THE JET-PROPELLED GUIDED NAAFI
GOON
SHOW: TLO 95990
6TH
SERIES: No 19
BROADCAST:
24 Jan 1956[1]
Script by Spike Milligan
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC
Light Program.
FX: Coin in tin cup.
GREENSLADE: Thank you.
SEAGOON: Greenslade! Abandon these
financial irregularities, hand over that copper coin of the realm and read this
extract from a recent issue of the Telegraph.
GREENSLADE: Yes sir. “In building a
new residence for the High Commissioner in
SEAGOON: Which naturally brings us
to the highly esteemed Goon Show.
Scene one – we continue with the enquiry.
FX: Gavel on bench.
CRUN: Yes, yes, yes. That's all very
well, but why a semi-circular settee?
GREENSLADE: Because sir, it was for
the use of a semi-circular Vice-Consul.
CRUN: Oh.....
BANNISTER: (Distant) What about
CRUN: Has the Minister of Works
anything to say? What about the Ministry of Works? What, what, what – where is he?
ECCLES: I chose all that furniture
myself. (Raves)
CRUN: What is all this about? What
are we all here for?
SECOMBE: (Distant) What about our lads in
BANNISTER: What about the drains in
Hackney?
CRUN: What about the drains in East
Finchley?!
BANNISTER: Never mind them in
Finchley. I live in Hackney and the drains pong.
SEAGOON: (Welsh) What about the Welsh reaction reasons?
BANNISTER: Shut up, Mister Bevin. [3]
CHURCHILL: But what about all this
washing outside Number Ten! – that's what I want to know. [4]
GREENSLADE: Please gentlemen…
BANNISTER: I’m not a
gentleman!
GREENSLADE: You said it.
Gentlemen, this is an enquiry into the cost of a Government building in
CAST: (Backbenchers interjections.)
CRUN: What! What! What! Who
authorised this?
GREENSLADE: Oh, Mister Eccles here.[5]
ECCLES: Yeah, I chose all
the furniture myself. (Raves)
CRUN: Mister Eccles, why did a
seven-and-sixpenny window-seat cost two hundred and forty-six pounds?
ECCLES: Um… I RESIGN! You speak to
my secretary. You can't talk to a Government Minister like that. I won't be out
of work long, you’ll see! I'll get that Ministry of Fishery job, you watch – I've
kept goldfish.
GREENSLADE: Mister Eccles, we are
not for one moment doubting your sincerity. It's just your intelligence that's
in question.
ECCLES: Well, I accept your apology.
CRUN: How dare you interrupt me when
I wasn't saying anything! How dare you!
ECCLES: I RESIGN!
CRUN: SHUT UP!
ECCLES: SHUT UP!
SEAGOON: SHUT UP ECCLES!
ECCLES: SHUT UP! SHUT UP!... SHUT UP
ECCLES!
CAST: (Various) Shut up! &c
SEAGOON: One moment please!
BANNISTER: Aaah, shut up! You
steaming nit you...
SEAGOON: Needle nardle noo. Now, as
a strolling Prime Minister of no fixed address, I must protest at this gross
misspending of Public Funds. This building in
BLOODNOK: We mustn't stand for this
SEAGOON: We're not going to! We're
not going to indeed! To teach those concerned with this disgusting waste a
severe lesson, I've ordered the building burned to the ground, and a new building
put up at the proper price.
GRAMS: Hearty approval from crowd. Foot
stamping. Chorus of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow”
SEAGOON: Thank you lads! Thank you
lads! – you'll get your OBE's as you go out.
GREENSLADE: That afternoon, the
strolling Prime Minister was summoned urgently from The Windmill,[6] to attend (of all things) a vital Cabinet
meeting.
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: Good afternoon gentlemen.
I'm sorry I'm late. Sabrina wasn't on until after the interval. I er ...
SELLERS: [7] I'm glad
you got here. Now Mr Prime Minister, first question; What is the liquid that
most inspires the British Soldier while on active duty?
SEAGOON: Tea!
SELLERS: Tea is correct. A big hand
for the lucky winner!
GRAMS: Clapping and cheering.
SELLERS: Now – d'you wanna double
your salary? Good. Question number two; What is the organisation that supplies
tea to the troops?
SEAGOON: The NAAFI.[8]
SELLERS: Right again!
GRAMS: Applause.
SELLERS: Now, I'll just pour this
bucket of custard over your head to prove that Prime Ministers ARE FUNNY!
GRAMS: Tremendous applause and
whistling. Cut it dead.
SEAGOON: Thank you!
SPRIGGS: Yahiyahihouagh! Now sir, we
want you to peruse these vital secret plans.
SEAGOON: I'll read them tonight in
bed.
SPRIGGS: What!
SEAGOON: And now gentlemen, I want
you to peruse these plans.
SPRIGGS: A-hiou! What are they, sir?
SEAGOON: The new secret tunnel
between the House of Lords and the Folies Bergère.[9]
SPRIGGS: But sir, I thought we were
cutting down on this sinful national expenditure.
SEAGOON: Of course we are! We
haven't built any lighthouses in the
LORD:[10] (Blustering) You mean they’re only once
every hundred yards?
SEAGOON: Yes, and only plain silver
chandeliers.
ECCLES: I… I… I RESIGN!
SEAGOON: Why?
ECCLES: I dunno.
SEAGOON: Well, shut up.
CAST: (Various “shut up”s.)
SEAGOON: Please, lets not start that
again.
BANNISTER: (Distant) What about the drains in Hackney!
SEAGOON: Please – Gentlemen! Now
don't forget, economy is the watchword. (Calls)
Black Rod?[11]
ELLINGTON: Yes sir?
SEAGOON: Carry me to my car.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.
GREENSLADE: That night in bed,
FX: Paper unrolling.
GRYTPYPE: Oh, good evening
sir. May I help you?
SEAGOON: Ah, Sir Grytpype! – my
trusted butler, confidante, best friend, sincerest critic and author of
"Ten Years as a Russian Spy at Number Ten", help me unroll this top
secret document which nobody must unroll.
GRYTPYPE: Of course sir. First, do
let me take a holiday snapshot of you.
SEAGOON: By all means. By all means.
I'll just slip on my bathing costume. There!
GRYTPYPE: Splendid. Now, a little
smile sir? Good. Look, just hold the plans right up in front of your face.
FX: Click of shutter.
GRYTPYPE: There. Thank you very
much, sir.
SEAGOON: Thank you! (Laughs) Ha, ha. Now Grytpype, read
these plans to me. No, no, wait! No-one must see these plans. Put on your dark
glasses and look the other way as you read them.
GRYTPYPE: Certainly sir. Anything
for the old country.
SEAGOON: Good! And to make doubly
sure, I won't listen. Now, what are these plans?
GRYTPYPE: Let me see. (Mumbles as if reading.) Srampson
scrampson &c… Good heavens, sir!
It's a plan of a new Guided NAAFI. A self-contained missile capable of carrying
eighty-two staff, ten NAAFI pianos, sixty thousand gallons of tea and twelve
tons of buttered crumpet, being shot six thousand miles up and set fully
operative at the point of impact in sixteen seconds. It sounds quite
impossible.
SEAGOON: Do you think so? Give me
that phone.
FX: Hand piece picked up.
SEAGOON: Hello? Tell the
NAAFI launching site at Rockall to launch the prototype Guided NAAFI to
FX: Hand piece down.
SEAGOON: I'll show you, old
faithful servant.
FX: Phone rings. Hand piece picked up.
SEAGOON: Yes?
WILLUM: (On phone) NAAFI Manager, Kuala Lumpur here.[13] The old
tea's ready now sir.
FX: Hand piece down.
SEAGOON: There you are. Shot to
GRYTPYPE: Gad, what a fiendish
weapon. With this,
SEAGOON: Yes. What a pity we can't
build more. Economy, you know. After all, the country can't afford tunnels to
the Folies Bergère and guided NAAFI's, can
we? (Laughs) Ha ha ha! (Suddenly) Shhh! Quick, hide these plans
– here's Max Geldray.
MAX GELDRAY –
“All God’s Chillun Got Rhythm.” [14]
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.
SEAGOON: (Snoring under.)
GRYTPYPE: (Approaching) Ah. Our little strolling
Prime Minister of no fixed address is asleep.
MORIARTY: Pssst!
GRYTPYPE: Who's that?
MORIARTY: Psssst!
GRYTPYPE: How do you spell it?
MORIARTY: (Raspberry) Ppt!
GRYTPYPE: You illiterate swine. It's
Moriarty – where are you?
MORIARTY: Here – in the piano.
GRYTPYPE: What the devil are you
doing in there?
MORIARTY: I'm hidin'.
GRYTPYPE: Don't be silly – Haydn's
been dead for years.[15]
MORIARTY: Silence! I don't wish to
know that.
GRYTPYPE: Neither do
MORIARTY: (I say, look here!) Now,
help me out – I'm disguised as one of the piano strings.
GRYTPYPE: Which string are you?
MORIARTY: I think I'm a G-string.
GRYTPYPE: So that's why I can't see
you?
MORIARTY: Now then, I'm not sure
which string I am, so you'd better play a scale.
PIANO: Plays middle C
GRYTPYPE: (Sings) Doh…
MORIARTY: No.
PIANO: Plays D.
GRYTPYPE: (Sings) Ray…
MORIARTY: No
PIANO: Plays E.
GRYTPYPE: (Sings) Me…
MORIARTY: Me – that's me! (Effort) Help me out.
GRAMS: Mechanical creeks, clicks and
pops.
MORIARTY: Argh! Thank you.
GRYTPYPE: Good heavens Moriarty,
you're two feet taller than you used to be. How did that happen?
MORIARTY: Some swine sent in a
piano-tuner.[16]
GRYTPYPE: Well, you always were
musical.
MORIARTY: (Sings) Doinnnng.
GRYTPYPE: Now Moriarty, I want you
to photograph this photograph of the Guided NAAFI plans, record it on tape,
swallow it, raise your right leg and flee the country.[17] Farewell!
MORIARTY: Farewell!
GRAMS: Single whoosh.
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: What’s going on down here?
GRYTPYPE: Nothing, sir. Nothing at
all.
SEAGOON: That's funny Grytpype – I
thought I heard the sound of a man photographing the photograph of the secret
plans, recording them on tape, swallowing them, raising his right leg and
fleeing the country.
GRYTPYPE: Quite impossible. We were
whispering sir.
SEAGOON: I'm sorry, I must have been
mistaken. Answer that phone
GRYTPYPE: What phone?
FX: Phone rings. Phone picked up.
SEAGOON: That one. Give it to me!
Hello . . .
WILLUM: (On phone) This is the manager of the Guided NAAFI at
SEAGOON: Certainly not! I will not
tolerate waste. How much tea is there?
WILLUM: Ten thousand cups.
SEAGOON: Right! – keep it on the
boil. I'll attend to it.
FX: Handpiece down.
SEAGOON: Grytpype, we're going to
GRYTPYPE: That will mean tropical
kit, sir.
SEAGOON: Tropical Kitt – I love that
woman! Oh ho, you mean uniforms?
GRYTPYPE: Yes, yes.
SEAGOON: Yes, well have them issued
at once.
GRYTPYPE: You will have your little
joke.
SEAGOON: Yes, needle nardle noo. (Laughs) Ha ha ha! Isotopes brew! No
expense must be spared to see that this tea is not wasted. Our watchword is
still – ‘economy.’
GRYTPYPE: Right sir.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.
GRAMS: Distant airliners warming up
engines. Regiment on parade. Sergeant-Major giving orders. (Slightly sped up.
Continue under.)
SEAGOON: Ah, what a magnificent
economical sight. Twelve hundred planes, ten thousand men, all pledged to avert
tea-wastage. Well, goodbye Grytpype.
GRYTPYPE: Oh, just a moment sir.
It's ten to twelve.
SEAGOON: Well?
GRYTPYPE: Time for your OBE sir. Say
aahh.
SEAGOON: (Swallows) Oh, that's better. Well, goodbye Grytpype.
GRYTPYPE: Goodbye Charlie
SEAGOON: My name’s not Charlie – it's
Neddie.
GRYTPYPE: I know, but… somehow I always
think of you as ‘Charlie.’ [18]
SEAGOON: Thank you. Farewell,
friend.
FX: Phone rings. Handpiece picked up.
MORIARTY: (On phone) Hello, Grytpype?
GRYTPYPE: Moriarty, where are you?
MORIARTY: I'm hiding in the lining
of your underpants.
GRYTPYPE: Fool. What are you doing
there?
MORIARTY: I couldn't get out of the
country with the plans.
GRYTPYPE: Why not?
MORIARTY: The fares have gone up
again!
GRYTPYPE: Great heavens! Wait a
moment – we'll travel free, Moriarty.
MORIARTY: How?
GRYTPYPE: We'll reach
FX: Two pairs of boots scuffling inside a small space.
MORIARTY: (Effort) Argh!, Ohigh! Right, we're in.
GRYTPYPE: Good.
MORIARTY: Now throw away that
photograph of the hole before we fall out.
GRAMS: Airline engines roaring to life.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.
GRAMS: Fleet of aircraft at great
height.
GREENSLADE: (Over) By dawn, the mighty aerial fleet were approaching
SEAGOON: (Approaching) I've worked it all out here. Now, the cost of firing
the Guided NAAFI to
ECCLES: I RESIGN! You can't talk to me
like that.
SEAGOON: SHUT UP!
ECCLES: SHUT UP!
SEAGOON: SHUT UP! Here, step outside
this door.
FX: Door opens.
GRAMS: Roar
of high altitude slip-stream.
FX: Door closes.
SEAGOON: He always wanted to visit
BANNISTER: Hurrah!
RAY ELLINGTON - "She's a Three-handed Woman" [20]
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic Air-Force introduction.
GREENSLADE: That night the aerial
armada landed and the troops under Major Bloodnok bivouacked in the steaming
jungles, a mere days march from the Guided NAAFI.
GRAMS: Multiple snoring, mouth noises
and burps.
MORIARTY: Psssst!... Psssst!...
Major Bloodnok.
BLOODNOK: Ooohh! Don't come in my
tent yet, please – just a moment. Goodnight darling, I'll see you later.
THROAT: Goodnight darling.
BLOODNOK: Yes. Er… (Calls) Come in!
MORIARTY: (Approaching) Thank you. Now, Major le Bloodnok?
BLOODNOK: A civilian! How dare you
enter my tent, sir.
MORIARTY: That's the only way I
could get in.
BLOODNOK: For all you know I might
have had some ladies in here. Get out!
MORIARTY: Be quiet or I'll tell them
who sold those three cardboard tanks.
BLOODNOK: What!? It's all lies! In
any case they never paid me. Is there no honesty! You know what happened to me
last night?
MORIARTY: No.
BLOODNOK: Thank heaven for that. Now
then, state your business sir.
MORIARTY: Now listen – tomorrow we
reach the only jet-propelled Guided NAAFI in the world. It must be destroyed!
BLOODNOK: What! – are you a spy?
MORIARTY: Yes.
BLOODNOK: Then why are you covered
in mince?
MORIARTY: I'm a mince spy.
BLOODNOK: A Merry Christmas!
MORIARTY: (They wish to know that. A
merry Christmas to you too.) Now listen, would you be willing to sabotage this
secret Guided NAAFI?
BLOODNOK: I'll have you know that I
am a patriotic English Gentleman, sir.
MORIARTY: And what does that mean?
BLOODNOK: It means I'll only do it
for money.
MORIARTY: Very well. Here – here is
a carbon copy of an imitation hundred-pound note.
BLOODNOK: Wait a moment. How do I
know this carbon copy isn't a forgery?
MORIARTY: How? Look here – here’s a
life-size oil painting of me robbing the bank with it.
BLOODNOK: But it shows you
clean-shaven.
MORIARTY: I was wearing an invisible
beard.
BLOODNOK: Great malleable lumps of
steaming thun!
MORIARTY: I apologise!
BLOODNOK: You Chinese think of everything.
MORIARTY: But I'm not Chinese.
BLOODNOK: Then you must have
forgotten something! You should be more careful. Give me the money.
FX: Cash register. Money in till.
BLOODNOK: Thank you. Now then, what
do I do?
MORIARTY: Now listen – all has been
arranged. Hand this parcel of explosive sausages to the Guided NAAFI manager.
BLOODNOK: Right. Gad, there he goes,
off to join Grytpype-Thynne in an attempt to reach
ORCHESTRA: Military bugle playing ‘Fall In’.
Double the speed – fluctuate the speed wildly at the end.
SEAGOON: (Announcing) Men! (I think that takes most of you in) – we are here
to drink NAAFI tea.
FX: Tin mug on bonce.
SEAGOON: Ooowooowooowooowooow.
Who threw that?
BLUEBOTTLE: I did, Captain.[21]
SEAGOON: Who are you, you little
tea-stained, crumpet-ridden idiot?
BLUEBOTTLE: I am a little
tea-stained, crumpet-ridden idiot. (Thinks – I'm a little tea-stained,
crumpet-ridden idiot.)
SEAGOON: Great larrups of dongle! –
he thinks he's a little tea-stained, crumpet-ridden idiot.
BLUEBOTTLE: YES!
SEAGOON: Don't shout so loud! – you'll
wake up the Minister for Defence Against Surprise Air Attacks.
ECCLES: I'M AWAKE AND I RESIGN!
SEAGOON: Good! – and as you're out
of work you can fill a vacancy that's just occurred.
ECCLES: What?
SEAGOON: We need a Minister for
Defence Against Surprise Air Attacks.
ECCLES: Fine, fine, fine. Okay
Bluebottle, address the men.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes!
ECCLES: Yes!
BLUEBOTTLE: (Announcing) Soldier men of
CAST: (Discontented grumbling.)
BLUEBOTTLE: Thank you for your
encouraging words. Everybody inside! (To
self) Oooh, I like this game, being the wonder-boy NAAFI manager. (Thinks:
this is what a nice clean life leads to. Hmm, why did I ever lead one?)
ECCLES: Hello my good man.
BLUEBOTTLE: Oh, hello Lord Eccles.
ECCLES: Hello Lord Eccles.
BLUEBOTTLE: Are you the Minist’rers
of Food?
ECCLES: Yeah. Ooh, look here. Here's
a parcel of naughty sausages for you. Major Bloodnok gave them to me just
before he deserted.
BLUEBOTTLE: Ooh, I love sausinges. A
feast! We will have a feast of lovely, nitteln sausinges. We'll put them in the
refridgimerators and go and get the frying pan. Come on Eccles.
ECCLES: (Self fade) Okay, okay!
FX: Door opens and closes.
(Slight pause)
FX: Door opens.
GRYTPYPE: Keep going, Moriarty. We
can't be far now.
MORIARTY: (Out of breath) Yes! According to my calculations we are only a
hundred yards from the Soviet Border.
GRYTPYPE: There’s a sign. What does
it say?
MORIARTY: Let me see – (reading) Eggs and Chips,
twelve-and-nine; Beans on Toast, ten shillings
GRYTPYPE: You big steaming nit you!
MORIARTY: What?
GRYTPYPE: You've lead us back to
this dashed Guided NAAFI!
MORIARTY: Sapristi-yakakabakakacoo-and-needle-nardle-noo!
It's that confounded compass. It's the last time I buy those cheap Christmas
crackers.
GRYTPYPE: Shhh. Someone's coming.
Quick! – into the fridge.
MORIARTY: Into the fridge, quick!
FX: Fridge door shuts.
MORIARTY: Now we're in here we'll
change clothes and come out disguised as each other.
GRYTPYPE: Brilliant! You'll get a
Russian OBE for this.
MORIARTY: Sapristi. Wait! The plans!
They mustn't find these plans.
GRYTPYPE: Quick! – wrap them round
these naughty sausages.
MORIARTY: Right. And now we imitate
the sound of eight ounces of dripping.
GRYTPYPE: Good.
FX: Sound of butchers paper crinkling. Door opens.
BLUEBOTTLE: Ah! – here are the
naughty sausinges. Well, I will just pop them into this nice boiling hot frying
pan.
GRAMS: Sizzling sound. Huge explosion.
BLUEBOTTLE: So that's why they call
‘em bangers! [22]
SEAGOON: Where did those sausages come
from?
BLUEBOTTLE: The rotten Minister of
Food.
ECCLES: I RESIGN!
GRYTPYPE: Hands up all of you!
SEAGOON: Don't be a fool, Grytpype.
Drop that cucumber!
GRYTPYPE: What! – and leave myself
cucumber-less in the salad season? Not likely. Moriarty, we've lost all the
plans in the explosion.
MORIARTY: Never mind, I still have
something up my sleeve.
GRYTPYPE: What?
MORIARTY: My arm.
GRYTPYPE: Splendid. We'll use that.
MORIARTY: Right.
GRYTPYPE: Go to the launching
control, point the whole of this Guided NAAFI to
MORIARTY: FIRE!
GRAMS: Rocket launch.
GREENSLADE: And that is how fifteen
seconds later, under Sir Neddie Seagoon's great economy drive, the lucky
natives of Aldershot were delighted to find a fully-operating three million
pound NAAFI in their midst.
GRYTPYPE:
MORIARTY: That's the last time I buy
a box of those cheap Christmas crackers!
GRYTPYPE: You steaming nit you!!
ORCHESTRA: End theme.
GREENSLADE: That was The Goon Show,
a BBC recorded program 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, announcer Wallace
Greenslade, the program produced by Peter Eton.
ORCHESTRA: Playout.
YTI 