
¹ Not really.
² No idea.