From: email@example.com (Lachy Darby) Subject: Request for a couple of scripts Date: 1997/01/09 Message-ID: <firstname.lastname@example.org> content-type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii organization: OzEmail Ltd - Australia mime-version: 1.0 reply-to: email@example.com newsgroups: alt.fan.goons GOON SHOW 'World War One' 8th Series, 22nd Show broadcast Monday, 24-02-1958 transcribed by flesh from 'Goon Show Classics 4',1989 Polygram Records Marco Nadal firstname.lastname@example.org Announcer: This is the BBC. [singing] But they call it Eiirreeelaaand. Sellers(?): [quietly] Eiirelaand. I don't like what he's doing Pat, I don't like it. We'll have a meeting about- FX: SHEEP Secombe: Whilst that record of sheep is being played, here are the remains of a Goon Show washed up on a Brighton beach near Croyden. Milligan: [older than god] Yes, oh yes, and in faded writing, we see that the title is: [feeble, aphyxiating]
[normal] , Part One. MUSIC: MILITARY THEME Sellers: 1917 England was at war. Frenchie(Sellers?): France was at war. Eccles: I was at lunch! Ha Ha Ha ! Sellers: 1917 and here's an impression of it: FX: SOUNDS OF BATTLE. EXPLOSIONS. BUGLE SOUNDING OUT. BUGLE PITIFULLY FADES OUT. Frenchie: Madre Dei! The retreat. FX: CRIES OF ANGUISH. CROWD RUNNING AWAY. Sellers: 1917. British Chiefs of Staff call meeting. FX: SALOON. GLASSES CLANGING, PIANO MUSIC, CUTLERY ETC. Sellers: Yea, alright, that's enough, that's enough. After all, enough is as good as a feast. I'll... Secombe: [background] I haven't had enough. Sellers: Yes, hm. Secombe: I haven't had enough. Sell: [laconic] Oh, haven't you. Sec: No. Sell: Well then, swallow this obstacle. Sec: *gulp* *ARGH* Oh ho, delicious. What was it? Sel: It was enough. Sec: I don't feel as if I had enough. Sel: Well it was enough! It was marked on the tin A-N-U-F-F. Nitwit, four ounces. So you have just eaten a four ounce NUFF. Sec: Well, I'm afraid I haven't had enough nuff. Sel: [fed up] Well, *I* had enough. Say Ahhhhh... Sec: Aaaah... FX: GUN SHOT. Sec: ...argh! I'm dying. At last I've had enough. MUSIC: Corny musical chord. Mil: End of part one. And now [mumble][mumble][mumble] part two. Sel: I called you heads of services together to break the news. It appears that for the past 3 years, we've been at war. W-A-R. Pronounced... FX: WAR NOISES AS BEFORE. BUGLE SOUNDING THE ATTACK. C.O.: I say, it sounds jolly dangerous. Sec: Who are we at war with? Sel: That's what I keep asking myself. If only we knew, we could tell a policeman. We must try to capture one of this naughty type enemies and try to find the nationality of his body. Sec: Right. I'll go down to the labour exchange to get a body tester. End of part two, Suh! MUSIC: CHORD. Mil: And now.[mumble][mumble][mumble] part three. Announcer: The lounge of the East Eighton labour exchange. Sec: Oh, I'll have you know I'm the manager of this labour exchange. Bentine: [old coot] Pardon me manager. [strained] any fear of work today? Sec: Oooohh... yer gettin ten loud broken limbs kidd-ough (Welsh) Ben: It's only...you gotta be careful these days there's a lot of work about matey. I gotta be careful, only 4 more days and I celebrate my 50 years without work. Sec: 50 years unemployed...nyuk, nyuk. Good heavens... fill in this form for your O.B.E. FX: BELLS Ben: Aghh. Oghh. Listen -- there goes the-danger-of-work bell! Sec: Quick! Barricade the door! FX: CLANGING, CHAINS, PUSHING CLOSED DOOR ETC. Grytpype-Thynne: Give me the binoculars, Moriarty. M: What can you see? G-T: Nothing. M: But which direction is it going in? FX: KNOCK ON DOOR. OPENS. G-T: What do you want, knocker? Sec: I'm with the war office. Gentlemen, I think you should know that we're at war. G-T: Oh; Was it something we've said? Sec: Heavens no. We look for a decent chap to go and try to capture one of the enemy -- in-tact. M: Ahhh. What's it worth? Sec: Well, for the chap that is successful, there will be a nice nest-egg waiting for him. M: Ahhh. How much in money. Sec: No money. I told you, you get an egg with a nest in it. M: I should risk my life for an egg in a nest?! Sec: Chickens do it all the time. M: Then send a chicken. Sec: Gad, what a brilliant idea. Chicken squad, quick, march. FX: SOUND OF MARCHING & CHICKEN NOISES. Announcer: Meantime, here is a jolly dutchman who'll obliterate himself with porridge, Max Felderay. MUSIC: MAX GELDRAY INTERLUDE. MUSIC: CLASSIC WAR SCENE INTRO. Mil: And now on the faded document I see: , Part four. Announcer: In which, Grytpype and Moriarty leave the exchange and seek out their fortune: FX: HARSH, COLD WIND. M: Augh. Auuugh. Ohhh-hoohaugh. We must find somewhere to sleep tonight. G-T: Yes. Look, there's a cottage 800 miles away. M: I'll knock. FX: KNOCKING. DOOR OPENS. Sec: [surprise] Ahhhh-hhha. Two men, 800 miles away. Welcome to the manor. It's only a luxury 15-mill pound villa, but it's home to me. What's mine is yours -- let's be jolly friends forever! G-T & Sec [both laugh] G-T: Is your name, Charlie? Sec: No. Why? G-T: Welll...you look like one. Sec: No, no. My name's Neddie Seagoon folks! FX: RECORDED APPLAUSE. Ned: Stop! M: What a nice little place we have here ehh... what a niiize leeettle place. What a nice little room and a nice little floor. Nice, everybody's nice. I like this. Ned: It is a nice little place, isn't it. It belongs to Lord Delfuss. M: [mimic] Lord Delfuss. Sec: Yes. I'll be looking after it for him while he's gone away. G-T: Will he be gone long? Ned: Quite a while I should say. They buried him this morning. G-T: What was the trouble? Ned: Well, he'd been lying on his back for two days. G-T: That doesn't mean a man's dead. Ned: Huh-huh, this time it did. [well-timed pause] He was at the bottom of a lake. G-T: Uh! M: Aughh.... poor man. G-T: Well Neddie, I'm going to be frank. Ned: Then I'll be Tom. M: I'll be Gladys. FX: SLAP G-T: Neddie, how would you like to buy these duff shares in the german army? Ned: Are they worth anything? G-T: Of course. You know, I have certain information that I just thought of, the Germans are bound to win any war they enter. Ned: What a chance! Wait here, I'll get my savings out of a P.O. G-T: This, I must see. Ned: It's all in pennies! G-T: Well we don't mind spending pennies. Moriarty, count them! M: [slowly getting sped up, Chipmunk-like] 1, 2, 3, 4 ....... FX: CHIPMUNK GETTING SHOT M: [normal] Fifty pounds! FX: CASH REGISTER CA-CHINK. G-T: Thank you Ned. And now a sailor's farewell. FX: FOGHORN [SPEEDING UP] UNPLUG NOISE Ned: And so saying, the two nice men threw me out of the house. FX: SPLASH Ned: [indignant] Who left that splash outside?! Bentine: Hey, your name Neddie Seagoon. Ned: Ah, a river policeman standing in a river. Ben: Yeh, I'm on duty. I'm delivering your call-up-papers. Ned: That's a mistake. I wanted the Times. Ben: No suh, no messing about, there's a war on, W-A-R, pronounced FX: SILLY VOICE "WARRRRR!" Ben: Your country needs you, Y-O-U, pronounced FX: DIFF. SILLY VOICE "YOUUUU!" Ben: Now then, try this here cannon on for size. Ned: [struggling] Eaugh, Yeagh, Ughh. I say, this barrel is empty Ben: It must have been robbed [?], haugh haugh [strange guffaw] Ned: Helllo. Eccles: [echo] Helllo. Ned: Ah an echo. Ecc: Ah an echo. Ned: Mimimimimimi! Ecc: Mimimimimimi! Ned: hallelu! Ecc: hallelu! Ned: I'm an idiot. Ecc: You certainly are... Ned: What whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwhat... Eccles: What whatwhatwhatwhatwhatwtwt-cluck-cockle-co-cooo... Ben: Private Seagoon, I'm sending you to Aldershot. Follow this shell. FX: *BOOM* LONG WHAIL OF SHELL & SEAGOON IN HIGH ALTITUDE MUSIC: BRASSY INTERMISSION JINGLE FX: SCRIBBLING [HENRY CRUN] Crun: Drawers, cellular, one. Shirts, angora, two. Tins, mess, one. Socks, twisted grey, two pairs. Guns, bang, one. FX: WINDOWS SMASH. BODY FALLING ON FLOOR. Ned: Aggghhhhaah-oohagh-aughh! Crun: Augh-oagh! Min, a man's just come in through the roof. Min: Oh dear, the place is in such a mess today, tch. Crun: Min! Ned: Aughhh. Crun: Here he is. Min: Oohh. What- poor fellow. What's your name, young man? Ned: Ohhh-Yaqqua-aow... Min: It's Mr. Ohhh-Yaqqua-aow... Crun: Good morning... [A good round of ad-libbed "good mornings" from all...] Ned: Please, I'm Private Seagoon, I've been sent here for my uniform. You see, England's at war. Min: War? I better go and get the washing in. Crun: We haven't a uniform big enough for you here --- but go to this address. Ned: The elephant equipment unit? Poona, India. Right. Farewell! [sings over bootsteps, speeding up] On the road to Mendeley, where the flying fishes play, ..... [faster, fade] Announcer: In anticipation of his arrival, the BBC have placed a microphone at his destination. So, over to that. MUSIC: BLOODNOK THEME FX: GUN SHELLS. EXPLOSIONS. WATER SPLASHING. Bloodnok: Ohh...Arggh...Aogh [etc] FX: FLIES. DONKEY. PAPER RIP. BANG. [etc] B: Oahhh, ogh, aahhoa! Oh dear, oh dear, dear. Seargent, take him out and shoot him. Sarge: Oh no sir. I'm not going near dem socks. Last time they damn near overpowered me sir. FX: PUPPIES WHIMPERING B: You see what you have done. You've offended them. Down, boy, down. Do you realize, sir, that these sock were mentioned in the dispatches? Sarge: Alright, socks, 'tshun, quick, march! [FX:boots squeaking] Left-right, left-right, left-right. [fade into distance] B: Gawd, what a magnificient sight -- a squad of british army socks on the march. FX: REPEATED KNOCKS ON DOOR CLICKER, OVER ANGRY DUCK NOISES B: Uhhh. Somebody knocking on the door with a duck. FX: DOOR OPEN B: [surprise] Oooah-ho! Eccles: Hel-lo my dah-ling. B: Eccles! What do you want? E: I lah-ve you my dah-ling. My love. B: Steady madam, steady madam! E: My lit-tle dah-ling. I want you to have these. I pick'd them myself. B: A handful of hair! How sweet. Singhes, [S: Pardon?] put these in a jar of hair oil. Come inside. You silly fellow. You military fool. Come inside. E: Ahhhg. It's the spring you know. [aside] It's the spring, folks. I want some old-fashioned loving. B: Ohh, right. Granny! E: Noooo. B: Come down! FX: DOOR HANDLE. DOOR OPEN. RATTLING MACHINERY. STEAM B: Ooaogh! A puff-puff train. Ned: Ahhh. How nice of you to meet me at the station major. B: Well, it was the least I could do -- a quantity I specialize in. Well now, where were we? Ned: How's the war going major? B: Well, the Germans are losing. Ned: OOoooh! Horrors! Folks, folks. Then these shares are losing their value folks. Awh-awh-awh, folks. B: Don't worry Neddy folks. Look, here's a special offer. 10,000 unused 1904 calendars. Ned: 1904? That's gone! B: Ha-aha, but it ever comes back, you'll make a fortune. Ned: You loony military man, how can it come back! B: Great lauding naglers! Look, Monday comes back once a week, December comes back once a year. Ned: Well? B: Well, 1904 will come back, it just takes longer, that's all. Ned: It's a deal. B: H-arghh. Ned: Here's an advance of one shilling, and Ray Ellington quartet. B: Splin. Ned: Splon. MUSIC: RAY ELLINGTON. "MY BABY'S IN SPACE" (Real title?) FX: DISTANT WAR NOISES. Wal: On the western front, Seagoon prayed for the Germans to win. B: I say, Colonel. There's something dash strange about that Private Seagoon. Colonel: [hesistant, stuttering] Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh yea? B: Yea. During that last German attack, all he did was point his finger at them and shout: "Bang, you're dead" Col: Ahhh-ohhh-errr-ahhh-ahhh Perhaps he has run out of ammunition. B: No, he hasn't. I inspected his finger, and it was fully loaded. Col: Is this true, Seagoon? Ned: [nervous] Ha. I-- er --heheh -- it was like this --- I er eheh. Col: I give you ten seconds to answer the question! MUSIC: "MASTERMIND" COUNTDOWN Ned: I'm sorry, I-- [close to tears] I can't answer. Host: [swarmy] Well hard luck. Anyway you win yourself a wonderful dishonourble discharge from the army, so let's give him a great big hand! FX: APPLAUSE. MUSIC: CONGRATULATION CHORD Ned: And so I volunteered to become a civilian. M: Ah, young Neddy, ahhahahah. Ned: You! Y-O-U, pronounced: FX: SILLY VOICE, SPED UP: "YOUUU!" Ned: About all those duff german army shares. Germany lost the war. M: Ohhohoho! G-T: Neddy, if you lent us those 1904 calendars, all will be well! Now, what I want to do about this...[fade out] Ned: [over fade G-T] His idea was to drop the 1904 calendars on England by Zeppelin, making the English believe the war hadn't even started. Giving Germany the advantage. ha-ha-hahaha. nyuk, nyuk. [silly] "Giving Germany the advantage" Wal: Meanwhile, midnight on a lonely anti-aircraft site in Epping forest. FX: CRICKETS. Bluebottle: [waking] Ohh-ohp! What is that noise out there? FX: GRUNTING. FARTS. BB: Advance, Major Bloodnok, and be recognized! Jim: Hello, Jim. [sings] helllooooo Jeeeehm, hello jimmm. BB: Hello Jim. Helloooo Jeeehm. Name the password. Jim: I don't know Jim. [sings] Don't know the password Jeeehhmmm. BB: Captain, captain, help! Captain (Secombe) : Haa-haa, what is it? [carries, on, chuckling uncontrollably] BB: This man doesn't know the passing-word. Captain: Hawhawhaw neither do I. Haahahah! [more chuckling] Jim: What are you laughing at Jim? [3 times] Captain: What's he lauging at... heheehee... Oh dear... BB: I told him not to wear them wolly underpants. Captain: Wolly underpants, wolly underpants. hahhaha [hysterical] I never thought of that. FX: SPLASH [5 TIMES] BB: Say it! Little Jim: He's fallen in the water. BB: Little Jim, little Jim. Little Jim: Dah-dah-dah. [mumble babyishly] BB: [in delight] hihihi-- Suddenly sees studio audience. Hello everybody. FX: APPLAUSE BB: Thank you clappers, thank you. For my first song, I'll sing "The Rockaround" MUSIC: ROCK'N ROLL BB: You gotta rock, an' roll, you gotta rock all day, you gotta rock around, that's what I say. [FX: FALLING OBJECT] And you- [FX: KLONG] Owww! You nutted me! I been nutted on my nut, nut, nut. Lumps on my nutted nut. Aoogh! FX: APPLAUSE BB: You twits, I wasn't singing, I was in agony. I was hit on the head by this. Jim: But Jim, it's a 1904 calendar. BB: Ohhh. If it's 1904 I better get back home to mom. Jim: What for? BB: I haven't been born yet! Jim: Ooohhh, Jeeehhhm! BB: Cor, my dad, we aren't covered for this. MUSIC: MILITARY INTERLUDE Wal: Here's a special news bulletin. British troops will come home from France at once. Ned: Hooray folks. They think it's 1904. The plan worked. My German army shares will be worth a fortune. B: Wrong. Ned: [deflated] What? B: The British dropped 1918 calendars on Berlin, and the Germans su-rendered. Ned: Ohhh-hooo-hoo. Yea. Sounds up the end, doesn't it Wal. Wal: Perfectly correct Mr. Seagoon. Good night. Ned: Good night Wal. Ned: [running rapidly into distance] I can hear your socks Moriarty, I know you're there! MUSIC: FAMOUS VICTORY THEME. PLAYOUT.