From John Koster: I also found a script of the Last Goon Show of All. Not completely finished, part of the intro is still missing. I was working on that. Most of the work was done by someone else. (the part after the blank line). I am considering to start transcribing another Goon Show but I am in a - slow - process of moving from one house to another, so... ORCHESTRA: "Old Comrades March". TIMOTHY: Well, good evening and welcome to the Camden. And if you'll forgive me, this is a most illustrious occasion. We are playing this Goon Show, the first since 1960, in front of a very distinguished audience. And I am very glad to see you and I hope you'll have a wonderful time. First of all the "Old Comrades", obviously played by the Wally Stott Orchestra. Wally Stott, I am afraid is not able to be with us this evening, so the orchestra is conducted by Peter Knight. Well, when Tom Mahony, who is head of my department, said: can you get these bods together, it was a bit of a job, but I got the principals, and I found Ray Ellington, but Max was a bid more difficult, because he is in America. But the BBC dug deep into its pocket, which was most unusual, but here, from America, is Max Geldray. Well, we didn't have quite so far to go for our colour sergeant, who else but Ray Ellington! Now it's absolutely fascinating, because I am so delighted than nearly everyone of the old musicians, (old?) have returned for tonight. I have an apology from George Chisholm, who has got his trombone stuck in his tartan down in Bournemouth, but otherwise I am so pleased to welcome the original members of the Ray Ellington Quartet, first of all Judd Procter, but not only him but Dick Katz. When he's not playing the piano he manages Lulu, he tells me. Well, here we are, all the original ladies and gentlemen, what more can I say but: please welcome the Goons! MILLIGAN: Soon enough. Tonight I thougt I'd start by singing one of eh, one of eh... (Blows in microphone) And now the Irish national anthem! (blows in microphone agian)...fellers ..I'd start by singing one of Irvin Berlin's songs, but I thought, why should I? He never sings any of mine! I'll sing "San Fransico" to get it all going, right?. (sings) I left my heart in San Fransisco, I left my knees in Old Peru, I left my little wooden leg somewhere in Winnipeg, I left my wig in Darkland Zoo with you, I left my teeth on Table Mountain, high on a hill, they smile at me. When I go back again to San Fransisco, (all together) there won't be much left of me. SECOMBE: TIMOTHY: Ladies and gentlemen, we have had a large number of telegrams wishing us, believe it or not, good luck...and heaven only knows we need it. There is only time to recall one of them, and may I read it to you. It is addressed, of course, to the Goons and the message is as follows . . . 'One of your most devoted fans is enraged at the knowledge he is missing your last performance. Last night my hair fell out and my knees dropped off having turned green with envy at the thought of my father and sister attending the show. One day, perhaps, you will find time to give a performance to a shipful of Seagoons. My very best wishes, as always, signed ... Charles'. ORCHESTRA: (Variety of tuning up sounds. Conductor taps baton on music stand. Orchestra responds by producing batons and tapping on music stands.) MILLIGAN: (whispers to others) One, two, three... ALL: Variety of welcome, thank you speeches, all unintelligible. TIMOTHY: They haven't quite got the hang of it yet, but after another smoke they should be switched on. If you are switched on, I am empowered by the governors of the BBC wireless to say `Good Evening' in that order. I also have it on good authority that my name is Clapham Junction, but I'll have that checked out later. When I announced the first Goon Show in a field off Tiverton, I was 30 ... I am now 93. Mr Sellers will now sell a gross of his cars and take up a dramatic voice. SELLERS: Oh, yes, yes, yes. I have been asked by the Beeb Beeb Ceeb to get the audience warmed up. Well, to the best of my knowledge, there is no better way than by the gentlemen using their right hand to squeeze the top of the lady's thigh next to them... FX: Oh, aah, oooh, ah, ooooh! SELLERS: Splendid, splendid! I will now whistle the soliloquy from Hamlet (whistles 'To be or not to be') TIMOTHY: That was Mr Sellers practising his comeback. This morning BBC archives delivered three coffins. I will now introduce the contents of coffin number one...bald, toothless and weighing 37 stones - Harry Secombe! ORCHESTRA: (Rousing showbiz intro theme.) SECOMBE: (through megaphone) Thank you! Hello folks, Hello, folks of the world. I am speaking to you using the new aluminium cone voice projector. I will start my comeback with a new trick taught to me by a one-legged sailor who did toffee apple impressions for Noel Coward (puts finger in mouth and makes popping noise). Do you hear that? (repeats popping noise). That's it folks! It's the new Grateful Dead Seagoon sound. I will now reveal the secret to the world live via satellite from Neasden. Take the index finger, stick it in the gob, slide gently forward inside the cheek giving it an added impetus as it shoots forward from the lips - so! (repeats popping). You see? We directors of Harlech Television are not as daft as you think! TIMOTHY: During that demonstration of Mr Secombe's senility - a smile, a song and a wheelchair - the remains of Mr Spike Milligna, the well-known typing error, have been reassembled and he makes this sound... GRAMS: (Nazi chant) Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! MILLIGAN: Policemen are numbered in case they get lost! SELLERS: (Stan Laurel voice) I say, Ollie, anyone with a name like Hitler can't be all that bad. MILLIGAN: (Heavy German accent) Zere iss anozzer fine mess you haff got us in to. GRAMS: (Nazi chant speeds off into oblivion.) TIMOTHY: As everybody knows who reads the Isle of Arran Shoemakers' monthly, Her Majesty the Queen was to have opened this Goon Show but owing to a nasty rumour called Grocer Heath, she has declined. However, at short notice and wearing floral creton frock, Mr Secombe has agreed to stand in for the Sovereign. SECOMBE: Ladies and gentlemen, my first impression for the Queen will be a hedgehog doing acupuncture on Yul Brynners nut.Oh-ah-ooh-ah-ooh-ooh-! (fades off). HENRY CRUN and MINNIE BANNISTER: Get on ... please ... hurry ... get on with it. SECOMBE: What-what-what-what-what? HENRY CRUN: Start the show ...hurry. SECOMBE: Hurry? Why? HENRY CRUN: Were dying... FX: Nuts, bolts, hitting the floor. SECOMBE: What was that? HENRY CRUN: Mnk...Min falling to bits ...She's a loose woman you know... SECOMBE: Quick, throw a bucket of water over her before the season starts ... And now, ladies and gentlemen, my husband and I have great pleasure in starting Goon Show number 161! GRAMS: (Sound of sluggish engine turning over unsuccessfully.) SECOMBE: Oh, my husband and I have great pleasure in starting this Goon Show number 161. GRAMS: (Sound of dodgy engine failing again to start.) SECOMBE: My husband and I are having great difficulty in starting Goon Show number 161. SELLERS: (strange Michael Caine voice) 'Ello,'ello,'ello,'ello,'ello. SECOMBE: Ah! A constable of Old England played by an ageing Peter Sellers. SELLERS: I'm sorry sir, you cannot park that huge bloated Welsh body there. SECOMBE: Watch it, Rozzer. SELLERS: I 'ave been watchin' it, sir, and it gives me no pleasure ... there's not many people know that. What is your name sir? SECOMBE: Harry Secombe. SELLERS: What a splendid memory you've got, sir. Now then sir, would you like to explain as to why you are wearin' a flowered triton frock? SECOMBE: Explain? SELLERS: Yes. SECOMBE: Haven't you read the court circular? SELLERS: No, I'm waitin' till they make the film of the book the sketch of the Street of the play. SECOMBE: Now listen, constable. SELLERS: Yes. SECOMBE: I am dressed like this because I have been asked to represent Her Majesty the Queen. SELLERS: Oh, I'm sorry, Your Queen. My refund ferpologies SECOMBE: It's too late for that. SELLERS: lt's only alf past five. SECOMBE: We're having difficulty starting this Goon Show. SELLERS: Well, let's have a look in the tonk, then. Tonk? Ah, I see you've still got the same typist you 'ad in 1953 ... SECOMBE: Yes, I still have her, no one's found out yet. SELLERS: Yes, ere's the trouble, Your Queen. There's no jokes in the fuel tonk. SECOMBE: I'll just shout a few in. I say! I say! I say! MILLIGAN: What d'you say? What d'you say? SECOMBE: How do yo start a pudding race? MILLIGAN: I don't know, how do you start a pudding race? SECOMBE: Sago. GRAMS: (Donkey braying and farting.) SECOMBE: I say! I say! Can a lady with a wooden leg change a pound note? MILLIGAN: Can a lady with a wooden leg change a ten pound note? Yes! SECOMBE: No, she can't. MILLIGAN: And why not? SECOMBE: Alltogether folks - she's only got half a knicker! ORCHESTRA: (Awful chord.) TIMOTHY: The plague hit London in 1546 and has been here ever since - Mrs Dale's last husband, Ray Ellington! ELLINGTON Sings "Tennessee Waltz" TIMOTHY: That was Ray Ellington, one-time colour sergeant, now a Chelsea pensioner. GRAMS: Clockwork engine noise. SEAGOON: (sings) If I ruled the world, every day would be ... MORIARTY: Sapristi Ruckus! Here comes Neddie driving an unlicensed Goon Show with CD plates on. GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Smails of loon! It does look a bit seedy, doesn't it? Yes, he's dressed as our Gracious Queen. There must be trouble at the Palace! SEAGOON: Ahoy there gentlemen of the frog and throad. Have you Been a knighthood go this way? GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Yes, but Richard Attenborough was wearing it, and anyway it was the wrong size for that huge, bloated Welsh body of yours. SEAGOON: What-what-what-what-what? Mind what you say or we will have you incarcer-ated! GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: The unkindest cut of all. Ned, just relax against this cut-throat razor. Neddie, now just listen to this... GRAMS: (high speed, squeaky voice) This is what you do... GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: You see that's what's happened to Milligan. You don't want to end up like that. Here is a preview of next winter in Jimmy Grafton's attic... GRAMS: (bowling stormy wind) GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: There! Can your legs stand another recorded winter like that? SEAGOON: Well, I don't stand all winter. Sometimes I lie down ...depends on who she is... GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Ned, making love with cold legs up can cause knee trembling and ruin a man's chances in the old wedding stakes there. SEAGOONOh. What do you suggest? GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Leg-lag! SEAGOON: Leg-lag? GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Leg-lag! MORIARTY: Leg-argglah! GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Let me introduce that. A Frenchman of noble birth, the family arms a rack rampant on a field of steaming argent tat, voted actor of the year by Mrs Mable Fumes, son of eminent crapologist and swine, Count Dingleberries Moriarty! MORIARTY: I tell you there is a curse on the house of Moriarty! SECOMBE: What is it? MORIARTY:The Hampstead Building Society! SECOMBE: He looks in a bad way. Has he had a medical check? GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Yes, thirty shillings for a new truss. SECOMBE: I command you, lag my legs! MORIARTY: mon ... maddock ... mnk ... ORCHESTRA: (Royal leg-lagging fanfare.) GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: That will be one hundred pounds in war gratuities and thirty new pence for the fanfare. FX: (Cash Register) GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Thank you, Neddie. I will now adjust my address before doing a moonlight. Moriarty, get out the Land Rover and measure his legs. MORIARTY: Now, lift up your trousers, Neddie. FX: (Sound of roller blind rolling up.) BLUEBOTTLE: Ooooh-he-heee! Who pulled those trousers up? MORIARTY: Name of a dog! Rover! Le garŝon Bottle is there avec spots. BLUEBOTTLE: Oooh, it's Moriarty! You've gone bald. What is that lump on your nut? MORIARTY: That is the difference between margarine. BLUEBOTTLE: I know what we can do. Let's play mothers and milkmen and Neddie can be the bluetit that pecks the top of the cream. Peck! Peck! Peckee! Oooh- he-hee! Oh, I've hurted my groin again... SECOMBE: Bluebottle you little devil! What were you doing up my trousers? BLUEBOTTLE: A man has to do what a man has to do ...an' I did it over there. SECOMBE: Come out of my trousers at once, you spotty Herbert. BLUEBOTTLE: My name is not Herbert. I am James Bottle, double 0 seven and three-quarters cop size - ace reporter for the hard-hitting, brown-paper Junior Hours. SECOMBE: Get out, or I'll fetch you one. BLUEBOTTLE: I can fetch it myself. Don't shout at me please. I have got two '0' levels and a budgerigar. SECOMBE: I say. What are you doing with that budgerigar? BLUEBOTTLE: I have got certain unsavoury snaps of your bloomers. SECOMBE: What-what-what-what-what? But I-I have to wear them, you see, that's protocol. BLUEBOTTLE: Oooh, what have you been eating? SEAGOON: Give me back those snaps, or I'll never be on Stars on Sunday again, you know. FX: (Door slams followed by frantic knocking.) SEAGOON: Bluebottle! Open this trouser door or I'll break every bone in my fist! BLUEBOTTLE: I'm not coming out until you give me a postal order for twenty new pence made out to Molly Quots. SEAGOON: Oh, folks! How could I raise that amount? I know. I could go and play variety in merry Blackpool. I can still remember that shaving routine. How does it go again... ? TIMOTHY: Mr Secombe's departure from the mike is a timely one - any departure of his is timely. I have a grave announcement to make. Just before this show started, Mr Max Geldray died. His wife described his condition as satisfactory. However, by waving some money under his nose, he has recovered enough to play his probate. MAX GELDRAY accompanied by his orchestra GRAMS: (Clucking of chickens and tuning of piano continues in background). HENRY CRUN: (vaguely in tune with piano tuning) Mmnk... Ummm... Hnaaa... MINNIE BANNISTER: Henreee! HENRY CRUN: What, Min, what? MINNIE BANNISTER: Where are you, Henry? HENRY CRUN: I'm inside the new easy rider piano, Min. MINNIE BANNISTER: Speak up, Henry! Eric Sykes is in. Which piano are you in, Henry? HENRY CRUN: I'm in the mahogany, lattice-fronted, iron-framed upright, serial number 9354271D. MINNIE BANNISTER: Oooh...They don't write numbers like that any more. FX: (Cluck, quack, meow. Cluck, quack, meow.) HENRY CRUN: Min. Listen Min. That was a chicken-duck-cat. MINNNIE BANNISTER: Oh dear. Does it lay eggs? HENRY CRUN: No, it lays kittens. ORCHESTRA: (Breathless variety theme.) GRAMS: (Thunderous explosions, machine gunning, cavalry trumpet.) BLOODNOK: Oh! Oh! What's going on? Get her out the back. Where's me spares? The laundry will never keep up with this, yoy know. GRAMS: (Sound of incoming artillery shell followed by more explosions.) SEAGOON: Bloodnok, stop that! BLOODNOK: Yes, which way did it go? It-it's a lady! Can it be? Yes! (sings) It's my dear Alice Bluegoon... ELLINGTOSEAGOON: Bloodnok! Come out and fight! Surrender the fort! BLOODNOK: I can't! It's leasehold and Lichfield and Grosvenor Estates and all that. Cheques and postal orders only... SEAGOON: Who's that out there playing the part of Ray Ellington? BLOODNOK: It's my mortal enemy, the Red Bladder. Go away, Bladder, and find your own television series! ELLINGTOSEAGOON: Bloodnok, you coward! BLOODNOK: You can't call me a coward and get away with it! ELLINGTOSEAGOON: You big coward! BLOODNOK: He got away with it! GRAMS: (Explosion.) BLOODNOK: Duck, Neddie! FX: (Quack. Phone rings. Receiver is lifted.) BLOODNOK: Hello? What? Yes! FX: (Receiver is slammed down.) BLOODNOK: That was the Beeb Beeb Ceeb. They've switched Goon Shows. This is now number 162. GRAMS: (Gunfire.) MILLIGAN: (Indian accent) Pardon me, sir. BLOODNOK: What is it, Private Parts? It is Private Parts, isn't it? MILLIGAN: No sir, I am Singhiz Thing. BLOODNOK: Singhiz Thing? I remember yiu very well, yes. What do you want? MILLIGAN: It's time for your perversion, sir. BLOODNOK: My perversion? Good! Good, let's start now... GRAMS: (Wailing, groaning, whipping, straining, operatics, crashing, tinkling, thumping, ecstasy). [Continues over Bloodnok] BLOODNOK: Ah! Oh! I love a bit of Wagner. Now the whips! Yes! Yes! Oh! Ah! Let me have the strot flicker now, I like that. Oh! Yes! Ah! Now the steering wheel club followed by the...oh! Is it all over? What about the starters? Now then, this uniform goes back to Moss Bros tomorrow. MILLIGAN: Yes, sir. There is a deposit on it. BLOODNOK: Oh, that'll brush off, don't worry about that. Now, Ned, why are you wearing that lovely creton frock? You're not the relief column, are you? SEAGOON: Take your hands off me and place them higher up. BLOODNOK: Oh, that's where it's all happening is it? SEAGOON: I'm dressed like this for Goon Show number 161. GRAMS: (Cheers) BLOODNOK: Listen to that. My pension's got through. Look, Ned, you need a rest. There's only one place. Go down into the coal cellar and do it down there. FX: (Dripping in noise in damp cellar. Also, strange munching noise.) SEAGOON: I wasn't sure, but I swore I could hear what sounded like someone eating coke. ECCLES: (sings) Dum-dum, da-da-rum. Dere are tree men in my life. To one I am a mudder, to de udder I'm a wife. De third one gets the best... SEAGOON: Who's that? Who's that? Who's that? ECCLES: Dat's you. SEAGOON: I know it's me! The creature was wearing a mini coal sack, both feet in one army boot and a coal scuttle on his head. He must be one of ours! ECCLES: Glad I'm not one of dem. SEAGOON: What are you doing down here? ECCLES: Everybody's got to be somewhere. SEAGOON: Yes, but who are you? ECCLES: Oooh, da hard ones first, eh? Now, I don't want you to spread this around ... I'm the coal man. SEAGOON: Coal man? It's there in the morning. ECCLES: Yup. It's never too late to be a coal man. SEAGOON: What I mean is, after you deliver coal, you're supposed to go back to the cart. ECCLES: Oooh. You mean I should have let go of the Back? SEAGOON: Yes. ECCLES: But they said they were giving me the sack. I wondered why the job didn't last long. Must be the old Finchley Exchange tomorrow morning. SEAGOON: How long have you been down here? ECCLES: Oooh. I kept a record. I scratched every day on de wall. SEAGOON: Good heavens! The walls are covered in them, and so are you ...suits you. ECCLES: Thank you, sailor. SEAGOON: You've only scratched six days to a week. ECCLES: Yup. Don't believe in working on Sundays. SEAGOON: Where's that drip coming from? ECCLES: Dat's me. I'm leaking. Here, are you a plumber man? SEAGOON: No, I'm standing in for Buckingham Palace. Help me and I'll make you a companion of Honor Blackman. ECCLES: Wow-ho-ho-ho-hoooo! SEAGOON: Stop that or you'll go blind, I tell you! Listen, I'm going to have a royal kip. Now, if you see anybody come out of my trouser door - belt him. Now good night England and the Colonies. I'l just put on this record of royal snoring. FX (Snores.) ECCLES: Dat's what money can do for you, folks. BLUEBOTTLE: Psssst... ECCLES: What? BLUEBOTTLE: Psssst? ECCLES: I haven't touched a drop. BLUEBOTTLE: Eccles, it's me Blinbuttons. ECCLES: Oh, my friend! BLUEBOTTLE: You remember me? ECCLES: I remember you. BLUEBOTTLE: Yes... Why don't you open the door? ECCLES: Okay, I'll open... how do you open a door? BLUEBOTTLE: You turn the knob on your side. ECCLES: I haven't got a knob on my side. BLUEBOTTLE: On the door! ECCLES: Oh, the door. I'll soon get the hang of dat. FX: (Door opens.) BLUEBOTTLE: Well, Eccles... LITTLE JIM: Pah...pilton...pa de dee pin pah... etc. BLUBOTTLE: I say, Eccles. ECCLES: What? BLUBOTTLE: Waht is that sicking out of the top of your boot wearing a cap? ECCLES: This is mu nephew, Little Jim. BLUEBOTTLE: Oh, hello, Little Jim. LITTLE JIM: Pah...pilta pa de dee pin pah... etc. ECCLES: He says he doesn't understand what he is saying either. BLUEBOTTLE: He's one of Thatcher's Incomprehensives. SEAGOON: (Snores.) BLUEBOTTLE: Here, who is that snoring in the frock? ECCLES: Dat's de new sound. It's Neddie. He thinks he's the Queen of England. BLUEBOTTLE: Yee-hee-hee! Eccles, let's play a game and push him down a well... ECCLES Yeahà BOTH: Hup! SEAGOON: Aaaaaaaaaarggh!!! GRAMS: (Huge splash.) LITTLE JIM: Oooh... he's fallen in the water! GRAMS: (Explosions). BLOODNOK: Oh! Oh! Out of me way! The Red Bladder's after me. SEAGOON: Hold it! BLOODNOK: I can't hold it much longer. It's old age. GRYTPYPE-THYNNE: Your Majesty, good news. We have just found Goon Show number 163 in which you play the lead all the way through as an underfloor heating detective. MORIARTY: Now, Neddie, just get under these nice floorboards. FX: (Floorboards hammered down). SEAGOON: Help! And I mean that sincerely. BLUEBOTTLE: Here, where are you? Do not frighten me, I have got clean underwear on. SEAGOON: Help! I'm in a play under the floorboards. BLUEBOTTLE: Oh. You must have got a real bad agent. SEAGOON: Get me out! BLUEBOTTLE: Yes ...I can see your belly through the knothole. Oooh... poke, poke, pokey! SEAGOON: Stop that poking! BLUEBOTTLE: That was a different show, you twit. This show is number 164. This is where I say roll up, roll up! Sixpence for a quick stick to poke Neddie Seagoon. Poke-poke-pokey! SEAGOON: Stop that poking, I tell you! BLUEBOTTLE: Pokey-pokey! BLOODNOK: Out of my way! GRAMS: (Big Ben chimes, bagpipes, church bells). BLOODNOK: What's going on, I demand to know... ORCHESTRA: (Theme tune.) TIMOTHY: That was the Goon Show, a specially recorded programme for the 50th anniversary of the BBC, starring Peter Sellers, Spike Milligan and Harry Secombe. You also heard the Ray Ellington Quartet, Max Geldray and the orchestra conducted by Peter Knight. Script by Spike Milligan. Produced by John Browell.