DISHONOURED
or
THE FALL OF NEDDIE SEAGOON
GOON SHOW TLO 68149
5TH SERIES: NO 12
1ST BROADCAST: 14 Dec. 1954
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC Home Service.
OMNES: (Singing – to
the tune “Hot Time in the
Ta ra ra, da da da da da da dah;
Ta ra ra, da da da
da da da dah;
Ta ra ra, da da da
da da da dah;
da dah, da da dah
da daa-a-ah!
GREENSLADE: Here is a police notice. A van load of
musical instruments was stolen this afternoon. It is believed to be having
repercussions.
SECOMBE: Fear not, dear unlicensed listeners – it will not stop
the highly under-paid Goon Show.
GRAMS: Old fashioned gramophone recording. (Jack
Hylton Orchestra – “Just Like a Thief.”)
SECOMBE: You see? – there are always foreign musicians who will
do the job. (Laughs) Ha ha. Thank you
Maurice Winnick and his Scottish Highlanders.
ELLINGTON: Somebody called?
SECOMBE: Silence Colonel Nasser – back to your harem in
Highgate. Mister Mouldy Greenslade, stop that disgusting habit and make your
usual hash of the announcement.
GREENSLADE: Loodies and gentlepoglum – we give you a
story specially wrotten for the wireless type of radio set.
SECOMBE: Ahem. Yes – a story entitled “Dishonoured.” It was
written by Mrs Bessie Braddock, better known for her work as Don Cockle. All
parts will be played by human beings.[1]
ECCLES: Well, goodnight folks. A-ha!
GRAMS: (Fade
in.) Ripple of water on river bank.
SELLERS: Ooooh, “Dishonoured” part one. The scene – the
Limehouse water front.
GRAMS: Distant foghorns.
SELLERS: Enter a ragged idiot. Oooooh!
SEAGOON: Aaaaah! – alas, ‘tis Christmas eve and still no offers
to pantomime. Not a penny have I – not a penny towards a plate of vitals for my
poor, weak, half-starved seventeen stone body, so I’ll lay my poor twenty stone
head down upon this bench.
GRAMS: Footsteps on gravel.
CONSTABLE: Come along you two, move along there now.
SEAGOON: But Constabule, ‘tis the time of goodwill towards men.
‘Tis… ‘tis Christmas!
CONSTABLE: Strewth! – so it is. (Kindly) A merry Christmas to you sir.
SEAGOON: And a merry Christmas to you Constabule.
CONSTABLE: Right, now move along before I belt you
round the ear’ole.
MORIARTY: A moment – please!
SEAGOON: (Narration) The
voice came from a tall, dark, fully dressed male nude. He emerged from the
darkness and walked into the gas-light.
FX: Heavy clank on metal.
MORIARTY: Oooh! Curse! Now then Constable, how would you like to
join the River Police?
CONSTABLE: Ooh, very much sir!
GRAMS: Body into water.
CONSTABLE: (Distant)
Thank you very much sir. A merry Christmas to you, sir!
MORIARTY: (Calls) Bon
Noël!
CONSTABLE: Bon Noil!
MORIARTY: Right. Now lad, I’ve come to help – vous!
SEAGOON: He meant me. He glanced down at my feet wrapped in
coal sacks; my thrice turned World War One overcoat; my brown paper shirt with
the inked in buttons, and my six month growth of beard.
MORIARTY: Down on your luck?
SEAGOON: Whatever makes you think that, sir?
MORIARTY: Your disguise didn’t fool me.
SEAGOON: It should do – it’s genuine. But why should you be
interested in me?
MORIARTY: I run a rag-and-bone shop.
SEAGOON: You want a manager?
MORIARTY: No, I want stock.
SEAGOON: Well – I need a job.
MORIARTY: You want to WORK??
SEAGOON: Yes.
MORIARTY: You must be desperate!
SEAGOON: I hung on as long as I could.
MORIARTY: Well said! I have a very good friend, Hercules
Grytpype-Thynne – (and this is where the story really starts.) This friend is
in a bonk, or as you say in
SEAGOON: I speak it like a native.
MORIARTY: Splendid. You are the very type for the job – dead
stupid. Tomorrow you start work at the ‘Slippery Bank Limited.’
SEAGOON: We shook hands. He doffed his cap and I acknowledged
by raising my ex-RAF rubber dinghy. At last employment. My wife was overjoyed!
Next day I started work as a clurk with every prospect of becoming a clerk. My
wages were eight shillings a week, with three shillings for each of my
children.
GRYTPYPE: This brought his money up to eighty pounds a week.[2]
SEAGOON: That was the manager, Mister Thynne – well known in
concentric circles.
GRYTPYPE: Mister Seagoon, how long have you been with us?
SEAGOON: Twenty minutes.
GRYTPYPE: What a splendid record of devotion and honesty. Neddie
– (and this is where the story really starts;) – Neddie, I’m putting you in a
positions of trust. You’re in charge of the gold vault. Here is the key.
SEAGOON: Gold? (Manic) GOLD!
AAAHAHAHA! GOLD! AHHAHA! LOVELY GOLD! I’LL BE RICH! GOLD! HAHA! NO MORE RAGS!
GOLD! GOLD! (Self fade) GOLD! GOLD!
GRYTPYPE: I wonder if he’s the right man for the job?
SEAGOON: (Close) I
decided to pinch the gold.
GRYTPYPE: Yes. This is the Charlie! I must tell friend Moriarty
all is going to plan.
SEAGOON: Immediately I backed a large horse-drawn motor van up
to the front entrance of the bank.
CONSTABLE: You can’t park that there, sir.
MORIARTY: Constable – how would you like to join the river
police?
CONSTABLE: Very much sir.
GRAMS: Body into water.
CONSTABLE: (Distant)
Thank you sir!
MORIARTY: Merry Christmas. Carry on Neddie.
SEAGOON: Right. Next, I carefully disguised myself as a Zulu
warrior of the Matabele rising. [3]
So cunning was my make-up, not even my own grandmother would have recognised
me.
BANNISTER: Hello Neddie.
SEAGOON: Hello Grannie! In this inconspicuous disguise I took
the gold from the vaults and loaded it onto the van. For three hours I toiled
back and forth.
GRYTPYPE: Oh Neddie…
SEAGOON: (Close) Curses!
I’m spotted.
GRYTPYPE: Why are you wearing that leopard skin?
SEAGOON: So that’s why I’m spotted!
GRYTPYPE: Neddie, where are you taking all that gold?
SEAGOON: I, er… (Aside)
I shall have to think of a good excuse.
GRYTPYPE: You’re stealing it, aren’t you?
SEAGOON: (Aside) Curse!
Why hadn’t I thought of that? (Aloud) Yes…
yes I’m stealing it.
GRYTPYPE: I’m afraid we shall have to give you a week’s notice.
SEAGOON: Why?! What have I done?
GRYTPYPE: Oh, nothing – nothing. We’re just having to cut down
on the staff you know. You see there’s been a robbery. Now, get that van
started while I get my hat and coat.
SEAGOON: You coming too?
GRYTPYPE: No point in staying here. There’s more lolly in the
van than there is in the bank.
SEAGOON: Very well, we’ll be partners.
GRYTPYPE: Shake.
SEAGOON: (Narration) I
gave him my hand.
GRYTPYPE: I gave him my foot – it was a fair swap.
SEAGOON: Ying tong idle-i-poh.
GRYTPYPE: GOOD! Geldray? Take the wheel and drive us to
‘Dishonoured’ part two.
SEAGOON: HUZZAH!
MAX GELDRAY – “A Sky Blue Shirt and a Rainbow Tie”
GREENSLADE: ‘Dishonoured’ – part two, (and this is
where the story really starts.) With their new found wealth Ned Seagoon with
Grytpype-Thynne and Moriarty paint the town red. Then one day, as Seagoon was
in the bath, the first blow fell.
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: (Hums to self)
GRYTPYPE: Neddie! Neddie! Get out of that dustbin. Bad news! –
the bank you stole the gold from told the police.
SEAGOON: What a rotten trick! Is nothing sacred?
GRYTPYPE: Give yourself up Neddie.
SEAGOON: Give myself up?
MORIARTY: Yes – the police want you lad.
SEAGOON: Nonsense! I’m much too short for the police.
GRYTPYPE: Then you’ll have to go abroad – the
SEAGOON: Very well! We sail at dawn, tonight!
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic Sea Saga link – a cappella.
GRAMS: Ship board sounds; lapping of waves.
Creaking of timbers.
SEAGOON: Within a week we were on board a private yacht sailing
west nor’ west south. I stood on the pilchard with the spanker blowing through
my hair and the salty bloaters spinning before the giblets – it’s a man’s life
I tell ‘ee! (Laughs) Ha ha ha! A man’s life I tell ‘ee! Ha ha ha
ha!
GRYTPYPE: You silly, twisted boy you.
SEAGOON: Hello Captain Thynne. What’s our position?
GRYTPYPE: Desperate! Oh, er… I’ll enquire. (Calls) Oh Mister highly skilled navigator?
ECCLES: Hello.
GRYTPYPE: What is that object off the port beam?
ECCLES: Um.. yeah, um… what IS that object off the port beam?
SEAGOON: Good heavens! It’s the Albert Hall.
ECCLES: Oooo! You’ve been to sea before! What’s the Albert
Hall doing off
GRYTPYPE: More to the point is what are we doing in
ECCLES: Oh, er… the sea’s calmer here.
GRYTPYPE: Mister Navigator, we are four hundred miles from the
sea. Explain!
ECCLES: Well, nobody’s perfect. Ha ha hum! (Has he gone?)
SEAGOON: What I want to know is are we off course?
ECCLES: Of course! According to my special calculations we
should be in Shepherd’s Bush Market.
SEAGOON: Why?
ECCLES: I’ve ordered a turkey.
CONSTABLE: I’m sorry about coming aboard sir, but you
can’t park this yacht Monday to Friday – even dates, in
MORIARTY: Ah, Constable, how would you like to join the
Kensington round pond police?
CONSTABLE: There’s no such force.
GRAMS: Body into water.
MORIARTY: (Calls) You’re the first!
CONSTABLE: (Distant)
Thank you sir.
MORIARTY: Full speed ahead… (self
fade) to the
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic Sea Saga link – a cappella with
trombone and bass drum.
GREENSLADE: We are happy to announce that one of the
stolen instruments has been recovered. And so – ‘Dishonoured’ part three. In
the
GRYTPYPE: Ah Neddie! Neddie, when you came aboard I believe you
deposited all the gold in the care of Moriarty.
SEAGOON: Yes. Why – isn’t it safe with him?
GRYTPYPE: Perfectly safe – wherever he and his rowing boat are.
SEAGOON: The gold I stole, stolen?! Which way did he go?
GRYTPYPE: That-a-way.
GRAMS: Boots running into distance. Sudden stop. Large
splash.
MORIARTY: Has he gone?
GRYTPYPE: Yes, he’s gone. (Self
fade) Let’s go down and divide the gold out now, Moriarty.
ORCHESTRA: Harp arpeggios.
GRAMS: Water splashing.
SEAGOON: Meantime I floundered alone in the
CONSTABLE: (Approaching)
I must ask you to move along sir.
SEAGOON: Oh it’s you Constable! I thought you were in the river
police.
CONSTABLE: That’s right sir.
SEAGOON: Then what are you doing in the ocean?
CONSTABLE: Been promoted sir.
SEAGOON: Congratulations.
CONSTABLE: Thank you very much sir.[4]
SEAGOON: Could you direct me to
CONSTABLE: Yes sir – you just follow the tram lines
sir.
SEAGOON: Thank you and a merry Christmas!
CONSTABLE: (Going off) And the very same to you.
SEAGOON: And so saying I struck out for the shore. Ten miles I
swam. The last three were agony – they were over land. Finally I fell in a heap
on the ground. I’ve no idea who left it there.
CRUN: (Entering) Ah!
I am Henry Crun, a tea planter in the Nilgari Hills. We are anxious to know if
you need succour.
SEAGOON: Yes. Just what I need – a glass of succour.
CRUN: Why don’t you answer, sir?
BANNISTER: Hit him Henry.
SEAGOON: Are you both deaf? I told you I am weak from
exhaustion. (To himself) Of course –
that’s why they can’t hear me; I’m unconscious.
BANNISTER: Come on Henry. You heard what he said –
he’s unconscious.
CRUN: Help me lift him up Min.
BANNISTER: Okay buddy.
CRUN: I’ll take his head and you… No, no, no. You go round
the other side of his head.
BANNISTER: Okay.
GRAMS: Footsteps going off into the distance – for a long
time.
BANNISTER: (Very far off.) Okay Henry. LIFT!
CRUN & BANNISTER:
(Straining noises.)
GREENSLADE: (Over) While they are getting him off the
ground, I Wallace Greenslade would like to take this opportunity of thanking
the thousands of Wallace Greenslade Fan Clubs for their letters. Keep smiling
Greensladers! – and keep those cheques rolling in to old Wallace. I will be
with you again next week, so chickadee snitch! TWO, FOUR, SIX, EIGHT – WHO DO
WE APPRECIATE? GREENSLADE! Ahem. Now, here is ‘Dishonoured’ part four. Tied to
the back of Mister Crun’s car, Seagoon was towed back to
SEAGOON: Yes. In the street of a thousand households there is a
place where a man can drink and forget his sorrows. It was there I went.
FX: Knocking on wooden
door. Door opens.
GRAMS: Indian music.
SELLERS: Ah, sahib! Welcome to the Barapao[5]
Sewer Club. What does the dirt encrusted sahib desire? All the sensuous drinks
of the Orient are yours – the Paan Bidi,[6]
the scented Vishnu wine, the toddy juice, the aromatic Crab pani. Which do you
desire, oh wicked one?
SEAGOON: (Daft) Pot of
tea please.
SELLERS: Forbidden – but I fix it. Oh, wait!
MILLIGAN: (Indian MC –
distant) Gentlemen and
RAY ELLINGTON – “Pampouday”
MILLIGAN: Thank you! Thank you and common patrons. (Everyone
back to their own beds!) Now, the mysterious Bara bibi,[7]
Oriental Queen, will do the Dance of the Seven Army Surplus Blankets.
GRAMS: Cor Anglais solo – eastern style.
SEAGOON: Into the middle of the floor sprang a creature that
set my pulses racing. As one by one the blankets fell to the floor, the lights
went down, and as the last blanket fell from the passionate creature, I moved
to her side in the dark. (Breathing heavily) Oh desirable creature, what
prompts you to dance in this den of vice?
ECCLES: I got to make a living too.
SEAGOON: Eccles! You’re not a woman! [8]
ECCLES: I know that! Here – but don’t tell the manager.
SEAGOON: Why not?
ECCLES: We’re engaged.
SEAGOON: However did you get here?
ECCLES: Well that Moriarty and Grytpype-Thynne fellows, they
threw me in the sea!
SEAGOON: What a pity you can swim.
ECCLES: I was glad. Here, this is a question – (and this is
where the story really starts,) what are we going to do now?
SEAGOON: I’m going to clear my name and get back my self
respect. I’ll… I’ll join the Navy!
ORCHESTRA: Huge Naval link. All the top sea-going
themes, double quick – “Rule Britannia”, “Hornpipe”, “A Life on the Ocean
Waves”, “What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor?”, “All the Nice Girls Like a
Sailor” – big finish with “Rule Britannia”.
SEAGOON: No! I’ll join the Army.
ECCLES: Why?
SEAGOON It’s too damned noisy in the
Navy. Come Eccles – to the recruiting depot!
ECCLES: Okay.
ORCHESTRA: Bloodnok theme.
BLOODNOK: Aaaaargh. Aaaaahhhrgh! So, you two naughty men want to
join the third Bombay Irish, ehi?
SEAGOON: Aye, aye, Jock.
BLOODNOK: Now, let us take the regimental oath. Open your
wallets and say after me; “Help yourself.”
ECCLES:[9] Help
yourself.
BLOODNOK: Next Seagoon – do you swear to be brave soldiers?
SEAGOON & ECCLES:
Yes.
BLOODNOK: Never turn a back on the enemy?
SEAGOON & ECCLES:
Never.
BLOODNOK: Always speak well of a lady?
SEAGOON & ECCLES:
Always.
BLOODNOK: And respect the chastity of a woman?
SEAGOON & ECCLES:
Yes.
BLOODNOK: Have we nothing in common!? Still we need
recruits. You see – (and this is where the story really starts) the Red Bladder
is raising the Pathan tribes. He’s got fresh consignments of automatic swords.
SEAGOON: Where did he get the finance?
BLOODNOK: Two international crooks smuggled him a ship load of
gold.
SEAGOON: (Aside) Grytpype
and Moriarty! So that’s their game. (Aloud)
Sir, I have a score to settle. Let me go to the frontier.
BLOODNOK: Right. Sign this.
SEAGOON: (Writing) Neddie
Seagoon. There, am I a soldier now?
BLOODNOK: I don’t know. I only collect autographs.
FX: Door opens.
ELLINGTON: Major Bloodnok sir – (and this is where
the story really starts…)
BLOODNOK: What is it Muriel?
ELLINGTON: The Red Bladder is lighting fires all
along the frontier.
ECCLES: Perhaps he’s cold.
BLOODNOK: Muriel, are the men to the teeth.
ELLINGTON: Impossible sir.
BLOODNOK: No arms?
ELLINGTON: No teeth.
BLOODNOK: Then we can’t fight. HURRAY!
SEAGOON: Sir, I want a chance to prove that I’m a man.
BLOODNOK: Report to the M.O!
SEAGOON: I’ll fight the Red Bladder, clear my name, recover the
gold and capture Moriarty and Grytpype-Thynne. Who will ride with me?
BLUEBOTTLE: I heard you call me, my little Capitain –
(and this is where the story really starts.) Enter Bluebottle. Where’s the
sausages? Here they are.
SEAGOON: Little jug-headed bugler, blow the alarm.
BLUEBOTTLE: That’s what I say – blow the alarm. Let’s
play another game.
SEAGOON: This is no game little drooping seat. Get mounted
lads!
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes my Capitain, I am mounteded and ready
for the ride. Wait a minute – what is this in the saddule bag?
SEAGOON: That’s dynamite my lad.
BLUEBOTTLE: He he he! Thinks; I know what this means
for Bluebottle – the dreaded deading! I don’t like this game.
SEAGOON: Eccles, any wind of the native troops?
ECCLES: I don’t know. I’ve got a
cold.
SEAGOON: We’ll soon know the valid truth. TO HORSE!
ECCLES: Can I come too?
BLUEBOTTLE: Tee hee! It’s about time you came to. (Laughs) He he he! I made a little
jockule.
ECCLES: Here Bluebottle, do you know what I’m getting for
Christmas?
BLUEBOTTLE: Ooo! What are you getting Eccles?
ECCLES: I’m getting a bow-wow.
BLUEBOTTLE: He he he! I’m not getting a browned-wow. I
have got a junior smokers kit, complete with toffee ashtray and liquorice
dog-ends.
ECCLES: I like liquorice. My mother says that liquorice gives
you a good run for your money.
BLUEBOTTLE: Eccles, what colour is your bow-wow?
ECCLES: Well, it’s the same colour as…
BLUEBOTTLE: I’ve got a pussy cat named Ruffules.
BOTH: (&c.
Talking over each other.)
SEAGOON: STOP! To the
GRAMS: Horses galloping. Clink of bridles.
SEAGOON: HALT! (AND THIS IS WHERE THE STORY REALLY STARTS.)
BLUEBOTTLE: Argh! Look my Capitain, lookey! Points
finger at thousands of savage naughty men with Indian type bare chests.
SEAGOON: The Red Bladder and his fifty thousand bladders. Gad!
– we’re outnumbered twenty to one.
ECCLES: Twenty to one? Time for lunch.
SEAGOON: We’ve only one choon. Bluebottle, ride to the crest of
that crag and signal Major Bloodnok. Off you go!
BLUEBOTTLE: I will do this, I will. Ride Vaquero!...
He he he! Wait a minute. Capitain, in between me and that crag is a dirty big
wide chasm with a forty foot thousand drop to the raging torrents below.
SEAGOON: Fear not, shivering nut – that Arab stallion will
bound the chasm like… like a wingéd arrow.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes it will! Gee-up wingéd arrow!
GRAMS: Horse gallops off into distance. Sudden
stop.
ECCLES: (Hums to self)
GRAMS: Enormous splash in the distance.
BLUEBOTTLE: (Distant) You rotten swine type thing!
Aoiigh! You did not do the wingéd arrow over the chasm thing, and I’ve been
hurled into this dreaded canyon. Aeyhehei! Splat!… Thud!… Zowie!… Blun!…Thud!…
and several other rock hitting nut sounds.
MORIARTY: Welcome to the
BLUEBOTTLE: I do… (Nervous) Tee hee hee! You are the
forces of evil.
MORIARTY: Sapristy.
BLUEBOTTLE: Morinarty man. (Aside) Thinks; I know how
to get rid of the dynamite. (Aloud) Mister Morinarntu, would you like a nice
big, long, red cigar with a wick on the end to mark the ending?
MORIARTY: Ooh, thank you lad, thank you. That’s it, just light
the end.
GRAMS: Single whoosh.
BLUEBOTTLE: (Distant) Is it nice?
MORIARTY: It’s gone out.
GRAMS: Whoosh.
BLUEBOTTLE: I’ll light it again for you, and then
you’ll see…
GRAMS: Enormous explosion. Immediately cut to the theme from
‘The Third Man”.
MILLIGAN: Thought you’d like to hear it again.
GREENSLADE: “Dishonoured” – part the last. Neddie
Seagoon gives his all in battle with the Red Bladder.
GRAMS:
BLOODNOK: Oh how the battle raged. I heard it all on the
wireless. Seagoon fought like a madman! – how else? But… but alas…
ORCHESTRA: Muted bugle playing ‘Retreat’.
GREENSLADE: (Over) On that spot is now a little white
stone.
CRUN: Yes. Once a year Minnie lays flowers on it.
BANNISTER: That’s right. And the stone bears a simple
inscription in Hindustani.
BLOODNOK: I haven’t the heart to tell her, but roughly
translated it says – “
ORCHESTRA: End theme.
GREENSLADE: That was the Goon Show, a recorded
programme featuring Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Spike Milligan, with the
Ray Ellington Quartet and Max Geldray. The orchestra was conducted by Wally
Stott, script by Spike Milligan and Eric Sykes, the announcer Wallace Greenslade,
the programme produced by Peter Eton.
ORCHESTRA: Playout.
[1] Based on ‘The Adventures of Philip String’ a reworking of a three part serial which ran through the 7th, 8th and 9th parts of ‘Crazy People’ in July 1951.
[2] Roughly Seagoon had 530 children.
[4] There is an exchange here that is probably extemporised. Somebody seems to have lost their way.
SEAGOON: Absolutely first class. Splendid.
WILLIUM: Got a mouthful of fish then – and script.
SEAGOON: Yes… Ha ha! (Giggles)
[5] BaRa paon means ‘big foot’ in Hindi.
[6] Paan bidi is a rolled up leaf of paan with condiments enclosed.
[7] BaRa bibi means ‘big wife’ in Hindi.
[8] I wonder what Wally Stott was thinking?
[9] Seagoon doesn’t answer. Probably in error.