THE
MacREEKIE RISING OF ‘74
GOON
SHOW: TLO 14586
7TH
SERIES: No 4
RECORDED: 25 Oct 1956 [1]
Script by Spike Milligan and Larry
Stephens
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC. Any offers?
GRAMS: (Recording: ECCLES: “Ten shillings!”)
GREENSLADE: Sold!
FX: Cash register
SECOMBE: Yes folks! Sold to the gentleman with the rolled-gold
trilby and transparent head. Now Mr. Greenslade, hold this piece of seaweed,
raise your right leg, point north and discharge your duty – namely a weather
report of this week’s show!
GRAMS: Thunderstorm, driving rain.
GREENSLADE: According to the humidity of my knees
which are sweeping in from the
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic bagpipe chords interrupted by a
snappy showbiz intro.
CAST: “Rhubarb,
rhubarb! McRhubard, McCustard, McRhubarb” etc.
GRAMS: Bring in bagpipe music behind. Vary the
speed.
McCHISHOLM: Lads, hear me the noo. I, Chisholm
McChisholm of the MacShowband, bring grave McNews. MacScotland is in MacPeril!
CAST: “Oooorrrrr.
McRhubarb, McCustard” etc.
SECOMBE: Silence, lads! A word from our chief – the laird Red
Hairy McLegs.
McLEGS:[2] Oorrr nay,
orrr deek spor’n! Ma hairies! Ma brave hairies! The great hairy caber[3] of the
clan MacReekie, symbol of Scottish power and manhood, has been stolen by the
reeking non-hairy Sassenach English! [4]
OMNES: Nuggets of alarmed
McGrumbles.
McLEGS: Tonight we march north to
SECOMBE: But
McLEGS: Aye! We’re going to march right round the world and
sneak up on them from behind. Forward to MacReekie!
GRAMS: Massed pipes and drums. Start below speed
then gradually speed up till it sounds like a locomotive. Strange Scottish
singing over. Crescendo up and fade out.
GREENSLADE: Thank heaven they’ve gone. You know they
make such a mess of the place. And now – according to this air ministry roof
I’m holding, a band of Scots are approaching the
FX: (Snoring)
GRAMS: ‘Fred the Oyster’. [5]
BLOODNOK:[6] Oh!
Ohh! That’s better.
SEAGOON: (Distant)
Ahoy up there! Let me in.
BLOODNOK: (Panic) What! What! You’re not her
husband are you?
SEAGOON: No!
BLOODNOK: Oh – thank heaven for that. Right, here’s the key – let
yourself in lad. Supper’s in the oven!
FX: Locks and bars.
SEAGOON: Ah, thank you. I’m Captain Ned Seagoon of the third
foot.
BLOODNOK: So, you’ve grown another one!
SEAGOON: Only for the three-legged race.
BLOODNOK: Of course. You won’t find any of them here you know.
SEAGOON: Enough of the splin, splan, splon!
BLOODNOK: Needle!
SEAGOON: Now – you are Bloodnok of the tower?
BLOODNOK: The same, the same. Wait a moment – what’s that
sixty-foot, hairy pole hidden under your kilt?
SEAGOON: (Impressed)
So you’ve spotted it, eh?
BLOODNOK: Only when the sun glinted on it. [7]
SEAGOON: This pole was captured in battle from the Scots. It’s
the great McHairy McCaber of the MacReekie.
BLOODNOK: Ooh. You three-legged military fool, you! They’ll
slaughter us for bringing that to
SEAGOON: Bloodnok, you’re a miserable coward.
GREENSLADE: Pardon me, Major Bloodnok.
BLOODNOK What is it, Mrs Fitzsimmons?
GREENSLADE: Er, there’s a hairy army outside, sir…
BLOODNOK: Aawww! The Scots!
GREENSLADE: …and this registered Scotsman arrived
this morning.
McCHISHOLM: Aye, I bring word from our Laird. Return
the red hairy caber or we’ll close wi' you the noo!
BLOODNOK: It’s Chishole McChisholm the steaming Celt!
McCHISHOLM: I’m warning you, Seagoon! Listen. I’m
warning you – we’ve got the whole of
SEAGOON: Curse! We’re trapped! Man the lifeboats! Alright,
McChisholm – tell your hairies, we fight!
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.
GRAMS: Thunderstorm, heavy rain.
GREENSLADE: With the trough of low pressure settling
under my chair and the glass falling in all directions, the defenders of the
FX: Footsteps
approaching.
WILLUM: (Muffled)
Halt! Who goes there, mate?
FRED NURK:[9] Hello
William. I’ve come to relieve you.
WILLUM: Ooooh. You’re too late mate.
FRED NURK: I say, William - where are you lad?
WILLUM: I’m inside the barrel of this cannon, mate.
FRED NURK: Are we out of ammunition then?
WILLUM: No, no, no, matey. It come on to rain you see, and I
only had my thin summer armour on, so I got in here you see – out of it. Give
me an ‘and to get out, will you?
FRED NURK: Right, on the left - turn 'round a bit. Hup!
GRAMS: Cork
popping.
WILLUM: Phew. Well - I’ll
see you later mate. Ta ta for now.
FRED NURK: All the best, lad.
WILLUM: (Goes off singing) Maybe it’s ‘a cause
I’m a Chinaman,
that I
love
FRED NURK: (Bagpipe imitation.) Gneeee gna gneeee! What
a silly bloke he was, getting inside the barrel of that cannon. Ha-ha-ha! He
won’t catch old Fred Nurk doing that - I’ll tell ya! After all someone might
come along and fire it.
GRAMS: Bring
up sound of rain.
FRED NURK: Curse - it’s come
on to rain. Well, perhaps if I put only half of me in the cannon that might
improve matters. I’ll just get down inside. (Strains)
Oh, it certainly keeps you dry don’t it? Ha-ha. Aye, aye! Me head’s getting
wet. I will insinuate myself in the barrel for just a short period.
GRAMS: Rain
stops.
FRED NURK: (Muffled) Ooh. It’s nice and dry inside the barrel. (Yawns. Settles down to sleep. Snores.)
GRAMS: (Recording.
ECCLES: (Singing) Aye dai
lakka dai dum dai! Dai dai mai …Melody divine. (Etc) Ooh! Look - a naughty
little fuse. Ohhh look at that naughty little fuse! I will light that naughty
little fuse on the cannon.)
FRED NURK: (Snores.)
FX: Strikes match
GRAMS: (Recording.
ECCLES: (Goes
off singing.) Lai dai dai dakkum dai.)
GRAMS: Fuse
hissing. Thirty pounder leaving cannon. Incoming shell. Big explosion.
McLEGS: (Fury) Brrrrrrr nuch bnn! Lads, look
here! They’re firing Sassenachs at us! Right lads, fire Max Geldray. Ploodgee!
MAX GELDRAY: “Jump for Me” [10]
GREENSLADE: The MacReekie seventy-four,
part seventy-five. With south cones pointing north and the
GRAMS: Cavalry
charge. Bugle calls. Rifle fire. Sounds of battle.
OMNES: (Scottish brogue over battle sounds.) Arrrrgh!
Arghhh!
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: Major, the Scots
are attacking the north gate! They’re pouring in through the windows.
BLOODNOK: The dirty devils!
Abdul, get a mop and clear up. Where’s Sergeant Groins?
SEAGOON: A tragedy sir. He
was counter-attacking when he tripped and fell right in the oubliette. [11]
BLOODNOK: Well, we’ll have
him hosed down and send him in, will you?
SEAGOON: Major Bloodnok,
you underestimate the grivity of the satuition. You underestimate the sovity of
the gravitation. You inder… (Clears
throat – sings.)
“Falling
in love with love
is falling for make-believe.
(Top
C) Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
BLOODNOK: Abdul, cancel my
tickets for the Palladium, will you?
SEAGOON: Whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhat?
Bloodnok, we must get the caber to a place of safety.
BLOODNOK: I know, the crown
jewels room! That’s empty.
SEAGOON: Eh? What have you
done with the crown jewels you rogue?
BLOODNOK: How dare you
insinuate sir! They’re perfectly safe, I tell you. That pawn ticket’s under
lock and key.
SEAGOON: Alright. Private
Willium?
WILLUM: Yes er mate?
SEAGOON: Carry the
sixty-foot hairy caber into the crown jewels room.
WILLUM: Right. (Strains.) Ahhhhh ooh mate, ooh! It won’t
go through the door mate - it’s too high. I’ll have to saw a bit off the top,
mate.
SEAGOON: You won’t have to
do that, you fool. Just make the doorway higher!
GREENSLADE: Erm - may I
suggest you take it in horizontally?
WILLUM: Right, I’ll do
that mate. I’ll lie down mate. (Grumbling)
I shouldn’t be doing this. Man of my age. I’ve got a chit. I'm excused cabers I
am.
GRAMS: Whoosh,
pause, splat.
WILLUM: Wooooo oohh oohh!
Who threw that?
SEAGOON: Poor Willium! He’s
been hit by a great steaming spludge. What is it?
WILLUM: (Tasting it.) ‘Ere – taste it .
SEAGOON: (Tasting it. Swallows.) Good heavens!
Issue umbrellas - the Scots are firing porridge!
BLOODNOK: Porridge at tea
time? The devils, they’re trying to unbalance our diet!
SEAGOON: Gad, you’re
right. Not a word to the men.
BLOODNOK: Of course.
SEAGOON: Very well then.
If the Scots want to make it a war of nutrition, we have an English dish in our
armoury twice as deficient in calories as porridge and twice as deadly.
BLOODNOK: (Shocked) Seagoon, you’re not going to
fire…?
SEAGOON: Yes! Brown
Windsor soup.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic
chords.
GRAMS: Bubbling
cauldron.
MINNIE: [12](Singing) You’ve got to rock
and roll in a military way! Yim bum bum biddle day! Yup bup bup bup bup bah
yibbim boo! Nyum nyum with a shiny jewel. Yum bum bum, biddle boo!
CRUN: What’s happening
in this steaming room, Minnie?
MINNIE: I’m pouring brown
CRUN: Oh. Haven’t we
got any soup plates, Min?
MINNIE: Yes, Henry.
CRUN: Good, good, good!
MINNIE: Ooooh. What’s
good, Henry?
CRUN: It’s good that
we’ve got soup plates, Min.
MINNIE: But we’ve always
had soup plates, Henry!
CRUN: Yes – it’s always
been good Min. Yes.
MINNIE: Yes Henry. Yes.
CRUN: (Sudden shock. Fibrillations.) Ahh!
Ooeeyahooo!
SEAGOON: Now, come on
Tarzan. Seal those cannon balls and take them up to the cannoniers.
CRUN: They’re too heavy
for me to carry sir.
SEAGOON: Well have you got
a dumb waiter?
CRUN: Only Eccles.
SEAGOON: Ah, just the man!
Eccles - take one of these cannon balls.
GRAMS: (Recording.
ECCLES: OK. (Swallows)
SEAGOON: You fool, you!
GRAMS:
Explosion.
GRAMS: (Recording.
ECCLES: Pardon!)
ORCHESTRA: Scottish-type link.
GRAMS: Fade
in bagpipe music.
GREENSLADE: The MacReekie seventy-four.
With the weather vanes exposed to the gulf stream and equinox in the
ascendance, the Scots maintained a non-stop barrage of bagpipes, which slowly
had its effect on the English garrison.
GRAMS: Swell
bagpipes, then fade under dialogue.
GRYTPYPE: You’ve got the
earplugs Moriarty?
MORIARTY: [13] Six
hundred pairs of them! Oooooh hiwwww hooooo ooh!
GRYTPYPE: If the English
want to stay sane, they should buy the lot.
MORIARTY: Ooh, yes we’ll make
some money. Ooh, the moolah! The lolly! The shekels![14] The
grisbee! Ooo-ah! Power, more power! Ooohee ooh!
GRYTPYPE: Silence, you
steaming infested Gaelic wreck.
MORIARTY: Oooh hyeeeoowohoo!
GRYTPYPE: All that
shrieking and steaming… You’ll bring the hairies down on us! Now, straighten
those knees - wipe that filthy handkerchief off your face and don’t forget I
shall do the talking.
MORIARTY: Right - and I'll
join in the choruses. Oooyeeoiyoieeyu!
FX: Knock on door. Door opening.
GREENSLADE: Halt! Who goes
there sir? English or German?
GRYTPYPE: Thank you! Is
there a garrison living her by the name of ‘beleaguered’?
GREENSLADE: Yes sir!
GRYTPYPE: Could I speak to
the owner?
GREENSLADE: Certainly, sir.
Um – would you care to wait in here with these other chairs?
FX: Door opens.
GRYTPYPE: Thank you. You
don’t mind if we smoke our own?
GREENSLADE: Oh no, by all
means.
FX: Door slams. Door opens.
SEAGOON: Good morning,
gentlemen. I’m sorry I’m late - it’s the matinees you know.
GRYTPYPE: Yes, they can be
painful.
SEAGOON: Yes. Now, what is
it?
GRYTPYPE: Well, we have
reason to believe that your garrison are being sorely tried by the noise of
bagpipes.
SEAGOON: Yes - but what’s
that to you?
GRYTPYPE: (Calculated laugh.) Ha ha ha ha ha ha
haaaaa! My friend and I represent a leading firm of earplug manufacturers.
SEAGOON: What? We’ll take
the lot! (Calls.) Er, Bloodnok!
BLOODNOK: Ah - what is it?
SEAGOON: Look! The answer
to the bagpipe noise.
BLOODNOK: Earplugs! Yes,
let’s test them.
GRYTPYPE: Certainly. Put
them in your ears and I’ll bang this drum. [15]
SEAGOON: Right, got them
in. He he - bang away!
(Short pause.)
GREENSLADE: Listeners - the
silence you are now hearing is not the silence brought on by the insertion of
earplugs. It is the silence brought on by Grytpype-Thynne who – fiend that he
is, is actually playing the drum with silent drumsticks. Thank you.
SEAGOON: Ah! He’s stopped
playing now. Well, these earplugs seem to be alright. How much do you want for
them?
GRYTPYPE: One hundred
pounds.
(Pause.)
SEAGOON: How much do you
want for them?
GRYTPYPE: One hundred… Ha
ha – take your earplugs out.
SEAGOON: Why don’t you
answer? I asked you how much do you want for them?
GRYTPYPE: One hundred
pounds.
SEAGOON: Ha ha - that’s
funny. I can’t hear him.
GRYTPYPE: They cost one
hundred… Look – take out the earplugs.
SEAGOON: Stop all that
silly miming, man. How much?
GRYTPYPE: One hundred
pounds!
SEAGOON: I’ve had enough
of this, Bloodnok. He obviously doesn’t want to do business. Come on, get out! Get
out!!
GRYTPYPE: No, no, no, look
here… (self fade) you pay me one
hundred pounds…
FX: Door slams.
SEAGOON: One hundred
pounds for earplugs we can hear through? Ha ha! Not likely.
GREENSLADE: There seems to be
some doubt as to the efficacy of the earplugs. There’s only one positive test -
Ray Ellington.
RAY ELLINGTON QUARTET: “Lulu’s
Back in Town” [16]
GREENSLADE: With the quality
of the earplugs still unproven, the British were forced to step up their
barrages of brown
GRAMS: Distant
bagpipes and drums.
BLOODNOK: It’s no good. We
can’t hold out much longer against this fiendish bagpipe playing.
SEAGOON: Gentlemen. There’s
one thing that will shatter the Scots - a kilt removing patrol!
BLOODNOK: But look here – isn’t
that a bit near the knuckle?
SEAGOON: It depends on how
you look at it. Now who will go out and remove the enemy’s kilts?
(Silence.)
BLOODNOK: Alright then,
we’ll draw for it. Now one of these straws I’m holding is shorter than the
rest. Now come on – draw!
OMNES: Rhubarbs, murmurs etc.
BLOODNOK: Well, well now -
who’s got the shortest?
SEAGOON: You have.
BLOODNOK: Mmm? Oh! Well off
you go, lads – off you go! And the best of luck sir.
SEAGOON: Thank you sir.
Now listen lads. Reports indicate that our barrages of brown
GREENSLADE: That evening in
the Scottish camp…
GRAMS: Bavarian
foot slapping dance. Accordion quartet and bass combo. Massed slapping of
lederhosen. Gradually speeded up. Tatty final chord.
McLEGS: Next darrnce
please!
McCHISHOLM: Laird Hairy
McLegs?
McLEGS: Aye?
McCHISHOLM: This Chinese
laundryman wants a word with ye.
CHINAMAN: (Chinese accent.) Gleetings, honolable
haily Scotsman.
McLEGS: What do you want
here, jock Chinaman?
CHINAMAN: Me bling splecial
offeler. Me wash all Sclotland’s sloup-slainds klilts flee of charge.
McLEGS: (Shouts) Off wi' your kilts, lads!
OMNES: (Excitement.) Aye! Ohh ho ho ho! Ha ha ha ha hoo!
McLEGS: Jock Chinaman – have
them kilts back wee in one hour.
CHINAMAN: I plomise. One
hour. Gloodblye!
McLEGS: Right – lads. Take
your partners for the slow frenzy.
GRAMS: Bavarian
lederhosen slapping dance. Speed up and fade out. Fade in crickets.
FX: Door squeaks open.
SEAGOON: (Out of breath.) Is Corporal
Bluebottle’s raiding party back yet?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes it is. And
look here – I’ve got a hundred and ninety kilts.
SEAGOON: Kilts? Those are
skirts!
BLUEBOTTLE: Ooh - no wonder
they put up such a fight. Yeehehehee!
SEAGOON: Bluebottle – you
must learn to tell the difference. What’s your tale, little musketeer?
BLUEBOTTLE: I will tell you my
tale sir. Listen! On the night of the dreaded kilt snatching patrol, I
blackened my face and whited my boots and in that position I approached the
Scottish camp and I hidded in the bushes. Then I used the special Bluebottle
mind over matter plan. I stared at them with my undefeatable power of eyes look,
and I willed their kilts to drop off!
SEAGOON: Splendid.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes! I looked the
kilts straight in the sporringe and I went straaaiiiiin!
Fall down naughty kilt! – I said in my mind. Straaaiiiiin, strain!
Dotted lines out of eyes towards kilt showing direction of power. Doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot doot
doot doot doot! Little kilt, you cannot stay up against my superior
SEAGOON: What happened?
BLUEBOTTLE: My trousers fell
down.
SEAGOON: Don’t worry,
little thin East Finchley Liberace. I've got all their kilts. The trouble is
how am I going to get them washed and back in an hour?
GREENSLADE: You’re taking
them back?
SEAGOON: Of course, I
promised. I can’t break my word as a Chinaman!
GREENSLADE: You’re only
disguised as a Chinaman, sir.
SEAGOON: Thank heaven you
noticed! Hehaha! But for your keen eye, I’d have been washing chop suey all day.
BLOODNOK: Seagoon - bad
news! We’ve had it lad. The ravens have been stolen by the Scots and everybody
knows the legend that if the ravens leave the tower, the tower will surely fall.
SEAGOON: If everybody
knows, what did you say it for?
BLOODNOK: It’s for me. I’d
never heard of it, you see.
SEAGOON: Men – we can’t
fight the legend. The ravens have gone. This is the end… (Tragically.) Let the Scotsmen in!
GRAMS: Distant
bugle plays surrender.
SEAGOON: Open the gates.
Men – put down your arms.
GRAMS: Heavy
objects rolling on metal castors. Catches fastening.
OMNES: Heavy Scots murmuring. Rhubarb, rhubarb,
McCustard, McRhubarb, rhubarb &c.
McLEGS: Well Seagoon?
SEAGOON: We surrender. Here’s
your hairy caber back. (Strains.)
McLEGS: (Strains.) Ta!
SEAGOON: All we want back
now is our ravens.
McLEGS: We’ve no got your
ravens, lad.
SEAGOON: What - whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhat?
Then where can they be?
MINNIE: Dinner’s ready
boys. Forty hairy black birds baked in a hen pie!
SEAGOON: Help! We’ve been
betrayed! Aaaaaaaaaa!
ORCHESTRA: End theme
GREENSLADE: That was The Goon
Show – a BBC recorded programme featuring Peter Sellers and Harry Secombe. With
the Ray Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray and the orchestra conducted by Wally
Stott. The
ORCHESTRA: Playout.[17]
YTI 