8TH SERIES: No 11
BROADCAST: 9 Dec 1957
Script by Larry Stephens
GREENSLADE: We present the all
weather Goon Show.
ORCHESTRA: Tatty chord
SELLERS: (Dramatic) And tonight we bring you the
story of The Stolen Postman.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic introduction
SELLERS: The scene; a self
contained, unfurnished radio set.
GRAMS: (Recording) GREENSLADE: And here is the
news. The birthday
celebrations of the Sultan of Dirtistan have
had to be postponed as
he’s been unable to find a volunteer to act as
a guest victim in the annual exploding ceremony. And now, scene two; a self
contained unfurnished sewer under the
GRAMS:
Splashing. (Continue under)
GRYTPYPE: (Singing) Da di da di, da di da da.
Moriarty! Come on in. The water’s fine.
MORIARTY: Yes, but you’re
not. I’m not getting in there and getting myself wet with water.
GRYTPYPE: Well, there’s a
first time for everybody Moriarty.
MORIARTY: Ahhhhhwwww! Not the
dreaded water.
GRYTPYPE: Shut up you fool.
MORIARTY: Ahwwwwwww! Ahhwww
again. Owww. Owww…
GRYTPYPE: You almost owwed in
a confined space. You realise, one more oww and the whole place will go up in
flames? Now help me on with my clean newspaper please.
FX: Tapping on resonant piece of iron.
MORIARTY: Grytpype, there’s
somebody at the man hole cover.
FX: Heavy iron lid being thrown aside.
SEAGOON: Good morning.
GRYTPYPE: Oh, good morning
postman.
SEAGOON: Good morning. A
registered boot for you. Sign on the dotted sock please.
FX: Scribbling
SEAGOON: Thank you.
GRYTPYPE: Thank you
postman. Oh, and here’s a little something for yourself.
SEAGOON: Ah! Oh goodie, just
what I’ve always wanted, my own bullet. (Going
off singing.) It’s a hap hap happy day, on the spring on the sprabble
spray…
GRYTPYPE: Now, let’s have a look what’s in this registered boot.
Good heavens Moriarty, a registered foot.
MORIARTY: What’s it say
Grytpype?
GRYTPYPE: It’s from our
landlord. “Dear Sirs, Owing to complaints from the tenants of the others sewers
about your singing and owwwing after eleven o’clock, I do hereby give you
notice to quit.”
MORIARTY: Ah howwwee! Or if
you like, Hi ih ha ho ho hoou! Grytpype, we’ve been given the registered boot,
kicked out, sewerless, without a street over our heads, with nothing but the
water we stand up in. Grytpype? Grytpype! You’re not listening.
GRYTPYPE: Mmm?
MORIARTY: You’re not
listening Grytpype. (Rubbish)
GRYTPYPE: I’m sorry. I was
just reading this advertisement on the back page of my suit. Listen here,
“Wanted, man for exploding. One thousand pounds offered for a genuine charlie
in good condition. Apply, The Sultan of Dirtistan.”
MORIARTY: Four thousand
pounds! (sic) Grytpype, with that
we could build our own sewer.
GRYTPYPE: Exactly. Moriarty I
have an idea. Follow me and…
ORCHESTRA: Short tense link
GRAMS: (Recording) GREENSLADE: And here is the news. Early this
morning two masked men broke into the GPO and stole postman Neddy Seagoon. Police believe Seagoon was rendered unconscious by a blow from a weighted banana, a photograph of which was found nearby. And now scene three – a self contained unfurnished idiot.
SEAGOON: Oh. Oh. Oh my head.
What. What. What-what-what! Where’s my megaphone? Thank you. Thank you. Folks!
Calling folks through my megaphone folks. What’s happened folks? Where are we
folks?
GRYTPYPE: Alright Neddy. Drop
that speaking trumpet.
FX: Drop metal pipe
MORIARTY: Ohh oh oh oh oh! My
foot!
SEAGOON: What! What! What!
What! What! What! What! What! What! What! (continues
clucking) Who are you sir?
GRYTPYPE: My name sir is
Hercules Grytpype-Thynne, and the teeth resting this glass of stale beer belong
to none other than Jim ‘
MORIARTY:
GRYTPYPE: …Moriarty, ace
knee-slapper and king of pong.
MORIARTY: Owwwww owwwww!
GRYTPYPE: Did you hear that
Seagoon? Once again Moriarty.
MORIARTY: Owwwww owwwww!
GRYTPYPE: Ohhhh! Melody
divine.
MORIARTY: Ace…
SEAGOON: Never mind those
ahhrrrowwwws divine. What’s going on?
GRYTPYPE: My dear postman,
pull up a floorboard and I’ll tell you a likely story. Because of your excellent
record in the parcel smashing department you’re being promoted to corporal
postman and sent to a better job.
SEAGOON: What! You mean I’m
going to be posted?
GRYTPYPE: Yes, registered of
course.
SEAGOON: Oh happy day!
Huzzah, huzzah, huzzah!
GRYTPYPE: Moriarty, get a
floor cloth and mop up those huzzahs, would you. Neddy, Neddy. Stand to
attention now and close your eyes.
SEAGOON: Right.
GRYTPYPE: Moriarty get that
pad of cotton wool and soak it in chloroform.
MORIARTY: Right. Now what?
GRYTPYPE: Now hit him with
this iron bar.
MORIARTY: Huurgh…
FX: Clank of iron bar. Thud of body falling to
floor.
GRYTPYPE: Splendid. Now the
brown paper and string.
MORIARTY: Oh the browwwwwn
paper.
GRYTPYPE: The browwwwwn
paper. (extended) And to keep Seagoon
unconscious get Max ‘Haircut’ Geldray to strum his elastic plastic ploogie.
GREENSLADE: And now The Stolen
Postman part two. The scene; a small post office in
CRUN: Errr, ten, eleven,
twelve words. That’ll be one and ninepence please. Thank you.
FX: Cash register. Coin into till.
CRUN: Good day to you
sir.
FX: Door opens. Shop bell rings. Door closes
Throat: A good day to you
too. Thank you.
BANNISTER: Oh, what’s that?
CRUN: Ah, good morning
sir.
MORIARTY: Awwwww. Good
morning, mon ami. I want to send this parcel by registered post. La post
registeur.
CRUN: Right sir. Put is
here.
GRAMS: Straining of overloaded springs. (With echo
effect to give it that hollow sound.)
CRUN: Twenty two stone
sir. I’m afraid that is going to cost you an extra tuppence.
MORIARTY: Take it out of my
post office account.
CRUN: Could I have your
book sir? Thank you.
MORIARTY: There.
CRUN: Just forward your
name along this finger here would you?
MORIARTY: Right-oh. There.
Good day and Owwww.
CRUN: And a good Owwww to
you sir.
FX: Door opens. Shop bell. Door closes.
CRUN: Ah. Dear, dear.
He’s left his steam behind. Oh well. Min. Stamp this parcel registered while I
go and change the elephant’s hat Min.
BANNISTER: O.K. Right-oh buddy.
Now where’s that modern, rhythm, rubber type stamp?
FX: Quick stamping.
SEAGOON: (Muffled) Ahhhhhhh!
BANNISTER: Ohhhhhhh!
SEAGOON: What, what, what,
what, what, what, what, what?
BANNISTER: Ohhhhhh! Henry!
Help Henry. Henry! Ohhhhhh!
CRUN: What is it?
BANNISTER: The parcel, Henry.
The parcel spoke to me.
CRUN: What!
BANNISTER: The parcel spoke to
me Henry.
CRUN: You’ve been at the
spirit gum again.
SEAGOON: (Muffled) I’m through and through.
BANNISTER: It spoke again! It
spoke again in parcel language.
CRUN: What! What did it
say?
BANNISTER: It said…it said Henry…
CRUN: It said Henry? Then
it wasn’t speaking to you, it was speaking to me.
SEAGOON: (Muffled) Let me out!
CRUN: Ohhhhhh! The
parcel’s moving.
FX: Crinkling paper.
BANNISTER: Hit it Henry with
that mighty club of yours.
FX: Thump
CRUN: Got it! Now let us
see what it is.
BANNISTER: Open it up Henry.
FX: Crackling of paper.
BANNISTER: Save the paper for
lunch. Oh, look what’s inside. It’s a postman’s uniform.
CRUN: Yes. Let’s see
what’s inside it.
FX: Paper crackling.
CRUN: Oh! It’s a man in
long underwear. Explain yourself sir.
SEAGOON: What, what, what,
what, what! Look here, I’m postman Seagoon.
CRUN: What! You’re the
man who was stolen from the GPO?
SEAGOON: Stolen? Then I must hand
myself in. How do I get to the nearest police station?
CRUN: By walking.
SEAGOON: Isn’t there a
quicker way.
CRUN: Running?
SEAGOON: Thank you. Goodbye.
GRAMS: Boots running off at speed.
ORCHESTRA: Short dramatic link (Spriggs sings along.)
FX: Telephone rings. Receiver picked up.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
[1]Hello?
Inspector Wardrobe here. Oh yes. Bring him in.
FX: Door opens.
SPRIGGS: This is him Jim.
This is him Ji-immmm!
SEAGOON: Inspector, I want
to report a robbery.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
Oh? What’s been stolen?
SEAGOON: Me. You see I’m
postman Seagoon.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
You can’t be. Seagoon’s missing.
SEAGOON: Well, I’m missing.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
Nonsense. You’re here.
SPRIGGS: Yes Jim. You’re
here. You’re here-eeeeee!
INSP.
WARDROBE:
Shut Constable C major chord.
SEAGOON: Ying tong iddle I
plinge. Look here, I can prove I’m Neddy SEAGOON.
Look, here’s a photograph of myself.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
Oh yes. But you’re facing the other way.
SEAGOON: No, no. That’s the
back of the photograph. Turn it over.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
Oh yes. This is a photograph of a woodshed. Where are you?
SEAGOON: I’m in the
woodshed.
SPRIGGS: I always said there
was something nasty in the woodshed.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
Ah. Come out.
FX: Door opening.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
There’s one way to find out who you are. Constable, look inside his underwear.
SPRIGGS: Yes sir. Let me see
now. The label on these underwear says ‘hand-knit’. Hand-kniiiiii-it!
INSP.
WARDROBE:
So Mr Knit. You’re trying to pretend you’re Seagoon.
SEAGOON: But I am Seagoon.
INSP.
WARDROBE:
Then you’re wearing stolen underwear!
FX: Telephone rings. Receiver lifts.
SPRIGGS: Constable Spriggs
here. Are you there? Are you there, because I am here-eeeeee!
GRAMS: (Recording) GRYTPYPE: I wish to report the
whereabouts of the
missing postman SEAGOON.
He is at present on board the steamship Venus at Toolbury Dicks.
SPRIGGS: You mean Tilbury
Docks.
SEAGOON: What, what, what?
He’s an imposter. I’ll expose him, I tell you. I’ll expose him!
GRAMS: Boots running off.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic
link.
GREENSLADE: Seagoon proceeded
to the docks hot-foot, a common complaint in the Seagoon family. And now, if
listeners will lag their hornpipes they will be able to hear him ascending the
gangplank of the steamship Venus.
GRAMS: Dockside sounds. Distant ship’s sirens.
GRYTPYPE: Ahoy.
GRYTPYPE: Have we met?
SEAGOON: Of course. I’m
Neddy Seagoon.
GRYTPYPE: Simple. Seagoon’s
inside that crate.
SEAGOON: What! This crate
marked “Human Sacrifice for Exploding Ceremony”?
GRYTPYPE: Yes. If you don’t
believe me step inside and see for yourself.
SEAGOON: I will. (With echo effect) There you are, you
see. There’s no Neddy SEAGOON in
here.
GRAMS: Rapid
hammering on wood. Played back faster.
GRYTPYPE: There is now!
MORIARTY: Ha ha ha ha owwwww!
GRYTPYPE: Well done Moriarty.
MORIARTY: I’ve done nothing.
MORIARTY: (Rubbish)
GRYTPYPE: Now have you stoked
up the boilers?
MORIARTY: Oui, oui, mon ami.
GRYTPYPE: Is the steam
pressure up?
MORIARTY: Oui, oui, mon ami.
GRYTPYPE: Splendid. Then grab
those oars and row madly.
MORIARTY: Owwww oww, buddy.
Owww.
ORCHESTRA:
Dramatic nautical link.[2]
GRAMS:
Sea and seagulls.
SEAGOON: Hello folks. Hello
folks. This is tragic Neddy Seagoon speaking to you folks, from the tragic hold
of the steamship tragic Venus folks, trapped inside a crate on my way to be
exploded. Ho ho ho ho ho folks! I must find a way out of this crate. I will ask
somebody. Excuse me…
ECCLES: Hello. [3]
SEAGOON: Mad Dan Eccles!
What are you doing here?
ECCLES: It’s on the tip of
my tongue.
SEAGOON: Well put your
tongue out and let me see.
ECCLES: Errrrrrrrrr.
SEAGOON: Em-i-grating.
ECCLES: That’s it. Yeah.
I’m emigrating. My tongue’s emigrating on account of my job.
SEAGOON: Why? What are you?
ECCLES: I’m an idiot.[4]
SEAGOON: Well, a professional
idiot. Then why are you leaving
ECCLES: Too much competition. What
are you doing Neddy?
SEAGOON: I’m going out to be
exploded.
ECCLES: Oh. That sounds a
nice job. You been doing it long?
SEAGOON: No.
ECCLES: Well, there’s
always a first time for everybody.
SEAGOON: Listen. I’ve got to
get out of this crate.
ECCLES:
Ooooowwwwrroowwwooarrrghooo. Well, how did you get in?
SEAGOON: I was nailed in.
ECCLES: Well, nail yourself
out again.
SEAGOON: I know, I’ll dig
myself out. Have you got a shovel?
ECCLES: Ah, let’s see now.
I, um…I think I’ve got one somewhere…
SEAGOON: Well find it man.
Empty your pockets.
ECCLES: Ok, Ok.
FX: Nuts, bolts and sundry objects dropped onto
hard surface. Finally a large metal pipe.
ECCLES: No. Must be in my
other suit.
SEAGOON: Never mind. Here,
inflate this pneumatic drill.
ECCLES: Right.
GRAMS:
Pneumatic drill. Continue under.
GREENSLADE: Quickly Seagoon dug
a hole in the floor of the crate and tunnelled down through the bottom of the
ship.
SEAGOON: Huzzah! We’re
through. Give me a hand down.
GRAMS:
Splash
SEAGOON: Ah, gad, it’s damp
down this tunnel. Now Eccles…
ECCLES: Yep?
SEAGOON: To cover my escape hold up
this leather map of Ray Ellington. Goodbye!
ECCLES: Wait for me!
FX: Frantic hammering on wood.
GREENSLADE: And now ‘The Stolen Postman’ part three. The burning deserts of Dirtistan and the residence of the British military attaché.
ORCHESTRA: Bloodnok theme.
BLOODNOK: Ohhhhhhhh!
Ohhhhhhhh! Oh! Never again. Never again. Cennapod and gunpowder soup. I must
have been mad you know. Now, where was I now? Oh yes. “Dear Lord Plunger. I
enclose a snapshot that I accidentally took while passing the window of your
seventh floor flat. I never realised you and Mrs FitzHerbert were such close
friends. As you are an art collector perhaps you would like to buy the negative
of this naughty photo. P.S. If you go to the police about this letter, I didn’t
write it and I don’t live here.”
FX: Knocking on door.
BLOODNOK: Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Who
is it?
SEAGOON: It’s me! Can I see
you?
SEAGOON: No.
FX: Door opens
BLOODNOK: Oh! A man in
postman’s underwear.
SEAGOON: Major. I wish to
obtain a passage to
BLOODNOK: Well you won’t find
one here. This passage only goes to the front door I say.
SEAGOON: Curses! Foiled by a
short passage and long egg-cloth. What about an aeroplane?
BLOODNOK: No thanks. I’m
trying to give them up you know.
SEAGOON: You don’t
understand Major. Two men have stolen me and they’re going to have me blown up.
BLOODNOK: If they blow you up
any more you’ll burst.
SEAGOON: But I must escape. (Weeping) You must…you must help me
escape.
BLOODNOK: Steady lad. Steady. Sit down and light yourself a tree.
SEAGOON: No thanks. I’m
trying to cut them down. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! I’m in condition tonight. Ha ha
ha.
BLOODNOK: I’ve got a right
one here you know. Now Neddy, you’ll never escape from Dirtistan dressed in English
underwear. We’ll disguise you as a man disguised as a woman. Now put on these
woman’s clothes while I go outside and keep watch through the keyhole. Now you
go in…
FX: Door closes.
SEAGOON: Hello folks! Hardly
had I disguised myself when I noticed a large crate labelled ‘dancing girls,
this way up, use no hooks’. Ho ho ho ho ho! Ha ha ha ho ho hello folks! A
dancing girl! Excuse me while I step in the crate and introduce myself. (Pause) Funny. I can’t see any...
FX: Rapid hammering.
BLOODNOK: Ha ha ha ha ha ha!
There’s another one. Singhez! Take this round to the Sultan. Usual price and
don’t forget, cash on the nail.
SINGHEZ: Alright sir.
BLOODNOK: You tell the Sultan
– no pay, no play.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic
Arab link.
GREENSLADE: Scene twenty-eight;
the sultan’s palace, and if listeners will look eastward through a melted sock
they will hear the sultan calling for his ferocious captain of the guard.
ELLINGTON: AI BOU RALOYI WAHL BASHA!
FLOWERDEW: You don’t have to
shout. I’m not deaf.
ELLINGTON: Open this crate.
FLOWERDEW: Not another dancing
girl. You haven’t touched the old ones yet.
ELLINGTON: Never mind. Me
saving them up for birthday party. You lock this girl in harem for the night.
FLOWERDEW: Oh, alright.
ORCHESTRA: Short
dramatic link.
SEAGOON: Oh folks! What a
tragedy, locked in a darkened harem full of dancing girls. Oh, what a trage…
ECCLES: (Singing) Oh da da da…A thing of beauty
is a joy forever. Hou hou hou…houw houw houw.
SEAGOON: Eccles!
ECCLES: Yep?
SEAGOON: Is that you?
ECCLES: Just a minute, I’ll
strike a match.
FX: Match strike
ECCLES: Yep, it’s me.
SEAGOON: How did you become
a dancing girl?
ECCLES: I took lessons.
SEAGOON: He-he-hello folks.
This is terrible. I must find the exit. I’ll grope about in the darkness. Huh!
What’s this? It must be one of the dancing girls. Just a minute, I’ll make
sure.
FX: Spring
BLUEBOTTLE: Oh ho! Stop pulling
my lanyard. Don’t do that. Harm can come to a young boy scout like that.
ECCLES: Oh. Hello bottle.
BLUEBOTTLE: Hello Eccles.
ECCLES: Hello bottle.
BLUEBOTTLE: Hello Eccles.
ECCLES: What are you…dis is
a silly question but what are you doing in a hareem?
BLUEBOTTLE: I came to see if
anyone wanted a bob-a-job doing.
ECCLES: Ooooh ooooh! Your
good turn for the day?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes. I thought I
could help an old sultan across the hareem.
SEAGOON: Quiet you spotted
lads. Something’s coming.
FX: Rattle of doorknob. Door opens.
GRYTPYPE: There he is
Moriarty.
MORIARTY: Owwwww owwwwwrrrr.
GRYTPYPE: Alright, now let’s
take him to the sultan.
SEAGOON: You villains! You
can’t explode me. I’ll…
GRYTPYPE: Back Neddy. Hands
up.
SEAGOON: But…but you haven’t
got a gun.
GRYTPYPE: No, but I’m
thinking of one.
SEAGOON: Well, I’m thinking
of ringing the police. Eccles, think of a telephone.
ECCLES: OK.
FX: Phone rings. Receiver picks up.
SEAGOON: Hello, police? I
want to report a…
GRYTPYPE: Steady Neddy! Put
down that telephone that Eccles is thinking of.
SEAGOON: I refuse.
GRYTPYPE: Then I’m thinking
of shooting you.
GRAMS: Pistol shot.
SEAGOON: Well I’m thinking
of the bullet missing me and hitting Bluebottle.
BLUEBOTTLE: Ohi ohhhhi! You
rotten swine you.
MORIARTY: Aw aw owwwwwwww!
GRYTPYPE: Moriarty, what are
you thinking of?
MORIARTY: Ho ho ho ho
howwwwwww! It’s the way you say it folks!
GRYTPYPE: You filthy swine.
Go and get Seagoon.
SEAGOON: I warn you
Moriarty, I’m thinking of a canal right in front of you.
GRAMS: Splash
LITTLE
JIM:
He’s fallen in de water.
GRYTPYPE: It was tricky but we finally got it in.
SEAGOON: Now you devil, I’m thinking of a pistol.
GRAMS: (Recording: Gradually
speeding up.
SEAGOON:
Now you devil, I’m thinking of a pistol.
GRAMS:
Pistol shot.
GRYTPYPE:
And I’m thinking of a grenade.
GRAMS:
Grenade explosion.
SEAGOON:
I’m thinking of a machine gun.
GRAMS:
Burst of rapid fire.
GRYTPYPE:
And I’m thinking of a cannon.
GRAMS:
Mortar whistling and explosion..
SEAGOON:
I’m thinking of a bomb.
GRAMS:
Explosion.
GRYTPYPE:
And I’m thinking of an atom bomb.
GRAMS:
Large explosion.
SEAGOON:
I’m thinking of a horse.
GRAMS: Whinny, hooves
into distance, large splash, followed by large explosion.)
GREENSLADE: The moral of this is of course, beware of thinking because thinking is… all in the mind you know.
ORCHESTRA: Theme
music.
GREENSLADE: That was the Goon Show, a BBC recorded
programme, featuring Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe, and Spike Milligan, with the
Ray Ellington Quartet. The orchestra conducted by Wally Stott. Script by *********Larry
Stephens. Announcer; Wallace Greenslade. The programme produced by Roy Spear.
ORCHESTRA: Playout.
[1] Sellers.
[2] Milligan shouts from a distance, “Bollard on the starboard bow!” while Secombe vomits.
[3] The applause is genuine. Eccles was well on the way to becoming a
famous British identity. Spike (as Eccles) says, “Don’t stop folks, it’s good for my ego.”
[4] Spike adds, “Anybody want to join?” Currently, British immigration to the colonies was at record levels.