THE
SEAGOON MEMOIRS
GOON SHOW: TLO 72138
9TH
SERIES: No 7
RECORDED:
Script by Larry Stephens
& Maurice Wiltshire[1]
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: Arghh.
SECOMBE: Yes.
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...
MILLIGAN: PING!
SECOMBE: Yes! Always use ...
MILLIGAN: PING!
SECOMBE: It lasts the whole nose through.
MILLIGAN: PING!
ORCHESTRA: Long, thin chord. Cymbal snap.
GREENSLADE: To open the scene, we take a knife and cut round the
dotted line.
Inside
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!
GRYTPYPE: What?
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.
FX: Slapstick.
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.[2]
GRYTPYPE: You can have it serialized on television by Winifred
Atwell.[3] 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 ...
CAST: PING!
MAX GELDRAY: 'I Kiss Your Little Hand Madame'.[4]
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?
SPRIGGS: Yeeees?
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' ...
GRAMS: Bubbling.
MORIARTY: (over) Awwww.
GRYTPYPE: ... Moriarty, champion barbed-wire hurdler, until
his tragic accident.
BANNISTER: Ohhhh.
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?
WILLIUM: Me!
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?[5]
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!
WILLIUM: Ehi?
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?
CHARLIE: Yes?
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,[6]
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.
CRUN: Mor-ning.
BANNISTER: Mor-ning, sir.
SEAGOON: Mor-ning.
CRUN: Mor-ning.
SEAGOON: Mor-ning.
BANNISTER: Good mor-ning.
CRUN: Mor-ning.
CAST: (Improvisation. Extended)
SEAGOON: Good morning.
CRUN: Mor-ning.
SEAGOON: Mor-ning. Mor-ning.
GREENSLADE: 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!
BANNISTER: OOHHHHH!
CRUN: OOHHHHH!
SEAGOON: Stand back while I throw on this bucket of Ray
Ellington!
RAY
ELLINGTON QUARTET - 'The
Late, Late Show'.[7]
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?
SEAGOON: Here!
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!
SEAGOON: Hup!
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.
NARK: Oh.
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”
YTI 