GOON SHOW: TLO 72138
9TH SERIES: No 7
Script by Larry Stephens & Maurice Wiltshire
GREENSLADE: This is the BBC Home Service.
SECOMBE: I like the way you said that, Wal.
GREENSLADE: Oh, thank you.
SECOMBE: It had a certain dramatic power, you know.
GREENSLADE: Mm mm.
SECOMBE: Alec Guinness could use a man like you.
GREENSLADE: What for?
SECOMBE: Well, dig his garden, mend the bridge, clean his boots.
GREENSLADE: Mr. Seagoon, do I look the sort of man who goes around cleaning people's boots?
SECOMBE: Show me your tongue.
GREENSLADE: No no, no, no. No, no, no, don't get the wrong idea. This black on my tongue is only liquorice.
SECOMBE: Don't give me that, Wal. Who wears liquorice boots!?
GREENSLADE: John Snagge.
SEAGOON: The mad fashion-crazed fool! Altogether now!
ORCHESTRA: Tatty chord in C. Cymbal cut off.
SELLERS: Excuse me, who is the owner of policeman PC 439?
MILLIGAN: (Distant – as if from audience.) I am.
SELLERS: Well, would you come out and move him, he's holding up the traffic. Do you mind?
SECOMBE: I've got a funny line here, says 'Why, is it coming down?' Ha ha ha ha! Aha! (Clears throat.) Ahem. I shouldn't have said that. 'Is it coming down?'
GREENSLADE: It's the cold weather, you know.
SECOMBE: Enough of these jocular funniments, Wal. Jump on this porridge motor bike, and announce the knitting pattern of tonight's woollemen programme.
GREENSLADE: Right, I wool.
SECOMBE: Wool done, Wal. (Laughs) Aha ha ha. Wool done. (Gives up. Self-fade.) I'm going.
GREENSLADE: This joke is now available on the new breakable record. Why not buy one today and smash it for Christmas. Orchestra – some Greenslade music, please.
ORCHESTRA: Pompous, fat-man orchestral introduction.
GREENSLADE: Ladies and gentlemen, we were to have started this week with part one, but owing to circumstances over which I have no self-control we are starting with part four. Therefore we present part four which, as it now appears first is re-named part one. Therefore – part three.
SELLERS: Listeners are requested to make the necessary adjustments.
SECOMBE: They are also warned to put on dark glasses to protect them from the dazzling glare of Greenslade's nose.
GREENSLADE: Yes, because I polish my nose with...
SECOMBE: Yes! Always use ...
SECOMBE: It lasts the whole nose through.
ORCHESTRA: Long, thin chord. Cymbal snap.
GREENSLADE: To open the scene, we take a knife and cut round the dotted line.
we find the
GRAMS: Distant blizzard. Continue under.
GREENSLADE: Beside the road stand two ragged tremblers trying to thumb a lift.
GRAMS: Blizzard swells. Mix in motor traffic.
MORIARTY: (Raving) Ah, ah. Ahyah ya ya. Ah, ayah. Yeous akalibarsh. Sapristi nabolas! It's no good, Grytpype, they won't stop.
GRYTPYPE: Well of course they won't stop when you keep waving that revolting thing at them.
MORIARTY: It's my thumb.
GRYTPYPE: What have you been doing with it?
MORIARTY: I've been holding it up on the end of a pole – and he doesn't like it.
GRYTPYPE: Silence, you steaming heap! You hear me Moriarty, there is only one way to stop a car – sex appeal. Sex appeal is the key word. Now roll up your trouser legs and show them the hairs on your socks.
MORIARTY: My socks? But I ate them last night!
GRYTPYPE: All by yourself? You greedy French swine! What about me?
MORIARTY: Every time I tried to eat you, you kept waking up.
GRYTPYPE: So! Those teeth marks on my underwear were yours!
MORIARTY: It was hell in there, I tell you!
MORIARTY: I must have money and food! Adzoww! Money and food!
GRYTPYPE: Sshh! Quiet! Something's coming.
GRAMS: Truck approaching
MORIARTY: (Over) Oh. It's a hand-operated piano.
GRAMS: Over engine, piano playing
GRYTPYPE: (Over) Stop it, Moriarty.
MORIARTY: (Over engine and piano) I can't, it's a nervous habit.
GRAMS: Piano stops playing, screech of brakes.
GRYTPYPE: The piano drew up with a screech of brakes. The lid opened, and a head popped out.
SEAGOON: Yes folks. It was mine – it came with the body. The legs I got from a second-hand leg dealer. (Calls) Hello, gentlemen. What ails thee?
GRYTPYPE: Tell me, why are you driving that piano, laddie?
SEAGOON: My chauffeur is ill. He's got a bad case of the nose.
GRYTPYPE: Oh, most painful. The Count here often suffers from it.
MORIARTY: Yes, noses run in our family. (Laughs) Ha ha ha ha. A merry type joke. Oho ho.
MORIARTY: Oh oh oh oh oh. Ah ahauo. Oh, my crins.
GRYTPYPE: (Quiet you laughing nit, or I'll fetch you one round the knees with this starting handle, do you hear me?) Now, little square bladder…
SEAGOON: What, what, what what what what what what what?
GRYTPYPE: Now, don't tell me your name, let me guess your face. You are ... Krell Pneem!
SEAGOON: No, I'm not.
GRYTPYPE: You see, I was right the first time. I never forget a tune.
SEAGOON: Actually, I'm Ned Seagoon, licenced piano-driver in
E-flat, and former hygiene orderly in charge of the Eighth Army ablutions at
GRYTPYPE: What? Then you must have a shocking tale to unfold.
SEAGOON: No, it got torn off in the laundry.
GRYTPYPE: Oh. In that case you must write your war memoirs. You'll make a fortune.
SEAGOON: My memoirs! You're right! I'll start immediately, if not before. Have you got any paper?
GRYTPYPE: Yes, but I'm wearing it.
SEAGOON: Oh. Then I'll write them on this piano. Let's see now, Chapter one.
GRAMS: Piano plays brief jazz phrase – make it feel extemporary.
GRYTPYPE: Gad! What an exciting story!
MORIARTY: Ohhh, ha ha ha. Neddie, you'll get rich. Get Bridget Bardot to pose for that book, it'll be a best seller.
GRYTPYPE: You can have it serialized on television by Winifred Atwell. Well so long Neddie. We have to go now.
SEAGOON: Go? Why?
GRYTPYPE: Well, we all have to go sooner or later, don't we Moriarty? Come, get your knees and hat.
GRAMS: Double whoosh.
SEAGOON: Well, folks, I must carry on writing my memoirs, but to keep you amused, the attendants will pass around little rubber replicas of Max Geldray's conk.
GELDRAY: Oh boy, my conk is twice as popular since I polished it with ...
MAX GELDRAY: 'I Kiss Your Little Hand Madame'.
ORCHESTRA: Brisk musical link.
GREENSLADE: And now, if I stand facing east, I can get a perfect view of part two. The scene – a Labour Exchange, where a queue of retired Field Marshalls are lining up to draw their pensions.
COCKNEY FIELD MARSHALL: 'Ere, stop that shovin' there!
SOUTHWARK FIELD MARSHALL: You’ll take your turn like everybody else.
SPRIGGS: Stand aside. Stand aside, Ji-im! I am Field Marshall Spriggs, I tell you. I want to get to the front.
COCKNEY FIELD MARSHALL: You never wanted to get there in the war, did ya, eh?
SPRIGGS: Al lies, all lies folks.
COCKNEY FIELD MARSHALL: Look at 'at, Charlie, eh?
SOUTHWARK FIELD MARSHALL: You're dead right, Fred..
SPRIGGS: Are you calling me a coward?
SOUTHWARK FIELD MARSHALL: Yeah, I'm a-call you a coward.
SPRIGGS: You're a liar. I'm a retired coward, DSO and bath-chair and steam.
FLOWERDEW: Here we are. Retired coward's pension – seventeen and four pence.
FX: Coins on table.
SPRIGGS: Oh, thank you madam.
FLOWERDEW: You're welcome cheeky.
SPRIGGS: Perhaps I was wrong. Oh, the pension.
FX: Gathering coins
GRYTPYPE: Field Marshall Spriggs?
GRYTPYPE: My name is Hercules Grytpype-Thynne.
SPRIGGS: From the book of the same name.
GRYTPYPE: Of course. First impression. And the empty stomach in this rag waistcoat belongs to none other than Count 'Rumbles' ...
MORIARTY: (over) Awwww.
GRYTPYPE: ... Moriarty, champion barbed-wire hurdler, until his tragic accident.
GRYTPYPE: Now listen, Field Marshall. Gunner Seagoon, former
ablutions orderly at
SPRIGGS: Ohh. Then the world will know the facts about
GRYTPYPE: Worse than that! He intends to tell the secrets of the military laundry.
SPRIGGS: Oh, Jim. My career is ruined. As a Field Marshall I will be finished for ever! I shall be asked to resign from my unemployment queue. Are you sure about this, Jim?
GRYTPYPE: Yes, at this very moment Seagoon is writing the last
chapter on a rosewood piano on the
SPRIGGS: Bring me that piano alive and this ten shillings is yours, Jim.
GRYTPYPE: So it is! It's got my name on it.
SPRIGGS: What is your name?
GRYTPYPE: My name is Mr. Ten Shillings.
SPRIGGS: Any relation to the pound?
GRYTPYPE: My half-brother.
SPRIGGS: Of course! Bring me that piano at once in the key of G.
GRYTPYPE: Very well. Come, Moriarty.
GRAMS: Double whoosh.
GREENSLADE: And now, part three. A Welsh roundabout on the
SEAGOON: Hello folks! Whoops! Hello folks! I've finished writing my memoirs. Just listen to this last paragraph.
ORCHESTRA: Big finish on grand piano..
SEAGOON: Like it? Aha ha ha. Ah yes, this will earn me a fortune, if not a five-tune or a six-tune. Or a seven-tune. (Coughs) Ahem.
WILLIUM: 'Ay. Excuse me, sir, there's someone to see ya.
SEAGOON: Who is it?
SEAGOON: Well, ask you to come in.
WILLIUM: I am in.
SEAGOON: Then get out!
WILLIUM: Oh, 'ere, 'ere. You can't get rid 'o me as easy as that, I tell ya. I come from the Borough Council to collect the rent what you owe.
SEAGOON: What rent?
WILLIUM: The rent for
SEAGOON: What? Fourteen and a tanner for an unfurnished road, with outside plumbing?
WILLIUM: Yern. And what's more, you are responsible for doing the decorations, you are. You'll 'ave to repaint that white line, matey.
SEAGOON: I refuse to pay, matey.
WILLIUM: Then I shall be forced to distrain upon your furniture.
SEAGOON: You filthy swine!
SEAGOON: Anyway, all I have is this piano.
WILLIUM: Well, that'll do. I shall confriscrinate it, and sell it for the value o' da rent. (calls) Charlie?
WILLIUM: Take it away.
CHARLIE: Git up there. Git up.
GRAMS: Cracking of whip.
CHARLIE: Oww, me nut!
GRAMS: Chickens clucking. Bring in sounds of the keys of an old, honky-tonk piano being struck with large hammer.
SEAGOON: In a trice, they harnessed my piano to a huge piebald chicken, and drove it away. (Weeping) Ohhh. My priceless memoirs gone. All that work for nothing. Grief! Mourning! Over-acting!
ORCHESTRA: Dramatic link.
GREENSLADE: Well, things are beginning to move now. You see while you've been asleep, the piano has been sold by public auction, to a retired elephant sexer.
FX: Various doors opening and closing in quick succession.
BANNISTER: (Over, calling. Slightly distant.) Oh. Hello? Are you there, Henry? Henry? Henry? Henry? Oh dear, dear, dear. (approaching) Oh dear, dear. Henry?
FX: Doors stop.
BANNISTER: Oh ooh! He's bought a piano. (Calls) Henry? (Going off.) Henry?
CRUN: What? What is it, Min?
BANNISTER: (Approaching) Where are you, cocky?
CRUN: I'm in the piano, modern Min.
BANNISTER: What are you doing in there without a chaperone? You know you're too old for that sort of G-string thing.
ORCHESTRA: Quick glissandi on piano strings.
BANNISTER: (over) Come out, so.
CRUN: (Over strings.) Right Min. I'm coming Min.
BANNISTER: Oh Henry! After all these years, our own piano.
CRUN: Yes. All our own, Min. At last we can take a bath.
BANNISTER: (Excited) Weeeeeeee!
(Sings, with foot tapping.) Splish, splash, I was having a bath,
round about a Saturday night,
ding dong, anum apapoh, eenum ...
CRUN: Contain yourself, Min, contain yourself.
BANNISTER: (Still singing) I'm going now, buddy. Oh, bim biddle oh ...
CRUN: (over singing) You've had too much Indian brandy, Min.
BANNISTER: (sings) Myup amanum doh.
CRUN: Stop that wicked spasm dancing, will you. Now then we must fill the piano with water. Fetch me the tap, Min.
BANNISTER: Just by chance, here it is.
GRAMS: Running water. Continue under.
BANNISTER: (over) Ohh, wonderful. You realise now we shall have to buy some carbolic?
CRUN: I've got some carbolic, Min.
BANNISTER: What the…? Where? Where? Where is the carbolic?
CRUN: I got it by here.
BANNISTER: (Agitated) You've never given me the carbolic before!
CRUN: (Getting angry) Well, I don't have to show it to you if I don't want to!
BANNISTER: (Angry) Yes you have! (High speed gibberish) Where is it?
CRUN: In the safe, that's where it is. Don't you remember, my Uncle Cecil left it me in his will.
BANNISTER: You fool of a man. You know that Myrtle Knickt got the soap and we got the house-brick.
CRUN: Well, we shall have to wash ourselves with a house-brick then.
BANNISTER: Oh, the piano's nearly full, Henry.
CRUN: Good, good.
GRAMS: Running water slows to a stop.
CRUN: Now, just to test the water, Min.
BANNISTER: (Smacking of lips) Tastes delicious.
CRUN: Don't drink it, you silly thing. Lend me your TOOOEEE, Min. Just dip it in.
FX: Quick splash.
BANNISTER: OHHHHH! Ohh, the ploo! The ploo!
CRUN: Oh. It's too cold. I can't get into that, Min. It would turn my trousers blue.
BANNISTER: Well, we'll have to heat the water, buddy.
CRUN: Yes. I'll light a fire under the piano, Min.
FX: Match being struck.
GRAMS: Fire crackling. (Continue under.)
BANNISTER: Careful with those matches, they're not insured against fire, you know.
CRUN: I know. There, it's doing nicely now.
FX: Knocking on door.
CRUN: What! What!
BANNISTER: OOHH! Pickapow! Pickapow! Pickapow! It's the door. It wants to come in.
CRUN: Oh. It must have forgotten its key. I'll just put on my door opening hat.
FX: Door opens.
SEAGOON: Good morning.
BANNISTER: Mor-ning, sir.
BANNISTER: Good mor-ning.
CAST: (Improvisation. Extended)
SEAGOON: Good morning.
SEAGOON: Mor-ning. Mor-ning.
CRUN: Well, it passes the time, doesn't it?
SEAGOON: Yes, that's another thirty seconds gone. Now,I hear you bought a piano today.
BANNISTER: That's right, young man.
GRAMS: Bring up fire crackling
BANNISTER: It's in the morning room.
CRUN: Huh! Min! Sound the alarm! Send for the fires brigade!
BANNISTER: Tipadoo, wickadoo, wha ... what's happened? What's happened?
CRUN: The water's caught fire, and it's burning the piano down!
SEAGOON: Stand back while I throw on this bucket of Ray Ellington!
RAY ELLINGTON QUARTET - 'The Late, Late Show'.
GREENSLADE: That was, of course, Ray Ellington, the bed-ridden tap-dancer. And now, part three.
ORCHESTRA: Brief, out-of-tune fanfare.
GREENSLADE: We return you to Mr. Crun's front parlour where Seagoon's piano is still blazing merrily away.
GRAMS: Fire crackling. (Continues under.)
SEAGOON: Oh, my piano! My memoirs! Oh horrors! I must play this record of a fire brigade.
GRAMS: (Slightly sped up.) Fire engine bells, fire-truck approaching. Tyres squealing. Running footsteps approach. Stops.
Eccles: (pre-recorded – higher speed) Ah. Where's the fire?
GRAMS: (Pre-recorded – higher speed continued.)
Eccles: Just a minute. I'll get down off this record. Hup!
FX: Set of boots land on floor.
GRAMS: Fire continues under.
ECCLES: Ah! My voice has dropped as well. Well, what's goin' on here? What's goin' on? Hai-ayi-ayi-ayi-ayi!
SEAGOON: My piano's on fire.
ECCLES: Oh, I better write that down in my note-book. C-A-T, cat.
SEAGOON: No, no – piano. I want you to put it out.
ECCLES: Oh. I can only spell 'cat', so I'll have to put the cat out!
SEAGOON: But the cat isn't on fire.
ECCLES: What! Then what did you send for me for?
SEAGOON: Because, you booted idiot, my piano is on fire.
ECCLES: Fire! Quick! (Calls from distance) Jump into this sheet! Go on! Jump! I'll catch you!
SEAGOON: I'm standing on the floor.
ECCLES: Oh well, get on a chair then. Now, jump!
FX: Boots landing on floor.
SEAGOON: Hurrah! Saved! Aha ha ha.
ECCLES: Well, I'll be off now. Any time.
FX: Door closes.
GRAMS: Fire crackling continues.
SEAGOON: Folks, what a calamity! My piano burned to the ground. (Weeping) Oh, woe, woe! Acting, pathos, tears, Pagliacci! The paint and the powder…
SECOMBE & MILLIGAN: (Sings) On with the motley,
and the paint and the powder…
GREENSLADE: Right, right. Thank you! Thank you! That's quite enough, thank you very much.
SEAGOON: (Aside) Sorry Wal, I was just gettin' a bit of the old operatic there. (Blows raspberry.)
GREENSLADE: Now, if you'll step into this rubber duck-pond, I will tell what happens next. It's part four. In a secret chemical laboratory, a chemical experiment is taking place.
ORCHESTRA: Bloodnok theme.
GRAMS: Liquid boiling, loud explosion.
BLOODNOK: (Distant) Ohhhhh!
GRAMS: Liquid continues to boil. More explosions.
BLOODNOK: (Distant) Ah-ohhhhh!
GRAMS: Atom bomb.
BLOODNOK: (Approaching) Oh. There must be a cure for it, you know. (Calls) Singhiz! Singhiz! Sweep up the debris, will you.
SEAGOON: (Distant) Major Bloodnok!
BLOODNOK: What? Don't point yourself at me sir, I might go off.
SEAGOON: What are you doing in this laboratory?
BLOODNOK: (Offended) How dare you! What! I was just doing an experiment, sir. I was finding out what happens when you mix hot Bombay duck and curried gunpowder. Ohoho! Oh! Oh dear! Yes. (Sudden shock) I say… Wait! Wait! Where's my old photographs? Cor struth! Aren't you Lance Sweeper Seagoon of the Fourteenth Cavalry Followers?
SEAGOON: Yes. I've lost my bucket, and I need your help. You see, I've written my memoirs.
BLOODNOK: (shocked) Ee what? It's a lie, I tell you, it's a lie! I wasn't in that wardrobe! In any case, I was waiting for a bus you see.
SEAGOON: But I haven't mentioned you.
BLOODNOK: Oh, oh, well – it was somebody else.
SEAGOON: Anyway ... yes, yes, yes, my memoirs have been burned and they were worth a fortune.
BLOODNOK: A fortune! But surely you kept a copy?
SEAGOON: Only in my head.
BLOODNOK: Oh! Then we must take your head to a publisher at once. I'll just get my hat and coat and trousers and socks, vest and underpants.
GREENSLADE: Seagoon pulls up a comfortable tiger and sits down to wait. But hist! Let us listen awhile at this open drain.
GRAMS: Water splashing.
MORIARTY: (Sings) Moonlight and roses,
for all the power that was given me...
GRYTPYPE: Hush, Moriarty. Did you hear that mouth-type talking?
GRAMS: Splashing stops.
GRYTPYPE: Neddie has kept a copy of the memoirs in his head.
MORIARTY: What? Then we must steal his head at once.
GRYTPYPE: Yes. But who can we get to do it?
MORIARTY: Wait! I know just the brave, intrepid lad. Forward lad.
BLUEBOTTLE: It's a duck! It is not, it's super-Bottle!
MORIARTY: Listen super-Bottle, get Seagoon out of that laboratory and a fortune in sherbet suckers is yours.
BLUEBOTTLE: Ohh, ecstasy! For two sherbet suckers, Frieda Niggs is mine tonight!
MORIARTY: I gave her three last night! (Laughs) Ha ha ha ha. Right, let's go through this sound effect of a door opening.
FX: Door opens.
BLUEBOTTLE: Men of the
LITTLE JIM: Yes.
BLUEBOTTLE: …by the left, both feet forward putting, quick go!
GRAMS: Regiment marching.
BLUEBOTTLE: (Over) Halting, by placing feet in the stop position – HALT! STOP!
GRAMS: Marching boots stop.
SEAGOON: What, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what, what's this? A piece of bread and jam with a sticky boy on the end?
BLUEBOTTLE: Men, corks in pop-guns put. Guns at Neddie, point. Hands up, Neddie, you’re our prisoner.
ECCLES: Yeah. Hands up, Neddie, you are our prisoner.
FX: Cork pop.
ECCLES: Ooh, how did that get out there!
BLUEBOTTLE: Shut up Eccles, you nit.
SEAGOON: Eccles – I thought you were a fireman.
ECCLES: Yeah, but somebody put me out, and they gave me the part of a Boy Scout.
SEAGOON: Which part of a Boy Scout?
ECCLES: (Whistles) The whistle.
BLUEBOTTLE: Alright Mr. Steam-man, we've captured him.
MORIARTY: Well done. Here's a pair of braces for your trouble.
BLUEBOTTLE: What trouble?
MORIARTY: Your trousers keep falling down! They're still for that type. Aha ha ha. The little jokiule.
ORCHESTRA: Thin chord. Cymbal snap.
SEAGOON: Hello, folks. The fiends took me by force to the offices of Norbet Nark, Publisher.
NARK: Come in.
FX: Door opens.
MORIARTY: Ah. Bonjour mon Anglais ami. Bonjour. Je avec ici a copy of a tres interesting homme you may like to publish.
NARK: Ah? Let me read him. He's not pseudo Tudor with the shingle elevation, is he?
MORIARTY: Only in the mating season.
SEAGOON: He laid me on the desk, and the publisher quickly thumbed through me.
FX: Turning pages.
NARK: Ah. Yes. He's quite fascinating. Thrilling and very well written. Of course, we may have trouble with the censors, he's rather dirty in parts you know. How does he end?
MORIARTY: Oh, you know, the usual way.
NARK: Gentlemen, I'll publish him!
SEAGOON: What? Oh no you won't! I refuse to be published!
FX: Door opens.
BLOODNOK: You swines! You've stolen my Neddie! Hands up!
MORIARTY: Too late, huzzah! Drop that gun!
GRAMS: Heavy object thuds to the floor
BLOODNOK: Drop that lamp-post!
GRAMS: Metallic clang
GRYTPYPE: Drop that gas-works!
GRAMS: Building crashes to the ground
SEAGOON: Drop that
GRAMS: Iron girders fall to ground.
GRYTPYPE: Drop that English Seminar!
GRAMS: Heavy splash.
SEAGOON: Drop that pencil!
GRAMS: Large bell being struck.
GRYTPYPE: Drop that explosion!
GRAMS: Atom bomb.
GREENSLADE: But it was no use. Soon afterwards Seagoon was published in an edition of four thousand copies and as from tomorrow, will be on sale at all leading book-sellers and second-class slipper-baths. Give your friends a Seagoon for Christmas - they probably deserve it. Goodnight all.
ORCHESTRA: “Old Comrades March.”
ORCHESTRA: Playout. “Fascinating Rhythm”
 Larry Stephens was the unrecognised genius of the Goon Shows. He co-wrote the scripts with Milligan right from the first series. Beginning with the third series, Stephens started writing pastiche Milligan to cover up Spike’s psychotic episodes, when he would be admitted to hospital and unable to contribute to the series. Many times, even when Spike could not write, he could perform, so some scripts penned only by Stephens were performed by Spike, a great compliment to Stephen’s writing style. Stephens’ solo credits include episode 10 of series 4, then suddenly in series 5 he disappears, only to reappear towards the end of series 6 (episodes 25, 26 & 27). In series 7 he writes almost the entire series with Milligan while in series 8, he writes much of the material, contributing two shows himself without Spike’s help – (“The Stolen Postman” (11/8th) and “The Thing on the Mountain” (15/8th)). Larry’s contribution to series 9 was entirely limited to number 7, “The Seagoon Memoirs”. Stephens died of a heart attack one month after this recording was made.
 Brigitte Anne-Marie Bardot born 28 September 1934 is a French actress, singer and fashion model, who later became an animal rights activist. She was one of the best known sex symbols of the 1950s and 1960s and was widely referred to by her initials, B.B. During her early career, professional photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed to her image of Bardot's sensuality. One showed Bardot from behind, dressed in a white corset. British photographer Cornel Lucas made images of Bardot in the 1950s and 1960s, that have become representative of her public persona.
 Una Winifred Atwell (1910-1983), Trinidadian pianist of great popularity in Great Britain and Australia. She made the top of the charts with boogie-woogie and ragtime hits, still the only female instrumentalist to do so.
 Written by Rotter, Young, Erwin and Lewis c1929. Recorded famously by Spike Jones in 1947.
 Means fourteen shillings and sixpence. A tanner is a sixpence. Today it is worth round about £23.
 Bannister is singing the current Bobby Darin hit “Splish, Splash” (1958), Darin’s first hit. A radio colleague had pitched him a line originally written by his mother, a frustrated song writer herself, saying it wouldn’t work as a rock and roll number. Darin wrote the song in about an hour and it sold over a million copies. Spike (as Bannister) sings the second line incorrectly. It should be “long about a Saturday night.”
 By Roy Alfred and Murray Berlin. It was a hit for Dakota Staton (1930-2007) in 1957, and for Nat “King” Cole with Count Basie’s Orchestra 1958.