GOON SHOW: TLO 39928
8TH SERIES: No 3
1st BROADCAST:
Script by Spike Milligan and
Larry Stephens
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC.
And now the new all leather Goon Show.
SELLERS: (American jive show host.) All right
kids, come on. Let’s make with the music kids.
GRAMS: Old
fashioned gramophone recording of dance band circa 1929. End with explosion on
final chord.
GREENSLADE: Part two. An early
Gainsborough landscape depicting dawn over Wandsworth fire station. Lying in
bed is a small lithograph of fireman Seagoon.
SEAGOON: (Morning breath) Ah huh. Ha! Oops!
Where’s my speaking trumpet? Ah, there it is. I’ll just empty it. Ah-hem. (Megaphone) Hello folks! Calling folks!
This is Fire Chief Seagoon speaking folks. Well folks, it’s a beautiful day
here at Wandsworth Fire Station folks. The firemen will start their day by
unrolling their hoses and watering the flowers. That’s all folks. That’s all
folks! Fireman Willium?
WILLIUM: Oh, er good morning Chiefy.
SEAGOON: Any outstanding fire
calls?
WILLIUM: Yeah. Well I got
one ‘ere matey. I’m not too ‘appy about this. It says ‘ere, ‘Urgent,’ it says
‘ere. ‘ Cry -
SEAGOON: A hoax. An absolute
hoax I tell you. I was up there yesterday morning and there’s no such building
as
FX: Fireman’s whistle. Two blasts.
SEAGOON: Fire drill! Light
the fire and put the kettle on.
GRAMS: Hurried
boots running up stairs.
FX: Door opens.
GRYTPYPE: Gentlemen. Bad
news. Gange is on fire.
OMNES: Screams.
GRAMS: Boots
running away. Fire bells. Speed up and fade.
GRYTPYPE: Well. That got rid
of them Moriarty. Quick, stick these auction labels on the furniture and let
the crowd in.
FX: Door opens.
OMNES & GRAMS: Serious
auction house rhubarbs.
GRYTPYPE: Gentlemen! Control
your rhubarbs. Gentlemen, what am I bid for lot one?
MILLIGAN: (Methuselah) Two shillings.
FX: Gavel on bench.
GRYTPYPE: Sold! One
auctioneer’s mallet.
MORIARTY: Argghh! We’re off
to a good start.
GRYTPYPE:
MORIARTY: Two shillings!
FX: Gavel on bench.
GRYTPYPE: Sold for the second
time, one auctioneer’s mallet! And now we come to lot three. One cannon shell.
THROAT: Two shillings.
GRYTPYPE: Will you take it
sir, or do you want it sent?
THROAT: Sent.
GRYTPYPE: Fire!
GRAMS: Cannon
shot.
GRYTPYPE: It’ll be there when
you get home sir. And finally gentlemen, for the musical connoisseur what am I
bid for the original bedroom of fire chief Seagoon, comprising walls, roof,
ceiling and one flock mattress?
MILLIGAN: Two shillings.
FX: Gavel on bench.
GRYTPYPE: Sold to the
gentleman who keeps changing his voice. Moriarty, time for your Awww.
MORIARTY: Awwww.
GRYTPYPE: Splendid. Now, what
am I bid for this auctioneer’s mallet?
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: What’s going on
here? Eh, eh? What’s going on? I just passed a man on the stairs carrying my
room.
GRYTPYPE: He’s taking it to
be repaired. It’s … er, got a puncture.
SEAGOON: My room’s got a
puncture? But it’s only done two thousand miles. Oh horror of horrors! I’ll get
my speaking trumpet. Hello folks! (With
megaphone) Hello folks! Calling folks. From where I am I can see that my
entire set of Louis Quinge fireman’s furniture has been stolen. A lifetime’s
work – ruined!
GRAMS: Jewish
funeral weeping. Slightly higher speed.
GRYTPYPE: There, there,
there, there, Neddie and fans. Now all of you stand in this bucket of water and
let me explain. You see, this is all part of a great plan.
MORIARTY: Awwww!
GRYTPYPE: Shut up Moriarty!
There’s a time and place for awww-ing.
MORIARTY: Where?
GRYTPYPE: I’ll think of it next
week. Neddie, we’re from the Ministry of Psychologicals. The government are
testing people’s reaction to sudden disaster.
SEAGOON: They’ve been doing
that ever since they got in.
GRYTPYPE: Steady now. This
microphone may be tapped.
FX: Distant taps on mic surface.
MORIARTY: There’s somebody
tapping it now.
SEAGOON: What’s going to
happen? I’m ruined!
GRYTPYPE: Ah, that’s where we
the government officials come in, Neddie. With the aid of this war surplus
piano we bring you the official government answer to national ruin.
PIANO: G7
introduction.
MORIARTY: (Sings) You
got to face disaster with a smile.
Keep
on laughing all the while
When
you’re shot through the head
Don’t
fall down dead -
Just
pick up your bed and smile, smile, smile,
Pick
up your bed and smile.
GRAMS: Wild
applause.
SEAGOON: Oh, thank you.
Gentlemen, you were right. That government type song has completely restored my
confidence.
GRYTPYPE: Yes Neddie, and in
your hour of need let us offer you the government’s full employment scheme - two
pound ten a week and free laundry.
SEAGOON: Free laundry?
GRYTPYPE: Yes - you wash our
clothes for nothing.
MORIARTY: Yes, and better
still you pay us two pound ten a week for the privilege!
SEAGOON:
GRYTPYPE: Now. Moriarty?
MORIARTY: Yes?
GRYTPYPE: Take off those
hessian underclothes.
MORIARTY: Right.
GRAMS: Boots
departing at speed.
GRYTPYPE: (Distant) Neddie. Scrub those and return
the barge pole.
SEAGOON: Right.
FX: Sawing on lump of wood.
SEAGOON: I’ll just saw
through the crust on his hat. Don’t worry. I’ll soon have these nicotine stains
out.
GREENSLADE: And what more ideal
moment to bring in Max Geldray who has consented to play his teeth.
MAX GELDRAY – “This Can’t Be Love”[1]
GREENSLADE: And now part two.
SEAGOON: Hardly had I got
Moriarty’s underpants back to running order and oiled the hinges on his socks
when the phone rang.
FX: Phone rings. Receiver picked up.
SEAGOON: Hello? Wandsworth
fire station here.
CHINAMAN: (At end of line) Ah. Can I come in
prrease?
SEAGOON: Certainly.
FX: Door opens.
CHINAMAN: Ah, thank you.
Thank you Mister Seagloon. I have misf’lortune to inform you that B’litish
Embassy in
SEAGOON: I’m innocent I tell
you. I was nowhere near the place. My grandmother keeps a duck farm in
CHINAMAN: Ah, prrease understand.
Chinese government anxious that you B’litish f’lire-men put B’litish Embassy
fire ou-ult.
SEAGOON: What! And freeze
‘em to death? We’ll do it. How far is it to
WILLIUM: Ah, ten thousand
miles.
SEAGOON: Right. Get the long
hose out.
WILLIUM: It’s only forty
foot long mate.
SEAGOON: Oh then we’ll have
to form a bucket chain from there on.
WILLIUM: Can’t use the
bucket. It’s had a puncture mate.
SEAGOON: Curse. Another
disaster.
WILLIUM: (Recites) You’ve got to face disaster with a smile,
Keep on laughing all the while…
SEAGOON: Stop, you singing
fool!
WILLIUM: What! (A chance
ruined!)
SEAGOON: I’ve had an idea.
GREENSLADE: Seagoon has just
had the following idea. The water for the fire in
GRYTPYPE: Curse Moriarty. Did
you hear that?
MORIARTY: Awww.
GRYTPYPE: You know very well
that we can’t collect the insurance money on the British Embassy until it’s
burned to the ground.
MORIARTY: Huzzah! At last – a
plot!
GRYTPYPE: We’ve got to stop
those parcels of water getting there alive. Link music please!
MORIARTY: Where’s my banjo?
ORCHESTRA: DRAMATIC LINK.
SEAGOON: All went well. The
water parcels began to flow out of
GRAMS: (Recording) GREENSLADE: This
is the BBC Spon service and here is
the news. On reaching
the middle east parcels of British water intended for the blazing embassy in
SEAGOON: Evaporated! Are you
sure?
GRAMS: (Recording) GREENSLADE:
Positive.
SEAGOON: Send a radiogram to
the British Embassy Peking.
GRAMS: Morse
signal (continue under.)
SEAGOON: (Dictating) Water supplies held up. Try
to keep fire going till it arrives. Now, I must catch a plane. Hand me that
butterfly net.
GREENSLADE: And so saying,
Seagoon collecting an ice pick and a life jacket, set off on a defrosting
flight to the middle east. And now over to the British Military Advisor to the
Abyssinian Girl’s School in
ORCHESTRA: START
BLOODNOK THEME.
BLOODNOK: Wait a minute! Wait a
minute! I haven’t got my trousers on yet, please. Aahhhh, that’s better. Now –
ORCHESTRA: BLOODNOK
THEME.
BLOODNOK: Ooooohh!
GRAMS: Clouds
of flies.
BLOODNOK: Blast these flies.
Get out of it! Get out of it you flies! Schumm! Kebel O’Tour! Singhez! Singhez
Thing!
SINGHEZ
THING:
I am coming sir.
BLOODNOK: Take these flies
out and sell them.
SINGHEZ
THING:
Alright. Come on boys, break’s over. Come on boys, out you go.
BLOODNOK: Now having got that
matter over, now to my private matters of the day.
FX: Scratchy nib on paper.
BLOODNOK: Dear Madam, reference
your advert in shop window and well known photography magazine. As a keen
student of photography I should like the …
SINGHEZ
THING:
Pardon me. There’s a European fireman waiting in the waiting room.
BLOODNOK: What! Well tell him
to wait in the hiding room while I paste these photographs in my hat. PASTE!
PASTE! (Well, there’s no sound effect for paste is there?)
FX: Door opening.
SEAGOON: No there isn’t. But
there is one for doors opening. Good morning. Are you Major Bloodnok?
BLOODNOK: How dare you
mention that name in this house. Step outside!
FX: Door closes.
SEAGOON: Well, are you Major
Bloodnok?
BLOODNOK: Yes. Come in.
FX: Door closes.
SEAGOON: Thank you. I’m Neddie
Seagoon.
BLOODNOK: Ah of course – one
of the Queen’s beasts! Welcome to
SEAGOON: Thank you. Major,
the British Embassy in
BLOODNOK: What!! I must have
a look.
FX: Door opens.
BLOODNOK: Gad, so it is.
SEAGOON: Good heavens. Could
you see it?
BLOODNOK: Of course not. I take your
word for it. And now to the burning Embassy part three.
ORCHESTRA: THIN
CHORD.
SEAGOON: Didn’t take long,
did it?
BLOODNOK: I don’t know who
you are sir, or where you come from, but it did me a power of good, that – a
power of good. Now, I suppose you’re worried about these parcels of water
evaporating.
SEAGOON: Not really. I’m
just acting you know.
BLOODNOK: You’re acting? So
that’s what it is. Don’t worry lad, your secret is safe with me.
SEAGOON: You’re in condition
tonight Major.
BLOODNOK: Thank you. Now,
there’s only one way to stop evaporation in this heat. Send your water by a
cooler route.
SEAGOON: For instance?
BLOODNOK: Over the north pole,
through the white hell of Fitz-felloo, across outer Mongolia and finally a
three – four – nine tram to the Embassy.
SEAGOON: But by the time we
took that route the fire would be out.
BLOODNOK: You see? Success
from the start! Eight guineas please.
FX: Cash register.
BLOODNOK: I thank you, and
the next please.
FX: Door opens.
BLOODNOK: Now my dear, what’s
your problem?
SEAGOON: These parcels of
water, what causes the evaporation?
BLOODNOK: The sun! The sun!
SEAGOON: The sun?
BLOODNOK: Yes.
SEAGOON: We must get rid of
it. I know, I shall scrampton-scree the scrounds-screw…
BLOODNOK: Yes.
MORIARTY: Did you hear that
Grytpype? Another part of the plot.
GRYTPYPE: Don’t worry
Moriarty. The sun is safe.
MORIARTY: Are you sure?
GRYTPYPE: Yes. I put fire-guard in
front of it.
MORIARTY: Supposing the fire
is attacked?
GRYTPYPE: Not a hope
Moriarty. It’s guarded by two Interpol sun-worshippers!
GRAMS: Fire
crackling. Continue under entire scene.
BLUEBOTTLE: Eccles? Throw
another twig on the sun. We don’t want it to go out on us, do we!
ECCLES: Yah, you got to be
careful.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yeah.
ECCLES: The sun went out
last night and it stayed out all night.
BLUEBOTTLE: Oohhao! It must be
a Tom.
ECCLES: Oooh! That’s what
his name is – Tom Sun.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes! Ooheeeghe!
ECCLES: I wish I knew all
them clever things that you know Bluebottle.
BLUEBOTTLE: Well, it all takes
time you know my good man. Did you know that … (Don’t do that Eccles. It’s not
nice.) Did you know Eccles… ?
ECCLES: I knew Eccles. Oh,
that’s me.
BLUEBOTTLE: We mens are growing
older all the time.
ECCLES: What! What! What! What!
BLUEBOTTLE: I said, we’re
growing older all the time.
ECCLES: What, er – even
when we’re standing still?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: Well, it’s not
fair. I didn’t know anything about this.
BLUEBOTTLE: Well, you have got
to face up to it my good man.
ECCLES: I don’t – I don’t
believe it. I don’t believe we’re getting old all the time.
BLUEBOTTLE: It’s true.
ECCLES: Ah, owwh. Let me
have a little test.
BLUEBOTTLE: Alright then.
ECCLES: You stand ‘dere and
I’ll watch and see if you get any older.
BLUEBOTTLE: Fair do’s. Fair
do’s.
ECCLES: Alright then.
Ready?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: Go. (Pause) Still look the same to me.
There’s no difference at all my good man.
BLUEBOTTLE: I know why. That’s
cause you been getting older as well. (Thinks to self… )
ECCLES: Oh, I’d better go
away then.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes. (I must admit
I didn’t notice Eccles getting older either. I will experiment.) Says aloud –
Eccles!
ECCLES: Yeah!
BLUEBOTTLE: Do you know what I
will do? I will time us getting old with my tiger-tim watch. Ready?
ECCLES: I’ll just put my hat on. Ok,
ready.
BLUEBOTTLE: Go! (Long pause) There! You just got ten
seconds older.
ECCLES: Oooh! Did I?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: It didn’t hurt at
all. Here, this is fun!
BLUEBOTTLE: Ye-ess!
ECCLES: Here, let’s go and
stand over there and get old now.
BLUEBOTTLE: Let’s get older
over there.
ECCLES: Let’s stand over
there. Ok, ready?
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes.
ECCLES: One! Two!
GREENSLADE: And here to make
everyone old is Ray ‘Do-it yourself’ Ellington and his rapidly decaying
quartet.
RAY ELLINGTON – ‘I’ve Got a Rose Between My Toes’ [2]
GREENSLADE: And now a smoke filled room at the
British Embassy Peking.
GRAMS: Flames crackling.
BANNISTER: (Singing
hot rhythm) Ooooh. Yim bum biddle boh! They’re driving me crazy. I’ve got
onions on my bunions. The rocking through the hot house with you. Dibba dibba
dub bum…
CRUN: (Fibrillations)
Stop it! Stop it! Stop that sinful singing Min. How can you perform those
sensuous gyrations in those revealing low cut brown elastic sided boots I’ll
never know!
BANNISTER: I’ve got the measurements for dancing
buddy – forty-one, eighteen, thirty-six!
CRUN: (Fibrillations) Ooaauuugh!
What a figure Min!
BANNISTER: Those are my leg measurements.
CRUN: WHAT! Who did you allow to measure your legs?
BANNISTER: I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you tonight!
CRUN: WHO?!
BANNISTER: Mrs. Millie Toolie.
CRUN: (Heart attack
territory) Mrs. Millie Toolie? I’LL KILL HIM!!! I’ll put an end to your
brown leather rhythms.
BANNISTER: Poooooooooow!
CRUN: Now, I’ll just get this gas stove under my head, and put
these lead pipes down my trousers. There! Let that be a lesson to you, you
sinful … (sniffs) What’s burning Min?
What’s burning?
BANNISTER: Oooh! It’s soles of my boots are on
fire.
CRUN: You shouldn’t stand with your back to the Embassy. Swallow
this tablet of water.
GRAMS: Gushing fountain.
BANNISTER: Oooh. That’s better buddy. Oooooooo!
Oooooh that’s better.
CRUN: Be careful Min, careful. Don’t let that steam get up your
legs or you’ll get the dreaded Manchu knee-cramp.
BANNISTER: Listen Henry, we can’t keep this
Embassy burning much longer buddy. The neighbours are starting to talk.
CRUN: Ooo. Then we’d better pull the curtains Min.
BANNISTER: Ok buddy. I”ll…
FX: Knocking on door.
BANNISTER: Ooh! Answer that burning door.
FX: Door opens.
MORIARTY: Ahm, awwww. Pardon me honourable sir.
A parcel of water for you.
GRYTPYPE: At last. (Sniffs) Wait a moment sir. This water smells like petrol.
MORIARTY: Xah xah xah xah xah xah xahoh! Yes, it
was disguised as petrol to get it through the customs.
CRUN: Thank you.
FX: Door closes
CRUN: Now Min, let us throw this parcel on …
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: Stop! Saved in the nick of time! The
forces of evil are foiled.
OMNES: Pantomime cheering.
SEAGOON: Give me that parcel. Pour it in the
tank of this car. Right.
GRAMS: Car speeds off and returns. Skids to a halt.
SEAGOON: Just as I thought. This car runs on
water. But apart from that, that parcel contained petrol.
GRYTPYPE: We’ve got him worried Moriarty. He’s
bluffing his lines.
SEAGOON: Mr. Crun, we’re having difficulty
getting the water to this fire. It would help if you could load the Embassy
onto a lorry and meet us in
CRUN: Ooh! How can we recognise you?
SEAGOON: I shall be driving a red fire engine.
Goodbye!
BANNISTER: Goodbye.
ORCHESTRA: DRAMATIC LINK. RESOLVE INTO OMINOUS AFRICAN
CHORDS WITH SPRIGGS ON LEAD VOCALS.
SEAGOON: All of which means I’ve arrived back
in
BLOODNOK: Yes Neddie, and we’ve solved the
evaporation problem.
SEAGOON: You mean you’ve frozen the water into
ice blocks which have been placed in that giant cold storage van?
BLOODNOK: Yes. And it saved me saying it. Now
put these furs on because inside that van it’s forty below.
SEAGOON: Gad yes, and three foot of snow. And
the entire cast dressed in furs.
BLOODNOK: Gad what a sight. If only this were
coloured radio.
SEAGOON: Right. Willium, insert this steering
wheel under your dentures and away we go!
GRAMS: Lorry pulls away.
ORCHESTRA: DRAMATIC LINK.
GRAMS: Lorry travelling on highway.
SPRIGGS: As the refrigeration van bumped along
folks, the heat outside was a hundred and thirty degrees. But inside the van –
GRAMS: Howling arctic wind. Huskies barking.
CYRIL: Mush! Mush! Must keep the dogs at the gallop.
SEAGOON: Whatever for?
CYRIL: We don’t want to be left
behind.
SEAGOON: Left behind? But we’re inside the
lorry.
CYRIL: Yes, but what if it goes faster than we do?
SEAGOON: Gad, you’re right. Mush! Mush!
BLOODNOK: Ooooo! It’s too cold in this van. I’m
freezing. Forty degrees of frost.
SEAGOON: Yeah, it is a bit parkie isn’t it?
I’ll get the temperature turned up. Eccles! Turn it up.
ECCLES: I ain’t done nothing. Oooo! – turn
the thermometer up. Right.
GRAMS: Sudanese native drummers.
BLOODNOK: Ooh houhouhouhouhouho!
SEAGOON: The temperature’s up too high!
ECCLES: Ok. I’ll turn it down.
GRAMS: Timber wolves howling.
BLOODNOK: Too low! We’re being attacked by
timber wolves.
ECCLES: I’ll throw ‘em some
timber.
SEAGOON: You fool. Turn the
temperature up again.
GRAMS: Native drummers.
BLOODNOK: Too low -
GRAMS: Wind howling.
BLOODNOK: Too high -
GRAMS: Native drummers.
BLOODNOK: Too low -
GRAMS: Wind howling.
BLOODNOK: Too high –
GRAMS: Native drummers.
BLOODNOK: Too low -
ORCHESTRA: FOXTROT.
SMALL COMBO with SAXOPHONE ON LEAD.
GRAMS: Extensive explosion strength 7.
GREENSLADE: There was an
accident this morning at the crossroads,
ORCHESTRA: PLAYOUT
GREENSLADE: That was
the Goon Show, a BBC recorded programme 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 Charles
Chilton.
YTI
[1] Written by Rodgers and Hart for their 1938 musical ‘The Boys From Syracuse’. Secombe’s favourite number ‘Falling in Love with Love’ comes from the same show. Nat King Cole had had a tremendous hit with the number in 1954.
[2] Written by Lou Carter, a sometime pianist and arranger for Tommy Dorsey, the song was one of a group penned by Carter for his new persona ‘Louie the Singing Cab driver’ – a character he developed for the new Perry Como Television Show after it had moved back to NBC in the mid 50’s.