WINGS
OVER DAGENHAM
GOON SHOW: TLO 120041
7th SERIES No15
BROADCAST: 10 Jan 1957 [1]
Script by Spike Milligan and Larry Stephens.
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC
home service .
SEAGOON: So you admit it
then! Six months hard labour to be done in twelve monthly instalments.
FX: Gavel on bench.
GREENSLADE: I shall appeal.
SEAGOON: Very well.
Released on bail of five long twisted things with holes in the end. (Aside) Next case.
CYRIL: A mental picture
of the Goon Show sir.
SEAGOON: What! Sentenced
to half an hour a week on the electric wireless, to commence this week with “Wings
over Dagenham.”[2]
ORCHESTRA: Three
dramatic chords.
NARRATOR:[3] Hear that
stirring music folks? It was specially composed to give you a mental picture of
an aeroplane carrying supplies to the besieged garrison at Fort Spon[4]
in nineteen-hundred and two, one year before the invention of the aeroplane.
GRAMS: Gunfire.
Fade under.
COMMANDING OFFICER:[5] Yes, we of the besieged
garrison were grateful for that mental picture of an aeroplane bringing us
supplies. ITMA prayed for the day when someone would invent one and save us all
at
GRAMS: Swell
gunfire.
NARRATOR: (Over) Little did he know poor fellow
that in a shed off Lyle Street a genius in grease stained evening dress – assisted
by a dour Scots gentleman in a grease stained body, were at work on a strange
and wondrous grease stained machine.
FX: Hammer on metal piping.
SEAGOON &
McCHISHOLM:
(Singing in time with hammering)
Ying tong, ying
tong, ying tong, ying tong, ying tong iddle i poh.
Ying tong, ying
tong, ying tong, ying tong, ying tong iddle i poh.
Ying tong, ying
tong, ying tong, ying tong, ying tong iddle i poh.
Ying tong yi...[6]
SEAGOON: McChisholm – it's
finished![7]
McCHISHOLM: Oh thank heavens
for that. I couldn't remember any more of the words.
SEAGOON: No – my
masterpiece, this apparatus!
McCHISHOLM: Oh! If it's not a
rude question sir, what's it supposed to be?
SEAGOON: I wish I knew. I'd
feel much happier.
McCHISHOLM: You said it was
to be a mangle.
SEAGOON: Yes I know. But I
added a bit here and a bit there – it got completely out of hand.
McCHISHOLM: I'll tell you
what man, you get in the seat and I'll swing the propeller.
SEAGOON: (
McCHISHOLM: (Shouts) CONTACT!
SEAGOON: Gad – you've
invented the method for starting an aeroplane! (Shouts) CONTACT!
GRAMS: Bi-plane
engine starting up. Splutters. A couple of backfires. Pause. Metal pipe falls
on concrete. Then gradually a handful of bits and pieces of metal.
SEAGOON: Well… what shall
we build now?
McCHISHOLM: Mister Seagoon –
did you not notice? A moment before it fell to bits it rose seven feet off the
ground.
SEAGOON: Correction – five
feet. Two of those feet were mine!
McCHISHOLM: If you ask me sir
we've invented the Hairyplane.
FX: Phone rings. Receiver picked up.
SEAGOON: Hello?
GRYTPYPE: (On phone) I hear you've invented the
aeroplane.
SEAGOON: Who's this
speaking?
GRYTPYPE: The Air Ministry.
SEAGOON: Air Ministry? – How
are you off for air? (Laughs
uproariously) Ha ha ha ha ha! Air ministry! How are you off for air! A-hahaha!
A-hahaha! (Embarrassment sets in.) Ahem.
GRYTPYPE: Listen little square
pudding, the question is how are you off for air?
SEAGOON: I'm just full of
it.
GRYTPYPE: So I've heard.
SEAGOON: What? What? What?
What? What? What? What? What? What? (Does
chicken impression.)
GRYTPYPE: It's all very
well saying that Neddie, but if you've invented the aeroplane you'll need air
to fly it in – and we are the sole agents.
SEAGOON: You low down, thieving,
twisting, stinking, spiv!
GRYTPYPE: I see you're a
wit as well. Well flattery will get you nowhere. Now, how much air do you need?
SEAGOON: Any chance of a
supplementary ration?
GRYTPYPE: You get your
machine finished and we'll come round and see you.
SEAGOON: Right!
FX: Receiver being replaced. Rapid
hammering on pipe.
SEAGOON: Finished!
FX: Door being opened
GRYTPYPE: And only just in
time. Moriarty – there it is!
MORIARTY: Oh! It looks like
an aeroplane…
GRYTPYPE: It smells like
one.
MORIARTY: … and further
more – (Chewing noises) …it tastes
like an aeroplane!
GRYTPYPE: Let me try a
slice. (Mouthful) Mmmmmm. Neddie – this
aeroplane is beautifully cooked.
SEAGOON: Yes, we've had it
in the oven all night.
GRYTPYPE: Splendid! Now
Neddie, what does this aeroplane do?
SEAGOON: It flies.
GRYTPYPE: (Incredulous) It flies? This will
revolutionise aviation!
MORIARTY: You realise that
this means the end of the horse drawn zeppelin!
GRYTPYPE: “Tempus fugit”
Moriarty.[8]
MORIARTY: What? To that I
can only say – “Qu’est-il diable…” (What’s it say?) “est-il allé il faire dans cette galère!” [9]
SEAGOON: No fighting
please you intellectual gentlemen.
MORIARTY: What!
GRYTPYPE: Just sign this
document Neddie.
FX: Paper unfolding.
SEAGOON: (Reading) “For the use of the air over Lyle
Street, ten pound seventeen shillings a quarter, payable in monthly instalments
of fifty pound a year per week.” Hmm. That seems remarkably cheap!
FX: Money in till.
GRYTPYPE: Thank you Neddie.
Now don't forget, when you want to fly just phone us up and we'll have the air
fixed in place over
SEAGOON: Well, I'd like
some air right now.
GRYTPYPE: Max Geldray,
start blowing ploogee!
MAX GELDRAY – “Cheek to Cheek” [10]
GREENSLADE: That music was
designed to give listeners in the
ORCHESTRA: Grandiloquent
but innovative orchestral chords.
MORIARTY: Oh folks! That
music was supposed to give you a mental picture which means the end of the
horse drawn zeppelin.
GRYTPYPE: Moriarty – I
tell you, you must stop manufacturing those Zeppelins.
MORIARTY: But I’ve just
managed to get orders from the London Passenger Transport Board. (Raves)[12]
GRYTPYPE: Quiet Moriarty!
I'm just getting a mental picture of Seagoon opening that door…
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: Gentlemen, I'm in
terrible trouble...
GRYTPYPE: …he's going to
say.
FX: Door closes. Door opens.
SEAGOON: Gentlemen, I'm in
terrible trouble.
MORIARTY: You were right!
SEAGOON: My aeroplane
won't take off in Lyle Street. [13]
GRYTPYPE: Are you
concentrating Neddie?
SEAGOON: I tell you
Grytters – I can’t get off the ground.
GRYTPYPE: Well if you can’t
get off in Lyle Street, you’ll never get off anywhere. SEAGOON:
The trouble is, just as the plane starts to gain speed the lights turn red.
MORIARTY: Ohh Neddie, what
you need is a new modern-type taking off aerodrome.
GRYTPYPE: Yes, tell the
orchestra to give us a mental picture of a meeting of aerodrome inventors.
ORCHESTRA: Eccentric link.
OMNES: (Over) Flying rhubarb. Aerodrome rhubarb
&c.
SPRIGGS: Gentlemen! Mister
Grytpype Thynne has called this mental picture of a meeting at the request of
the beleaguered garrison at Fooort Sponnn!
BLOODNOK: (Approaching) Yes gentlemen. I have just
returned from the very thin of the fray.
SPRIGGS: But we've just
had it wallpapered!
BLOODNOK: That's no use I
tell you.
SPRIGGS: Double strength!
BLOODNOK: The defenders are
weaponless. Some swine sold the men's rifles to the enemy for ten thousand
pounds.
SPRIGGS: How much?
BLOODNOK: Just a minute,
I'll count it again...
SPRIGGS: You mean that
those men have only got bullets to defend themselves?
BLOODNOK: Yes.
SEAGOON: Gentlemen, build
me a taking-off type aerodrome, and I will fly out rifles in my newly invented
aeroplane.
CRUN: Mr Seagoon, I
have got here the plans of my proposed portable aerodrome.
SEAGOON: Ahh! Let's have a
look.
FX: Paper rustling.
SEAGOON: Mmmm. What do you
call it Mister Crun?
CRUN: Erm –
SEAGOON: Oh. And where are
you going to build it?
CRUN: At Croydon.
SEAGOON: I say – how
splendid! That'll save changing the name.
CRUN: Yes. Now then is
there any questions?
BANNISTER: (Distant) How are you going to build
this aerodrome?
CRUN: Well – I had
intended, after consulting certain graphs and measures and having architectural
surveys of certain Grecian soup recipes and other rare stews, I was going to
build it flat.
SEAGOON: Does that mean
aeroplanes can land on it?
CRUN: Well – now that
you've asked me a straightforward question, I have no option … mnk… but to give
you a direct answer. What was the question again?
SEAGOON: Does that mean
aeroplanes can land on it?
CRUN: Land on what?
SEAGOON: The aerodrome!
CRUN: Oh! Am I building
one of those?
SEAGOON: Yes, and you're
calling it “
CRUN: Splendid! Then I
can build it near Croydon.
SEAGOON: The very place
for it!
CRUN: Yes. Now to
finance; apart from the aerodrome we shall need five thousand pounds for the
hangars.
SEAGOON: I'd rather hand
my coat on a nail.
GRYTPYPE: Mister Crun was
referring to aeroplane hangars.
SEAGOON: Erm – will my
aeroplane need a hangar?
CRUN: It will lose it's
shape hanging on a nail you know. (Mumbles
to himself.)
BANNISTER: (Distant) Speak up Buddy!
SEAGOON: Well, Mister Crun
sounds like our idiot. What salary would you like?
CRUN: Ten thousand
pounds a year.
SEAGOON: Who'll second
that?
CRUN: I will.
SEAGOON: Right, those in
favour raise their hands. A-ha! Come Mister Crun – you can't vote for yourself.
CRUN: (Bursting) I'm not!
SEAGOON: Then why are you
holding your hand up when you...?
FX: Door opening and closing – rapid.
SEAGOON: I see.
GRYTPYPE: He's gone of
course to give the workmen a mental picture of what he has in mind.
GREENSLADE: And if listeners
in Croydon in nineteen-hundred and two, will open their windows, they'll be
able to hear a mental picture of the portable aerodrome under construction.
GRAMS: Construction
site. Jackhammers etc.
DAI LABOURER:[14] Pardon me boy – where
do you want this load of five hundred ton iron girders?
BLOODNOK: Well, I think
you'd better put them in the safe. You see there's been a lot of pilfering
lately.
DAI LABOURER: Right-oh! Dai,
see me back will you?
DAI ECCLES: (Welsh impression) OK Dai! Come on now!
Look you Dai! Sospan bach! Abergavenny! Look you now! Leeks!
DAI LABOURER: You'll get my
fist round the back of your famous filthy nut if you don't hurry up.
DAI ECCLES: OK. Get this
lorry back. Come on… back now!
GRAMS: Lorry
revving. (Continue under. Swell after each line.)
DAI ECCLES: Come on. Back – come
on. Steady! Left hand down. As you are! Straighten – straighten up! Come along...
come along! Right end… left end… middle… Come on. Come on now! Plenty of room.
Come on… Come on…
GRAMS: Enormous
crash. (Lorry of junk going over a hundred foot cliff.)
DAI ECCLES: O.K. That's
enough.
GRAMS: Recording – (Gradually
wind up the speed.)
SEAGOON: You dull, stupid,
half witted, useless, jumped up, never come down, idle, dull-headed twinick! If
I get my hands on you I'll beat all the sawdust out of that fat head of yours.
(Raves at high speed)
ECCLES: (Frets. Pause) SHUT UP! Let that be a
lesson to him.
SEAGOON: Never mind
taunting that record of me Eccles. Great news – the lights turned green in
ECCLES: What a strain!
CRUN: Oh, you got to
stop him from landing. The aerodrome's not quite ready yet. We haven't started.
SEAGOON: Right! McChisholm
– contact the plane.
McCHISHOLM: He's on the phone
now, sir.
SEAGOON: Right. Calling B
four… Calling B four… Hello? Control calling B four.
BLUEBOTTLE: (On radio) Hello Captain!
SEAGOON: Is that you – B
four?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
SEAGOON: Why didn't you
answer me B four?
BLUEBOTTLE: 'Cause I didn't
hear you before.
SEAGOON: Listen. Warning!
Do not land at
BLUEBOTTLE: Right-oh den.
SEAGOON: Now – what is
your exact position?
BLUEBOTTLE: I'm lying on my
side with my knees drawn up under my chin.
SEAGOON: Why?
BLUEBOTTLE: I'm at home in
bed.
SEAGOON: You fool McChisholm
– you've got the wrong number!
TEST PILOT:[15] (On radio) Hello! Hello! Calling the proposed
SEAGOON: That's my pilot now.
That's my boy. Hello there – don't land!
TEST PILOT: I can't land.
SEAGOON: Why not?
TEST PILOT: I haven't got
enough petrol.
SEAGOON: Curse!
TEST PILOT: I tell you, you must
get liquid petrol up to me or I'll never play the violin again!
SEAGOON: Why not?
TEST PILOT: It's a petrol
driven violin, you know.
SEAGOON: Horrors, hirrors,
hurruhs, horrors, horrens – the world's first horseless aeroplane trapped in
the air!
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic timpani roll – bugle call.
Goes berserk at end.[16]
SEAGOON: Ahem. That music
was intended to give you a mental picture of a change in plan.
SPIKE: Yes.
SEAGOON: Thank you. With
the shortage of petrol, the invention of the aeroplane had to be delayed.
SPIKE: Yes.
SEAGOON: Thank you. But
still the burning question was to get guns to the garrison at
SPIKE: Yes.
CRUN: As luck would
have it gentlemen I've got here the plans of a steam driven rocket.[17]
SPIKE: Yes.
SEAGOON: That would
overcome the petrol shortage. We'll build one right away!
MORIARTY: Ah – I suppose
this means the end of the horse drawn zeppelin.
GRYTPYPE: Oh well Moriarty
– et sequitor ad nauseum spon.
MORIARTY: Ow! You got to
go...
MORIARTY & GRYTPYPE: Oooww!
ELLINGTON: Oh Moriarty, now
stop plugging your record and remain silent while I plug one of mine, do you
mind?
RAY ELLINGTON QUARTET “The Rockin’ and
Rollin’ Man”
GRAMS: Rifle fire.
GREENSLADE: Ladies and
gentlemen – that sound was specially recorded to give you a mental picture of
the records that they're playing at the besieged garrison of
SEAGOON: Never mind folks.
If you were in this BBC studio you'd see – apart from the tatty curtains, bare
floorboards, and outdated gilt scrollwork specially commissioned by the
corporation, a large steam driven rocket. Ahoi-hoi-hoi-ohho! Now gather round
early British aviators!
OMNES: (Mumblings – Early British rhubarb! Early
British rhubarb!)
SIR CYRIL: Pardon me. I'm
from the Geographical Society.[18]
May I come along to your flight so that I can photograph the earth from a great
height?
SEAGOON: What ever for?
SIR CYRIL: (Fiercely) Because sir there are some
stupid fools who are still arguing whether the earth is round or flat.
SEAGOON: And so?
SIR CYRIL: I'm going to
prove to them that it is flat.
SEAGOON: Prove the earth
is flat? Hahaha! What a waste of time!
SIR CYRIL: Why – why – why?
SEAGOON: Everybody knows
it's flat!
SIR CYRIL: (Sniggering) Aha ha ha ha ha ha
har!
SEAGOON: Aha ha ha ha ha
ha ha ha haa!
SIR CYRIL: Aha ha ha har! But there are idiots in this world you know.
SEAGOON: Have you met
them?
SIR CYRIL: Met them? I
listen to you every week!
ORCHESTRA: Thin chord. Cymbal snap.
NARRATOR: Folks – that
chord was to give you a mental picture of a steam driven rocket about to take
off…
FX: Occasional hammer on different size metal
pipes. Continue under.
ECCLES: (Sings to self) “Dai dum… la dum…Brockley
land of my dreams… I travel the road in Brockley…”[19]
SEAGOON: Here Eccles, let
me help you with that flange.
FX: Furious hammering all over the
place.
SEAGOON: There! That's got
it off.
ECCLES: I was trying to
get it on!
CRUN: Gentlemen – I've
been driven here from
SPRIGGS: He's gone in the
direction of down! Now about this rocket, gentlemen – who knows how to drive
it?
SEAGOON: Drive it? Good
heavens! You're not going to let a little thing like that stop us.
BLOODNOK: Of course not! We
can decide who's to drive when we're up there.
SEAGOON: Yes. We'll draw
lots.
ECCLES: I can't draw
lots! I don't even know what shape they are.
SEAGOON: Shut up Eccles!
MORIARTY: Ahh gentlemen – one
thing. May I take an Arab stallion on board with us?
BLOODNOK: You filthy swine!
What ever for?
MORIARTY: What ever for? To
prove that the horse still has it's place in air travel – especially if it
pulls a zeppelin.
BLOODNOK: Yes, and I'm
taking an elephant.
SEAGOON: Are you mad?
BLOODNOK: Of course I am!
You don't get normal people taking elephants on rockets do you?
SEAGOON: Well, he'll have
to travel third class.
BLOODNOK: If you wish.
SEAGOON: How old is the elephant?
BLOODNOK: Why do you want to know? Tell
me! Tell me before I strike you down. Why?
SEAGOON: Well – if the elephant’s under
fourteen he’d travel at half fare.
BLOODNOK: Oh!
FX: Phone receiver up. Dialling.
BLOODNOK: Hello? Just a moment. You speak
to the lady would you?
SEAGOON: Hello? Can you tell me how old
this elephant is?
FEMALE VOICE:[20] Yes, he’s six and a half.
SEAGOON: Are you sure?
FEMALE VOICE: I should hope so – I’m his
mother.
FX: Receiver down.
SEAGOON: That was a trunk call. Now…
MILLIGAN: I don’t wish to know that.
SEAGOON: Kindly leave the theatre!
MILLIGAN: I say – look here.
SEAGOON: Now then, who's
going to be at the controls when we take off?
ECCLES: Which way are we
going?
SEAGOON: Up!
ECCLES: Oh I'll drive! I
know that way.
SEAGOON: Stout fellow!
ECCLES: Me a stout fella?
You'd make two of me!
SEAGOON: I'll make two of
you – give me that axe!
ECCLES: What? Get away!
FX: Phone rings. Receiver picked up.
SEAGOON: Yes? Right!
FX: Receiver down.
SEAGOON: Gentlemen –the
garrison at
ECCLES: Oh hohoho!.
SEAGOON: We must take off
at once. Rifles on board?
BLOODNOK: Yes.
SEAGOON: Right. (Calls) Close plinge doors.
ECCLES: Plinge doors
closed!
BLOODNOK: (Distant) Close plinge doors!
SEAGOON: (Calls) Airmen, secure ports.
ECCLES: (Distant) Secure ports.
SEAGOON: Close all berks!
ECCLES: (Distant) Close all berks.
BLOODNOK: (Distant) Close all berks
SEAGOON: Bluebottle –
tighten your belt.
BLUEBOTTLE: Why captain?
SEAGOON: Your trousers are
falling down. Full steam! Maximum power!
MORIARTY: Maximum power!
SEAGOON: Parallax!
MORIARTY: Parallax.
SEAGOON: Right…
SELLERS: (Off) Trollenberg terror, right…[21]
SEAGOON: Right, cut the
string!
GRAMS: Engine
whistle, steam train leaving station, speed it right up.
SEAGOON: Men, put on your
pressurised shin pads and switch on oxygen. I'm going to accelerate to thirty
miles an hour!
BLOODNOK: Don't be a fool
Seagoon! No man can live at that speed.
SEAGOON: The devil with it
Blooders! I’ve always lived dangerously. Hang on!
GRAMS: Engine
whistle again. Steam train leaving station. Sped up.
MORIARTY: Oh steady! Steady,
you demon of the speed! Beware! Observe – the wallpaper's already coming away
from Bluebottle's hat!
SIR CYRIL: Er – could you
slow down just a bit here? I want to take that photograph of the earth.
ECCLES: Oh here. I just
saw the earth through the clouds.
SIR CYRIL: Did it look
round?
ECCLES: Yeah, but I don't
think it saw me.
SEAGOON: You're right
Eccles and look – there's the besieged
BLOODNOK: Rifles away!
SEAGOON: They've got them!
MORIARTY: They're loading
them!
BLOODNOK: They've fired!
SEAGOON: The enemy are all
dead. Success!
MORIARTY: Curse! This is
the end of the horse drawn zeppelin!
GREENSLADE: And it's also the
end of the horse drawn Goon Show. Goodnight!
ORCHESTRA: Closing
theme.
GREENSLADE: That was the Goon
Show, a BBC recorded program featuring Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe, and Spike
Milligan, with George Chisholm, the Ray Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray, and the
orchestra conducted by Wally Stott. Script by Spike Milligan and Larry Stephens,
announcer Wallace Greenslade. The program produced by Pat Dixon.
ORCHESTRA: Playout
YTI
