THE
SAHARA DESERT STATUE
GOON SHOW: TLO 68887
9TH
SERIES: No 1
1st
BROADCAST: 3 Nov 1958
Script by Spike Milligan
GRAMS: Dripping water.[1]
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC light programme, and the roof leaks.
OMNES: Gasps of horror.
GREENSLADE: Yes. Even worse, I have a severely shattered
shirt-tail.[2]
SECOMBE: Do it again, Wal.
GREENSLADE: A severely shattered shirt.
SECOMBE: Steady on. Remember what happened at rehearsal, Wal.
SPRIGGS:[3] He got a better laugh that way too, Jim.
SECOMBE: Stop!
SPRIGGS: Foiled – stop!
SECOMBE: What's this approaching? It's a lorry driven by a
Rolls Royce, isn't it? It is, it is! It's that great thespian star of
brouhaha-ha-ha ha ha ha, Beerbohm Sellers! [4]
GRAMS: Lengthy, sustained applause, whistling and cheering.
SPRIGGS: Oh, he's not as popular as he used to be. I'll sing
that bit, folks.
(Sings)
He's not as popular as he used to
beeee!
SELLERS: Lies, all lies pauper Proust. Nuxt week I shall be
appearing in "The Impotence of Being
Ernest," by Oscar Wilde the blackguard of Reading Jail. Yours, Neddie.[5]
SECOMBE: Taa!
SELLERS: Tee!
SECOMBE: Tai!
SELLERS: Toe!
MILLIGAN: (High pitched)
TOOO!
SELLERS: All together!
OMNES: (High pitched) TOOOOOOOOOOO!
SELLERS: Oh, what it is to have friends!
MILLIGAN: I know – I’m one. Next question please.
SECOMBE: (Reading) "Dear
sir: My wife has just made a pancake thirty foot round. Is this a record?"
MILLIGAN: I don't know. Try playing it on the gramophone.
SELLERS: Together! – the band.
ORCHESTRA: (Shout) TA-DAA!
SELLERS: Ah! Caught with their instruments down!
SECOMBE: And now folks, take off your slacks while we unwrap
this brown paper parcel.
FX: Paper unwrapping.
SECOMBE: Look! Ah, ha ha ha ha, look! It's a life-sized Goon Show in imitation plastic.
SPRIGGS: Oh, oh ooh! And what are these little round things?
SECOMBE: Gad! It's a set of spare glass jokes.
SELLERS: Let us hear one, Tom.
GRAMS: Glass breaks.
SPRIGGS: Ha-ho! That's an old one, Jim.
GREENSLADE: Gentlemen --
SPRIGGS: "Gentlemen"? What's up with you?
GREENSLADE: This registered brassiere here has just arrived by
female.
SPRIGGS: From a bosom friend! (I got it in quick there.) Thank
you! Thank you! (It won't last long, folks.) And here's an impression of Tom
Sellers reading it.
SELLERS: TA, TEE, TOE, TA, TOO! This message shows this
week's story of the French wine yards entitled "I Like Claret…
(sings)
…and to hell with
SPRIGGS: And now, here wearing a three knot river is page
one.
SECOMBE: Hello folks. My name is page one but it’s spelt
differently.
SPRIGGS: What do you mean it’s spelt differently?
SECOMBE: D-I-F-F…
SPRIGGS: Yes, yes, yes.
But how do you pronounce it?
SECOMBE: It’s pronounced bang, but it’s spelt…
GRAMS: Large explosion.
SECOMBE: But the ‘e’ is silent.
SPRIGGS: Silence? How does it work?
SECOMBE: There is no ‘e’ in what.
SPRIGGS: Yes there is Jim. (Oh, yes there is even though
they’re laughing.) It’s spelt W-H-A-T-E.
SECOMBE: That’s pronounced wha-TEEEE!
SPRIGGS: I heard that the ‘e’ is silent, Jim.
SECOMBE: Let’s hear a silent ‘e’.
SPRIGGS: Right! A
silent ‘e’.
(Short pause)
SECOMBE: Perfect!
SPRIGGS: Right! We all saw it coming, didn't we? Now then, a
word from Peter Sellers!
SELLERS: DRAWERS!
SPRIGGS: Next week, another one.
SELLERS: And now, for no reason at all: Where did you get the
money to escape from
SPRIGGS: For no reason at all, my stand-in will answer that.
Forward stand-in.
SECOMBE: My name is Spike "Stand-In" Milligan, but
the knees are silent as in trousers.
SELLERS: Not trembler?
SECOMBE: Touché.
SELLERS: Mister Greenslade, answer that for me as me!
GREENSLADE: My name is Peter Sellers.
SECOMBE: And who's playing you?
SELLERS: Me!
SECOMBE: Then who's Peter Sellers?
MILLIGAN: I am! But the "i" is silent as in looking.
SECOMBE: Will you care to elaborate?
MILLIGAN: Yes.
SECOMBE: Well you'll have to wait. (Laughs) Ha ha ha!
MILLIGAN: (He gets them in somehow.) It's a joke, folks! Oh ha, ha,
ha-ha-ha!
SECOMBE: And ha-ha, ha-ha-ha! is the right answer! So say
"Ah!"
SPRIGGS: Ah!
FX: Pistol shot.
SPRIGGS: (Chewing) Three-oh-three
– my favourite bullet.
SECOMBE: Do you like it? I fired it myself.
SELLERS: Too much salt for me.
SECOMBE: Who heard of too much salt in Sellers?
SELLERS: I am not salt sellers. My name is Peter.
SPRIGGS: Saltpetre!
SECOMBE: That's an explosive!
GRAMS: Explosion.
SELLERS: (Into
distance) OOHH! THERE I GO!
SPRIGGS: Thank you. A triumph of matter over mind.
SECOMBE: And now from
GELDRAY: Oh boy, at last the breaks!
MAX
GELDRAY – “Don’t Take Your Love Away from Me” [7]
GRAMS: Professional mourners, loud weeping, seals in zoo.
SECOMBE: (As Hughie
Green.)[8] Ha, ha! That was contestant number four, summoning
you all Gladys Geldray from morse. So, big hand for contestant number four,
thirty year old Frank Elroy from Leeds.
ORCHESTRA & OMNES: Desultory applause.
SECOMBE: Ha, ha. Hum…
GREENSLADE: Now, the Goon Show proper. I have in my left
ventricle a copy of the addict of
FX: Fork scratching across wooden
surface at various speeds. Continue
under.
MORIARTY: Ah! Ohh! The plin! The plin! Ah!
GRYTPYPE: Moriarty, will you stop that revolting buttocks-scratching
in the Strangers Gallery!
MORIARTY: But I've got strangers in my gallery!
GRYTPYPE: Stop this noise in Parliament, you hear! Do you want
to wake them up?
MORIARTY: But I ...
LORD TAVENER: (Over –
mouth noises and yawning)
GRAMS: Water splashing in bath.
GRYTPYPE: You fool, you've woken up Lord Tavener!
MORIARTY: He's getting out of the bath.
LORD TAVENER: Hon. members, mems and moggins, as I was saying...
MP 1: (Distant) What?
MP 2: (Distant) Hear, hear!
LORD TAVENER: As I was saying... do you realize that the British
Atomic Commission… (Raves)
OMNES & CAST: (Scattered
applause from the backbenches – cries of
‘Bravo’ &c)
LORD TAVENER: You’d better tell them, Lord Fuels...
LORD FUELS: The British Atomic commission have no idea what the
effect of an atom bomb would be on a nude Welshman holding a rice pudding.
MP 1:[10]
Do the Russians have this information?
WELSH MP:[11]
No, and I would say the way is clear for us to take the lead.
LORD FUELS: Would Mr. Bevan have any comment upon that?
GRAMS: Fred the oyster.
LORD FUELS: Thank you.
INDIAN MP: Gentlemen, the government are willing to pay… (thank
you) are willing to pay one thousand pounds in cloth Hindu leggings for any
Welshman who is willing to stand naked holding a rice pudding and hit by the
power of an atom bomb.
GRYTPYPE: (Close) Moriarty!
I know the very man. Come!
MORIARTY: Awww!
GRAMS: Two quick whooshes.
GREENSLADE: Sure enough those whooshes were pointed at an early
Anglo-Saxon leaping house in Piccadilly. Within, two men are repairing the
ravages of Roman occupation.
FX: Hacksaw sawing wood. Thud of
heavy object onto floor boards. Hacksaw again. Heavy object falls to floor
WILLIUM: (Singing over
– distant) Roses of old
I’m in love with you.
Rose --
SEAGOON: William! – what are you doing in there?
WILLIUM: (Distant) Cutting
my toenails, mate. When I gets in bed at night they tears the ceiling, mate.
FX: Heavy knocking on door.
BLOODNOK: (Distant) I
say, you in there!
SEAGOON: Gad, it's Bloodnok! – professional soldier and
amateur landlord.
BLOODNOK: (Off) Have
you got a woman in your room?
SEAGOON: I certainly have not!
BLOODNOK: (Off) Well
get out of here, will you? This is not that kind of a house, do you hear!
SEAGOON: Now he tells me, after all those nights of raffia
and fretwork.
MORIARTY: (Off) Knock,
knock, knocky-knock chum.
SEAGOON: Knock, knock, knocky- knock chum?!
MORIARTY: (Off) Yes.
SEAGOON: That's the private number of the door knocker! Come
in!
FX: Door opens.
GRAMS: Rush of boots. Sudden stop.
MORIARTY: Hello, Neddie!
SEAGOON: I recognize those octagonal shins. Of course! – it's
Count Jim ‘Thighs’ Moriarty, voted Miss Knacker’s Yard of 1901 and known in North
Africa as the white Charlie Chaplin!
MORIARTY: Psssstuoo.
GRYTPYPE: The steam count has been commissioned to do a statue
of the
SEAGOON: Me – pose as a desert?
MORIARTY: Certaine-ment. You're just the right size, and twice
as barren.
SEAGOON: Do I... do I have to pose N – U – D – E?
GRYTPYPE: Of course you do. The
SEAGOON: Not even for supper?
GRYTPYPE: Malicious rumours.
SEAGOON: But I can't sit down to dinner nude. Supposing there
are ladies present?
THROAT: Ohhhh!
SEAGOON: To continue, how long would I have to hold the pose
for?
GRYTPYPE: You don't have to hold any pose, Ned. You can move
at will, just as long as you don't move.[12]
Now, for salary – you will be paid in the current Bank of England cigarette
card series of famous criminal footballers.
SEAGOON: I accept!
GRYTPYPE: Ta.
SEAGOON: Tee!
GRYTPYPE: Tie!
SEAGOON: Toe!
MILLIGAN: TOOOOOOOOO!
GRYTPYPE: All together!
OMNES: TOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
GRYTPYPE: Yes, coming on very nicely, thank you. And now to
contact the
RAY
ELLINGTON - "When I grow too old to
dream" [14]
SECOMBE: (As Hughie
Green) Thank you! Discovery number
two, sixty year old Greg Mitre from Portsmouth. A big hand then for the thirty
year old Ray Item from twenty year old Portsmouth.
GREENSLADE: Ta! By placing a microphone near Grytpype-Thynne's trousers,
we pick up the thread which shows Ned in the
GRYTPYPE: Now then Ned, off with your clothes, Neddie!
FX: Cloth ripping.
SEAGOON: Whoop! There! – how do I look?
MORIARTY: Oooooh!
GRYTPYPE: I suppose he makes somebody happy. Hold this rice
pudding.
MORIARTY: (Aside) Grytpype!
Grytpype!
GRYTPYPE: (Aside) What?
MORIARTY: (Aside) It's
only three minutes till zero hour before they drop the bomb. Hurry! (Aloud) Now Neddie, just stand on this
bull's eye and don't move.
GRAMS: Two whooshes.
SEAGOON: (To himself) Don't…
don't move, he said. Right. (Humming)
GREENSLADE: Ta. Seeing that Mr. Seagoon is in a state of… er,
dishabille...
SEAGOON: Cheeky.
GREENSLADE: ... it would be appreciated if old ladies with
binoculars would all listen with your backs to the wireless or place a dark
cloth over the speaker.
GRAMS: (Pre-recorded) BANNISTER & CROWD OF PENSIONERS: Oh, dear,
it's not fair, you know, not fair at
all...
SEAGOON: Gad, this is living! Now, what was it that Moriarty
said...?
GRAMS: Single whoosh.
MORIARTY: I said "Don't move!"
GRAMS: Single whoosh.
SEAGOON: Ah. Wait? What's this approaching across the desert?
ECCLES: (Distant –approaching
singing) Dang dang dangaylang alang
alang alang adang…
dang dang dang ylang alang &c
(Continues under)
SEAGOON: It was a ragged soldier clad in cement sacks,
playing an imaginary piano. He must be one of ours.
ECCLES: (At front) … dang
alang alang a dang dang &c
SEAGOON: Good morning.
ECCLES: Morning. (Continues
singing without a break) Alang dang dang &c.
SEAGOON: Gad, that sun's hot!
ECCLES: Well, you shouldn't touch it.
SEAGOON: Well, it's touched you! (Narrates) Just then I caught a glimpse of the label on his head. It
said, "Early English Idiot, circa 1899."
ECCLES: I'm not an in-diot. Ask me any question – I'll show
you I'm clever, real clever. (Spells) C
– L – X – L – X – er, pronounced…
GRAMS: (Pre-recorded
– played back at a higher speed.)
MILLIGAN: Clurullarummallarummm…
SEAGOON: All right then; what's your name?
ECCLES: Oh, the hard ones first ehi? Ok, my name she knows. Lord
Salisbury? No, no. He’s got two pairs of trousers. Brigit Bardot…?
SEAGOON: Come on man, your name!
ECCLES: (Raves) Come
on man, your name! My name, man. That’s funny, ehi? I had it on the tip of my
tongue.
SEAGOON: Stick it out then.
ECCLES: Arggg…
SEAGOON: Ah, yes, "Fred Smith, Esq." So, you're
Fred Smith Esquire.
ECCLES: No, that's the name of my tongue.
SEAGOON: We must be related! Smith is the maiden name of my
right elbow.
ECCLES: Well, I'd better be getting back to the barracks.
How far is it to the fort,
SEAGOON: Thirteen miles.
ECCLES: Thirteen? That's unlucky.
SEAGOON: All right then, fourteen miles.
ECCLES: You see! – it was unlucky. I'm a mile further away
now. I shall go…[15]
m on you.
GRAMS: Riffs chorus from ‘The Desert Song’. (Double
speed.)
Ho! So we sing as we are
riding.
Ho! It’s time you’d best be
hiding
` Lo – it means the Riffs are
abroad
Go before you’ve bitten the sword…
&c
(Continue under. Add in occasional
horse whinnying. )[16]
ECCLES: Look! – the riffs!
SEAGOON: I thought they were abroad.
ECCLES: I'm off!
GRAMS: Single whoosh.
SEAGOON: Now, I mustn't loose my head. If I keep dead still,
the Arabs will think I'm a statue of a statue.
GRAMS: Final cadence of chorus. Horse neighs
loudly.
RED BLADDER: AARGH! Oh look! Statue of fat man holding rice
pudding. Just what I need to put in my harem . Keep wives happy till I get TV
or more time! Get him up on horse! (Effort)
Huh! (Self-fade) Allaaah!
OMNES: (Various) Allah!
Allah!
GRAMS: Repeat Riffs chorus, with occasional horses
whinnying over. Gradually fade into distance. (Double speed.)
Ho! So we sing as we are
riding.
Ho! It’s time you’d best be
hiding
` Lo – it means the Riffs are
abroad
Go before you’ve bitten the sword…
GREENSLADE: (Over) Dear
listeners, what a stroke of luck for Mister Seagoon! Another thirty seconds and
the A-bomb would have burst on that very spot. But wait! Someone approaches the
danger zone.
SELLERS & SECOMBE: (Distant –
singing “Blue Heaven”.) [17]
Blue heaven and you and I.
Alone, alone…[18]
MILLIGAN: It's the long-lost number eight touring company of ‘The
Desert Song.’ [19]
SELLERS & SECOMBE: (Approaching
singing)
A desert breeze whisp'ring a lullaby,
(Bannister joins in) Only stars above you
To see I love you…
ROMANTIC LEAD: Ah my dear, look at the peaceful scene.
BANNISTER: Oooooh!
ROMANTIC LEAD: Let us rest here in the shade of this grasshopper's
leg.
BANNISTER: Oooooh!
ROMANTIC LEAD: Oh, the inspiration!
BANNISTER: I know!
ROMANTIC LEAD: I feel a song coming on, my dear.
GRAMS: Distant whistle of incoming missile.
Crescendo over dialogue.
BOTH: (Singing) Because a blue
heaven
and you…
GRAMS: Enormous atomic explosion.
FX: Odds and ends falling onto hard
surface.
GRAMS: Two separate whooshes.
MORIARTY: (Out of
breath) Huh, huh… Look, Grytpype!
GRYTPYPE: What?
MORIARTY: He's there, a direct hit! But he's in bits,
otherwise he's all right.
GRYTPYPE: Yes.
MORIARTY: Come on, wake up Neddie! It was only an atom bomb.(Laughs) Ha ha ha!
GRYTPYPE: Let me. Allow me, Moriarty – I'm rather good at
jigsaw puzzles. Now that bit goes in there... This leg goes there... That bit
in there, and this goes in there!
BANNISTER: Noooo!
GRYTPYPE: No it doesn't. No, I’m sorry. Wait a moment – this
knee fits here. Gad, he's changed! He's turned into more than one person!
MORIARTY: Well, there was always enough of him.
GRYTPYPE: Let's get him to the Atomic Centre!
ORCHESTRA: Excerpt from ‘Scheherazade’ with trombone and
trumpet solos. The whole thing falls apart woefully at the end. [20]
GREENSLADE: There then we have the situation. But the capture of
the nude Neddie soon came to the attention of the O.C. Fort Bowels , Kenya.
ORCHESTRA: Bloodnok theme.
GRAMS: Series of explosions. Followed by three enormous blasts from the liner
the Queen Mary. Wind up the last one to infinity. Add on an engine whistle at
high speed, wind it back gradually and bring in the sound of a wall collapsing.
BLOODNOK: (Over) Ooooh!
Ooooh! Oh, dear, dear, dear! Oh, there must be a cure for it. Oh, oh... &c
CAPTAIN: (Distant) Knock,
knock!
BLOODNOK: Come in, knock–knock!
CAPTAIN: Good morning, Major.
BLOODNOK: Gad, it's Secombe playing a different part. (Curse
these small-budget shows!) What's in that envelope?
MILLIGAN: The next part of the plot and a messenger in the
plain wrappers.
FX: Large piece of paper being torn
up.
BLOODNOK: So it is! Come out! Speak up golliwog or I’ll have
you flunned!
ARAB:[21]
(Cod-Arabic.) Ma-lala. La vendu a dulagarh
amooch anga muglar. Ammah ghandha hai! Rubba dubba-dubba-dubba dumb! ‘Dha-hamma ghai.
OO! OO! Ammah ghanda ghanda-hai. Ammah gho. Maratoo, kammaloh mate. OO! OO!
Ammah ghanda!
BLOODNOK: Tell him we can't
understand what he's saying.
MILLIGAN: Er... Gala ta-mi
g’g’g’g’gong, nala-taga.
ARAB: Garach ka goch? Garach ka
goch!? Halama
gallah hamargon arh vanda hai! Ammorh buttoo!
MILLIGAN: Er… He says he doesn't understand what he's saying,
either.
BLOODNOK: Then I was right!
MILLIGAN: Er… yes!
BLOODNOK: Oooooooh! (Narrative)
Even as I spoke, the native plunged his hand into his lunch basket and drew
out a glass ball – a daring move on his part.
CAPTAIN: It's a fortune teller's ball.
BLOODNOK: What?! Why weren't we invited? Oh, I can't resist 'em.
Hand me the turban. Now crystal ball, what can we see? (Turn up the brightness…)
Ah ah ah! It's a nude Welshman holding a rice pudding being abducted into Red
Bladder's harem. Action! Bugler, sound the sound of the buge!
MILLIGAN: Right! (Does
imitation bugle.)
FX: Pistol shot.
MILLIGAN: (Dying
bugler.) [22]
ORCHESTRA: “Scheherazade’ excerpt - trumpet
solo. Tatty
ending.
GRAMS: (Pre-recording – Slowly speed up then
wildly fluctuate the speed.)
BLOODNOK: Left, right, left, left. Come
on – pick them up lads. Come on, pick up those dog ends. &c
CAPTAIN: (Calls) Ensign!
Ensign!
BLUEBOTTLE: Yes capi-capi-captain. What is it?
CAPTAIN: How far from Red Bladder are we?
BLUEBOTTLE: I think we must be within earshot.
CAPTAIN: Why?
BLUEBOTTLE: He’s just shot off one of my ears.
OMNES: Enormous crowd singing “For He’s a Jolly
Good Fellow,” followed by cheers.
BLUEBOTTLE: Thank you, thank you, Bluebottlers! I'm glad to
back. And the good news now; during the summer hols, guess what happened? I
started to grow hairs on my little legs! Tee hee hee! Nature is preparing me
for marriage. Hoo-ray! For the next part, I will…
FX: Slapstick.
BLUEBOTTLE: Ehi hi! Hey, you hit me like that again and see what
happens!
FX: Slapstick.
BLUEBOTTLE: See what happens?
CAPTAIN: Look!
GRAMS: Train pulling into station. Squeal
of brakes; escaping steam.
BLOODNOK: Gad, it's the four-twenty Arab fort from Islington –
dead on time. Take cover, lads!
CAPTAIN: There's the Red Bladder, up on the battlements.
BLOODNOK: Do you think he's going to capitulate?
CAPTAIN: I don't know, but I should stand back in case he
does.
BLOODNOK: Eccles?
ECCLES: Yeah?
BLOODNOK: You speak the language – you challenge him.
ECCLES: Okay. (Calls
out) Red Bladder! – you can't frighten me.
FX: Pistol shot.
ECCLES: Oow! He frightened me.
BLOODNOK: (Calls out) Bladder
– I give you till dawn to get out and surrender, or the new rent act will come
into force.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic scene change music.
GREENSLADE: Meanwhile, the P.M. addresses the House.
SELLERS:[23] Hons.
mems, ma'ams and momsers,[24] I
have just received great news. The Atomic Commission have ascertained that when
a nude Welshman holding a rice pudding is struck by an atomic bomb, he turns
into a fully clad number eight touring company of ‘The Desert Song.’
BACKBENCHER: Then
OMNES: Cheers.
GRAMS: Recording of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ with brass band and vast crowd
singing along.
SPRIGGS: Soon, all over
GRAMS: Morse code telegraph.
SPRIGGS: (Oh, they've taken over.)
HERN: And it was ascertained today that
GREENSLADE: And what of Neddie?
GRYTPYPE: To this day he stands stock still as a statue in a harem.
One move would mean... ha! – well, the unkindest cut of all.
GREENSLADE: I think they've finished, so would you all leave
quietly? Thank you.
GRAMS: Pre-recorded sound of audience leaving; cast
murmuring onstage; distant palm court trio playing. Wind down to nothing.
GREENSLADE: I expect that you're surprised that that was the
Goon Show. In real life, they are disguised as Wally Stott's orchestra, the Ray
Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray, Harry Secombe, Peter Sellers and Spike
Milligan, who also writes the thing. The only unreal persons in this recording
were Wallace Greenslade, announcer, and the producer John Browell, who prefers
to be called… [25]
ORCHESTRA: Playout “Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead”. [26]
YTI
