THE
GOLD PLATE ROBBERY
GOON SHOW: TLO 77725
9TH
SERIES: No 16
RECORDED:
Script by Spike Milligan
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC light programme.
SECOMBE: Gad, it sounds as young as ever, even more so.
SELLERS: Jove, you're right nules. Say it again Wireless Man.
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC Light Programme.
SECOMBE: It makes you glad to be alive, strengthens the shins
and diminishes the spon.
SELLERS: By Jupiter, you're right I'll warrant ye. Tell us
little Establishment Unit, who invented the BBC Light Prog?
GREENSLADE: Well, a Midlothian hedonist, one Mr Arthur Kack OBE,
one of
SELLERS: Did he? Then he won't get away with it, I'll warrant
you. I shall sing him.
(Sings – to the tune “Sur
le Pont d’Avignon”)
Ah poor
Kack, OBE,
on
ye dancer,
then
the lancers.
GRAMS: Wild applause.
SEAGOON: Stop folks! Hello folks! This is Neddie folks. TING-A-LING!
Ah, the telephone folks.
FX: Phone taken off hook.
ECCLES: (On phone) Hello?
SEAGOON: Hello?
ECCLES: (On phone) Snap.
SEAGOON: Splendid! Ring
again tomorrow and we'll have another game.
ECCLES: (On phone) Ok.
GREENSLADE: That vacuous little cameo was in the nature of an entree
to the main steaming ning-nong, plitt platt toof tangg. Ladies and Gentlemen,
the Kleens of Blenchinghall, the story of an ordinary English comedy half-hour.
ORCHESTRA: Stately home theme – hold under.
SELLERS: (Country
Gentleman.) Hello. My name is Hurls Gnurdock Nyarl. I want to tell you
about the illustrious Seagoon. He was a very ordinary Welsh crofter's son who
became a very ordinary Prime Minister, who joined the Coldstream’s at the
outbreak of the Armistice and rose to the rank of Private. Let us go back to
that ecstatic spring of June 1887, (self-fade)
when all the krill was knurdle-in-the-pool.
ORCHESTRA: Country springtime link.
GRAMS: Twittering of birds in a Surrey wood. Horse
canters up gravel path.
SEAGOON: Tally Ho! Ahoy! Yoicks! Gone away, address not known.
(Laughs) Aha ha ha! Some fox, ehi! Ha
ha… Now where is that lazy old Irish groom, O'Blast?
ELLINGTON: Here I is, your Lordship.
SEAGOON: Oh! Ellington, how many times must I tell you not to
stand in the shade – you ruin the colour-scheme. Now, where's me Lady Lavinia
Seagoon?
ELLINGTON: Well, she's in the great granite Baronial
dining-hall.
SEAGOON: What's she doing?
ELLINGTON: Eatin' chips.
SEAGOON: Chips? Aha! She must be practising for dinner time.
Drive me there.
GRAMS: Car starts up. Engine at full throttle.
Skids to a halt.
SEAGOON: Thank you Ellington. (Calls) Mother! Mother! Oh Mummy?
LADY SEAGOON: What is it Roger darling?
SEAGOON: Oh Daddy! What are you doing at home?
LADY SEAGOON: I live here, and I'm Mummy not Daddy. You've got to
know the difference some time.
SEAGOON: Gad, this revelation makes me a man of the world. No
more short trousers for me.
LADY SEAGOON: Excused shorts? Oh how proud your father would have
been.[1]
Now, tell me all about the fox-hunt.
SEAGOON: It was wonderful mother. A beautiful spring morning,
flowers blooming, and blood everywhere. It's grand to be in England!
BASIL: (Effete - approaching)
Hello mother. Hello Rodney. By Jove, I'm dashed hungry.
LADY SEAGOON: Basil darling, where's your chin gone?
BASIL: I've… I’ve never had one Mummy.
LADY SEAGOON: Poor thing. Oh, what a morning Basil-oh. The first
spring oak trees pushing their branches up through the lawn.
SEAGOON: Oh, not again! They did the same thing last year.
LADY SEAGOON: I know. It's such a bore, isn't it. Let us all have –
TEAAA.
GRAMS: Great clanging of various sized church
bells. Lots of reverb.
FX: Door opens.
THROAT: Who rang dem bells?
SEAGOON: I did. Serve tea, Jeeves.
THROAT: (Growls)
I'll give you tea.
FX: Smashing of a large set, plates,
cups, cutler and all accoutrement.
LADY SEAGOON: (Over) Ohhh
dear! Oh! Rodney, speak to him.
SEAGOON: Hello, Jeeves. I see Barnsley took another bashing
on Saturday. [2]
FX: Smashing of giant plate on Ned’s
head.
SEAGOON: (Pain) Ohh!
That does it. Jeeves – I'm giving you a week's notice.
LADY SEAGOON: (Aside) Are
you mad? Servants are so hard to get.
SEAGOON: Jeeves – I'm giving you twenty-years notice.
THROAT: I quit. I just won the pools.
FX: Door slams shut.
SEAGOON: No tea? Very well, we'll have...
OMNES: (Altogether) BRANDYYYYY!!!
GRAMS: Running crowd of boots – whoops of delight.
GELDRAY: This can only mean that Geldray is left holding the
conk boy.
MAX
GELDRAY – “Duke’s
Joke”
GRAMS: Crowd of running boots returning. Swell and
suddenly stop.
GREENSLADE: (Panting)
Just made it. Part two – “A Vacancy Filled.”
FX: Knock on door. Door opens.
SEAGOON: What do you want?
GRYTPYPE: Lord Seagoon?
SEAGOON: Yes, and I have a licence to prove it.
GRYTPYPE: My friend and I were in Edgware, taking the waters
of the horse trough, when we observed this advert in the London Gazette, and I
quote; “Wanted,
SEAGOON: Yes, that's mine.
GRYTPYPE: Why is it in the obituary column?
SEAGOON: It's threepence a line cheaper in there. Are you
applying for the vacancy?
MORIARTY: Certainement. Certainement. Yes we are. Oh yes – we
want to work in the food department, where there's food, nice food.
SEAGOON: Pardon me, but that old hat-stand there appears to
be animate.
GRYTPYPE: You do him a disservice sir. That hat-stand is the
bona fide remains of what was once the great Count Jim 'Strains-Supreme'...
FX: Vicious oil-drum with the wax
string.
GRYTPYPE: ... Moriarty, last of the great butlers.[3] He
has waited at table bus-stops and YWCA windows. Hit him with this beater!
SEAGOON: Right.
ORCHESTRA: Great Chinese gong walloped.
MORIARTY: (Over.) DINNER
IS SERVED!
SEAGOON: He sounds like a butler. Have you any
recommendations?
GRYTPYPE: (Recommendations Count!) Of course we have. Count,
unroll the scrolls and documents!
GRAMS & FX: Load
of metal dropped in scrap metal yard. Bits and pieces of old pipes dropped on
hard surface.
MORIARTY: And there's more where that come from!
SEAGOON: Very well. You start work at once. Lay the table for
the Hunt Banquet. Here's the key to the gold-plate.
MORIARTY: (Fiscal
psychotic episode.) Ehyhyhyhyhyiah! GOOOLD? Ah...
FX: Body falls to floor.
SEAGOON: Is he unconscious?
GRYTPYPE: No, he's in a food trance. There's only one cure
Neddie – a fifteen-course dinner then a drive round the grounds in a car with
the gold-plate in a sack.
SEAGOON: What, give you my gold-plate? I don't know you from
Adam.
GRYTPYPE: Well, we're better dressed. However sir, do not
hesitate. You are dicing with death and our future prosperity.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.
GRAMS: Pigs in a trough. Rattling of plates..
GRYTPYPE: How's that Moriarty?
MORIARTY: I'm feeling a little better now, Grytpype.
GRYTPYPE: Good, good. Another quellth of plitts?
LADY SEAGOON: (Over)
They've been eating for seventeen hours now.
SEAGOON: Yes, yes, yes
– but they've nearly finished.
GRAMS: Plates being stacked together.
LADY SEAGOON: They're taking my gold-plate.
GRAMS: Car driving off into the distance.
SEAGOON: It's all right. It's only part of that poor man's
cure, Mother. They're only going to drive around the grounds, don't worry. (Self-fade) They'll be back in five
minutes. (Laughs light heartedly.) Ha
ha ha ha...
ORCHESTRA: Short clipped chord.
CONSTABLE: You say it's fifteen years since they stole the
gold-plate?
SEAGOON: Yes, fifteen years and three minutes to the day.
CONSTABLE: How is it you didn't report this sooner?
SEAGOON: I overslept.
CONSTABLE: I see, yes. Any nut-cases in your family?
SEAGOON: No – mostly leather.
CONSTABLE: I see. Now these gold plates, are they valuable sir?
SEAGOON: Yes, they had food on them.
CONSTABLE: I see! So that's sixty large gold plates and sixty
small. Anything else?
SEAGOON: Oh yes, one coal sack.
CONSTABLE: Is it valuable?
SEAGOON: Yes, it's got the plates inside.
FX: Phone rings. Handset off cradle.
CONSTABLE:
SEAGOON: Yes?
ECCLES: (On phone) Hello?
SEAGOON: Hello!
ECCLES: (On phone) SNAP!
Dat's two games to me.
SEAGOON: Right. You been practisin'?
ECCLES: (On phone) Yer,
dat's why I'm winnin'. Well I better get back to me home-bake.
FX: Phone down.
CONSTABLE: Excuse me sir, while you were talking this sludge
was dredged up in the
MORIARTY: Owwwwwwwwwww! Fooood…
SEAGOON: What! Search his pockets for salt water.
MORIARTY: It's all a mistake. I'm a female channel swimmer, I
tell you. Here is a record to prove it.
GRAMS: Body into water. Seal barking. Distant
bagpipes and drums.
SEAGOON: You imposter, that's a seal. But why the bagpipes?
MORIARTY: It's the Great Seal of Scotland!
SEAGOON: (They wish to know that!) Now I recognise you by the
air you're breathing. You're Count Jim Moriarty from the body of the same name.
Officer, search that suit – inside you'll find a man. Arrest him!
CONSTABLE: Now come on, where are them gold plates?
MORIARTY: You can't make me talk.
FX: Smart slapstick.
MORIARTY: AHA! You've made me talk. I'll tell you – Grytpype
took all the gold-plate to Algiers.
SEAGOON: Spain! (Calls)
TAXI!
GRAMS: Short, sharp explosion.
GELDRAY: Where you going, darling?
SEAGOON: Follow that continent, darling.
GRAMS: Car drives off at speed. Add chickens
clucking over.
GREENSLADE: The combined sound of an automobile and a hen was
especially recorded for motoring enthusiasts who keep chickens. Now, part two.
A chase across continents. The trail of the gold plates led Lord Seagoon to
Marrakesh.[4]
GRAMS: Berber trio with female lead vocals.
FX: Clatter of an easel knocked over.
SEAGOON: Ooh, I'm terribly sorry sir.
SELLERS: (As Winston
Churchill) I should think so too.[5]
SEAGOON: My information led me to a coffee-house, just off
the main caravan route, where outside the sun purged the streets of shade.
Inside, all was cool and jasmined.
GRAMS: Characteristic Berber music. Sounds of
distant fountain.
SEAGOON: In an Alhambra tessellated forecourt, a fountain
played on the purple water-lilies. Couched in lattice recesses, purdahed Tuareg
beauties attended local sheiks.[6] I
was conducted to a low Moroccan coffee-table. My attendant wore the bleached
robes of a nomad Arab. His burnoose was contained with a rope of black camel
hair, at his waist a curved Hedjaz dagger protruded from his cummerbund.[7] He
bowed low, touched his forehead in time-honoured Islamic salute and spoke.
WILLIUM: The boiled fish and rice puddin's orf mate.
SEAGOON: I see. Ahem. Your accent is familiar, oh Arab
prince.
WILLIUM: Yern. I went to college in
SEAGOON: What were you studying?
WILLIUM: Cockney. I got it orf pat.
SEAGOON: Did you?
WILLIUM: He didn't mind.
SEAGOON: (Bully for Pat.) Now tell me oh Arab prince, have
you ever heard of a Hercules Grytpype Thynne?
WILLIUM: What's it used for?
SEAGOON: A name. A name called Hercules Grytpype-Thynne.
WILLIUM: Bit of a mouthful isn't it?
SEAGOON: I agree, but do you know a man who is called by it?
WILLIUM: I knows a bald-headed old woman called Rattler
Blotts.
SEAGOON: No, well that doesn't sound like him.
SINGHEZ THINGZ: Please! Please Ladies and Gentlemen! The son of
Rattler Blotts and his quartet – Ray Ellington, all the way from
RAY
ELLINGTON QUARTET – “What Else
Can You Do with a Drum?”
GREENSLADE: During the marde
funilie of that music, Lord Seagoon greased his boots and slipped away to
see the last British Ambassador in
ORCHESTRA: Bloodnok theme on North African drums and
native flute. Tag by full orchestra.
GRAMS: (Starts before music stops.) Thunder,
lightning, rain on tin roof. Heavy brushes on scrubbing board. Water pouring
into water barrel. Skittles dropped into tub and rattled violently.
BLOODNOK: Ohh dear! It's a wonder what the human body can
stand up to. Ahh!
Oh
well, now for a kip on full Ambassadors pay. Ooeih, the krut! The krut! I wonder
what old Gladwyn Jebb's doing?[8]
ELLINGTON: (Incandescent rage)
BLOOOODNOOKKKKK!
BLOODNOK: OOHHHH!!
FX: Bits and pieces fall to floor.
BLOODNOK: The Red Bladder!
GRAMS: Single whoosh.
FX: Tin can hits floor.
BLOODNOK: (Distant.) Go
away, or I'll take my wig off.
ELLINGTON: Bloodnok, don't be frightened mate. I come to do
business. Me got money.
GRAMS: Single whoosh.
BLOODNOK: (Close) Ohhhh!
You said the secret British password.
ELLINGTON: Me want guns, bullets and drip-dry shirts.
FX: Large piece of paper opening.
BLOODNOK: Ohh ha ha! Go to this spot on the map, dig upwards
for ten feet and
you'll
find 'em buried up a tree.
ELLINGTON: Good. Now here's the payment mate.
BLOODNOK: A gold plate? Ohh, just what I've always wanted for
me din-dins.
FX: Door bursts open.
SEAGOON: Which one of you two men is the British Ambassador?
BLOODNOK: What? Does my
Union Jack nightshirt mean nothing to you sir?
SEAGOON: What's it doing round your ankles?
BLOODNOK: It's been lowered for the night I tell you. It's
hell when it's at half-mast.
SEAGOON: Major, I'm on the trail of some stolen gold plates.
BLOODNOK: Stolen? What the... Argh!
FX: A plate falls to floor, rolls
round and round.
SEAGOON: (Over) A
gold plate...!
BLOODNOK: Nonsense! That's my Golden Record Award, for my
millionth record of...[9]
GRAMS: (Pre-recorded: Piano accompaniment, Sellers
singing, speed the whole thing up slightly.)
BLOODNOK: (Sings) I don’t
know who you are sir,
or where
you come from,
but
you’ve done me a power of good.
GRAMS: Explosion.
BLOODNOK: OOOOH! Another power!
(Sings)
I don’t know who you are sir,
or
where you’ve come from
but
you’ve done me a power of good.
I
was standing there sir,
doing
up my boot,
suddenly
from a back street
I
saw this hairy brute…
FX: Phone rings. Handset up.
BLOODNOK: Hello?
ECCLES: (On phone) Hello…
BLOODNOK: SNAP!
ECCLES: Ooow.
BLOODNOK: That got rid of him!
(Sings)Sooooo….
I
don’t know who you are sir,
or
where you’ve come from
but
you’ve done me a power of good.
That’s
what you’ve done to me,
(Gradually wind up the speed.)
You’ve
done me
a
military power of military goooood!
Awwwwr!
SEAGOON: I don't believe it.
ELLINGTON: Stop! Me know man who’s got lot of gold plate, mate
– Captain of Foreign Legion, Fort Sidi Bel Abbès mate. [10]
SEAGOON: Right. Seagoon! – Yes? – Follow that pointed finger,
darling! – Right.
GRAMS: Running boots with the ships hooter of the
Queen Mary behind. Speed the whole thing up into the distance.
GREENSLADE: I will now announce the Fort of Sidi Bel Abbès in
fluent French. Ze Fort at Sidi Bel Abbès in fluent French.
GRAMS: Regiment marching smartly. Distant commands
in French over. Play it at faster speed.
FRENCH SERGEANT: Mon Captain, zere is a bundle of low-grade rags to
zee you.
GRYTPYPE: Lew Grade in rags? Nonsense!
FRENCH SERGEANT: He zays he knew your mother.
GRYTPYPE: Oh dear.
MORIARTY: (Approaching) Ohh
Grytpype, my son. It’s your old French Daddy.
GRYTPYPE: You steamer! I told you not to hang round me during
your lifetime.
MORIARTY: WHAT!? You promised me one of those gold plates. I
demand...
FX: Slapstick.
MORIARTY: Ahiahiahiahi!
GRYTPYPE: Sergeant! Throw this revolutionary in the Shatt al
Arab prison.[11]
FRENCH SERGEANT: Come on you.
MORIARTY: (Going into
distance.) It’s a lie! A lie!
FRENCH SERGEANT & MORIARTY: (Distant) –
(Fierce argument. Extended.)
FX: Door slams.
GRAMS: Distant rifle fire. Battle cries.
FRENCH SERGEANT: Sacré Bleu, Mon Captain! Ze Arabs, zay are attacking
us! (English) Bang! Bang!
GRYTPYPE: Bang Bang? So they're shooting at us in English are
they! Man the ramparts and any other parts you can get hold of.
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic martial link.
GRAMS: Distant sounds of battle. Cannons, bugle
signals, shouting, rifle-fire.
BLUEBOTTLE: Bangee-bangee! Bangee! Ancor de un Arab crashes down
under the rifle-butt of Beau Bluebottle, garçon de Legion. [12]
ECCLES: Bang! Bang! BAAAAANNNG! (Pause) Click! Oh, a dud.
BLUEBOTTLE: Do you like wars, Eccles?
ECCLES: Yer. Vanilla flavoured wars are good.
BLUEBOTTLE: Which side are you on – the Arabs or the Foreign
Legion?
ECCLES: I don't know. They’re both shooting at me. Pourquoi
did you join the Legion?
BLUEBOTTLE: Ah. It's the same old story mon ameri. I joined to
forget a woman. Miriam Reene, of
ECCLES: Oh, was he better looking?
BLUEBOTTLE: No. She said to us at playtime she said, (Eccles,
don't do dat or you'll get into trouble… You’ll die.)[13] Well,
at playtime she said to me and Dave, “Who shows the most gets me.”
ECCLES: You won!
BLUEBOTTLE: No. I only got a bit of string, and he’d got
fourpence and a saucer of water.
ECCLES: Ohh, some people are born rich.
BLUEBOTTLE: Yeah. Ho hum.
ECCLES: What's the matter? What’s the matter ‘bottle?
BLUEBOTTLE: Well I’ll tell you. I haven't had any sleep all
night.
ECCLES: Why not?
BLUEBOTTLE: You know that film “Room at the Top”?[14]
ECCLES: Yer.
BLUEBOTTLE: Well, I'm in the room underneath 'em.
FX: Phone rings. Handset up.
ECCLES: (Extensive
throat clearing) Ahem. Hello… Comment allez-vous?
SEAGOON: (On phone;
imitating Eccles) Heeeello!
ECCLES: Heeeeello!
SEAGOON: (On phone) SNAP!!
ECCLES: Oooh, très bien. Très bien.[15]
SEAGOON: (On phone) That's
three games to one, right? Come down and let me in the back door.
ECCLES: Right-e-oh!
GRAMS: Mad rush of pair of boots down long flight
of wooden stairs. Take a long time.
FX: Door opens.
ECCLES: (Breathless) Dey
play that record too fast.
SEAGOON: That's it – go on, give all our secrets away.
ECCLES: O.K. Bluebottle's shirts are made from his mum's old
drawers. Oh-hoho!
BLUEBOTTLE: Fermez le bouch vous! Or je will blat vous on le
conk.
ECCLES & BLUEBOTTLE: (extended
argument in cod-French.)
SEAGOON: Little string and teeth soldier, listen! The Captain
of this fort is a criminal. So what we are going to do is this...
GRYTPYPE: (In distance.)
Who's that? Is that you darling?
SEAGOON: (Whispers)
Blast – it's Grytpype-Thynne! Leave this to me. I'm a brilliant impressionist. (Clears
throat.) Ahem. (Aloud – chicken
impression.) Bwrk bwrk bwrk bwaark!
GRYTPYPE: (Distance.) A
horse? There's no horses in this fort.
ECCLES: (Whispers) Try somethin’ else.
SEAGOON: (Dog impression.) Bwa! Bwow wow wow wow wow!
GRYTPYPE: There's no chickens either.
ECCLES: (Whispers)
This one's a smart one. Listen, let me try. I'm good at dis.
GRAMS: (Pre-recorded) ECCLES: (Series of strange noises. Include excerpt from
“Be My Love” in very high strained key. End with series of rhythm mouth noises.
Add reverb to all.[16]
ECCLES: (Whispers)
Dat fooled him.
SEAGOON: Are you sure?
ECCLES: (Whispers) Yeah.
(Calls out) Dat fooled you, didn't
it?
FX: Pistol shot.
ECCLES: (Screams) AWWWWWW!
GRYTPYPE: So it's Lord Seagoon and Company.
SEAGOON: Where's that gold-plate? Mother's waiting to serve
dinner to some guests. They've been waiting for fifteen years for dinner, and
the rumbling noises are dreadful.
GRYTPYPE: (Distance.) I've had them all melted down into gold bullets and
they're in this gun.
FX: Series of rapid pistol shots.
SEAGOON: Hooray! I'm going to die rich. Ohhh ohh.
ORCHESTRA: Thin chord in C.
SECOMBE: Well, that's
it folks. As you all go to the cloaks, you'll be handed back your glass-eyes,
false-teeth and wooden-legs, and wouldn't you.
(To the orchestra.) In two,
lads... [17]
ORCHESTRA: “Old Comrades March”. End music.
ORCHESTRA: Ray Ellington Quartet. Playout.
YTI 