THE MOON SHOW
GOON SHOW: TLO 21793
7th SERIES No 18
BROADCAST: 31 Jan 1957 [1]
Script by Spike Milligan and Larry Stephens.
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC.
FLOWERDEW: Oh, you
tittle-tale you!
SECOMBE: You’ll get a punch
up the conk if you don’t belt up mate.
GREENSLADE: Mister Seagoon, please. Such
vulgarity ill becomes you.
SPRIGGS: Nonsense – it suits him down
to the ground.
SECOMBE: What?!
SPRIGGS: And let’s face it, he nearly is
down to the ground.
SECOMBE: You can’t baffle
me with the posh chat Mister Spriggs. Now Mister Greenslade, if you’ll just
stand in this bath of treacle and sit down slowly, you’ll come to a sticky end.
ORCHESTRA: Tatty
chord in C
SECOMBE Hup! Part two…
ORCHESTRA: Tatty
chord in C
GREENSLADE: The dreaded Goon Show.
ORCHESTRA: Tatty
chord in C
GREENSLADE: This week…
SECOMBE: The Moon Show. [2]
GRAMS: Ancient
fox-trot played on phonograph
SPRIGGS: Yes folks, it is eighteen
fifty-three – the year of months. (No giggling please!) Now then, if listeners
in the
SEAGOON: Ah moon!
Ah, English type
moon.
What
beauty,
What
rotundity,
What
delicacy,
What
purity,
What joy…
GRYTPYPE: What rubbish.
SEAGOON: What, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what?
GRYTPYPE: Only ten watts? You’re not
very bright, are you?
ORCHESTRA: Tatty
chord in C. Cymbal snap.
SEAGOON: I don’t wish to know that! (Close) The voice came from a face
sinister, standing up a tree.
GRYTPYPE: Seagoon held up a board which
said….
SEAGOON: “What are you doing up that
tree?”
GRYTPYPE: We are mountaineering on a
rather tight budget. Neddie, allow me to introduce my friend here on the south
col branch. He is – (and I quote from the Blue Book of the
FX: Single wood block
MORIARTY: Owww!
GRYTPYPE: …Moriarty, fruit bottler extraordinary to the House of Pronk and ex
World Turkish Bath champion.
MORIARTY: Oww – ow, ow, ow! Listen Neddie, we heard your poetry and it’s an
insult to people without knees to hear that type of stuff.
SEAGOON: What, what, what, what, what,
what?
MORIARTY: You can say that again – what,
what, what, what, what? (chicken impression.)
SEAGOON: Listen Jim “broody” Moriarty, do
you realize you’re addressing Neddie “
GRYTPYPE: Right lad. Moriarty, hand me
my poet’s tin speaking trumpet.
MORIARTY: Right – I’ll plug it into my
knee.
FX: Single
wood block.
MORIARTY: Oooooh.
GRYTPYPE: There once was a beautiful moon.
It was
up in the sky, chum.
When he
said, “What’s the time?”
They
replied “What?”
And the
horse departed,
leaving
Spon. [5]
SEAGOON: It didn’t rhyme or scan.
GRYTPYPE: Do you think it was easy?
MORIARTY: You see Neddie, that’s known as poetic license.
SEAGOON: Where can I get a poetic license?
MORIARTY: Now, there’s just one left in the shop. Here – eight-pence, marked down
from six foot three.
SEAGOON: What a reduction! I’ll just write you a cheque on the side of this horse.
GRYTPYPE: Right. Sign your name across the bottom.
FX: Pen scratching.
GRAMS: Horse whinny.
SEAGOON: Whoops. Ha ha! There gentlemen.
MORIARTY: Wait a minute! How do we know
this horse won’t bounce?
SEAGOON: I assure you, any reputable
stable will cash it.
GRYTPYPE: Thank you Neddie, and here’s
our receipt on this banjo.
ORCHESTRA: Chromatic banjo break.
SEAGOON: Thank you and thonk you. Now to test my new poetic license. Where’s my
leather speaking trumpet? Hem hem..
“Ah,
moon!
You are
like a melody-type tune.
You are
so clever you can rhyme with Goon.
Oh – what
a boon is the moon in June to boon.
I’ll
think of another rhyme soon.
And in
this land of liberty
I’ll make my living
at poetry.”
GRYTPYPE: …you’ll starve. You know, I’m
afraid lad your verse still lacks Browning’s merry note. [6]
SEAGOON: Did he leave one?
GRYTPYPE: For the milkman he did, yes.
MORIARTY: Listen Neddie, you’re very
fond of the moon aren’t you?
SEAGOON: Yes. If only it were mine.
GRYTPYPE: Neddie, it can be. Step up
into the tree into my office.
FX: Door
opens and closes.
GRAMS: Office sounds. Distant
typewriters.
SECRETARY:[7] Good morning Mister
Thynne.
GRYTPYPE: Morning. Now Neddie, pull up
your trousers and sit down. Neddie, the moon has been in Moriarty’s family for
many generations.
SEAGOON: You mean the moon is of French
origin?
GRYTPYPE: So the blood tests show.
Unfortunately, at the end of the last century – during the anti-Moriarty riots
in
SEAGOON: How did he manage that?
MORIARTY: I brought it in the daytime
disguised as the sun.
SEAGOON: (Bad French) Quell brilliant stratagem.
GRYTPYPE: (Bad French) Quell terrible pronunciation.
SEAGOON: What, what, what, what, what?
GRYTPYPE: I’m coming to that. You see
lad, owing to the high cost of maintaining his ancestral bed-sitter, Count Moriarty
is forced to put the moon on the open market.
SEAGOON: (Excited) It’s for sale?
GRYTPYPE: Only by public auction Neddie.
SEAGOON: Where-when-how-what-who?
GRYTPYPE: Yes – well, for reasons best
known to Moriarty the auction will take place at dead of night in a tree at
Christies.
MORIARTY: Yes – till then Neddie, au
revoir.
GRYTPYPE: Which is French for Max
Geldray.
SEAGOON: Right, round the back for the
old brandy there.
FX: Running
feet
MAX GELDRAY “Tenderly.” [9]
GREENSLADE: And now The Moon Show part two
– An Auction.
ORCHESTRA: Tatty
chord in C
OMNES: Rhubarb, rhubarb &c.
SPRIGGS: Gentlemen! Gentlemen, please.
Gentlemen, please. If you will take up your positions in your respective trees
we will commence the auction. Now then, first – one moon, the property of Count
Moriarty. Now folks – what am I bid for one mooon? GRYTPYPE: (Sottovoce)
Start the bidding Neddie.
SEAGOON: (Shouts) Seven and six!
MORIARTY: Seven and six? Neddie, you can
outbid that.
SEAGOON: (Shouts) Ten shillings!
SPRIGGS: Ten shillings going once…
GRYTPYPE: Ten shillings Neddie? Don’t
let it get away for that.
SEAGOON: You’re right. (Shouts) Twelve and eleven!
MORIARTY: It’s worth more Neddie.
SEAGOON: (Shouts) Twelve and twelve!
SPRIGGS: Sold at twelve and twelve
pence!
FX: Gavel
on bench.
SPRIGGS: Oh my finger! Now, the next item is this explodable bust of Nudgemi……
SEAGOON: It’s mine! The moon is mine!
(sings) “The moon is mine tonight,
Its
silvery beams come down through my window.
The moon
is mine tonight,
Is mine!
MINE!” [10]
GRYTPYPE: … you’ll starve.
GREENSLADE: Now the proud owner of the
moon, Seagoon retired to his centrally heated compost heap in
GRAMS: Nocturnal sounds –
crickets, distant owl.
SEAGOON: Now, where’s my new roast beef
speaking trumpet? No poetry speaker is complete without it. (Through megaphone) Testing! Testing! One two three… Seems
all right to me. Now – ahem ahem:
“Oh moon
of my dreams.
How
brightly it gleams.”
What comes next? I know…
“Ying-tong-iddle-i-po!”
BLOODNOK: Bravo! Bravo lad!
Aren’t you Neddie “Under-Milk-Pudding” Seagoon? [11]
SEAGOON: Major Bloodnok! What are you doing here?
BLOODNOK: I’ve turned tramp
composer lad.
SEAGOON: Well, give us a tune on an instrument.
BLOODNOK: Well, it only plays
if you place a coin in it you see, and I er… I seem to have left my pockets in my
other suit. You haven’t got – erm…?
SEAGOON: Here’s a shilling.
BLOODNOK: Oh ta. Yes, fine. Away
we go – one, two, three…
FX: Cash register opens, money in drawer.
BLOODNOK: …and the next
dance please!
SEAGOON: What a beautiful tune that was.
BLOODNOK: Yes, it’s number
one on the stock exchange you know. I wrote it myself. “It was spring, and the moon above
SEAGOON: Stop Bloodnok! (Thinks) Moon
over
BLOODNOK: What?! Well, there’s
only one way to prove it lad – we must consult the Royal College of
Astronomers. And to give us time to get there Tom Danger and his Orchestra will
play in the pavilion.
GRAMS: Pit
orchestra version of “If you knew Suzie” speeded up.
MRS
MOP:[12]
MRS
BUCKET: High class isn’t it?
MRS
MOP: Yes it is.
GRAMS: Swell and
fade.
GREENSLADE: As Seagoon hurries to the Royal College of Astronomy, awaiting in there
are two erudite astronomers who are even at this moment – astronoming.
BLUEBOTTLE: Here – professor Eccles?
ECCLES: Please professor Bottle, my good man…
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes?
ECCLES: …let me get on with my mathematical work.
BLUEBOTTLE: OK den.
ECCLES: Away with you.
BLUEBOTTLE: (going off mic) Alright den.
ECCLES: Let me see now – computations...
FX: Abacus beads on wire.
ECCLES: Higher mat’matics…
FX: Abacus
beads on wire.
ECCLES: Lower mat’matics. “X”…
FX: Abacus
beads.
ECCLES: …(two straight lines) – is the
unknown quantity. “X”…
FX: Abacus
beads again.
ECCLES: …two… (Calls out) Do you think Arsenal will beat the Spurs this week?
BLUEBOTTLE: I should think it’s most unlikely.
ECCLES: Why?
BLUEBOTTLE: They’re playing
ECCLES: You must remember where you put things my good man. Have you looked up
the giant telescope? [13]
BLUEBOTTLE: Oh – I’ll try dat. Yes, I will try dat!
FX: Focus adjusting.
BLUEBOTTLE: Oh – you was right,
the moon is inside the telescope! Look through there.
ECCLES: Oh, it’s – awohawohawooh – yeah! The moon’s up the other end, and a bit
of the sky. Let’s put the cap on the end, quick!
BLUEBOTTLE: Oh goody, goody! We’ve got it trapp-èd!
FX: Door opens – slow
footsteps under
BANNISTER
& CRUN: Ahh. Mmk…mmk.
Ahhhrgh…argh. Mmk. (Extended)
FX: Door closes.
ECCLES: Dat got rid of him. He’s gone!
FX: Door opens.
CRUN: Who’s gone?
ECCLES: You have.
CRUN: You naughty boys – what have you done with me?
BANNISTER: What have you done with Henry?
CRUN: What are you doing with the great, all-British, leather telescope?
ECCLES: Well, we trapped the moon inside it professor – for
CRUN: Oh. Let me see with the looking-type gaze. Oh Min – they’re right! They
captured the moon. We must put it in the fridge before it goes off.
BANNISTER: Goes off, Henry?
CRUN: Yes. Didn’t you know the moon is made of green cheese?
BANNISTER: Pooh! Now we can have it for supper Henry.
BLUEBOTTLE: Oh, dat’s a good idea auntie Min.[14]
BANNISTER: Young Bottle! What are you doing out of bed without your pyjama
trousers on?
BLUEBOTTLE: You see – what it was, we was playing from the latest film ‘Zarak’[15] and Little Jim had my
pyjama trousers over his nut. He’d got one arm down the leg-hole, waving it
about like a trunk – he was an elephant you see.
BANNISTER: Go on, Buddy.
BLUEBOTTLE: Well suddenly I sneezed, and the seat of my trousers fell out knocking
Little Jim into the bath.
BANNISTER: Oh dear, dear!
BLUEBOTTLE: Little Jim, Little Jim, Little Jim! Tell them what happened Little Jim.
LITTLE
JIM: I fell in de wa-ter.
CRUN: Min, Min – get these adopted children off to bed.
BANNISTER: (Going off) Shut up you
naughty little…[16]
FX: Knocks on door. Door opens.
SEAGOON: Good evening!
CRUN: Ah! Come in out of the dry and wet yourself by this tap.
SEAGOON: Thank you. Professor, I want proof that there is only one genuine moon.
CRUN: Ah, there is only one. We’ve got it trapped in this telescope
here.
SEAGOON: Let me see. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ho – that’s the forged one. The real moon
is over
CRUN: What? Mnk mnk – this means war with Napoleon. Take the scabbard off my
safety pin and fetch my leather horse, quickly!
BANNISTER: All right Henry. Strike him down in his prime.
SEAGOON: I must go to
ELLINGTON: Man, the excuses he makes to get to that brandy.
RAY ELLINGTON “Is This the Way?”
ELLINGTON: (Tambourine roll with snap at
end.) Gentlemen, be seated! (And the ladies keep standing.)
GREENSLADE: Meantime, in the “Hotel de Luxe de Super Ritz” in
GRAMS: French
accordion music.
GRYTPYPE: Waiter! Garkon!
MORIARTY: What is it manure?
GRYTPYPE: Moriarty – I’m tired of driving this lift, do you hear?
MORIARTY: I told you that twelve shillings we got off Seagoon wouldn’t go far.[17]
SEAGOON: (Approaching – in bad French.) Pardonnezz
moyz, mon-sewer. Voolezz voooz tell me où is le sal de bain?
GRYTPYPE: Neddie!
SEAGOON: Grytpype!
MORIARTY: Moriarty!
GRYTPYPE: Shut up you heavily oiled French wreck.
MORIARTY: Owwww.
SEAGOON: Gentlemen…
MORIARTY: Gentlemen? What does he mean?
GRYTPYPE: It’s just a word Moriarty.
MORIARTY: Owwww!
SEAGOON: Here is a rope for your arrest.
MORIARTY: Arrest?! Run for it!
GRAMS: Horse
galloping away at speed.
SEAGOON: That’s the very horse I wrote my cheque on. After them on this pit orchestra!
GRAMS: Pit
orchestra playing “If you knew Suzie” – gradually speeding up.
GREENSLADE: Across the length, lingth and longth of
SEAGOON: Finally I traced them to
GRAMS: Huge
splash.
LITTLE
JIM: He’s fallen in the wa-ter. [18]
GRAMS: Splashing
under
SEAGOON: (shouts) Help! Reading from
left to right H. E. L. P. Help!!
GONDOLIER:[19] Signor, this way!
Let me pull you from the water.
SEAGOON: Thank you. You saved my life.
GONDOLIER: Well – we all make mistakes you know.
SEAGOON: I know. I saw your wife. Now, where are they?
GONDOLIER: Hiding behind a clothes-horse in
SEAGOON: (shouts) Alright you two!
Come out from behind that clothes-horse in
MORIARTY: Curse – he’s seen us in
GRYTPYPE: Never Moriarty! Get behind the wheel of these running shoes.
MORIARTY: Right. Hold tight and off we go to the racecourse.
GRAMS: Racing
car speeding off.
SEAGOON: Curses. They had the perfect formula for escape. Don’t worry listeners
– as the criminals in the
stream-lined LCC plimsolls sped
over the Pont de Rialto, I leapt into an English airing cupboard and gave
chase.
ORCHESTRA: Three
dramatic chords.
RECORDING: GRAMS: Two pair of plimsolls running. Continue
under.
GRYTPYPE:
Quicker Moriarty.
MORIARTY: I’m going as quick as I can.
GRYTPYPE: Get more power out of those jam tins.
MORIARTY: But they’re old ones – a 1929 model.
GRAMS: Fade in single pair of
plimsolls running along. Swell and fade behind.
SEAGOON: You sold me the wrong moon. It’s a forgery Grytpype.
I know where you are!
CAST:
Continue chase underneath.
GREENSLADE: While the chase is
in progress, I should like to take this opportunity of thanking you all for
your letters to me. Many correspondents have asked why I have not made more
significant and prolonged appearances in my role of “Wallace Greenslade, Demon
Talker”. I can assure you that I have approached Mister Seagoon with regard to
taking over his part in the show. He said…. well er… I’ve got it written down
here… (reads) “You stick to
announcing or you will get a punch up your big, steaming conk.” Which – as you’ll
all agree, is not the wittiest of lines. I will therefore return you to the
great Seagoon versus Moriarty – Grytpype Thynne chase, this time with piano
accompaniment.
PIANO: Sellers improvises under following
recording.
RECORDING: GRAMS: Two pair of plimsolls running. Continue
under.
GRYTPYPE:
Quicker Moriarty.
MORIARTY: I’m going as quick as I can.
GRYTPYPE: Get more power out of those jam tins.
MORIARTY: But they’re old ones – a 1929 model.
GRAMS: Fade in single pair of
plimsolls running along. Swell and fade behind.
SEAGOON: You sold me the wrong moon. It’s a forgery Grytpype.
I know where you are!
MORIARTY:[20] I’m not ___ ___
GRYTPYPE: Hurry up Moriarty!
MORIARTY: I’m not yet!
GRYTPYPE: Who were those ladies I saw you with last night?
MORIARTY: Those were no ladies, those were bearded men.
GRAMS: Fade in
single pair of plimsolls running along. Swell and fade.
SEAGOON: I don’t wish to know that – you pair of idiots.
GRAMS: Running feet and shouting continue under.
SEAGOON: (Panting) I say – this is
jolly exciting isn’t it?
GRYTPYPE: (Panting) Yes. Yes it is,
isn’t it Neddie?
GRAMS: Fade out chase. Fade in single pair of feet running along and coming to a
stop.
MORIARTY: (Panting heavily) It’s no good Grytpype
– these feet I’m using are exhausted.
GRYTPYPE: My knees are overheated too. We shall have to catch a train to Tangier.
[21]
GRAMS: Train
whistle. Sounds of railway station tannoy.
MORIARTY: What luck Grytpype – here’s a sound effect of a booking office. I’ll
get the tickets. (Slightly off mic) Two
cheap day returns to Tangiers.
FX: Guard’s whistle.
GRYTPYPE: We must hurry Moriarty.
MORIARTY: Even quicker than that!
GRAMS: One
small size whoosh. One extra large size whoosh.
SEAGOON: (panting) Where are those men
booked to?
GRYTPYPE: They’re going to Tangiers.
SEAGOON: Are they?
MORIARTY: Yes.
SEAGOON: I’ll book the carriage right behind them and try to overtake them. (Calls) Porter!
WILLIUM: Yes mate – yes?
SEAGOON: Carry me to the train.
WILLIUM: You look strong
enough to carry yourself sir.
SEAGOON: Very well – help me up onto my shoulders.
WILLIUM: Right… hup…
SEAGOON: (Straining.)
FX: Two metal bars fall to
ground.
SEAGOON: Whoops!
WILLIUM: You’ve dropped
your knees mate.
FX: Guard’s whistle
SEAGOON: I can’t wait now! Post it to me in a plain wrapper marked “Knees – urgent!”
GRAMS: Pair
of running feet. Engine whistle.
Train pulling away – speed it up to infinity. Fade in under underneath sound of
carriages on tracks.
GRYTPYPE: Close that thing will you Moriarty?
FX: Window closing.
GRAMS: Stop.
MORIARTY: Oww. I specially asked for this seat Grytpype, with our backs to the
engine.
GRYTPYPE: I wondered why we were sitting on the cowcatcher.
FX: Train door opening.
SEAGOON: Hands up! Drop everything.
FX: Series of metal objects
being dropped. (Extended)
SEAGOON: Just as I thought – scrap metal merchants.
GRYTPYPE: A lifetime of work, gone!
SEAGOON: Now gentlemen, that moon you sold me was forged. I have it here inside
this telescope.
GRYTPYPE: Well now – look here, we are willing to sell you the real moon, but of
course it will work out much dearer. Let me see now, eight million tons at
one-and-nine a ton – that will be, what er… fourteen pounds Neddie.
SEAGOON: Done!
FX: Cash register – money in
till.
SEAGOON: Now – my moon please.
GRYTPYPE: Let me show you Neddie. I – look, I’ll just hold this jam jar up to the
sky. Get it in the right position. That’s it. Now – there… what do you see in
it?
SEAGOON: (incredulous) The moon! The
moon! It’s in the jam jar!
GRYTPYPE: Correct Neddie. Goodbye!
MORIARTY: Au reseviory.
SEAGOON: Hooray! The moon is mine!
ORCHESTRA: Tatty
chord in C. Cymbal snap.
GREENSLADE: And that is how Mister Seagoon brought the genuine moon back to
ORCHESTRA: Closing
theme.
GREENSLADE: That was the Goon Show, a BBC recorded program featuring Peter Sellers,
Harry Secombe and Spike Milligan, with the Ray Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray
and the Orchestra conducted by Wally Stott. Script by Spike Milligan and Larry
Stephens, announcer Wallace Greenslade, the programme produced by Pat Dixon.
ORCHESTRA: Playout.
YTI 